#70s track au

[janesociety]

i wish i was an editor bc i would so love to make an edit of the movie stardust to the song star star by the rolling stones

#like it fits so well #i have so many ideas #it could also work for a regular marauders edit #BUT #imagine it as a marauders fame au edit #these are not even wild ideas i just think about them all the time #this is gonna sound crazy but the number of edit ideas #that i have to fall out boy songs is concerning #like imagine one to the bishops knife track where it’s like the end of the war #in the 70s and like everyone’s sad and dying and it’s big and dramatic #oh to be an editor #janie rambles ⋆｡°✩

[darkhopping]

no fear [the phenomenon where sexymen get a cambrian explosion of nonsensical aus made about them but for like. metafoundation characters] one fear

#also ilse would have to keep track of them all and i dont wanna do that to her #imagine being trapped in a box for 70 or so years and a couple decades later #u have to endure ur coworkers getting hit with the au sansification beam #foundationposting

[duhnova]

Cry-Baby | Choi Seungcheol

synopsis. decked out in leather and riding a harley davidson like he’s got business with the devil, choi seungcheol was the talk of your small town. everyone looked down on him and when you come home for the first time since starting uni you find it hard to believe that the pouty lipped kid you tossed off the merry-go-round when you were six was some slick haired delinquent. 

pairing. biker!choi seungcheol x fem!reader 

word count: 4.9k

genre. fluff, angst, opposites attract, drama?, kind of college au

warning(s): mentions of parent death, mentions of parent illness, alcohol, let me know if i forgot anything!

this is apart of a 90's collab! you should check out everyone elses fics! - there might be a smutty & more angsty part 2 to this if there’s enough interest! also huge shoutout to @onlyhuis and @onlymingyus for proofreading for me, ily guys <3

When you left for university three years ago you never wanted to return home, the small town always made you feel claustrophobic. But now you’re sitting on a train, about an hour away from your childhood, the sony walkman you got as a graduation present from high school sat in your lap as you listened to the same nirvana cassette on repeat. 

The nerves of being home began to get to you as the familiar views of the old trailer park that sat outside your town came into view. An old pickup truck that adorns the same white and blue paint of your best friend's truck drives down the road that travels along the train tracks and it makes you wonder if it’s him coming to meet you at the station.  

“We’ll be arriving at the station within the next five minutes.” The worker smiled at you as she continued down the aisle of seats to tell the other patrons of the cart that the train will be stopping for a couple minutes at your stop before embarking to the next station. 

You put your walkman in your pocket so that you aren’t scrambling to gather your things when the train stops. Just as you got your backpack situated the train jolted a little as its breaks screech to a stop. 

“Ladies and gentlemen we have reached our next stop.” The worker's voice is drowned out by your music as you stand up and grab your suitcase before hopping out the door with the worker's help in lifting your bag down. 

“Thank you!” You call out and wave as the door closes and the train takes off again, no one else got on or off. 

“Y/N!” You hear a familiar voice call from behind you, the roar of a diesel engine brings a certain comfort to you that you haven’t felt since you left. 

“Gyu!” You call out with a smile on your face, the change in his appearance being more shocking in person than you thought it would be, having only seen him in pictures he sent from the crappy disposable cameras he and his friends like to use. All the work he’s been doing on his family's ranch has paid off as his muscles glisten with dirt and sweat. 

“I’ve missed you cherry pop.” He hugs you tightly as you laugh at the nickname he gave you years ago because you always had cherry lollipops on you. 

“I’ve.. missed you too.” You choke between laughs and the way he was squeezing you a little too tightly. 

“Sorry,” He laughs as he lets you go to grab your suitcase instead. “Are you hungry? It was a long travel day for you.” 

“I could eat.” You smile as you take your headphones off to let them rest around your neck as you follow your best friend to his truck that was still running and emitting a gross smell of diesel. 

“Great, let’s go to pops diner.” He lifts your suitcase over the side of the truck bed like it was nothing before he opens the door for you to get in. The leather of his seats were warm from his heater that left the cabin toasty unlike the train car you had been sitting in almost all day. 

“How are you?” You ask about the owner of the diner who was well into his 70’s at this point, his restaurant having been open for almost five decades at this point.

“He’s doing good, got his hip replaced last summer,” Mingyu shifts the car into drive after he reversed out of the spot he parked at. “Still kickin, Cheols mom still works there too.” The mention of your old childhood playmate makes you smile bittersweetly. The last time you two had talked was before you left for college and he seemed angry about everything in life and he took it out on you leaving a sour taste in your mouth and the lack of communication between the two of you over the past few years.  

“That’s nice, how is she doing? I remember last you told me she was in the hospital for something.” Mingyu sighs a little from beside you.

“Yeah she was, took me forever to get anything out of Cheol about it but she’s doing good now. Or so I’ve been told.” Seungcheol had always been hard headed and he’d rather talk about other people's problems than his own so it didn’t surprise you that Mingyu had to dig for some type of answer from him. 

“Is she working today? I’d love to see her…” Your voice trailed off as you thought about the lady’s son, who you desperately wanted to see as well but how you left things made you hesitant.

“Not today, she’s off for the weekend.” You nod, mumbling that it’s nice that she takes the weekend for herself. 

“I know you and Cheol had some blowout when you left but I’m going to see him later after I drop you off, if you wanna come with you’re more than welcome too.”

“What’re you two doing?” Mingyu was surprised you didn’t immediately shoot down his offer, he thought it would take more convincing.

“We’re going to the river for a bonfire with Jeonghan and Wonwoo.”

“They’re home too?” They had both left for college around the same time you had.

“Yeah, they come home every break they can.. Unlike someone I know.” He laughs lightheartedly. You huff quietly, unsure of how to respond. How do you respond anyways? You never wanted to come back, memories weighed heavy on your heart and the only thing keeping you to your hometown was the friends that resided in it.

“Hey,” Mingyu's voice softens. “I get it, you got out when you saw the chance and I’m proud of you.” 

“Thank you.” Your voice was just as soft as you watched the familiar scenery zip by. A nice silence fell between the two of you as he focused on driving, the train station sitting a couple miles out from the town you used to live in. 

“The bank sold the house by the way.” Mingyu broke the silence, a nervous sweat settled on his forehead as he broke the news to you. 

“About time.” You sigh, another weight you didn’t realize you were holding lifted off your shoulders. “Less for me to deal with now.” 

“You’re not upset?” Mingyu looks at you out of the corner of his eye. 

“No,” You sit up straighter and begin picking at the hem of your jacket. “My father was a drunk with thousands of dollars of debt he owed the bank so I’m not even surprised they sold it to make back what they lost and then some I’m sure.” 

“At least an actual family bought it instead of some corporation.” Mingyu tried to lighten the mood. “They just moved in and they have a newborn and a cute dog that I think you’d like.” 

“What kind of dog is it?” You side eye Mingyu, appreciative of the fact he moved on from the sensitive topic so quickly. 

“A corgi, they said it’s a black tricolor… Whatever that means.”

“It’s the fur color, it’s mainly black with a little bit of brown and white?”

“Yes! See this is why you went to college, you’re smart as hell.” You shake your head with a smile on your face. 

“You’re smart too, Gyu, and not going to college doesn’t affect that.” He shrugs as he slows his speed down after approaching the edge of town. 

“If you say so cherry pop.” Just as he pulled up to the first stoplight the roar of a loud engine could be heard from a distance. 

“I bet that’s Cheol.” You look at Mingyu confused before your question gets lost once you see the helmet less Seungcheol sped by on a motorcycle you had never seen before, his once dark hair was bleached blonde.

“That’s Cheol?” You asked as you watched him disappear down the opposite street you and Mingyu turned down. 

“Yeah, he changed quite a bit since you left.” That was an understatement as Seungcheol looked as big as Mingyu, maybe bigger if you dared to think.

“I can see that, can’t believe he bleached his hair.” 

“He did that pretty recently actually, said he needed a change and decided the worst that could happen is his hair would fall out.” 

“He’d look good with a buzz cut.” Mingyu laughs at the thought causing you to laugh too. 

“You should tell him that tonight when we hang out, I guarantee he’ll either blow a gasket or take you seriously and actually cut his hair off.” 

“He would drown me in the river first before he’d listen to me.” 

“I don’t know cherry pop, you were very influential to him for a long time. Remember how he did your bidding all throughout elementary school?” 

“Yeah cause I tossed him off the merry-go-round at recess and he decided he was scared of me until junior high.” 

“I think we were all scared of you after that,” Mingyu puts the car in park after pulling up to the diner. “The older kids wouldn’t mess with me either because you scared them too.” The fact Mingyu is younger than you by two years makes you question reality as he’s much bigger then you now and has been since junior high. 

“Still wild to think about.” You laugh as Mingyu hops out the truck to run over and open the door for you, he’s never allowed you to open your own door since he started driving. 

“Oh, I guess Cheol’s mom is working today.” Mingyu closes the door behind you and puts the key in the handle to lock it as he stares at the familiar woman through the window that was taking someone’s order. “Someone must’ve called out of work today.” 

The two of you walk to the front door together, making small talk about anything and everything. Seungcheol’s mother greeted the two of you with a smile and handed you two menus once you sat down. 

“It’s good to see you sweetheart.” She smiles widely at you, she was always like a second mother to you growing up especially after you mothers untimely passing. 

“It’s good to see you too, you look great.” You smile warmly, despite any animosity you might feel for her son right now you will never be able to hate this woman. 

“I’ll start you two off with some water?” You both nod, prompting her to walk away. 

“So how’s the ranch?” You scan the menu, already knowing what you want but wanting to check to see if anything new was added. 

“It’s good, Cheol doesn’t work there anymore.” Mingyu doesn’t look up from his menu to see your surprised expression. “Mr. Johnson offered him a job as a mechanic after seeing the work he would do on the farm equipment.” 

“Mechanics suit him.” You smile at his mother when she comes back with your waters. 

“Do you two know what you want?” You both nod, letting Mingyu order first despite the look he gave you after you shrug and take a big gulp of your water. “Are you getting your usual sweetheart?” She turns to you.

“How do you remember what I used to order?” Your eyes widen.

“You’d order the same thing almost every time you’d come here since you were a kid and I’ve been working here longer than you’ve been alive so I have it practically engraved into my memory.” She laughs quietly as she takes your menus. “You and my son are the same in your consistency in ordering the same thing.” 

“Oh.” You could feel your face heating up at the thought. You’re happy she didn’t bother to push a conversation as she went to help more people that came in. 

“You and Cheol are as opposite as opposite can be.” 

“You don’t say.” You roll your eyes playfully. 

The banter between you and Mingyu continued on, even after your food came you both found something to poke — and trust me there was a lot to poke at that has happened over the past three years that couldn’t be conveyed over letters and the occasional call here and there. 

“We should head out now, get you to the ranch so you can clean up and rest before tonight.” Mingyu paid for your guy's food like the gentleman he is and held the door open for you as you walked out into the warm summer air. 

“Am I obligated to go swimming tonight?” Mingyu shakes his head. 

“You’re not but we’ll all be swimming so,” He hops into the truck after opening the door for you. “Just to be safe you might wanna wear your swimsuit.” 

“Got it.” You nod your head before watching out the window again, committing your old hometown to memory again. The drive to the ranch was peaceful and long, sitting a few miles out of town on the opposite side of where the diner was. 

Once you got to Mingyu's house and greeted his family and caught up, you went to the spare room upstairs to unload your bags and lay on the bed to unwind. A quick nap was sure to help the oncoming headache you got so after changing your clothes to be a little more comfortable you crawl under the freshly cleaned blanket and almost instantly knock out. 

A couple hours pass by before Mingyu is knocking on the door to wake you up, telling you the guys are heading to the river now and that you two need to get going soon.

Groaning quietly as you sit up in bed and stretch, it felt nice to not have to worry about anything as this is the first summer you decided to not take summer classes as you'd be graduating early after this upcoming fall semester. Getting up and taking your walkman out of your bag again you took out the nirvana cassette and put in green day instead, the music more uplifting and giving you an ounce of energy to put your swimsuit on and a pair of shorts and jacket to cover yourself. 

“How was your nap dear?” Mingyu's mother greeted you as you walked down the stairs, your friend standing by the door waiting (im)patiently for you. 

“Amazing, sitting all day in those train seats takes a toll on your back.” You take your walkman headphones off and half hazardously shove them into your jacket pocket. 

“Tell me about it, I can’t sit for too long now without going stiff.” She smiles warmly as she wishes you two well as you b-line to the door after Mingyu told you to hurry up. 

 “Couldn’t even give me time to say bye.” You grumble as you shuffle up to the truck where Mingyu was holding the door for you. 

“Sorry cherry pop, the guys are waiting for us and we still gotta get drinks.” 

“Why are we getting the drinks?” You buckle up and put your headphones back on, both of your tastes in music are dramatically different as he puts in a country cassette into the radio. 

“You’re home, they want you to get what you want instead of drinking what they like.” 

“They still drink that shitty dollar beer right?” Mingyu nods. “Then we drink the same thing, not much has changed as I still couldn’t afford the expensive stuff being at college.” 

“Great, that makes this run cheap.” The ride to the corner store was quick, the street lights lining the road leading from the ranch to town making the trees look ominous. 

Once you guys had secured the alcohol you made your way to the river. The long body of water stretched for miles outside of town in both directions, and the one spot you guys have always met up at since junior high was hidden away. You had thick bushes to climb through and poison ivy to look out for as it wasn’t a regular site on the river to be at. 

“Mingyu! Y/N!” Jeonghan called happily when he saw the two of you emerge from the bushes. The bonfire was already large and roaring while Cheol and Wonwoo were already in the water swimming. 

“Hannie!” You smile and hug him happily, he was always the least affectionate person so when he offered you a hug you always took it. 

“How have you been? It’s been years!” He pulls away from the hug to greet Mingyu while sitting down in his chair and pats the one next to him that looked to have been occupied by Seungcheol at one point based on the jacket hanging on it. 

“I’ve been good, college has been tough but I'm graduating a semester early.” You smile at Mingyu who hands you a beer before he sets the box down and makes quick work to strip down to his swim trunks so he can join the other two in the water. “How have you been?” 

“I’ve been great, graduating a semester later than I should've, but I took a light load last semester because I was back and forth to be here for Cheol while his mom was in the hospital.” you nod your head while taking a drink of your beer. You never realized that his mom being in the hospital was that bad. 

“Mingyu didn’t tell me much about her being in the hospital so I didn’t realize it was that bad.” You look out at the three guys who are currently climbing the rock in the middle of the river so they can jump into the water.

“He wanted to write to you, ever since you left it’s all he had been beside himself about but when his mother got sick he wanted to write to you even more.” Jeonghans voice was soft, nervous that the said male would hear your two's conversation and start hounding him for spilling the secret. 

“I wanted to write him too, but-“

“But you couldn’t, I’m not as hard headed as Seungcheol so I get why but I don’t get why you couldn’t have let him down sooner.” You sigh, this was a conversation you knew you’d have eventually as Jeonghan was Seungcheols best friend outside of you and he was the only one that knew about you two. 

“I wanted to, believe me it was never my plan to break things off the day I was leaving but I was selfish and didn’t want to let him go yet.”

“You are selfish,” You laugh quietly, thanking him. “But he’s selfish too, this town holds too many bad memories for you and he wanted to tie you to it when you finally had the chance to escape it.”

“You know, I asked him to come with me.” You took another sip of your beer, your eyes back on the blonde who seemed to feel you staring as he tilted his head back and gave you a bitter smirk. “When I first got the acceptance letter and I was on the fence about going, he wanted me to go but he also wanted me to stay and so I told him to come with me so I didn’t have to choose.”

“He never told me that.” Jeonghan opens up another beer and gingerly takes a sip of it. 

“I’m not surprised, I think he thought it was a joke.” You finally tear your eyes off of Seungcheol to look at Jeonghan. “After that I didn’t tell him I committed and just continued to relish our time together.”

“Y’know, he wanted you to go because this was your dream but he wanted to be a part of that dream and you keeping that from him and then cutting ties with him when you left is what broke him.” 

“I didn’t mean to.” You mumbled and looked down at your half empty beer can. “He was the one that told me that if I wasn’t willing to make things work then he didn’t want to hear from me.”

“Well he’s dumb,” Jeonghan takes another sip. “But so are you.”

“I know.” You close your eyes and sigh, letting your head lull back on the chair. 

“Are you going to talk to him while you’re home? It is the first time you’ve been home since leaving after all.” 

“This isn’t my home anymore.” You don’t bother to open your eyes as you take in the warm night air. This hasn’t been your home since you left and it hasn’t felt like home for far longer, the only thing (or person) that made you feel remotely anchored here was Seungcheol. 

“It was your home at one point, and I'd argue it still is because Seungcheol and the rest of us are here.” 

“Corny loser.” You mumble, a small smile cracking at your lips before you sit up straight. “I’ll talk to him, I promise. I had been prepping myself all week to mend things between us while I was here.” 

“Good.” Jeonghan smiles and downs the rest of his beer. “Now hurry up and finish drinking so we can go join them in the water before it gets colder.” 

“You’re going to die in that water, it’s too cold for you already.” You laugh before downing the rest of your beer so you can strip down to your swimsuit, making sure not to toss your walkman around too much. 

“I’ll manage.” He shrugs after taking his clothes off too before walking cautiously up to the edge of the water. He barely touches it with his big toe and he curses. 

“Told you,” You stand beside him and watch his reaction. “You just gotta go in as quick as you can.” You show him how it’s done as you take a deep breath in and hold it as you quickly walk into the water before you’re deep enough to dive under. 

“Show off.” He huffs before he follows in your footsteps, cursing the whole way up to his shoulders. 

“You did it han,” Wonwoo pats him on the shoulder. “You’re shivering already.” 

“It’s fucking cold and you’re all insane.” He huffs and starts to swim around a little, letting the cold water soothe his warm skin. 

“I think it feels good.” You had popped back up next to Mingyu who was standing with Seungcheol who was watching Jeonghan worried. 

“It does feel good.” Mingyu lets the water support his body as he starts to swim backwards, no longer being a wall between you and the ire of your freshman year of college. 

“It’s good to see you Y/N.” Wonwoo gives you a small smile before he also swims away, leaving you and Seungcheol alone and seeing the look on Jeonghan's face in the distance makes you believe that this was planned. He clears his throat when he seems to realize you two are alone.

“Um,” Is all he manages to say before you’re taking a deep breath and turning to look at him. 

“Hi Seungcheol.” He flinches at the use of his full name.

“Ouch, hi litt-“ He catches himself using the old nickname he had for you. “Hi Y/N.”

“God I hate this.” You can’t be bothered to hide the fact that the whole situation makes you sad and angry already, you missed him and he was right there in front of you and you were both acting like you wanted nothing to do with each other, which might’ve been true right after you had left but as time went on it faded into longing and anger at oneself.

“You hate this? How do you think I feel?” He crosses his arms and looks down at you. 

“Cheol I-“

“I don’t want to hear excuses.”

“Ok asshole I was going to apologize but not anymore.” You roll your eyes and turn away from him so you could swim away, the conversation you had with Jeonghan felt like complete bullshit now. 

“Wait,” he grabbed your arm to spin you back around, the water splashing violently at the fast movement. “I’m sorry, for everything.” It was rare that he’d ever apologize and right now it felt out of place as he had no reason to apologize at the moment. 

“I practiced how this conversation would go for weeks and this was not one of the ways I accounted for. You weren’t supposed to apologize first.” You look up at Seungcheol who was just staring at you silently now, his hand still holding tightly on your arm. “Seungcheol I-“

“Stop calling me that.”

“Stop interrupting,” You huff, the smallest smile forming on his face “I’m sorry for how I left things and for everything leading up to when I left.” 

“Y’know, I spent most of the first year you were gone blaming you, and then I started blaming myself until my mother made me realize that neither of us were to blame and then I spent the remainder of the time just numb.”

“If you stopped blaming me, how come you didn’t write to me?”

“You never wrote to me.” He sounded hurt and you were hurt too but you hated the pain in his voice and it caused you to move closer to him, hoping you could erase even just a hint of it.

“I’m sorry, there was never a time where I didn’t think about writing to you but your words kept playing in my head about how you never wanted to hear from me if I left our relationship behind.”

“It wasn’t much of a relationship then was it, we were just friends exploring each other,” That’s what you liked to tell eachother when you were in denial about your feelings. “I wrote letters, most of them are stamped and sitting in my desk drawer because I couldn’t bring myself to send them.”

“Yet you bought stamps for them?” You raise an eyebrow curiously. 

“Yes,” He huffs, trying to hide the ounce of embarrassment he’s feeling. “I’d get these bouts of feelings where I’d want to send them and I’d get all the way to the post office with a stamp on the envelope and the second I’d park I’d back out and go back home only to hide it away with the others.” 

“Cheol…” 

“I know it’s probably stupid and I’ll just burn them all now since you’re home and-“

“I’m not staying,” You cut him off for some reason. “I mean I’m staying for the summer but I’m going back home to finish my last semester of college so I can get a job at a vet clinic there.” 

“That’s ok, this time I promise I will write.”

“You should come with me.” You blurt out like you did all those years ago.

“I can’t leave my mother, she won’t leave this town and with her health fluctuating I just can’t.” He gave you an actual answer this time unlike he did when you were younger. 

“I get it, she needs you.. But one day you have to leave this place, don’t you think?” Your hand gently touches his arm as you drift even closer to him. 

“I never thought of leaving until you left.” He mumbled as his hands moved to ghost over your sides that were under the water. 

“One day?” You sounded hopeful. “Even if we’re old and married to other people do you think you’d still leave?” 

“I..” His voice trailed off as your breath got closer to his face. “I’d never marry… unless it was you.” He whispered before he finally kissed you, the weight of what he said disappearing as you both got lost in the taste of each other. After what felt like an eternity you finally pulled away out of breath, a quiet whistle could be heard from behind Seungcheol somewhere and you assumed it had to be Jeonghan since Mingyu would’ve quite literally jumped the two of you. 

“Cheol- '' He cuts you off.

“Let's enjoy the night, yeah?” He didn’t want to talk about what he just said, or what the future would hold anymore. It’ll take time, you both realized, for things to go back to normal but for now you were content with how things were because this time he knew what to expect when summer ends, he just hoped that you’d change your mind about long distance relationships. And you hoped he’d change his mind about rotting away in this small town.

feedback + reblogs greatly appreciated! let me know what you guys thought!

#svthub #kvanity #kflixnet #90’s collab #scoups #seungcheol #scoups x reader #seungcheol x reader #scoups fluff #scoups angst #seungcheol fluff #seungcheol angst #seungcheol imagines #scoups imagines

[svthub]

welcome to the disco! choose your partner for a whirl around the dance floor to the grooviest tracks today. get funky as you boogie the night away.

This collab will contain a combination of SFW and NSFW works. See each individual fic for tags and warnings.

Join the 70s;teen taglist!

dancing queen ~*~ @duhnova

[NSFW] smut, fluff, tiny bit of angst ~*~ disco club owner!choi seungcheol x performer!reader (fem)

the stage is where you felt the most comfortable, letting go and singing for everyone that would sit and listen. but it was hard making a living in america, every corner you turned there was trouble waiting for you because you were too comfortable with your sexuality for the public’s liking. so when you stepped off the ship that took you to your new life in paris, you were surprised to collide with a disco club owner who was in a similar boat as you.

every summertime ~*~ @lovelyhan

[NSFW] smut ~*~ jeonghan x reader

you're not really interested in the run-down record shop back in your hometown. but people aren't oblivious to the way you keep trying to get into the owner's pants—not even the owner himself.

curse the stars ~*~ @shuadotcom

[NSFW] smut, fluff, strangers to lovers au, 70s au~*~ salesman!joshua x starlet afab!reader

meeting someone at the disco to take home for the night is customary for you, especially in your line of work. but meeting this man on this night at this disco feels more like fate as joshua becomes much more than just your routine one night stand.

do re mi ~*~ @onlymingyus

[NSFW] fluff, smut~*~ junhui x wife!reader

synopsis: you were from different worlds. he was responsible, frugal, and sensible. you were a child of the times, a free spirit. the house had problems and it was small, but at the end of the day it was home…you were home.

with the band ~*~ @the-boy-meets-evil

[NSFW] band!au, smut, angst ~*~ drummer!soonyoung x journalist!reader (afab)

you’re fresh out of college with big dreams about changing the world with your words on a page. the last thing you expect is to end up covering a tour and you certainly don’t expect to fight falling for the drummer. what happens on tour, stays on tour, right?

rogue ~*~ @smileysuh

[NSFW] strangers to lovers, slow burn, smut ~*~ wonwoo x afab reader

“lay back,” he instructs next. “I’m going to take your panties off.” your heart races in your chest as you realize what he’s about to do, and you fall onto your elbows on the hood of his car, breathing heavily as wonwoo leans down and begins to press kisses up your bare legs. his fingers hook in your panties, and he drags them down, exposing your hot core to the cool evening air. You can’t help the gasp that leaves you, and as wonwoo positions your thighs over his broad shoulders, you think you might actually faint from the tension.

all about that bass ~*~ @angelwoozi

[NSFW] fluff, smut, band!au, neighbour au ~*~ bassist!jihoon x reader (afab)

the first time you meet your neighbour, it's when he is rolling up to his driveway for the first time, the cheapest skates with him. after that, you always try to get a peek of him when you hear his door slam, because oh my my he is so cute. little did you know that your cute neighbour can also work a crowd like he owns it, all with his bass and his presence.

manhattan sunrise ~*~ @seokgyuu

[NSFW] detective!au, criminal minds! au, crime, exes to lovers, angst, smut ~*~ detective!seokmin x fbiagent!reader

lee seokmin is a very successful and admired detective in the NYPD. pp until now he has had no trouble catching the bad guys. but when an especially horrific serial killer starts roaming the streets of new york city and he faces perplexity for the first time in his career - his superiors send a unit from the FBI trained to profile serial killers, which contains none other than you - seokmin’s high school sweetheart.

tight laced ~*~ @drunk-on-dk

[NSFW] fluff, smut, roller rink au ~*~ shop clerk!mingyu x afab!reader

it was kim mingyu who sold you your first pair of roller skates. regardless of the fact you were born with two left feet, a tired student, and were running low on funds, the charming clerk somehow convinced you it would be worth every penny. maybe it would be worth it to join your friends for midnight skates rather than being cooped up studying on weekends. however, the main selling point? skating lessons were included

darling i’m a nightmare dressed like a daydream • @dkakapizzaboy

[NSFW] crime, mystery, suggestive ~*~ conman! minghao x fem! reader

minghao has had a pretty easy life…partly due to his sharp looks, but mostly due to his even sharper mind. his day job, you ask? oh, just your average little joe conning wealthy women out of thousands of dollars …until he meets you.

aretha franklin and otis redding ~*~ @wonwussy

[SFW] angst, fluff ~*~ seungkwan

your brother had been labeled mia soon after he left for the war. three years later, the war has ended, and you know he's not coming home. maybe this stranger can help you find a little peace.

remember when ~*~ @multi-kpop-fanfics

[NSFW] fluff, comedy, angst, suggestive, childhood friends to lovers to exes to friends ~*~ vernon x fem!reader

growing up in the suburbs of athens during the seventies was turbulent to say the least - but is it turbulent enough to break the backyard trio friendship? only time could tell.

mood rings, drive thru theaters, and the latest issue of tiger beat ~*~ @bitchlessdino

[NSFW] angst, smut, fluff ~*~ lee chan x college student!reader (afab)

when you fall in love, it can feel like you’ll be with that person forever, that there isn’t another being in the world you rather be with. This case is just as heavy in your youth, tutoring a boy you’ve only ever walked circles around, while you wear a mood ring from his parents souvenir shop so you could feel closer to him. When it happens, you don’t expect things to crash harder than the way they do.

#svthub #svthub.collab #70s;teen #svthub: masterlist

[wavesmp3]

[csc] ode to you

inspired by 'daisy jones & the six'

pairing: choi seungcheol x reader (gn) genre: band au, strangers to lovers, angst wc: 13.7k warnings: cursing, heavy alcohol usage and often in an unhealthy way, one mention of blood (a terrible case of largely irrelevant side characters, an attempt at writing song lyrics, switching pov’s without any real indication, story existing in a vacuum of time and space loosely based off of 70s usa)

synopsis → The Numbers are a band well on their way to commercial success with Seungcheol as the dreamy front man, Soonyoung on drums, Joshua on guitar, Minghao on bass, and Junhui on keys. But all that changes the second you step into the studio to record “Begin Again” with them. The song is an instant hit, launching you from a singer-songwriter nobody to the biggest new name in music and catapulting the Numbers into a larger limelight than they’ve ever been in before. So with the entire country singing your song, the pressure is on for you and the Numbers to create an entire album that lives up to their expectations. But while pressure builds, something akin to feelings for the front man builds with it.

You go to knock again on the door, heavy footsteps and heavier breaths, but just as soon as your knuckles make contact with the heavy wood, the door swings open. 

Jihoon looks disappointed. “You were going to knock again, weren’t you?”

You roll your eyes, pushing him aside and going straight for the marble bar cart you know sits in the sitting room off the formal dining area. 

“You know you really have to work on your patience.” He says to you from the foyer, voice already sounding a bit far away. You always forget how big acclaimed-music-producer Woozi's house is. Although, you think, staring at the array of top shelf liquor arranged neatly on the bar cart, mansion is probably a more apt word for it. 

You pour yourself a glass of whiskey. 

Jihoon joins you in the room once you’ve already taken a seat in one of the brown leather arm chairs. 

“How many glasses is that?”

You scoff. “I have a show at the Roxy after this.”

He hums, flicking the square paper in his hand. 

You sit up slightly. “What is that?” Jihoon takes the paper over to the record player in the opposite corner of the room. He slips a clean black record out of the manilla slip and carefully places it into position. It doesn’t take long for the gentle hum of the record spinning around the platter to fill the room. 

God, I love music. You think to yourself sitting back slightly in the armchair and allowing your eyes to shut. 

“I want you to listen to this.” You hear Jihoon say, followed by the small pop of the decanter being opened and the quiet trickle and crack of liquor falling over ice. The sound of a bass overtakes the room. It’s somehow… gentle. 

“Who’s it by?”

Jihoon doesn’t answer at first. You hear him sit down in the armchair next to yours while drums fill in the spaces of the songs and a guitar starts to hum along. And the sound that comes from the record player next–in all honesty, you don’t think Jihoon could have prepared you for. It’s a man’s voice, polished, in a way that you just know he’s been doing this for a while. His whole life maybe. There’s this rough, almost growly quality that amps the song up even more, and yet, simultaneously, his voice glides over the lyrics like honey spilling over the side of its jar. There’s so much depth in every note he hits. You don’t know if you’ve ever heard a voice–a sound–quite like this. 

“Who is this?” You ask again once the first chorus comes to a close, opening your eyes and taking a proper look at Jihoon. He looks mildly amused.

“Have you heard of the Numbers?”

Seungcheol hurries into the studio from the car, guitar in one hand and lyrics in the other, fully expecting to get chewed out by his producer. “Jihoon, I’m so sorry. There was tra-”

Seungcheol stops in his tracks. The control room is empty. He steps back into the doorway and rereads the signage. He has the right room, so then… where is everybody?

“Seungcheol,” he hears a voice call for him from the recording stage. It’s Soonyoung, waving him inside and pointing at you. You smile at him, give him a nod of sorts. His eyes dart to Jihoon, giving him a look that says, who the fuck is that? 

He walks into the recording booth hesitantly. 

“Hey.” Jihoon says casually. “I don’t think you guys have met yet.” 

You stand and approach him, sticking out your hand. Seungcheol just looks at it. 

“The label thinks you guys would sound good on one track and want you to try recording ‘Begin Again’ together.” 

He ignores your outstretched hand and looks straight at Jihoon. “Can we speak privately?”

—

Seungcheol had assumed he’d be the one getting chewed out in the studio today. Oh, how things have changed. He’s worked so hard on this song. More time and effort than he’s ever put in any of the band’s songs that came out before it. He can’t believe Jihoon would allow anyone else to try and taint it. “Begin Again” is his song. And he’ll be damned if he’s not the only one singing it. 

Seungcheol’s ready to say all of this, but, “Before you say anything,” Jihoon doesn’t even let him speak, “I know how you feel about this. But the decision came from above me, okay. The Number’s last album didn’t do as well as the label hoped. They think another voice in the band could shake things up. And who knows, “Jihoon continues with a shrug that only makes Seungcheol fume more, “maybe this could be what you guys have been missing.”

Seungcheol cannot believe what he’s hearing. “We aren’t missing anything.” 

“Don’t be dense.” Jihoon pans with a sideways stare. “I know you guys are good. I know you guys are gonna be big, but the rest of the world needs some convincing. Just try this, okay? This could be it.”

Seungcheol just shakes his head. 

“I scouted them out myself. They’re a good singer and even better writer-”

“Writer?” Seungcheol nearly screams, arms flying to point at you through the control room window where the two boys are talking. “You want them to write on the song too?”

“They have a couple of…” Jihoon sighs, choosing his next word with extra precaution, “revisions.”

“Fuck that, Jihoon. I wrote a great song. It–”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“You wrote a good song.” Jihoon refutes, matter-of-factly. “You wrote a good song, and they,” he points at you, “they made it a great one.” 

Seungcheol is speechless. 

“Here.” Jihoon pushes a piece of torn notebook paper into his hands. 

If Seungcheol wasn’t so aware of the line Jihoon was drawing, he would’ve pushed harder, but at the end of the day, Jihoon is his boss and his lifeline in this business. If Jihoon says so, really says so, then there’s not much Seungcheol can do to fight it. Seungcheol is stubborn, but he’s not a fool looking to waste his own breath. He looks back into the recording stage. The band looks happy chatting to each other. And you, well, you’re staring at him.

A red light flashes on the sound board beneath him. “Talk over the changes.” Jihoon says to the band and you through the intercom. “We record in ten minutes.”

— 

“It’s nice to meet you,” you say to Seungcheol sitting on the stool in front of the second mic. Seungcheol’s never even seen a studio setup with two mics before. He swallows a scoff. “Jihoon showed me the song the other day, and your voice it—“ 

“What does this line mean?” Seungcheol cuts in, taking his seat on the stool next to yours. “I changed my heart. I morphed my mind. You don’t have the right to tell me I didn’t try.” 

Your face drops immediately. “Are you serious?” 

Seungcheol raises a brow–a challenge.

You let out a breath of pure disbelief, focusing your gaze just above his head, and hands starting to make motions in the air. “It’s about changing yourself to be with someone. It’s about them never acknowledging that.”

“That’s not what this song is about.”

You give him a pointed look. “What do you think the song is about?”

It’s his turn for the disbelief. “What do I think the song I wrote is about?” You don’t falter, not even for a second. Seungcheol grasps at the words, mouth agape. “It’s about redemption.”

“That’s too easy.”

“How is that too easy?”

“Look,” you huff, mouth opening and closing like you can’t decide what it is you want to say. You end up reaching your arm out, palm open like you want a fucking hi-five or something. In the back of his mind, Seungcheol wonders if you’re still waiting for the handshake he never gave. “Give me your original lyrics.”

He does, you snatch the paper keeping your eyes on him for a second too long before finding whatever it was that you were looking for. “Right here,” you say, finger pointing at the tattered paper and eyes darting back and forth between him and his lyrics. Your face lights up. You look like you're holding back a smile. You look… excited. “Here, in the bridge you wrote: take me home, welcome me on those familiar roads, embrace me in your arms, oh please, tell me I still belong.”

“What about it?” Seungcheol asks, almost forgetting that he’s upset at Jihoon for this whole arrangement, nearly forgetting that he’s supposed to not be accepting any of your revisions because for the first time in so long, he’s able to really talk to someone about his lyrics. 

You look up at him fully, and almost sadly, you say, “You really don’t get it, do you?” Seungcheol looks down at the lyrics you gave him, scanning them again. Funnily enough, that line is the only one of his you’ve kept. 

“The song’s not about redemption,” you tell him. “It’s about guilt.”

—

Seungcheol, you, and the band end up recording your version of the song. It’s a good song. It’s still his melody, his hook, and his bridge, but almost none of the lyrics are his. Just like that, “Begin Again” becomes as much your song as it is his. If he wasn’t so angry at Jihoon, maybe he would’ve had the mind to notice how good you sound singing it.

Choi Seungcheol is an asshole. 

That you learned in the recording studio with him and haven’t been able to get out of your head since. Unfortunately, he’s got one hell of a voice and gift for creating a good melody. And him and Jihoon together in the studio, god, they’re magic. You went out and purchased The Number’s previous record after you recorded “Begin Again”. You haven’t stopped listening to it since. 

It’s one day when you’re working a shift at the diner that you start humming the song playing over the speaker while grabbing an order from the kitchen. You don’t even think twice about it. That is until you make it right in front of the table whose orders you’re holding and start to hear your own voice.

You nearly drop the four plates of burgers.

You rush over to the jukebox, not believing your ears, not believing that your voice, your words, your song is playing for the entire diner to hear. 

And there, right at the bottom it reads: “Begin Again” by the Numbers ft. you

“Holy shit.”

The desert wasn’t too far from home, but it could not have been more different. There was so much nothing for as far as your eyes could see. There was dust everywhere, all over the place, sifting up through the air and in your lungs. How are you supposed to sing like this?

You hear the bands’ voices come up from behind you. 

“Hey,” Seungcheol says, coming up next to you and resting an arm on the same wood railing as you. “How are you feeling?”

“Great.” You answer truthfully. You could barely believe it when you got the call from Jihoon saying that they wanted you to play the festival along with the Numbers. Although, considering that your song is playing on every radio station, it probably shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was. 

The crowd roars as the previous artist says his goodbye. 

“Have you ever played for a crowd like this?”

“Nope.”

He nods slowly. “It’s a lot. The first time especially, for sure. But just go with it, and uh,” he smiles, towards the ground, “it’s a lot of fun once you get past the nerves of it all.”

You look at him, battling against the grimace forming on your face. “Is this pep talk for me or for you? Cause I’m fine.”

His smile disappears when he sees your face. You must’ve lost the battle. 

He inhales sharply. “‘Begin Again’ is last. Come out after I introduce you.”

You nod, and he joins the rest of his band. 

The crowd cheers when they get on stage. The first song starts with a familiar guitar riff and the pound of the drums, followed by the crowd going ballistic. You’ve been playing on stage for a while now, but only ever in small clubs with small crowds. You’ve never seen a crowd like this, and it makes you ecstatic. 

You hear Seungcheol sing the final words of the song and Junhui play the final chords. And you don’t know if its the crowd or the shot of vodka you took during the bridge or the fucking look Seungcheol gives you, but something, something, makes you forget what Seungcheol said about waiting and walk right onto that stage. 

Joshua and Minghao look confused. Seungcheol looks vaguely pissed. Junhui and Soonyoung barely notice. But you don’t register any of that. All you can think as you walk onto that stage, grin flashing and arms up in the air is: this crowd was fucking waiting for me. 

You step up to your mic and wait until the crowd quiets down. You introduce “Begin Again” as a song you wrote. The crowd erupts. You look over at Seungcheol, smiling, no–grinning, loving how annoyed he looks. Minghao doesn’t miss a beat, starting the song immediately. Your body moves on its own, dancing to the song, belting out each note, and loving every second of it. It’s sometime during the second verse, the one Seungcheol sings alone, that you notice how entranced he is. His eyes are half closed, and his fingers fly across his guitar like he’s not even thinking about it. He smiles at the crowd. You think you hear someone faint. He looks your way then, right before the pre-chorus, smiling still as if he wasn’t just glaring at you. It hits you almost instantly: nothing else matters to him right now. He’s in it, like really in it, and the only thing he seems to care about is putting on a good show. He’s loving this as much as you are, and maybe that’s enough to prove that you and Choi Seungcheol are more alike than either of you think. 

You leave your mic stand and start dancing towards him. His entire body turns towards you, waiting for you, his eyes following. You meet right in front of his mic just as the chorus begins. And you’re left with no choice but to stand next to him, singing into the same mic with your faces so close you can feel every ragged breath he takes, see the sweat rolling off his hair, and hear the blood pumping through his veins. Take me home. You both sing with your entire chest. Welcome me on those familiar roads. You see him turn his head to face you. You mirror the motion, and sing the next line looking right into his eyes. Embrace me in your arms. Have his eyes always been this big? Oh please, tell me I still belong. And of course it’s this line you’re singing to each other like this. Of course it’s the one line in the entire song that you didn’t actually write and the one line he did. 

The chorus ends, and you slowly back away from his mic and move back towards yours. He rips away on his guitar, fingers still flying like it’s the easiest thing, all while never taking his eyes off you. Staring at you like he found something. Staring at you like it’s only you and him on that stage. 

You don’t even remember the song ending. 

Music flows through Northside Tavern. A jazz band is playing today, and the piano player keeps making eyes at you. 

“I heard the show over the weekend went well.” Jihoon says into your ear. You just nod. “And that the label really liked what you did with the song.”

You laugh. “Not just the label. The whole country liked it.” You give one last look to the pianist, before turning to Jihoon fully. “I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, but I have a number one single.”

You head over to the bar and ask for an old-fashioned. 

“Not just you.” Jihoon yells behind you to be heard over the cheers after the band’s last song. 

You pivot. “Excuse me?” 

“It wasn’t just you.” Jihoon flags down the bartender, orders a scotch, neat. “It was the Numbers too.” 

The bartender slides over three drinks. 

You lean in over the counter. “We only ordered two.” 

Wordlessly, the bartender points to the other side of the bar. The piano player holds up their drink. Jihoon grabs his drink, and you grab the remaining two. You lift them both up towards the pianist who gives you a rather charming smile, and then take a simultaneous sip from the straws of both drinks. You taste your old-fashioned and what seems to be a margarita. 

You and Jihoon make your way over to a booth. 

“What I wanted to say,” Jihoon continues, “is that the label likes you with the band, and they want you to make an album with them.”

“An album?” You suck in your bottom lip, feeling a sudden rush from all the alcohol. An album is exactly what you’ve been pushing and working so damn hard for. So then why does this feel bittersweet?

“I think this is going to be a good thing.” Jihoon tells you sincerely, eyes softening. “You and Seungcheol…” he hesitates for a moment. You hate when he chooses his words like this, picking out the bad ones and testing out all the others. But perhaps you only hate it so much because you lack the ability to do it yourself. “You guys work.”

You take another long double sip of your drinks, squinting at Jihoon skeptically. “What did Seungcheol say?”

Jihoon’s mouth parts. There. There it fucking is. Running your tongue over your top set of teeth, you say, “you haven’t asked him yet, have you?”

“No, we haven’t asked him yet–”

“I can’t believe this.”

“–but the rest of the band is already on board, and we all thought it’d be smarter if you agreed before we asked him.”

You tilt your head slightly. You thought Jihoon knew you better than this. “I’m not saying anything until he does.”

“Be honest with yourself here,” Jihoon says seriously, pushing his drink to the side and leaning forward, “it’s no secret that you and Seungcheol don’t get along. And I get it; I really do. But I know you see it.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “See what?”

“Most people in this business spend their entire lives looking for what he and you found during the ‘Begin Again’ sessions and again on the stage at the festival. And most people fail. Don’t throw that away over whatever bullshit he gave you when you first met. Don’t throw away the chance you’ve been waiting for because of that. You guys belong together. Focus on that.”

You don’t say anything after Jihoon finishes his little speech. Instead you reach for your drinks and finish them both in one long, prolonged sip. You ignore his annoyed ‘tsk’. 

Putting the empty glasses down and to the side, you nod up at him, pursing your lips. “Are you done?”

He takes a long, final swig of his drink. “Yes.”

“Ask Seungcheol first.” You pull out your wallet and drop a couple bills on the table. “Then, you can call me.”

Today is already off to a bad start. 

Seungcheol had come into the studio ready to record and knock out at least 2 or 3 songs off the album today, but then Minghao wanted to talk about the album’s direction and Soonyoung wanted to request everyone to add as many drum parts as possible. 

And it’s as he’s listening to Junhui and Soonyoung argue about the addition of piano solos, that you walk into the studio. 

Jihoon welcomes you with a hug. Hansol, the sound engineer, offers to make you tea. Meanwhile, Seungcheol can’t understand why you deserve any kindness at this moment. Your session started an hour ago. 

“You’re late.” Seungcheol says, bringing the rest of the band to notice your arrival. 

You look at him with a smile, gesturing to the two boys who were just arguing. “Doesn’t really look like I missed anything.”

“We were talking about the album’s direction.” Minghao says from behind Seungcheol. 

You nod, putting down your stuff and taking a seat. “Okay, shoot.”

Seungcheol puts his hands up. “Well since we’re talking about it. I’ve been working on a couple songs, and,” he hesitates, pulling out a couple sheets of paper that Jihoon helped him print and handing them out, “I think I might have something good that we can build the rest of the album off of.”

Everyone takes a moment to read. Seungcheol watches the room carefully. Joshua clears his throat. Junhui plays a loose note. 

Your voice is the first that comes out of the silence. “Are you serious?”

He whips his head around. “What?”

“‘Will you still love me when I’m old? Will you still love me when I’m proud.’” You read aloud, before shoving the paper back towards him, that mocking smile still plastered on your face. “I’m not singing that.”

He scoffs, tongue swiping at his lips. “Why not? They’re good songs.”

You shrug. “They’re cheesy.”

“You haven't even read the whole thing.”

“I’ve read enough.”

“Are–are you… is this–I mean, like, you…” Seungcheol only knows one thing for sure right now: you might be the most insufferable person he’s ever met. “Jihoon!” 

“Okay, you know what,” Jihoon’s voice comes through the intercom. You both turn towards it. “How about you two go home and figure out some way to work together instead of wasting my studio time. Write one song, just one, together, and the rest of us can go from there tomorrow.”

He slips a curse between a breath. 

“Okay?”

You and Seungcheol look back at each other. It’s you who speaks first this time. “That’s fine with me.”

—

It’s a nice day out today. The sun shines through big clouds. There’s a nice breeze, and the roadways are empty. You’re sitting in the passenger seat humming something he can’t hear over the wind while Seungcheol drives. In all honesty, he doesn’t even know where he’s heading, but it might be the first time he's felt some semblance of peace with you around. 

The announcer on the radio station introduces the next song. Seungcheol turns it up and sings alongside Kim Mingyu’s voice. You stop humming.

“You like this song?” You ask. 

He quickly glances at you. “Yeah, who doesn’t.” The song was insanely popular a year or two ago. If you didn’t like it at first, you heard it enough on the radio and in every store until you did. Although, it doesn’t actually take anyone very many listens to fall in love with it. Unfortunately, the rest of Kim Mingyu’s songs never quite lived up to this one. 

“I wrote this song.” You say to him, as if it’s the most simple thing. 

“Oh, really?” Seungcheol replies with a chuckle. “You worked with Kim Mingyu?”

“Well, not all of it, but the melody and most of the lyrics, yes.” You tell him seriously, like you haven’t even registered that he thought you were joking. “I mean, worked is a strong word, but we did date for a bit.”

 Seungcheol stops at a red light and spends it staring you in disbelief. 

“Come on,” you say after a moment, “you really think Kim Mingyu wrote this song?” 

Seungcheol listens to it again: They could never get it out of their heads. Like a scene on repeat. Like a mountain falling. Something unforgettable, but forgotten still. Something like you. Someone like me. 

And instantly, it clicks–of course you wrote this song. Of course it’s the case that Kim Mingyu’s best song and one of Seungcheol’s favorites was written by none other than you. 

He looks over at you while at another light. Your head leans back against the car seat, and your arm hangs over the edge of the open window. You don’t look like you’re enjoying listening to the song even if you are the one that wrote it. In fact, you look mildly annoyed, nose scrunched while inspecting your nail beds, teeth grinding. 

Seungcheol changes the station thinking: why’d you let him take it?

Before he can really think about it any further, you sit up in your seat and point at the next light. 

“Turn right up there. I know a place.”

— 

When you had said that you knew a place, Seungcheol imagined that it’d be a coffee shop or an empty bar or anything other than the middle of the woods sitting on the rocks along a stream. 

Although, he must give you credit: the setting you’ve taken him to is beautiful. There are birds humming and life strumming all around you. The water is a blistering blue that glistens and shines in the sunlight streaming through the trees like a million coins falling from the sky. The water has a small current running through it, and it beats against the rocks lightly, like the lightest, most gentle drum beat. The breeze is nice and cool on Seungcheol’s skin, sifting through his hair and past his limbs. And maybe the best part is how all around him, on every single side, he’s surrounded by green. 

It would have been perfect, if not for the fact that you and him have been here for two hours and still have absolutely nothing. 

“Okay,” you relent, after he turns down another one of your ideas for a song, “how about this melody?”

You start humming one of the worst melodies Seungcheol’s ever heard in his life.

“Absolutely not.”

You grunt frustrated, arms falling through the air. Your head follows suit, settling in your hands, face buried from his view. 

“Why’d you even say yes to this?” You snap, looking up at him after a moment, brows furrowed and hands gesturing vaguely in the air. “If you have no intention of taking any idea I give you seriously, why did you say yes to this?”

“I didn’t.” Seungcheol reminds you. “Neither of us did. Jihoon kicked us out of the studio.”

“I don’t mean that.” You flare. “I mean letting me in to do this album with the Numbers. Why’d you agree to it?”

There’s a change in the wind. A sudden quietness that must be attributed to some insect dying. Seungcheol hadn’t expected you to ask this. He hadn’t even expected you to think it. 

“It wasn’t…” he starts, looking for the words in the space between you and him. He looks up at you, hoping to find them there. Instead he finds hope in them. 

Seungcheol has been in this exact spot before–sitting in front of someone that wants to believe in him and is asking him to give them a reason. He’s seen this before, and he has no interest in repeating his past mistakes. He sees no need to add you to the list of people he’s disappointed. With a short laugh, he says, “You know what, let’s just get back to writing.”

“Fuck that.”  You respond immediately, grabbing at his guitar.

“What are you–”

“No. Fuck that.” You repeat, successfully pushing his guitar off his lap. “If this is going to work, you have to at least pretend like you trust me. Song writing isn’t just strumming on your guitar all day and hoping for the best. It’s vulnerability, and it’s pouring your heart and soul and life into something and praying that someone out there feels the same way. That’s what ‘Begin Again’ was. And every single person who listened and liked that song and every single person who sang with us at the festival is saying that they feel the same way. So, what are you so afraid of? Why do you feel like you can’t trust me?”

Seungcheol gulps. “Which question should I answer first?”

You inhale slowly. “The latter.”

Seungcheol just shakes his head. “I don’t know you.”

“Ask me then.” You say desperately, like it should have been obvious to him, “whatever it is that you want to know just ask it.”

Seungcheol nods. In truth, there’s a million questions he wants to ask you about everything, but at this moment, all those questions sink to the bottom of his mind and only one rises to the top and travels to the tip of his tongue. “Why’d you let Kim Mingyu take credit for that song?”

You lean back slightly at his questions. Looking away from him and towards the murky waters before answering. “Believe it or not, I wasn’t always like this.” You tell him, laughing lightly. “I used to let guys like you walk all over me.”

His heart jumps into his throat. He’s barely able to choke out a, “guys like me?”

You nod, still refusing to meet his eyes. “Guys who don’t believe that I have what it takes.”

“I never said that.”

“But you showed me.”

“When?”

You look at him then, squinting. He hopes what you see is genuineness. He asked the question sincerely. “When you were so quick and ready to dismiss my changes to the lyrics during the ‘Begin Again’ takes. When you let me join your band on this album, and then expected me to sing an entire record full of songs that mean nothing to me. I’m a songwriter, Seungcheol. It’s the one thing about me that no one can take.”

Something between intrigue and malice slips in behind his tongue. “So what can people take?”

You shake your head, smiling ever so slightly. “My turn. What are you so afraid of?”

Seungcheol inhales sharply. “Well, I’m afraid of dying and of heights and–”

“Stop that.” You cut in, like you really mean it. “Why are you so afraid to say what you really think?”

He sucks in his bottom lip, shrugging. “‘Begin Again’ was your song more than it was mine. What if people don’t like what I have to say? What if they can’t relate and just think I’m fucked up and crazy?”

Your eyes soften, and your smile lines deepen. It takes a moment for him to register that you're smiling, really smiling, at him. He’s never known a smile could feel so inviting. 

“But what if they do?”

Seungcheol takes a moment to think about what you’ve said. And in that moment, whatever insect had died gets resurrected, returning to nature’s hum, filling his ears. Seungcheol looks all around him. The hum of life, the beat of water, the tune of leaves falling. He’s surrounded not just by nature and greenery, but also by music. And it’s erupting from every corner of these woods.

His eyes finally land on you.

“I think I found our melody.”

When you come into the studio the next day, the song is done. You went to sleep humming it still and running through the lyrics over and over again in your head.

“Let us sing it for you first,” Seungcheol suggests to the rest of the band with Jihoon listening in from the control room. “And whenever you feel like you got it, just hop in with what you think works, and we can refine and shape it from there.”

You watch the rest of the band as Seungcheol explains it. Minghao looks shocked, but excited. Soonyoung looks proud. And you can’t really read what the other two are thinking. 

“Jihoon, are we good?” Seungcheol asks, turning around to the window into the control room. 

“Whenever you’re ready.” Jihoon replies, voice filtering in through the intercom. You nod. Seungcheol nods. The rest of the band nods. Jihoon presses a couple buttons and says, “This is ‘Can You See Me’.”

Seungcheol starts playing the chords he found yesterday. You’re not sure why or how but it reminds you of those woods. His voice starts singing the first line of the song. You close your eyes and take it in. You join him for the chorus, singing alongside his voice feeling the words flow. It’s Junhui that joins you two first, playing a couple loose notes, testing things out. By the end of the chorus, he’s found it, playing a little more confidently and adding a whole new level of depth to the song. A depth that makes you feel like you’ve only ever known two colors your whole life and in a matter of seconds Junhui added in a third. Joshua joins in next, as your voice takes over for the second verse, playing off what Seungcheol was playing but making it his own. Seungcheol goes over to where Soonyoung’s sitting and says something to him in his ear. Soonyoung nods. Seungcheol goes over to Minghao, but Minghao shakes his head, already starting to play something. Seungcheol heads back to his mic right before the second chorus starts. You turn and sing the last line of the pre-chorus to him

And I know that you never trusted me. 

He joins you for the chorus, singing back.

Can you see me standing from there? And can you see the blood on my hands? If I give you all of the parts to my heart, Will you care that I’ve been scarred and stitched up?

Soonyoung starts playing then, the drums filling in the last thing the song needed. You listen to the rest of the band play and marvel at how insanely talented they all are to pick up and play something that actually works after only a minute of hearing it. The song needs polishing, yes, but it’s got a good sound and it’s heading in the right direction.  

You don’t take your eyes off Seungcheol, and he doesn’t take his eyes off you. And for the remainder of the song, you sing to each other. 

The song ends. The last one playing is Junhui. And for a couple seconds, no one says anything. 

It’s Jihoon’s voice that comes out of the silence first. “I’m a fucking genius.” 

You smile at Seungcheol. He smiles back. 

After recording and polishing ‘Can You See Me’, you and Seungcheol fall into a song-making rhythm of sorts.

(We don’t always have it perfect.)

“I feel like this lyric in ‘Puzzle Pieces’ doesn’t fit.” You say to Seungcheol, before muttering the lyric outloud. “It’s too shy. I don’t know. I just think it’s missing the mark a little bit, don’t you think?”

Seungcheol groans tiredly. “God, I can’t think about this anymore. Can we take a break? Go get some food or something?”

“Yes, but before we do, do you think ‘I see us standing in the distance’ or ‘I see you standing in the distance’ works better here?”

Seungcheol just stands ignoring your question and muttering ‘no’ repeatedly. 

You follow, running after him and begging him to listen. 

(Boy, do we fight.)

“I think there should be more drums in the hook.” Seungcheol announces after the third run through. 

“Why?”

His eyes widen, sarcastically. “Because there should be.”

“Don’t do that.” You scoff, used to his antics. “Answer the question: why?”

He sighs, resting his hands on his hips. “It’s missing something. The song still feels empty. I mean, the lyrics allude to a love that’s blooming and growing between two individuals, but nothing behind the lyrics build up with it. There’s almost a disconnect between the words and the music.”

“I disagree.” 

He scoffs. “All that for–”

“I think it works just fine without the drums, and if you add the drums it’ll become more suspenseful. The song is supposed to feel like falling.”

He shakes his head. “It’s supposed to feel like butterflies.”

“It’s supposed to feel like peace.”

(Sometimes you win.) 

“Let’s vote.” Seungcheol suggests. “If you’re for the drums, raise your hand.”

Only Soonyoung (the drummer), does.

(Sometimes you lose.)

Jihoon presses the red button on the sound board, announcing to the recording stage, “Take 3 of Aurora. Seungcheol, try softening your voice a little for this one.”

“Jihoon, can we just try one take with me in it?” You ask him. “I think even if I were just singing a harmony or in the background of the bridge, it would add so much.”

“No.” Jihoon says, scribbling something down in his notebook. “I’m with Seungcheol on this one.”

“Jihoon, you haven’t even heard my–”

“This song doesn’t need your voice.”

(But sometimes, we get it just right and fit like the last two puzzle pieces.)

“No,” you say, shaking your head as Joshua and Minghao finish off the last chords of the song, “It needs to sound murkier.”

Joshua, Junhui, Soonyoung, and Minghao just stare at you blankly.

“Less cymbals, Soonyoung.” Seungcheol says over the speaker from the control room. “And Minghao, ride out the low tones more.” 

You turn and see him. He catches your eyes, smiling slightly, reassuring you. Like he gets you. 

From behind you, you hear Junhui lightheartedly mutter, “since when do they have their own language?”

Joshua and Soonyoung laugh, but you barely notice because you see him. You see the way his brows furrow when he’s thinking. You see the way he sticks out his tongue when he’s focused. You see all of it. 

And for a moment, he sees you. All of you. And he doesn’t turn away from it.  

Today’s songwriting session quickly turned into a field trip from the studio to grab food which then turned into you leading Seungcheol’s car to the beach. You and Seungcheol sit on a stone ledge, right where the sand begins, 20 paces away from the ocean. Between you sits leftover fries and your untouched song notebook. You watch the sun dip into the sea and listen to the waves crash over and over again. The wind pushes furiously, tossing his hair to the side and pushes his head away from it. It just so happens that away from the wind means towards you. 

“So,” you begin, popping a fry in your mouth and dusting the salt off your hands, “when are you going to answer my question of why you let me in the band?”

Seungcheol figured this question was coming. He’s been avoiding answering it. “You really want to know?”

You look at him sincerely. “Yes.”

Seungcheol looks out to the water. “After our first album, Jihoon prepared a tour for us. It was this tiny tour, not even big enough for a tour manager. We played in the smallest venues with okay-sized crowds. I mean, it was barely a tour, really more of a way to get our name out there. And after the northern leg of it, I…” Seungcheol closes his eyes and sees moments from that tour flash behind his lids: strobe lights, bodies in bed, empty glasses, and negative pockets. Sometimes memories can feel like nightmares. “I was just in a really, really, bad place. By the time we were halfway down the east coast, I was barely even able to play. Jihoon saved me then. He saved my fucking life. But he had to cancel the rest of the tour in that process. The rest of the band, man, they couldn’t even stand the sight of my face. Minghao especially. It was Jihoon who ended up being the one to convince them to let me back in. I owe Jihoon my entire livelihood and my life. So when he asked what I thought about you joining the band for this album and when I saw how badly he wanted it to happen, I owed it to him to say yes.”

It’s been so long since he’s recounted that story, even to himself. It doesn’t hurt as much as it once did. That knowledge surprises him. 

“Where are you now?” You ask suddenly, pulling him out of his head.

He turns to you. “What?”

“If you were in a bad place then, where are you now?”

The wind quiets for a moment; he feels a warmth overtake him in its absence. “Someplace better.”

He looks down, not even noticing the smile growing on his face, and catches sight of your notebook. He points at it, asking, “may I?”

You look down at it as well, grabbing another fry. “Sure.”

He flips through the pages of your notebook. The first half isn’t even songs. It’s snippets, words, singular sentences taking up an entire page. It’s only halfway through the book that it actually turns into something that could be called songwriting. He asks you about it. 

“Ah, that’s when I met Jihoon.” You tell him, smiling fondly. Seungcheol puts the notebook down and waits for you to explain. “Before him, I had songs, but they weren’t real songs, you know? They were just some combination of all the snippets and sentences I had written down. But then Jihoon heard me play at the Eastern, and said that I had a good voice. He asked if he could give me his card so that we could talk more, and I said that I wasn’t interested in people who only saw me for my voice and walked away.” 

“You’re insane.” Seungcheol mutters, baffled. He remembers the chance encounter he had with Jihoon right after he and the band moved down here to make a name for themselves. He remembers how hard he begged for the same chance Jihoon offered to you so simply. “So, how’d you end up working with him then?”

“He found me again at the diner I used to work at after that. I told him I still wasn’t interested, and he asked if I had written the song I played that night at the Eastern. I said yes, and he said that he was only interested in my voice because my songs weren’t there yet.”

Seungcheol chuckles.  “So he’s always been an asshole then?”

“Oh yeah.” You nod, mirroring the sound. “He was an asshole about it, but he was right. And it was the first time that someone believed in me enough to think that I could be better. That is what made me want to try and write a song that would make him see that I’m as good of a songwriter as I am a singer. I spent a lot of time working and got out one good song. I sang it all across the strip. He finally saw me play again at Ben’s Garage. I let him sign me after that.”  

“What was that song about?”

Your lips do this half frown thing that makes Seungcheol want to peer inside your brain and figure out exactly where it came from. “It was about what all songs are about.”

“Which is?”

You look at him like it’s obvious. “Love.”

It feels like a shot of sunlight through his veins. 

Seungcheol drives you back home after the beach. You had gotten nothing done in terms of the album, but you felt happy, and you felt free. You watch him from the corner of your eye. You’ve only known each other for some months now, but it feels like so much longer. You’ve told him more about yourself and your past than anyone else you’ve met in your adult life. You’ve told him your deepest worries and darkest secrets, and he never turned away from you, not once. Instead he took your insecurities and turned them into beautiful melodies. He turned all your doubts into celebrations of hope. And he did it for you. 

Suddenly, it no longer feels like you only met him when you recorded ‘Begin Again’ together. Suddenly, it feels like you’ve known him since you were a teenager and like you’ve been in love with him ever since. Your palms start to sweat. Your heart sinks past your lungs. Is it all those goddamn fries or him that’s making your stomach turn?

He turns onto your street. This is it, you think to yourself. This is everything I’ve been waiting for.

He walks you to your door, and you stand facing each other on your porch. 

“This was nice.” You tell him, taking another step towards him. 

“It was.” He mumbles, a lazy smile on his face.  

You take another step towards him. He doesn’t move back. His mouth parts. You watch his lips, trace them with your gaze. You think about what it would feel like to kiss them. 

“Do you want to come in for a bit?” The words come flying out of your mouth involuntarily. You barely register that you’ve said them. They didn’t come from your mind but from a tiny spot deep in your gut where the urge to take another step towards him lies. You give into that urge without thinking twice about it. You’re closer to him than you’ve been in months. The last time you were this close being that moment on stage during the ‘Begin Again’ performance. You’re surprised you remember that. His breaths then were ragged, uneven. His breaths now are barely there, like he isn’t even breathing. You can smell the mint he popped in his mouth when you left from the beach. You can smell whatever perfume he must’ve sprayed on his neck this morning. 

And you’re so wholly aware of the fact that his eyes are looking at your lips. 

He turns away from you and glances at your door, saying, “I should go.” 

You feel something in your chest sink and sink and sink. 

“I’ll see you in the studio tomorrow.” He continues. “We still gotta help Junhui figure out his part for ‘Puzzle Pieces’.” 

And with that he’s off, and you’re left standing on the porch alone wondering how someone can look at you like that and then just leave. You look down by your feet and see your heart sitting there, next to your shoes. You leave it there and head it inside. 

The next day, Jihoon cancels your studio time without explanation and reschedules you and the band for the following day. 

When that day finally does come, Seungcheol doesn’t show up on time to help you and Junhui figure out the right notes to play for the song you wrote together like he said. Instead, he stumbles into the studio late with a song in his hand wearing the same clothes he wore with you at the beach. And that alone, feels like a betrayal of some sort. 

“What’s it about?” Joshua asks.

He looks around the room, excited. “It’s about my new partner.” 

You feel the urge to vomit all over the recording stage. 

—

Jeonghan, it turns out, is Seungcheol’s partner’s name. Seungcheol had brought him into the studio a week after they started dating, and he’s been coming routinely ever since. As much as you hate it and as much as it makes your heart bend and break, Seungcheol looks really, genuinely happy with him. You wonder if he ever looked like that with you. 

You really wish you hated Jeonghan, but you don’t. He’s actually quite nice and gets along with the whole band so easily. He even makes friends with Jihoon. You thought he might be a distraction to Seungcheol while writing and recording, but Seungcheol is more focused and productive and creative than ever. The song he wrote right after meeting him is good, like stupidly good. There isn’t a single word in it that needs changing. 

With your help, Seungcheol writes another song about him, called ‘Light of My Life.’ It’s while writing that song that you find out that Jeonghan was never a stranger, and that day after the beach was not their first meeting. It’s Soonyoung who tells you how Jeonghan is from their hometown and how Seungcheol and Jeonghan used to date. 

The day that you record ‘Light of My Life’ Jeonghan is also in the studio, sitting in the control room and laughing at something with Hansol. 

You light up my life even when it’s dark. You both sing together. It’s an acoustic song; only Joshua stands behind you guys strumming the chords on his guitar. The rest of the band didn’t even come in today. You color my world even when I’m feeling blue. You glance over at Seungcheol. He isn’t looking your way. He’s looking at Jeonghan through the control room window. When I’m with you, I never feel alone. You think about the times when he used to look at you while recording. When you hold me, baby, I feel at home. Jeonghan looks back at Seungcheol. It hits you how beautiful he is, with his dyed silver hair and slender face. You don’t blame Seungcheol for writing such a beautiful song about him. You don’t blame yourself for helping him. I can’t believe this has happened to me. Seungcheol wrote this song for Jeonghan, but he wasn’t the only writer on this song. Right before the next line, Seungcheol finally finally turns and looks at you. I feel alive because of you. 

Seungcheol turns back to the control room, and for the rest of the song, you wonder that if Seungcheol wrote this song for Jeonghan, who the hell did you write this song for?

—

A tune comes to you while you drive home that night. You scribble down a couple lyrics in your notebook as soon as you walk through your door. 

Silver hair. Silver skin. Sliver of my heart you took with him. 

Joshua throws a party that weekend. A housewarming for the house he bought with the ‘Begin Again’ checks. Stepping in through the foyer, you question whether you should be buying a house too. You forget that thought by the time you reach the drinks table. 

After your hellos to the rest of the band and all the small talk with people Joshua wanted to introduce you to, you end up standing alone in his backyard, sloshing around the dark liquid in your cup. Truthfully, you’ve barely left your apartment all week. You hadn’t been in the mood for a party. But it’s nice out here. The air is fresh and crisp. The lights, which Soonyoung and Minghao enthusiastically and drunkenly told you they helped put up, are warm but not too bright. You imagine you’ll stay out here for the rest of the party. 

“Hi,” you hear a voice say from behind you. You turn around only to find Jeonghan. You hope your face doesn’t betray you when you greet him back. “What are you doing out here?” 

You gulp down a bitter sip of your drink. “Just wanted some quiet.” 

“Same. Junhui started doing karaoke again.” 

“Oof.” You groan sympathetically. “Already?” 

He just nods with a laugh. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen all of them.” 

You like Jeonghan. You really do. It’s just taken you until now to realize that you don’t really know him apart from small talk in the studio and the two songs Seungcheol wrote about him. “When did you move down here from your guys’ hometown?” 

“Oh.” His chin juts out a bit. “I moved down with the band actually.” 

You don’t hide the surprise on your face. 

“I take it no one told you that then.” Jeonghan chuckles darkly. You shake your head. “Uh, well, yeah,” he continues, shoving his free hand into his pocket, “Seungcheol and I started dating right when the band formed. I used to do the photography for them. And when they proposed moving out here, I thought I ought to come with. And I did.” He gulps his drink. “It was good for a while. Really fun in the beginning. But then I got my job taking pictures for the paper, and they were doing the album. And well,” he looks at you like you already know what he’s about to say. You don’t. “It already wasn’t really working anymore by the time the album was finished. And then they went on tour…” 

He leaves that part blank. But based on what you heard from Seungcheol about that first tour, you can piece together what might’ve happened. You question whether Jeonghan left that empty to spare Seungcheol or to spare himself. Then you question how he knew you knew about it. 

“Oh.” Is all you say. You don’t ask about when they encountered each other again. You don’t want to hear it. 

“You know,” Jeonghan begins again, “I actually used to watch you play at the Tabernacle.” 

You groan immediately. You only ever played at the Tabernacle when you first started. You cringe thinking about what you might’ve sang on stage in front of him. “Oh my god. I’m so embarrassed to even think about those days.” 

“No! Don’t be!” He reassures, kindly. “You were really good. I especially liked that one song that went like… The days were wide open, as far as the eye could see.” 

Your heart nearly soars straight out of your body. You had forgotten about this song. You used to love it dearly. You join Seungcheol’s boyfriend for the second line.

The world was mine to take, but I’ve never been good at accepting things. 

“You and the band together,” Jeonghan says a moment after you both stop singing, “it’s magical, don’t get me wrong, but that song,” he smiles at you, “it’s a damn good song.” 

You can’t help but smile back. “Thank you.” 

“Cheol showed me a couple of the songs from the album.” Jeonghan mentions, and it instantly and heartbreakingly reminds you who you’re talking to. You hate that he has a nickname for him. “They’re amazing.” You look at him. He seems genuine. “They’re so good and real and raw that it almost makes me wonder…” his voice tapers off, losing the sound to a small exhale that appears as if it was meant to be a laugh, “Nevermind.” 

“What?” You poke, instinctively leaning in towards him.

He meets your eyes, creases running along his forehead and frown lines more prominent than ever. “It almost makes me wonder if there was something between you both.” 

You swallow, pointing at your chest. Your voice comes out raspy without you meaning for it to. “Me and Seungcheol?” 

He nods. “Yeah, I mean the lyrics in ‘Begin Again’—“ 

“That song’s not about me. Or about him.” You defend. “We didn’t even know each other when we wrote that.” 

“What about ‘Can You See Me’?” 

Your breath catches. Truthfully, you answer, “I don’t know what that song’s about.” 

—

When you get home that night, you finish the song you started writing about Seungcheol and Jeonghan. 

When you breathe in his lips, do you think of mine? What kind of songs were we making? Were they all lies? 

“What’s it called?” The question comes from Soonyoung. 

You look up from the paper in your hands filled with the lyrics you had completed over the weekend and after Joshua’s party. You notice he looks sad. You turn your gaze to Minghao. You can’t really tell what he’s thinking in that moment. 

“Uhm–I don’t know. I haven’t thought of a title yet.”

Seungcheol walks in then. “What are you guys talking about?” He asks, setting down his stuff. Then, more to himself than to you guys, he murmurs, “And where are Junhui and Josh?”

Soonyoung and Minghao don’t say anything. Instead, when Seungcheol asks what you’re doing, they both look at you. You imagine even if Junhui and Joshua were here, they’d do the same. Have you really been this transparent? At what point did they put together all the pieces? 

You hand Seungcheol the song. You have no idea what his reaction will be. 

He just nods, like he has no idea what the song is about. Like he doesn’t see his name and Jeonghan’s scribbled in the margins. 

“Call it ‘Silver Lies’.” He says. 

Minghao makes a noise. “Call it ‘Silver Linings’.” 

“Vote on it?” Seungcheol proposes. 

“No.” You look at Minghao. He stares back at you. Something unspoken lies in the space between. “We’ll call it ‘Silver Linings’.”

A party rages around you. Flashing teeth and flashing lights. Another drink, another riff. You don’t even know where you are right now. You remember coming home after working on ‘Silver Linings’; you remember wanting to forget your own mind. This is the only way you know how.

You don’t even know how long it’s been. 

This is what you do know: You’re sitting by a pool. Your feet are wet. You haven’t been this drunk since your 18th birthday. Choi Seungcheol is standing across the pool from you. 

Your face breaks out in a smile. Sober you will regret that. Sober you will also regret how your first thought is that he looks beautiful. You’ll regret the fact that you finally, drunkenly but honestly, admit to yourself how pretty you think he is, how you’ve thought so since your first time hearing him sing, and how you’ve been so painfully aware of it ever since. 

You let yourself fall in the water. Head sinking for a moment, before breaking the surface again. Floating on your back, you start humming the melody to ‘Silver Linings’ in your head. 

Silver hair. Silver skin. Sliver of my heart you took with him. 

You can’t tell if it’s the chlorine or something more pathetic that burns the corner of your eyes and runs down the side of your cheeks. 

You feel something tug on your arm. The sudden jolt makes you lose your balance, falling beneath the water. You’re so fucking wasted you forget if you even know how to swim; you almost forget to not breathe. 

You feel a pair of arms pull you up and hold your head above the surface. You know who they belong to. It strikes you in the back of your mind that this is the first time you’ve been touched by him. So maybe that’s why you relish in the feel of his arms around your waist and the way his hand grips at your hip. 

He looks at you like you’re filth. Just as all your partners before him did. First they’re sweet and charming, but it always ends like this. In their arms, simultaneously wanting to be far away and fighting the urge to beg: love me, please. 

Even if he wasn’t your partner, even if all he was was a hope and a ‘what if’. 

You barely even register it when you say, “you're just like the rest of them.” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He rages back, not even acknowledging what you said.

“Nothing.” You tell him, smiling, wishing like hell that you believed it. 

“You missed our studio time. We were supposed to record ‘Silver Linings’.” He fumes at you. “Do you know what time it is? Do you even know what day it is?”

“Do you know how much of a fucking mood kill you can be?” You bite back. 

“What are you on?” He looks repulsed. You hate it. Hate the way that you showed him your whole heart and that he still looks at you like this. 

Seething, you say, “What do you think?” 

And that—that is what breaks him. What makes him lose his shit and start screaming. 

“Jihoon is fuming at us!” 

You barely notice it. Instead, you repeat in your head the words to the one song you truly, wholeheartedly wrote for him. 

“The record label isn’t going to let this slide, you do realize that, don’t you?” 

When you breathe in his lips, do you think of mine? 

“You wasted an entire day of recording!”

What kind of songs were we making? 

“No.” You say finally, voice coming out quiet. It sounds so misplaced and so wrong next to all the yelling between you two. “We wasted so much more than that.” 

Were they all lies?

For the first time since you’ve seen him tonight, he doesn’t say anything back. He just stares at you, like he can see straight through. The party continues all around you. It never stopped. It never quieted down. And yet, it somehow feels like you and him are the only ones in this pool. Like you’re stuck in time. Like you’ve created your own world with him and that’s where you’ve retreated to now. 

“Was any of it real?” You ask before you can stop the words. You hate how pathetic you sound. You hate how desperate it all is. 

All he says before leaving you in the water alone is: “I’m with Jeonghan now.” 

He splashes water in your face on his way out. 

When Seungcheol walks into the studio, you’re already there, talking with Jihoon and someone else he doesn’t recognize. 

“Hello.” He says cautiously to the group.  

The man says hi back. You don’t look at him. Jihoon is the one that finally explains. 

“Seungcheol, hey, this is Wonwoo. He’s from the paper, The Stones, and he’s going to be doing a piece on the band and the creation of the album.  It’ll be an inside look into the process of making an album and a bit about the band itself.” 

“Hey, man,” Seungcheol greets properly, extending his hand to shake. Wonwoo fumbles with a place to set down the pen and notebook in his hand for a second, before shaking it. Seungcheol doesn’t miss the way you scoff under your breath. “Wonwoo, right?” The reporter nods. “Anything you want us to do for you or for the piece?”

“No. Not at all.” He shakes his head profusely. “Just keep working on the album as you would normally. I might pop in here and there with questions, but other than that, it’ll be like I’m not even here.”

Seungcheol smiles brightly. “Well, you’re in for a treat today because we have a song to record.”

For the first time that day and for the first time since that night in the pool, you look at him. “No, we don’t.” He wonders if you remember that night, what you said to him, what he said back. 

“Actually,” he reaches into his bag and pulls out a piece of paper he’s been working on for the past two days. He hands it to you. “We do.”

You read the lyrics silently for a moment, then frowning, you read them aloud. “I’m used to making games out of broken hearts. Silly me for trying to play around with yours.”

Wonwoo makes a noise. “Damn. I wonder who that’s about.”

You snap, whipping back around to Wonwoo. “What happened to ‘it’ll be like I’m not even here’?” 

He mutters an apology and quickly scribbles something down in his notebook. You turn back to Seungcheol. “I’m not singing that.”

He ignores you and looks at Jihoon. “Let me see the song.”

You extend the paper out to him without taking your eyes off of Seungcheol. In Jihoon’s defense, he’s been working the hardest to keep the peace as early as when you recorded ‘Being Again’ together. Nonetheless, your face still morphs from hurt to angry. Seungcheol doesn’t blame you, but he also doesn’t really give a fuck. 

Jihoon, sounding more exhausted than Seungcheol has ever heard him sound before, only sighs. “How about we just try the song?”

—

Recording first starts with the instrumentals. The rest of the band recording their parts exactly as Seungcheol heard it in his head. 

Finally, with the rest of it recorded, he focuses on vocals. 

He only wants you singing it. 

“Take one of...” Jihoon starts, speaking through the intercom. “What’s it called again?”

Seungcheol answers: “‘We Are Not Done.’”

You’re the only one in the recording stage. Seungcheol sits in the control room with Jihoon, Hansol, and Wonwoo. The rest of the band is either home, in the lobby, or behind him in the control room. Seungcheol’s already demonstrated for you the general beat of the lyrics against the instrumental. You still hold the lyrics up behind the mic, brows furrowed at them. 

“Pour me a drink I–for all…” Normally, you’re a picture of confidence in the recording studio, but your first attempt to sing the song is an absolute train wreck. 

Seungcheol reaches over Jihoon’s shoulder and presses the red button. “Cut. What’s going on?”

You look through the window, exasperated. “I don’t get it. The words, they just–”

“It’s–Pour me a drink for all the fools made out of me.” Seungcheol demonstrates again. “I can’t live with myself half past 12–and it’s just like that for this whole verse.” He waits a moment. “Good?”

You stare at the lyrics, brows still scrunched together. “Yea.” 

“Okay. Take two.”

You sing: “Pour me a drink for all the fools made out of me.” Your voice is timid, almost. Seungcheol’s never heard you sound or act anything close to timid before. “I can’t live with myself half past 12.”

“Cut.” Seungcheol stops you again. “You have to sound larger than life singing, like you don’t care if people see how fucked up you are.”

“Excuse me?” You nearly scream at him.

“I’m talking about the song.”

Jihoon shakes his head. “Take 3.”

You look mad now. At least that will be closer to what Seungcheol wants. “Pour me a drink for all the fools made out of me.”

“Cut.” Seungcheol can see you biting your tongue. “Sing it looser. Less restrained. Don’t worry about hitting the notes. Take 4.”

“Pour me a drink for all the fools–”

“Cut.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Even looser. Take 5.”

“Pour me a drink f–”

“Cut. Let your voice get ‘ugly’. Take 6.”

“Pour me–”

“Cut!”

— 

(Wonwoo’s interview with Seungcheol)

Wonwoo: So, Seungcheol, I remember there being an impossible number of takes for the track ‘We Are Not Done’, specifically for the vocals. In the end, How’d you get them to sing like… that?

Seungcheol: Sometimes all it takes is a little push

—

(Wonwoo’s interview with you)

Wonwoo: ‘We Are Not Done’ is such a force of nature. How’d you end up singing it like that?”

You: Well, let’s just say that Seungcheol is really good at what he does.

Wonwoo: And what does he do?

You: He inspires. 

—

The red light flashes again. “Take 32.”

The only thought you have when the blue recording light turns back on is that you fucking hate Choi Seungcheol, but you still want him and you hate that he knows that. 

The track starts. 

Pour me a drink for all the fools made out of me. I can’t live with myself half past 12. I’m used to making games out of broken hearts.  Silly me for trying to play around with yours. I know you’re with someone new, But is that really true  If you’re still thinking of my kiss and my tongue?  I’m your wildest dream. I’m your best nightmare. You and me, baby, we are not done. 

You’re beyond pissed driving home from the studio that day. 

The first fucking day with the reporter and Seungcheol chose to make you look like an idiot. He chose to make you sing that song with Wonwoo sitting behind, taking it all in. 

Not to mention that that was the first time you’ve seen him since he showed up at the party while you were trying to get over him the only way you know how. When he held you in his arms, made you feel so stupidly warm, and then left with someone else’s name on his lips. 

You hate Seungcheol. Maybe joining the band wasn’t worth it. Wasn’t worth him. 

Your vision goes red and all you can think is: isn’t he over this yet? Aren’t I?

Suddenly, there’s a bang. A puff of smoke. The airbag releases. Your entire body clenches, lurching forward and then back again harshly. 

A crash, you register belatedly, staring at the hood of your car folded up like a piece of paper. 

Paper. 

You dig inside your glove box for your notebook and shove your hand in the space between the passenger seat and the center console to find a pen. 

“What the fuck?” The man from the car you hit screams, stepping out of his car.

You ignore it. A song, you had it just then. You had it.

“You hit me!” He yells again, getting closer.

Your pen hits the paper, and it doesn’t stop until the song is on it. Not even when you notice blood drip. Not even when the man starts banging on your window.

Is it over now? Do you have the guts? To call it quits, baby, Say I’ve had enough. Is it over now? Can we say the words? I used to love you, Now I’m not sure. 

(Wonwoo’s interview with you)

Wonwoo: What’s it been like working with the band? From ‘Begin Again’ to now?”

You: Oh, well, ‘Begin Again’ was a totally different story. I wasn’t really part of the group or anything. I was more just an outsider that Jihoon and the label had brought in. I changed up most of the lyrics, but the song was never really mine. I think it’s taken me a while to realize that. But, now, I mean, working on the album together couldn’t be more different. Seungcheol and I co-write almost all of the songs. It’s been a much more collaborative project compared to ‘Begin Again’. It’s been exhausting and tiring and life-consuming, but um, it’s been a lot of fun.

Wonwoo: So, going back a bit, if you rewrote all of the lyrics to ‘Begin Again’, how is it not your song?

You: Seungcheol already had some lyrics written for that song. I was just the one to figure out what he was really trying to say with them. 

Wonwoo: Hm

Wonwoo: So what’s it been like working with Seungcheol? 

You: Well, it definitely wasn’t easy at first.

Wonwoo: Why not?

You: I think we were both just used to writing alone. We learned a lot in those first couple writing sessions, and I think we’ve both grown a lot since then. 

Wonwoo: What’d you learn?

You: We’re very similar people. We think about love very similarly. We have fought the same battles, and we’re both able to turn our pain and struggling into something beautiful. 

Wonwoo: How would you describe you and Seungcheol’s personal relationship?

You: What do you mean?

Wonwoo: Friends, lovers, enemies, etc.

You: We have chemistry, but

You:

You: But I think that to write together there has to be love. What else would all the songs be about?

Wonwoo: Is that what ‘Can You See Me’ is about? Love?

You: That’s for each listener to figure out for themselves.

Wonwoo: You also said that you co-wrote most of the songs with Seungcheol.

You: Yes.

Wonwoo: So, did you guys co-write ‘We Are Not Done’ and ‘Is It Over Now?’?

You: 

Wonwoo: No need to go into details if you’re not comfortable. I’m only really looking for a yes or a no. 

You: It–

You: It’s not as simple as a yes or a no.

—

(Wonwoo’s interview with Seungcheol)

Wonwoo: What’s it been like working with someone else for the song writing on this album?

Seungcheol: It’s been hard. There’s a lot of push and pull for each word in each song, but I think at the end of the day, we’ve been able to put together an almost complete record of songs that we’re both proud of.

Wonwoo: It’s been said that the two of you have chemistry–

Seungcheol: Who said that?

Wonwoo: –do you agree with that?

Seungcheol:

Seungcheol: It’s not what you think.

Wonwoo:

Seungcheol: Look, whatever chemistry people think there is between us, I mean, it–it’s for the music and for the songs, not for each other. 

Wonwoo: Are you saying it’s all fake? 

Seungcheol: No, but it’s not real life either. 

Wonwoo: So you guys fabricated some of it to sell records?

Seungcheol: I just don’t want people to get the wrong idea. 

Wonwoo: Which is what?

Seungcheol: That there’s something between us romantically. There isn’t. 

Wonwoo: Not even a little bit?

Seungcheol: Not even once.

The photo shoot for the album they decided should be in the desert. You’re not really sure why. Probably something to do with the desert show where you and the band first played together. You didn’t have a choice in the matter. If you did, you would have suggested the opposite. Maybe something on the shore. Nonetheless, you let them tell you where to sit and exactly how to do it.

The photographers look between each other after each flash of light in your face. Thank god they aren’t actors. You can read on their faces how much they hate each photo taken. 

“You know what,” the head photographer says to the band, “let’s just take 5.”

You’re up immediately, walking away from the weird set they’ve put together and heading straight to the snack table. You say hi to Jeonghan standing there with a camera around his neck. 

“Did the paper send you or did you come with Seungcheol?” You ask lightheartedly, picking at some grapes.

He laughs, fiddling with the lens. “No, not the paper. I just like to bring my camera with me sometimes. Plus,” he adds with a far off smile, looking up the hill at Joshua, Junhui, and Minghao talking, “reminds me of the old days.”

You look up past those three to where Soonyoung and Seungcheol are laughing at something you wish you were privy to. “I get that.” 

“Actually, Seungcheol and I wanted to talk to you.” He says. His lips look pressed, eyes bright, fighting a smile but also fighting something else far beneath that. “Once the album wraps, we’re, uh, we’re gonna get married.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, I know. It was his idea, but I’m really excited about it too.” He tells you, abashedly. “We’re gonna keep it small, I think. Do it back in our hometown so that our families can be there and everything. I think most of the band is gonna travel back too to be there, and, uh, I know it would mean a lot to both of us if you were there too.” 

You look at Jeonghan. You don’t really think he’s lying about the last part, but that still doesn’t make it any easier for you to swallow. “I don’t really know if that’s a good idea.”

“I do.” Jeonghan doesn’t falter. It reminds you of you before Seungcheol. You wonder where that version of you went. After a moment, his face softens, lips turning down a bit, but eyes looking as kind and as big as ever. You notice that his hair isn’t silver anymore. 

“I know that it’s complicated between you and Seungcheol. And I’m not going to act like I get it because I don’t. But I like you and I know he loves you. If not for anything, then for this.” Jeonghan gestures to the shitty set they prepared. You look at it, chuckling. It’s shitty, yes. But Jeonghan’s right. This must’ve cost the label a fuck ton of money. “He and the band wouldn’t have any of this if not for you. You did that for them.” 

You turn back to Jeonghan. Genuinely, you tell him, “Thank you.”

You open your arms to him. He welcomes it, hugging you back. You exhale. You can barely remember the last time you did. 

“Congratulations, Jeonghan.” You feel him grin. 

“Please come.” He requests. 

You don’t know if you will. But you do know that you’re happy for him. 

—

The next round of photos are no better than the last. You hope at least Jeonghan, who’s moved on to taking pictures of the scenery, is having a better shoot day than the label-hired photographers. 

You find Seungcheol again during the next break, standing in the back at the top most part of the hill, sun shining down directly behind his head.

“Hey.” He says to you, not casually but not maliciously either.

You stop in front of him, just staring. Without you even meaning to, you frown. Seungcheol must notice. He tilts his head. “What’s up?”

You inhale sharply. “You’re getting married.”

His mouth opens, then closes. “I’m getting married.”

You shake your head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I-it never..” He stops trying to find the words. You find that as more of an answer than anything he could’ve said. “I’m sorry.”

“Take me home.” You recite, thinking of the first window you ever had into Seungcheol’s heart. “Welcome me on those familiar roads. Embrace me in your arms. Oh please, tell me I still belong. It was always about him, wasn’t it?”

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything. You know him too well to think he would. Instead, he sucks in his bottom lip and turns his gaze to the ground. You bend your neck to see his face, see his red eyes. This is the only time you’ll have him like this again. This is it.

The only thing you have left to say to him is: “I hope you’re happy.”

—

When you go home that night, you drink yourself past consciousness. It’s only when you wake up with a pounding head the next morning do you see the song sitting next to you, written in sloppy, drunken handwriting. 

Tell me was it worth all the pain Tell me would you do it over again Tell me was it worth the lights and your name Tell me was it worth the sound of my shame Tell me was it worth the album and the songs That I only sang thinking they were about us Tell me some it was true, not in my head Did we only kiss to sound how you wanted?

I know I’m not yours But let me your wildest dream You think of again On a bad night After a bad fight

(Wonwoo’s interview with you)

Wonwoo: Who wrote the last song on the album: ‘Not Yours’?

You: I did.

Wonwoo: When?

You: Right after the album cover shoot. 

Wonwoo: What inspired it?

You: Well

You: I think that song had been singing in my heart for a while before I finally wrote it. 

—

(Wonwoo’s interview with Seungcheol)

Wonwoo: ‘Not Yours’ is such a heart-breaking song. What was it like recording it?

Seungcheol: Believe it or not, it was one of the easiest. 

(Wonwoo’s interview with Jeonghan)

Wonwoo: It’s nice to finally meet you.

Jeonghan: You too. If I can be honest, I really didn’t expect to be called about this piece.

Wonwoo: Oh

Wonwoo: I just like to get all sides of it. 

Jeonghan: Okay.

Wonwoo: I wanted to talk to you about the album photo shoot. 

Jeonghan: Oh yeah of course.

Wonwoo: From my understanding, the picture that was chosen as the cover, was one that you took. Is that correct?

Jeonghan: Yeah. I took it during one of the breaks. 

Jeonghan: I mean props to the photography team that was hired, I’m sure they’re amazing, but it wasn’t hard to tell that they were really struggling to photograph the band. 

Jeonghan: I just happened to have my camera on me, and you know, I had photographed the band in the past, so I just kind of knew what to look for. And when I saw Seungcheol and them go off to the side to talk, my eyes just happened to follow them. And

Jeonghan: Well, I don’t know what they were talking about, but you can see it in the photo, you know? 

Jeonghan: They’re looking at each other like it’s a very important conversion. And well, let’s just say that I know Seungcheol very well, and he’s never been a good actor, so it must have been. And, and the sky is so blue and so clear behind them which, I don’t know, to me sort of represents how there’s nothing coming between them in this moment either. There’s nothing that isn’t being said.

Jeonghan: 

Jeonghan: When I saw that, I just knew I had to capture it.

Jeonghan:

Jeonghan: I had no idea that Jihoon would want to use it for the album cover. I wasn’t thinking like that. 

Wonwoo: Was it weird at all?

Jeonghan: How so?

Wonwoo: To capture a picture of your finance and his bandmate looking at each other like that?

(Wonwoo’s interview with Jihoon)

Wonwoo: So does the album have a name?

Jihoon: Yeah. Of course.

Jihoon: Aurora

Wonwoo: Can you tell me anything about the band maybe going on tour?

Jihoon: Well, can’t say anything for sure yet, but there’s definitely been some talk from the label about it.

Wonwoo: If there were to be a tour, are you able to give us a sneak peek as to what it’ll be like?

Jihoon: Hmm

Jihoon: Did you happen to see the band play the festival in the desert?

Wonwoo: No, I did not.

Jihoon: Well, I’ll tell you what anyone who saw that show would say.

Wonwoo: Which is?

Jihoon: Get ready for the best fucking show of your life. 

(Wonwoo’s interview with you)

Wonwoo: I heard most of the band is heading back to their hometown for the break. 

You: Yeah, they are.

Wonwoo: Do you plan on joining them?

You: No.

You: I don’t think I will.

Wonwoo: What do you plan to do during your time off?

You: Well, I bought a one way ticket to Italy, so that should start something. Maybe I’ll go to Nepal or Japan or Brazil after that. I haven’t really decided yet. 

Wonwoo: So, traveling.

You: Yeah, I guess. 

You: Can you believe that the festival show we did is the farthest I’ve ever been from home?

You: It’s time I saw a little more of the world.

Wonwoo: The fans are really looking forward to a tour. Can you speak to when you will be coming back?

You:

You: Who’s to say I will?

#seventeen scenarios #seungcheol scenarios #scoups scenarios #mine #*ode to you #scoups x reader #seungcheol x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #seungcheol imagines #scoups imagines #scoups fluff #seungcheol fluff #seveneteen fluff #scoups fanfic #seungcheol fanfic #seventeen fanfic #scoups angst #seventeen angst #seungcheol angst

[thot-of-khonshu]

All Access, Chapter 1

All Access Masterlist | Ko-Fi | A03 Link

Pairing: 70s rockstar! frankie morales x f! reader

Rating: 18+ (explicit, minors do not interact)

Word Count: 6.4K

Summary: It's 1975 and you're one of the rare women given the opportunity to write for Rolling Stone. When you get the opportunity of a lifetime to travel with the hottest band in the US, Triple Frontier, you're welcomed into their den of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. But what happens when you fall for their bass player and it becomes more than just a story?

Content: explicit drug use, heavy partying, triple frontier as rockstars, eventual smut, 1975 au

A/N: Thank you so so so much to my beta readers @heythere-mel, @proxima-writes, @nostalxgic, and @pedropascal-whore I am so insanely, eternally grateful you have no idea! Thank you to anyone who has been waiting for this story since it was just a random idea in 2022. I hope you all enjoy it and it makes you sing as loudly as Santiago.

TRIPLE FRONTIER: FROM BATTLEFIELDS TO CENTER STAGE

As the dust of the Vietnam War settles, a new sound emerges from its ashes. Four war veterans—Santiago, Benny, Will, and Frankie—unite under a new banner, Triple Frontier, capturing the soul of a generation seeking peace, love, and rock 'n' roll.

Triple Frontier's latest self-titled album strikes a chord with raw passion and unflinching honesty of their previous work. We can trace their meteoric rise in the music world back to their time serving together in the Vietnam War, an experience that has left an indelible mark on each member and seeps into every note they play.

At the forefront is Santiago Garcia, the charismatic lead singer with vocals matched only by his charm and stage presence; Behind Santiago, Benny Miller lets loose on the drums, laying down the heartbeat of their sound. Will, Benny's older brother on lead guitar, is the soul of the band. He's intuitive and artistic with the guitar akin to Robbie Robertson.

And then there's Francisco Morales on bass. The stoic backbone of the group, his basslines are more than just musical notes—they're lifelines. His bass weaves the music together like a thread that ties each member of the band.

Tom Davis, their manager, has been instrumental in their rise. A fellow vet, he understands their shared history and has transformed their raw, visceral tales into a finely-tuned musical odyssey. Speaking about their journey, Tom says, "These boys have stories that the world needs to hear. I'm just helping amplify their voices."

The band's name, Triple Frontier, references the tri-border area in Southeast Asia—a location many veterans from the Vietnam War will recognize.

Despite the weight of their past, or perhaps because of it, Triple Frontier brings a refreshing authenticity to the rock scene. Their music isn't just entertainment; it's a balm, a therapy, a reminder of the indomitable human spirit.

As they gear up for their nationwide tour, one thing's for certain: Triple Frontier is here to stay, and they're just getting started.

Despite your boss stating he just needed a simple puff piece about Triple Frontier, whenever you reread that review you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride when you saw your name in print in Rolling Stone. It wasn't the first time, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

You were on the fast track to doing something big at Rolling Stone by the time you were thirty, you could just feel it. After freelance writing post graduation from college, you landed an entry-level job at the magazine. You knew what you were getting into, the long hours and the male-dominated office could be a lot at times, but you were living the dream as far as you were concerned. To write about music and make it your living was a gift you never wanted to take for granted.

It was a Tuesday afternoon and you were done at work surprisingly early. You lugged your 1969 Dodge home and immediately went to the back patio to light a joint. You slunk back in your chair, inhaling deeply from the joint, and watched the sun dip lower behind the tree line; the warm glow of the Los Angeles sunset never got old. As the smoke filled your lungs, you felt the day slowly dissipate.

The sound of your phone ringing jolted you out of your high-induced stupor but you heard your roommate Jenna flit across the house and yell "I'll get it!" before answering. You took another deep pull off the joint and exhaled, watching the smoke dance around the sky as it faded out.

You heard Jenna call your name from inside. You walked into the kitchen and saw her standing with the phone receiver in her hand, she was looking at you with an expectant expression.

"Who is it?" You asked.

"Some guy named Tom Davis? Sounds foxy." She grinned at you and wiggled her eyebrows. You rolled your eyes and swatted her away before taking the phone from her.

"Hello?"

"Hey! I hope you don't mind me calling you at home. Your work number was listed in the phone book, but I didn't know if you'd want to take this call in the office or not. Figured home was probably better."

You had talked to Tom a month back for the Triple Frontier article. You remembered him as a no-nonsense type of guy who didn't beat around the bush, so you knew even though he was calling you at home it wasn't for a dinner party.

"No, that's okay. What can I do for you? I hope the article came out okay?"

"That's actually why I'm calling, I wanted to thank you again for doing such a great job. The guys really loved it and the boss did too. And we've had some new interest in the band and they think an interview series might be a good way to build some buzz during the tour."

You felt excitement bubble up in your stomach. You didn't want to be presumptuous and assume this was an offer, but you also didn't want to say no.

"I'd love to write more about them! I'm not sure if you just want a song by song review or..."

Tom chuckled on the other end.

"Nah, nothing like that. I know this is actually last minute but we're playing a show at the Troubadour on Friday night and we'd love for you to come. I've already cleared it with your editor at Rolling Stone if you're game."

You tried not to sound too eager. Of course you knew about the Troubadour show, it had been sold out for months. You knew this wasn't an easy ticket to score or an opportunity that just falls into your lap like this.

"I would be an idiot to say no."

"That's what I like to hear! I'll be in touch with more details, but I'll have your ticket and backstage pass ready for you on Friday night."

"Awesome, thank you so much."

"Thank you, we'll talk soon!"

He hung up the phone. You stood in the kitchen with the receiver in your hand. You felt like someone had just punched you in the gut, you couldn't believe it. The Troubadour, backstage passes, exclusive interviews... it was the break you'd been waiting for.

This was real rock journalism, the rock journalism your mom cried over when you said you wanted to move out west and pursue this as a career.

Will Mom still think you're dabbling with the devil if your name is under the biggest story for Rolling Stone with the hottest band in the country?

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

By the time Friday night rolled around, you felt like you had a permanent case of butterflies in your stomach. It wasn't often you had the opportunity to attend a show and not write about it, so the fact that you had no other reason for going besides seeing the band was enough to set your nerves on fire. But meeting them?

You'd spent the whole week building scenarios in your head - Would these guys even take you seriously? Would they see you as just another fan? Were they even that interesting to interview, or were their music and looks all there was to them?

You shook the thoughts from your head as you walked up to the Troubadour. The line outside was already around the block and you could feel the energy from the crowd. You saw women with long hair down their backs in tight jeans and crochet tops, some men with hair even longer than theirs and dressed in flared pants and vibrant shirts. You could already smell the weed wafting off some people.

As you approached the bouncer at the back door, he glared at you, intimidating and unwavering.

"I'm here to pick up a press pass from Tom Davis." You tried to exude confidence, even though you felt the opposite. He arched his brow at you before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a paper.

"Name."

You gave him your name and also added what you thought would cement your legitimacy. "I'm with Rolling Stone."

He looked over the paper before his eyes settled on your face.

"Right. This way."

The man turned and opened the door behind him, beckoning for you to follow.

Once inside, he led you through the dimly lit back corridors of the club. You were immediately welcomed into a heavy musk of smoke and sweat. You passed other roadies carrying guitars, amps, and microphones. You felt the excitement rising up again and you had to remind yourself to act cool.

He led you into a dressing room with a large group of people. Everyone had drinks in their hands and seemed to be chatting amongst themselves. The walls were covered in posters and various band members from over the years had scrawled their names on the walls where Tom was seated, reading over a sheet of paper.

"There she is! Good to see you." Tom immediately spotted you from the crowd, his tall and imposing figure stood up and made his way over to you. He was wearing a black leather jacket and his hair was pushed back with gel. He looked every bit the rocker, and you couldn't help but wonder if he always dressed like that. With the band but not in the band.

He reached into his back pocket to pull out a laminated press pass. "Here you go, this should get you access to whatever you need."

You took the press pass and held it up, smiling. You were still in shock.

"I can't thank you enough, Tom. This really is an honor."

Tom chuckled and clapped a hand on your shoulder. "Honor's ours. We're looking forward to the piece."

"Speaking of pieces, If you're gonna write about the band you might as well meet them. Come with me."

He started making his way toward the back of the room. As he passed, the people parted to let him through. You followed closely behind, trying to not lose him.

He led you towards a cluster of men in the corner. They were talking amongst themselves, beers in hand and laughing. You recognized Benny–the drummer–from the album cover, by his shaggy, dirty blonde hair. He was bouncing off the soles of his feet, drumsticks tucked in his belt loop, and was the center of the circle.

Will was leaning against the wall, his long blonde hair tucked in a bun. He had a cigarette dangling between his lips and a guitar pick in his hand, fiddling with it.

Next to Will, Santiago was sitting on a couch, his arm draped over the back with a glass tumbler in his other hand. His eyes shined as he was talking to the other boys, taking his hand to smooth out his jet-black hair.

It was true what every girl said - his pants were as tight as his voice.

And then there was Frankie.

He was standing next to Santiago, a beer bottle hanging loosely from his fingertips. He was leaning on his elbow on the wall behind Santiago, listening to Benny.

He was handsome. His brown hair was covered in his signature baseball cap, and the stubble along his jaw along with his mustache gave him a rugged look. You couldn't help but notice the muscles underneath his thin shirt. You could see his arms flexing underneath the material, his fingers wrapped tightly around the neck of his beer.

He was the first one to notice you, looking at you before he did Tom. His eyes were dark and unreadable, but you could tell he was assessing the situation.

"Boys," Tom boomed, "I want you to meet the writer from Rolling Stone."

Santiago and Will turned their heads in unison, but Frankie's eyes stayed fixed on you.

Santiago's smile broadened, and Will raised his eyebrow and nodded. Frankie's expression didn't change.

"Well, hey, welcome to the party." Santiago stood up and extended his hand. You reached out and took his, shaking it. His hand was soft and his grip was firm.

"Nice to meet you." You tried to sound confident.

"You've already met Tom, obviously," he gestured towards Tom, who smiled at you, "and this is Will and Benny, and that's Frankie."

Benny smiled at you, and Frankie's eyes flickered over to Santiago as he said his name, but he didn't speak. You had a feeling this was his way of letting everyone else talk.

"Nice to meet you all, I'm a huge fan." You offered them a friendly smile.

Benny spoke up, "Well then, I like you already. You'll make us look good!"

Tom looked down at his watch and then snapped up at the guys. "Shit–we have ten minutes before showtime, you guys need to get down to the stage."

They started moving and shuffling: Will stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray, Benny put down his beer, and Santiago tossed back his drink. Frankie had disappeared into the crowd, leaving you to watch them all go by.

Tom turned back to you, "What are you doing? You're going down with us. ‘Can't write about the show if you aren't there."

You felt the rush of adrenaline surge through your body. Your face broke out into a huge grin.

"Yeah, right. Okay."

Tom smiled and turned, heading for the door. You followed him, trying to keep up with his strides. Backstage was a flurry of activity and you felt like you were on a hamster wheel trying to stay out of the way. You couldn't help but stare at the scene before you, the lights and the sounds, the smell.

After navigating through the throng of people and equipment, you found yourself on the side of the stage, the lights dim and the sound of the audience humming through the floorboards. While Tom had stopped to talk with one of the lighting guys, you could see the boys getting into their instruments and tuning up.

You looked over and saw Frankie. He had taken off his hat and was carding his hand through his thick hair. His mouth was turned down into a frown, but you could see the glimmer of his eyes.

He looked up at you. Your breath hitched and you could feel your cheeks start to burn. He held your gaze for a moment before turning away and putting his hat back on.

Suddenly, the lights dimmed and the audience erupted in cheers. The guys, including Tom, went into a huddle and you slowly inched yourself closer, not wanting to miss this moment.

You heard Benny shout, "Let's get it done tonight, boys! Let's give the fans what they came for."

You could see Santiago's grin spread across his face, "This is our mission. Our job. Our purpose."

Tom placed his hand into the middle, "I'm proud of you, boys. Now, let's go fucking rock this shit."

They put their hands together and Santiago began to sing "Stop, hey, what's that sound..."

Like a ritual, the rest of the men in the circle sang "Everybody look what's going down."

With that, the boys dispersed and you felt so lucky to be in that moment. You feel their connection, their comradery, their love.

You saw Tom pat Benny on the back. "Showtime!" he boomed. Benny ran onto the stage and the crowd roared. You could hear the clatter of sticks in the air as Benny hit the cymbal to start playing their song "Echoes".

The rest of the guys filed onto the stage and you were immediately struck by the sheer energy radiating off the crowd. They were cheering, clapping, dancing. There was so much movement and excitement and you felt the hairs on your arms stand up.

The band started their set with a bang. You watched as Santiago worked the crowd, his voice smooth and strong. He walked slowly, confidently, swaying with every step. The crowd was eating out of the palm of his hand.

You'd never experienced a concert like this, being able to watch from the sidelines and take in everything. The lights, the sound, the way the crowd responded.

Your eyes drifted to Frankie. He was focused and precise with his guitar, his hands moving effortlessly across the strings. You watched the muscles in his arms flex and strain as he played along with the concentration in his eyes.

The rest of the concert flew by. Before you knew it, the band was finishing up their final song, and the crowd was going crazy. You watched as Santiago, Frankie, Benny, and Will took their final bows.

The audience screamed. Santiago leaned over and spoke into the microphone, "Los Angeles, thank you. We love you! Goodnight!"

And with that, the lights dimmed and the guys filed off stage. Tom turned and motioned for you to follow as he led you to a different area where the guys were drinking bottles of water and catching their breath.

Benny was sweating, his face flushed red. "Man, we really fucking killed it."

Santiago grinned, wiping his brow. "You bet your ass we did. That was one of the best shows we've done."

Frankie was leaning against the wall, a bottle of water in his hand. He was drinking it slowly, his eyes looking up and meeting yours.

Will looked over at you and gave you a wink. "Did you enjoy the show?"

"Oh my god, yes. That was incredible." You were trying to be professional, but your excitement was starting to show through, an excitement that Santiago could start to see through.

Santiago clapped his hands together. "Excellent. Now that we've broken your legs, I think it's time for the afterparty. Are you coming with us?"

"The afterparty?"

"Of course," Tom chimed in, "you don't have to go, but it might give you some time to chat with the guys more and get some quotes. These things tend to be a good time so I can also book you a room, on us. It's at the Chateau Marmont."

"Holy shit."

"That's the spirit." Santiago winked.

You hesitated, knowing how big a decision this was. The idea of the afterparty excited you, but it was also a chance to spend more time with these guys. To talk to them one-on-one and maybe get some insights that would really sell the article.

You took a deep breath and looked around the room, at the guys waiting expectantly.

"Alright, count me in."

You could have sworn you saw Frankie's lip twitch up into a smile.

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

The afterparty was at a bungalow at the Chateau Marmont and it was a mess of people, noise, and debauchery. You tried to take it all in but you just couldn't. There was too much happening at once.

You found a bar top to sit at, watching the scene unfold. Santiago was at the piano playing some old jazz tunes and laughing with gorgeous women surrounding him. Tom was chatting up some record exec, a scotch in his hand. You even saw Benny and Will having an impromptu arm wrestling match in the corner. Frankie so far wasn't anywhere to be found.

The music, the lights, the alcohol. All of it was almost overwhelming and you were starting to wonder why you decided to come.

This world of excess and debauchery was so foreign to you, a far cry from the quiet solitude of your apartment where you usually did your writing. You've been to parties but nothing like this. You thought about your male coworkers at Rolling Stone, who seemed to fit seamlessly into the rock and roll lifestyle, effortlessly bonding with their subjects over shared experiences and unspoken understandings.

You focused on scribbling notes in your notebook, trying to make sense of the chaos around you and organize your thoughts about the concert. The more you wrote, the more your head cleared, and you found yourself able to better compartmentalize everything you'd experienced.

As you were finishing up your notes, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

"Hey."

You turned and saw Santiago standing behind you. He had a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand and his eyes were slightly bloodshot.

"Hey." You replied.

He moved to stand beside you, looking at the party in front of you.

"What are you doing over here by yourself? Having fun?" He asked, taking a swig of the whiskey.

You shrugged, "I guess I just wanted to take everything in, get a feel of the scene. "

"Through your notepad?" He asked, gesturing towards your notes.

"Yeah, uh, it's easier for me to write things down."

"Ah," he took another swig, "can I ask you a question?"

You looked up at him. He was staring down at you, a smirk on his face.

"Sure."

"Why do you wanna write a story about us?"

It wasn't the question you were expecting. You had prepared for a list of generic questions like how you got into writing and your favorite bands, but this one caught you off guard.

"Because..." You hesitated, not sure how to answer, "...because I think you guys are cool."

Santiago smirked, leaning in.

"Cool? That's it?"

"Yeah," you said, feeling slightly defensive. "I think you guys have something special."

He chuckled to himself, taking a joint from a walking passerby, and taking a hit. "That's what they all say."

"All who?"

"People, the press. They all want to write a story about the cool, rebellious, rock and roll band, but the thing is, no one ever actually gets it."

"Maybe because the people who write about you are only interested in the glamorous lifestyle and not the reality of it."

He cocked his eyebrow.

"The reality?"

"Yeah," you said, closing your notebook. "I don't want to write a story about what I see here. This is a party, a show. It's not what's real."

Santiago studied you for a moment, and you felt the tension in the air between you. It was as if he was trying to read you, to figure out what made you tick.

"I'm here to witness the magic, the brotherhood. You can feel the bond between you guys: it's real, it's tangible, it's magnetic. People come to see your shows to see it. Shit, people come to the Chateau Marmont at 1 AM to see it. People want more."

You met his gaze, unwavering. You weren't going to back down.

He laughed, taking a step back. "Okay, okay. I believe you."

You smiled, relieved.

"But I'm gonna let you in on a little secret…Tom? He's over the moon, hunky fuckin' dory that you're writing this piece, but the truth is? We're a little skeptical, a little worried. We wanna look good but we also don't want this to be a puff piece. You've convinced me though, I believe you when you say you wanna do something different. So here's the deal - if you want the real story, the one that matters, you need to prove it."

You swallowed.

"And how do I do that?"

He smirked, gesturing to the crowd. "Come hang with us, chill out, see how we are when it's just us. If you can do that, I'll tell you whatever you wanna know. If you wanna get to know the real us, you gotta dive in."

Santiago offered you the joint, and you took it from him, putting it to your lips and inhaling.

He grinned. "Welcome to the team."

You hesitated for a moment. You wanted to get the real story, the one that mattered, but you were afraid. What if you didn't fit in? What if the guys didn't like you?

But Santiago had a point. You needed to prove yourself, and what better way than by actually hanging out with the band?

So you sucked it up, took a long drag off the joint, and threw caution to the wind.

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

You weren't sure how much time had passed, but the party was still in full swing. The doubts and fears that plagued you had floated away along with your sobriety. Santiago had been a great host, introducing you to people, making sure you had a drink in your hand, and keeping the conversation going. You'd lost track of how many drinks you'd had, but you were feeling good.

He'd also gotten you better acquainted with Will and Benny. Will was reserved but he was incredibly knowledgeable about music, and you spent most of your conversation talking about some of the more obscure bands you both liked in common. With Benny, he was the life of the party. He had an infectious smile and was quick to laugh.

Frankie was another story entirely.

Frankie had eventually been found at the party but he'd stayed off to the side, talking quietly with a group of people, occasionally smoking a cigarette or sipping from a glass. You watched him throughout the night.

He'd glance at you from time to time, his eyes dark and unreadable. His gaze would linger, sending shivers down your spine. You would try to catch his eye, but he'd look away before you could make contact.

A model that you recognized from a cover of Cosmopolitan pulled out a baggie of coke and offered some to everyone at the table. You politely declined and headed for the bathroom.

You walked around the hallway and saw a few sets of doors. You opened a door to see Tom sitting on the bed, the phone cord stretched across the room.

"Of course I'm thinking about this damn offer, it's all I can think about. Fuck, I just don't know if this is the right move. If I had another band under my roster the boys would kill me, but the money they're offering? It's the kind of money we can't turn down."

You tried to back out of the room quietly, but sobriety be damned, the heel of your shoe clicked loudly on the hardwood floor as you tripped. Tom turned, his eyebrows raised and his expression a mixture of surprise and concern.

You mouthed an apology and quickly made your way out of the room. Humiliation and embarrassment flooding through you, you decided you needed some air.

You made your way outside, the cool air hitting your face. You inhaled deeply, trying to clear your mind and slow your racing heart. You only had a bit of context but you knew that wasn't a conversation you were supposed to hear.

You sat down on the ground, resting your head against the wall. You could feel your body relax, the tension easing from your shoulders.

As you closed your eyes, the events of the evening replayed in your head. The music, the energy, the excitement.

Suddenly, you felt someone sit next to you. You looked over and saw Frankie, his expression still unreadable.

"Hey."

"Hi." You tried to sound casual, hoping the high pitch in your voice didn't sell you out.

He lit a cigarette, taking a long drag and exhaling slowly. The smoke curled in the air, dancing in the breeze.

You sat in silence for a moment, watching the smoke drift away, trying to distract yourself from the man in front of you.

"Having fun?" Frankie's voice was low and husky, his question caught you off guard. "What do you think of all of this so far?"

"It's definitely not what I'm used to."

He chuckled, and you couldn't help but smile. He took another cigarette from the carton, offering one to you.

You took the cigarette from him and he lit it, the flame flickering in the darkness. You felt the smoke fill your lungs.

"What are you used to then?" He asked, his eyes locked on yours.

"Lighting a joint at the end of a long day, writing a draft for an article, and throwing it in the trash. Sitting at home alone and wondering if I'm ever gonna break out."

Frankie smiled. "We're not what you expected, huh?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Not at all."

You took another drag of the cigarette. The combination of weed, whiskey, and nicotine was making your head spin, and you couldn't stop the giggle that escaped your lips.

Frankie smirked.

"Lightweight."

You nodded, leaning your head against the wall. You looked over at Frankie, his profile illuminated by the moonlight. He was handsome, his jawline sharp and his lips full. His hair was tousled under his hat and his stubble was perfectly trimmed. You could see the muscles in his arms flex as he brought the cigarette to his mouth, and you felt your breath hitch.

You looked away, feeling a blush creep up your neck. You weren't sure if it was the alcohol, the drugs, or his presence that was making you feel so flustered.

"What are you doing out here anyways?" You asked, trying to distract yourself from the butterflies in your stomach.

Frankie shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching. "I could ask you the same question."

You laughed, the alcohol and weed finally settling in.

"I was feeling a bit overwhelmed, I needed some fresh air."

Frankie nodded, understanding. "I'm not really one for big parties."

"Is that why you weren't around earlier?"

He gave you a curious look. "You really are quite the observant reporter."

You grinned. "I'm a professional."

He smirked, your gaze turning back to the sky. You couldn't help but feel his eyes linger on your skin, you felt like you were burning up.

"I'm just not a huge fan of the crowds. I like the music, the shows, but the parties are sometimes too much."

"I can understand that."

"Can you?"

You looked at him, surprised by his question. "Of course."

He raised his eyebrow. "How so?"

You shrugged. "I've had my share of experiences. Not quite like this, but enough that I get it. Sometimes I'd rather just sit back with a joint and observe it all."

Frankie's lips twitched into a small smile. "Me too."

You couldn't help but smile back. He seemed much less guarded now.

You took another drag of your cigarette; the smoke swirling around the two of you.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Frankie glanced at you, the corner of his mouth twitching again.

"Sure."

"What brought you into music? How'd you end up here?"

He considered your question for a moment, tapping the ashes of his cigarette.

"Well, I just always loved music. I was a quiet kid and my parents weren't around a lot. Santi moved to Miami when we were eight and we just immediately hit it off. Whatever he did, I did. If he joined the baseball team, I joined the baseball team. And then he started playing guitar. We'd sit in his garage for hours and play. I never knew I wanted to be a musician until then. It just felt right."

He paused, taking a long drag of his cigarette.

"How'd you get into journalism?"

You froze. The truth was, you had no idea. You just always felt drawn to writing. You had a knack for it and it came easily to you. You never had any grand plan or vision, it was more like a calling.

"I guess I just felt called to it. I was always writing stories as a kid and then I wanted to write about real people and real stories."

He studied you, his eyes searching yours.

"So far, do you like my story?"

You grinned, "I don't know your story yet."

He smiled, exposing a dimple as you felt your heart skip a beat.

"It's been a long time since I've actually talked to someone like this."

"Me too."

There was a moment of comfortable silence. You could hear the sounds of the city around you, the cars honking, the music and laughter drifting from inside. Suddenly, you heard the door open and Tom stepped out.

"Some chick from Apple Records just threw up on my Italian boots. This is a disaster."

Frankie rolled his eyes. "You've had worse, Tom."

Tom groaned. "I'm gonna call it a night. You guys have that radio station interview tomorrow and I need to get ready for it in the morning."

"I should probably get some sleep too." Frankie stretched out and yawned, his shirt riding up and exposing a strip of skin above the waistband of his jeans.

You felt your mouth go dry and quickly looked away.

"Did you get the room key I left for you?" Tom asked you. "We rented out the whole second floor, so you've got your pick of rooms."

"Yeah, thanks." You dug into your back pocket, pulling out the key.

"I gotta clean this shit up so I'll see you guys in the morning."

He retreated away from the cottage, leaving you and Frankie alone once more.

You stood, dusting off the back of your pants. "I guess I should get some sleep, I'm pretty wasted."

"I'm heading up myself, so I can walk you to your hotel room."

"Oh, okay." You said in a high-pitched tone.

"Unless you don't want me to."

"No! No, I want you to, I just wasn't sure if you wanted to say goodnight to the guys?"

"They're honestly too fucked up to remember anything right now. Besides, I'd rather make sure you get there safe."

You blushed, the alcohol and weed still affecting you. "Thanks."

You and Frankie made your way back into the main building, the party still raging on from the cottage nearby. While you walked through the halls and into the elevator, you marveled at the luxury of the famous chateau. You'd heard so many stories but to say you'd gone to a party there, even for a couple of hours, was something you’d never forget.

The two of you got into the elevator, and you were acutely aware of Frankie's presence. He was tall–at least a foot taller than you–and his shoulders were broad and muscular. You could smell his scent, a mixture of spice, nicotine, and citrus.

The both of you got off on the second floor, walking silently down the hallway. The hotel was dark and quiet; it was as if the rest of the world had faded away.

You reached your room, fumbling with the key and unlocking the door.

"This is me."

Frankie nodded. "Good night."

You stepped into the room and turned around, watching as he walked away.

"Good night."

You watched him disappear around the corner, the butterflies in your stomach erupting again.

Once the door had shut behind you, you exhaled a breath you didn't realize you were holding. You were still buzzing from the alcohol and the pot but there was something else, an energy that you hadn't felt before.

You stripped off your clothes, letting them pool on the floor, and crawled into the bed. As you drifted off, you felt yourself smile.

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

You were jolted awake by the shrill ring of the hotel telephone. Before you could even think, your head was already pounding from last night and its excess. You squinted at the clock next to you, the bold white words focusing on 9:30 AM.

"Hello?" Your voice was hoarse and still heavy with sleep.

"Morning! It's Tom." Tom sounded surprisingly chipper given last night's circumstances with his Italian shoes. Not one to beat around the bush, he started, "I have a proposition for you."

You were instantly alert, sitting up straight in the bed. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

"I had a long talk with Santiago this morning. About you."

You swallowed nervously. You knew that whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

"Okay.."

"He told me that you really want to tell the real story of the band, that you want to get to the bottom of who we are."

You paused, considering your words carefully.

"That's correct. I think there's more to your story, more than meets the eye."

"That's exactly what I thought, which is why I have an offer for you."

You held your breath. You didn't want to seem eager but you couldn't help the excitement building inside of you.

"I'm listening."

"Rolling Stone wants an in-depth piece, right? Well, what better way to get that than by joining us on tour?"

Your heart skipped a beat as his words sunk in.

"You mean..go on tour with you guys? Be a part of the band?"

"It's the only way to really understand us, right? Get into our world, our culture, and experience it for yourself. I already pitched it to your editor and he said as long as the label pays for expenses and you're game, he's game."

You were astounded at the things that Tom Davis could get done before noon.

"But..how would that work? Where would I stay? I don't have any experience touring or writing on the road."

You took a deep breath, processing everything Tom had just told you. "I'd be lying if I said that this wasn't an incredible offer."

"An incredible offer you can't refuse?"

You couldn't help but smile, the adrenaline coursing through your veins. "An incredible offer I can't refuse."

Tom let out a hearty laugh, "That's what I like to hear! Look, we've already discussed it amongst ourselves, and as for accommodations, we're a tight-knit group, we always look out for one another. You'll have a place to crash every night, always a nice hotel to stay in."

Your mind was racing with possibilities. The chance to immerse yourself in their world, to witness their artistry up close and personal—it was an opportunity unlike any other. "What about interviews? Will I have unrestricted access?"

Tom nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely. We want this to be as authentic as possible. You'll have full access to everyone in the band, backstage, on the bus, wherever we go. Just promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"Promise me you won't hold back. We want the real story, the gritty details, the highs and lows of life on the road. Don't sugarcoat anything."

You nodded with determination. "I promise, Tom. I'll give it my all."

"Good," he said with a satisfied smile. "I have a feeling you're going to fit right in."

As you pressed down on the end call button, a surge of adrenaline shot through your veins. This was it - the opportunity to delve deep into the core of the band and capture their raw energy in words for all to experience. Just thinking about it made your heart race, and as you thought of Frankie, you felt an unfamiliar warmth in your belly.

You'd have a new adventure ahead of you, one that would change your life forever.

#frankie morales #triple frontier #frankie catfish morales #Frankie morales smut #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x y/n #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie catfish morales x you #triple frontier au #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fic

[reysdriver]

Rockstar!James

headcanons of James as a rockstar — rockstar!james x gn!reader

warnings: sexual headcanons (there is a warning before them) so minors dni, 18+, mentions of sex

words: 0.5k

a/n: marauders aus take up sm space in my brain so im making this, and i may make rockstar stuff for all the boys

- In a band called The Marauders of course

- Reminiscent of like rock bands from the 70s and 80s

- James plays the bass, maybe drums, but I mostly see him playing bass or guitar

- Talks about you in concerts and interviews 

- But you also have a secret signal or code word that he uses that only you two (and maybe the other members) know about so he can show he's thinking about you privately

- If it's a modern AU, he'll post you on his social media all the time, and a lot of his fans are in admiration of your relationship 

- Writes songs about you/dedicates songs to you all the time 

- Spoils you with gifts and souvenirs from every stop of their tours 

- Has it in his contract that the dressing room needs to have your favourite snacks and drinks so you can be comfortable backstage with him

- Has personal touches of yours on his instrument like your name and a heart stitched on his guitar strap, stickers of yours on his case, etc

- Asks for good luck kisses before every performance

- You're always the first to hear the band's new songs 

- Has a scrapbook or memory box full of polaroids of the two of you in every foreign city you visit

- Only buys guitar picks (or drumsticks) in your favourite colour because duh

- If this is an AU with Harry, you stay home or in a hotel room with Harry when he's young and you two watch all of James' performances live

- Then he'll write songs about Harry too ofc 

- The band lets you pick setlists and track orders

- James insists it's because you have the best taste, but the other guys don't mind since they often can't agree anyways

(nsfw headcanons below)

- He has a bucket list of cities where he wants to fuck you, and he makes a big deal of checking off places every time they go on tour

- Like imagine him "Babe, this'll be our first time in Australia, that means we'll have to cross Sydney and Perth off the list"

- He has recorded your moans and used them in the background of a song, but it's quite blended in so nobody notices and it's like your little secret 

- He once told you to sit on the amp while he plays iykyk

- A lot of quickies backstage where it ends just in time for him to perform 

- Him kicking the other boys off the tour bus so you two can have some privacy 

- If he's a guitarist/bassist, you know he's good with his hands

- If he's a drummer, you know he has the best damn rhythm

- Take those both however you will

- If he goes on tour without you, the day he returns will be nothing but sex to make up for all that lost time

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter headcanon #james potter hc #rockstar au #rockstar!james #rockstar!marauders #james potter fluff #james potter smut #marauders era #marauders headcanon #marauders hc #marauders fluff #marauders smut

[sachirobabe]

Chapter 2

Gojo Satoru x reader

Wc: 1692

Curseless au

Summary: Amidst the zombie apocalypse, your courage shines as you not only saves lives but capture the heart of Gojo Satoru. Together with his first-year students, you all embark on a perilous journey, not only for survival but in a quest for a cure that adds a poignant layer to the unfolding romance.

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Nothing was normal. Laws, regulations and rules were nonexistent. It had been a full two months since the first attacks. You stayed in your apartment unless you had to venture out for food and supplies.

The world was quiet, you estimated about 70% of humanity gone. You had encountered real people on your runs, a few gangs had formed and were stealing from others.

It's very risky to be all alone, you could defend yourself well, but it's nothing if the other group outnumbered you; which was every time.

You armed yourself with a bow and some knives. All the firearms were the first things raided, occasionally you'll hear shots in the distance.

The pantry in your kitchen was dwindling down on food. Your last run being weeks ago, if you're being honest the gangs scared you more than the zombies.

You slowly pulled the cardboard blocking the view inside back and looked around. You wanted to make sure there were none of those things waiting to pounce on you.

Quietly, you unlocked the door and walked outside, making sure it was safe you closed the door.

The cold air prickled your skin, with the cold coming the zombies slowed, you're absolutely terrified of being alone. The familiar intersection that you used to cross every morning for work was silent.

You could only focus on the whistle of the light wind moving your hair, cautiously looking around you as you moved forward to the corner store ahead.

The windows were shattered and the doors were damaged. You had low hopes of anything useful inside, but it wouldn't kill to check just in case.

You pulled an arrow from behind your back, ready to shoot as you walked slowly into the store. You pointed in all directions, listening carefully. The silence was enough for you to lower your bow.

The aisles were rid of everything, blood splattered randomly on the walls and ground. You softly sigh, figuring there wouldn't be much. You go down on all fours and look underneath the shelves.

There were two cans of some soup that seemed good enough to eat. You look around before putting them in your backpack quietly.

After going through all the aisles and looking underneath you scored some cereal and a few more cans of soup. You're sure these will last you maybe only a few days before you'd have to venture out again.

You walk some more to hit other stores in town. There was an unfamiliar building that had caught your attention, the sign showing it was a grocery store.

This must've been the bad part of town that you avoided before this mess. Without any other luck in the other stores you decide that this would be the last one before heading back to your apartment.

Once again, your bow was raised upon entering, the quietness easing your nerves. This store was much bigger than the last few you had been in.

You sighed as you weren't having much luck in this store.

"Nobara!" You heard a whisper-yell.

You froze in your tracks, assuming it was another run in with a gang. You grabbed an arrow, ready to shoot and run if anything happened.

The once steady heartbeat you had was gone, it was rapidly beating in your chest. You struggled to keep your breaths quiet.

"This isn't safe." You heard another voice as a group entered.

You circled around in the aisles, trying your best to quietly escape. Chills made themselves up on your arms as a huge bang came from a few aisles down.

"Gojo-sensei! We have to be quiet." The voice from earlier says loudly.

Shuffling from behind you made you quickly turn around, a zombie was making its way over to you.

"Oh shit." You hear, "There's some in here!"

You let go of the arrow and it pierced the zombies chest, making it fall down. You ran towards the entrance and bumped into a tall white-haired male, you glance at him and the two of you were now surrounded by zombies.

Without any thought, you shoot arrows at as many as you could and shuffled backwards at the same time. The man next to you got up and exited the building. Soon you were able to as well and shut what was left of the door.

You ran until you were safe, the group that was in there with you were standing in front of you.

"You almost got us killed, Nobara!" A pink-haired boy yelled at a girl.

"That wasn't my fault." She argued.

"We almost died." You scoffed at the white-haired male.

"But we didn't." He smiles, "Thanks for saving us." He extends his hand.

You push it away, "What the hell are you guys doing? Do you have anything protecting yourselves?"

"Not on me right now." He says.

You stand cautiously and hear something snap, looking behind you the stampede of zombies was now making its way towards you and the group.

"Education lesson over! Run!" The tall man says and grabs your arm to pull you with them.

You had no choice but to follow them for the meantime as you all avoided the zombies. You broke up with the group and started to run back to your place, not trusting the group.

Quick steps followed behind you, the group now standing on your porch. You draw your bow at them and they all cautiously put their arms up.

"You here to steal from me?" You angrily say, now feeling stupid for leading them to your place.

"No no! You've got it all wrong." The man says and looks behind him, the stampede coming closer.

"We're trustworthy, I swear." The pink-haired boy begs. "Let us in please, at least until they leave."

You open your door and they quickly run in, you locked the doors and put up your protective pieces to block everything out. As you turned around you drew a knife.

"Woah, chill." The man nervously chuckled, banging sounds were coming in contact with your place, you flinched. Hating the noise.

"Who are you and what do you want?" You ask.

"I'm Gojo Satoru, and these are some of my students." He turns to them, "Nobara, Itadori, and megumi."

"What do you want from me?" You ask again.

"Shelter right now." Gojo laughs. "We're not in any gangs if that's what you're worried about."

"So you don't want to steal from me?"

"Not at all." Itadori speaks.

"Put your weapons down." You demand, the three students look at their teacher and he nods. They all drop some sort of weapon.

"You know our names now, so what's yours?" Megumi says.

You hesitate to tell them, still unsure. "I don't feel comfortable telling you that."

Megumi begins to open his mouth before Gojo covers it with his large hand. "Again, thank you for what you did back there. And for letting us stay here. I promise we're not here to cause any trouble."

You slowly nod, "What school did you teach at?"

"Jujutsu high school, I have an id if you'd like to see it." You nod and he slowly reaches in his pocket to pull his wallet out, handing you the card.

You inspect it, it seemed real, his hair was slightly longer now than in the picture. You handed it back, "Thank you." You lower your knife.

"So what do you do?" Nobara speaks up, catching you off guard.

"What do you mean?" You say.

"Before all of this, what'd you do for a living." She says and takes a seat as well, the other two boys following her.

"I was beginning my residency and working at a hospital nearby." You say.

"So you're a doctor?" Itadori smiles.

"Doctor in training." You correct. It was silent for a few moments, "I'm Y/n L/n."

"It's nice to meet you." Gojo softly smiles, "Have you been alone this whole time?"

You nod, "Has it just been you four?"

"No, we had some others but we got kinda split up. We're sorta on a mission to look for them." Gojo explains.

"You know, power in numbers." Itadori adds. "We've had our fair share of run ins with gangs."

"So have I." You say. The banging became less and less, but nighttime arrived quickly. You felt bad if you kicked them out, but you weren't sure if having them stay was the smartest decision.

"I'm tired, Gojo." Nobara yawns.

"It's dark out." He peeks his head through a window. "Can't see shit."

You bounce your leg, thinking of what to do.

"I hate to ask this cause I know we just met, but would it be possible for us to stay here? Just for tonight." Gojo asks.

"We'll do anything." Itadori joins.

"You can stay." You decide. "Just leave the weapons with me, you'll get them tomorrow." You say. "The bathrooms that way," you point, "I'll get some blankets and pillows for the couch."

"Thank you." They all say.

Your couch is an L shape, but from what you were looking at the three students took up the entirety of it.

"I'll be getting settled here on the floor, do you happen to have a futon?" Gojo asks.

"No, unfortunately I don't." You sheepishly smile.

"No worries, we also understand if you lock your door. It's your place after all." Gojo says more quietly now, noticing the first years are fast asleep.

"Thank you." You say and hand him some blankets, "Don't leave before I wake up, I have your weapons with me, remember." You say and he nods.

#jujustu kaisen #gojo satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #zombie apocalypse #jjk x reader #jjk satoru #jjk #satoru x reader #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu satoru #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader

[amitywrights]

I've been rewatching Osomatsu-san and have been keeping track of the times the brothers have said each other's names/nicknames because I have always wondered about it so yeah this is very self-indulgent TT_TT but I will be sharing it below.

Note!

1. Included are Seasons 1-3 and The Movie (2019), however I did not include AUs apart from F6 and Girlymatsu, and skipped over recap episodes as well as ending songs and previews

2. I did not include times when their names was said but it wasn't pertaining to them specifically so things like "Osomatsu-kun/-san" as titles or "Karamatsu Girls"

3. I did not count the times where a brother would refer to them as a whole like when Karamatsu would say "brothers" or when Totty says "niisan-tachi" (brothers)

4. The term "niisan"/ "chounan" (older brother) and "suekko" (youngets child) are counted only if they are used as a non descriptor so things like "I'm the eldest", and "Todomatsu, the youngest" do not count. However, they sometimes translate as nicknames based on context so things like "Share with your big bro" and "Come on, little bro" count, I hope this made sense lol

5. This is not 100% accurate 'cause I might miss some, especially when they aren't put into the subs but I did my best to compile it :DD



Season 1



Season 2



Season 3

MOVIE

Final Tally!

Link if you wanna see better

That out if the way, let's award some NEETs yeah?

Below will be the ranking of: Who's name they said the most/least, and who said their name the most/least :DD (Apart from themselves ofc)

Osomatsu

Said the most: Todomatsu (80)

Said the least: Jyushimatsu (50)

Said his name most: Todomatsu (45)

Said his name least: Ichimatsu (13)

Karamatsu

Said the most: Jyushimatsu (51)

Said the least: Ichimatsu (20)

Said his name most: Osomatsu (51)

Said his name least: Ichimatsu (22)

Choromatsu

Said the most: Todomatsu (55)

Said the least: Osomatsu (29)

Said his name most: Todomatsu (70)

Said his name least: Ichimatsu (13)

Ichimatsu

Said the most: Jyushimatsu (59)

Said least: Osomatsu & Choromatsu (13)

Said his name most: Osomatsu (68)

Said his name least: Karamatsu (20)

Jyushimatsu

Said the most: Osomatsu (40)

Said the least: Choromatsu (23)

Said his name most: Ichimatsu (59)

Said his name least: Choromatsu (34)

Todomatsu

Said the most: Choromatsu (70)

Said the least: Karamatsu (31)

Said his name most: Osomatsu (80)

Said his name least: Karamatsu & Jyushimatsu (37)

.

.

Has the most names: Choromatsu (19)

Has the least names: Todomatsu (6)

Mannn I love this, hope you guys enjoyed the data as much as I did lol. If you find mistakes feel free to correct!! And also, ask questions if you have them :DD

My thoughts in tags! Add your thoughts as well I wanna see how mad you guys go with this info

#Osomatsu san #Ososan #Osomatsu #Karamatsu #Choromatsu #Ichimatsu #Jyushimatsu #Todomatsu #AHHHHH I DID IT #First off the way the totals keep increasing had me rolling lmaoo #I thought Kara's 199 was a lot but Totty came in with the 287 #I love how 'Totty' was used once and all of them ran off with it TT_TT #“Ichimacchan” is a blessing #Alsoo I ranted about this already but aaahhhh Oso using Suekko (little/baby brother) on Totty #The nenchuu skit in S2 is so funny when I realized that Ichi only said Choro's name once and it was as a skit #Choro only had that much for Ichi bc of whenever they would go around and say the next person in birth order #KARAMATSU my sweet boy has not ONCE used insult as nickname TT_TT he calls out Oso but never seen 'Shitty Eldest' from him #“Shitty older brother” in a sentence yes but not as a name #Oso has an oniichan count of 6 and for some reason it seems very comforting that he refers to himself as such when talking to his brothers #He could use more formal words like 'Ani' or 'Niisan' as words for older brother but he sticks with his little niichan TT_TT #Most of Jyushimatsu's name count is from season 1 Jyushimatsu Festival ep lmaoo I had such a hard time keeping track of it #Choromatsu has so much names that I wanted to smack my laptop 😭 #Like 9 of them stem from the accident and rising episodes #Also by the way the fandom uses their insult nicknames (Shitty eldest. Shittymatsu. Dry monster.) they don't actually say it that much #Speaking of shitty eldest even with how they always tell him he's such a bad brother and stuff #The most used name for him is still 'Osomatsu-niisan' #They love their niisan and i will run away with this #Totty loves his Choromatsu-niichan 😭 like boi 70 times #will add more tags later

[more-cardigan-than-woman]

Extra Foam, Double Shot.

Summary: CoffeeShop!AU. Jason has been working at your Cafe for about 6 months now and boyoboy is he a flirt. Sure, he gets you great tips, but when he turns it on you, you can't help but feel like he's still putting it on.

CoWorker!Reader x Jason Todd

2.7k

Warnings: SMUT 18+Only, AU!CoffeeShop, teasing, banter, No vigilantes in Gotham, swearing, flirting at work.

"Jay," you call, a jug of milk in your hand while you try to juggle the 3 types of syrup this woman wants, "dude why are you late? And so sweaty?"

"Got side tracked at the gym. Give me a sec to change and I'll be right out."

"Make it quick. Margo can't handle the register on her own."

"Yes boss." Jason disappears into the back room, blowing you a kiss on his way.

"Asshole." You whisper to yourself.

"Heard that."

The day whizzes by in a rush. Fuck it's so busy. The convention downtown is in full swing this year and it seems every man and their side kick is going. Except you. Instead you're stuck inside this block of glass and concrete with the most annoying man who ever lived and he won't stop being sweet to you and it doesn't make any sense. He’s sweet, sure, but he’s like that with everyone, but when you’re alone, when you stop and think about it for some reason, it makes you feel special.

"Lunch rush, here they come," Jason nods towards the crowd at the door.

"Dude, the whole days been a rush."

"True, maybe you need some time to cool off."

"What? I can't take a break now."

“I know a way we can relax you quickly."

"You.. we.. " you shake your head, focusing on replacing the cups, "the ahh."

"You're so fuckin cute when you're flustered." He smirks, leaning over to grab a jug that nearly collided with your head, "just don't hurt yourself," he leans down, "I'd really hate to play doctors."

"Doctors? Really? Didn't you drop out of medical school?" You whisper, finally finding your voice.

"Oh," he places his hand over his heart, "you wound me."

"Do more than bloody wound you."

"That a promise?" Jason's voice low and right in your ear.

"Yes. Now move so I can get off." You pause, "off the floor I mean."

"Of course," he holds out a hand for you, smiling when you take it and pulling you close, "I'd love to help you get off."

"Right," you roll your eyes, "someone's waiting for you." You flick your head towards the register.

"They can wait."

"Jason dear!" Mrs McGullan calls from her spot at the counter, twinkling her fingers at him. "You're looking so handsome today."

"Off you go." You start to prepare her regular order while Jason heads over to her. Watching the ease at which he and this 70 year old woman flirt. You admire his skill at sweet talking the customers, but it does sometimes, make it feel like he's just- like he doesn't mean it with you either.

"So when's the wedding?" You ask when he comes to grab Mrs Mcgullan’s coffee.

"We're thinking late fall." He jokes, " what's with the face?"

"What face?"

"See something green in your eyes there."

"You're imagining it."

"I'm always imagining you." He smirks, his eyes flicking up and down before he turns away.

XxX

"That's the last one, want me to lock the doors?" Jason asks, as the couple closes the door behind them.

"You can head home, I'll lock up."

"I was late. Least I can do is help clean."

"Fine, just let Margo and Dane get out the door. Then whatever. I'm going to start clearing the tables."

"Dane already left and-"

"Bye besties! See you Tuesday!" Margo smiles, throwing her handbag over her shoulder.

"There goes Margo." Jason grabs the keys, locking the front door and pulling the blinds down. "Now you've got me all alone, what are you going to do with me?" He smirks, leaning into the table your cleaning.

"Do with you?" You lean towards him, your face so close that you can hear his breath hitch, "put you to work. Go grab the mop." You smile in victory as you grab the coffee cup from beside him and he groans at you. XxX

"I'm nearly done with the grinder, then we can go." You call out to Jason who disappeared into the kitchen 10 minutes ago.

"What are your plans for tonight?" He asks, appearing around the corner with the clean muffin display in his hands.

"Eat some dinner, go to bed, maybe read."

"Come out with me."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you want to."

"Do I?"

"I know you do."

"Right, because you're so charming and all that."

"What does that mean?"

"You're a flirt, Jay. Doesn't mean everyone wants you."

"Excuse me?"

"I see you here flirting everyday. Just leave me out of it."

"Oh. OH." He steps toward you placing the display on the counter, "you got me all wrong. I'm only fitting with them for work. My flirting with you is strictly unprofessional."

"Sure."

"You really think I'm nice enough to lie to you?" He steps even closer to you, "Want me to prove it?"

"What does-" your cut off by his strong hands holding onto your waist while his lips sit a breath from yours, his eyes darting along your face. Oh so slowly he leans forward, giving you enough time to pull away. But you don't, trapped in his deep blue stare. His soft lips brush over yours, almost like a kiss from a ghost before he's resting his forehead onto yours.

"You get it now?"

"I- ah.. umm.. what?"

"So cute," he places a little kiss on the end of your nose. "Can I just- ." His hand slides from your waist up to where your neck meets your shoulder as he kisses you deeper. You lean into it, your hands dropping the tea towel you were holding to cling to his arms, "do you get it now?" He whispers into your lips.

"No. Need more proof." You smile so hard your teeth clash.

"If proof is what you want," he takes your hand from his arm, guiding it down, down towards his-

"Oh my God, Jason." you laugh in shock.

"I know, it's big right and it's all for you."

"This is not the time, or the place,” you chide him, not wanting to pull your hand away.

"Which is why I wanted to take you to dinner." He presses himself into your open palm, "but I could just make you dinner at my place?"

“Is it far?"

"Not too far." He winks, "go grab your stuff. I'll finish up here."

Xx

"This is where you live?” you ask, staring at the quaint looking townhouse, “Isn’t your dad like uber rich?”

“Yeah, but since I dropped outa school he cut me off.” he shrugs, he hasn’t ever really talked to you about his family before and you were always kind of curious as to why Bruce Wayne's ward was now working at your tiny coffee shop. But, being cut off seems like a low blow.

“Nice looking place though,” you try to change the subject, hopping from one foot to the other, “Does it have an inside?”

“It does.” he beams down at you, “Sorry, I was just enjoying the view out here.” he fishes his keys from his pocket while not looking away from you.

“Well, I have a secret Jason.” you lean up really close to him.

“And what's that?”

“I’m fucking cold.”

“Right, right. Sorry.” he opens the door, “My humble home,” he bows like a doofus as you walk past him and into the dark green and wooden interior.

“Did you-” you stare at the dark oaken chair rails, the fretwork lining each archway, the bookshelves and bookshelves that line the walls of what you assume is the living room.

“Decorate? As much as you can on a barista's budget.”

“It’s beautiful.” running your hand along the bannister that's carved with half finished birds. “Who made this?”

“Me,” he states, “haven’t finished yet, but it’ll look good once I’m done.'' He comes up beside you, his hand following along yours as you trace over the carvings.

“You carved these?”

“What can I say? I'm good with my hands.” he winks, before slapping you on the ass.

“Hey!” you yell, peeking over your shoulder to smile back at him.

“Too much?” he laughs, before staring up at the door above the stairs, “Wanna see what else I made?”

“Is it in the kitchen? Because I remember being offered dinner.”

“Kitchen ain’t up there.”

“Down here then?” you brush your ass past him as you wander down the stairs and through a large swinging door. He’s right behind you, his hand on your hips as he follows. “It’s cute.” you turn to face him, “Cosy.” your breath hitches when you notice just how close he is.

“It’s functional,” his fingers trace up your arm, sending goosebumps all over your skin. “Sturdy,” he pushes into you with his hips, your ass clashing with the side of the counter. “But you said you were hungry. I can whip something up for us. If you want to wait.” he kisses you gently, while his hands hold you so he can deepen it. His tongue glides into your mouth, his hands holding you so softly you feel like you’re made of butter. “So tell me, what do you want?”

Your hands slip up his back, gripping tight into his hair, “This,” you whisper, bringing his lips even closer that your noses are squished together.

Jason moans into your mouth, while you relish the sweetness of his tongue, his cock pressing into your thigh as he pushes you even harder into the counter, like he just can’t get close enough. His lips travel from your mouth, pushing your hair over your shoulder, his tongue lathing at your neck. Hands travel south, gripping into your breast, he pulls your shirt from your skirt, his hand snakes up under pinching at your nipples through your bra. “Fuck, I wonder if your pussy tastes as sweet as your mouth,” he moans into your skin, his eyes full of lust when he stares back at you and kneels down in front of you. “Can I lick you?” he stares up at you, his lips softly caressing the bare skin of your thighs.

“Yes,” you push your hips forward, holding your skirt up with one hand the other tangling through his hair.

“Need to take these off first.” he kisses at your panty covered pussy, “fuck, you taste,” his tongue pushes your pants to the side swiping at you, “Mmm… I could get..” he pushes his head up his mouth devouring you as he makes the most delicious noises you’ve ever heard.

“Like that,” you moan, arching your back into the counter and curling your toes so hard you start to cramp, “Fuck, Jason, thats..”

“Good? Is it good?” his voice is mostly muffled by you, “You want a finger?”

“Ah, hmmm.” you nod down at him, your legs already starting to shake when his finger pokes into you, filling you not quite enough, “Fuckkkk… yes..” you start to grind down on his finger. “Shit… shit.. Jas-” your voice falters, “My-” you start to slip as your legs shake too hard.

“I got you,” he picks your legs up with ease, throwing them over his shoulders and keeping you steady as he fucks you with his fingers. “Fuck, can feel you getting tighter. You going to cum?”

“Yes, please. Jason, Harder.” you moan, throwing your head back. Your clit grinding into his nose, it sends your orgasm crashing into you. “Fuck, Fuck.” you cry as your release floods Jason's mouth.

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you cum.” Jason says as he rises from his knees, “And it tastes like ambrosia. Fucking hell,” he kisses you again, “I’m so hard right now, for you.”

“For me?” you ask, feeling so blissed out from the way his tongue was just over your and the tangy taste it's now leaving in your mouth.

“Do you want it?’

“Jason,” you stare at him, for some reason feeling shy all of a sudden.

“Tell me you want it,” he holds your hand pulling it towards his belt, “Better yet, take it out for me.”

“I want it.” you keep your eyes on his buckle as you undo it, yanking at the button on his pants and pulling them apart.

“Good.” he directs your face up to his, “But I want you to keep your eyes on me. Ok?”

“Yeah, I can-”

“I know you can. I’m going to put you on the bench. You ready?”

“I'm ready.” you say a little too eagerly. You let out a giggle that you don’t even recognise as he picks you up like you weigh nothing and drops you on the counter, the cold wooden surface fresh on your ass.

“Wrap your legs around-” he laughs at your initiative, “Yeah, like that. Pull me- Fuck. Slow down.”

“Inside.”

“You that desperate for it?” he stares down at you, one hand on your hip bringing your ass right to the edge while the other laces through your hair, “You like that? When I pull your hair and grab your ass?”

“Yes,” you wiggle forward, swallowing even more of his cock inside of you, “Feels.”

“Addictive?” he pushes in harder, when you nod and let out a breathy moan and start to grind down on him.

“So addictive.”

“I’m going to move now,”

“Yes, please move.” he starts slowly, his face moving down close to yours. You wrap your hands around his neck bringing him even closer as his cock thrusts even deeper and his pelvis grinds into your clit. You move with him, matching his pace and tugging gently on his hair. “Jason, that's amazing.” you moan into his ear.

“Say my name again,”

“Jason.”

“Sounds so good when you say it like that.”

“Jason, faster.”

“Like this?”

“Yes, please. Just like-” you arch your ass out, your back lifting from the counter.

“Angel, fuck. You’re something else.”

“Don’t stop.”

“I’m not stopping. Holy shit.”

“Sooooo good.”

“You nearly there?” he pants, scrunching his brows together, “I’m so close. I can’t hold it much longer.”

“Yes. So close,” you fuck him back even harder, bringing his lips to yours, “Fuck Jason,”

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“Fucking, Jason.”

“Where?”

“Mouth.”

“Cum, Cum then, cum on me so I can put it in your mouth.”

“Again.”

“Cum on me pretty girl,” fuck, your world starts to shake as you cum all over Jasons cock. “Fucking stunning.” he moans into your mouth while your legs tighten around him and hold him deep inside you while your pussy sucks and clenches over him.

“Shit, you’re cumming so hard.” he grits his teeth, “Squeezing me, fuuuccckk. You’re pushing me out, fuck.” His name falling from your lips like a weird little chant made just for you.

He gives you a few moments to ride it out before he pulls from you and lowers you to your knees. “Open your mouth for me.” your mind is half dead as you open your mouth wide, sticking your tongue out and stare up at him with your dazed look. “Those fucking eyes.” he growls, “Keep em on me,” he slips his cock into your mouth, groaning as your tongue licks at the underside of his cock. “Fuck, can I just-” you suck him in, hollowing out your cheeks as you keeps your eyes on him. “Yes, pretty girl.” his hips slam into your face, his cock throbbing in your mouth. “I’m going to- just like- fuck- Iiiii.” he moan as his cum fills your cheeks and slides down your throat, his hips still trusting like he's trying to fuck it down your throat. “Oh my god, you're something else.” his voice breathless as he pulls from your mouth and offers you a hand. “I didn’t hurt you did I?” he genuinely asks, throwing your arms around his shoulders and lifting you up.

“My knees are kind of sore.” you rub at them, “but it’s really ok.”

“Sit here,” he plops you back on the counter, “Let me,” he gently rubs at them, “You still hungry?”

“A bit, but I did enjoy my entrée,” you smirk, your eyes darting down to his twitching cock.

“Do you like pasta?”

“Who doesn’t like pasta?”

“You happy to sit there and watch?”

“Hmmm… It’s a good view.”

“You can stare at me like that anytime, pretty girl.”

“I might just do that.”

“Though,” he turns back from the fridge, once again crowding your space, “Maybe keep the fuck me eyes for after work.” he lips press into your cheek, “As pretty as they are, I don’t want anyone else seeing them.”

“And why is that?”

“Because those pretty eyes are mine now and I do not like to share.”

Taglist:

@bubbles-incorrect-yb @megumisbabymomma @nutmeg030

@miraculous-panic @letmebebatmanpls

#coffeeshop au #jason todd fanfic #reader x jason todd #jason todd x reader #x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd

[matthewkniesys]

announcement - trevor zegras x famous singer!reader social media au

trevor zegras x famous singer!reader

a/n: if you thought it was the hard launch announcement lol. but this is the reader announcing good riddance deluxe edition...cause yes the readers life is basically gracie's in this au. hope you all like it and requests for this au are always open

yourusernameofficial

Liked by @/ trevorzegras, fanaccount3, maisiehpeters, and 700 897 others

yourusernameofficial - good riddance deluxe out june 16th🤍

View Top Comments

maisiehpeters - nobody is ready for this

↳ yourusernameofficial - you did cry when you listened to the bonus tracks for the first time

↳ maisiehpeters - babe i still cry after hearing them a million times

y/n#1fan - omg she's feeding us

radvxz - time for my bestie to break the internet :)

↳ yourusernameofficial - you think my music is break the internet worthy?? awwww

↳ radvxz - it's 100 times better than my music

↳ yourusernameofficial - shut the fuck up there is no music on planet earth that is better than your

↳ radvxz - yeah but maybe on mars right?

fanaccount3 - literally ordering the vinyl rn...but side note is that another like from a hockey player?? jamies teammate no less

↳ y/nupdatesss - okay okay i believe you and i am now on team y/n is dating jamie

peoplemagazine

Liked by @/ fanaccount3, y/nupdatesss, y/n#1fan and 100 345 others

peoplemagazine - y/n l/n was seen out at dinner with best friend and singer, beatrice laus, better known as beabadoobee last night, amid rumors of an nhl player boyfriend. nothing has been confirmed but fans are speculating that it may be jamie drysdale, defensmen for the anaheim ducks.

Tagged: @/ yourusernameofficial & radvxz & jamie.drysdale

View Top Comments

fanaccount19 - i really hope they're dating...it would be such a cute pair!!

fanaccount3 - my thoughts have reached all the way to people magazine wow

y/n#1fan - i know we're all talking about the rumors but on a side note y/n and bea are slaying

trevorzegras

Liked by @/ maisiehpeters, jamie.drysdale, alexturcotte and 70 856 others

trevorzegras - last week in LA before me and jimbo parted for the summer...miss you bud

Tagged: @/ jamie.drysdale

hockeyfan25 - um trevor i think you forgot to tag 2 people...

nhlwag - the top right picture isn't sneaky dude, we see it

jackhughes - next stop lake house

↳ trevorzegras - summer trevor is unlocked baby

jamie.drysdale -its the way i took every single one of these pictures except for the one of me because trevor can't take a good picture to save his life

↳ trevorzegras - yes well at least im photogenic and look good in the pictures

↳ jamie.drysdale - ever so cocky trev

fanaccount3 - omg that has to be y/n...jamie and y/n are dating can't change my mind

↳ fanaccount6 - idk why is trevor posting her then...maybe we're all wrong and trevor is the guy??

thanks for reading🫶requests for this au are always open!!

taglist: @woodruff-edwards @nicohischierz @makarhughes @cobrakaisb @huggy-hischier94 @boldysswld@cole-mcward48@kashee-h@kjohnson-91 @jackhues @corneliaskates @imma-mirrorball @hvghes

join my taglist

#claires aus #trevor zegras x famous singer!reader #<- au tag #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras #x reader #nhl imagine #trevor zegras imagine #jack hughes #cole caufield #alex turcotte #claire tries writing <3 #fake ig edit #social media au

[mx-jinxous]

The Crow Au.

The date is March of 86. Eddie is framed for killing his best friend Chrissy because he saw who it was, Jason. So jump to today. Jason is running for governor, using the story about Chrissy to propel him into high stature. Wayne is in his 70s with lung cancer. He never stopped fighting to prove his nephew innocent. Steve is his caretaker, but they’re like family at this point, kind of like a dad the 20-year-old never had.

Eddie returns to right the wrongs, no Justice just vengeance. But he had to track down Wayne, watching from a distance. He’s spotted by Steve, who assumes he’s just another person trying to spit hate on the man. He explains that he was just looking after the man that was like an uncle to him. They talk and that’s how Eddie hears of Jason running for office. Steve explains how Wayne wishes he could see the bastard die before he did, and he retells the older man’s pain with such emotion that Eddie offers to make it happen.

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie

[redfurrycat]

🤠🤴👑🏰🐓Royalty Fic Recs🐓🏰👑🤴🤠

Check the Top Gun Masterlist post for the latest updated version. 💕

Ao3 Authors: 64PackofCrayola, Aishii420, Alltherecklesshours, Hangmanbradshaw, Lovelybattle, McDanno50, PleaseHellMe, Renai_chan, ToukoJalorda003, Trinipedia.

> Navy Prince, aka THE Nepo Baby

Heart on Your Sleeve by Renai_chan {T}

/Medieval Royalty AU/

Jake and Bradley are princes of neighboring kingdoms who grew up together. On Bradley's eighteenth birthday, everything changes.

Man of his own invention by trinipedia {T}

/Medieval Royalty AU/

Jake is an enticing young man with blonde hair 70 feet long, who has been kept in a tower his entire life by his seemingly overprotective mother. Everything changes the day that Rooster the thief, by chance, scales the tower and stumbles upon him; Jake strikes a deal with Rooster so that the charming thief takes him to the place where the floating lights he has seen every year on his birthday come from. Jake is about to discover the world for the first time, and in the process, he might even find out who he really is...and what he really wants.

Rival Princes AU by hangmanbradshaw

/Medieval Royalty AU/

I can't stop you putting roots in my dreamland {E}

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go.” He said as Bradley, confusingly, looked even more devastated. The pain washed over him again, and he started to stumble. The blood loss was definitely starting to make itself known. That spurred Bradley into motion. He seemed to snap out of whatever daze he’d been in, and he stepped forward, grabbing Jake and holding him up. “Shit. Get Halo, now!” Jake felt himself starting to lose consciousness. As he succumbed to the blackness, he heard a soft voice saying “stay with me, Jake” and then he was out.

and I feel like my castle's crumbling down {_}

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go.” All it took was nine words for Bradley's heart to rebuild and break again.

Innocent by lovelybattle {E}

/Medieval Royalty AU/

Bradley has no idea how he ended up here. It’s all a blur. One minute he’s standing in a field by himself, and the next he’s got the crown Prince spread out, beautifully and blissfully naked, beneath him.

loose lips sink ships all the damn time by hangmanbradshaw {E}

/Buccaneering Royalty AU/

“Wait, is this the Dagger?” That stopped Rooster in his tracks. He looked over curiously from where he was unwrapping a rope. “You’ve heard of it?” “You guys are…you’re…” Rooster dropped the rope and walked over, a challenge clear in his eyes. “We’re what? Go ahead, say it.” Jake breathed out, “Pirates.” Rooster took another step followed by another. Each step was calculated. He stopped a foot or two away. Jake hated the fact that he had to look up into his eyes, not by much, but still. “We prefer the term vigilantes.” Or The Princes & Pirates AU

it's 2am and I’m cursing your name by hangmanbradshaw {E}

/Medieval Royalty AU/

“Yeah, but you know him better than anyone, right? You could give me advice.” He raised an eyebrow. “I know I’m not an expert on romance or whatever, but if he’s your true love, shouldn’t you just, I don’t know, be yourself?” “You gotta help me. I don’t want to be stuck as a rooster forever. Please.” The final please broke him. He looked so sad, voice clearly miserable and desperate. Jake took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and mumbled. “I’m going to regret this.” He opened his eyes and said louder, “Fine. Alright.” Or Rooster's a rooster, and Jake definitely isn't his soulmate aka the Hangster Princess & the Frog AU (with a twist) After all, all it takes is faith, trust, and a little bit of pixie dust (or in this case, bickering, helping the guy you're in love with land another prince, and a meddling warlock)

Call Me Yours by Renai_chan {E}

/Medieval Royalty AU/

Jake is the perfect Crown Prince of Seresin--handsome beyond compare, educated by the world's most renowned scholars, draped in all the luxuries his wealthy kingdom can afford, magnificent in battle, with multitudes of adoring subjects throwing themselves at his feet--but all he really wants is to be put on his knees and called a filthy whore by his slave, Bradley.

The Prince and His Knight by McDanno50

/Medieval Royalty AU/

On A Dreary Night {E}

Jake felt his heart thump quicker, galloping in his chest, as the clicking of claws grew closer. Heavy breaths not his own let Jake know he was no longer alone. He remained still even as natural fear urged him to look over his shoulder to gauge the threat. But there was no real danger because Jake knew in his soul that he was safe with the monstrous wolf-like creature that lurked in the flickering shadows. The beast who terrified the men, women, and children not born of Miramar was hardly a monster to Jake. The bright light of day sees the Crown Prince of Miramar, Jacob Seresin, protected by his personal knight: a Lycan named Rooster. But at night, Jake loses himself to pleasure by Rooster's wolf form.

A Speckled Rooster Crowed {G}

Lycans had few offspring, litters born every ten years. The last Lycan pups included Julian’s own knight, Cyclone. And now it was Jake’s turn to choose a knight – his very own Lycan pup to raise and train as his personal bodyguard. He’d never known something so exciting yet terrifying. The time has come for Prince Jake to select his knight. Five pups vie for his attention, but one young Lycan seems a bit preoccupied with a fowl enemy.

Of Sex and Flowers {E}

If Heaven truly existed, Jake was sure his would be exactly like this. With Jake and his knight Rooster, alive and together in this peaceful place. Nothing outside of the meadow mattered when they were here: Jake was not royalty and Rooster was not a Lycan. They could play pretend and just be two men hopelessly in love with no duties and no secrets. Jake sneaks out of the castle to spend some private time with Rooster in a meadow. Their relationship will change once Jake becomes the Crown Prince so they say goodbye in the only way they know how.

Of Crowns and Medals (That Don’t Shine Like They Should) by ToukoJalorda003 {M}

/Modern Royalty AU/

It wasn’t as if Rooster hadn’t wanted to serve in the Guard his entire life - he had. Serving the king, his country…it was the only thing he’d ever wanted. …Until it wasn’t. And with the rules being as strict as they were, there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Bradley falling in love with Jake was going to get them both in trouble - and he wished more than anything that he could change that.

Swan Prince by 64PackofCrayola {_}

/Medieval Royalty AU/

(Based on Swan Princess 1994) A beautiful prince falls in love with a prince from another land, but an exiled sorcerer who wants him for himself conjures up a spell to transform him into a swan. Forced to embark on a dangerous quest to reverse the magic, the prince is helped along by some new-found human turned animal friends.

Break Free from the Chrysalis by aishii420 {M}

/Medieval Royalty AU/

In a Kingdom far away, The King and Queen of Corona decided to have a baby. Everyone was overjoyed, especially their brother, the Captain of the Royal Guard. All was well until the Queen fell ill, and the Captain set off to find a cure.

Crowns And Collars by PleaseHellMe {E}

/Modern Royalty AU/

King Peter "Maverick" Mitchell had been ruling the kingdom of Miramar for the past two decades after his father was killed. The pressure of mating with someone and producing an heir had been lifted from his shoulders as the crown would be passed to his godson. Maverick never felt the spark to mate with someone and opted to wait for the right person. Then one day, when Maverick had been walking in the market square, a tall blond-haired angel caught his attention, and suddenly all Maverick could think of was how he could make this man his. -- Thomas Kazansky lived outskirts of Miramar with his son Jacob. He was raised in nobility, but then things went south, and his family was stripped of their status. There have been multiple people who wanted to mate with him, but their offers were met with rejections every single time. Usually, it took only one time for the suitors to get the hint, but suddenly Tom finds himself in a situation where the same person keeps sending him courting gifts day after day, refusing to give up before Tom accepts the offer.

stolen kisses, pretty lies by hangmanbradshaw {E}

/Modern Royalty AU/

Bradley had never expected he'd be awaiting coronation in a country he'd never stepped foot in until his 30s. Then again, there were a lot of things he'd never expected- being told he had to find a suitable spouse, a security team being necessary just to drive down the road, and Jake Seresin...he'd never expected Jake Seresin. Jake's parents just needed him to settle down. He'd had other plans, and Bradley Bradshaw had not been on that list. Or, Jake's a prince with a reputation for breaking hearts, Bradley just wants to marry someone he at least likes, and neither of them ever saw the other coming. AKA the How To Lose A Guy in 10 Days/Princess Diaries 2 AU inspired by Blank Space. Yes, you read that right.

I'll see you by and by by alltherecklesshours {G}

/Medieval Royalty AU/

"He's been doing the bare minimum with his responsibilities. His coronation is in less than a year and he keeps evading important meetings, disappearing for days without a warning. How is that doing a good job?" Uncle Pete asked, crossing his arms over his chest, looking annoyed. "And how is finding him a partner going to change that, Pete?" No. Bradley wouldn't take them fighting because of him again. "If I promise to do better with my responsibilities, can we postpone the idea of marriage? "Fine. But this is your last chance. If you don't do a better job this time, I will call for a ball with every unmarried person in this kingdom and the ones around, and I won't let you leave until you find someone. Am I clear?"

#Royalty Recs List #hangster #sereshaw #hangaroo #bradley rooster bradshaw x jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #🐈red🐈furry🐈cat🐈tag🐈

[chxrrybcmbs]

Gimme Shelter: Part Four

70s gangster bucky barnes x fem!reader au. Mature themes, drug use, alcohol, gun, blood, and violence. Synopsis: James "Bucky" Barnes, better known by his fearsome moniker, The Winter Soldier. It's Los Angeles in 1977 and only one man owns the city. Until someone decides to challenge the king for his throne.

Masterlist

Note: I do not give permission for my work to be copied or translated anywhere else but this blog.

Bucky was pacing the floor of your bedroom. You were sat on the bed, knees clutched to your chest watching him. It was 4am and Bucky hadn't sat down since Steve came by to tell him the news. After you had left The Roxy, Steve and the others were going to follow but got held up some over enthusiastic party goers. In the mess of people, Natasha disappeared and never checked back in. 

You were doing your best to keep yourself together. Natasha was a smart woman and she no doubt could handle herself but you couldn't stop your mind from going to the worst outcome. Bucky slamming his fists against the granite countertop in the bathroom brought you back from your thoughts. 

"Fuck!" He shouted, startling you. 

"Babe." You called softly, him breaking the sink wouldn't do Natasha any good. He ignored you, but you could see his broad back rising and falling as he breathed. You stood up and slipped your robe on before walking over to him. 

"Babe." You said again, placing your hands gently upon his shoulders. He softened at your touch and loosened his grip on the countertop. 

"It's my fault." He sighed. You shook your head,

"No. No, it's not your fault." You denied. He turned to look at you, his face riddled with worry. 

"Yes, it is. Somehow, he caught on to my plan or he knew what Natasha was to me and-" 

"James, stop." You held his face in your hands. "It is not your fault. We'll find her." You stated. He brought his hand up to rest on yours as you continued to hold his face. He kissed your palm and moved to rest his forehead against yours. 

"You should go back to bed." He sighed. 

"Not without you. Losing sleep isn't going to help find her either." Bucky nodded reluctantly and followed you back to the mattress. Neither of you got much sleep and when you awoke you found Bucky in the living room pouring over a table full of files and papers. Steve and Sam were there as well, Logan and Clint were on their way. 

"This was everything Tasha had on Stark. He must've known she was a threat and that's why she-" Steve stopped himself. Bucky sat down on the off white couch, he was still in his bathrobe from this morning. Elbows on his knees he placed his head in his hands. You hurried yourself to get out of bed and get decent before you joined the others. Had no one else been here you would’ve flung yourself onto him and hoped the closeness would help take some of the burden away. But Nat needed you just as much as Bucky did and you were going to find her whatever it took. 

“She found his rabbit hole and his right hand man Rhodey.” Sam spoke up. “That should be enough for us to go on. I can get Logan and Clint to help get this man to talk.” 

You walked in the room and Sam and Steve both turned to you, somber smiles on their faces as you went to sit beside Bucky. He looked up, taking his hands from his face as you rubbed comforting circles on his back. 

“Heres what were gonna do.” He started, scooting forward on the couch so he could be closer to the pool on info Nat had acquired. “Sam, you take Clint to track down this Rhodey, guy. Whatever you gotta do to do it, do it. Just try to keep it discreet.” Bucky looked over to Steve, 

“You are gonna meet me at the warehouse with everything we need to get this pig to squeal. And I mean everything.” 

You realized that really only left Logan and you without something to do and your stomach dropped as Bucky turned to you, 

“No.” You shook your head. “No!” 

“Babe, I need you safe and Logan is-

“No! You promised me you wouldn’t leave my side!” You shouted, Steve and Sam averted their gazes. 

“I know but I can’t have you go missing too, alright? Logan can keep you safe I trust that man with my own life.” Bucky cupped your face in his hands. 

“I don’t care about that, I wanna help find Nat! She’s my friend too and you swore you wouldn’t do this to me!” You stood up, hovering over him. 

“Y/N, please. I’m trying my best here, alright. I can’t lose you too!” 

“What about you, huh? I can’t lose you either.” You retorted and Bucky let out a sigh. 

“Fine, we’ll figure something out.” He conceded and you sat back down. He placed a kiss on the top of your head and focused back on Steve and Sam and how they intended to find Rhodey. 

FOUR HOURS LATER

Logan and Clint had arrived and Bucky sent Sam and Clint out to find Rhodey. Steve left before they arrived to set up the warehouse as Bucky requested. Bucky had since changed from his bathrobe into a maroon suit. It was just Logan, Bucky and yourself in the penthouse. He was much larger than you had last remembered, then again the last time you saw him was so brief you hadn’t really gotten a good look. Bucky and Logan went out on the balcony to talk while you stayed inside, thinking about nothing but how Natasha was doing. Was she ok? Was she alive? Part of you wished you hadn’t convinced Bucky to leave early that night. If you hadn’t than maybe she wouldn’t have gotten kidnapped. 

There was a knock at the door and you stood up from the couch, waiting for Bucky to come back in to open it. A moment passed and a note slipped underneath the door, fear started creeping up your spine as you walked towards it. Bucky was still on the balcony, he must not have heard the knock. Carefully you picked it up, looking up at Bucky once before deciding to open it yourself. 

Dear Mr. Barnes, 

I know what you were planning to do with Rhodey, your men were intercepted. Don’t worry, everyone remains unharmed including that lovely red head. I’d love to keep it that way unless you prove difficult. Meet me at the old abandoned disco at 9:00 and lets talk. And bring that gorgeous girl of yours too, man she is quite the beauty. Till then, 

T. Stark 

“Whats that?” Bucky’s voice startled you and with a shaking hand you handed the note to him. Logan came to stand beside him watching intently. Bucky crumpled the note without a sound. 

“We’ve been compromised.” Logan said it more as a knowing statement than a question. 

“He intercepted Sam and Clint.” Bucky’s voice was low and you knew he was doing his best to keep his anger in check. Logan took in a breath, his hands on his thick leather belt. Bucky ran a hand through his hair and gave Logan a subtle nod. You looked between the two men for a moment before you were swept up by Logan. Throwing you over his shoulder as you squirmed and writhed, you watched Bucky holster his pistol on his hip. Logan was leading you towards the bedroom where he tossed you onto the bed, 

“Bucky you bastard! You bastard!” You shouted as Logan locked you inside. You slammed your hands on the doors, still shouting at him. 

“I’m sorry, doll. I love you.” Bucky whispered through the crack of the door to you and you let out a whimper, 

“Bastard.” 

You let your body slide against the door till you landed on the floor, bringing your knees to your chest as you cried. 

“Keep her safe, no matter what.” You heard him tell Logan before he left and you filled with anger again. Through teary eyes you looked over to the left at the window. Wiping your face on your arm, you stood and walked towards it. Looking down at the city below and the drain pipe that so conveniently led all the way down. 

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #sebastian stan #sebastianstan #buckybarnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel fanfiction #winter soldier fanfic #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #steve rogers #sam wilson #logan howlett #clint barton #natasha romanoff #tony stark #rhodey

[blooming-violets]

CREATURE LIKE ME || CHAPTER EIGHT: PYRRIHIC VICTORY

[TASM Peter Parker!Werewolf AU]

Story Summary: Kraven and his guild of hunters have been tracking and quelling the werewolf population for centuries. The time has come for Aylin to complete her first solo hunt to prove herself to the guild. It was supposed to be simple. One wolf, one death, one victory. She never expected to end up with a secret hostage on her hands.

[link to chapter index]

A woodchipper. 

That’s what her body felt like it had been shoved through. 

She had been wrapped up and pushed through the spinning blades until she was nothing more than bloody pulp. 

“Fuck me,” she groaned. 

Aylin forced her stiff, heavy lids to open. A layer of sleep crusted over her lashes, making it difficult to see. She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand to clear them. When they finally came into focus, she was nose to nose with wide, golden eyes staring expectantly back at her. Black, sleek fur rubbed against her forehead as her cat, Kedi, rammed face first into her head with a long, drawn out whine. 

“Yes, good morning to you, too,” she grumbled. 

“It’s actually evening. You slept almost 16 hours. Thought you might not ever wake up.” 

A familiar voice popped up from behind her. 

Aylin rolled over, wincing from the shooting pains electrifying her body, to find Peter sitting on the edge of her bed. Except this wasn’t her bed. She glanced around the small room and recognized it as the same motel she brought Peter on the night they met. She could tell because of how cheap and ugly the decor was; like it had been redecorated once in the early 70’s then never touched again. It had the same musty smell of mold and stale cigarette smoke that she remembered so well. The thick, avocado green curtains were drawn closed so the only source of light was the flashing colors from the television. He had kept it on silent, probably so as not to disturb her sleep, and he was sitting as far off the edge of the bed as he could without being on the floor. She noticed the only chair in the room was propped up under the door knob as an added line of defense to keep anyone out. 

Peter was wearing one of her brother’s old, navy blue sweatshirts and gray joggers she had brought him to try on a few days ago. A pair of run down work boots lay tossed against the back wall as if he had nonchalantly kicked them off his feet after he got settled. Her brother’s borrowed clothes seemed to fit well enough. It was strange seeing him wear Emir’s things. It had been over five years since anyone had donned them. It was about time they got put to use instead of collecting dust in his bedroom tomb. It was also strange to see Peter wearing a shirt, regardless of who it once belonged to. Since she met him, he had always been shirtless.  

She sort of missed the view. 

Aylin glanced down at her own self to see what sort of disheveled state she was in. She had been respectfully covered with the hideously floral bedspread but, underneath, she was still in the same attire she’d fled in. Underwear to cover her lower half and tightly wrapped bandages to cover her top half. Nearly naked and covered in blood, dirt, and sweat. Funny how their roles had been reversed since the last time they had taken refuge in this motel. 

“Why is Kedi here?” She croaked through dry lips. She was in desperate need of water. 

Peter looked between her and the cat perched at her shoulder, “I’m guessing that's Kedi?”

She nodded. 

“Before you passed out, you were really upset about not being able to find your mother. You didn’t want to leave anyone behind when we ran,” he gave a sheepish shrug. “I assumed that meant taking the cat, too.” 

She raised her brows in surprise, “He let you pick him up and put him in the car?” 

Peter gave a weary glance back at Kedi and shook his head, “It didn’t go as smoothly as you’re making it sound…” He raised his arms to show off a myriad of red scratches clawing down his skin and pointed bite marks sunk into his hand. The cat had put up a good fight but it seemed Peter came out victorious. 

Aylin gave a soft chuckle of amusement, “Yeah. That sounds more like it.”

She looked over her shoulder to smile fondly at her cat, happy that he was safe with them, then turned back to Peter. “How’d you pay for this room?”

He shrugged again, chewing on the hard bit of calloused skin next to his thumb nail, “You had your wallet in the car. You also had a bunch of stuff packed into the trunk. I brought some of it in after I got you settled in bed.” 

She struggled to prop herself up onto her elbows to get into a sitting position but the pain was too much. She collapsed back onto the stiff mattress with a muffled whine. 

Peter scooted closer over to her and held out his arm for her to take, “Here. Let me help you.” 

He heaved her up with ease and held her steady until she was sitting on her own. His eyes raked over the red stained bandages wrapped around her chest and covering her back. She could tell it wasn’t the first time he had taken in the sight of her injuries but it still made him uncomfortable. He quickly averted his eyes when he noticed her watching him. 

“I knew something was wrong,” he whispered, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t know how I knew it but I did. I kept telling myself to give you time to come back. You said it might take a while. But then it got to be past midnight. It’s almost a full moon, you know. In two nights. Everything feels stronger when it gets closer to a full moon. Maybe that’s how I knew. I felt some kind of intuition. It was like I was being pulled to find you. I still waited, though. I told myself it was just in my head. That I promised to wait for you at the camper.” He swallowed, sounding as culpable as she felt. “I should have looked for you sooner. I shouldn’t have let you go back there at all. I knew how dangerous Kraven was. I should have kept you safe. What happened when you went back? What did he do to you?”

Guilt rained down on her as the memories opened from the dark cloud above her head. Murderer. She had killed the Lycan girl. Stabbed her straight through the heart. Ripped her life from her without ever knowing her name. She was a murderous Silver Colt, born and raised, destined to be nothing more than an oven for her leader to stick his seed into. A plaything, perfectly groomed to his liking. Was any part of her real? Or was she entirely constructed to be the person he wanted her to be? 

She could feel Kraven’s hands all over her body. They lingered and clung to her skin like an unshakable memory. It made her feel sick. Dirty. She would have gladly taken Calypso with the whip over ever having to be in the same room with that man again. Calypso may have broken her body but Kraven had shattered her soul. Whatever dreamlike bliss she’d felt upon waking in the safety of this motel beside Peter had sizzled out faster than she could blink. He had become a beacon of hope for her to cling onto and a pleasant memory for her to dissociate to. 

But he wasn’t real. The Peter she dreamed of in that basement lived only in her labyrinth. The one sitting beside her was someone else. He was his own person. Not a perfect figment of her imagination. He felt liable for her safety only because she had saved him his captive fate. He was in her debt.  

She felt a vacant, numbness settle into the depths of her blackened mind as shadows crept around her sharp edges. Her escape from the basement was a pyrrhic victory. 

“Nothing happened,” she mumbled, her words sounding mechanical in her ears. “I’m fine.”

Aylin felt constricted in her every move. The dried blood, splattered over her, pinched at her skin. The wraps Calypso had done felt too tight. Her underwear was crusty and hard from the blood that dripped from her back and soaked through the fabric. Her hair was stiff and sticking to everything. She felt suffocated inside her own body. Not even the tall walls of her labyrinth were a safe place to linger for long. It had become polluted with the toxic chemicals Kraven had spilled over every part of her. She didn’t know who she was anymore. 

She needed to crawl out of her own skin. 

“I need a shower,” she stated. 

Peter’s eyes darted between her and the bed spread at his legs like he was afraid to keep her in his gaze for too long but equally afraid to have her out of it. She knew he didn’t believe a word she had said. She obviously wasn’t fine but he was either too shy, or too smart, to confront her on her claims. 

He nodded slowly as if every move he made was calculated to keep the peace between them, “What, uhm, what’s under the bandages?” He quickly added, trying to play it off like it was nothing more than a nonchalant question, “Just because it might hurt to put any wounds under running water. Are you sure you don’t want me to check on them first? Just to be safe?” 

Aylin ignored him and shoved herself to her unsteady feet with a grunt. Peter stood in sync with her, keeping a hand out to catch her should she fall, but not actually closing the gap to physically touch her. He kept his sights on his bare feet. He looked terrified to disrespect her by staring at her in just her underwear. He still didn’t know where he stood in her allegiance. The last time they spoke she had vacillated between being his friend and cursing him out with little warning. He wasn’t sure what wrong move he could make that would get him in trouble this time. 

She gave him a sad smile in the hopes to ease his concern. He didn’t need to be frightened of her. He had saved her life. He had done everything to erase his debt. She no longer considered herself a true Silver Colt. She would never be able to return to her home again which meant that she had no more use for him. No information he could give her would ever erase her knowledge that her entire life was a lie. He was free to leave whenever he wanted. 

“You don’t have to stay anymore, Peter,” she muttered under her breath, stopping halfway to the bathroom with him still hovering at her side. “I think we’re even now. I saved you. You saved me. You’re a free man. You’re not a prisoner. I don’t need you for information anymore. I’m not going to kill you. I refuse to. Our deal is over. Nothing matters, anyway. It was all for nothing. You can go.” 

Aylin leaned down to collect her duffle bag from the floor beside the television stand. It was sitting next to a case of water bottles and some camping food, her bucket of first aid supplies, and her crossbow. He had brought in everything that she could need for when she awoke, including a weapon to protect herself with if she felt the need too. When she tugged the strap of the bag over her sore shoulder, she straightened up to stare back, forcing herself to make eye contact with him.

Peter had a look that was hard for her to read. Apprehension. Dismay. Melancholy. Rejection. Confusion. They all flashed across his warm, brown eyes while he processed what she was saying. It hurt to see him like that but he deserved to be free. He didn’t need her. She was useless to him. 

“No,” his assertion was evident in his tone. “I’m staying.” 

Her heart sank with sorrow and an anger rose in her chest. She didn’t want him here. She didn’t want him to look at her with those pity filled eyes. She didn’t want to be responsible for another unnecessary death. Kraven would hunt her down and find her. He would slaughter anyone she was with. She would never be safe from his hold. People don’t get to leave the guild without consequences. She knew that now. Peter was better off on his own. 

“No, you aren’t. You’re leaving. Go,” she shot back. “I don’t want you here anymore. Thank you for getting me out and bringing me here but I no longer need you. You repaid your debt. You balanced the scales. You can go.”

He shook his head in defiance, “I don’t care. I’m not going anywhere.” His arms crossed over his chest and he planted his feet firmly against the worn out, red carpet as if daring her to try and move him.

Aylin stomped her foot with annoyance, “There’s no point in you sticking around! You’re only going to get hurt. I bring death wherever I go! I’m the reason they’re all dead.” Her voice cracked but she kept her chin held high. “My father, my brother, probably my mother and Leah and her family, Sierra…that wolf girl…I’m…cursed. I’m not a good person. I’m a murderer. A fraud. I’m not anything you should be around. I only bring pain. It’s not worth it. Just go. You’ll be better off. ‘M gonna go wash up and when I come out, I hope you’re far, far away from here.” 

She turned on her heels, refusing to look any longer at his perturbed face stinging with rejection, and slammed the bathroom door behind her. The bag fell from her shoulder to the tiles under foot. Aylin nearly collapsed onto the edge of the sink, holding herself up with the palms of her hands, and hanging her head. 

She didn’t want Peter to leave her. Not really. He was the only friend she had in this world. He was the only one who could ever even attempt to understand her but she still felt the need to push him away. She was toxic. Every bit of her was shriveled up and soured. When she lifted her head to stare back at her reflection in the mirror, she didn’t recognize the woman on the other end. A stranger. Dark bags encircled her barren eyes. Red stained up her cheeks and over her lips. She pulled back the corner of her mouth and tilted her head to see the gap in her teeth. The top, second molar from the back on her left side was now nothing more than a bloody hole. She poked her tongue up into the gap, feeling the smoothness of her gums, and pressed it in harder to feel the jolt of pain. 

Pain was starting to become the only feeling she could accurately recognize. Everything else couldn’t be trusted. 

Aylin pushed away from the sink to strip herself from her soiled underwear. She kicked them into the trash before turning on the shower to heat up and taking a tender seat on the toilet. With the sound of the water pounding against the tub, she could no longer hear Peter standing outside the door. He had been pacing back and forth only moments ago but now there was nothing but silence. 

A pang of anxiety settled into her stomach at the thought of him actually leaving. There would be a chance that when she left this bathroom, she would be alone. Truly alone. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was supposed to do then. Try to find her mother? Make sure she was safe? She couldn’t live in a motel forever. If she did end up finding her mom, they’d be homeless. It’s not like either of them had any work experience or life outside of the guild. She didn’t even think she had a social security number or was on any government records. Aylin didn’t exist outside of the Silver Colts. 

After she finished up on the toilet, she washed her hands the best she could. Her pinky and ring finger on her right hand were still tightly bound together and held straight by the splint. She was missing three finger nails on the same hand. The soft nail beds stung as she applied soap to them in an attempt to clean the blood. With her hands still dripping with water, she dug her toothbrush and toothpaste out from her bag to brush her teeth, careful to avoid the few in the back that ached with pain whenever the bristles got too close to the missing tooth. She desperately needed to rid the taste of Kraven from her mouth. She gulped down the water flowing from the sink to satiate her thirst and finally turned to the shower. 

Before stepping in, she wanted to remove her bandages. Everything needed to be cleaned. It wasn’t like Calypso washed her back before she threw the salve on it and bandaged her. Her body needed to be completely sanitized for her to feel human again. From looking behind her shoulder in the mirror, she could see where the end of the wrap was tucked into the middle of her back. She tried again and again to manipulate her arm around her back to grab at the end piece but it evaded her reach every time. Her shoulders were too sore from holding her body upright for hours. They ached with sharp stabs of pain each time she tried to reach the end of the bandage until tears pricked up in the corners of her eyes. 

All she wanted was to be clean. 

Aylin let out a frustrated yell and threw herself to the floor with the dramatics of a toddler throwing a tantrum. The tiles were dirty and cold under her bare bottom as she draped herself over the edge of the tub with her head cradled in her arms. She couldn’t do it. Everything she knew, her home, her people, her entire history, was ripped away from her. She had nowhere to go. Her mother was missing. She had no way of knowing if she got her note and escaped. There was no way to contact her. They didn’t have cell phones in the guild. They were cut off from society. Her mother could be anywhere. She could be in trouble and Aylin would never know. There was nothing left. 

She was an outcast. Banished from her people. A traitor. A pariah. 

She wasn’t part of the Silver Colts. She wasn’t part of the Lycans. She wasn’t part of the normal, human institution. She was no one. 

Loud, heavy sobs shook through her chest and blubbered out her mouth. Hot, fat tears poured down her cheeks and splashed to the floor. She had never cried like this before. She had never felt so vulnerable and lost. Even when her father and brother died, she had never been this broken. 

Adrift in the void of stray souls with no one to turn to. 

The bathroom door creaked open. Peter padded up softly behind her. She couldn’t move to look at him. His presence only made her cry harder. He should be gone. He should have run. His loyalty was misplaced. He was confused. 

She felt him quietly kneel down behind her and gently untuck the bandage from its hold. He carefully and silently unwrapped it around her until it lay in a bloody pile at her side. The tips of his warm fingers ghosted over the slashes from the whip as he took in the sight for the first time. She tried to gain back control of her sobs but it was useless. The flood gates had been released. 

Her wet eyes squeezed closed at his touch. So soft. So careful. He had no right to be this gentle with her. He should hate her for who she had been associated with. 

Peter’s hand landed on her shoulder, giving it a delicate squeeze. 

“Get up,” he whispered. “Let’s get you clean. You’ll feel more like yourself then. Trust me.”

Trust him. 

Aylin did. She trusted him more than anyone. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and allowed him to grip under her arms to help her stand. He guided her into the tub, keeping his eyes politely averted from her naked form, and waited until he felt she was stable enough before pulling his hands away. Slowly, he pushed the shower curtain closed to give her privacy. 

“You okay?” He asked. 

A fresh wave of tears hit her and she doubled over with more sobs under the weak stream of water, “Y-yeah.” When she heard him start to leave the bathroom, she called back out, letting the panic take over, “Wait! Peter…can you…can you stay with me? Don’t go…don’t leave me. I-I need you.” 

She could practically hear the smile in his voice.

“I was never going to leave. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

He flipped the toilet seat closed and settled down on top of it. His long legs extended out to perch his feet on the edge of the tub. She could see the shower curtain pull tighter where they rested and felt a sense of calm settle in her mind now that she knew he was with her. 

Maybe she didn’t have to be alone. Peter was alone. They could be alone together. 

The water cascaded down her chest. She placed her face into the stream to scrub at her cheeks with her hands. Brown, dark blood washed from her body and circled around the drain. She was afraid to turn her back to the shower, knowing how badly it would hurt when the water hit her wounds, but she needed to wash the blood from her hair. 

“Are you alright?” Peter asked when he heard her muffled wince of pain as she turned around. 

Aylin smiled woefully to herself, lathering her scalp with the cheap motel shampoo, “It just hurts. I’ll be okay.” A few more lingering tears slipped down her face to mix in with the steaming water. The water pressure was weak but at least it was hot. Her guilt clung to her tighter than the steam clouding around her face. “Peter?” 

“Hmm?” 

Her eyes gazed down at the sun seared into her thigh. It was blistering with angry, red lines outlining the rays of the sun. The mark of a Silver Colt, the mark of Kraven, festering with a growing infection. “I’m sorry. For everything. I’m sorry I was a bitch to you. I’m sorry I was a part of the group of people who hurt you. I’m sorry I kept you when I should have let you go the day I found you. I’m sorry for promising to kill you and refusing to go through with it. I’m sorry for being a Silver Colt.” 

He was silent for a long time. She tenderly washed her body with the soap provided to her as she waited for his response, grazing over her wounds the best she could, and letting the water carry away her filth. With each passing moment under the stream, she cleansed herself further from Kraven. 

“I don’t blame you,” Peter finally whispered. She could hardly hear him over the shower. “You acted within the parameters you knew. You saved my life. You showed me that things could be different. I didn’t have to live the way I was. There was still something more out there. Everything was hopeless until I met you.” 

Was it no longer hopeless? 

She felt hopeless. Directionless. She couldn’t see the same vision he did. They were moving in opposite directions. 

“I don’t want to die anymore,” he stated with finality to his tone. 

She did. 

Aylin turned the knob of the shower to shut it off. The water sputtered to a halt, leaving her wet, dripping, and quickly chilling as the warm droplets cooled on her skin. 

Peter shuffled behind the curtain and soon a white towel poked through the side. She gladly took it, gently wiping herself dry. 

“I’ll be in the other room,” he said. “I’m going to set up the first aid kit for when you come out. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll just be on the other side of this door.”

She listened for the light click to indicate the closing door before she pulled back the shower curtain and stepped out. Condensation clung to the mirror. She whipped it away with the palm of her hand. She looked rough but there was a glimmer of Aylin staring back at her. Underneath all that blood and sweat, she was still human. Her red trimmed, puffy eyes stayed locked onto herself as she scrunched the water out of her long hair with the towel. 

There was still softness in the world despite what she had gone through. Peter was proof of that. He had stayed. He didn’t run the first chance he got. He wasn’t helping her because he felt like he was forced to. His compassion was able to extend further than his trauma. 

He didn’t want to die anymore. 

She wondered what caused that change.

Aylin knelt down to dig through her bag. She grabbed a pair of clean underwear and some loose fitting workout shorts. Anything else would rub against her brand. She was worried about the infection that was beginning to form around the edges and guessed her back was probably looking the same. After quickly getting into the clean bottoms, she held the towel against her bare chest to keep herself somewhat decent before stepping out of the bathroom. Putting on a shirt before she wrapped her back wounds would be pointless. 

Peter was standing at the edge of the bed with the bucket of first aid open in front of him. He had laid out some gauze and bandages on the bed spread and was reading the back label of a yellow tube. He casually glanced in her direction with raised brows, “Is Neosporin what you need? It says antibiotic ointment. That’s probably good, right?” 

She gave him a quiet nod. He was beautiful. Forgiving. Tender. She had the urge to be held by him, cradled in the safety of his arms, with her face nuzzled into the crook of his neck. There was a newly found desperation growing where all she wanted to was to feel loved by another person. By him. Anything to make the pain go away. 

His eyes wandered back over to her, slowly toying down her body then back up to her face. She didn’t mind and found herself blushing under his obvious ogling. He gave her a lopsided grin, “Who knew there was an actual person under all that grime?”  

A smile broke out across her face, cracking through her hardened exterior. Her first real smile since she left him at camp. Those were the same words she had spoken to him the night he shuffled out of the shower the last time they were here. Their roles had been completely reversed. 

For a fleeting second, they held onto each other’s eyes, finding a common place between them. An appreciation. A care. A yearning.

A love. 

He was the first one to break the moment, hoisting the bucket off the bed and patting his hand on the mattress, “Come lay down. Let me look at your back.” 

Aylin did as she was told, happy to let someone else, someone she trusted, take control for a little a while. Once she was face first on top of the bed, she pulled the towel out from under her chest and rolled it up to use as a pillow. It was wet and cooling on her cheek as she closed her eyes. Her hair was tossed over her shoulder, away from her back. She could feel Kedi pawing at the dripping ends before he flopped over and dozed off. 

She wasn’t alone. 

There was life in this room besides her own. Life that she cared about. Life that she wanted to protect. 

Peter leaned over to examine the damage then looked back to the small tube of ointment, “I don’t think this will be enough.” 

Aylin cracked her eyes open to stare at him through half closed slits, “Does my back look infected? If not then I’ll use it on my thigh instead. That definitely needs it more.” 

She watched him glance down to the back of her thighs which were parted in a wider stance to keep her skin from touching. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. 

“Yeah, about that,” he spoke with a timid inflection. “What exactly am I looking at? When I brought you in from the car, I could kind of see it. It was all blistered but it looked a bit like it was spider shape or something. I didn’t want to push your legs apart too much to get a better look, not that you’re not nice to look at or anything, you were just sleeping…and I was…I was just…trying to…see…and make sure you were okay…” 

Aylin rolled her eyes and cut off his anxious rambling, “It’s a sun. Half of one. Kraven burned it into me to prove I was still a Silver Colt. That I was still one of them. That I was his.” 

Peter took a delicate seat on the edge of the bed beside her. He raised one brow with a look of mild intrigue, “Kraven?”

She huffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “Yes? You remember him? The guy who ruined your life?”

“I know who you’re talking about.” A smile danced across his lips. “It’s just, well, you’ve always called him Sergei. The last time I brought up Kraven the Hunter you got all pissed off and had a look of death on your face like you’d kill me for disrespecting him by calling him that. Suddenly, he’s no longer Sergei. He’s Kraven. That’s what all the Lycan call him. You flipped sides.” 

Aylin let out a long breath, her eyes stared emotionless at the bare wall across from her, not finding the same amusement he clearly did, “That’s me. The traitor.”

Peter flopped down on his stomach next to her. His arms curled up to form a place for his head to rest as he stared, nose to nose, at her. He was becoming more comfortable around her by the second. She enjoyed the change. 

“I like Aylin the Traitor better than Aylin the Cult Member,” he muttered with a grin.

He was so close. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to feel something besides guilt and shame. He was so delicately handsome. 

And he was still here despite everything. 

“My entire life was a lie,” she whispered back to him, needing to share the burden of her life with someone she trusted. “Everything. He wanted me before I was even born. He wanted me to be his perfect…” She didn’t know what. Wife? Baby mother? Side piece? “He wanted me to have his children.” 

Peter’s brow furrowed, his joy fading, “What do you mean?” 

“Him and his wife. They couldn’t have children. He wanted an heir. They decided that the best way to do that was to create the perfect person from scratch. Someone loyal and obedient. Someone they could manipulate. Someone who would do whatever they asked,” she felt the tears pressing back up. “Someone as pathetic and naive as me.”’ 

She let out a dark, humorless laugh, “And the crazy thing is, if I had never met you, I would have done it. Without a second thought. I would have willingly agreed to it because I trusted him. He would have known best. If that’s what he said I needed to do to help our people, then I would have done it. It’s only because of you, I knew better. I’m so fucking stupid.” 

Peter’s hand reached up to capture a stray tear rolling down her cheek with his thumb. He gently wiped it away, letting his fingers push back through her hair, and lacing them against her skull. 

“You’re not stupid,” he murmured. “You were manipulated by a very bad man. If your life is full of isolation, then how could you ever know anything else? You did what you had to do to survive in the environment you were given. It’s not your fault you were born into a life like that. It’s what you do once you find out the truths that show what kind of person you really are. Look at you, Aylin. You’re not dead. You’re still here. You escaped. There is still more life out there. Don’t be like me. Don’t give up yet. You have no idea what kind of person you’re capable of becoming. Your life is just beginning. Mine is, too. We can still start fresh. They don’t deserve you, anyway.” 

“I killed her,” Aylin breathed. If he wanted to start fresh with her then he needed to know the truth. There were already too many lies in her life for her to keep anymore. “Remember that night I came to the camper and you had heard a girl screaming? They had wheeled out a young girl, a Lycan girl, inside a cage. They wanted me to kill her. I couldn’t do it. I ran back to you. I thought…” She swallowed at the lump forming in her throat. “I thought they would have killed her themselves after I ran.”

She buried her face into the towel, breathing in the scent of the motel shampoo, and closing her eyes to block out the memories as she spoke, “When I went back, when Kraven found me, he locked me in his basement. A torture chamber. It was hidden underground behind a secret bookcase. I wasn’t alone. That Lycan girl was there. She was still alive. He-” She took a deep breath. “He made me kill her this time. She was so weak. They had tortured her so badly. It was horrible. Her body was already shutting down. I think she would have died on her own had I just held off a few more hours. But I did it. I killed her. I didn’t even know her name. She wouldn’t tell me. She was young. Couldn’t be any older than 19. It was me who killed her. No one else. Just me.”

He entangled his hand from her wet hair, much to her heartbreak, and went silent. She could feel him breathing softly next to her as he mulled over what she had said. He still had the choice to leave and walk out if he judged her to be too irredeemable. 

After a quiet minute ticked by, Peter finally spoke, “I killed Kateri Deseronto’s son. He was only little. Five years old. That’s why she had me locked up when you found me. I’m responsible for his death. She wanted me to give her a new child. It was some sick, fucked up power play fueled by her grief and resentment. She lost herself the night he died. It’s hard for me to hate her, despite everything she did to me, because I felt like I deserved it. Her child is dead because of me. You said earlier that you bring death wherever you go. That you were cursed. That everyone was dead because of you.” He shook his head in disagreement. “I thought that, too, about myself. But it’s not us. I didn’t murder Kat’s son with my own hands. It was Kraven’s men who killed him. They were there because they were hunting me but I didn’t kill her son. If you look close enough, every string of blame leads straight back to Kraven the Hunter. He’s the source of everything.” 

Aylin peaked a curious eye out from the safety of her cave. Peter had propped his head up onto his hand, leaning on his side, as he looked down at her with a quiet contemplation. Suddenly, another puzzle piece fell into place. 

“Wait,” she said with a realization. She had heard that story before. She quickly sat up, forgetting she was topless, then hastily threw the towel to her chest when she saw Peter’s eyes widen. “When was that? When did the thing with Kat’s son happen?”

Peter thought for a second, his ears reddening from embarrassment, not quite understanding the gravity of what he was about to say, “I don’t know. Five years ago-ish?” He could tell by the paling look of horror on her face that something wasn’t right. “Why?”

Aylin filled her lungs with a gulp of air to try and settle her nerves, “The night my father and brother died, the night Kraven left them to die, the three of them were hunting you. Kraven told me in the basement that they had found you along with a woman and a little boy. He said that you were trying to regrow your pack after he slaughtered your last one.” 

Peter’s jaw clenched at that statement but he remained quiet. 

“He told me that they found you, he said…oh god…he said Emir ran after the woman and her son while he fought with you. He said that after he stabbed you, he fought with my father. Then he shot Emir. Then he left them both to be killed by a wolf.” Her voice lingered down to nothing but a mere whisper. “By you.”

Peter sat in a stunned silence. His eyes slipped closed and he brought his hands up to massage at his temples. With one hand keeping the towel in place, Aylin reached out with the other to gently caress his knee and drag his attention back to her. 

“I don’t blame you, Peter. It’s not your fault,” she muttered. “They were Silver Colts. They attacked you first. Like you said, everything leads back to Kraven.” 

He frantically shook his head, “No. That’s not how it happened. I told you. I never killed your family. I didn’t know…I didn’t know that was them…but I didn’t kill them. It wasn’t me. I was bleeding out after Kraven attacked me. I could barely move. Kat killed them.” 

Aylin’s eyes widened as ice froze her veins. The memory of running from the pack of wolves with Peter bursts behind her vision. A large, towering black wolf. Hunched over in the middle of the dark, slick wet, rain covered road. Heavy, smokey breaths puffing from her saliva coated jaws. She didn’t chase the car speeding away with her captive. She only stood and watched. Waiting. Plotting. 

Kat was the wolf that had killed her family. 

“Because Emir killed her son,” Aylin stated. 

He gave a solemn nod. 

Her stomach sank. She loved her family. She thought the world of them but, in their death and her grief, she had memorialized them as saints. She had stopped seeing them as people with flaws. They were people who could do no wrong. Frozen forever in her mind as the perfect father and big brother. 

But, like everything else in her life, that wasn’t always the truth. 

The world wasn’t black and white. People were all shades of gray. The people she loved and admired were capable of doing bad things. They were capable of doing wonderful, nobel things, too. They were complex, layered people. Emir could stand up for his little sister and protect her honor down to his last breath and he could also murder someone else’s child because they were associated with a Lycan. He had grown up in the same cult as she did. Generation after generation, the cycle of violence and hate would continue. 

It stopped with her. 

“Why were you with Kat and her son?” She asked. 

Peter gave a small shrug, keeping his sights set to study her face, trying to read her emotions through each little detail he could find, “She found me. She was running from her husband. He was Lycan and had turned her when they got together before she even really knew what that meant. She was young and in love with him so she ignored all the warning signs of him being an abuser. After their son was born, he got worse. Finally she decided to run but she didn’t have the experience of being a Lycan around normal people. She didn’t know how to care for her son as he started going through changes. Her husband had kept them sheltered for years. She didn’t have friends or anyone to go to. I guess she heard that my people-” He cleared his throat, struggling to speak about his pack. “She heard that I was alone. She wanted help. I told her I could help her. I told her I would try to keep them safe. I shouldn’t have done that. I knew Kraven was hunting me. I shouldn’t have had them so close but…I suppose lonely people do stupid things.” 

“Were you in love with her?” She wasn’t sure why that was the first question she asked. A strange sting of jealousy poked at her heart at the thought of him loving someone like Kat. 

A small, sad smile tugged at his lips, “No. The woman I loved is dead. Her name was Gwen. She would have wanted me to help a lost mother and her child, though. Maybe that’s why I did it. Her voice was in my head begging me to do the right thing.” He gave another shrug. “It only served to get a kid killed and look where I ended up because of it.”

Aylin licked her drying lips, “I think the person I loved is dead, too. I think Kraven killed her and her family. I thought they just left in the middle of the night but…I don’t think anyone leaves the Silver Colts without consequences. I think Kraven did it to punish me. Her name was Leah and she was beautiful. She would have liked you. She was always a bit of a rebel while I was always straight laced. She’d be amazed to know I, of all people, befriended a Lycan.” 

Peter smiled at the thought, “We are two very fucked up people with freakishly similar backgrounds.” 

Her sweet chimes of laughter filled the space between them. It felt good to laugh. Healing. 

“I think I was meant to meet you,” she breathed. “I think-” 

She stopped herself from saying what she really wanted to and shook her head to brush away the thought. 

I think you were meant to be mine. 

She rolled back onto her stomach and balled up the towel into a pillow once more, “I think you should help me put as much Neosporin as you can onto my back and then wrap it back up.”

Peter stood up to stand at the foot of the bed and clapped his hands together, “I have a better idea! I know exactly what can heal you in no time. Forget about ointments and creams. I’ve got all the cure you need right here in these veins.” 

Aylin shook her head and grimaced, “Absolutely not. I’ve drunk enough Lycan blood for one lifetime, thank you very much.”

Peter’s head jerked over to stare at her with an incredulous look, “Drank? Why are you drinking blood?”

She frowned, “That’s how Kraven is getting his superior strength. He’s drinking Lycan blood. I got only a few drops in my mouth when I killed the Lycan girl and it almost gave me a heart attack. I’m not doing that again.” 

His nose scrunched up in disgust, “Nasty. You don’t need to drink it. It’s much more effective to go blood to blood. Like, I cut my wrist and let it drip directly into your wounds. Straight to the source. It heals so much faster. I assume drinking it would take more time for it to get absorbed and lose some of its potency. Not to mention, it’s also disgusting and wrong on so many levels.” 

A tiny smile crept onto her face.

“So you’re telling me that Kraven and Calypso are gulping down blood when they could actually just be injecting it straight into their veins for better and faster results?” 

He shrugged and nodded. 

Somehow the thought of their stupidity made it more humorous. The Silver Colts really didn’t know the first thing about Lycans. All that hatred for a species they never cared to research further. 

“I still don’t want your blood. I almost died last time and then I slept for 16 hours. It was horrible,” she said. The sleeping part wasn’t actually horrible. She needed it. It was all the other stuff before that, that she’d rather never experience again. 

“That’s because you were panicking.” He said this like it should have been obvious to her. When he saw no light bulb go off over her head, he explained further. “When a human is given Lycan blood, it enhances everything. Physically, it makes you heal faster, you’re stronger, you have better eyesight and hearing and smell, your endurance and agility heighten, faster reflexes…you get it. But it also enhances your emotions. Whatever you’re feeling when it’s in your system gets enhanced. Seeing as you were running for your life through the woods, half naked, and covered in blood, your heart was racing. It would have been racing without the blood and then, suddenly, it’s going twice as fast as it ever should. You were scared and panicked. Thus, the blood made those emotions worse, which made your heart beat faster, which made it almost explode.” 

Interesting. 

She remembered how frantic Kraven’s hands had felt as he lusted after her like he could scarcely control his desires for her. She remembered how each whip from Calypso was harder and more violent than the last, like she was feeding off her own hatred towards Aylin. She remembered how scared she felt when she tumbled into her mother’s bedroom to find her missing and how the panic had felt like it consuming her every pore. 

It would make perfect sense that Lycan blood was heighting more than just their physical abilities. 

Then she remembered something else. 

“Kraven said something strange when we were in the basement. When you were fighting all those years ago, he cut your throat, and your blood landed in his mouth. Once that happened, he felt like he could no longer kill you. He walked away from the fight and left you there. Then, when he was drinking the girl in the basement's blood, he told me that he nor Calypso were able to kill her themselves. They had to wait for me to do it. He said it was like a mental block that happened.” 

The Lycan had already been dead once Aylin got a taste of her blood so she hadn’t experienced anything Kraven had described. 

Peter nodded, “I’ve heard of that happening. Figured that’s why Kraven walked away that night. I don’t know how or why it happens. It’s not like there are books that study our anatomy. I think it’s probably a last line of defense. If someone is using our blood, we become a part of them while it’s in their system. Killing the wolf that’s living temperarely inside of you would be like suicide, I imagine. I doubt it would literally kill the person but that’s how it would probably feel. You have an instinctive need for self preservation, which now includes the wolf inside of you, so you can’t bring yourself to kill them.” 

Peter’s blood is what saved him the night Kraven attacked. 

She wouldn’t mind having a part of him flowing inside her veins for a little while. 

“Promise it won’t be as bad as last time?” She asked. 

He smiled, “We’re in a motel room. You have your cat. It’s just me and you here. There is no danger. No one knows we are here. We can put on the tv and watch something chill while it works its magic. You have no need to be scared or panicked. You’ll feel heightened senses but as long as you keep your emotions calm, you’ll be okay.” 

Aylin thought it over then gave a final nod, “Fine. Do it. Whatever can heal me faster, I'll take. You and I have a lot of planning to do.”

[CHAPTER NINE]

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[casuallyimagining]

Fallen (1) | myg

Min Yoongi x Female Reader

Summary: If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, then where does that leave you? Spurned by your ex-fiance, you seek the one person who can help. But as it turns out, the price of revenge may be a little more than you bargained for.

Genre: Fallen Angel AU, strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, angst

Word Count: 9,208

Warnings: homelessness, abusive ex, manipulation, emotional abuse, forced isolation, major character injury, blood, mentions of critiques of organized western religion, threats of harm, brief mentions of an almost-panic attack, arguing, more to be added later

Notes: Thank you to @daechwitatamic and @madbutgloriouspond for reading through this fic and for listening to me talk about it literally every day. And thanks to @btsmosphere and @toikiii for helping me with the angst.

Fallen Masterlist | Next Part

Everything is grey. Or, at least, that’s how it feels. You rarely come this far uptown, where the trains run on elevated tracks instead of under your feet. You follow the tracks along the river. They said he’d be somewhere around here, under the el between the old Radio Shack and the bodega. Above, a train rumbles past, its speed whipping up a wind that blows your hair into your face. 

You pull your jacket closer and step over a puddle.

Honestly, uptown would be nice if it didn’t seem like it died in the 70s. But, at least near the el, everything gives off that decayed vibe. Faded posters still cling to the bricks in alleyways advertising bands that hadn’t toured in decades. Window displays for nameless stores show off mannequins dressed in clothes that would have been long out of fashion by the time you were born. 

Something glowing near one of the track supports draws your attention. It’s a metal trash can, its contents ablaze. Just behind the can, leaning against the steel support, is a man. His clothes are tattered, and as you get closer, you can see he’s sucking on a lollipop.

“Goat?” You’re almost in front of the burning can. The man doesn’t answer you, doesn't acknowledge you, he just continues to stare into the flames. “Are-are you Goat?” you try again, taking a step closer. “I’m looking for someone. I was told he’d be here–uptown under the tracks where no one comes. Some of them called him Goat.”

The man snorts derisively, a small, bitterly amused smirk appears on his lips. “Not to my face they don’t.”

“I’ll call you whatever you want,” you concede. He doesn’t seem to be upset, but you don’t want to push his buttons. “I need to talk to you.”

“No thanks, kid.”

“It’s important.”

The man–Goat, or whatever he’s called–rolls his eyes. “You humans are always so convinced you need my help.” He turns then, tossing the stick of his lollipop into the fire, and starts to walk away. “I’ll give you a piece of advice: you can’t handle it.” He throws the last thought over his shoulder, barely even turning his head.

You walk quickly to catch up. “You don’t know anything about me. I’m stronger than I look.”

As you emerge from the shadows of the el tracks, you’re able to get a better look at him. He’s slight, thin, with barely any visible muscle. His dark hair hangs long into his eyes, which are an intense shade of deep, dark brown. He doesn’t look like much, and for a moment, you think that maybe you have the wrong man. But there’s a quiet power to how he carries himself, as if he could turn into something all-powerful and terrifying in the blink of an eye. You can see it in how he walks, how he carries himself. He’s dressed like just another unhoused person, but there’s a confidence around him that would make it nearly impossible to think he’s anything else than the immovable force that he was.

“You would know a thing about being stronger than you look, I think,” you say quietly. 

He sighs and pauses beside a light pole, leaning against it and allowing you to fully catch up to him. “What do you want.” It’s not a question.

“I need something.”

He laughs, eyebrows raising in surprise. “You want a favor?”

“Not a favor. I’ll pay you.”

“You’ll pay me?”

“Anything you want.”

He shakes his head, pushing off the post and continuing to walk. This time, though, it’s much slower, as if he’s inviting you to keep up. You’re intrigued–he’s intriguing–and you aren’t about to give up yet. So you walk with him, up the street, past the dusty old bodega and into an alley.

“I don’t want anything,” he says, eyes focused ahead.

You shrug. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

He stops and turns to you, stepping close, so close that you can smell the smoke from the garbage fire on his clothes, in his hair. He inspects you, dark eyes gazing deeply into yours. “Who have you been talking to about me?”

“Your friends.”

“I don’t have friends.”

“The ones who live down here.”

Again, he laughs, stepping away from you. You can still smell the smoke of his clothes. “They’d kill me if they got the chance.” He continues walking, leading you down another side street. This one looks just as Disco Dead as the previous one. “You should watch your step. There are snakes everywhere.”

You sigh. At this rate, you’ll be dead before you convince him to help you. But you press on. “I’ll make it worth your time.”

“How?”

“You tell me.”

He hums, scrubbing a hand along his chin in thought. He shoves his other hand into the pocket of his oversized, tattered coat. “What do you want, kid?”

“Revenge. On my ex-fiance. He’s…” You shake your head. Your ex-fiance is a lot of things. And you hate all of them. 

“Real winner, eh?” He hums, turning from the alley and onto the avenue. 

The shops here are just as old, the signs just as peeling and time-worn, but some of these are open. Their doors are propped open and music–a strange cacophony of reggae, latin fusion, and jazz–floats out onto the street from old boomboxes. Judging by the advertisements in the windows, these storefronts were stuck somewhere in the 90s. An improvement, but not quite enough.

Finally, he stops just outside of a run down electronics store. The front window still has a CRT tv that’s hooked up to a security camera filming the street. You and the man are reflected back in the screen. He’s standing so close to you that the sleeves of his tattered coat brush against your arm. 

“Sure, okay,” he says finally, the corners of his lips turning up in a smirk. 

For a moment, you’re taken aback. That was… much easier than you had expected it to be. Your shock must be evident on your face, because then he says, “What do you need?”

Carefully, you collect yourself, school your face into something you hope is a neutral expression. “I just want him to suffer.”

He whistles lowly, fluffing his hair. “Doesn’t exactly give me a lot to go off.”

“Can you do it or not?”

Briefly, he looks amused. His smirk turns into a smile. It’s soft, and it’s a little cocky, but it sets your mind at ease a little bit. “Might take a bit to get it right, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“I want him ruined,” you say softly, taking a step closer. “Personally and professionally. Just like he did to me.”

“You’re a curious one, aren’t you?”

“Thank you, Goat.” You smile, and he smiles back. A wide, gummy thing that seems to show off all the teeth in his mouth. “Or, I guess…?”

“Yoongi. Call me Yoongi.”

It’s amazing how cold it’s gotten in the span of a couple weeks. It hasn’t snowed yet, but you can definitely tell that it’s going to soon. There’s something about the smell of the air, how the wind feels as it whips its way under the el tracks. The puddles under the track from the water and moisture dripping from the trains look frigid. You step around one and approach the man standing at the burning trash can.

He looks cold, too. He’s wearing the same tattered coat as last time, and now you notice the places where you can see his shirt through the holes. You wonder if he has anything else he could wear, any other layers he could put on now that it’s getting cold. You wonder if he has anywhere to go when the temperatures start to dip at night, somewhere other than huddled around a Hooverville fire. 

He smiles as you get closer, much different from the indifferent glare he’d fixed you with the first time, and you warm a little bit. It’s sweet, the half-grin he shoots your way, almost as if he’s excited to see you. You’d tried to keep your distance over the past few weeks, despite the fact that you’d been practically bursting at the seams to know how things were progressing. But that doesn’t mean you hadn’t seen him at all.

He’d wandered past your work a few days ago. You couldn’t be quite sure, but you were pretty sure he’d actually floated past the front windows of the bar. But he’d paused and waved, and you’d waved back only for your coworkers to look at you like you were crazy.

So there was a 50/50 chance that Yoongi was actually just a figment of your revenge-addled imagination. But you know. That’s what happens when you cavort with a fallen angel. C’est la vie. 

“Kid. You came.” He greets you cheerfully, his eyes focusing down on the fire in front of him. He reaches down beside him and grabs a small stack of papers–old posters and some trash, from the looks of it–and drops them into the flames. Sparks fly up, and you watch them glitter in his eyes. “I’m a little surprised, to be honest.”

“Well, it’s hard to ignore a creepy text from an unknown number asking you to meet under the el at nearly sundown.” You shrug. “You really should sign your texts. Or, I don’t know. Give me your number.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes and scoffs, but you could swear his cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink than they already were.

The wind picks up, touseling his hair and chilling you to your core. You push your bag further up onto your shoulder and shove your hands deep into the pockets of your coat. Yoongi steps closer to the fire, visibly shivering, and again, you find yourself concerned for him. But before you can say anything, he clears his throat.

“I think I’m going to need some more details about what he did to you,” he says softly. You bristle at his words. Brown eyes find yours, and you can sense that he hates having to ask. 

You sigh. You’d hoped to be able to get through this without having to tell him about any of it. You’d done a lot of healing in the time since leaving your fiance, but so much of it still stung–and some of it, you were still dealing with the fallout. You’d thought that because of who he was, you wouldn’t have to tell Yoongi anything.

“I thought you could just sense that stuff.”

He frowns. “I can tell when it’s enough to balance out the universe. But I need to know what I’m balancing for.”

“What have you tried so far?”

“Admittedly not much just yet.” Yoongi scratches at the back of his neck. “I started small to test the waters. But between his keys disappearing and his clocks never being the correct time, he’ll never be on-time ever again. I’ve also crashed his computer several times and wiped a few important files. He’ll need them in a few days. He’s currently up for a promotion, but uh… not after his boss finds out that the reports for three of their biggest clients are gone.”

You hum. It’s a start. Your ex-fiance was incredibly dedicated to his job. You’d loved that about him, back when you loved him. So it did give you a sick sense of satisfaction to know that slowly, his job was slipping through his fingertips. But…

“It’s not enough,” you say sharply. “You need to go further.”

“Right. That’s why I was hoping you could give me more information.”

“Well, I…” You sigh. Where the hell do you even start? How the hell do you even start? You look around. The surrounding buildings are still grey, still decaying, still… damp. You can’t see them, but somewhere nearby, someone is rooting around in a dumpster. Suddenly, you’re intimately aware of how cold it is, and how stinging the wind is, and how exposed you are. You rub your arm. “Can we talk somewhere else?”

Yoongi watches you, and some emotion crosses his eyes. But you can’t tell what it is, and it’s gone before you can really even analyze it. Silently, he nods and holds out his hand. You think that maybe he’s going to lead you away again, on a goose chase through the weird eras of this part of uptown. But he doesn’t. 

Brown eyes meet yours for the briefest of seconds, and then a warm wind picks up, blowing Yoongi’s long hair into his eyes. Your stomach lurches and then something soft rises up to meet you. You open your eyes–when did you close them?--and suddenly, you’re no longer under the el.

There’s a clatter off to your left, and the ding of a bell. Distantly, you hear someone ask “You want some more coffee, hun?” The surface under you is soft, but not so soft to be mistaken for comfortable. Yoongi sits across from you, a smug smirk on his lips.

A diner. You’re in a diner. It’s fairly busy, too, and for a moment, you’re worried that someone noticed the two of you just appearing out of nowhere in a booth. But shockingly, no one is even looking in your direction.

“How…?”

Yoongi shrugs. “People see what they want.”

“Oh… okay.” 

You settle into the vinyl seating, resting your hands against the table. The formica surface is sticky and you recoil in disgust. Yoongi watches you, his cat-like eyes following your movements with curiosity. It’s quiet for a moment, save for the clinking of dishes and the noises from the kitchen. 

A waitress flutters back and forth between the tables and the stools at the counter, taking orders and pouring coffee. She either hasn’t noticed you’re there or she doesn’t see you at all. Quite frankly, neither would shock you. Another order appears in the window with a ding and the waitress spins to place the plate in front of a man at the counter. 

After a second, she approaches your table to take your order. You aren’t particularly hungry, but Yoongi orders a plate of fries and a slice of cake to share. She pours Yoongi a cup of coffee and promises to return with a glass of water for you and then she’s gone.

“So.” Yoongi clears his throat and leans on his hand. He studies you curiously. His voice is soft when he next speaks. “I really do need to know what he did to you, kid.”

You sigh. It wasn’t surprising, but that didn’t make it any less difficult to talk about. Your fiance had been terrific at first. Loving. Loyal. Kind. You’d known him since college, had seen him go from gangly, awkward first-year to second in his class in one of the country’s most prestigious law schools. You’d watched him graduate, had been there when he was named partner, celebrated every raise and promotion as he climbed the ladder. But slowly, over time, he’d changed.

“He used to be lovely,” you admit softly, dragging a finger through the condensation on the glass of water the waitress sat in front of you. “But somewhere along the way, he changed. Or maybe he was always like this and I didn’t notice. I don’t know.”

“Sometimes people hide who they are.”

“After a while, I realized that I wasn’t myself anymore. There was nothing about me at that point that didn’t revolve around him. I hadn’t seen my friends in over a year. I was completely dependent on him financially. He’d gotten me a job at his firm, we lived in a nice apartment near the river. But I didn’t want to only be Song Dawoon’s wife for the rest of my life. And when I left, I…” You shrug, hands falling into your lap. “Well, he showed me, I guess.”

“He took it all away?”

You nod. “My whole life, gone in less than 24 hours.”

“Your friends?”

“Turns out he’d been feeding them lies.”

Yoongi hums deeply and frowns. And when the waitress returns at that precise moment with a plate of fries, he jumps slightly at the clatter. When she’s gone, he leans closer, no longer resting on his hand. He picks up a fry and inspects it briefly before popping it into his mouth. He makes a face, though you can’t necessarily tell why. You consider for the first time that maybe he’d never eaten before.

Gently, he pushes the plate toward you. “Eat,” he coaxes softly. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. But now that I know, I can change tactics.” He sighs, his eyes falling to the plate as he traces the edge. “I’ll make sure he gets what’s deserved.”

Things go silent. Yoongi coaxes you to eat again, but other than that, the sounds of the diner take over. Slowly, the fries disappear. You try not to watch him–or, at least, you try not to be too obvious about watching him. He’s warmed up in the diner, his full cheeks no longer bright pink and windbitten, but you worry about when you leave. 

What happens then?

Does he have somewhere to go to get out of the cold? Does he stay in a tent in the encampment under the el? Does he go to a shelter? Or does he huddle by the trash can fire through the night? His clothes are so thin, there’s no way they protect him from the cold. Does he even get cold?  

You barely notice when the waitress comes to take away the plate and replace it with another, this one topped with a slice of cake large enough for two. Again, Yoongi nudges the plate in your direction, but you let him have the first bite. He practically melts when his lips close around his fork, and suddenly you’re struck with a thought. 

You would like to know more about him.

It’s weird, and a little random. But you want to know more about what he likes and what he doesn’t. You’re curious about his past, though you aren’t sure you’d ever be brave enough to ask. But he’s fascinating, you’re fascinated by him, and so you smile gently at him when you stab into your side of the cake. He returns it warmly, and it reflects in his eyes.

The days pass quickly, and soon enough, it’s almost a week later. For reasons you can’t quite figure out, you’ve seen Yoongi for the majority of the days after your impromptu trip to the diner. Or, perhaps seen isn’t the right word. Anyone else, you would say you’d been hanging out with them. But with Yoongi, that didn’t seem quite right.

He’d shown up at the bar. You’d assumed that he wanted to tell you about his most recent attempts at bringing enough justice to Dawoon to rattle his teeth. But he sat down at the corner of the bar and watched you curiously while you served the customers that were there before him. When you finally made your way toward him, he shot you a warm smile.

You’d only spoken a few words to him when it became abundantly clear that you were the only one that could see him. Your coworkers eyed you warily, and the other patrons sitting at the bar were looking at you like you were the drunk one. You whispered a soft “Stick around. I’m closing,” to him and promptly ignored him for the rest of the night.

Which is how you ended up here. With the bar’s sound system blasting late 90s pop while you pile dishes into the dishwasher. Yoongi perches on the countertop beside you, dark eyes watching you curiously as you place cups into the tray for washing.

“Is there a reason why I’m the only one who can see you?” you finally ask. It’d been bothering you all night, and now seems as good a time as any to ask.

He shrugs, and for a moment, you think he’s going to answer, but he doesn’t. Instead, he watches you hit start on the dishwasher and follows you back out to the bar. “You humans are… complicated,” he says cryptically, as if that’s supposed to answer your question.

You hum. Ain’t that the truth.

He stands behind you as you take stock, checking the bottles behind the bar to see what’s low. Gingerly, he picks up a bottle of bar brand rum and inspects the label. “Why do humans drink this?” he asks, voice quiet.

It’s your turn to shrug. “Celebration. Relaxation. Happiness. Sadness. For fun. To forget.”

“That’s a lot of contradictions.”

“Humans are complicated.”

He grunts and falls silent, putting the rum back behind the bar.

It’s a day later, and Yoongi is following you around once again. It’s weird how comfortable it is. He’s in your apartment, beside you in the kitchen. You’d been right in the diner–he hadn’t tried many human foods. He didn’t really need to eat. But he had a sweet tooth, and that was the extent of his experimentation.

Mercifully, it’s your day off, and you’ve taken the time to expose Yoongi to breakfast foods–waffles, you argue, are among humankind’s greatest creations. You had set him to task cutting up melon, and truthfully, you’re a little worried he’s going to cut his finger off. But it turns out that he’s a natural with a knife, and you aren’t sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing. But he chats with you while he cuts into the juicy green flesh, the thwack, thwack, thwack of the knife a nice rhythmic background to the conversation.

“It’s why the trains are always late,” he explains, his voice quiet, but sage. Somehow–you weren’t entirely sure how–he’d gotten on the topic of rail infrastructure. You hadn’t exactly been able to follow his logic, but his voice is nice, the slight gravel to it is soothing, and you think that maybe, you could listen to him talk for hours about nothing. Which is a strange thought because a month ago, you hadn’t even known his name.

The waffle maker beeps, and when you open it, the steam swirls out from a perfectly golden brown waffle. You pour more batter in and shut and lock the plates.

“Why do they call you Goat?” you ask quietly. It’s sudden, and his eyebrows shoot into his hairline. It’s quiet, save for the sounds of Yoongi’s knife and the every-so-often ding! of the waffle maker. Suddenly, you’re struck with the idea that maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me.” You can feel yourself clamming up. “I was just curious. That’s all.”

“No, it’s… it’s okay, kid.” He waves you off with a sigh. “Those snakes will do anything to humiliate me. I’m a joke to them.” Yoongi shrugs, his lips flattening into a line. “Goat. Not good enough for the guys up top. Not bad enough for the ones down below.”

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. You hadn’t considered that maybe the nickname was mean. “I didn’t know they were making fun of you.”

“How could you?” He shrugs, pushing the sliced melon onto a plate. “They’re assholes, not worthy of my time.”

“Still–I’m sorry you have to go through it. It’s not fair to you.”

The waffle maker beeps again and you pull the last fluffy piece from the plates before unplugging it. You hand Yoongi the syrup and push the slightly cooled waffle in his direction. Warily, he pours some syrup and tears a piece off the waffle. He eats, humming lowly after a second and nodding his head.

“It’s good,” he confirms, flashing you a smile and licking some syrup off his thumb.

You feel yourself stand a little straighter, a small smile spreading across your face. He dives back in, tearing off another piece of waffle.

“Oh!” He finishes chewing before continuing. “I have some updates if you want them?” 

“Oh, uh, sure.”

“I took what you said, and I gave it some thought. So first of all, he’s now only telling his friends and coworkers the truth. Which is fun. His secretary already wants to kill him.” You nod, no longer interested in your own meal. “And I’m working on slowly rearranging his files. Not the public ones. I’m not trying to get a paralegal fired. But his files and notes. Choi, Park, and Park are very annoyed with him.”

“Good. That’s… that’s good.”

“You don’t seem too happy, kid.”

“It’s just…” You sigh. It’s weird. You’re happy that Dawoon is getting what he deserves. So why do you have a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach? You shrug. It doesn’t matter. “Humans are complicated.”

You sigh and flop down onto your couch, throwing your phone down beside you. It’s been nearly a week, and you haven’t heard a single peep from Yoongi. You feel a little dumb for how it’s affecting you, but how else are you supposed to feel? He’d spent three weeks practically glued to your side, visiting you at the bar, following you around the city while you ran errands. You’d introduced him to some of your favorite foods. It’s stupid–after everything, you still only barely knew him–but you considered him a friend.

But now, for the second time in as many years, you find yourself alone and frustrated and feeling like the world’s biggest fool. Yoongi doesn’t have the capacity to hurt you as deeply as Dawoon’s betrayal had, but that doesn't mean that it doesn’t sting.

You’d met Dawoon during your first-year orientation in college. He was assigned to your group for the weekend. He’d been squirrely and awkward, and had followed you like a puppy around campus during the tour and all the first-year activities. But by the time classes started that Monday, you were fond of him. By the end of your first year, you were dating. By the end of his first year of law school, you’d moved in together.

He had been your best friend. He’d brought you coffee for every late night study session. He’d held you while you cried when the stress of your senior thesis got to be too much. He’d helped you relax during spring break the year you managed to burn yourself out so much that you considered dropping out. Dawoon had been there for every up and every down, and you’d loved him for it. 

You aren’t sure when things started to change. Only that, at some point into your nine-year relationship, they had. You woke up one morning, completely alone, and realized that you weren’t happy. It had been a long time since Dawoon had told you he loved you, and an even longer time since you’d felt like more than just arm candy. When you’d brought it up to him–that you felt like you weren’t an equal participant in the relationship, that you felt like he mattered more than you did–he’d gotten angry. So angry, that he’d almost hit you. So you’d left. Broke off the engagement, packed your bags, and left.

24 hours later, your life was gone, burnt down around you. Your boss, your friends, all tricked by Dawoon’s lies. That was almost a year and a half ago. 

You were finally starting to feel like a person again, and Yoongi was a big part of it. And now, he’s gone, too.

At the beginning of the week, you’d been surprised–sad, even–that Yoongi hadn’t popped up sometime throughout the day. But you’d gone to bed that night content in the assumption that perhaps he was busy with your favor or someone else’s, and that the next day, you would see his lopsided smile as he floated into the bar during your shift.

But no such luck. A day passes, and you go from surprised to worried. Where could he possibly be? You hope that he isn’t frozen somewhere, never to be seen again.

Three more days pass, and you find yourself getting angrier–both at Yoongi and yourself. Why hasn’t he even tried to contact you? What could he possibly be doing that he couldn’t answer a single one of your texts? Or one of your calls? Or even just float by the bar when you’re working to let you know he’s alive?

Why hadn’t you offered to buy him a new coat? You knew his was in tatters. You knew the nights were getting colder. You could have offered your couch.

That anger festered, and now you’re pissed. At Yoongi. At yourself. At the world. Thankfully, you don’t have to completely start over again, but there’s something just as crushing about finding yourself alone again. It’s not productive, your anger, so you channel it into something more positive.

You clean. The whole apartment. Top to bottom. Starting with your bedroom and working through the bathroom and the kitchen. You blast the punk music from your early teen years on your phone and set about the living room, dusting your bookshelves and reorganizing the contents. 

You’re almost ready to get out the mop and bucket when you hear a ‘thud’ against your door. Just one, and not very loud. You’ve almost decided to ignore it–it’s late, and your apartment is between enough bars that drunks falling into your door is not uncommon–when the soft knock comes, slow but deliberate. It persists, despite your efforts to get back to your cleaning, and finally, you can’t take it any more.

You march to the door, throwing it open violently. “What?” you snap before even getting a look at the knocker.

The person falls forward, and you catch them easily, grunting under the dead weight of their body. Through slashes in the man’s jacket, you can see what you think is blood–golden and viscous against lightly tanned skin–sticking what’s left of a sweater to a bruised and battered body. You hold him carefully, pushing black hair away from his face. Something inside of you knows already, but you need to be sure. 

“Yoongi?” Your heart sinks. “What happened? Where have you been?”

He splutters a bit and sags in your arms. You struggle to maneuver him further into your apartment, shutting the door behind you. “Snakes,” he manages, wincing as you nudge his arm around your shoulders. 

You frown, helping him slowly hobble out of your doorway and into the living room. Your goal is the bedroom, if you can make it. He would probably be better off on the bed if you can get him there. Snakes. They told you they were his friends. He’d warned you about them. Said they’d kill him if they ever got the chance. You suppose he was right.

Together, you limp halfway through the living room before Yoongi groans. “Gotta lay down, kid.”

“The bed’ll be more comfortable.” He grunts, and you can tell he won’t be able to make it that far. “Couch, then?”

He stumbles, and you almost lose your grip on him, but you manage to keep him upright. “Floor. Please.”

Gently, you ease him to the floor, pushing your ottoman out of the way so he doesn’t have to curl up. You pull the pillows off the couch, kneeling down to lift his head and slip one under so he’s comfortable.

“Do you need a blanket?” you ask softly, rushing out of the room. 

He grunts out a ‘no,’ but you grab him one anyway, and a glass of water–though if you’re honest, you have no idea how he’s going to drink it laying face-down on the floor, but it seems right–and then a straw because that makes more sense and rush back. You sit beside him on the floor and place your collection around you so you can reach any of it should he need.

You reach out, hesitating just slightly before your hand touches his hair. You don’t want to hurt him. But then he groans and curls slightly in on himself from the pain, and you think that maybe you can’t hurt him any more than he already is. So gently, ever so gently, you lower your hand into the inky blackness of his hair. It’s wet from sweat and sticky from blood–there’s a gash on his temple that his long hair can’t help but get stuck in–but you smooth it down anyway, away from his face.

You stand and return moments later with a bowl full of lukewarm water and a rag. “They really kicked the shit out of you, huh?” you ask softly, wringing out the rag and dabbing it against the cut on his temple. Yoongi hisses in pain and recoils. “I know, I’m sorry,” you murmur, using your other hand to smooth his hair down. “Who are they?”

“Demons,” he groans, dark eyes barely opening to look at you. “I was doing a job over by the harbor on Wednesday and they jumped me.”

“Wednesday?” you exclaim, washing out the rag and wringing it again. You move to his left shoulder, where three terribly bruised scratches run from his clavicle across his shoulder blade and down his black. “Yoongi, that was three days ago.”

He flinches when the rag hits his skin and you apologize softly. His sweater and coat fall apart in your fingers as you try to clean his wounds. You finish cleaning his back, wiping the dirt and blood and grime out of the scratches. You can see where they’re already starting to heal, where they’re already scabbing over and the flesh is growing back. You imagine that, among the other special abilities he has, he heals faster than a human. Which is good for him, because you weren’t kidding. He looks like shit.

“You good?” You stroke his hair again, pushing it back away from his eyes. 

He nods ever so slightly, deep brown eyes meeting yours briefly before he winces in pain. “I’ll be okay.”

“Not gonna die?”

Yoongi scoffs, then lets out a low groan. “Looking to get rid of me, kid?”

“Never.” You fluff his hair and stand. “I’ll be right back. Yell if you need me.”

He calls your name before you’re even out of the room and you turn to him. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

He gestures vaguely, barely lifting his arm from the floor, but you get the idea. For taking him in. For taking care of him. For making him feel like a person.

“You’re welcome,” you say softly, and pat the door frame. You disappear into your bedroom before he can say anything else.

You throw open your closet, flicking through the hangers, searching for one in particular. Somewhere in here’s an old sweater, one of the only things you managed to take with you after Dawoon, stuffed into your suitcase. It’s cream colored, you remember, chunky knit. You haven’t seen the sweater in over a year, but it’s got to be in here somewhere.

You tug it off the hanger in triumph just as a thud sounds in the living room. There’s a flapping noise, like a sheet shaken to remove the wrinkles. Confused, you slowly creep back out. There, lying precisely where you’d left him, is Yoongi. Except now, sprawled to either side of him is a pair of feathery black wings.

“Yoongi?” you question softly, stepping into the living room clutching the sweater to your chest.

His head turns away from you. “I couldn’t keep them in any longer. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s… it’s fine. I brought you a sweater. Your clothes are ruined.” He grunts. “If you’re feeling up to it, I can help you into it.” Your eyes widen. There was probably a less weird way to phrase that. “Because of your shoulder. It’s kind of really fucked up.”

He snorts, a light laugh leaving his lips, and then winces. “Thanks.”

You sink to the floor beside him, hand finding his hair once again. “Are you… you’re sure you’re going to be okay?” 

“Yeah.” Yoongi nods, and with a groan, rolls onto his side. He’s facing you now, one wing draped over his body and partially in your lap. “Don’t worry too much about me, kid. I’ve been through worse.”

Something about that breaks your heart. Maybe because you can tell. It’s the tone of his voice, but also it’s how mangled and damaged his wings are, and how you could see scars on his back under the scratches from the demons. He’s seen much worse than this.

Your fingertips brush against his wing gently and the feathers twitch away. “Sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No.” He sounds tired, his voice husky and ragged. “No one’s ever touched them before.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh.” His brows furrow. “It’s okay. It didn’t hurt.”

Something about his tone gives you pause. Ever so gently, you run your fingers through the feathers of his wings. It’s purposeful this time, and he doesn’t flinch away. In fact, he practically purrs, a deep exhale leaving him.

You can tell that his wings used to be beautiful. Closer up, the feathers are a dark grey, and most of them are still glossy. It’s just that… there are patches where there are no feathers, and places where you can see the bony protrusions that make up the physical structure of the wing. Some of the feathers are bent and broken, some are crushed, the soft, downy tendrils clumped together.

But despite everything, the feathers are soft and delicate, and they run through your fingers like water. You trace a scar along the ridge of his wing, the tip of your finger dragging through the feathers slowly, and at first, he jumps a little bit, but he quickly relaxes.

“Hey Yoongi?” you ask softly, your focus on the feathers resting against your leg. He hums an acknowledgement. You can feel his eyes on the side of your head. His curiosity is back. He must be starting to feel better. “How’d you…” You sigh and gather some courage. “How’d you fall?”

“Ah.” 

“It’s just… you said that you weren’t good enough for them, right? But the demons clearly aren’t…”

“Not my biggest fans, no.”

“So, I just…”

When you finally look at him, you’re struck by how beautiful he is. Not just in a ‘you’re pretty’ way–which, admittedly, he’s that, too. But in a ‘you’re fascinating’ sort of way. Everything about him seems contradictory. His eyes–sharp, catlike, ever observant–sit above a soft button nose, round cheeks, pouty lips. His wings are so beautiful, yet so broken. Even his words, which were sharp when you first met him, are now much softer and friendlier. Sharp and soft. It suits him, somehow.

His dark eyes watch you watch him. And though his face says he’s irritated, his eyes glisten with mirth. He enjoys watching you fumble, apparently, and you recognize that you should be more annoyed by that, but truthfully, you’re happy that he’s feeling well enough to even entertain the thought of mischief. A small smile spreads across his lips, and you find yourself smiling back at him.

“Okay,” he grunts, shifting himself closer awkwardly.

“What are you–? Be careful!” you chide gently, confused by his actions. 

He finally seems to settle when he’s laying perpendicular to you. His head lands in your lap and you freeze, arms raised in surprise. Yoongi readjusts slightly to get more comfortable against your thigh. He stretches his wing out–the tips of his feathers brushing against the ceiling–and winces slightly with the movement.

When he’s settled in, he sighs. “I didn’t fall. I was pushed. They don’t really tolerate dissent. Even if you’re right.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s really not that deep of a story, kid. Top brass and I had some disagreements, that’s all.”

“Such as?”

He hums. “Oh you know. Just some minor things.” He rolls slightly so he can look you in the face. “I have these radical ideas where I think people should be kind to everyone and that everyone is worthy of respect.”

You finally drop your hands, and they find the feathers on the ridge of his wing. “I didn’t know I was in the presence of such an extremist.”

“Yeah well.” He grunts, using his arm to push himself upright. He wobbles a little bit when he’s fully vertical, and you reach out a hand to hold him steady. “When the big guy said ‘Love thy neighbor’, he didn’t really leave room for exceptions.”

You hum, your hand falling from Yoongi’s arm when you’re satisfied that he won’t fall over. He stretches, wings folding behind his back with a surprising amount of grace. It strikes you in that moment that he didn’t need to come here, didn’t need you to stitch him up. He could do it all on his own, quicker than you could have ever taken care of him. The scratches on his shoulder are already healed over–they’re still pink and inflamed, sure, but they aren’t bleeding anymore. You wonder how long it took for his pain to go away. So then why…?

“Why’d you come here?” The question is out of your mouth before you can even register it’s a bad idea. 

“What?”

“I mean, I’m just a human. I haven’t done shit for you.”

“That’s not true.” His brow furrows. “You brought me a sweater.” He reaches forward to grab the forgotten top.

“That’s not a lot. You did most of the work.”

He shrugs the sweater on, the cream material falling loosely over his torso. Somehow, his wings poke out of the back just fine, even though there are no holes for them. You’re curious, but you also aren’t about to ask him about it. The sweater is big on him, oversized in that two-sizes-too-big sort of way. 

“It’s a lot to me,” he says quietly.

Was he always sitting this close? Suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of his knee touching yours and how his fingers are barely brushing your own. Deep brown eyes meet yours, his attention flickering quickly downwards before dragging back up to your eyes, like it took a great effort. And then he’s leaning in. Or maybe you’re leaning in. Both of you? It doesn’t matter. Your heart is pounding in your chest. Can he hear it? He can probably hear it.

He’s millimeters from you, you can feel his breath fanning across your face. “Can I kiss you?” He asks it so softly, it’s barely audible, even from this distance. 

You don’t even think. You just nod.

His lips meet yours, and it’s like all of the air is sucked from your lungs. It’s quick–he breaks it far too soon–and you’re admittedly a little lightheaded. He doesn’t get far, though, before you’re pulling him closer again, hand cradling his jaw. His lips are slightly chapped, and he moves gently against you. Not too fast, not too forceful. It’s almost as if he’s hesitant. But then he adjusts how he’s sitting and pulls you ever so slightly closer.

When you finally pull apart, your face feels warm. Yoongi’s looking at you, dark eyes swimming with some emotion that you can’t really place. But it’s gooey and soft, and the warmth spreads from your face to your whole body. No one had looked at you like that since… well, since Dawoon, and really, it had been a long time for even that. Yoongi offers you a small smile, and you return it, suddenly very nervous. He stretches his legs out in front of him, hand brushing yours once again.

What in the world are you supposed to do now? You didn’t think you were so far over Dawoon’s betrayal that you were ready to kiss… anyone, let alone Yoongi.

“You uh…” You cough, feeling very awkward, and fumble for the right thing to say. “You want to watch a movie?”

When you wake up, you aren’t sure what time it is. It’s weird. You remember the movie–an old Scooby Doo made-for-tv special from your childhood–and sitting beside Yoongi on the floor. You remember the shuffle of his wings as he got comfortable–the couch apparently too rigid for the sensitive appendages. You remember how he tried to hide his laughter behind his hand, but the shaking of his shoulders gave it away.

What you don’t remember is falling asleep.

But it’s now morning, early light streaming through the windows. The tv is off, and there’s a blanket thrown over your shoulders. Your apartment is so quiet you can hear the foot traffic on the sidewalk outside. Where’s Yoongi? You push yourself up off the floor, squinting as you look around. You check your bedroom, and the kitchen, and the bathroom, and he’s nowhere. He’s just… gone.

You sigh and collapse onto the couch, heart and stomach somewhere in your ankles. You feel sick. This is different from when you were angry and worried about him. Now, you’re just angry. 

How dare he? How dare he make you worry about him? How dare he show up on your doorstep without warning like that? How dare he make you care? 

How dare he kiss you like that and leave without a word?

Something stings behind your eyes and you squeeze them shut, letting your head fall to hit the back of the couch. How could you be so stupid? After Dawoon, you’d promised yourself that you wouldn’t let yourself get invested like that again. It only led to this. Sitting alone, a mysterious stinging in your eyes, wondering what you did wrong.

You grit your teeth and give yourself another ten seconds to wallow in self-pity. And then you stand. You promised a coworker you’d cover her lunch shift at the bar today. You can’t afford to miss it. Plus, you do better when you don’t have time to dwell on things.

Unfortunately, the bar is dead. You count the glassware at least a dozen times. You wipe down the bar more times than you can count. You wipe down every bottle in the well and on display, double-check the kegs, restock the bottled beer in the fridge. A few hours into the shift and you’re faced with the fact that it’s not as good a distraction as you had hoped. Thankfully, there are at least a couple patrons, and since there are no servers staffed for the lunch shift, you’re forced to take care of them. 

You’re grateful for the customers, grateful for something to do, for the outlet. But then the door opens, and you throw a quick “Sit anywhere! I’ll be with you in a sec!” over your shoulder as you pop into the kitchen to grab one of the table’s appetizers. When you emerge, you nearly drop the nachos you’re carrying.

At a table in the corner sits a face you’d rather forget. He’s tall, and handsome–a far cry from the spindly first-year you’d met a decade ago. His black hair is a little shaggy, perfectly styled to be out of his face. He wears a suit, no doubt it cost him more than your entire month’s pay, tips included.

Song Dawoon.

You steel yourself, take a second to plaster the customer service smile back on your face, and step out onto the floor. You drop the nachos off at the correct table without spilling a single chip, despite the fact that your hands are shaking like you’re experiencing your own personal earthquake. You promise to refill the man’s Jack and Coke, and then you take a breath and step toward Dawoon’s table.

“What can I get you?” you ask through your best plastered-on smile.

Dawoon looks up at you, a sickly sweet grin on his face. “How have you been? I didn’t know you worked here!”

Sure he didn’t.

“Sit down,” he suggests, kicking out the chair across from him. 

“No thanks.”

“Sit. Let’s talk.” His voice is firm, leaving no room for questions.

Cautiously, you sit. Your leg starts to bounce. Between the anger from this morning and your nerves now, you’re dizzy and nauseated. It’s a big city. You’d hoped that you’d never have the displeasure of seeing Dawoon again.

“The funniest thing has happened to me,” he says, leaning forward, his fingers steepled. “I’ve been having the worst luck lately. My keys disappear. My clocks are all broken. My files are disappearing. And you’ll never believe this, but all of my clients keep forgetting my name.” He hums and shakes his head. “It’s strange. Almost supernatural. Like if someone hired a vengeful spirit. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

You shrug. “Not at all.”

“See, that’s the thing. I think maybe you do.” He beckons you closer, but you don’t move. His voice is dark. You’d only ever heard him like this once before.

The day he swung at you.

“I think,” he continues, voice low, “you know a lot about it. I’m not quite sure how, but if I figure out how you’re ruining my career, you’ll have to pick up the pieces three states over.”

“You know, that’s really rich coming from you.” You stand, the chair scraping from behind you. You take a deep breath. “I think you should leave now.”

It takes everything in you to walk away with your head held high. Your legs are shaking by the time you get back behind the bar, and as soon as you’re safe in the kitchen, you sink to the floor. The cook eyes you warily but says nothing, simply hands you a glass of water and goes back behind the prep station. 

The room is spinning. Your chest is tight. Your heart is beating so fast, you’re afraid it’ll pop out of your chest and flop around on the floor like a fish. The door to the kitchen swings open and shut, open and shut, a dull throb that barely registers somewhere in the back of your mind. Your hands shake as you take a sip of the water. Someone pats your shoulder as they pass by.

It takes ten minutes for you to breathe normally again, and another five for your blood pressure to return to that of an alive human being. You stand, give the kitchen staff a nervous nod in thanks, and sneak back out into the bar. By now, Amy–the other bartender–has clocked in. A quick glance around the room eases your nerves. Dawoon is gone. The other patrons are still there, but Dawoon is no longer sitting in the corner. 

You lean against the bar and sigh. And then you pull yourself together and finish your shift.

By the time you get home, you’re exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally. You’re drained. You want nothing more than to sleep for a week, take a hot bath, and drink an entire bottle of red wine. And not necessarily in that order. You collapse onto the couch, television remote in hand. Despite your exhaustion, you’re still wired. 

In the glow of your tv’s home screen, you see something glossy on the floor at your feet and reach down to pick it up. Something soft brushes your fingertips, and when you finally grab it and inspect it, you’re face-to-face to a single dark grey feather.

Your head falls, hitting the plush back of the couch. You feel your eyes start to sting again. It’s all too much.

A noise to your left startles you–the sound of a blanket being shaken to get the wrinkles out. You squeeze your eyes shut briefly. Of course the universe is forcing you to do this now. 

When he says your name, it’s barely a whisper–deep, gravelly, it matches the early hour. Stubbornly, you ignore him, your eyes squeezed shut. Maybe, if you don’t acknowledge him, he’ll go away. But then you hear him step closer, and you’re jumping to your feet.

“What are you doing here?” you question him sharply.

“I wanted to check on you, I-”

“Why?”

“Song Dawoon, he’s-” Yoongi frowns. “You’re upset.” He takes a step forward. “Why are you upset?”

You scoff. “Don’t talk to me about him.”

He looks confused, dark eyes clouding over with questions. And for a moment, your heart flutters. But then a part of you–the angry part–reminds you that you’d woken up this morning alone. And an even larger part of you reminds you that Dawoon knows somehow, and you grit your teeth.

“You left me alone.” Your eyes sting again, and you try to blink it away. Now is not the time. “You left me alone and I had to deal with him by myself.”

Something akin to worry crosses Yoongi’s face. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean-”

“It doesn’t matter!” You’re exasperated, and you can feel your heart rate increasing–you try to take deep breaths despite the fact that your lungs feel like they’re being squeezed. “Don’t you get it? He ruined my life because we weren’t in love any more. He took it personally that I wouldn’t stick around and enjoy our perfect, abusive relationship. He told my boss I was selling information to a rival firm and got me fired. He told my friends that I talked shit behind their backs and made them hate me. He took away my entire support system and kicked me out on my ass and he’s still coming after me.” You take a shaky breath and force yourself to stare Yoongi down. 

“I didn’t know. You didn’t say-”

“Of course I didn’t! Why would I want to relive the worst months of my life? God, I…” You throw up your hands and turn away. “How useless are you? I thought you were supposed to be able to sense this stuff? Maybe not the specifics, but at least the severity, or… or something!”

“I-”  

It’s all too much. Yoongi standing there, looking like a kicked puppy. Him leaving, Dawoon’s threats. You can’t take it anymore. 

“You need to…” You take a deep breath, force your voice to steady, blink away the stinging. “Thank you for your help, but unfortunately, I don’t think this will work.”

“What-”

You hold up a hand, cutting him off. “I won’t be needing your help anymore. You can go.”

“But I…” Yoongi’s brow furrows, and you watch as he deflates. His shoulders sag, and something changes in how he stands there. “I don’t understand.”

“What’s there not to understand? I don’t need your help anymore. We never have to see each other again.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Go.”

He nods, black hair falling in front of his face. His eyes are downcast, but you think you see a shine in them that wasn’t there before. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before speaking again. “Okay.” His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. “Okay. Well… I guess this is it then.”

“Bye, Yoongi.”

He’s gone in a flap of invisible wings, and suddenly, it’s dead quiet in your apartment. You stand there for a moment, silent, unsure what to do next. And then something in you breaks, and you sink to the floor in front of your ottoman. Tears well in your eyes, and it’s barely a second before you’re sobbing into your hands. 

He was still wearing your sweater.

Fallen Masterlist | Next Part

thank you for reading. I have no idea when part two will be out--I don't normally do this, but I couldn't wait to get part one out, so I'm still working on the rest. I'd love to hear what you thought about this part! it might even inspire me to finish the fic!

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