#rockstar!reader

He stands front row at every single one of your shows with his hair done to perfection and his most expensive cologne sprayed onto his collarbones. Always in his best pair of jeans and his new brown leather jacket that he swears he didn’t buy with the intent to impress you, explaining to Robin, “I just liked the way it fit! You have any idea how hard it is, finding a good jacket with shoulders like these?”

Steve learns every word to all of your bands songs. He even has your setlist memorized and could recite the comedic bits your lead singer uses between one verse and the next.

He’s a total groupie for you.

And when you finally notice him? God. Steve has never felt a rush of adrenaline quite like the first time you saddle up to his side at the bar, order a vodka cranberry and tell the man behind the counter your name is Harrington with a knowing smirk on your face.

Because it means that you’ve been watching him, too.

It doesn’t take long after that, truth be told. A couple more shows where you spend time at the bar talking about music or life or the state of the world. You give him a handful of backstage tours and even eventually hand him one of those all access lanyards that say crew on the badge. 

Within a matter of weeks, Steve has you in a dirty bar bathroom with one hand on your throat and the other sneaking up the short hem of your skirt. 

He tilts your head up and swipes over your lips with a teasing tongue. He licks into your mouth and gently bites into the cherry flavored gloss on your bottom lip, thinking about how he’s officially, certifiably, addicted to the fruity flavor.

Your breath comes fast and labored. Your face is flushed and your pupils are dilated. He’s got you propped up on the porcelain sink, but your hips incessantly roll towards his hand that only skates over the seam of your thigh. 

Because one thing about Steve Harrington? He loves to make you beg. 

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers. The music outside of the women’s restroom bleeds through the locked door, muffling the little whimpers you make at the back of your throat. “An’ you smell—God. You smell so fucking good, baby.”

Like cherries and red wine and vanilla perfume. Like the rest of his goddamn life.

“Touch me,” is your only response, the words all breathy and sweet. “Steve, please just touch me.”

He clicks his tongue tauntingly. “Hm. I don't know if I should. You know? Actually—I was just thinkin’ that maybe I should keep my hands to myself. Take you out on a real date. Treat you real nice.”

You wrap your legs around his waist and the heel of your tall leather boot digs into the back of his thigh when you try to pull him closer. “I don't care about dates. I just want—” 

Steve finally moves his hand beneath your skirt and slides it under the lace band of your panties. A decadent, needy sound leaves your mouth when he slides his middle finger through your folds. Already wet and messy for him, just like he’d anticipated. “Just want me to make you feel good,” Steve finishes for you. “I know, I know. It's alright. You know I will. Always do, don't I?”

He finds your swollen clit with practiced ease. Circles it with a pointed finger and smiles against your lips when he feels it pulse beneath his touch. 

Steve strums his fingers between your thighs until your spine arches. Until arousal drips down your cunt and onto the porcelain below. His name sounds so pretty in your mouth, shrouded in desire. Even better than those heavy riffs you pull from that guitar of yours. 

He’s got you almost there—so close he can taste your release, and then he slides his hand just a little lower and presses two fingers inside of you. 

Your walls clamp down around them like a vise. “Oh, fuck. Jesus, Steve—”

“Yeah, I know,” he says, voice low. And good fucking God does he know. His cock aches painfully behind the tight denim of his jeans, wanting nothing more than to take you right here. Bend you over and press your cheek to the cool glass mirror with not a trace of respect to be found in the touch of his hands. 

But the problem is Steve wants more than that from you. And he thinks if he’s patient, that maybe…just maybe, you’ll start to want more, too.

So he perseveres. Stays strong despite the raging desire that buzzes beneath his skin. Gets you off with his fingers inside you and his thumb on your clit and swallows up your moans like a man starved for it. 

He doesn’t fuck you. Not here. Not like this.

Your bass player teaches Steve how to load your equipment into the trailer and he becomes a real part of the crew after that. Sort of adopts your band members, truthfully. 

Makes sure they have water close by during every set. brings them fast food when he knows they’ll drink too much and eat too little. He even tries to keep the lead singer in line when his ego gets hurt and he tries picking fights. 

Steve only does all of this to get closer to you, of course. But he likes your bandmates well enough. They're a little…eccentric, he thinks. But they have to be in order to be entertainers, right?

You invite him to an out of town show for the first time on a Wednesday. You're talking to him on the phone, and Steve is leaning against the drywall in his kitchen with a stupid grin on his face that he can’t seem to fight off whenever you speak to him.

“In Indianapolis," you explain. “A long drive, I know. But we’re getting a hotel room and we could use an extra hand. If…if you wanna come with.”

Steve sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, trying not to laugh like some prepubescent school girl with a crush and failing miserably. He's glad you can’t see him right now. It would blow his cool guy facade right out the window. “Well, I might have to move some stuff around. You know, my busy schedule and all.”

“Busy schedule, huh?” He can hear the amusement in your voice, even through the phone. 

“Oh—yeah. Jam packed, actually. Meetings and lunches and hangouts. Parties, too.”

“Dates?”

It catches him a little off guard, truthfully. Only because you’ve never questioned him about other women. Have never even hinted at the possibility of any exclusivity between the two of you. 

But Steve swears there’s something not-so-innocent in the one word question. Swears there’s almost a little jealousy there. 

He thinks about lying. Just for a moment. Thinks about telling you that he goes on dates all the time, actually. Considers telling you there’s more for him than his pretty little guitarist when really, it will only ever be you.

But Steve doesn’t lie. He doesn’t exactly tell the truth either. Just says, “Not with anyone who matters.”

He can hear your shallow breaths, but you don’t say anything for a few seconds. And then, “So, you’ll be there. right? I mean. I…I don’t know. This is a big one for us and I guess I sorta, like…want you there.”

Steve makes this surprised sound and says, “Is that a confession? You saying you want me, sweetheart?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ. Actually, you know what? I've gotta go. Never—”

“I’m kidding,” he says through his laughter.

“You are the actual worst, Steve Harrington.”

The sigh of relief you let out just makes him laugh harder. But once his amusement dies down and he’s left with nothing but you and your almost-confession, Steve says, “Yeah. Of course I'll be there for you.”

He hopes you know just how much he really means it. 

The show is a success. There are hundreds of people at the small venue, more than you’ve ever played for. The songs ebb and flow easily and the put up and tear down of the set goes without interruption.

Steve is in the front row, just like he always is.But this time he’s not the only one singing along. Those handmade tapes you’re always handing out at the grocery store and the park and outside of every concert you go to is paying off. Word is spreading fast, and all of a sudden Steve gets this weird feeling in his chest. 

It's something akin to pride, but there’s a weird sort of melancholy with it, too, because he has so much faith in you. Steve knows you were never meant for a town like Hawkins. Knows you’ll make it big and go off to California and New York and London, baring your soul through that ruby red guitar for everyone who will listen.

He can see your name in headlines and begins to wonder if there will be any room for him left in your heart when it’s all said and done. 

He tries not to think too hard about it. Tries to enjoy the night, to lose himself in the sound and in the way your fingers move and the way you look at him from up on that platform.

Steve always gives you space right after a show. Knows people will want to talk to you and shake your hand and ask about your inspirations. He waits by the bar, knowing you’ll come to find him when you’re ready. 

And you do, but this time you’re lingering a few feet away as some guy yaps your ear off.

You’re with your drummer, who can be a little promiscuous at times. She's twirling her hair around her finger and giving the man who’s speaking those heart eyes Steve has seen in action too many times.

Steve thinks the guy is flirting with your drummer when he gives a crooked smile and leans in close to speak. He doesn’t think anything of it. 

But then he reaches a hand close to your face and strokes the back of his knuckles against your cheek, not hers. 

And he tries not to react. Really, he does. Tries not to let that swell of emotion in his chest grow too bold when he sees you rear back so fast it’s almost comedic.

The guys laughs it off. And Steve thinks that’s the end of it. 

But then he tries again. This time running a possessive hand down your arm and curling his fingers around your palm. 

You pull away, but Steve is already out of his seat at the bar and closing the space between you.

He splays his hand wide on the small of your back and the corners of his mouth tilt up when you take a step closer to him, nestling right beneath his arm. “Everything alright over here?”

The man glares at Steve, eyes narrowing into slits. “Yeah, man. We're good. So why don’t you—”

“Why don’t I what?” It comes out angrier than intended. Steve’s palms start to itch.

He comes to the stark realization that he wants this. The confrontation. He hates the idea of another man touching you, even just your cheek or your hand. It has a desire for violence singing beneath Steve's skin. 

The guy tries for your hand again, and it’s the boldest thing he could’ve done. You recoil away and turn into the arms of your drummer who’s long since lost those heart eyes, the emotion now replaced with concern. 

And Steve? Oh—Steve is thrilled. Because now he has a reason. An excuse. 

He shoves the man backwards so far he nearly stumbles to his feet. “Why don’t you take a fucking walk. Yeah? I think we’d all be better off.”

“What the fuck is your problem, dude?” 

“My problem is you,” Steve answers. “Think it’s funny, huh? Think it’s cool to grab at girls who have no interest in you? Think you can push ‘em around ‘til they do what you want?” 

Steve shoves him again, but this time the man shoves back. “Jesus Christ. Now that’s some depressing shit. You really think you’re the only guy in this bar that’s had her? You want pussy that’s been ran through so bad? Fine. All yours, loverboy.”

That does him in. Makes the situation less about protecting you and more about revenge. Because Steve would never let someone talk about you like that. 

But worse is the simple thought of it. The thought of you with another man, with someone who’s not him? It sends him into a frenzy.

Steve lunges forward.

The man swings, hand curled into a fist so tight his knuckles pale. 

Steve dodges it and takes a strike of his own. His lands true, cracking hard against the man’s jaw.

The second time he takes a swing at him, Steve moves just a little too slow and white-hot pain ricochets through his teeth.

Blood blooms across his tongue and the coppery taste of it sends him careening off whatever ledge of self restraint that remained. Steve doesn’t care much about anything now apart from hurting the man who doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself. 

He doesn’t hear the crowd around him as they gasp and shout and make room for the brawl. He doesn’t hear your drummer beside you, urging you to stop him. 

Steve doesn’t register much besides swinging fists and thrown elbows until suddenly there’s more than one set of hands flying at him. There's two, and then three—and then he can hear your lead singer shouting and sees the familiar sight of his glinting rings flying in the mix of fists.

It's absolute chaos. His heartbeat thrums against the back of his sternum, blood flies from somewhere—his wound or someone else’s, he can’t be sure.

He doesn’t even recognize the severity of the situation when flashing blue and red lights cloud the corners of his vision. 

All Steve can think about is your name in another man’s mouth. And try as he might, he can’t seem to break free of the hold it has on him. 

Well, not until he feels the softness of your hand on his shoulder, recognizable even in all the clamor. You're saying his name but his ears are ringing. 

“Come on! It’s time to go,” you say, your voice reaching him through the haze, somehow both giggly and panicky. 

Steve lets you drag him backwards. Out of the bar and into the cool winter air that feels heavenly against his suddenly overheated skin. 

It all fades into focus then: the police outside the bar, the shouting that still rolls out like steam from the doorframe, the ache in his lungs and his jaw and his mouth. 

You’re running fast. Putting as much distance as possible between you and the flashing lights. You grab hold of Steve's hand and lace your fingers through his, weaving through the gathered crowd.

He can hear your bandmates following close behind, laughter filling up the space. But Steve watches as the passing city lights create little halos across your skin and something warm fills up his chest.

When you’re a block away, far enough that the fear of being caught subsides, your pace slows to a full stop. There's a wide grin on your face and unparalleled joy in your eyes as you turn to look at him.

Your drummer shakes Steve by the shoulders. “Good God, Harrington! That was insane! Since when did you go all rogue like that?!”

“Did you see that left hook?!”

“What even happened?”

“I have no idea! i just saw that other guy jump in and thought to myself, oh fuck no. Not our loverboy!”

Your bandmates erupt in rambunctious laughter, and Steve rolls his eyes at what he knows will likely be his alias for the rest of the foreseeable future.

But he can’t find it in him to care. Can’t find the strength to stop looking at you like you put the damn stars in the sky, either. And Steve knows this isn’t the right time, knows you’ll likely be a little embarrassed and reply with some snarky remark, but he says it anyway.

“You look so beautiful right now, baby. Do you know that?”

“Oh, get a room,” your lead singer teases, pushing past the both of you.

The rest of your bandmates follow suit, leaving the two of you with your hands still interlocked, standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

You don’t respond with a snide comment. You don’t even laugh.

Instead, you lean up and press your mouth to his in a searing kiss. Steve feels the heat of it all the way down to his toes.

He lets go of your hand only to cradle your face and deepen the kiss, delighting in the taste of your cherry lipgloss and the faintest trace of vodka on your tongue. Your lips move in tandem, fitting perfectly together, and when you pull away you leave him panting.

“Come on,” you say. “Let’s catch up.”

Steve soon finds out that you’d meant it literally when you told him you were getting a hotel room. 

Singular.

Which meant that you were sharing two queen sized beds with the rest of your band. 

Not exactly the city getaway he’d imagined, but Steve's happy wherever you are. 

It feels like pure luck when he wins at rock-paper-scissors against everyone and claims the shower first. But Steve isn’t at all surprised when you follow him into the spacious bathroom, the fluorescent lights bright overhead. 

He turns the water on and pulls a plush white towel down from the rack on the wall. 

You don’t speak right away, though he can feel your heavy gaze and knows there’s something on the tip of your tongue. Instead, you fold your arms over your chest and lean back against the sink. 

Steve reaches behind his head and pulls at the collar of his shirt, wincing at the sudden sharp pain in the muscle just below his shoulder blade.

The sound of discomfort has your brows furrowing, and you’re moving before he can really process much else, gentle hands taking him by the waist and turning him so he’s facing away from you. “Let me see.”

Steve allows you to maneuver him any way you wish, tossing his shirt onto the floor. His eyelids flutter closed when you trail your fingers up his spine, pressing gently into the muscles on either side.

When you reach the spot just below his right shoulder, Steve winces. “Sorry,” you murmur. “You probably pulled something. Got a mean left hook, Harrington."

He chuckles softly, and melts beneath your touch as you begin to massage the tender muscle. Steve loves the feeling of you on his skin. Can never get enough of it and thinks he probably never will. 

It wasn’t like him, what he did back there. The cause for so much chaos. Violent. And though he’d certainly felt violent and volatile, Steve doesn’t want you to think of him that way. So he says, “I'm…I'm sorry. For what happened. I wish you didn’t have to see that. I shouldn't have—”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you interrupt. “You were protecting me. That's what I saw, Steve."

There’s no room for argument in your tone, the words somehow affectionate even with all their certainty. 

A few moments pass in silence, and Steve just soaks up all your attention. But then you say, “It’s not true, by the way. What he said.”

He clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “I don’t care about any of that,” he says honestly. “Not that I—you know. Believe it, or whatever.” He laughs. “I mean, seriously. You think I'm just going to trust some nobody in a bar when he says you’ve been with a bunch of people? Do you even like that many people?”

You giggle, massaging the tender muscle in his back.

“I mean, you barely like me. There's no way.” 

He means it as a joke, but your laughter dies in your mouth and your hands freeze on his skin the moment the words leave him.

When Steve turns to face you, mind racing, thinking maybe he did or said something to upset you—but when he finds your eyes, they’re not angry in the slightest. 

If anything, you look sort of…sad. Your brows are furrowed with a slight crease between them and your once smiling mouth is now downturned. “Is that really what you think? That I don't like you?”

He shrugs. “I know you…like me. I just think maybe…” He swallows, casting his eyes away. Finding sudden interest in the pattern on the white linoleum floor. “I just think, you know. That I like you…differently than you like me. More, maybe.”

“This is about the date.”

It's not a question. 

Steve doesn’t deny it because he can’t. 

If he wasn’t terrified of spilling his guts with your bandmates right on the other side of the door, likely eavesdropping, he would explain that yeah. It is about the date. 

Because Steve wants you and he knows you want him, too. Can feel it in the way you kiss him with hungry lips and a desperate tongue. Feels it in the way your hips always roll to press his long fingers further into you. In the way you cry out his name and beg for just a little bit more every single time. 

Steve knows you want to fuck him. 

And he wants to fuck you just as badly. 

But he also wants to come home to you every night and make you dinner. He wants to find out what your favorite flower is and go to ten different stores trying to find it. 

He wants to act all silly when you try out a new hairstyle, dramatically falling to his knees. And he wants to learn to restring your guitar and wants you on his arm at the end of every one of your shows, your biggest and most loyal fan. 

He wants to take you out on dates. 

He wants to fall in love with you. 

And for whatever reason—you’re keeping him at arms length. Close enough to touch, far enough away that he can’t reach you. 

Your voice is gentle when you ask, “You understand why, don’t you?”

His brows shoot up, and he tries his damndest to keep the frustration from his voice. “Uh—to be honest? No. No, I don't.”

“We’re not compatible, Steve,” you say, the words sharp enough to make a blow right between his ribs. “I mean, seriously. What do you think will happen? If we do this, if we go all the way—there are only two roads here. The first is the one where you come on the road with me next year. You come to every show, you follow me around the world, always off to the side. Never the center of my life, because my life is the center of yours. And ten years from now, you’ll realize you have nothing but me. No friends but my friends, no home to your name, nothing that doesn’t exist without me. And one day you’ll wake up and resent me for it.”

His stomach turns. “And road two?”

You inhale a slow breath. “Road two is that I quit music to stay here with you in Hawkins. I leave behind everything I've ever loved. I leave the family I’ve created here in my band, they have to find a new guitarist—”

“—They could never replace you—”

“And we build a life together. A house with a white picket fence and six kids, Steve. Because that’s what you want. And ten years from now, when I remember the things I've lost, I'll grow to resent you.”

He sees a little clearer now. Recalls the late night conversation you’d had on the phone where he’d confessed that all he wanted from life was a family and a full house.

The picture you paint is bleak. A lose-lose situation. 

His eyes begin to burn. 

You take his hands in yours, holding tight. “I like you, Steve Harrington. More than you think. But I like you enough that I want you to be happy, and I'm sorry but I just…I don’t know how I could give that to you.”

He wants to make an argument. Wants to tell you that this is all hypothetical, that there’s still the option of long distance. Wants to tell you you’re wrong. This isn’t doomed. It's not.

It’s not. 

But he doesn’t get a chance to before your drummer is pounding on the bathroom door. “Alright, lovebirds! Can you fuck a little faster? I would like a shower too!”

You don’t talk about it again.

Not in Indianapolis, not on the drive home, not on the phone the following day.

Because when you call, Steve doesn’t pick up.

He lays in bed in his parent’s big empty house and listens to the phone ring and ring and ring.

You stop calling after the third day of radio silence.

Steve doesn’t know why it feels like a breakup. Worse, even, because you didn’t reject him. Didn’t dump him, didn’t say your feelings have changed or that you don’t want him.

If anything, you’d shown the opposite. Casting longing glances at him the whole way back to Hawkins from the passenger seat, like there was something on the tip of your tongue you wanted to say but you just didn’t have the courage. 

He thinks it would be easier if you had rejected him. If you’d just said, ‘yeah, actually, I’m not interested. Sorry!’

When he’s tired of moping in his own bed, Steve goes to Robin’s. 

Gives her a word for word recount of the entire weekend, laid back on her mattress instead of his own. Tells her about the bar fight and running from the cops and how you’d looked like a fucking angel sent to him from God himself with those streetlights reflecting in your eyes. Tells her about the conversation in the bathroom and how it all stemmed from a stupid thing he said over a month ago.

Steve wants Robin to say he’s being crazy. Wants her to encourage him to go to you, to smooth things over. Because that’s what he wants to do.

Instead, when he’s finished, she lets out a long breath and says, “Well, that really sucks. But you can’t exactly change her mind, you know?”

His brows furrow. Steve props himself up with his elbows and asks, “So, you think I should just…let it go? Cut my losses?”

“No, I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that to me, it kinda sounds like she’s made her mind up. She only sees those two options, and I swear I don’t mean this in a bad way or anything but…she’s never really struck me as someone who could be swayed, you know?”

Steve rolls her words over in his mind for a few seconds, seeing the truth in them. You’re headstrong. Determined. Sure about what you want in a way Steve has never been until that first time he’d seen you.

Robin’s eyes are filled with this look of pity that would make him uncomfortable, if she were anyone but his very best friend.

“Do you think she’s right? Those are the only two options for us?”

She shakes her head. “Not at all,” she says, certain. It provides him with a shred of relief. “I think you guys could work things out between traveling and distance and whatever else life throws at you. But I think it would only work if you both were trying to meet each other halfway. And…” her voice softens. “You deserve that, Steve. Someone who tries. I know you like her. I do, too. But don’t lose sight of that.”

He hates that she’s right.

Still, Steve gives her a sad smile and says, “Thanks, Rob.”

They spend the day watching shitty action movies and eating nothing but microwave popcorn and milk duds. Robin conveniently puts on all the movies Steve has mentioned are his favorites, but he’s not presumptuous enough to mention it. 

It works at getting his mind off you. For a little while, anyway.

He falls asleep at some point in the middle of Top Gun and wakes up to the title screen’s music replaying and Robin snoring beside him.

As quietly as he can, he cleans up the mess of snacks and turns the VHS player off before slipping soundlessly outside, making sure to lock the front door behind him.

The sun has set and the chill of the night seeps into his bones on the drive home, even through his black hoodie.

Steve realizes, in a moment of sudden, quiet clarity, that he’s already in love with you.

It didn’t take a date for his feelings for you to evolve into something more. It’s already happened, without his knowledge. Right under his goddamn nose.

But Robin’s right. He can’t force you to change your mind. Can’t talk his way into evolving your feelings, too.

Steve will cut his losses, but he won’t cut you from his life. He doesn’t have the strength to. Not anymore.

He’ll still go to every one of your shows and sing along and he’ll still help with setup and tear down. He’ll still take care of your bandmates and defend your name when it’s said beside an insult in another man’s mouth.

He decides, tomorrow, he’ll return your calls.

But when he pulls into the driveway to his parent’s still-empty house, Steve sees he won’t have to.

Because you’re sitting there on the steps of his front porch, elbows resting on your knees.

The anxiety-inducing thought strikes him that he looks a complete fucking mess.

Wearing sweatpants and a hoodie and a backwards trucker hat because he hasn’t done his hair in days. Unkempt and disheveled. And God, even knowing he shouldn’t, Steve wants to look his best for you.

He pushes the thought aside and puts his car in park, turning off the engine. He climbs out and rounds the front and is a little comforted by the fact that you’re not wearing fishnets or a tight skirt or a low cup top like usual. Just in a pair of jeans and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt and a leather jacket.

Steve freezes when he’s close enough to see the mascara smudges down your cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head. “Nothing’s wrong, I just came here to see if…I don’t know. To see if maybe we could talk?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. Of course we can.” He nods and moves closer, taking your hand in his, surprised by the frigidness in your fingers. “Christ,” he hisses, bringing them to his mouth to warm them with his breath. “How long have you been sitting out here?”

You laugh like it’s nothing, but he can see the slight shake in your shoulders. “Not long,” you say.

Steve tugs you to the front door and looks over his shoulder at you as he unlocks it. “How long is not long?”

“Uhm…I don’t know,” you shrug, interlocking your fingers between his. Holding tight. “Just a few hou一”

“Hours?” You don’t even get the word out before he’s clicking his tongue. “Jesus. I’m sorry. I was at Robin’s. C’mere.”

You let him pull you up the stairs and into his room. A bit messy, but lived in. Just about the only room in the house that is.

“Sit,” he instructs, nodding to his unmade bed.

You do, and Steve makes quick work of fluffing his comforter and wrapping it tight around your shoulders.

He sits beside you and takes your hands in his once more, rubbing them between his own, trying to generate heat through friction. His voice is soft but careful as he asks, “So, what was so important that you froze outside my house for several hours? Are you okay? Did something happen?”

His stomach turns with the possibilities, his mind automatically finding the worst of them. Another bar fight or a police encounter you couldn’t outrun or worse.

“No, I’m alright. Kind of. I, uhm…” You tear your eyes away from his, letting out a heavy, frustrated sigh. Your knee bounces anxiously, and Steve realizes he’s never once seen you so unsure of yourself.

He places his big hand on your thigh. “Hey,” he says, concern etched in his brow. “It’s just me. You can tell me anything.”

You take your hands from his hold and press the heel of your palms against your eyes, smearing your makeup further. Fighting whatever it is on your mind.

Steve wraps his fingers gently around your wrists and pulls your hands away. “Don’t do that,” he murmurs. “Don’t hide from me. Just…just talk, okay? And I promise I’ll listen.”

You search his face for a few moments, assessing, likely trying to find an ounce of disquiet.

But you come up empty.

And then, finally, the words come pouring out of you all at once.

“Steve…God. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Last week in Indianapolis I was being selfish. I didn’t give you a chance to even speak. I just had it all made up in my mind that this could never work out and all I could focus on was the bad things that could happen. I didn’t even think about all the ways it could work or—or even try to find a way. And I wanted to apologize as soon as I said it but thought maybe I’d just wait, you know? Until we could talk, just the two of us. But then you wouldn’t answer my calls and I started to think that you’d changed your mind and now you don’t want anything to do with me and—!”

“Okay. Breathe, baby.”

You do, taking in a shaky breath and exhaling slowly. Once, and then twice. 

“First of all, I would never not want you in my life. Do you understand? I mean you…I—I love being around you. I mean it.”

A soft smile graces your pretty face, and it grants Steve more ease than he cares to admit.

“And secondly…you were right. Both of those roads you talked about, yeah. It sucks, and I mean, like—so fucking bad. But the truth is, those are both possibilities that could happen. But they’re not the only ones.”

You nod, eyes going all watery the longer he speaks. Your voice cracks on the word as you say, “Yeah, I know. I was just scared, Steve. What I feel for you…I don’t know. It terrifies me. I don’t know how to do any of this.”

“So we figure it out,” he suggests. “We take it one day at a time. Make decisions as they come and not because of things that may or may not happen ten years from now.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want? You do know that, like, every statistic is stacked against us?”

“Fuck statistics,” Steve says, an edge in his voice. “God, I failed that class anyway. Who cares?”

You laugh, your smile reaching your eyes now. You look so beautiful that Steve’s heart pinches tight in his chest. He silently wonders if that feeling will ever go away, and secretly hopes it doesn’t.

But as your laughter fades, that sad seriousness returns. 

“What if this is all just a waste of time?”

Steve shakes his head. Reaches up to cradle your cheek in his palm and feels himself relax the moment you melt into his touch. “No second I spend with you is a waste,” he says, and means it.

You shift closer, your mouth a breath away from his as you admit, “I don’t know how it’ll work. But I’d like to一to try. With you.”

You deserve that, Steve. Someone who tries.

God.

It feels like his world tilts on its axis, the same way it had that first time he saw you up on that stage. His needs, his wants. They all become perfectly, crystal fucking clear.

Steve’s hand on your cheek moves to the back of your neck. He pulls you in and kisses you hard, kisses you like he’s starved for your affection because he is. His tongue finds yours, eager and hungry, drinking in the taste of you.

You moan softly against his lips when he bands an arm around your middle and pulls you onto his lap. Your hands find the nape of his neck, scratching lightly, fingertips pushing into the curling tendrils of his thick hair. His name leaves your lips in a breathy exhale, perfect and sultry and all his.

He pulls you closer, closing every last inch of space, your breasts pressed up against his chest.

And then you speak again, firmer this time. “Steve,” you murmur. “Steve, wait. Hang on.”

Reluctantly, he pulls his head back, admiring the misty look in your eye. The way your pupils dilate and your breath comes fast and uneven. But he can tell, even before you speak, that there’s one last thing standing in the way of you and peace. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

Your voice is timid in a way he’s never heard before when you ask, “Do you…do you love me?”

Steve doesn’t lie. Doesn’t see the point in it. Not anymore. “Yes. I do.”

“Okay.” A shaky, long-held breath leaves your lungs, and he feels the tension bleed from your muscles. “Okay, good. Because I think I might love you, too.”

“Holy shit.” 

He doesn’t mean for it to slip out. Truly. But it does anyway, and you immediately chastise, “Steve.”

“Sorry,” he says. But the wide grin that stretches across his face sort of ruins the sincerity of his apology. “Sorry, but…holy shit. You love me?”

You scoff and say, “Actually, I changed my mind. I take it back.” But he knows you don’t mean it, because you’re wearing a mirrored smile and giggling all the while.

“You love me,” he says. Not a question. “Oh my God. This is一I mean this is just. This is fucking great.” He takes his hands off your hips and falls back into the sheets, elation making his head feel all fuzzy.

With your hands pressed to his chest, you lean forward and say, “Don’t let it inflate that ego of yours, Harrington.”

He laughs. “Oh, it is far too late for that. Everyone’s been calling me loverboy but the whole time一the whole time it was you, too! I mean, how often does a groupie get a love confession?”

“Jesus Christ,” you grumble, rolling your eyes dramatically. 

Steve is so baffled, and maybe a little starstruck, that he doesn’t even notice when you slide off his bed, and kneel on the floor between his legs. His mind is running a hundred miles an hour, trying to process, trying to regulate his excitement.

But it’s no use, because you love him.

“My girlfriend’s a fucking rockstar,” he muses, a little bit disbeliving. “And after those shows she’s gonna come find me at the bar. Me. And I’ll already have a vodka cranberry waiting for her, of course. ‘Cause, you know, I’m just chivalrous like that. And it’ll be icy cold. Just how she likes it.” Steve leans forwards suddenly, taking your jaw between his thumb and forefinger. “And you know what else?”

He watches your eyes darken and tries, very hard, not to pay attention to the way your greedy hands tug at the waistband of his sweatpants. “What else, loverboy?”

Steve smiles a wolfish sort of grin. Confidence both restored and revitalized with your confession. “When I fuck her on the sink in a bar bathroom, I’m gonna make her tell me she loves me with my dick so deep inside her she’s choking on it.”

Your lips part in surprise, and Steve takes the opportunity to slide his thumb into your mouth.

He chuckles low at the way you immediately take him, lips wrapping tight around the digit. He presses down against your tongue and you moan like it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

Steve thinks you look so pretty like this, giving up all that control you like to keep an iron grip on. His headstrong, rebel girl out there. But here, with only him?

Oh, you’re just a pretty thing. A dirty little girl who needs to be taken care of. Sweet as sweet can be.

All it takes to flip the switch in you is a couple of nasty words and the touch of his magic hands.

Steve would be happy staying just like this. And he thinks you would be, too, considering the way you moan around his thumb, sucking hard, drool beginning to collect at the corner of your mouth. 

But the throbbing ache of his cock won’t allow it.

With his free hand, he pushes his sweatpants and boxers down in one fluid movement, kicking them away. His cock bobs back against his abdomen, hard as stone, a bead of precum leaking from the tip. Your eyes snag on the movement as he takes his cock in his hand and begins to stroke it slowly.

You press your thighs together and whimper as you watch him touch himself. 

Steve laughs. “Oh, baby. It’s okay. I know. Here.” He keeps his thumb in your mouth, hooking it around the bottom of your jaw, gently leading you closer, guiding your mouth to him. “Stick out your tongue.”

You do as instructed, your breath warm as it hits his hand.

Steve taps the head of his cock on the tip of your tongue, transfixed at both the seductive sight and the wet sounds that reverberate through his room.

When you try to suck him into your mouth, Steve pulls back with a click of his tongue.

“Can’t get right to it, greedy girl. Where are your manners? You gotta kiss it first.”

You don’t hesitate. Pressing your lips to the underside of his cock, lips wet with drool, leaving spit behind as you work your way down his length with purpose. His blood sings in his veins, the feel of your mouth electrifying.

When you press one final kiss to the base of him, you flatten your tongue and drag it all the way back up to the tip, sending shivers down his spine.

“Christ,” he hisses. “Good job, baby. Now you can have what you want.” 

You anchor yourself with your hands on the middle of his thighs and take him into your mouth, slow at first.

Steve sighs at the sensation. Your tongue is warm and wet, swirling around the tip. He lets you lead, stroking your hair back away from your face. You swallow him down, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking hard. 

The inside of your mouth is velvety smooth, surrounding his cock, granting him reprieve, ratcheting his pleasure higher and higher with each slow bob of your head. When you sigh contentedly around his length, Steve feels the subtle sound at the base of his spine. 

“Look so fuckin’ cute right now,” he tells you between gasping breaths. “If I knew you wanted my dick in your mouth this bad I would’ve fed it to you weeks ago, baby.”

His tone is sweet, but there’s an underlying condescension there, too. A perfect balance of caring and cruel, a concoction made all for you. 

You’re sucking him in earnest now, trying hard to fit just one more inch behind your kiss-swollen lips. But Steve’s big—cock thick and heavy, and your eyes begin to water as you look up at him.

“You want some help, pretty girl?”

You nod in response, humming in approval. 

Steve threads his fingers through your hair, big hand splayed wide on the back of your head. He takes hold of the strands and carefully pushes your head down and rolls his hips up simultaneously, thrusting deeper into your mouth. 

It’s blinding. You feel so fucking good that darkness begins to cloud his vision. Steve does it again, groaning low, fucking into your mouth without shame. 

Drool coats his cock and leaks down your chin, allowing him to press deeper until your breath gets caught and you’re all teary eyed and gasping. But you don’t complain for even a second. You only look up at him with so much reverence and allow him to use you as he pleases. 

His perfect, filthy girl.

Steve knows he won’t last long. Not like this. You feel too good—mouth too warm, tongue too wet, lips too soft. But he can’t bring himself to stop, not until he feels release pressing at the edges of his psyche, creeping closer and closer with each thrust.

He’s one flick of your tongue away from shooting his load down your throat when he pulls your mouth away, spit stringing and making a mess in the space between you. 

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Look at you.” Steve pulls you forward and presses his lips hungrily to yours, tasting himself on the tip of your tongue.

You moan into his mouth and he can’t hold back his smile.

“Stand up,” he orders. And you obey, wordlessly, awaiting further direction. Steve thinks there’s no one in the world who could turn him on like you do. You’re so obedient. Hanging on to his every breath, seeing and feeling nothing but what he allows. 

It makes him feel like the most important thing in your life. And good fucking God, he thinks he’d be a fool if he didn’t take advantage of it—of you—while you freely hand every ounce of control over to him.

“Take off your clothes,” he says, leaning back with his elbows pressed into the mattress. 

Steve watches you with rapt attention as you follow his instruction, starting with your jacket first. You peel it from your shoulders and lay it on top of the dresser pressed up against the wall, kicking off your leather boots next.

You cross your hands over your torso, grabbing hold of the hem of your t-shirt, and pull it over your head. Beneath, you’re wearing a leopard print bra that rests perfectly against the swell of your chest, making you look every bit the seductress you are.

His cock throbs, desperate for attention, and Steve doesn’t deny himself of it. His eyes stay glued to you as he takes it in his hand, his length still slippery and slick with your spit, and strokes slowly, careful not to squeeze too hard, keeping a tight leash on his pleasure.

You push your leggings down your thighs, revealing pretty red lace, and Steve groans at the sight of you. “You’re so pretty,” he says, delighting in the easy flush that crawls up your cheeks. “Keep going.”

When you reach behind your back to unclasp your bra, your breasts fall free from their confines and Steve swallows hard. Your nipples are peaked, goosebumps rising over the soft skin, the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. 

Or at least it was. Until you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your panties, slowly tug them down, and Steve watches as the wetness of your arousal clings to the lace, spiderwebbing until the stickiness snaps.

He feels it low in his gut. A visceral reaction to the fact that you want him, and just as badly as he wants you.

“Oh, sweetheart. It’s okay, I’m gonna take good care of you. I promise. C’mere.” Steve extends his arms out and you walk right into them like it’s second nature. He presses a tender kiss to your belly, just above your navel, and tilts his head back to look up at you through his lashes. “My perfect girl,” he whispers, hands wandering over the soft expanse of your hips, pawing at your skin. 

You push his hat off and smooth your fingers through his messy curls. “Please touch me,” you plead, voice all breathy and desperate. “I want—God, Steve. I want you so fucking bad.”

“Yeah?”

You nod in response, and whine when he sticks out his tongue and licks a line between your breasts, spine arching into him, thighs squeezed tight. “Yes.”

He wishes he could draw it out longer. Wishes he had the strength to. 

Instead, Steve gropes at the pillowy flesh of your ass and slides off the edge of the mattress, elbowing your thighs apart to make room for the broadness of his shoulders. 

Without warning, he presses a wet, open mouthed kiss right to the center of your cunt, trying to practice what he’s only just finished preaching, despite the overwhelming urge to jump right to fucking you with his tongue. Steve kisses you again, right over your clit, and this time you spread your legs of your own volition.

“God, Steve.”

He kisses you there once more, adding the smallest amount of pressure. He pulls away only long enough to lick your arousal off his lips, groaning low at the sweet and sultry taste. “You’re so wet,” he says, breath fanning across your warmed skin. “Say please, sweetheart.”

“Please.” The word is so quick and desperate in your mouth that it makes his cock twitch.

Without a moment more of restraint, Steve surges forward with his tongue out and slides it between your syrupy folds. He finds your clit with ease and stays put, rolling his tongue over it. Back and forth, back and forth, a steady rhythm that has your hands in his hair pulling tight.

“Oh, God. That’s so good, fuck.” You lean forward, using one hand on the mattress to balance yourself as you set your knee on his shoulder.

A groan rumbles in Steve’s chest as he watches you squirm, hips rolling, trying to chase the friction. He sinks his fingers into the softness of your hips and sucks your clit into his mouth, feeling it pulse beneath the tip of his tongue. 

He curls his bicep around your thigh, reaching between your legs from behind with his middle and ring finger. He flattens them and slides them through your cunt, teasing at your entrance but not pushing in.

Steve pulls away, your clit slipping from between his lips with a lewd, wet sound. He does so only to suck in a few greedy breaths and say, “Want you to come for me, baby. Just like this, okay? Want you to use me. Can you do that?”

You whine, squeezing your eyes shut. “But what if I hurt you? I don’t want—”

“Hey.” His hand on your hip softens, thumb stroking gentle circles instead. “That’s not gonna happen.”

“How do you know—?”

“I trust you,” he says with no room for discussion left in his tone. He means it. He does trust you. With this, and with his heart. Is fully aware that you might break it one day, but Steve will only feel privileged because either way it’ll be touched by you. He says again, a little softer. “I trust you.”

You look down at him, still poised between your legs, head back against the edge of the bed, eyes searching. And then you sigh and say, “Jesus Christ, Harrington. You’re going to fucking kill me one day, you know that? And I think I’d let you.”

Steve knows it's a submission of a whole new kind. More than obeying his filthy orders, more than confessing your feelings. 

It's an acceptance that yeah—he might break your heart, too.

But you would let him. 

Steve feels high on the realization that in all his obsession, in all his yearning, you’ve been secretly right beside him all along.

He kisses the inside of your thigh, hoping you can feel the love in his mouth. 

And then he pushes those two fingers inside of you and licks a long, deep stroke through your cunt. You curse lowly and he takes it as direction, sucking your clit back into his mouth, tongue laving over it. 

His fingers press against the softest spot inside of you with the kind of precision only someone finely tuned to your pleasure could.

Your hips roll, finding a shaky rhythm, pretty sounding moans cutting through the air. 

Steve flattens his tongue, giving you as much surface area to work with as he physically can, and fucks you with his fingers while you chase release. 

He knows you’re close when the soft walls of your pussy squeeze tighter with each perfectly timed thrust of his hand. You curse and whimper his name and it’s so fucking beautiful that Steve hums low in his chest, the sound vibrating through your core. 

Your pace picks up, growing sloppy as you grind your clit against his soft, wet tongue. “Steve,” you choke out. “Steve, I’m gonna—”

He doesn’t give you the chance to finish your warning before he’s pressing his face harder against you and sucking your clit into his mouth once more, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. 

It hits you hard—vision blurring, skin tingling, ears ringing. Your brain doesn’t process much else between euphoria and him. 

He doesn’t stop. Keeps the steady rhythm of his fingers as he pumps them in and out of you, tongue wetly circling your swollen, needy bud. Steve takes your pleasure more seriously than even his own, heightening the sensation with lasered focus until your thighs begin to tremble around his head. 

You fall forward, bracing yourself against the mattress, shoulders shaking with each shallow breath.

It makes Steve laugh. He slides out from beneath you and turns, laying his cheek on the small of your back and inhaling deeply, taking in the sweet scent of your skin deep into his lungs. “I know, baby,” he soothes, hands running up your sides. “It’s okay. M’right here. Just breathe with me for a second.”

He leans back, delighting in the sight of you; hair splayed around your head, eyes closed and a sleepy, fucked-out look on your face. His perfect, angel girl.

Steve commits the shape of you to memory, knowing he’ll never see something even half as breathtaking. It would be so easy to get lost in the moment, lost in you, but Steve makes sure to keep himself grounded because he never wants to forget this moment. Wants to savor it. 

He strokes the back of your thighs and grabs at your ass with both hands, spreading you open for one last taste, sliding his tongue through your slick and chuckling low when your muscles tense up at the sensitivity. 

“Shh, m’sorry. You just taste so fucking good.” He crawls up on the bed and over top of you, hovering just long enough so you can turn over to face him fully. 

The moment your eyes meet his, a bashful smile creeps up your face and your cheeks twinge a darker shade. “Hi,” you whisper.

Steve laughs, your joy mirrored on his own face. “Hi, pretty girl.” He cradles your face between his big hands, thumbs ghosting across your cheekbones. He kisses the tip of your nose once, just basking in you for a moment. Letting himself have you the way he’s always wanted. 

You’re the one who moves first, tugging at the hem of his hoodie. 

He leans back and tugs it over his head, discarding the fabric at the end of his bed. When he comes back to you, arms braced on either side of your head, Steve positions himself so his cock slips between your legs, sliding over your clit. 

As if on instinct, you wiggle your hips to find an angle where he could just slip in. But Steve holds firm in his restraint, though the feeling of your softness against where he aches the most makes him shudder. 

He kisses your forehead sweetly. “That what you want? Hm?”

“Yes,” you answer, certainty laced between each letter. You still move your hips, eyes focused on the place you’re so nearly connected, trying so hard to take him inside. “I want—you. I want you.”

The words are like music to his ears. He drops his head against your shoulder, perseverance withering. But he wants more—wants all of you. “Say it again,” Steve urges, voice softer and more desperate sounding than he’d intended. And when he speaks again, it comes out like a plea. “Tell me you love me.”

You thread your fingers through his hair, pulling lightly, forcing him to look into your eyes. And then you say with more conviction that he’s ever heard, “I love you, Steve Harrington.”

With one careful roll of his hips, Steve presses his cock inside of you. Fills you up until you’re gasping, memorizing the look in your eye as your body adjusts to make room for him in it. 

You’re so tight around him. Hot and soft and perfect. Steve lost his virginity long ago, but you make him feel as if it’s his first time. He groans lowly, giving you time to settle, for the crease between your brows to smooth out. Gives you time to feel every thick, pulsing ridge of his cock. 

Steve nudges your jaw with his nose, kissing the hollow of your smooth throat. “I know it hurts, baby. M’sorry. Are you okay?”

You answer with a timid nod. “Yeah, I just…I feel so full, Steve. Fuck. I didn’t know if it was gonna fit.”

“Of course it fits, sweetheart. This pussy was made for me.” He grabs the back of your thighs and hikes them up over his waist before reaching a hand between you. Steve is extra careful this time when his fingers find your swollen and sensitive clit, rubbing in smooth, gentle circles, encouraging you to open up a little more. “My perfect girl. Mine. Say it.”

Steve pulls out almost all the way, and slowly pushes back inside. Deep. Touching parts of you only he ever has. “Yours,” you cry out. “God, I’m—I’m yours.”

“Yeah you are,” he taunts, voice a stark contrast to the way he touches you. Soft and sweet, laying kisses against your jaw, your mouth, your collar bones. He circles your clit and rocks his hips against yours, leaning down only long enough to swirl his tongue around one of those pretty, peaked nipples. 

You’re a moaning mess of a girl beneath the heavy weight of him. Soaking up all that pleasure, all those greedy, possessive strokes. Your DNA feels like it’s changing, unspooling at his touch. Your mind goes blank and there’s nothing before or after Steve fucking Harrington. 

He picks up his pace when he feels the muscles of your thighs relax at his sides. Fucks his cock into you a little faster, groaning all the while, trying to control his breathing and failing miserably. 

“I’m your girl,” you say, tone all shrouded in bliss. 

It’s going to be his undoing, those three words.

“Come for me, baby,” Steve urges. “Wanna feel it. Give it to me.” 

Your clit throbs beneath his fingers, and he feels the walls of your cunt pulse around him. Steve knows you're right there. Knows, too, that the moment you fall off the edge he’ll follow you. He can feel it now—sparks of electricity skittering down his spine, bliss replacing all rational thought in his brain.

You scratch lightly at the back of his neck, spine arching off the mattress.

Steve presses his mouth to yours, kissing you all slow and sloppy, murmuring between each breath. “My girl,” he says. “So pretty. So fucking sweet. I love you so much, baby.”

He thrusts into you once more, and then he feels it—the shuddering of your thighs, the shake in your shoulders, the tightness as you squeeze around his cock. 

“There you go,” he praises. “That’s it. Yeah, just like that.”

Steve fucks you through it. Holds you close and swallows up your moans like oxygen. The wetness of your arousal creates pornographic sounds with each heavy trust. His rhythm quickly grows sloppy, uncontrolled.

He pulls out of you with just enough time so slide his cock through your slick heat and spill his release onto your belly. The pressure of his body laid against yours is enough to make him ache. Sticky, white ropes of come splatter across your skin as he grinds against you. 

Once he’s finished, Steve lets out a long breath and collapses over you, his energy spent. 

Soft giggles fall from your lips, fingers moving to trail lazily up and down his spine. Neither of you speak for several moments, basking in the afterglow, simply feeling the intimacy of bared skin and bared souls. 

Steve thinks he’d fall asleep squishing you if he’s not careful, leaving you uncomfortable beneath him. That thought is the only thing that moves him. He pecks your lips and says, “Don’t move a muscle.”

No sooner than he can stand, you’re propping yourself up on an elbow and asking, “Where are you going?”

He disappears out of the room and into the hallway, finding a cloth from the linen closet and wetting it a little under the bathroom faucet. 

“Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to ignore someone, Harrington?” Your voice carries down the hall, and Steve can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of his lips. 

“I’m coming,” he calls back, hoping this is as far from you as he’ll ever have to be again. No longer at arms length, but instead nestled right between your ribs, only a room away. 

Your voice is full of playful mirth as you ask, “Again? Jesus. Who knew you had stamina like that?”

Steve laughs and shakes his head. When he returns to his room, he sits besides you and begins to clean the mess from your skin. 

“Here I am, doing exactly as you ask just so you can go jerk one out in the bathroom,” you tease, clicking your tongue. “I mean, seriously. Who the hell even am I anymore?”

“You’re my girl,” he says. “And—you know, the tongue is a muscle too. So you’re definitely not doing what I ask. You’re moving it an awful lot, actually.”

“Didn’t hear any complaints earlier.”

Steve rolls his eyes and tosses the towel into the hamper in the corner of the room. He extends a hand to you, pulling you forward just enough to tug the comforter back. 

He climbs into the bed and you nestle up to his side like it’s right where you belong. Your fingers are cold as you wrap them around his bicep, and when you speak your voice is a lot different. Less playful and more apprehensive. “So, what now?”

“Now, we just…we figure it out together. Day by day if we have to. If that’s what it takes,” he says. And then more lightheartedly, “And I’m definitely taking you out on that date.”

You laugh, but this time there’s no argument to be had.

Several moments pass in comfortable silence. It stretches for so long that Steve thinks you might’ve fallen asleep. 

But then you say, “We go on tour in March and we won’t be back until summer. Do you think you would want to…I don’t know. Maybe…come with us?”

It’s a long time. A lot to consider.

Steve’s mind is clear enough that he knows he should take some time to mull it over. To really weigh out the pros and cons. 

But he knew what his answer would be the moment the words left your mouth.

He presses a kiss into your hair and promises, “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

✰ fangirl!robin who realizes you're so much more gorgeous in person.

✰ fangirl!robin who freaks out when you look at her from the stage. did they look at me? oh my god, oh my god.

✰ fangirl!robin who gets so nervous, practically fumbling every word when she gets to ask you a question during one of the segments where you talk to the audience.

✰ fangirl!robin who thinks it's a prank when you have someone from your team ask her backstage to talk.

✰ fangirl!robin who is a blushing mess when she steps into you tiny dressing room.

✰ fangirl!robin who realizes you're so much cooler than she orignally thought after talking to you for a bit.

✰ fangirl!robin who almost passes out when you give her your number.

✰ fangirl!robin who sits on her bed that night, staying up late, just replaying everything.

✰ fangirl!robin who is too scared to text you first because what if you regret it?

✰ fangirl!robin who yelps and almost drops her phone when she sees the notification that you texted her.

✰ fangirl!robin who texts you back immediately and then doesn't stop texting you from that point forward.

✰ fangirl!robin whom you've grown a soft spot for, against your manager's advice.

✰ fangirl!robin who was crushing already, just falls even harder the more she gets to know you.

✰ fangirl!robin who doesn't know how to react when you invite her over to your place for dinner.

✰ fangirl!robin who kisses you and immediately regrets it thinking she messed up but is surprised when you pull her back in for another kiss.

✰ fangirl!robin who eventually becomes your secret girlfriend, because your manager doesn't think it's wise of you to date a fan.

✰ fangirl!robin who proves to you every day that her love for you is more than just fan admiration.

✰ fangirl!robin who doesn't admit it but hates having to be hidden, wanting to show off your relationship.

✰ fangirl!robin who heart does a backflip when you tell her that you're gonna go public with it.

✰ fangirl!robin who supports you at all times and shows up to every show.

"God, I'm actually invested"

Real Life--

"And I wake up in the middle of the night," i strummed the chord progression, adding space for the unwritten lyrics, "'cause youre not here."

The time on my phone read 2:43 am and the recording ran below; I should be asleep, but the memory of him kept me awake.

The cool night brushed past my cheeks. It was a typical warm night in Canada, even warmer inside the bar. My friends and I found a table on the back patio, tucked under thick greenery and fairlights that glimmered like the stars above. As the night ticked by, our table got quieter and quieter as everyone slowly left; somone had a flight to catch, a partner waiting on them, an early morning audition, ect., ect. until I was left alone. It wouldve made sense to turn in and get some sleep, but I couldnt tear myself away from the scenery.

My glasses was half empty when a voice cut through my thoughts, "anyone sitting here?"

I looked up to see a guy who seemed to fit the tall, dark, and handsome stereotype with perfectly styles black hair and a soft smile, "its all yours."

"I'm Hudson," he reached a hand out and I took it happily. I liked the sparkle in his eye.

I sign and end the recording, it helped put some more pieces into place but I was still missing a bridge, still not accepting all of the thougths swirling in my head. In my head...

It's my first night back in NYC since my canadian aventure, but it all feels different. The traffic noise and bright lights seem quiter, brighter. I picture my own trip home, and suddenly a soft smile from the bar creeps in...

I scribble down the lyrics quickly while softly singing them to the tune I worked out, "in my head / you're in the car and / you get to my door." The jump start was all I needed; suddenly memories washed over me. I pictured our quick banter across that quiet bar table, him walking me back to the hotel, the exchaging of numbers, and every dark haired guy I hoped was him for the rest of our trip. On that random page in my journal, a whole song took shape and I scribbled "Risk" is messy letters on the top.

Instagram--

ynln posted a story!

caption: always making magic with these two @/finneas @/billieelish

replies:

billieelish

😝😝😝

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yes Yes YES

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1 2 3 release it

iMessage--

Real Life--

Hudson sat across from me, surrounded by dark red brick and illuminated by the sunlight from the front windows. What nether of us notice is we've been sitting across from one another for almost 3 hours without a care. This is nice, he is nice. And genuine. And funny. And interesting. And cute. And-

"Whatcha thinking about," he asks. We lock eyes and I feel a warmth was over me, bringing an honest answer out.

"Does this count as a good first date?"

Without hesitation he says, "yeah it does."

"Why?" Ismile.

"Because I forgot I was trying to impress you." We hold eachothers gave from across the table, not rushing to do or say anything. Just being present as Y/N and Hudson.

"Privacy sign on the door / And on my page and on the whole world"

Real Life--

Somewhere deep inside Taylor Swift's home I curled into a vintage couch, It was a chilly nights after smaller charity event. Big names have floated in and out of the room all nights, checking in, bringing drinks, taking a break from the booming speakers; but myself, Jack Antonoff, and Pheobe Bridgers took permanent residency in the quiet.

"I'm telling you, that albums a breakup record," Pheobe argued. I tear my eyes away from the friged pillow I zoned out on, realizing I had no clue what album they were even arguing over. That seemed to be my theme for tonight: desperatly try and act like my normal self while pathetically drowning in love. Husdon and I haven't been in the same city in far too long and it started to weight on me. It was riddiculous, I'm a musician who goes on tours and private writing trips, its never bothered me to be away from a partner before. Until now. And I'm terrified.

"It's all branding," jack responded. All the albums spoken about tonight flipped throughout my head, "Y/N back me up." Shit.

"I think..." I paused no album had been notably a break up record, "people hear what they need to."

"Such a songwriter answer," jack scoffed but smiled. He saw both sides of the bussiness, sometimes I'd argue thats a curse.

Pheobe studied me, "you're somewhere else."

"Am I that obvious?"

"Only to the people who know you," thank God for Pheobe Bridgers. I opened my mouth with an attempt to explain, but my phone interuppted. Thrown on the coffee table, the ringer cut through the quiet and a photo of Hudson illuminated the screen. I felt my mouth curl into an involuntary smile.

Jack and Pheobe shared a look before he started, "don't tell me thats him."

I was already standing, pulling the jacket tighter over my shoulders, "I'll be right back." I didn't hear their chuckled as I made a beeline for the grand glass doors at the back of the room. Outside, the still air felt suffocating.

That was until a soft, "Hey rockstar," cut through it.

"Hey babe! What's up?"

"Press is done! I'm offically free!!"

I giggle at the pure excitment and relief in his voice, "freedom looks good on you."

"So do you," oh! Someones bold tonight.

A laugh bubbled from my chest; a real laugh, not the rehersed ones I've been giving all night, "I miss you."

"Yea, me too," we settle into a comfortable silence. I hear the barely there music from inside, some people laughing around the front of the house, and Hudson's slow breathing. God he's so close, but so far. All of the sudden, the door next to me opens and Jack and Margret Qualey wave goodbye as they exit. In the few seconds it took the door to close, a loud laugh rang through the night, "where are you?"

"After party at Taylor's," I answer with a sigh.

"Taylor as in Swift?! I don't know if I'll ever get used to your friends literally being stars," we both giggle, "you having fun?"

"Not really."

"You wanna come here?"

In a moment of bravery I answer "yes."

Silence fills the call, "you're serious."

"I can be on a flight tonight," I pause, worried I went too far.

"I can be at the airport to pick you up," I smile to hard my cheeks hurt.

The rest of the night turns into a blur of goodbyes, Detla bookings, and getting shot a knowing look from Pheobe behind the group of people who now surround her.

Instagram--

ynln posted a story!

caption: taylor ily

replies:

hudsonwilliams

I can't wait to see you!

Me either!!

user1

you are on a plane and still working on music?? Diva

hudsonwilliams

liked by connorstorrie, rachelreid, user54, and 928,083 others

hudsonwilliams babe wake up another episode of Heated Rivalry dropped!! Hope y'all had fun watch parties too :)

tagged: connorstorrie, heatedrivarly_offical

heatedrivarly_offical ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

connorstorrie room for one more??

hudsonwilliams practiced my arch just for you 😉

user1 omg hudson is soft launching???

user2 this was NOT what I was expecting today

user3 and theyre watching HR?? Whoever he is with is more secure than me bc wdym our romantic night ends with me watching you get cracked by a russian hockey player??

user4 not them cooking dinner together thats adorable

user5 God its me again 🙏🙏

load more

Real Life--

"You're a bear?" I question holding up a small stuffed bear, wearing a custome made Shane Hollander jersey. It was sicking out of a half open bag he left sitting by the door.

"It was a gift from a fan," he smiles, "the show has picked up quite a following."

I turned the bear in my hands, "they're very talented." He nodded to my statment and went back to setting up the couch for our watch night. I took the time to walk into the makeshift office he had set up in his apartment. Lots of the space was taken up by a place for self tapes, but I noticed he had a couple of shelfs with various decor pieces: photos from his prevous works, old scripts, and a fake plant. My eyes stopped when I came across a pristine baseball cap with my signature stiched across the front. It is one of my favorite merch pieces I've ever sold and he owned it. I tuck the Hollander bear right next to it.

"You ready?" Hudson calls from the other room. I give the scene one last smile before heading back to the living room.

~~

"Falling asleep on me are we?" Hudson softly chuckled. We'd finished the newest episode of Heated Rivarly and some new movie, my eyes were getting heavier and the walk to his room seemed impossible.

"Yup," I joke, snuggling closer to his chest, "night bear."

I felt him stir below me, so I lifted my head. He was staring down at me with sparkling eyes and a tired smile, "did you just call me bear?"

"Maybe."

"It that a thing now?"

"If you want it to be," I offered suddenly getting shy. I tried to lay my head back down and avoid his gaze, but Hudson gently turned my face back to his and sat up.

"Yes," he smiled, "I want it to be." Then he kissed me in a way that rivaled whatever him and Connor had come up with.

Instagram--

ynln

liked by jackanotoff, user83, pheobebridgers, and 829,290 others

ynln cheap wine, make believe its champagne 🥂🧸

tagged: no one

pheobebridgers 👀

jackantonoff ‼️

user1 guys wtf

user6 ugh gorgous

user2 WHO? WHAT? WHERE? WHEN?

user3 does ANYONE know who tf is in vancouver that Y/N would be seeing ??

user4 how did no one notice this??

user8 was she not just in NY for that charity event?!?!

user5 the bear emoji???

user7 we have a lot of catching up to do

load more

"I hate to look at your face and know that we're feeling different"

Real Life--

It's too hot in my bedroom, too still. I'm lying on my back, listening to Hudson scroll through TikTok; I open my own app and hope for the distraction. It's been a solid 30 minutes of opening and closing numerous apps to fight off the ugly, black insecurity swirling in my head.

Turns out, that was a futile effort. Two videos in and I see an edit of Hudson and Sophie Nelisse; clip after clip of them looking like the picture perfect couple. Classy, elegent, polished. I can't be mad, we both agreed to keep this private so its no surprise fans would shamelesly pair him with female costars. Yet, I blurt out, "people really like you with her."

"Who?" Hudson asks, rolling onto his side so he is closer to me. A small part of me felt better, he's right here with you. I turned my screen towards him and let the edit play. Hudson frowns, "oh... that's not..."

"I know," I cut in quickly, "I promise I know."

I stare ahead, praying for him to come closer. I should've planned that better, hell plan that at all. I should've just asked him to move closer, should've just scrolled passed the edit and the others shipping him with Connor. I should look at him now rather than staring ahead. I choose wrong and do nothing.

Hudson keeps his gaze locked onto the side of my face for a few long moments. I can tell he's unsure whether to lean into me further or give me some space. He chooses wrong and does nothing.

~~

It is suffocatingly dim in this bathroom. I look at the deep yellow lights around me and feel a yearning for the loudness outside of these doors. I'm currently dressed head to toe in the most put together gown I've ever seen. Gracie Abrams insisted I come to the Golden Globes with her and Paul, so she wouldn't be "out of place and alone." The couple managed to find someone Paul was friendly enough with to get them to bring me in as a date, poor guy I should really remember his name.

Hudson is here too, in an elegent white top, matching blazer, and black pants. He fit in so well and looked like he always belonged. Me? I was a mess. Not literally, I can see that clearly. Look back at me in the mirror now is my face, with perfect eyeliner and a face that was airbrushed on. I missed my smudged look. My dress was perfect too, a white satin like material with small black detailing. I matched Hudson enough to make us both giddy.

I start to cry when the door swings open, "Hey- are you ok?"

I whip my head to see Gracie, picture perfect and fitting in perfect all night. I wish I could hate her, "you are perfect."

"What?" She questions. She's now made her way over to me and is gently cradling my head, careful not to mess up the ballerina bun styled there.

"You are just so perfect, in here, out there, hell everywhere. I'll be lucky if I can ever pretend to feel normal."

"Aww baby," she coos, "you are perfect out there. You fit into the scene like a glove."

"Maybe," I contemplate, "but I feel like a poorly made puppet who jokes too loud."

"Maybe we've gotten some looks, but I promise the tables around us just have a stick up their ass," she jokes. I can't help but giggle.

"I guess."

"Don't guess, know!" She exclaimed turning to walk into a stall, "take a minute, because when we're done we're showing all those stuck up actors how musicans do award shows!"

I laugh and agree, but deep down the feeling never goes away. I'm loud, I don't do stuffy award shows, and I definitely don't look like I belong.

~~

The bright sun is slightly dimmed as it shined through the tinted windows. I was dropping Hudson off at the airport; he landed a brand new role but would be relocating to Japan for an extended time. I was beyond proud of him, but that dark, cruel feeling inside spread.

"I hate that I feel like this," I sigh, "I'm happy for you, promise. But I just feel..."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm competing with something I can't see," I admit. People always describe getting something off your chest as a relief, but I feel like crying, "your job. Your life. My job. My fans. Expectations."

My voice cracks as I pull into a parking spot. Hudson unbuckles and leans over to hold me. Its awkward and honestly makes me feel worse. I stop struggling and go quiet for a moment, "And?"

"And the version of me that doesn't exist."

"You're not competing," he whispers into my hair. I know he means it.

"I know, that's the worst part," I yank out the bun I carefully styled. It looked like those classy actress papparazzi photos, but who am I kidding. We sit there while I calm down. Neither of us know how to fix this, so we sit until its time for him to go, then we walk inside hand in hand.

~~

The venue smells like beer, sweat, and dust. I can already feel it sinking into my clothes, I love it. It's a much smaller venue than I expected DJO to still be playing at, but I can't say I'm mad. I scan the room, Finneas and I are standing in a makshift VIP section DJO's team hooked us up with, and take notice of all his fans packed into the small space.

The lights dimming breaks up my train of thought, all praises I have for his fans are replaced with the opening chords of "Awake." It hits like a pulse deep in my chest. This is home; a dark room, loud music, sweaty fans, and no expectations to feel anything other than electrified. "Basic Being Basic," "Gap Tooth Smile," "Fly," and many more songs blur by. I try in vain to keep up with all of the loyal DJO fans, but they make it impossible. By the time he starts "End of Beggining," my shoulders are loose and my head is waving wildly in the air.

"Another version of me, I was in it / I wave goodbye to the end of beginning," DJO sings out.

You don't feel like this in his world.

Woah.

I feel the pit in my stomach open up, I didnt mean to let that thought slip in. It's not cruel, or dramatic, but I don't want it. But then again, when I imagine Hudson's award shows, and fancy quiet dinners I can't help but agree.

Around me the song crescendos and all I can focus on is, "you take the man out of the city, not the city out the man."

Our break up won't be panic, it'll be relief.

That scares me even more.

~~

The night passed in a blur, and I know it's my own selfishness that drove me to end up here, in some NYC resturant, with Joe Keery. Part of me is desperatly trying to see how he handles the two worlds, but some deep part of me wants to live in the loudness he just created on stage.

"You survived," Joe comments.

"Barely, you were so loud."

"I try," he looks down before continuing, "you disappear into shows like that."

"Only place I can get my brain to shut up."

"You belong in rooms like that, by the way. Rooms where it's too loud to pretend to be anyone but yourself."

I look down and start playing with my ring, "no one pretends at concerts."

"What?"

"No one pretends at concerts," I say louder, "no one has energy. Musicans are too lost in their craft to worry about a front that doesn't fit, and the fans they're too into the show they're waited months for to waste a second with an act."

"You have a tour soon, right? It seems like its time to get back in the saddle," Joe says, moving around th booth to get closer to me.

"Be careful, you'll give me ideas," I whisper to him.

"I'm very good at that."

I notice how much closer he's gotten to me and clear my throat, "this isn't weird, right?"

"Nah, its just dinner," he sits back into the booth, "unless you want it to be something else.

I can feel the storm inside me rumbling, my "old" life that feels like it happened 10 years ago is rushing back quickly, "I don't know what I want yet."

"Then we won't name it," he barely locks his eyes with mine, "it's so stuffy in here. Wanna leave?" A small smile breaks out on my face.

We split the check and walk out together. My head is spinning while we explore the city that never sleeps.

Instagram--

ynln posted two stories!

caption: (1) sending bear off :( have a great shoot 🇯🇵 (2)a little night out

replies:

mayahawke

hope you enjoy the show 😉

so far so good !!

user1

bf reveal when??

user2

omg thats DJO!! I saw you there!!

Real Life--

The strings of Finneas's guitar sing as he tunes the instrument; I decided his current song needed an acoustic guitar in the background. He doesn't even look up when he says, "You've been staring at the wall for a while."

"I like the wall," I reply, too deep in my own mind to come up with something better.

"You hate the wall. Always say the color is to sterile for a studio."

I sign and lean back into my chair, "I think I'm ruining something good."

The plucking stops and I see his head raise, "ok. Start there."

"I love him, with my whole heart. But lately, it feels like I'm always catching up," I rub my face with my hands, "I'm desperatly trying to catch up to his life, his world. I can't even fathom introducing him into mine when I'm such an outsider in his."

Finneas nods and ponders my words for a moment. Eventually he says, "That's not nothing, but..."

"I know," I finish, "I hate that I'm insecure. I hate comparing myself to the headlines and the fans and the versions of him that aren't real. And I hate that I can't click with his world; with the audtions, and filming, and press. It's so far from me."

"You're allowed to feel weird about dating someone in a different career. And you're allowed to be thrown off about dating someone the internet thinks that they own," he speaks slowly.

"I don't wanna be the reason things get heavy."

"You are not a burden for having feelings and insecurites; but Hudson needs to know. Always playing catchup is not love, its endurance."

"I don't want to lose him," I confess, barely above a whisper.

"And you won't, but you need to be honest. Y/N, you deserve so much and forcing all this inside prevents that. I've known you as long as you've been in this industry and I've seen you shrink yourself to fit into other's lives more comfortably. Let this be the relationship that fixes that, be yourself now."

~~

The phone rings exactly three times before I hear the line connect.

"Hey! You caught me between things," Hudson chips.

"Yeah," I looked at my watch, it's noon in Japan right now. "I figured."

There's a long pause, then, "What's going on?"

"I don't belong in your world," I say with an exhale. Theres a stretch of silence where Hudson is trying to process my words, "Everything around you is so finished, so polished. Every story is already decided."

"That's the job," he says confused, "but you don't need to be like me."

"Hud, I'm loud, I'm messy," I struggle to hold back a sob, "I show up to places with chipped nail polish and lyrics written on stolen napkins."

"That's what I love about you and Y/N I'm not asking for you to change."

"I know," I snap. I take a deep breath before continuing," but someone will. I see the rooms you exist in and I'm too much. Too loud, too unfiltered..."

There's an immposisble stretch of silence. I hear shuffling on the other end of the line and then a door quietly click close. Below me, late night NYC traffic continues its noisy musical, "I wish you'd told me."

"I didn't want to sound ungrateful."

"For what?"

"For not feeling like your love is enough."

Hudson lets a shakey breath slip, "so what are you saying? Are you breaking up with me?"

"I have no choice."

"What about us?"

The words get stuck in my throat and my tears freely fall now. Come on L/N, "I love you. We love each other. That doesn't fix incompatible lives. I need to get back to me."

"I need you," he chokes through sobs. I don't move to say anything, I don't even know what to say. Hudson starts again, "so this is it?"

"For now at least," I offer.

"Goodbye."

"Bye."

~~

It's been hours since our phone call ended. Half an hour ago I got a text from Hudson, just a small "you still have your drawer." It broke my heart to see him still care, still want me. It broke my heart even more to know I still cared too.

As the night ticked by into early morning, a page of my notebook filled up:

"...And dow the road, you will love me until you resent me... what if I'm not worth the time and breat I know you're saving... I hate to look at your face and know that we're feeling different... and part of me wants you back, but I know it won't work like that..."

It's all a mess that kind of resembles a song, if you really squint. I fill in a few in betweens, but it all feels empty without a bridge. I sigh and lean against the side of my bed. Around the room, I can see him. His shirt draped over my chair, a chunk of my closet filled with clothes that aren't mine, and what hurts the most are 2 pairs of matching sneakers. His larger ones propped up against mine. I think back to Hudson's place, I'm pretty sure I left even more. Hundreds of more ways to trace back to me. My guitar and my heart grow into one, and suddenly I've bleed out:

"I'll open up / I'm thinking everything you wish I wasn't / The call was tough / But you're better off, I'm being honest / So you won't stop / Holding out for me when I don't want it?/ Just brush me off / Cause I'm your ghost right now, your house is haunted"

Off to the side of thr page I scribble, "u know it won't work", before crawling into bed and crying until the sun rises.

"I was thinking I could fly to your hotel tonight"

(wanna read the time skip? Click here!)

Instagram--

yn_spotted

liked by user4, user93, user3, and 629,920 others

yn_spotted after their messy arugment last week, our favorite situationship is back! I'm pretty hopefull it will stick this time and maybe we'll even see them attatch a label!

tagged: ynln, djotime

user1 and not even half an hour after this was posted new papp photos released of them fighting again and on the phone crying to someone

user2 we can never have nice things can we??

user3 can we please bring back the bear era of soft posts, happy Y/N, and sappy love songs

user4 girl gtfo with that boring ass energy

user5 lmao i love how the fandom is so divided on this issue

user6 no fr like half wants stable Y/N back and the other half wants to watch her burn every bridge ever

load more

IRL--

The hotel lobby is all polished stone and glass, it all feels too clean, too relfective. All of the sudden, my worn converse and wrinkled clothes feel out of place. A ding from room catched my attention and out of the elevator walks Hudson, his hair has grown out and he looks broader.

He looks up and we hold eachother's gaze, and just like our first date we became just Y/N and Hudson. I almost chuckle at the absudity of it all, he made me feel less out of place with just a look.

"Hey," he whispers stepping forward. Hudson stops abruptly, not assuming acess and that restrait almost breaks me, "you're really here."

"I am," the lobby around us hums. Mummurs of English, Japanese, and other languages float around us, the instramental music plays from the speakers, and luggages wheels scrap against the floor.

"You ready to," Hudson gestures back to the elevator, I nod and allow him to lead me to his room. When we get there, he holds the door open for me, just like he always did.

And in just a few minutes, its over. Our first moment is over and I don't feel fireworks but a calm sense of hope.

~~

Several hours and a delicous dinner later, Hudson and I are walking along the glowing streets of Kyoto, it was the perfect night. We were able to catch up, filling the space between us with stories about tour and his project.

"As much as I hoped, part of me thought I'd never see you like this again," he confesses.

"I didn't either, but I finally stopped running."

"From me?"

"From me," i take a deep breath in, "I didn't immedatly click with your world. So instead, I decided I needed to change myself, and when that didn't work I let my insecruties get the better of me and bailed. Hudson, I'm so sorry."

"You never had to do that," that understnading hurts worse than if he'd just yell at me.

"I messed up after we broke up."

Hudson chuckles, "I know. You're not subtle."

My cheeks warmed up and I looked down in embarrassment, "I thought what I wanted was unpolished, but I really just wanted something that I didn't need to try for."

"And now?"

"I want something real. Something hard. Something that involves you."

Hudson instictivly reaches for my hand but stops halfway. My hand shoots out to grab his, "I'll meet you wherever you are."

Instagram--

ynln

liked by ashe, user54, jackatanoff, and 938,029 others

ynln do you got plans tn 🧸

tagged: hudsonwilliams

hudsonwilliams glad to be back baby 🤍

ynln glad to be taken back 🤍

jackatanoff all is right in the world?

ynln all is right 🙂‍↕️

user1 BEAR IS HUDSON FREAKING WILLIAMS?!?!?!

user2 LIKE THE STAR OF HEATED RIVALRY?? Y/N why have you kept him hidden for so long??

user3 my bisexual ass has been simping over thier relationship without realizing it for months

user4 goodbye messy Y/N

user5 it was fun to while you lasted

user6 what i wouldnt pay to be a fly on the wall...

load more

iMessages--

ynpiastri

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, yourbandname and 373,936 others

london are we ready!!!!!

*tap to load more comments*

userone: YESSSSSS

usertwo: she’s so pretty

nicolepiastri: i raised two very diffrent children

oscarpiastri: she’s definitely dad’s daughter

chrispiastri: ☺️👍

ynpiastri: love you both

userthree: piastri family reunion

userfour: yn supremacy 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

landonorris: see you in london 😉

oscarpiastri: you wish

ynpiastri’s story

[caption: where’s my hot rockstar bf]

story replies:

oscarpiastri: thank god non existent

ynpiastri: let me feel love

oscarpiastri: no

landonorris: im no rockstar but i’m a pretty good driver

ynpiastri: i’ll think about it

ynpiastri

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, yourbandname and 827,372 others

london you were a dream

*tap to load comments*

userone: IT WAS SO GOOD

usertwo: yourbandname supremacy

landonorris: no you were

oscarpiastri: get out of my little sister’s comment section

landonorris: "how about no"

ynpiastri: you came?

userthree: LANDO SAY “YOU CALLED” RN

landonorris: couldn’t miss a gig in my home country now?

ynpiastri: ☺️

oscarpiastri: i don’t like this

userthree: i ship already

userfour: isn’t she dating her bassist?

userfive: not everyone dates their bassist

lie detector test with oscar piastri and lando norris

twitter

ynpiastri

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, yourbandname and 948,826 others

second leg of tour soon - who likes the new badge and shirt my 'friend' got me 🤭

*tap to load more comments*

userone: she’s so real for that

usertwo: i was there!!

userthree: she’s amazing

oscarpiastri: do i have to remind both you and your friend that our parents are on this app?

nicolepiastri: too late osc, too late.

userfour: i love their family

userfive: never change yn

landonorris: facts

usersix: WHAT

userseven: LANDO

oscarpiastri: i just threw up my breakfast

ynpiastri: 😉

usereight: lanyn is happening before our very eyes

usernine: i bet you that 'freind' was lando

twitter

ynpiastri

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, yourbandname and 963,234 others

seven thousand miles away...

*tap to load more comments*

userone: aesthetic queen

usertwo: getting in touch with nature after that last lando commenrs

userthree: WHAT IS THAT SECOND PHOTO?!

ynpiastri: new album cover! 😇

userfour: who IS IT!

carlossainz55: oh i know those abs

userfive: arianna what are you doing here

usersix: we just got confirmation of carlando and lanyn in one day.

oscarpiastri: please stay in aus and never come back to england

ynpiastri: "how about no"

twitter

ynpiastri

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, yourbandname and 958,356

my english love affair - stream now available on all platforms!!

*tap to load comments*

userone: they broke the internet with this one

usertwo: THE WAY SHE ANNOUNCING THAT THEY FUCKED HELP

nicolepiastri: thank you for letting me know you had a boyfriend through social media daughter

ynpiastri: no worries mumma

landonorris: i apologise mrs piastri

userthree: her and oscar are polar opposites and i love it

userfour: oh i know they be having the best *** of their life.

landonorris: hot 😩

You had always been used to the spotlight. As the lead guitarist of Lunar Eclipse, one of Korea’s rising star rock bands, you had a fair share of viral moments. Most of them showcasing your electrifying performances and cool stage presence, some are funny clips from your livestreams or even variety shows. But lately, the internet seemed to love something else even more.

You and Park Seonghwa.

It had all started months ago when fans noticed your adorable on-stage interactions. From Seonghwa subtly headbanging during Lunar Eclipse’s set at a festival, to you singing along to Ateez’s songs when she thought no one was watching, the internet had gone wild.

Not to mentioned when Lunar Eclipse and Ateez were invited to do a variety show together, the show went popular just in few days, between your group's loudness combined with Ateez's chaotic energy, fans begin to notice the subtle interaction between you and Seonghwa.

From the way you share a few glance at each others, the subtle skinships when you both think no one is looking, but of course unfortunately for you both—the cameras that have been set on the studio caught all of them, making the fans go crazy.

Even before any of your agency officially confirmed your relationship, fans were already calling you the rockstar x prince couple. And when both of your agency finally announced that you both are dating, the reactions had been surprisingly and overwhelmingly positive, people absolutely adored you guys together.

Tonight, you aren't performing. Instead, you were one of the MCs for a major award show along side Myung Jaehyun from BOYNEXTDOOR, a new challenge for you but something you were excited to try.

The show was going smoothly between the amazing performances of multiple groups, Jaehyun have been an amazing mc partner, with his extroverted personality and positive energy makes you feel alot more comfortable and less nervous.

What you aren't prepared for, however, was how weak you would become watching your boyfriend on stage.

Ateez delivered a breathtaking performance, as expected. The crowd roared with excitement as they executed their intense choreography, their charisma filling the massive venue. But then came the ending fairy moment, something that had become a staple in K-pop performances.

The camera zoomed in on Seonghwa, his gaze piercing and smoldering as he stared straight into the lens. His plump lips curled into the faintest smirk, a sheen of sweat on his skin making him look even more ethereal. He tilted his head slightly, fingers brushing his jawline in a move so effortlessly seductive that the crowd erupted in cheers.

And unfortunately for you, the camera also zoomed in on your reaction.

your eyes widened in pure shock, jaw dropping, and breath hitching as you visibly struggled to keep your composure. A second later, your expression melted into something almost comically lovesick, your lips pressing together in a desperate attempt to suppress a smile, cheeks burning with undeniable affection. you quickly covered you mouth with the cue card on your hand, but it was far too late.

The internet had already seen it.

Within minutes, clips of your reaction flooded social media. Fans were losing their minds.

username_01

“NOT Y/N FALLING FOR HER OWN BOYFRIEND ON NATIONAL TELEVISION LMAO”

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“She looked like she got hit by a truck named Park Seonghwa”

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“ 'yo did i really bagged that baddie??' ahh reaction💀"

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“This is the cutest thing ever, she’s literally all of us”

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why is she staring at the camera like we did that to her on the last second lmao 💀

Hashtags like #YNLovestruck, #HwaEffect, and #PowerCoupleGoals trended within the hour. Even Ateez’s official account joined in on the fun, posting a blurry screenshot of your reaction with the caption: "Even the MC couldn’t resist… Who can blame her?"

On the backstage, as soon as the segment ended, you groaned dramatically, burying your face in your hands.

“I’m never living this down.”

A familiar chuckle made you peek through your fingers. Seonghwa stood before you, still slightly out of breath from performing, but his smile was soft and utterly amused. “I saw the clips already,” he teased, tilting his head. “You think I’m that stunning?”

you huffed, crossing your arms. “Please, you knew exactly what you were doing.”

He grinned, stepping closer to gently tap your chin. “Maybe. But I like seeing you flustered.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, your heart raced as your boyfriend steps closer to you. “Congrats,” you muttered, “now the entire internet knows I’m down bad for you.”

Seonghwa leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Well… lucky for you, I’m just as down bad for you.”

And just like that, your face burned even hotter.

The internet would definitely have a field day with this one.

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @superlegend216, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @rory-cakes, @friedfreyfries, @azure-drag0ness