#RIP band au fic

[spicedfink]

Master List of Clone High fanfics I wrote before Season 3:

Boys Night ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/48332581 ) - Topher/Abe/JFK/Confucius/Gandhi (I don't know why I thought writing a bunch of characters in one scene was a good idea when I hadn't written anything in a while but that's what happened and I'm too scared to read it back and can't bring myself to delete it either) [T]

Proximity ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/48549265/chapters/122461747 ) - Topher/Abe [E]

not much sleeping happens at sleep overs ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/48971239 ) - Topher/Abe (fluff) [T]

Waiting for it ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/48691948/chapters/122826577 ) - Confucius/Harriet JFK/Joan Topher/Abe Cleo/Frida (2003/2023 swap au) [M]

Hopeless Romantics ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/49142935 ) - Abe/Harriet (I'm the only idiot out here shipping this) [T]

Creepy Nerd Got No Game ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/49037452/chapters/123715741 ) - Topher/JFK/Abe [M]

College Trip ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/49489810 ) - Topher/Abe Joan/Harriet (background Cleo/Frida and Confucius/JFK/Gandhi) [M]

I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/49618516 ) - Topher/Abe (Wonderwall) [T]

All Natural ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/50043178/chapters/126360046 ) - Topher/Abe [T]

Van Go Away ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/50293393 ) - Topher/Abe [T]

why would she ever ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/50400943/chapters/127341199 ) - Topher/trans mtf Abe(Abby) [M]

Sleepy Cloney ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/52332880/chapters/132388804 ) - Joan/Harriet Cleo/Frida Confucius/JFK Topher/Abe (Sleeping Beauty/Snow White inspired au) [T]

Not Who He Thought He Was ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/52393084/chapters/132539074 ) - Topher/Abe (Time Travel) [M]

If you know what I mean ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/53285812 ) - Topher/JFK [M]

The Bad Thing ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/53460526 ) - Topher/Abe JFK/Joan [E]

Gal Pals ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/53467591/chapters/135331642 ) - Topher(Tina)/Abe(Abby) (gender swap au) [T]

#I had to chance scrapping some ideas so I could actually be able to watch season 3 at a reasonable time #RIP werewolf fic #RIP two schools au fic #RIP school reunion fic #RIP band au fic #I mean I could still end up writing these I'm just being dramatic #If I don't end up wanting to write any of those listed fics I am willing to answer questions about any of them other then the werewolf one #I might recycle the werewolf one for something else later #clone high #ao3 #fanfic #btw none of my clone high fics will be rated lower than 'teen and up' because as far as I know the actually show is 'teen and up' #I was going to do a mtf topher / cis abe fic but that was scraped before now because I didn't like how it was turning out #I haven't finish two of these fics as of time of posting this

[muffintonic]

63k words and ~4 months into the BOTW Band AU when I suddenly get the idea for a canonverse longfic that would definitely be structured better and easier to write.

#THIS WOULD HAVE BEEN GREAT MONTHS AGO THANKS A LOT BRAIN #i shot myself in the foot by not knowing how bands worked/operating on rule of cool when i first made the au #(which i made so i could have a universe to explain drawing the characters in modern clothes and doing mundane things) #and i think the tweaks i made to everyone's backstories to be more modernized altered their characters a bit since that's what would happen #being an orphan does different things to someone than being essentially abandoned & not being royalty means more outside friends #stuff like that #(basically everyone has more support systems than in the canonverse AND they're all slightly older.....) #there's also some happenings with there being more intermixed cities than just the one in the game and what that would mean for society..... #literally the 'band' aspects are second fiddle (ha) to the modern setting shenanigans anyway hrghhhhhhhhhh #but it had to be like that because otherwise how else would these characters all be forced to spend so much time together #and i wanted their jobs to be coooooooool and vaguely equivalent to their champion positions in the game ARGH #aside from a job setting there would only be college as an option & i am NOT interested in reliving the college experience via fanfic #there's no time left to write another longfic before the sequel comes out and razes all post-canon fics with whatever they're going to do #ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh #i've been enjoying cramming every single fanfic trope i enjoy into the fic but that doesn't make for the most cohesive plotline boooooooo #sigh #i even have an actual title for the new one RIP me

[2btheanswertothequestion]

Steddie rockstar x roadie AU, with Steve being Eddie's queer awakening

(in a not-fic-format because I cannot be arsed to actually write it)

So. Corroded Coffin isn't huge by any means, but they're big enough. Successful and respected within their genre. Has a loyal fanbase, constantly sells out smaller venues, gets to go on tour every so often. They're rockstars who've made it while still getting to live like they're not rockstars when off the clock (and stage). The best of both worlds, really.

They're gearing up for another tour and have a couple of new faces on their crew. One of them got the job by being a friend of a friend. He doesn't at all look like he'd be a roadie for CC, and he doesn't actually listen to them – he's more into classic rock (respectable) and occasionally new wave (not respectable), but it's whatever. He's strong and hard-working and gets the job done. He also withstands the initial hazing like a champ, even biting back a few times. Yeah, Steve Harrington carves a place for himself in the crew and is soon one of them.

Eddie is especially fond of the new guy. Partly because it's clear Steve is as enamored with Dustin as Eddie is, and mutual interests bring people together. But also because Steve is simply a fun dude to be around? He's nice. Except for when he's mean; then he's funny instead. He's honestly funny a lot of times, even when he doesn't mean to be. Like, sometimes someone will make an exceptionally nerdy reference that he doesn't get, so he'll tilt his head and scrunch his eyebrows as it's explained to him. And, all right, maybe that's not funny, per se. More like cute. Endearing. Eddie often finds himself endeared and wanting to pat Steve on the head like the sweet little puppy he so strongly resembles.

The others mock him for it. Tease him about his man-crush on Harrington. Eddie laughs along with them, because yeah! Were he into men, Steve absolutely would've been his type. Look at him! Guy's ripped and has great hair (almost better than Eddie's. Just imagine the mane it'd be if he let it grow past his shoulders...) and Eddie has great taste. He'd for sure be head over heels for Steve if he were gay, and he is man enough to admit it.

That's how the flirting starts – as an extension of the joke. It's not out of character for Eddie, who flirts with everyone. With reporters, interviewers, photographers, TSA officers, venue security, other bands, anyone! Gender, age, or appearance don't matter because flirting is fun. And it's especially fun to flirt with Steve, because he flirts back! No matter how much Eddie does it, Steve will flirt back and help make everyone laugh. It's a great part of their dynamic and actually brings them closer as friends. Dustin would be proud of them.

So, while on tour, they have this thing where one member of the crew gets to decide where they'll go after shows or on their days off. Participation is optional but encouraged, because it's an 'organic bonding experience' or whatever their manager called it. Occasionally it'll be a movie or a museum, but usually the destination is a bar or club. What's there to say, they're a bunch of male, red-blooded twenty to thirty-somethings – what better pasttime is there than to get drunk after a hard day's work? Yeah, every so often someone will pick up a girl, but it's a rare occurrence. A bunch of the guys has special ladies waiting at home, and for the single ones it's much easier to just book a date with their own hand.

There's one guy on the crew, Peter, who always takes them to a gay bar when it's his turn. This because he is gay. Duh. No one minds it, and if they do they don't come back next tour. Corroded Coffin prides themselves on their allyship. They're freaks of nature welcoming all other freaks of nature. Seriously, what does it matter if a dude likes cock instead of tits? Why is it wrong if he wants it up the ass? It's actually not that bad! See, Eddie used to date this woman who was puh-retty kinky. Pegging was just one of the many, many, maaaaaaany things she enjoyed. And Eddie loved her, so, well. It wasn't as good as she claimed it'd be, but it was fine. Enjoyable enough to do again. The point is that CC doesn't dance with homophobia, and Eddie will scream it from the top of every table.

Anyway. When it's Peter's turn, Steve (who hasn't gotten to pick yet because he's the newbie and they pick last) comments upon it. Nothing big. Nothing bad. Still, Gareth is on him, puffing himself up like a chihuahua and asking if Steve has a problem with it.

Eddie’s hands turn clammy with nerves in the split second it takes for Steve to roll his eyes and scoff "of course not".

Look, he'd really like for Steve to be back next tour, okay? They're buddies now and he doesn't want to lose him to bigotry. Also, it'd suck to have to tell Dustin that the guy he hero-worships is actually a douchebag. Nothing to fear, however – Steve continues to prove himself to be a good dude. He doesn't even blink when propositioned at the club! Simply tells them "thanks, but no thanks". Unsurprising, since he's cool with Eddie's nonsense, but there's a difference between a straight guy hitting on you as a joke and a gay guy doing it for real. At least, for some it is. But not for Steve. Fuck, Eddie hopes he'll be back next tour. He's on his way to being Eddie's new best friend and he'd miss him.

Then, it's time – they're in Chicago and it's Steve's turn to pick. Some of the others grumble over the newbie getting such a big city at his disposal. Eddie doesn't blame them for suspecting favoritism – it's happened before – but not this time! It just became like this and Eddie has nothing to do with it! Ask the other band members.

(When he breaks the news to Steve, his hazel eyes light up. He asks, "Can a friend of mine come with?"

"Sure, man," Eddie says, clapping him on the shoulder.

Steve buzzes with excitement, giddier than a kid on Christmas morning. Fuck, he's so cute.)

That night after the show, as they're leaving for the 'organic bonding experience' (seriously, Chrissy? Of all the things you could call it...), they're met by a young woman outside the venue.

She's tall and skinny, like a giraffe, and that's all Eddie can tell at first glance because she rushes up and flings herself into Steve's embrace. They hug, they laugh, they might cry a little, and he even spins around with her in his arms.

(Girlfriend? She's certainly pretty enough for it.)

Once the heartwarming reunion is over, Steve introduces her as Robin, and tells her that it's his turn to pick a place for them to decompress but he's making it her choice. Robin spits out options with a speed none of them keep up with; Steve stops her, saying, "No, Robs. I'm making it your choice."

They share a look.

She gasps.

They grin, mischievously, and then...

She takes them to a lesbian club.

It's open to gay guys too, obviously, but clearly caters to lesbians. It's a smaller thing, the kind that entertains a steady line of regulars. Apparently, Robin and Steve are among these regulars, because the bartender greets them by name the moment they step inside.

They order their drinks and claim a booth. Robin is quick to instigate a discussion about what dorky things Steve has done while away from her. Eddie is happy to share while Steve laments he should've known better than to introduce them.

An hour or so in, Robin skitters off to catch up with a group of women, all varying degrees of butch. Not ten seconds later, someone new claims her seat (which is also Steve's lap). Eddie mistakes them for a girl at first, because they're small with a high-pitched voice, but no, it's just the twinkiest twink. He makes himself at home on Steve's thigh, pressing a kiss to Steve's cheek and squealing, "Stevie! I didn't know you were back!"

Steve laughs. "Hey, babe. Just for tonight. I'm here with my coworkers."

The twink twists around in Steve's lap. He really is girly-looking: soft jawline, slender build, shoulder-length blond waves, and huge eyes enhanced with makeup. He even smells like a woman, strawberry and jasmine.

"Oh! The rock band!" He extends a dainty hand. "Hi, I'm Brendan!"

Brendan sticks around for a while. Like Robin, he wants to know what Steve's been up to. Unlike Robin, he's more interested in awe-inspiring stories than embarrassing ones (unfortunate, for the latter kind heavily outweighs the former). He doesn't move from Steve's lap. Kind of weird, actually. Like, there are available seats. Yes, Robin also sat exclusively in Steve's lap, but that's different. They're best friends and it was chaste and cute. Brendan is... honestly, Eddie doesn't know who Brendan is. Some dude who's shameless enough to rub his ass on Steve's dick in full view of everyone. Yeah, you're not as subtle as you think, babe.

He doesn't even move when they get up to let another crew member go to the bathroom! No, Steve slides out of the booth still holding him, Brendan perched on his forearm. His muscles flex, a vein straining underneath the skin, but Steve's face is relaxed. As if the – small, sure, but still grown – man in his arms weighs nothing. More likely, Steve is just that used to carrying things.

For some reason, Eddie's mouth dries a little at the thought of it.

At last, Brendan leaves, but not before sweetly kissing Steve on the lips and telling him to "let me know when you're back for real, stud".

Steve promises with a laugh, then turns back to the table and rejoins the conversation as if it was nothing strange. As if making dates with other men happens to him all the time.

Shit.

The entire thing leaves something gnawing on Eddie. He holds it in while in the club. He holds it in when they escort Robin to her cab. He holds it in as they walk back to the tour buses.

Then the others are gone. It's just him and Steve left, lingering to smoke in the parking lot, and he can't hold it any longer.

"I didn't know you're gay!"

Smoothness, thy name is Eddie Munson.

Steve shrugs. "I'm not; I'm bisexual."

"Right, right."

Eddie takes a deep drag, putting some of the smoke in the wrong pipe and coughing it up. Steve thumps his back.

"Woah, man, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Eddie rasps, tears prickling his eyes. "So, um, is it okay? What we've been... The flirting?"

"Uh, yeah?" Steve tilts his head, eyebrows scrunching and, Jesus Christ, how can he be so adorable? "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Because!" Eddie gestures between the two of them. "You're bi, and I'm not, and is it offensive for me to...?"

Steve blinks at him, before bursting into laughter. Eddie feels the blush warming his neck.

"Don't be stupid," Steve says in between peals of giggles. "It's just a fun thing. S'not that deep. You don't have to lose sleep over it."

"Alright, man. Then I won't."

But he does.

That very night he finds himself tossing and turning. And thinking. Thinking about Steve. About Steve's strong arms and broad chest. About his square jaw and plush lips. About his thick hair and hooded eyes. About how the ugly polo shirts the techs wear look genuinely good on Steve, and about how his tight jeans leave little to the imagination. That particular line of thought has Eddie whimper and roll his hips against the mattress. Rachael's strap-on always felt kind of so-so. Was it because it was too rubbery or because it was too small?

He also thinks about what makes Steve Steve. Like Steve's selflessness, always the first to volunteer to do the tedious work so no one else has to. And Steve's barbed tongue, sharp enough to give even Eddie a run for his money. Eddie thinks about their easy banter, and how Dustin sings his praises, and how Steve let Robin pick a club when it was his turn.

After three consecutive nights of tossing, turning, thinking, and no sleep, Eddie comes to a horrifying conclusion.

It's not simply a question of 'want'. He's not just horny and curious. No, he likes Steve.

It makes things so fucking awkward. He has no idea how to act around Steve afterward. Falling for a crew member is bad enough (so unprofessional; Chrissy would definitely be on his case if she knew), but this is worse because he's a guy. Eddie's never been into guys before! Sure, there are men out there who are objectively hot. Eddie can admit that. But it's not the same. There are feelings involved here.

And the worst is that people notice. Steve notices. How can he not? When Eddie stops responding to their usual flirting, turning into a skittish bunny whenever Steve is close.

At first, it makes Steve pause. Tilt his head, scrunch his eyebrows, and pout in confusion (Eddie's heartbeat turns irregular every time he does). Then Steve pulls away, and Eddie's heart fucking breaks. The atmosphere among the crew turns tense; Peter starts sending him dirty looks that Eddie shrinks away from.

A few days into it, he's cornered by a pissed off Jeff.

"Dude, what's your problem?" he snaps; Eddie wants to sink into the ground. "I thought you were better than this. Who cares that Harrington is also into dudes? It's still Harrington! It won't kill you to treat him like you used to. No one is going to think you're gay for standing next to him."

Eddie croaks, "What if I am?"

"You- What?"

"What if... I like Steve?"

Jeff's jaw hits the floor. "What."

Eddie inhales deeply, staring at his wringing hands. "I like Steve. I've been thinking... After Chicago, I started to think about... And I realized I like him." A sob tears from his throat. "I don't know what I should-"

Jeff's arms wrap around him; Eddie buries his face in the crook of his neck.

"Jesus Christ," Jeff mutters, stroking Eddie's back. "Um, it's okay? We support you. No one will judge you! We love you all the same."

Eddie nods, Jeff's leather jacket squeaking with the movement. He's been wearing it since high school and it smells like home.

"I don't know how to act around him anymore," he sniffles.

"Why don't you tell him?"

Eddie recoils from the embrace to give Jeff his mightiest 'are you stupid for real' look. Jeff sighs at him.

"Oh, come on. You're his friend and a good-looking guy. Why not?" Jeff says, as if it's that easy. But...

"I'm not his type!"

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do! Didn't you see that Brendan guy?"

Jeff falters. He realizes Eddie is right. Because, yes, Eddie is pretty hot. He has the long hair and a pretty face, he's been told. But he's still a masculine guy. A blue-collar type with calluses on his hands and dirt under his nails. He's not a svelte, dainty, little twink – he's as tall as Steve is, with more tattoos than bare skin and who smells like sweat and tobacco badly masked with cheap cologne, not strawberries and jasmine. He doesn't wear makeup or do his hair and some days he just fucking picks a used shirt from his pile and maybe sniffs it before putting it on. He talks too much and too loud. His limbs flail when he's excited. He's not going to sweetly ask for flattering stories about Steve – his instinct is to tease him for calling one of the guys from Nip/Tuck 'Dr. McDreamy'. He's closer to Robin than he is to Brendan. Jesus Christ, he's in the same category as Steve's lesbian best friend! Or at least he was, before he shot their friendship to hell.

There's no hope.

The tour ends on a sourer note than previous ones. It's all Eddie's fault. He doesn't even stick around for the last 'organic bonding experience' – he gets into his car at the first opportunity and drives home.

And then comes the wallowing. Several tubs of ice cream are consumed as High Fidelity plays on loop on Eddie's TV. He writes dozens of miserable, yearning songs and screens his calls, not even picking up for Chrissy or Wayne. It's not until Dustin's cheerful lisp rings out from his answering machine that there's a change. He's inviting Eddie to come visit him and Suzie and the cats in Massachusetts, like he always does after a tour.

Eddie can't turn that down. Besides, he probably needs to get out of the house.

So he goes, and it's nice. Dustin is still a little shit, Suzie is a pearl, the cats are cuddly, and Eddie is a good enough faker to mask his emotional state – his hosts notice nothing amiss.

Then, halfway through his visit, Eddie returns from his walk and who does he find unpacking their car in Dustin and Suzie's driveway?

Can you guess? I think you can.

It's Robin!

And Steve. They're a package deal, you know.

And Dustin's like, "Eddie! They're here! Oh, did I forget to tell you they were coming? Oops. Well, you already know them, so it's fine."

And Eddie is panicking, and Robin is trying to murder him with her mind, and Steve is just like,

"Hey."

Coldly polite.

Eddie hides in his guest room until dinner time. When he comes out, he expects Dustin to chew him out for being an asshole homophobe and kick him out of his life permanently.

But he doesn't. Dinner is as usual, if Steve Harrington ignoring you and Robin Buckley glaring at you is part of your usual dinner experience.

After cleaning up, Steve steps outside to smoke. Eddie, figuring he has to take some responsibility, follows him. Steve is standing on the deck, elbows resting on the wooden railing, his back to the house. He straightens up and turns when Eddie closes the screen door behind him. The sun has set, but the moon is out; Steve's profile is sharp in the pale moonlight, his posture sure. The cherry of his cigarette makes shadows and flames flicker dramatically over his features, highlighting the edges and the curves and he's so fucking gorgeous Eddie forgets how to breathe. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

He slinks over, Steve's gaze following him.

"Hi," Eddie says.

"Hi," Steve says.

"You didn't..." Eddie swallows. "You didn't tell Dustin?"

Steve frowns. "No. It's between us. For now, at least."

"Oh."

Shuddering, Eddie wraps his arms around himself. It's late summer and still warmish as long as there's no wind. Right now it's windless, the cold coming from within.

"I wanted to talk."

Steve hums, noncommittal.

"I wanted to apologize."

Another hum, more interested.

"I'm sorry. For how I acted. I've been an asshole and you don't deserve any of that."

Eddie glances up to gauge Steve's reaction, and oh. The whole evening, Steve's been aloof, cordially keeping Eddie at arm's length, but now...

Now he just looks sad.

A few weeks ago, they were close enough for Eddie to hug him when he looked like this. Eddie would crush his own heart with a sledgehammer if it meant they'll go back to that.

He says, "We haven't known each other for long, but you're already one of my best friends. Then it got weird at the end and-"

Steve's face hardens again, eyes tapering with anger.

"Things didn't 'get weird', Eddie. You made them weird. What the fuck?"

And Eddie takes a deep breath and says,

"I like you."

Shock colors Steve's expression; he takes a step back. It takes everything to stop Eddie from following in an attempt to reel him back in.

"I don't know when it started," he says, the confession tumbling out. "I always liked you? You're a good guy and fun to hang with and a great friend, and I guess you were hot, but a ton of guys are hot and it doesn't have to mean anything. I can be straight and still think guys are hot, you know? But then, in Chicago, you came out and I started seeing you differently. So, huh, turns out, in my case? Thinking guys are hot does mean something. And I freaked out because I didn't know what to do. Being close to you made me so nervous, and I couldn't tell you how I felt because just because you like guys doesn't mean you like me, and I already know your type is cute little blond twinks, and-"

"I actually prefer brunets," Steve says.

Eddie chokes on what else he had to say. He looks up at Steve, who's smiling. Kind of shy but mostly bright, eyes crinkling at the corners. His cigarette is almost down to the filter; Steve drops and snuffs it out without looking away from Eddie. His eyes are like gold, glittering.

"Y-you what?"

"I don't really have a type," Steve says, stepping closer. "I like who I like." Another step. "But, uh, most of my relationships have been with brunets." Another step, then stop – they're nose to nose. "Nerdy ones."

Eddie's head spins. He squeaks, "Oh?"

Steve nods. "I like smart, passionate people. And I..." He giggles. "I've had a crush on you since the beginning."

Eddie's head fucking explodes. It leaves a gash in his face that stretches from ear to ear. A breeze blows past, caressing his burning cheeks. It's his turn to giggle.

"You're fucking with me."

Steve tilts his head, but doesn't scrunch his brow this time. No, it remains smooth, but his eyelids droop as his eyes roam Eddie's body.

"So far, only in my head."

Eddie sputters. He grabs a fistful of hair and pulls it in front of his red face. Steve, the bastard, laughs at him. He reaches out, coaxing the locks out of Eddie's grip and tucks them behind his ear. There's an endlessness in his gaze; simultaneously looking through Eddie and at him. Seeing him from every angle, especially the ugly ones, but touching him just as tenderly anyway.

Eddie wets his lips. Since he caused the distance in the first place, it only seems fair he takes the last step. "Do you want to go out with me?" he asks. "A date?"

Steve leans in until they touch from forehead to nose tip.

"Yes," he says. "I do."

#Eddie: It's not that easy! #Narrator:It was in fact that easy #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steddie #steddie fanfic #eddie munson #steve harrington #my writing

[antxlss]

roadtrip VI

pairing: anakin x reader (modern au)

summary: after your encounter with anakin at the party, you give up your grudge against anakin and give into your temptations.

warnings: SMUT, loss of virginity, no specified form of protection (i don’t condone this irl, duh), small size kink.

words: 1.8k

a/n: guys I know this took forever, but I wanted my first smut fic to be good. this will be the last part to this series, I have enjoyed writing this so, so much. please give me feedback, i love hearing from everyone! ~Max <3

-—————————⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆—————————-

part V

After your encounter, Anakin quickly dragged you out of the party and into his truck. He only had one drink, so he was in good condition to drive.

The whole way back to your beach house was silent. Anakin's hand rested on your upper thigh. You could cut the sexual tension with a knife. You both couldn't wait to get to the house and tear each other's clothes off, just like you had pined to do for so long.

Once you enter your beach house, you quickly lock the door behind you both.

Anakin takes the lead and pushes you against the wall, as he begins to kiss you aggressively.

He puts his hands all over your body, as you press yourself up against him.

You feel his tongue pressing against yours as the two of you continue to kiss in the living room.

You kiss until you both fall to the ground, as Anakin rips off your shirt while you try to take off his.

You can feel your breath getting heavier as you unintentionally buck your hips into his hard on.

Anakin groans in your ear. "You have no idea what you do to me."

He grinds down on your core and you let out a soft moan.

"Fuck you sound beautiful." He mumbles into your neck.

Anakin suddenly grabs your waist and throws you over his shoulder. "Need to taste you."

You gasp as Anakin walks to the bedroom and gently tosses you in the bed.

Your back hits the soft mattress and Anakin is immediately on top of you.

You begin to feel anxious, as you stare up at him. You don't want to move and you feel completely vulnerable right now.

"I need you." Anakin whispers to you, as he pulls you close to him.

"I've waited so long for this moment and now we're finally here. Are you sure you want this?"

The few cups of beer you had had that night were worn off, so you knew it wasn't the alcohol. Maybe it was the pure desire built up over the 17 years you'd known him. You wanted Anakin more than you could put into words.

You wanted to indulge in the fantasies your father and his mother had always talked about. Getting married, having kids, growing old together. You wanted him. Every. Single. Inch.

"I've never been more sure."

That's all it took for Anakin to slam his lips back onto yours.

You feel the heat of your lust fill your whole body, as Anakin begins to kiss you again.

You feel Anakin's body on top of you, as he slowly slides down your body with his kisses.

Your moans become louder with each second of his lips touching you.

"Oh my god... Anakin." You speak with your voice cracking.

You close your eyes again and you feel Anakin's hand start to slide down your body.

You try to fight the urge to move, as Anakin continues to kiss your neck and shoulders, making his way further down.

He's now eye level with your core. His hands reach the waist band of your pants and he slides your pants down your legs slowly while keeping eye contact with you.

You're left in your underwear and bra. Vulnerable to Anakin. But you feel safe, even though you've never done this before.

Your hands begin to shake, as Anakin stops to look up at you. You feel the tension build as you both stare at each other.

The thought of Anakin seeing you completely naked fills you with both lust and anxiety.

Anakin smiles at you in a smug and teasing way, as his hand runs over your chest.

He speaks to you again. "You look so innocent, but I know how badly you want it."

You just moan in response.

Anakin swiftly unhooks your bra and discards it to the side. Your nipples immediately harden at the sudden cold air.

Anakin lowers his head to your chest and begins to kitten lick your nipples. You hiss at the unfamiliar feeling.

Anakin looks you in the eyes. His hand slides over your legs and he begins to slowly rub as you begin to moan and writhe under him.

He keeps his eye contact with you as he slides down to where his mouth is hovering over your clothed heat.

His hands make their way from your waist down to your hips and he catches your underwear and slides them down your legs and throws them in the floor.

You watch in awe as he grabs your thighs and forces them open looking straight at your glistening cunt.

"Fuck, you're so wet. Is that for me baby?" Anakin mumbles.

You buck your hips up desperately wanting the heat of his mouth on you. You moan in response to his question hoping that will satisfy him.

"I need words Y/N." He bites the inside of your thigh.

You yelp. "Fuck! Yes, all for you Ani."

"That's what I thought." He placed a gentle kiss to your clit.

"I know you e never done this before honey, so I'll be gentle. Tonight is all about you."

Anakin dives down down into your middle and licks a wet strip right through your folds. You shudder at the feeling and grip his dirty blond curls.

Anakin speeds up his licks to the point where he is lapping up all your juices. Your hips were bucking and thrashing into his face.

Anakin tightens his grip on your thighs and holds your hips to the bed. "Gotta stay still f'me pretty girl."

Anakin dives back down and continues his unrelenting pace. He is tongue fucking you at this point as you writhe against the restraints of his arms. Moans where constantly dripping from your lips as you reached your high. You felt the familiar burning sensation build in your lower stomach.

Anakin pulls his head back and your eyes widen at the sudden loss of touch. Before you knew it Anakin was spitting a glob of saliva on your already sticky cunt.

That pushed you over the edge.

As soon as his mouth made contact with your skin again, you felt the warmth spread through your body. Whimpers and pants were steadily coming out of your mouth while Anakin's mouth gently worked you down from your high.

Anakin pulled back. He was panting. His bare chest rising up and falling down. The lower half of his face was glistening with your release. You could've orgasmed again at the sight.

"You okay baby?" Anakin asked breathlessly while rubbing his big, calloused hands up and down my thighs, trying to soothe their trembling.

"More than okay." You whisper.

Sure you have orgasmed before, but it was only by your own hand. That was like something you had never felt before. You wanted more.

"Need you inside me." You whine.

"Are you sure you can take it?" He asks with a cocky smirk.

"You're such a prick." You smirk back

Anakin chuckles in return and begins to pull his pants down his legs to reveal his black boxer briefs. You could see his dick straining against the fabric. You could already tell he was big. He discarded his pants an ripped his boxers down to free his hardened cock. It sprung out and his hand flew to it so he could gently pump up and down his shaft, spreading the precum around to lubricate himself.

He was big.

You'd never had sex before, so you didn't know how this really worked. You weren't even sure it would fit.

Anakin could see the concern on your face. "Don't worry honey, we'll take it slow."

"Will it hurt?" You whimpered.

"It's gonna sting a little, but nothing my good girl can't handle, right?" He reassures you while repositioning himself over you.

You nod your head as you feel the tip of his cock graze over your folds. You shutter at the feeling. You are nervous but you just want more.

Anakin lines himself up and leans down to your ear. "You ready?"

"Mmhm."

With your assurance he slowly pushes himself in. Just as he said, you felt a small stinging sensation as your walls stretched over his cock. Your eyes watered and you whimpered and whined. Your hands wrapped around to Anakin's bare shoulder and gripped on tight as he bottomed out.

"You're doing so good sweetheart, just gonna stay still for a bit and let you adjust." Anakin praise.

"You're so big Ani." You cry in his ear.

You feel his cock twitch at your words and you let out a small moan in response.

After a minute or two of Anakin embracing you and whispering sweet nothings in your ear while you get used to his size, you were finally ready for him to move.

"You can move now."

You feel Anakin's weight shift above you. He lets out a small grunt as a sign that he's gonna start moving. Anakin begins to thrust forward and back in long strong strokes. Your legs tighten around his waist.

"Talk to me baby, tell me how I make you feel with my big cock." Anakin demands.

"Feels... fuck. Mmm... so good Ani." You barely breath out.

You could hardly think, much less talk with Anakin thrusting into you. This was much different than you thought it would feel like. Your mind was fogged with the mixture of pleasure and pain. You were letting our unintentional noises you didn't even know you could make. But you were loving every second of it.

As Anakin gets a rhythm going, your eyes lock, and you can't take your eyes off of each other. You begin to breathe heavy and your moans get louder. Anakin leans down and you begin to lock lips once again. His strong arms wrapped around your body and his long legs firmly dug into the bed.

"Yes! Yes!" You cried out, the pleasure and pain becoming more defined with every moment.

Your legs trembled from the overwhelming sensations as your fingers gripped his fluffy, disheveled hair.

You feel Anakin's arms wrap around you tightly and his kisses become more desperate and his thrusts become sloppy.

Your eyes widen as a wave of euphoria hits over you. Your legs become weak and your body starts to tremble.

"Fuck... 'm cumming!" Is all you could whimper out.

Anakin continues thrusting until you feel his cock twitch and feel a deep groan con from his throat. You feel the warmth of his release spread through you, then he collapses on top of you.

He lies down and nuzzles your neck. He seems tired. He wraps his arms around you and breathes deeply to slow his own breathing.

"You're so good, baby." He murmurs into your neck. "You felt so good."

He kisses your neck and shoulders as he settles in close for a cuddle.

"You're mine, I'm never letting you go." Anakin whispers. "No one else can have you, only me."

He holds you close to him and runs his fingers through your hair. "Mine, mine, mine."

You tangle your limbs with his and drift off to his sweet assurances.

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[kedsandtubesocks]

dance away your cowboy blues

Country Singer!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: who knew the man with the voice of an angel could break your heart this bad?

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, modern/no outbreak AU & Joel has both his daughters, exes to lovers with eventual husband!Joel, angst followed up by good sweet fluff, concert venue, light drinking mention, Joel being stubborn & bad at feelings, hints of spice, fools in love, reader is addressed as ‘honey, darlin,’ use of song lyrics in fic, Pearl Jam & Taylor Swift song mentions, soft & heartbroken!Joel, lovesick!Joel

word count: 6k

a/n: here we are - the last installment in our ‘Let’s Rodeo’ series & I’m so incredibly grateful to finally make it here, also this is my mini tribute to our boy and his SAG award! The main song Joel sings is this one and I highly recommend! Thank you to my forever babe @the-wild-wolves-around-you for letting me scream about plot holes & aiding my Joel brainrot, @tightjeansjavi for always being down to chat about Joel, and to @lowlights & @ahauntedcowboy for being my ever guiding forces for this series, thank you all… And finally to you reading this, thank you so much ♡

A year ago, Joel broke up with you on a warm early spring morning.

He arrived at your apartment, sat you down and shattered your world. You felt every range of emotion as he simply stood there like a man of steel.

So upset and angry, you wanted to rip your heart out and throw it at him.

Then later that week you found out his record was officially getting picked up and you crumbled.

Ending your relationship simply because he was about to step into true proper fame - you never took Joel to be a man so somberly callous. However, you began wondering if that’s what fame sometimes did to people.

When curiosity gnawed too hard, you’d Google him or even check Spotify. Simply catching glimpses of how big he’s gotten sent you spiraling. Last Thanksgiving, your favorite aunt threatened to lock your phone away when she found you upset in the bathroom after discovering Joel was performing at the Dallas Cowboys holiday game.

From that point on you refused to even check any amount of social media or update on him.

A few clunky first dates and a couple of ghosting experiences later, you’ve now decided to simply work on yourself and embrace the selfcare of being single.

It’s why when your best friend called you earlier today eagerly explaining how her parents had extra tickets to the Rodeo tonight, she playfully teased how she knew you didn’t have anything planned for this Saturday night.

You almost hung up on her, but you excitedly scrambled to get ready.

Now the smell of fried foods, popcorn, and beer cloud the air. The fairgrounds hold a chaotic but controlled lively energy. You never knew so many cowboy hats could exist in one space.

Once you meet up with your best friends' parents, you’re transported to a whole new area you never believed could exist during a rodeo. Lux and cozy, the VIP lounge gleams with its elevated experience. You knew your best friend’s mom worked for the construction company managing the arena. You just didn’t realize how big of a hookup it was. The VIP tickets allowed for full premium dining along with a couple of free drinks.

More importantly - it came with the best concert seats.

“In the dirt” is how they’re described because the tickets are literally stationed on the floor, in the dirt of the rodeo stadium, right by the stage.

Ecstatic and bubby energy now fills you. The food being served is divine and you gladly enjoy the free various drinks.

“So wait, did we figure out who’s performing?” You ask curiously while you lounge taking advantage of the nice seating area.

“Uh, I think my dad said it’s that band named Midland is performing today.” Your friend answers but then is quickly pulled away to meet more of her mom’s coworkers.

You’ve never heard of the band, but for a free concert you’re open to enjoy some live music.

It’s a trait you gained from Joel.

Because of him you grew to love music performances, the energy that comes with hearing the band, being among the hum of the crowd. The trips around Austin seeing not just him perform, but enjoying other concerts with him, let you appreciate and admire live shows.

Waiting for the concert allows you to enjoy some of the actual rodeo event. But the main performance of the evening soon arrives.

“You kids go enjoy! We’re getting a little too old and are just gonna stay back and enjoy the free food.” Your best friend’s mom grins with a wink.

The ticket advertisement wasn’t joking when it said close to the stage. The ground level truly sits on the dirt floor. The arena swallows you whole surrounding you like a strange fishbowl. A small crowd already lines the front railing closest to the stage. However sneakily you find a nice open spot by the side that gives a clear sight to the stage.

Even if you don’t know the band, giddiness bubbles in you electric.

You take in the massive general admission floor section already packed full. The band must be popular. So you take plenty of pictures and happily enjoy the time with your dear friend.

The lights dim and excitement crackles in the air. The stage lights up. The large backdrop screens on the stage flutter to life beginning to showcase different picturesque black and white shots of Texas.

Midland, you remember, is a city in Texas so the images make sense. A low strum of a guitar begins playing. The melody dances soft but in a quick beat, a hypnotic tune trying to rev up the crowd.

The tune brews up its intended magic that you even get swept up in the anticipation. The sound gets faster and the strumming is rather simple but so striking.

Then the music stops. Suddenly the lights of the entire stadium shut off. Wild galvanized screams erupt.

The lights brilliantly dance forth back to light. They all focus now on the performer who, like magic, now appears on the stage with the rest of the band.

And the lead singer is Joel.

Your knees almost give out.

Dressed in the most dangerous plaid green button up, it so simple yet beautifully compliments him. More grays pepper his beard and highlight his tousled curls. The brilliant stage lights bask him in a heavenly glow.

Your soul momentarily leaves your body the minute his voice sings his first note.

Instantly your best friend whips towards you panicked. She rapidly screams asking if you’re okay as she apologizes over and over.

“My dad must have gotten the dates wrong! God I should’ve fucking doubled checked or some shit!” She cries deeply apologetic and hurt.

You earnestly tell her it’s not her fault and it’s alright. It was just an unfortunate mixup.

“Do you wanna leave?” Your friend leans closer to you. Her eyes shine understanding and considerate. “We didn’t pay for these tickets and I promise you my parents will completely understand. We can say fuck it and bounce.”

You haven’t even completely processed it’s Joel. It’s like your brain went cloudy and now blinking out of the fog, your eyes return to the stage.

Joel isn’t an extroverted man. He’s reserved, quietly charming, even holds a gruff but poised grace. But right now, he’s an absolute sun on the stage. He’s radiant, naturally swaying to the music while singing his soul soul.

Maybe it’s the piece of you still horribly in love with him, or just the curiosity to see how this goes, whatever it is - you shake your head no.

“We can stay.”

Your best friend’s eyes go wide as saucers hearing your answer.

“Are you sure?” She presses and you nod your head.

“Yeah, let’s stay. Afterwards we can laugh about how old he’s gotten.” You laugh bitterly about him looking more aged even after a year.

When truthfully the stronger wrinkles around his face, the vibrant grays, all of his aging only intensifies his striking looks.

A canyon wide sized hole rips through your heart.

The song flutters to an end and the crowd claps with a thunderous roar. With a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder your dear friend nods then turns back to the concert.

You pray this isn’t the worst decision you’ve ever made.

Then Joel speaks.

“Howdy everyone,” his voice is still so devilishly thick and smooth as a shot of moonshine. His accent does his home state proud. The crowd absolutely adores him, screaming loud just hearing him speak.

“Thank y'all for comin’ out tonight. I’m Joel Miller and m’here to sing y’all a few songs.” So simple, casually eased, and it’s so Joel.

His gruff southern charm made you fall in love with him so fast and now it’s a unique brand of magic charming everyone under his spell.

Joel strums a few notes, rapidly shifting the tune and transitions into the next song.

You now fully soak in Joel.

He seems otherworldly, a god of music reincarnated as a Texan cowboy. You think back to the days sitting in his living room and listening to him play. You were honored to see that side of him, to hear him strum to life so much magic.

During the holiday’s Joel’s daughters, Ellie and Sarah, would often pester him to sing silly songs. He’d grumpily obliged but you knew he basked in their attention and love.

He loved to sing. You always knew he was destined for the stage like it was woven into his veins.

You still remember the day one of Joel’s acoustic performances blew up online gaining so much attention. The excitement and absolute joy you felt then still lingers in the corners of your heart. Although, those feelings have been gathering cobwebs.

There’s of course a bitterness seeing him, but also, an unbearably small twinkling pride knowing he’s here living his dream. The song finishes and again the stadium rumbles in applause.

“How y’all doin’ tonight?” Joel asks and your heart jumps hearing his voice again.

The crowd cheers back at him.

“Good good, let’s keep it goin’.” He yells back and then strums the guitar sharp.

That’s when the stage slowly starts moving.

It’s slow but with the surprise purpose to look out to the entire crowd. For some reason you almost laugh thinking of that man, who couldn’t even remember how to FaceTime on his ipad, on a full rotating platform.

However, the lyrics start and you realize he’s singing a heartbreak ballad.

If you’re going out with someone new, I’m going out with someone too…I won’t feel sorry for me, I’m getting drunk but I’d much rather be somewhere with you…

It’s hard hearing him now with how exhilarated the crowd screams at the stage moving. But you try to hear how the rest of the song unfolds.

At the chorus, your throat tightens.

I can go out every night of the week, can go home with anybody I meet, but it’s just a temporary high… ‘cause when I close my eyes, I’m somewhere with you

The words sting every inch of you, but you believe it has to be just a simple heartbreak story and isn’t about you, isn’t directed at you. Yet the words feel like sharpened edges of a broken mirror that seem to reflect every moment of your time with him.

Then the stage rotates to your side of the floor.

There’s no way he can see you or will even spot you. There’s a whole crowd stretching before him. You’re just a fish in a sea of fans.

Joel continues strumming, allowing his voice to so beautifully carry the emotion.

The stage, in its slow movement, is now front and center to your line of sight. Some girls at the very direct front of the railing scream and wave frantically at him.

A small smile tugs at Joel’s lips as he waves back. Joel’s eyes scan the rest of the crowd -

And that’s when he spots you.

Quickly, you rationalize he could be staring out behind you at someone else alongside the side railing.

But Joel’s eyes even narrow trying to focus more. Your gaze stays on him, like something inside of you refuses to waiver.

His eyes flicker with realization then turn into full moons.

He knows it’s you.

Joel continues singing the chorus but emotions cloud his face. His brows are furrowed hard, almost confused like he’s trying to really comprehend what’s going on.

You understand. You’d be so confused too if you were in his position. You’re still even baffled as to why you stayed in the first place.

The stage starts shifting back to the main center direction

But Joel cranes his face to the side, refusing to have his eyes leave.

His focus stays on you.

It’s obvious enough that your best friend now shakes your body.

“Is he staring at you?!” She tries to whisper but she ends up partly screaming.

You think maybe it’s a hallucination.

Yet Joel’s deep inky eyes stubbornly stay locked on you as he sings now.

If you see out on the town and it looks like I’m burning it down, you won’t ask and I won’t say… but in my heart I’m always somewhere with you…

Your world twists warped, melting into a sea of so many emotions you can’t stay afloat.

Joel finishes his song and the crowd enthusiastically cheers. Yet, it sounds muffled as a numbness crawls over you like a thick soupy fog.

You should leave. You need to. But you’re here now. And decide to see the end of this. If he’s singing about someone lingering within him, then you might as well make true to those lyrics.

Joel lowers his face for a moment and shakes his head. The mic faintly picks up his cough of a disbelieving laugh and your heart sinks.

“Alright folks, let’s jam.” He announces composed and brings his guitar to life.

He’s beautiful walking around with it. Strums effortlessly until he shifts from one guitar, his classic, to a more sleek all black styled one.

Joel lets the music and band take over while he makes the switch. He also leans in to whisper something to the stage hand.

Then as if nothing, Joel steps back into the limelight and illuminates the stage.

He walks around freely now that the stage stopped rotating. The current song is lively with a great beat and you hate how badly you want to bounce around to its infectious sound and the way Joel’s voice elevates the tune.

Caught up in the melody, you don’t notice until it’s too late. Joel walks over to the side of the stage directly facing you.

The guitar carries a large piece of this song’s bridge allowing his eyes to flicker across the crowd.

Until they return to your gaze. Stuck in his stare, Joel suddenly cocks his chin towards you.

Most of the crowd around you screams at his simple action. Even your best friend yells out a loud ‘holy shit’ but you stay quiet.

Not knowing how to react, all you do is stupidly shrug.

It’s awful, not even the best reaction you can give.

But Joel barks a laugh, a true laugh that thankfully happens at the tail end of the song, but your knees go weak.

You made him laugh.

On stage.

Heartache finds its way back into your system fiercer than ever and it poisonously tastes of adoration as well.

Joel transitions into another song. This time moving around the stage more towards the other side.

Yet, either his eyes flicker back to you, or he ends up walking to your section.

A part of you wonders if he’s doing this now to mock you, almost showing off how good he is knowing you’re here. You don’t believe Joel would be that heartless, but you hate how that option still lingers.

“He’s been walking over here a lot.” Someone even behind you even notices.

“Well he is old.” Someone yells back. “Maybe he’s just trying to keep his joints in shape.”

You almost want to snap back that he’s looking damn good for his age and in good enough shape that he kept you bent like a pretzel for practically a whole weekend, but you swallow back the protective bite.

You simply go back to enjoying the show, and it’s fantastic. You can’t deny that. Joel is a performer, keeps the crowd focused and engaged. He isn’t showy or dramatic but takes control of his presence on stage.

You think of the days seeing him at small bars around town, sitting on a stool playing till his heart's content.

Then he booked Stubb’s in Austin and when you watched him own that stage - you knew this was meant for him.

You’re reminded of that so vividly tonight.

“Alright, gettin’ to the end here.” He announces and the crowd sounds heartbroken.

“I know, i know,” he coos back soft and low. “But just wanted to say y’all have been lovely.”

So many shrill shrieks crack in the room and you almost roll your eyes.

Your best friend snickers beside you. “Gotta give it to him, man can work a room.”

She’s right of course. Though it’s still so surprising for a man grumpily reserved and introverted at times.

“This next one I hope maybe some of y’all will know.”

He strums the cords to Pearl Jam’s ‘Alive.’

What gained Joel traction online was his renditions and covers of various songs. He added his own country twang and twist to all the songs he covered.

Pearl Jam happened to be one of Ellie’s favorite bands. A hollow nostalgia rip through you, thinking of the two girls you miss.

The crowd ignites recognizing the familiar rock ballad now turned into the tune of a country song by Joel’s touch. He owns the solo and his husky voice melts into the lyrics beautifully.

Under your breath you sing along. You used to sing along when you cooked breakfast at his place or during drives with him and the girls.

It’s a beautiful fondness, yet one still barbed and so aching.

The song ends with the intense but small burst of fireworks that has the stadium cheering. You even clap.

“Appreciate y’all.” He addresses the crowd. “That’s a one of my daughter’s favorites so always means a lot when I get to play it.”

A smile you can’t fight tugs at your lips at the mention of Ellie.

“Now my daughters, they’re like night ‘n day.” Joel continues and your heart fills up so overwhelming fast for those girls.

“One of them, like I said, loves some Pearl Jam. Now my other daughter…” Joel pauses.

“She’s a big fan of someone by the name of Taylor Swift.”

The crowd absolutely explodes and you think you even feel the arena shake. Sarah honestly was a big fan and Ellie loved to tease her about it so much.

“Normally for this next and final song, I’d play ‘‘shake it off.’” Joel had a few songs of hers that he covered. That one was a fan favorite.

“But tonight, I'm itchin’ to play somethin’ else.” He continues.

You even perk up curious.

“So let’s end this on a high note, yeah? Sing along if you know this one.” Joel concludes.

Then the drums begin and the song bursts to life.

The stadium swims in a dizzying frantic energy.

The way Joel sings, he’s pouring his heart out. He’s memorizing. Utterly heart wrenching.

This is the finale, the end of this strange unreal dream you’ve wandered into. You wonder if he feels it too.

The song’s chilling bridge comes and Joel walks to stare directly at you.

I thought I had you figured out, can’t breathe whenever you’re gone. Can't turn back now, I'm haunted…

His eyes never leave yours.

The lyrics sear through your heart. You think about screaming the song to back him. He’s the one who left, the one who’s ghost lives among your ribs.

Then Joel hits the final high note, lets his voice carry the powerful finale, and the crowd roars in earth shaking excitement.

It’s magical, magnetic and utterly devastating in both the best and worst ways. Another few sets of indoor fireworks go off and the show ends.

Joel wishes the crowd a beautiful night and you’re left in a tangled web of emotions.

Your best friend immediately turns to see if you’re okay. While the crowd starts leaving, you and her take a moment. Out of the edge of your focus, you notice a crew member of the arena approaching the side of the rail. You don’t think anything of it.

“Excuse me,” until that crew member stands in front of you on the other side of the barrier.

Blinking absolutely confused you turn towards the man.

“I’ve been asked to escort you backstage.” He explains and your best friend gasps.

You wonder if the ground opened below and dropped you into a free fall.

Quickly you stammer out that you couldn’t. There's no way. Maybe the man must’ve mistaken you for someone else.

“Mr. Miller said you’d say something like that.” The crew member says reaching into his pocket to hand you something.

It’s a keychain.

Not just any keychain, but the one you gave Joel.

It’s a cartoon armadillo, dressed up as a cowboy, holding a guitar. When you first saw it you immediately thought of Joel. His daughters got a kick over it, giggled at how cute it was, and your heart had bursted when you saw it constantly among his keys.

Now the worn little cowboy creature sits waiting for you. It’s sweet marble like eyes stare up at you like a day hasn’t gone by since you gave Joel this.

Your best friend gasps, maybe not fully recognizing the keychain but understanding the significance.

You ask the crew member if your friend can maybe accompany you backstage, but he shakes his head a sad no.

“Then I…I can’t.” You shakily breathe out.

“Yes you can!” She interjects. “You gotta at least hear him out!”

You turn to her and find determination fiercely burning in her eyes as she nods.

“But what about you? I don’t want you or your parents waiting around for me.” You urge.

“Don’t worry about me or especially about them!” She reassures, even offering to wait for as long as you need.

You’re grateful, unbearably so and embrace her tight.

“You call me if he gets stupid. I don’t care backstage or not, I’ll go get you.”

You laugh watery at her well meaning threat and thank her. With a quick sweet goodbye, you follow the crew member along the rails until exiting.

The walk out to the backstage area fills you with a hurricane of emotions. What else could Joel say to you? A part of you wonders if he’s going to be cruel about this, having you simply show up to his dressing room just to laugh so arrogant and smug about how wonderfully famous he is now.

No, Joel isn’t that type of man.

Or you hope fame hasn't warped him into that type of man. Arriving at the green room door, your heart races loud in your ears.

The crew member knocks and before you can compose yourself, Joel opens the door.

He’s bathed in the golden amber light of the backstage room. It highlights all those grays again but also illuminates more of the time passed on his face. More winkles line against his eyes and when he fully stares at you, you wonder how different you might look in his eyes.

A jackrabbit like urge rushes over you to maybe flee, call your best friend to come get you.

“Thanks for comin’,” he mutters out. “Was worried ya wouldn’t show.”

You want to bitterly joke that you didn’t want to, but the armadillo keychain you hang onto holds the truth.

The door closes leaving you and Joel alone. Awkward stale air chokes the space.

You simply keep your attention on examining the room. His classic weathered jacket rests thrown over the couch. The rider is stacked with so many classic Joel snacks like his favorite jerky, popcorn, and even a few familiar favorite treats his daughters love.

Then your eyes catch the mug on the counter and you grin softly.

It must be filled with Joel’s classic drink - chamomile and ginger tea with honey for his throat.

“It’s…yeah. That’s it.”

You didn’t even realize you said anything out loud until Joel replies casuing your heart to jump. Finally your eyes find his.

It's a curse that your greatest heartbreak is this handsome. Exhaustion weighs in you and feels ancient, like if you carry the sum of so many lifetimes before.

“So…You wanted to talk to me?” You speak first, trying to keep yourself strong.

“I…uh yeah.” Answering so cryptically, his shoulders deflate. “How ya been?”

“Good.” You answer simple, curt almost.

There’s too many things that could’ve slipped out if you said anything more. Like how you selfishly kept one of his shirts and hate that the smell of him on it has faded like a wistful memory. Or how you can barely listen to Dolly Parton or Johnny Cash anymore because you’re reminded of Joel singing along to their songs.

So you turn the conversation back to him.

You ask how the girls are and Joel perks up, eyes shimmering with fatherly pride.

“Good, yeah they’re good. Uh, Ellie’s playing softball for the school again ‘n Sarah’s busy with student council. They’re still just bossin’ me all around.”

“As usual.”

You both say the same line at the same time and it chokes you up.

Joel inhales and his lips press tight, a hard line. The air tightens. No one says anything and now annoyance, frustration and maybe even a bit of panic claw at you.

“Joel, why am I here?” You ask him again.

Sighing, so weary and tired, he looks down.

Feels like ages pass between you and him. The faint noise of the stadium leaks into the room muffled.

You think of your best friend waiting and of your own heart waiting to end this.

“Look, it was good to see you,” you half lie. “You did great, hope you and the girls take care”

You turn to walk out.

That’s when he blurts out your name and you stop.

“I miss you.” He exhales.

“Miss ya so g’damn much. Every fuckin’ day.” He mutters.

When you turn back around, he stares at you unwavering. You don’t know what to say.

“Seein’ ya out in the crowd…thought m’heart was gonna give out.” He barks a weak laugh.

“Almost stoppin’ the fuckin’ show just to make sure it was you… y’look beautiful as ever.” His eyes haze over slightly, almost nostalgic.

Suddenly a heated spark rips into your chest, jagged edged and angered.

“You broke up with me.” You snap, voice already raw.

“I know,” Joel nods. “Worst damn decision of m’life.”

Your lips tremble. Everything hurts like a live wire is burning up your veins.

“Then why? Why did you do it?” You croak. You want to scream, maybe even storm out and not even give him the chance to speak.

“What? Did Mr. Big Country Star hate having a partner that wasn’t famous too?” Venom leaks bitter and poisonous in your mouth, choking your throat.

“Y’know god damn well that ain’t it.” He snarls back hard.

“No actually I fucking don’t know Joel.” You reply with a fierce bite. “You so conveniently left out any real damn reason why you were breaking up with me.”

“I said our paths were going in separate directions.” He glares hard at you now.

“And that’s about it!” Your voice raises and you hate it.

The tears come quicker than you hoped for and you hate that more.

“No real explanation,” you exhale, wanting to stay as calm as you can. “You couldn’t even give me that…what else am I supposed to think?”

Even dabbing away your tears, your composure is slowly slipping.

“I couldn’t do this to you,” he breathes out and it’s broken. His eyes are shimmering obsidian pools.

“This life, all the fuckin’ mess that comes with dating someone in the limelight, I couldn’t just throw that on ya.” He explains and the truth rings out a quiet hum.

“And you didn’t think to talk to me about this?” You whisper out now hurt. “Joel, I thought we were a team.”

“We are- were.” He slips and corrects himself fast. “I just knew if we fuckin’ talked about it you wouldn’t have understood.”

“Understood what?” You’re frustrated and it leaks into your voice.

“That I didn’t want ya fuckin’ hatin’ me!” He finally screams the weighted truth.

Stunned quiet but still slightly confused, you ask Joel what he means.

Pain travels across Joel’s handsome face as his jaw clenches hard.

“This shit…it takes away a lot.” He croaks out. “Hell I’ve even missed things with the girls. Didn’t want ya sacrificin’ your life or wakin’ up one day and realizin’ how much you’ve lost ‘cause of me…couldn’t let myself do that to you.”

Your chest aches like a rocket got shot into you. You’re angry he took that chance for you to decide, but you understand.

Joel never wants to be the cause of pain to others, especially those he loves.

He agonizes so much over his decisions and how corrupting he believes he is. When in reality every action he takes you know simply stems from his endless deep devotion to keep those he loves safe.

His decision to end your relationship was him, in his own frustrating Joel way, trying to keep you safe. Even if it was from himself.

Your lips tremble and you cuss bitterly hard under your breath.

“You damn stupid man.” You hiccup. “I didn’t…I don’t care what life fame would’ve given me with you. I would never resent you. For better or worse I just wanted a life with you, that’s all I ever wanted.”

Through a few sobs, you wipe the tears fogging up your sight.

Before you can see it happening, strong sturdy arms suddenly wrap around you and shock you breathless. Curled in Joel’s arms, it’s like a sad coming home party and you cry even more.

“M’so sorry, my darlin’.” Joel whispers against your forehead.

“I hate you.” You don’t. Even on your hardest days, you never could.

“I know, hate my fuckin’ ass too.” Joel replies.

His arms squeeze you tighter.

“Never stopped lovin’ you. Never will.” His voice wavers and now your arms wrap around him.

“You left.” You whisper back so small while tears continue to prickle in your eyes.

“I know honeydew, ‘n I’ll never forgive myself for it.” He replies fiercely like a strike of lightning with its bright force. “Been a fuckin’ mess without ya. Tommy would be the first to agree and the girls too.”

You absorb his words, basking in the safe haven that is Joel. Hours, maybe days pass just in his arms.

“Please forgive me, baby.” He whispers hoarse against your head.

You nod a soft yes.

Because even the part of you that wants to yell and stubbornly say no knows the ultimate answer is, and always will be, him.

“Of course…I love you.” You mutter half dazed against his strong chest. “Love of my life.”

Pressed so close to him, you feel how hard he swallows and his arms squeeze you impossibly tighter against you.

He says your name and you hum out a soft noise.

“Marry me.”

Your eyes, which have sort of glazed over, snap open wide.

“What?” You mutter out, maybe think you misheard him.

“Marry me.” Joel repeats himself.

You practically squawk like a confused bird and scramble in his arms.

“Joel Miller, you can’t be serious?!” You shriek through the tears still lingering in your voice.

Your face snaps up to him. His face is composed, almost serene in a way as he look at you with molten eyes.

“Serious as that g’damn ring I bought ya.”

His words are a mumble but so soft and unwavering. Your soul leaves your body like you were thrown into a cold lake.

“You what?” You stammer out.

“Y’heard me.” He nudges his chin to you. “A ring. Bought it after you dropped everything to go take care of the girls when they got sick.”

Too many emotions overwhelm you and the tears return with a vengeance.

Joel, like a steady man in the storm, places his warm hand on your face to gather you back into his embrace. He places the softest kiss to the side of your head.

“We gotta have a chat about discussing your feelings with me more, Miller.” You manage to chide him through your tears.

“I know.” He mutters against your skin while he continues softly kissing you with utter tenderness. “‘N I’m not lettin’ ya go again.”

You squeeze him hard, trying to burn his memory into your arms worried you’re going to wake up and find this is just a heartbroken hallucination.

“Baby,” he begins.

“Hm?”

“Stay with me for the night.” He urges. “The bus got plenty of room-”

“Ooo, is this what you say to all your groupies, Mr. Miller?” You tease with a snort.

“Behave.” His hand playfully squeezes your hip but his underlying somber tone even with his chuckle ignites a familiar heat brewing in you of the times he’s reprimanded you like that before.

“No groupies.” Joel reassures you. “Only you sweetheart, only ever gonna be you.”

His words flutter into your heart and make a nest there.

Gently you draw back to stare at Joel. Your hand moves to his face, aching to just touch him. Even in his arms you’re waiting for him to vanish from your touch as if he’s a figment of your wrecked heart, a ghost of lovers past haunting you now.

But his stubble tickles against your palm. Running warm as usual, his face feels like a soft morning sun. Your thumb strokes his cheek and his eyes close, melting into your hold.

Gently you place a soft kiss against the corner of his lips.

Joel now tilts his head so he can deepen the kiss before you can even draw away.

It’s not a consuming passion that you expected. No frantic fierce clash of lips or an overflow from a year passed between you two.

Instead it’s a soft welcome home. It’s a kiss you’ve given him when he’s come home late or when you leave for work.

Because his blood, his soul, you believe are simply stitched into the very fabric of you. It’s like a piece of you is returning back to you, or maybe back to your other home with him.

“So you gonna stay with me?” He mumbles against your lips.

“I don’t know Miller, you haven’t even offered to sign anything for me. What kind of famous country singer are you?” You smirk against his lips.

He laughs, hearty, a true wild deep one sweeping you into its joy.

“Hell yeah I’ll fuckin’ sign something for ya, our marriage certificate.” He snaps in classic grumpy Joel fashion and you almost think about dragging him to a courthouse.

You text your friend a million apologies and even take pictures of all the signed merch you’re bringing back to her.

Now in the cocoon of Joel’s cozy bed on his tour bus, among the warmth sheets, you hold the ring up in the dim light inspecting it. Because of course your secretly romantic man kept the ring with him.

“You sure you weren’t keeping this around for someone else?” You ask.

“Fuck no.” He growls low. “S’yours…only yours.”

From behind his arms slide around you and you’re encompassed by his swallowing presence. His beard scrapes against your shoulder.

“If ya don’t like it, can get ya another one.” He mutters casually but hesitant softness peeks out from under his gruff tone.

“It’s perfect.” You reassure him.

It’s the ring Joel got you then and it’s the ring you want now and always will. You even tell him that.

The kisses places on your bare shoulder whispers of his devotion.

“Honey.” However, his voice now is hesitant and makes you pause on your ring inspecting.

“I gotta ask…but do ya have my armadillo keychain?” Joel asks with an utter somberness.

You burst out laughing and it shakes your body.

“Honeydew, I’m being serious!” He growls out. “Want that lil’ fella back!”

Wheezing with giggles you lean back against Joel, floating so blissfully floating in renewed adoration.

Twisting in his arms your lips find his.

“Tryin’ to distract me ‘cause you lost him, huh?” He mutters.

You snort, shaking your head.

“No I just love you so much, you dumb cowboy.” You tell him.

“Your dumb cowboy. For better or worse.” He vows, kissing you back firmer now.

“For better or worse,” you nod breathing into him.

In this carved out slightly cramped space it feels holy, sacred, chapel like. You’re even afraid it might be gone tomorrow morning. However, the ring on your finger is the steeled reassurance it isn’t going anywhere.

But, just in case, you gather this glory and Joel into your arms with the promise of never letting go.

#my heart is so full and I can’t thank yall enough I wish country singer Joel could perform for you personally in your living room #let’s rodeo fic series #country singer!joel miller #Joel miller x reader #Joel miller x f!reader #Joel miller fic #Joel miller fanfic #Joel 🤎

[dinas-a-bird]

For the Love of the Game

Pairing: soccer!Ellie Williams x soccer!fem!reader

Warnings: SFW, angst with a happy/hopeful ending, mean ellie and reader, Arsenal woso au, rivalry, hostility, first kiss, cursing, use of y/n

Summary: As a new sign on the Arsenal squad you seem to click with everyone, except the defender Ellie Williams. or i couldnt find what I wanted to read so I wrote it instead

Word Count: 4,005

A/N: this is my longest piece of writing yet and also probably my favorite. I kept the soccer terms to a minimum because I know they are difficult to understand if you've never played the sport. I've been meaning to write a woso au fic for quite some time mainly because i'm a huge fan of soccer and have played it my entire life, so i'm supper happy I finally got around to this. Sorry in advance for any spelling or grammar mistakes. Hope you enjoy!

quick sidebar: I am so upset about Australia not making it to the WWC finals.

Pt 2: here

You sat in the locker room, lacing up your cleats, your mind racing with anticipation for the upcoming training session. Soccer was your passion, your lifeblood, and being a new sign on the Arsenal team was both a dream come true and a challenge you welcomed with open arms. The energy in the room was a mix of excitement and seriousness, as your new teammates chatted and laughed, sharing stories and trading banter.

Katie, a fellow teammate, leaned over with a playful grin. "You ready to kick some ass on the field today, y/n?"

You grinned back, your eyes shining with determination. "You know it, McCabe. Ready to show 'em what I'm made of."

As the training session began, you threw yourself into the drills, your love for the game evident in every sprint, every pass, every shot on goal. It was a fierce battle, each player giving her all, striving for excellence. Amid the sweat and shouts, there was a particular presence that caught your attention—Ellie Williams. The enigmatic American player was a force to be reckoned with, known for her skill and her no-nonsense attitude. Your interactions had always been colored with a hint of hostility and rivalry, Williams sharp wit and biting remarks keeping you on your toes.

"Nice touch, y/n!" Leah Williamson’s encouragement broke through your concentration, and she sent a quick nod and smile in your direction.

After the grueling training session, you followed the team into the locker room. The energy had shifted, the air filled with exhaustion and accomplishment. You were quick to shed your gear, peeling off your sweaty kit, replacing it with a band tee and ripped jeans. As you looked around, you caught Williams' gaze—surprisingly not one of antagonism, but something different, harder to define.

"Like what you see, Williams?" Your playful remark caught Ellie off guard, and a smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as you moved toward your locker. You could practically feel Ellie's eyes on you as you changed, a mixture of curiosity and something else you couldn't quite place apparent on her face.

The banter continued as you and your teammates made plans for drinks later that evening. The idea of spending time together outside of the pitch was new, a tentative step toward forming friendships beyond the pitch. The mention of Williams' not wanting to go to yet another team bonding session didn't escape your notice, a reminder of your ongoing rivalry and tension.

As the evening approached, you found yourself in a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The exchange with Ellie in the locker room had been different, a crack in the armor she had always presented. But you were cautious, unsure of what it all meant. Your heart raced as you stood in front of the mirror, getting ready for the night ahead. You chose an outfit that felt comfortable yet confident—black trousers and a light pink button-up, French-tucked for a touch of casual elegance.

Your phone chimed, and you picked it up to see a text from Leah. "I'm outside ready to bring you to team drinks dummy." You chuckled, sending a quick response that you were on your way. Soon enough, you found yourself in Leah's car, driving towards the nearby pub where the team was gathering for drinks and bonding.

The pub was alive with the chatter and laughter of your teammates as you entered. You greeted the girls and grabbed a drink before sitting down next to Leah, who gave you a knowing look. "You think Ellie’s actually going to come?" Leah whispered, her eyes glancing over to the entrance.

"Dunno, don't really care to be honest," You replied with a shrug. "She's been a right twat for as long as she's known me."

Leah hummed in acknowledgment, and the two of you settled into the lively atmosphere. Your eyes wandered over the group, spotting Ellie’s absence. You couldn't help but wonder if the tension between you had kept her away.

After a while, your impatience grew, and you checked your watch. "Damn, she really didn't want to come," you muttered under your breath, feeling a mix of annoyance and disappointment. You leaned back in your seat, your mind lost in your thoughts.

Leah noticed your mood shift and rubbed your shoulder gently. "What's wrong, y/n/n?"

You sighed, a hint of frustration in your voice. "Nothing, just thought maybe she'd actually show up for once."

As the minutes ticked by, your frustration turned into resignation. You finished your drink and decided to get another one. "I'm going to get another drink," you announced to the group, receiving nods of acknowledgment before making your way to the bar.

"One whiskey, on the rocks, please," you ordered, your tone weary. You leaned against the bar, waiting for your drink and watching the team engage in playful conversations. Your mind drifted, thinking about the complicated relationship you had with Ellie Williamson.

The bartender quickly served your drink, and you took a slow sip, the cool liquid offering a momentary distraction from your thoughts. You couldn't help but wonder why Ellie’s presence or in this case lack thereof, affected you so much.

As you continued to observe the team, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out to see a text from Leah, asking if you were okay. You smiled faintly and texted back, "Yeah, just needed a breather. Don't worry, I'm good."

With your drink in hand, you found an empty stool at the bar and settled in. You watched as the team's laughter filled the pub. You took another sip of your drink, feeling a mix of emotions bubbling within you.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice when someone sat down next to you until you heard a familiar voice. "Whatcha doing over here, mate?" Caitlin Foord's voice broke through your reverie.

You looked up, a surprised smile forming on your lips. "Hey, just needed another drink, that's all."

Caitlin chuckled, giving you a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Well, the teams missing you, might wanna head back over soon."

You couldn't help but appreciate Caitlin's attempt at lightening the mood. You finished your drink and thanked the bartender, making your way back to the group. As you approached, Katie McCabe greeted you with a big smile. "Look who finally decided to rejoin us!"

Your lips twitched into a smile as you took a seat among your teammates. The atmosphere was surprisingly relaxed, and you found yourself easing into the conversation. You exchanged playful banter with the girls, your guard slowly lowering as the evening progressed.

Ellie’s absence was no longer a looming presence in your mind. Instead, you found yourself immersed in laughter and conversation with the team. It was as if, for a brief moment, the rivalry and tension between you and Williams never existed.

As the night wore on, you glanced at your watch, realizing it was getting late. You excused yourself from the group, giving everyone hugs and promising to see them soon. 

Outside the pub, you hailed a taxi with more success than the previous nights. You settled into the back seat, feeling contentment wash over you. The evening had been unexpectedly enjoyable, a welcome break from the usual tension.

When you arrived home, you thanked the driver and made your way to your apartment. You kicked off your shoes and flopped onto the couch, a small smile playing on your lips.

The events of the evening continued to replay in your mind as you lay on the couch. The unexpected sense of belonging with your teammates had provided a refreshing change from the usual tension with Ellie Williams. 

As the days passed, your thoughts kept drifting back to that night at the pub. You found yourself analyzing every interaction, every word spoken between you and your teammates, including the moments when Ellie’s absence was conspicuous.

Training sessions were business as usual, the banter and drills had become familiar over time. You couldn't deny that a part of you was secretly hoping for another chance to interact one-on-one with Ellie, even if it meant more of your usual back-and-forth.

One evening, after a rigorous training session, you were walking to your car when you noticed Ellie leaning against it. You tensed involuntarily, your heart rate increasing as your palms grew slightly clammy. "What do you want, Williams?" You asked, your voice laced with a mixture of defiance and caution.

Ellie straightened up and crossed her arms, her expression guarded. "Just making sure you're not slacking off on your game, y/l/n," she retorted, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

You raised an eyebrow, annoyance and amusement flickering in your eyes. "Trust me, you're not the one I need to prove anything to."

Ellie’s gaze held yours for a moment before she seemed to relent, her posture relaxing slightly. "Yeah, well, don't get too comfortable. I'm not here to make friends."

You let out a rueful chuckle. "Trust me, the feeling's mutual."

As the weeks went by, you and Ellie continued your dance of hostility, your interactions marked by barbed remarks and wary glances.

One afternoon, after a particularly grueling practice, You found yourself sitting alone in the locker room, lost in thought. You were startled when the door opened, and Ellie walked in, looking uncharacteristically solemn.

"What do you want, Williams?" You said, your tone a mixture of annoyance and curiosity.

Ellie hesitated for a moment before speaking, her voice lacking its usual bite. "Look, I may not like you, but I respect your dedication to the game. You're a damn good player, and you've earned your place on this team."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. It wasn't the response you had expected. "Thanks, I guess."

Ellie’s gaze held yours, her usually confident demeanor replaced by a vulnerability that caught you off guard. "I've had to fight tooth and nail to get where I am, and I won't let anyone make me doubt myself. Not even you."

You nod your head slowly. "I get it. We all have our battles."

There was a pause before Ellie spoke again, her voice softer this time. "Look, y/l/n, I'm not saying we're suddenly going to be best buddies or anything. But maybe... maybe we can find a way to coexist without tearing each other apart. For the team sakes if anything."

You studied Ellie’s face, seeing a sincerity that was unexpected. For the first time, you allowed yourself to truly consider the possibility of a truce between the two of you. "Yeah, maybe we can." The tension in the room seemed to ease slightly, replaced by a tentative understanding. 

However, the fragile truce you had established was put to the test during an Arsenal v Arsenal scrimmage. The game was intense, with both sides fighting tooth and nail for victory. As the clock ticked down and the score remained tied, the pressure mounted.

You found yourself being subbed onto the pitch after halftime, your heart pounding as you chased after the ball. You maneuvered past defenders with finesse, your focus on the goal. Just as you were about to take the shot, Ellie’s foot came out of nowhere, intercepting the ball and sending it in a different direction.

"Fancy move, y/l/n, but you'll have to do better than that," Ellie’s voice taunted from behind you.

Your frustration flared, and you couldn't hold back your retort. "Maybe I would if someone didn't think they were the queen of the fucking pitch."

The game continued with both sides giving it their all. The tension on the pitch was thick, mirroring the tension that still lingered between you and Ellie. As the match entered the final minutes, you found yourself facing off against Ellie near the goal. The ball was within reach, victory hanging in the balance.

You dribbled past Ellie, your determination fueling your every move. You took the shot, the ball sailing towards the goal. But Ellie was there, deflecting the shot with a well-timed block. The whistle blew, signaling the end of the scrimmage with a draw.

As the team regrouped in the locker room, your frustration lingered. You couldn't shake the feeling that the rivalry with Ellie had affected your performance. You sat alone in front of your cubby, your thoughts a jumble of emotions.

Ellie approached, her expression unreadable. "You played well out there. But you've got to learn not to let your emotions get the best of you."

Your temper flared, the familiar resentment bubbling up. "Oh, I'm sorry if I don't have years of experience in keeping my cool like you."

Ellie’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, it seemed as though you were on the brink of another confrontation. But then, unexpectedly, Ellie sighed. "Look, I'm not saying this to be nice, but I know you're a damn good player, anybody with a decent set of eyes can see it. You just need to channel that fire in the right direction."

You looked at Ellie, surprised by the genuine advice. It was a side of her that you rarely saw—the vulnerability beneath the layers of hostility. "Thanks," you muttered, your pride making it difficult to fully acknowledge the concession.

Ellie nodded, her eyes briefly meeting yours before she turned and walked away. The encounter left you with a mix of conflicting emotions. Maybe, there was more to your rivalry than you had initially thought.

Weeks turned into months, and you and Ellie continued to navigate the delicate balance between rivalry and mutual respect. Your interactions became less charged, your exchanges more civil. Training sessions saw fewer verbal jabs and more focused drills.

And then, one day, it happened. It was a routine practice, but something was different. You found yourself looking at Ellie in a new light, noticing the subtle nuances in her expressions and the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, even if it was rare.

During a break, as you were catching your breath, Ellie approached you. "Not bad out there today."

Your heart raced, your nerves betraying you. "Thanks, Williams."

Ellie hesitated for a moment before speaking again, her voice softer than usual. "You know, sometimes it's okay to acknowledge your strengths. It doesn't make you any less of a competitor."

You met Ellie’s gaze, seeing a glimmer of something more in her eyes. You felt a connection, a shared understanding that ran deeper than your rivalry. In that moment, you realized that you were more alike than you had ever wanted to admit.

As you both stood there, the tension between you had shifted. It was as if a new chapter had begun, one that held the promise of something beyond the animosity you had known. And in that small shift, you saw a glimpse of the possibility for a different kind of connection—one that went beyond the field, beyond the rivalry, and into uncharted territory.

The weeks that followed saw a gradual evolution in you and Ellie’s relationship. You both continued to challenge each other on the pitch, but there were moments of unexpected friendliness that seemed to catch you both off guard.

During a particularly intense training session, you found yourself locked in a one-on-one with Ellie. Her movements were precise and calculated. As you managed to get past Ellie and score a goal, you couldn't help but feel a surge of triumph.

Ellie’s expression was a mix of frustration and begrudging admiration. "Not bad. Looks like you've been working on your footwork."

You caught your breath, your heart racing from the exertion. "Well, someone has to score goals for the team."

Ellie rolled her eyes, but there was a trace of a smile tugging at her lips. "Don't get too cocky. This was just practice."

As the days turned into weeks, you found yourself increasingly drawn to Ellies presence. You couldn't ignore the way your heart raced whenever Ellie was near or the moments when your gazes lingered just a fraction longer than necessary.

One evening, after another successful game, the team decided to go out for a celebratory dinner. You found yourself sitting across from Ellie at the restaurant, your interactions surprisingly easy. You traded stories and laughs, and you couldn't help but marvel at the way Ellie’s sharp wit and dry humor had you smiling genuinely.

As the night wore on, the group began to disperse, leaving you and Ellie alone at the table. The atmosphere had shifted from hostility to something more complex, and you found yourself wanting to explore it further.

"You know, we've come a long way from where we started," You said, your voice tinged with both curiosity and vulnerability.

Ellie nodded, her expression more thoughtful than usual. "Yeah, I guess we have."

You hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like if we weren't rivals. If we could actually get along."

Ellie’s gaze held yours, her eyes searching for something. "It's not that simple, y/n. We've got history."

You nodded, understanding the truth in Ellie’s words. "I know. But maybe we could start over. Put the rivalry behind us."

Ellie’s guard seemed to momentarily waver, revealing a glimpse of uncertainty. "And why would we do that?"

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding as you voiced what had been lingering in your mind. "Because I think there's more to you than the tough exterior you show the world, Ellie. And I think we could actually be friends."

Ellie’s expression was that of surprise. For a moment, you held your breath, unsure of how Ellie would respond.

"You've got a lot of nerve, y/l/n," Ellie finally said, her tone defensive.

You met Ellie’s gaze. "Yeah, well, maybe that's what it takes to break down walls."

Ellie seemed to study you for a moment before letting out a soft chuckle. "You're relentless, you know that?"

You grinned. "It's one of my best qualities."

The evening ended on a surprisingly positive note, with you and Ellie parting ways with a newfound understanding.

In the days that followed, you and Ellie’s interactions continued to evolve. You found yourselves sharing occasional moments of friendship, whether it was a congratulatory pat on the back after a tough training session or a shared joke that left you both laughing. However, the underlying tension remained, occasionally resurfacing in a sharp remark or a competitive challenge on the field.

One sunny afternoon, the team gathered for another friendly scrimmage. You and Ellie were on opposing sides, your rivalry intensifying as you fought for control of the ball. 

During a break, you approached the sidelines to catch your breath. You glanced over to where Ellie was standing, her chest heaving from the exertion. Your eyes met, and you couldn't help but offer a nod of acknowledgment. Ellie responded with a curt nod of her own, a silent acknowledgment of the mutual respect that had slowly begun to form between you.

As the scrimmage continued, your mind drifted back to your conversation at the restaurant. You wondered if Ellie had taken your words to heart, if there was a chance for you to truly move beyond the rivalry that had defined your relationship for so long.

The opportunity to explore this newfound connection presented itself one evening after practice. You found yourself alone, yet again, in the locker room, lost in thought. You were startled when the door opened, and Ellie walked in, her expression that of annoyance.

"Can't believe you managed to score that goal," Ellie muttered, her arms crossed.

You raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in your voice. "Jealous, Williams?"

Ellie rolled her eyes, but there was a playful glint in her gaze. "As if."

Your lips twitched into a smile. "You know, we could make a pretty good team if we put our differences aside."

Ellie’s response was a mixture of surprise and skepticism. "You're actually suggesting we team up?"

You shrugged. "Why not? We both know how to play to our strengths. And imagine the look on everyone's faces if we actually worked together."

Ellie seemed to consider the proposition for a moment before relenting. "Fine. But this doesn't mean we're suddenly best friends or anything."

You grinned. "Of course not. Just allies on the field."

Over the following weeks, you and Ellie’s partnership began to take shape. You pushed each other to excel, your competitive spirit driving you both to new heights. The tension between you had transformed into a unique synergy, a blend of rivalry and friendship that was as unexpected as it was effective.

Off the field, your interactions continued to be marked by moments of both warmth and hostility. You found yourself enjoying Ellie’s company more than you would have thought possible, relishing the glimpses of vulnerability that occasionally surfaced beneath her tough exterior.

One evening, as the sun set over the horizon, you found yourself sitting on the bleachers of the empty stadium. You gazed out at the field, lost in thought. You were startled when Ellie appeared beside you, her gaze fixed on the same view.

"Enjoying the peace and quiet?" Ellie’s voice was unusually soft.

You smiled, a hint of nostalgia in your eyes. "Yeah, it's a nice change from the chaos of the game."

Ellie nodded in agreement. "You know, I never thought I'd say this, but... you've made training a little less unbearable."

You chuckled. "High praise coming from you, Williams."

The stadium was bathed in the soft hues of the setting sun, casting a warm and golden glow over the field. The atmosphere was tranquil, a stark contrast to the intensity of your usual rivalry. You turned your attention to Ellie, your gaze lingering on her profile. There was a vulnerability in Ellie’s expression, a crack in the armor that had always shielded her from the world.

"Who would've thought that we'd end up here?" You mused, your voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

Ellie let out a wry chuckle, her eyes never leaving the horizon. "Yeah, it's a strange twist of fate."

The air was thick with unspoken emotions, a charged silence that seemed to envelop you both. Your heart raced as you found yourself inching closer to Ellie, your body moving almost of its own accord. Your shoulders brushed against each other, sending a jolt of electricity through your veins.

"You know, I never really knew you before all of this," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ellie turned to face you, her gaze intense and searching. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes locked. In that moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of suspended time. The months of rivalry, the animosity, it all seemed to melt away, leaving behind an undeniable connection that neither of you could ignore.

Without another word, you closed the distance between the both of you, your heart pounding in your chest. You pressed your lips to Ellie’s in a hesitant, gentle kiss.

As you pulled away, a mixture of surprise and uncertainty played across Ellie’s features. Your heart raced as you searched Ellie’s eyes for any sign of regret, but what you found was a flicker of something else—something that mirrored your own feelings.

"I... I don't know what this means," You admitted, your voice tinged with a touch of insecurity.

Ellie’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile. "I don't either. But I guess we'll figure it out together."

Your lips twitched into a smile of their own, a sense of hope blossoming within you. "Yeah, I guess we will."

You sat there in the fading light, side by side on the bleachers, the weight of your shared history and newfound connection hanging in the air. The stadium that had witnessed countless fierce battles between you both now bore witness to a different kind of victory—one that transcended rivalry and embraced the possibility of something more.

#ellie tlou2 #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x y/n #dinas-a-bird #female reader #reader insert #female y/n #y/n #the last of us 2 #arsenal fc #arsenal #katie mccabe #leah williamson #wsl #arsenal women #soccer #football #angst #angst with a happy ending #angst with a hopeful ending

[jaylver]

SILVER SPRINGS — P.JS

synopsis: falling in love and starting a band with a man who you swore to be your soulmate was your first mistake. after your break up, you wrote a song about him, not knowing performing it with him would soon haunt him for a long time.

pairings: guitarist!jay x singer afab!reader

genre: lovers to exes, broken relationship, break up, band au

warning(s): angst, profanities

wc: 1480

a/n: yes this is another jay fic ... guilty. and it's also a fic based off a song ... guilty. dedicated to any fleetwood mac fans because this is based off their song 'silver springs' and also inspired by stevie nicks and lindsey buckingham's relationship, specifically that ONE performance. hope you enjoy this one! please leave a feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

masterlist | © jaylver 2023 all rights reserved

Who said breaking up with your boyfriend who also happened to be part of your band was a great idea? Not you. 

You blamed the fame. Something in you had a feeling that blowing up and gaining attention would eventually turn sour, but you didn’t think it would affect your relationship. It got to both you and him.

Jay, your first love and the man who you started the band with, called it quits right before a show. 

He was a sweetheart, and he has always had decent manners, but to break up with you before performing was a low blow. Maybe it was an outburst that he could no longer hold in, or he just had an intrusive urge to do so, but whatever it was, it was so unprofessional and not cool.

Obviously, you turned up on stage almost ripping the guitar out of his hand and smashing it into pieces, but you didn't. Instead, your eyes were red and puffy, voice hoarse and stage presence at its all time low, just like you. The drummer of your band, Heeseung, was avoiding the tension actively, whilst Yunjin on the keyboard was casting concerned glaces. Then there was Jake, the other guitarist, glancing in worry between you and Jay.

It didn't take long before fans figured out something was wrong, and their theories were proven correct when the news got leaked out. Just great, wasn't it? Especially when you were at your peak of fame.

"Oh, don't say that she was pretty," 

It was pathetic. Arguing with Jay and breaking down crying one night when he came back to your shared apartment to get his things.

You didn't expect your sudden outburst during then. You admitted that it was you who picked an argument first, but how could you not when he brought up his recent date?

"Did she say that she loved you?" You mocked, noticing the things you've said had angered him equally.

"Fuck off, would you? We're done, alright?"

His words cut deep, unexpected and surprising. You scoffed, turning your head away from him. "I loved you years ago, but have you ever loved me?"

"Don't talk bullshit with me, Y/N. I've always loved you!"

"Then why would you talk to her while we were together?" You choked down a sob, remembering the rumours plastered over the tabloids, ones where he never denied. That was when you began not to love him, losing sparks and devotion.

Jay was silent, jaw clenching and the grip on his boxes tightened. He knew you struck bullseye and he couldn't deny it. He was aware that he's a prick, a scumbag that didn't deserve you, so he'd gladly take all the punches from you, but seeing you cry was making him weak.

“Can you tell me, was it worth it?"

The silence followed, tension filling the air around you. He shook his head, holding onto his boxes and turning around for the door. That was the end, wasn’t it? 

“I know I could’ve loved you but you wouldn’t let me,” you said softly, falling onto a chair, needing to have a seat before your feelings overwhelmed you.

Without anything more from him, the door closed, leaving you to yourself in the home you once shared with the love of your life. Now, it was an empty shell reminding you of times you had together, continuously haunting you even as you took a pen and started writing down lyrics into your notebook.

Releasing the song you wrote about Jay was probably the best and worst decision you’ve pulled.

Despite the break up, the state of your band wasn’t affected, instead you two took the professional path and kept it together for the sake of achieving each other’s dreams. It was hard and definitely awkward at the start, but you grew accustomed to everything eventually.

What you didn’t expect was the song blowing up. The fans loved it, they ate it up, taking in every part of the dramatics of your break up. Of course, the label and your bandmates didn’t mind the fame that came along with it, but you could tell Jay was bothered.

It was the night of your first performance after your break up and the song’s success. You mustered the little courage left in you, hoping you wouldn’t crumble whilst singing the song you wrote about him, or literally any song in general. Thankfully, the set list was short, and all you needed to do was sing then leave. Easier said than done. 

You heard the screams of fans, felt the flashing of lights, but all you could think of was Jay who stood to your left, setting his electric guitar up. It might've taken you a while to come to an idea of getting back at him, but it was definitely a great one. Singing the song you wrote about him while all he could do was listen, coming on stage and be reminded of you, those could be your best revenge. 

The familiar sounds of the guitar began the song slowly, you sang naturally and didn't think much about it. That's when you felt his lingering gaze on you, the same eyes that stared back at you with love once were filled with unspeakable emotions.

As the song continued on, reaching almost the end, the tension between you and him only grew. You turned to face him now, holding tightly onto the microphone stand, pouring out your vulnerability with each word, never breaking eye contact once.

"I'll follow you down 'til the sound of my voice will haunt you, give me just a chance!" you sang harder, seeing him strumming his guitar with equal strain.

"You'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you," hands reaching out to him, you felt as if you were the only ones there. "Was I such a fool?"

You were professing your love for the last time, knowing he had already moved on, you were just a fool. Anger, pure rage were genuine and raw as it continuously flowed from you. 

"You'll never get away, never get away, never get away!" 

Every word from you came out like a spell, cursing him with every ounce of you. Your lyrics were placing an eternal curse on him, one that has him never getting away from you, your voice and your pain.

Jay stared back with the same ferocity, his eyes screaming loud, gaze never leaving you for even a second.

Until the last minute of your stage, you only learnt to breathe deeply and stop your stare on your past lover, legs weak and head spiralling. Oh God, you need a whole tub of ice cream once you get home.

Being left alone in your own room backstage after closing the set, you finally had the freedom to collect your emotions and thoughts, still shaking a little. It didn't take long before you heard a knock on the door, expecting Yunjin to come and check up on you, but it wasn't.

It was Jay.

"Hey," he breathed out, seeing your seemingly beaten down state.

"Hi," you couldn't believe he was here, not when you literally sang a song about him to his face earlier.

"I–uh–just wanted to come and tell you that … it was a great performance. You did well,"

"Oh," that totally caught you off guard. "Thank you,"

The awkwardness between you and him made you cringe. It wasn't an everyday occurence to be in a band with your ex and having to see him frequently, especially when he came to compliment you.

"I hate this, Y/N. I don't want you to hate me but I understand if you do. I'm sorry, for the things I've done and said. Just … don't be a stranger,"

"I won't," you said shakily, gulping in anxiety. "I've got too much love for you, it doesn't just dissipate after years. You're always going to be someone to me,"

Jay smiled, releasing a breath of relief. "I love you too, and I wish nothing but happiness for you,"

"For the both of us."

Months passed and the success of the band only grew bigger. You and Jay were on civil terms, but nothing was the same as it was.

Jay might've slowly gotten over you and the break up, but it seemed that you kept haunting him.

Walking down the streets, he saw your face on bilboards for campaigns you've shot for. Going into stores, he heard your voice playing from the speakers. Performing on stage, you were there, under the bright lights, shining and sparkling. 

He would never get away from the sound of the woman that loved him. He would never escape you.

Time might've casted a spell on him, but he would never forget you and you would always, always haunt him.

( © jaylver all rights reserved. do NOT copy, plagiarise or edit my work and repost whatsoever. once discovered will be exposed and blacklisted. )

☆ permanent taglist (open):

@silentkarnival @strvlveera @freshsaladbowl @bejewelledgirl @fakeuwus @yenqa @hsgwrld @ilovegyuvin @enhacatalog

#enhypen imagines #enhypen fanfics #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fluff #enhypen scenarios #enhypen #enhypen soft hours #enhypen smau #enhypen x reader #enhypen reactions #enhypen drabbles #enhypen headcanons #jay scenarios #jay x reader #jay enhypen #jay imagines #enhypen jay #enhypen jay x you #enhypen jay x reader #enhypen jay imagines #enhypen jay park #park jong seong imagines #park jongseong #jay headcanons #enhypen jay drabbles #heeseung #lee heeseung #heeseung scenarios #heeseung fanfic #heeseung imagines

[longtimenospooning-luci]

Poly/OT7: I

Updated 01/14/24

Burn the Stage - @adonis-koo

When your girl group breaks up you’re desperate to prove you can make it as an idol. When you stumble across a no name company called BigHit auditioning for a new member of a boy band what do you do? The only logical solution: Cross dress and attend it anyways

A Place Called Home - @agustdakasuga

Having saved your own injured hybrid, you were determined to try and help any other hybrid that crossed your path who needed saving. But being a vet in a small hospital wasn’t enough for you. You wanted to do more, you wanted to make a difference. You wanted to give them a home.

Between the Bloodshed - ^^

Being a freelance doctor, this was just supposed to be any other job, helping a private client and taking care of them through recovery. But you were not expecting to get caught in something so much darker that would change your life entirely.

Everything Between Us - ^^ Sequel to Between the Bloodshed

They left you without a goodbye, they broke your heart. You didn’t get your happily ever after. But now they’re back and they’re searching for you to make things right. Could you take them back into your life and let them back into your heart?

How to Sell Sunshine - @alpacaparkaseok

Mafia AU, Mob Boss MC and Bangtan Crew with a twist!

The Tales of Sisters (Queendom series) - @borathae

FemDom! Royal MC in a fantasy kingdom, each member has their own story.

Damn the Charcuterie Board - @bratkook

Yoongi x Reader x Jimin in a smutty cracky fic for the best of both worlds.

Love is Blind - @cinnaminsvga

social media au where y/n posts a fake boyfriend application on twitter as a dare but ends up seeking something real in the long run (aka how to fall in love the zillennial way)

Dorm Duels - ^^

social media au where y/n posts an advertisement looking for a new place to stay that is closer to campus, causing seven upperclassmen to make it their mission to recruit her into their dormitories.

Betrayal - @daydream-hobii

Three words circled in your brain, betrayal being the most apparent. You were packing your bags, planning to leave you seven boyfriends before they got home, but when they get there early, you’re forced to witness their heartbreak, as well as prolong yours.

Sanctuary - ^^

It only had to happen once for you to gain seven new members of your family. Only once, that’s all it needed. You saved them from some predator hybrids and, since then, they were attached to your hip. You didn’t mind, you liked the company.

Peculiar Pack - @daydreamindollie

you’re a successful hybrid writer and psychologist, who takes in seven hybrids one stormy night after finding one of their pack stealing from your garden.

From Eden - @ddaenggtan

you’ve been in the dark a long time, overworked and exhausted. the only bright point is your gatekeeper, Hoseok, your closest friend and the man you love but can’t have. you’ve accepted that loneliness is inevitable for you. when a voice calls to you, though, and moves you so deeply that you rip open the earth to help them, you meet a mint-haired boy that changes everything you thought you knew about your prison.

Under the Same Sun - @floralseokjin

A stranger flips you and your boyfriend’s world upside down for one night…

No Doubt About it - @hoebii

Jerk Bangtan CEO AU for any angst lovers out there that need to feel the pain like me lmao.

Black Mamba - ^^

Snake Hybrid Reader trained as a government assassin gets adopted by CEO(?) Bangtan.

Dance to This/Call Me Yours - @hollyhomburg

Seokjin didn’t expect his new potential owner to be blind, but with the threat of being sent to a breeding clinic looming over his head, he’ll do anything. 

Hybrid House - ^^

To Seokjin, Home consists of his human partners Namjoon and Hoseok as well as their Hybrids; the pups- named Taehyung and Jimin, their black cat- called Yoongi, and their foxboy- called Jungkook. Together they have the happiest family possible, everyone loves everyone equally. So what happens when Namjoon finds you? a cat hybrid, beaten close to death left alone in an alleyway on the coldest night of the year? He takes you home, shows you his family, and together they teach you what love can be like.

Reasons Wretched and Divine - ^^ (One of my absolute favs!)

You live on an isolated but sprawling farm with your abusive husband, but things start to change for the better when your husband adopts a retired police dog hybrid named Namjoon.

Sugary Sweet - ^^

When you get drunk with your boyfriends- 3 things always happen: Jimin gets bratty. You get needy. And Yoongi gets impossibly irrevocably mushy gushy sugar cookie soft. 

Champagne & Sunshine - @jamaisjoons

a honeymoon in the Maldives, champagne, and your two newlywed husbands and mates - what more could you ask for?

Complaint - @jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue

you work for seven CEOs who have called you into their office due to a complaint.

I Want You to Stay - ^^

your bodyguards became your best friends and you couldn’t imagine your life without them.

Our Little Love - ^^

Mafia/Soft Yandere au - you were sent to do your job you didn’t expect to fall in love

Bleeding Butterflies - ^^

Vampire au - a drop of your blood was worth that of a thousand people, but they would never allow another being to have a taste

A Bed of Roses - @jimlingss

Superpowers are supposed to make you invincible, someone who could save the world, a hero. It's not supposed to be like this...

The Seven Kinds of Love - ^^

Love, an intense feeling of deep affection.

Tomorrow - @jungk0oksthighs

when Y/N gets a job at the Jeon law firm downtown, her life gets turned upside down, but is it for better, or worse? ceo!au, lawyer!au

Voracious - @jungkookiebus

 idol!Taehyung x idol!Jungkook x reader

Date Night - @justcallmenikki7

Poly Mafia AU

Regretful Choices - ^^

You get into an argument with your boyfriends, and you decide to take matters into your own hands.

Wild, Wild, Wilderness - @kimnjss

seven days in the forest spent with your seven boyfriends while they film their upcoming reality tv show. there’s no telling what the eight of you will get into when the cameras are off.

Thought you were Different - @kookiesbuckethat

Being the owner of BTS’ favourite cafe, you find yourself growing closer to the seven members without even realizing who you were talking to. What happens when you seemingly start to treat them differently after discovering their true identities?

Broken Communication - @kpopisthereasonihavenolife

Yoongi x Reader x Jungkook for some good angst with a happy ending.

Kings of Campus - @luxekook

a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity.

You Belong to Us - @minniepetals

Just do it, read all of Minnie's stories, they are fantastic and a perfect balance of angst and fluff.

Feelings of Doubt - ^^

Yours Alone - ^^

Strawberries & Cigarettes - ^^

When the rain gets Rough - ^^

Until the Last Star Falls - ^^

Caramel Macchiato - ^^

Honey Love - ^^

Nightlight - ^^

Heartbeat - ^^

Love Poem - ^^

As Long as You're Here - ^^

A Cup of Love - ^^

A Thousand Springs - ^^

When a Demon Loves - ^^

Guardians - ^^

Milk Honey - ^^

The Butterseries - ^^

Cry Me a River - ^^

#poly!bts x reader #bts x you #poly!bts #bts drabble #bts fluff #bts angst #bts x reader #bts imagines

[mikeslawyer]

mikeslawyer on ao3

don't you know the truth (that i'm so in love with you) [14,014 words]: soulmate au (will's pov)

please, tell me the truth (cause i'm so in love with you) [17,486 words]: soulmate au (mike's pov)

when we're finished saying nothing (can we please get back to us) [8,879 words]: will, post s4, finally decides to rip off the band-aid of his friendship with mike

it's not just a figure of speech (you've got me down on my knees) [2,091 words]: never have i ever ft everyone has a crush on will - mike's not happy about it

take my whole life, too (for i can't help falling in love with you) [1,641 words]: lettergate but valentine's edition

we could kiss (just like real people do) [2,789 words]: will starts flirting with mike - what could be a better solution than practice kissing?

the stars only answer our questions (not our pleas) [2,286 words]: will gets vecna'd with no music tapes around and no faith in mike's words

i'll make the moon shine (just for your view) [3,533 words]: my take on flickergate

kiss me with your mouth full of smoke (and don't let my heart burn) [2,307 words]: will, mike, two joints and the mystery of flirting

I don’t quite know what to say (but I’m here in your doorway) [5,439 words]: the mandatory will doesn’t know they’re dating fic

that’s my closest thing to closure (I can’t stop this rollercoaster) [2,261 words]: byler getting high in the celebration of 4/20

he’s gonna notice me (it’s okay, we’re the best of friends) [3,113 words]: will asks for advice how to tell the signs of someone having a crush on you - mike’s showing them all

heart on your sleeve (like you’ve never been loved) [3,180 words]: will gets shot with truth serum - mike won’t stop asking questions

I picked the petals (he loves me not) [10,098 words]: hanahaki au with vecna possessing the both of them

be that attached (to the person i’m holding) [3,474 words]: will has a fever and confesses. mike has a breakdown about it.

I keep biting my tongue just to keep you here (made you wait for someone I could never be) [2,468 words]: mike and el post break up talk s5 prediction

cursing my name, wishing I stayed (look at how my tears ricochet) [chapter 2/7, ongoing]: will is tormented by vecna - not by nightmares, but by his hidden dreams, taunting will with the vision where mike loves him back - while mike just wants to get his best friend back before he slips right through his fingers

never thought I’d let a rumour ruin my moonlight (well, somebody told me you had a boyfriend) [2,293 words]: will has a crush, whose description sounds a lot like mike. mike does not connect the dots.

#byler week 2023 #byler week #ao3 link #ao3 fanfic #ao3 author #ao3 writer #ao3 byler #byler #byler is canon #byler fic #byler tumblr #byler is real #mike x will #will x mike #mike wheeler #will byers has powers #flickergate #will byers #happy byler week #byler endgame #byler fanfic #byler fanfiction #byler s5 #byler speculation #lettergate #soulmates #byler getting high #will byers has a gun #let will byers say fuck #will byers gets vecnad

[queers-gambit]

Gone with the Sin

prompt: he loves another, and your fate is sealed.

pairing: Eddie Munson x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

word count: 8.9k

note: Eddie's 19, readers 18+, Chrissy's 17-18 years old. also, 400 points to your Hogwarts House if you can tell me the band that sings the title song without cheating. AGAIN - not responsible for your therapy bills! additionally, there is an intensional shift at the end, where i got from "you" to "her". i hope it makes more sense when you read it.

warnings: Hanahaki Disease AU, cursing, character death, angst - again, ANGST!!! this gets gritty and dark and detailed, people - proceed with caution and maturity. NO SHAME in skipping this if you cannot handle it!! AGAIN - character death!! this gets sad. ✅ no spoilers

other Eddie Munson Hanahaki Disease AU fics: Cherry Blossom Colored Kisses Tears in the Rain

Spring has sprung in Hawkins, Indiana, and with the approaching warm weather came the thunderstorms. It felt appropriate that the harsh winds and piercing bullets of rain ruined all of Mother Nature's hard work; storm in your heart mimicking the storm outside. It ripped fresh leaves from trees, pretty petals from newly sprouted stems, and sent animals to seek shelter; for unattended trash cans to blow over and children to be rushed inside.

You stood on your front porch, glancing up and down the barren street to find it empty. Your fingers worked together in nervous knots as something sick crept up your throat; winds whipping away the sounds of your struggling breath, and spraying the blood that was coughed out pathetically.

Tears ruined mascara down your cheeks, blood dribbling down your chin, and still, no headlights flashed onto your street. Never had you felt so terrible or sick, never had you felt so stupid; turning for your front door and staggering into your home only to let your eyes scan across the clock hanging in the foyer.

8:50 pm

He promised to pick you up at 6:30, and now you knew, he wasn't coming due to simple, excused forgetfulness. He just wasn't coming. Your hands shot out to catch your body when your coughing became gut-wrenching, doubling over as your lungs tried in vain to pull air in while expelling whatever clogged them upon exhale. No such luck, and black dots started to dance in your vision; the storm masking the sounds of your body falling into your mother's end table; sending picture frames, a book, and lamp shattering to the floor.

Broken bits of glass represented the state of your being and the ends of your floor-length dress scattered the shards as high-heeled feet tried to stumble towards the staircase.

If you could get upstairs, you'd be fine...

But energy was harder to come by, rational thought swept away with the raging storm, and oxygen was no longer available to you - forcing your legs to give up at the base of the staircase and careen your bare skin into the glass shards. You didn't register the pain because the worst of it was concentrated in your chest and heart, hands reaching out to drag your body up the first three steps.

Before you could pull yourself up to the fourth, your ears rang with a piercing whine and your eye lids fluttered heavily as lead weighed your limbs down. Your manicured hand reached up in the hope of grasping anything, never finding purchase, and thumping limply down with your cheek pressed to the carpet. Blood splatter painted the floor beside you before drooling in a puddle from your opened mouth.

You swear you saw his face in that moment, but your mind wasn't trustworthy - larger, darker spots clouding any sight.

• 4 WEEKS EARLIER •

"So, is Johnny Boy flying in for prom?" you asked Nancy, forking a bit of homemade chicken salad to your mouth. The cafeteria was loud with the usual bustle of kids, most of the seniors clamoring to talk prom details; the dance only weeks away.

Nancy Wheeler, probably your oldest standing friend, blushed under the make-up she'd already applied, "Yes. He's renting a tux and everything."

Robin chuckled with you, asking, "He's renting a tux?"

"He doesn't exactly own one," she defended her California-dwelling boyfriend. "And I'm just relieved he's actually coming that I don't care what he wears."

"Well, it's a big deal... I guess," Robin rolled her eyes to you.

"He buy a plane ticket yet?" You asked the girl across the table instead.

"He bought one last night," she blushed harder, still feeling like a giddy school girl with a silly crush at the thought of her boyfriend. However, you wondered if it was just because she was excited to get laid but hey! If she was happy, who cares! You and Robin both cooed obnoxiously, poking fun at the Wheeler girl as she became flustered and waved us off. But she couldn't dodge the half-eaten baby carrot Robin shot at her, scolding, "You're both children!"

Your shoulders shrugged dramatically, "We're fun."

"Unhinged, is more like it."

You and Robin shared a look before nodding dramatically. You assured Nancy with another shrug, "We can live with that."

She scoffed, "Whatever. Well, look, what about you two?"

"What about us?" Robin asked, glancing at you in feigned confusion.

"Who are you guys going with?"

"To what?" You asked dumbly.

She glared, "Prom! God! You're both so annoying, you know that, right?"

You couldn't fight off the taunting chuckle, "We're messing with you, Nance. We know what you're talking about, but we're not going."

"You're not?" Nancy squeaked.

"Nah, it's not - "

"I'm going."

"You are!?" You gasped at the girl beside you. "You're flaking on me? On the night we're supposed to finally watch Scarface? You traitor..."

"Well," she flushed slightly, "I just... I-I brought it up - you know, the whole prom thing - to Vickie, and she was receptive to all of it, and-and-and next thing I know, right, because she's, like, looking at me with these beautiful wide eyes that I just end up blurting it all out, and we know me, I'm not exactly quiet, or subtle, and I-I might've, like, spit on her face a little because I was so nervous and my mouth was sweating because I was doing that thing that I do when I ramble, but it was okay because she, like, totally laughed, and then, BOOM!" Her hands clapped together, "She nodded and, like, then she-she-she's saying yes!" Robin yelped, eyes wide to look between us. "To prom! With me!"

"She said yes?" You grinned, feeling genuine elation for your friend.

"She said yes - to me!"

"Well, that's not hard to believe, sweet cheeks, I mean, who could say no to that faaaaace?" Your hand reached out to pinch her cheeks, puckering her lips; making her swat away at you with a small giggle.

"Yeah, seriously, Robin," Nancy smiled, sending you a look; mother hen letting her eyes tell you to settle down. "That's really great news! We're so happy for you - that's so amazing. You guys are gonna have so much fun!" Her eyes shifted to you, and her voice dimmed, "And since Robin's going with Vickie, maybe Steve could take you?"

Your eyes rolled, "Oof, babe, pawning me off on Harrington as a pity date? No thank you - I'll happily stay home, order in, watch my movies. My parents are supposed to be gone the week of prom, so, I'll have the house to myself to smoke."

"Well, that doesn't sound totally sad."

"Bitch, you were literally going to do the same with me until you accidentally asked Vickie out to the prom."

Robin shrugged, "Yeah, but now I'm going and you're gonna be all alone? While the rest of us are partying? C'mon, that's no fun. You don't even need a date, who cares about all that - why don't we all just, like, go together, or something? Right? People do that, go in groups? I-I mean, not that it matters if it's a thing to do or not, 'cause who cares - okay - so, let's just do it, you know?"

"I'm flattered, really," you pouted at the two girls. "I mean, it's not everyday I'm offered to third wheel on two different dates at the same time. It's an honor to just be nominated, really."

Nancy rolled her eyes and tossed the half-eaten carrot at you.

However, that wasn't the last time prom was brought up that day. Usually you did all you could to avoid the "sappy, teenage stupid shit" but it followed you around the halls, into the lunch room, bathrooms, to your locker, and inside the classrooms.

And the one person you never expected to, asked you, "You goin' to prom?"

Your head lulled to glare over at your best friend since 6th grade, Edward 'the Freak' Munson. "Oh, my God. C'mon, not you too." Your eyes glared at the ceiling, hands pointing dramatically, "Gimme a break, man!"

"What?" he shrugged innocently. "Can't I ask a simple question? Jeez, didn't know you were so touchy, babe."

"You seriously want to talk about prom? You? Who literally made himself throw up but pretending to throw up so hard when I started talking about the Snow Ball when we were in 8th grade?" Your eyes rolled, neck cracked, and you slumped further into your chair.

Class was about to begin, students filtering in to take their seats.

"Well, yeah, you see, typically when someone asks a question, they want an answer, so, sure," he chuckled, mimicking your position and making you smile lightly, "let's talk about prom, princess. So? You going?"

"Nope."

"Why not? Thought all girls dreamed of going to prom and all that frilly shit."

"Not I, Mr. Munson. Haven't you learned by now?"

He mocked, "I know, I know, you're not like other girls."

"Exactly, so, no, I don't care about prom. Spend money on a hair style that'll hold for only 3 hours if I'm lucky, get my nails done before I pick them off from how annoying they are - and then what? Spend over $100 on a dress I'll only wear for a single night? I promise, there's better things to spend my money on." He nodded slowly, you changing the subject, "Speaking of spending money on better things, are you carrying?"

"When aren't I, princess?" he snorted lightly.

The last class of the day passed slowly for you two, but before long (and to your pleasure), you were free to rush out of the room with the sounds of the last bell; stop at both your lockers, load up your bags that Eddie hoisted up his shoulder, and make a beeline for Eddie's van. Tuesdays were only for you and Eddie since you had other obligations on other weekdays, and he had Hellfire on Friday's; so, you both were quick to get in the front seats.

"All right," he cleared his throat, pulling out the black, buckled pail he used for drug deals and flipped the lid, "how can I serve you this time, pretty girl?"

"An ounce, please."

He shot you a cautious look before chuckling dryly, "Celebrating something?"

You slapped the agreed upon cash to his hand and snatched the baggie of green from him, "Possibly."

"Wanna tell me?"

"Wanna celebrate with me?"

"Only if you answer a question for me."

"Depends on the question, but... Proceed with caution and ask me."

"Go to prom with me?"

You glared, jaw clenching, "No."

"What?" he whined, "C'mon, why not?"

Because I've been uselessly and helplessly in love with you since we were kids and I don't want your pity date, you thought sadly.

"Because it's literally stupid and a waste of time, energy, and money. Besides, I thought you didn't want to go - you've never gone before. What happened to all that bullshit about it being a 'conforming brainwash to distract us from the manipulative realities of life after graduation'?"

"Okay, yes, fine, sure, okay, whatever, you got it - I said that," he sighed, rolling his eyes lightly. "But I also might've already bought two tickets, and they're nonrefundable..."

Confusion swirled in your mind, pinning him with a softer look, "Why would you buy two tickets?"

Because I wanted Chrissy Cunningham to say yes and figured she would if I showed her the two tickets - for me and her. Show her I was serious about this, about us, Eddie thought to himself.

Instead of voicing the truth, he lied, "Well, one for you, and one for me, pretty girl, see, that's how two tickets are usually split between two people. Maybe - it's possible - I could've wanted to spend the last night of high school with my best friend. C'mon, please?" He pouted lightly. "Bet we both clean up real nice."

You felt suspicious, "Why would you...?"

"C'mon, doll, don't we both deserve a bit of a break?" he smiled lightly. "Just you, me, a few joints, and really bad music. We can hang for 10 minutes and leave if it's really as bad as we thought. Hmm? Is that an okay deal?"

"If I say yes, will you shut up and drive us home already?"

He grinned, "Yep."

"Fine."

"Fine what, pretty girl?"

You glared, huffing through your nose before relenting, "All right - fine, Eddie. Fine, I will..." Your eyes rolled, "I'll go to prom with you."

Eddie grinned and leaned over, letting his arm hook around your neck and yank you closer to press his lips to your cheek in rapid kisses. You whined lightly and pushed him back, trying to fight down the warmth spreading in your chest from his actions.

Nobody knew you like he did, making you feel safe and vulnerable with only him. High school was a weird time for you and you didn't really get many dates, maybe being in part why you and Eddie were so close. Time spent together meant a lot of walls were dismantled brick by brick and it was hard not to fall in love with someone like him; with his soft hands, kind words, charismatic attitude...

Sure, the drug dealing was a bit... Less than ideal, but still! Eddie was Eddie and you've loved him for what felt like eternity.

You returned home on cloud nine and while it made your heart sing with glory over being asked to the senior prom with your long-time-crush-slash-best-friend, for the strangest reason, that night, you started coughing. It was a wet, rattling cough that made you think you had a flu, a cough growing in intensity that made you double at the waist and stumble towards your bathroom. You coughed more as you filled a plastic cup with tap water, choking as you tried to clear your throat by gulping down whatever was stuck. It worked for a few moments, cup drained as you lowered it before the violent attack began again.

This time, it drove you to your knees; hacking until you spit something from your tongue. Amongst the foam of your saliva, were bits of torn-up peach-pink petals. Your eyes glared at the odd sight before you figured it was too late to go to a doctor - how the hell would I even explain this one? At least last time, it all made sense what was wrong and how the doctors were gonna fix everything.

You rationalized it in your head that you would "go to the Emergency Room" if this persisted, which was an outright LIE because you had this developmental phobia of hospitals. It wasn't something you liked to discuss but long story short, when you were younger, you had a near-fatal medical emergency that resulted in a 6-part surgery, 109-day hospital stay - curating your fear.

Every appointment thereafter only solidified this fear. And your parents understood the trauma you experienced, never pushing you into anymore appointments because you agreed to a yearly examine that would confirm you were still out of danger.

So, when the next week rolled around and you were huffing fucking flower petals from your mouth and lungs, you kept your mouth shut... Unless to pick petals out - then, obviously, your mouth was open. However, that whole week, you felt... Run down. Disconnected. Confused. Scared. And pretty pissed off - the coughing was toe-curling painful and you weren't a fan of it interrupting your day.

Nancy and Robin noticed, and the Wheeler girl brought you cough-drops to suck on.

And that whole week, Eddie was distracted. He caught himself staring off in the cafeteria, eyes glued on Chrissy Cunningham's figure. You'd noticed the heart eyes he made and rolled your own, nudging him, "C'mon, man, knock it off and quit staring before Jason kicks your ass again."

He scoffs and crosses his arms, "I'm not staring."

"Oh, yeah? And I'm the Queen of Sheba," you retorted. "I could get you a pair of binoculars if that makes it easier," you teased, ignoring the way your heart now thumped with unease. Discomfort... Pain. "Maybe you can even crawl up the tree in her yard, watch her in her bedroom. Fucking creeper, stop staring at her, Jesus Christ!"

Eddie's then laughing at you, "You're literally an idiot."

"And you're staring at a girl who's boyfriend looks for reasons to pick on you," you retaliated with an unimpressed stare. "C'mon, Eddie, be practical."

"Be practical?"

"She's with Jason - has been since, what? Freshman year?" You sighed, arms crossing in the hope of relieving the pressure in your chest but found it was only getting harder to breath. "Staring at her is gonna get your shit rocked, and I'm not cleaning you up again."

"You're right," he sighed, shaking his head as his arms slowly crossed over your chest. "Hey, uh... Did you want to match at prom?"

"Match?" you repeated, laughing after you realized it was his poor attempt at changing the subject. "Wh-What? Like wear the same color and all that goofy shit?"

"Well, yeah, that goofy shit, c'mon, we gotta do it up all the way, baby," he smiled at you. "C'mon, you look so beautiful in red."

"Oh, I look good in it? Has nothing to do with the fact it's your favorite color?"

He grinned now, "Nothing at all."

You sighed and leaned back in your chair, admitting, "I'm going dress shopping with Nance and Robin this weekend."

"You are? Look at you!" He cooed, "Being all girly and shit! I'm proud of you!"

"Don't push me, there's still plenty of time for me to back out of this date," you warned, trying not to let your heart drop too low when his smile lessened upon hearing the word 'date'.

That weekend, you did go dress shopping but you didn't buy that pretty red number - you chose this pale silvery color that made your skin nearly twinkle. Robin had gushed over how good you looked, and Nancy refused to let you leave the store without it. You three went to a few other stores and you decided on a pair of shining red heels; Nancy buying a pretty lilac dress with silver heels, and Robin chose a sultry blue color, with white heels.

2 weeks before prom, you were starting to feel the pressure but not like everyone else as your peers ran around like headless chickens. All around school, girls complained about needing to "lose weight" or "buy a whole new dress" because "the original color was atrocious" or even how their boyfriends "made a reservation at Antonio's - as if I'd ever eat there!"

Boys complained, "I have to rent a tux in this God-awful blue color," or the ever present, "what the fuck is a corsage?" and the occasional, "what's wrong with Antonio's - they've got the best burgers, man!"

You listened mutely, worrying something was wrong with you because you didn't feel that overwhelming panic they did. Instead, your breathing got worse and your skin started to dull as life was virtually sucked out of you, prom seeming so fucking stupid - and yet, it was keeping you going. You hated to admit it, but your feelings for Eddie were finally coming to a head and you were debating if this "date" meant something more, or if it was just your stupid girly heart wanting something impractical.

That was the week your symptoms changed; the same week Eddie was seen speaking in low voices to Chrissy Cunningham at her locker when everyone else was in class. When nobody else was in the hall to see their close proximity, to see their whispers and longing looks.

Nobody else in the hall except you - but you were on a mission.

You didn't say anything to them because you were rushing to the bathroom, skidding to your knees on the dirty floors in front of a toilet as blood was being heaved out of your mouth. "No! God, no, please, God, holy shit!" You gargled through pain, spitting, retching, and sobbing as you were being shredded from the inside.

But God didn't have business in the girl's dirty bathroom of Hawkins High School, and apparently, he didn't have business with you.

Inside the toilet bowl were short sticks of floral blooms and leafy greens, but no matter how hard you looked, you couldn't identify the flower floating at the top. As disgusting as it was, you reached in and fished the bloody plants from the water, turned to the sinks, and rinsed them off; lifting your gaze slowly and hating the reflection that stared back at you.

Deep, bruising bags lined in rings around your eyes; iris' dull; skin tired and dry to the touch; hair brittle and lacking any health or shine. Your fingers were bonier, collarbones sticking out from under your shirt, and you began to wonder when the last time you could stomach a full meal was. You looked like a ghost, a stranger in the reflection; someone who looked like they'd sell their left kidney for a guaranteed hour-long nap.

Shaking your head and adverting your eyes, the flowers were rinsed of blood clots but it didn't do anything to answer your questions as the only identifying factor was the four-petal pinwheel. You jumped in fright when the door opened, turning wide, fearful eyes to look at Chrissy slowing her stride. She blinked a few times before worry etched across her face, "Oh, my God. A-Are you okay?"

"What?"

She pointed to her lips, "You're bleeding."

Your eyes cut back to the mirror and widened to see the blood smears, reaching for a few paper towels to hastily wipe at your face. Your nose sniffled sharply, "Yeah, Chris, all good, thanks."

"You don't look good," her brows were crinkled and eyes wide with worry. "Do you need the nurse? Or, um... I don't know, someone to talk to?"

"What I need, you can't give me," you whispered, shaking your head before using a dry paper towel to wrap up the small brown stick. "Excuse me," you rushed, pushing past her and running down the hall, shoving out of the school doors, and bolting for your car.

In your driver's seat, you opened the paper towel and got a look at the meat caught between thick thorns that didn't wash off down the drain, and fought off an anxiety attack.

Every day that week, you went to different plant nurseries, botanical shops, hardware stores - anywhere you thought someone could identify the flowers you were coughing out. You knew now you couldn't go to a hospital, it was futile; but the stems were morphing and it was becoming increasingly painful. Plus, if you were coughing out flowers, why wouldn't you go to someone who knew plants?

Well, the only thing you were able to do was identify the flower. Something called The Crown of Thorns - a durable, drought-tolerant flower with a range of colors, but all with a range of thorns in size and consistency.

However, on that Friday, luck turned around and you had hopped a few towns over to check out an old botanical shop. The wooden shop was lathered in books and plants, the smell of leather circulating around you as your eyes took in the antique decor. You prayed this was the shop to be in for something as strange as puking flowers - and you were right. The aging shopkeep listened to your hushed words, explaining your symptoms, before frowning deeply and turning silently to a bookshelf. She reached up and pulled a little blue book down before opening the passage, sticking a bookmark in, and handing it to you.

The old woman wished you luck and pushed you out of her door, never once accepting the money you tried to hand her. You laid in bed for the weekend, reading the entire book front to back; drops of blood saturating the thin, old yellowed pages.

The waste bin at home was soon stuffed to the brim with broken stems, loose petals, and bloody tissues. Your mother didn't notice the change in you because she was so focused on her up-coming business trip, your father choosing to go with her as a make-shift vacation to Chicago. In fact, you barely saw them in that week, leading you to seek solitude with a backpack full of magazines Nancy had shoved into your arms earlier.

She told you to have a hair and glam look picked out by prom because you, Robin, and she were going to get ready together. You tried to save blood from dripping onto the pages but the nose bleeds snuck up on you; discoloring the glossy images under your fingers. Tears often blurred the images as you could do nothing but cry through the harrowing pain, not knowing that Jason Carver was screaming at Chrissy Cunningham... And the cheerleader was calling Eddie Munson, in tears, asking him to talk.

You didn't know he agreed easily and was sneaking over to her house, being extra quiet because of her mother as he came in through her window; while you bruised your knees from the force you hit them when thicker blooms were being regurgitated through globs of thick blood clots. Shredded bits of your throat still stuck in the thorns.

The week of prom, you had resorted to taking liquid Benadryl just to sleep. It was doing enough of the trick, and you were sleeping 3-4 hours a night; but you woke up each morning, on your side, a large puddle of blood staining your bed sheets. But hey, at least it was PROM WEEK!

Right?

Banners lined the school.

Energy of the student body was higher than ever before, gossip echoing down the hall and in your ears.

Yet, you were just tired. Being in a constant state of pain took every ounce of energy you had and the Benadryl could only help so much before your coughs woke you, forcing you to hack out flowers. Your eyes burned with exhaustion, Eddie seemingly taking slight pity and letting your head rest on his shoulder during classes you shared. He even did your classwork, the sweetheart.

When you woke to the last bell dismissing everyone for the weekend, you were sluggishly lifting off of Eddie to pack away your backpack. "Hey," the boy beside you spoke quietly, "you feeling okay?"

"Yeah."

"Don't lie to me, you look exhausted."

"Great observation, Eds," you muttered. "I'm just not sleeping well."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Now, hey, um, I'm gonna get a ride home with Nancy, okay? We're getting our nails done."

Eddie's lips stretched in a bright grin as we stood from our desks and his hands took my backpack wordlessly to hike up his shoulder. "You're gonna get your nails done?"

"Um... Y-Yeah?"

"That's really cool, doll," he assured, nudging your arm gently. "Do you need money? I can give you some - "

"No, God no," you refused, shaking your head rapidly. "Um, yeah, you know, I asked Daddy and he gave me enough to treat Nancy too, so, I'm good."

He chuckled, "The pros of being a Daddy's Girl, huh?"

"Watch your mouth, Munson," you warned.

His hands rose, "All right, hey, I'm kidding, it's a good thing. Well, if I'm not driving you home, guess I'll just... See you tomorrow?"

You gulped as you approached your locker, rocking on your toes as you dialed your combo. "Right, yeah, sure... I'll uh... I don't know," you breathed, shaking your head slightly. "Nancy and Robin want to get ready together."

"Cool," he smiled, "I'll pick you up at Wheeler's, okay? 6:30 sound cool?"

"Yeah, totally cool," you nodded.

Eddie smiled and leaned in, one hand holding your cheek as his lips kissed your other. "Perfect," he breathed against your skin, pulling back to smile at you. "Just remember, it's only me, okay? We're gonna have a good time - no need to be nervous - 'cause we're gonna be together. Right?"

"Right," you nodded in agreement, his hand falling away as he straightened up. You looked to your feet, and Eddie's eyes jutted up to catch Chrissy as her locker - watching the two of you intently. When she caught Eddie's gaze, the cheerleader blushed and turned away. "So, I'll just - yeah, okay. See you tomorrow."

"I'll be the one in red," he joked, handing over your schoolbag. "Bye, pretty girl."

After you stuffed everything you didn't need in your locker, you pulled out whatever you did need, slammed it shut, and rushed for the front of the school. "Hey," Robin beamed when she saw you, linking arms instantly. "Nancy's at her car."

"Great..."

"C'mon, lighten up!" Robin jostled your arm but frowned when she looked at you. "Dude, your nose."

Your hand shot into your pocket and pulled out a trusted tissue, using it to mop up the red liquid, "Sorry, yeah, just... I don't know, dry air or something."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, sure, all good. Um, hey, have you ever gotten your nails done?"

"Me? No - couldn't afford it."

"Well, Daddy gave me money, so... I could pay?"

"You'd do that?" Robin breathed.

"Of course," you assured. "C'mon, you know he gave me more than I need, and Nance already worked this into her budget. Please? I don't wanna be the only one sitting there like 'what the fuck is happening?'"

Robin laughed, "All right, fine, good point. All right, cool, you can totally treat me and spend your money on me."

"Good," you perked a brow with a smirk.

The rest of the afternoon was spent at the nail salon. It was a fucking experience - a weird fucking experience because you didn't like hospitals, or people touching your feet. Nancy assured you that it was okay, this was part of the process; holding your hand when you flinched and made the nail tech glare up at you.

Your toes were painted a bright cherry red, matching the red French tip you got on your fingernails. Nancy chose a classic French tip on both hands and feet, and Robin got classic, sleek, shining blue that matched her dress color perfectly. You had to admit, once you got over the whole 'someone touching your feet' thing, it was nice to feel pampered... It was nice to feel like a "real" girl.

You rejected Nancy's proposal of a sleepover because you couldn't handle explaining to her or Robin why there was a puddle of blood under your mouth. Why you were hacking violently at 2 am. Why your breathing became wet and ragged, why you needed to take a shot of Benadryl before bed.

The next day, all hell broke loose because you were 20 minutes late to Nancy's house, and she almost instantly pushed you into a shower when you made it there. You three ladies got a real groove on where Nancy did all of your make-up, Robin did hair, and you - well, you were just there for the thrill because this was 100% out of your realm of comfort.

And when 6 pm came around, you three were shimmying into your dresses; tying each other in; lacing heels on, and fixing any out-of-place strands of hair. Jewelry was latched, perfume sprayed, and last minute details worried over. You packed your clutch purses with whatever necessities you needed (yours literally nothing but tissues) before being declared ready.

All the parents took a plethora of photos, your parents having begged the Wheelers to take extras for them to have a copy. It was mildly embarrassing to take photos alone, but you knew Eddie was just running late because he was never on time. Right? That's all this was, Eddie lost track of time and he was gonna be here any minute.

"Um, hey," Jonathan checked his watch, "dance starts soon, we should head out."

Nancy turned her worried gaze to you - who instantly lifted your arms to wave her off, "All good, I'll wait for Eddie at my house. The idiot probably got high and lost track of time, or something."

"Are you sure?" she worried. "Just come with us - he can meet you there."

"No, it's cool, my house is on the way to the school," you again, waved her off. "I'm really sure, I forgot the necklace I wanted to wear at home anyways," you tried to laugh off, but the truth was, your chest was caving in. After some mild convincing from Robin and Nancy, you stuck to your guns that you could wait at home, and as your friends got in their rides, you asked Mrs. Wheeler that if a long-haired, van-driving metalhead showed up to tell him you were at your house.

She nodded and handed you the Polaroids for your parents, leaving you to pack up in your own car and make the short drive to your house as dark storm clouds were rolling into town. When 7:30 struck, so did the first crack of thunder.

And unknown to you, who waited uselessly on your front porch, Eddie was getting read to head out his door - with every intention of being on time - when suddenly, as he ripped it open, Chrissy Cunningham was revealed on the other side. Her fist was raised as if to knock, gasping and jumping nervously when Eddie opened the door. "Chrissy," he breathed in shock, eyes wide. "Um... W-What're you doing here?"

As you waited, Chrissy explained she and Jason had the biggest fight they've ever had - cursing, screaming, and the blonde boy storming away with both prom tickets in his suit pocket. You waited, and Chrissy told Eddie she felt safe with him, needed the comfort, and had changed her mind about going to prom with Eddie, and as she confessed her long-harbored feelings for the Dungeon Master, you wiped blood from your mouth as you waited.

He ended up inviting her inside in home, both sitting on his couch with his hands in hers as he listened - something Jason never did to her. He complimented her, finding her red dress outstandingly beautiful on her pale skin; finding the blush on her cheeks something he wanted to see more of. He became tongue-tied and confused when she admitted she had a fight with Jason because of him - because Jason accused her of having a "thing for the Freak!"

And they broke up because Jason was right, and Chrissy told him that. She broke up with Jason because she loved Eddie and wasn't afraid of her feelings anymore; rushing to his house in a long red dress before prom because she needed him to know.

Chrissy loves me, he thought impossibly; staring at the cheerleader with shock and awe because this was all he's ever wanted. And Eddie didn't often think he deserved the things he wanted.

Nothing else was on his mind except the pretty strawberry blonde, lifting his hand to gently caress her cheek as any rational thought evaporated when her lips parted to push a breath over his chin. When Eddie leaned in to kiss Chrissy for the first time, nothing else mattered because he had all he ever could've wanted right here, right now.

They showed up to prom at 8 pm; both wearing bright, gleaming smiles as their outfits were matched perfectly. He had given her a corsage, and she pinned a boutonnière to his rented tux jacket; hands laced together tightly as they arrived at the Hawkins High gym and warranted all of the attention.

Everyone stared because the sight of head cheerleader, Chrissy Cunningham, showing up at prom looking like a fucking princess with Eddie Munson - the Freak, who, admittedly, cleaned up very nice.

The prom was enchanting with fake billowing arrangements of loose vines, flowers, and candles. The lights were dimmed, and the music already off to a rocky start by Eddie's standards. However, the snack table was in full-swing, the punch bowl already spiked, and Eddie couldn't want anything more as he let his hands wrap around Chrissy's waist.

They swayed to a slow song, enraptured with one another.

He lost himself in the music; in the smell of her perfume and feel of her body pressed against his. She let him kiss her, muttered she loved him, then pushed her hand into his hair to gently twist strands around her fingers.

Eddie was in bliss.

He was so fucking happy.

Nothing could ruin this for him.

Until, "What the fuck are you doing, Munson!?"

He jumped and turned, seeing an enraged Robin Buckley glaring at him. "Robin?" he questioned dumbly, seeing Nancy Wheeler charging up to them. "Oh, um, hi Nancy - "

"What the fuck are you doing here!?" Robin demanded, eyes ablaze.

"Dancing...?" He looked nervously around, keeping an arm around Chrissy.

"We can see that - but why're you dancing with Chrissy?" Nancy snapped.

"What am I missing right now?" Eddie asked desperately, hating the way they looked at him now.

Robin snapped your name, and all color drained from Eddie's face. "She's waiting on you, you fucking dickhead!" Robin raged, Vickie stepping in to pull her date's arms back a little.

"She got all excited," Nancy sneered. "She didn't want to come to this, she was content to be alone and do her own thing. We were gonna convince her to come with us - but then you asked her. So why're you here? Huh? Why're you here with Chrissy when she's waiting on you?"

"She bought a dress, new heels, new make-up! Got her nails done, got dolled up, looks so fucking pretty! And for what!? For you to, what, Eddie?"

"I-I," his bottom lip trembled as tears filled his eyes, "oh, my God, I forgot. I forgot her."

"No shit!" Robin, Vickie, Jonathan, and Nancy all snapped; making Chrissy jump a little into Eddie's embrace.

"You've gotta go, man!" Jonathan encoruaged.

"And pray she forgives you!" Robin sneered. "'Cause I sure as hell wouldn't! What happened? Huh?" Eddie shook his head, sniffling. "Jesus Christ, you're pathetic - what happened, Chrissy shows you a little attention and you forget about the one girl who's only ever loved you unconditionally?"

"GO!" the teenagers raged in sync again.

"I'm sorry," He looked down to Chrissy, pulling away, "I-I have to go."

"Of course, go, go," she nodded, giving him a little push as Eddie turned and sprinted out of the gym.

He sprinted into the rain, away from the school.

Down streets.

Through puddles.

Around honking cars.

All the way to your house, finding only your car in the driveway and lights on in your house. Panic swelled when he caught sight of the opened front door, sprinting up the driveway; taking the porch stairs two at a time, and as he burst over the threshold, came to a skidding halt.

A blood curdling scream fell on deaf ears as Eddie registered the sight before him - begging your name like a desperate prayer and dropping to his knees beside you. He sobbed harder than ever before, pulling you into his lap as blood was smeared up and down your nose, cheeks, and chin; mingling with the rain water that dripped off him, and onto you.

"No, no, no, no! C'mon, pretty girl, c'mon, open your eyes, please, please," he whispered, caressing your cheek and seeing your eyes flutter. "That's it, baby, c'mon, come back to me. Please, wake up, I'm right here, I'm here, I've got you... I'm so sorry. Oh, my God, what's happening, baby, please, what's wrong? What's going on?" he sobbed, cradling you against his chest and watching as your arm weakly rose to point behind him. "What? What is it?" He sniffled, looking back to the floor and seeing the littering of glass, broken lamp, and then... An old, bloody blue book.

"T-The book?" he asked you, seeing the faintest nod as your hand shook and gave up in strength. "No, no, no, no, hey, hey! No, baby, you've gotta stay with me, please," he sobbed, shaking you again as he tried to pull you in closer. "Just stay strong for a little while longer, oh, fuck - I'm so sorry! Please, don't give up, okay? I'm right here, please, I'm right here, I have you, please, baby, I-I don't understand what's wrong. Please, sweetheart, just tell me what's wrong! Don't leave me, please, I-I can't do this - I can't do this without you! NO! GOD - YOU CAN'T TAKE HER YET!" He screamed bloody murder over the sounds of the raging storm, watching your eyes flutter back into your skull and any energy in your body completely deflated.

"Y-You were - you pointed at the book, baby, why? Please! Why the book, please, stay with me, okay? Why the book? You're - shit, it's okay, you're gonna be okay, but you have to stay with me, please, please! Just tell me about the book, baby, please! Talk to me - please! Fuck!" He sniffled, trying to wake you but from the way your eyes remained unseeing, he knew you weren't with him anymore; the way your mouth was gently parted but not passing air, he knew you were gone. "Please, God, no," Eddie whimpered, a hand raising to pet his fingers down her soft cheek.

Eddie screamed until his throat went raw; never knowing that the inside of her throat still dripped blood into her stomach. Tears soaked down his cheeks, rocking her with him as snot bubbled at his nostrils, but he could only beg, "COME BACK! NO! I'M SORRY - COME BACK! Please! Please," his voice cracked, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, baby. I didn't mean - I'm so sorry. No, no, no, please, just - just come back! I'm sorry! Come back to me," his hand caressed her cheek, "please."

Nothing made sense and his head throbbed; looking around desperately as his mind couldn't fathom what he'd discovered - but his eyes could only scan over that fucking book she spent her last moments of life pointing at. Her skin was cooling, and there was no pulse at the point of her neck; Eddie's calloused hands shaking as he tried to still wake her up.

Then, he caught sight of something in her mouth, behind the ruby-red painted lips. As terrible and disgusting as it was, he gently pulled her stiff jaw down and used his pointer finger and thumb to reach in, pinch something soft, pulling it out. "Please, God, what is this!?" He sobbed, setting the small, thickly-thorned flower to the side of him as the feeling of her sticky blood was making him feel sick. "Please, please, please wake up," he still begged, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry," he sniffled, sopping wet hair dripping water over her still face. "I'm so sorry - I should've been here. I'm so sorry, I should've - I should've done something! FUCK!"

He sobbed as he set her down to rush for the phone, dial 911, and explain the situation. He returned to pull her body back into his lap; rocking like it was soothing someone - whether her, or him, he wasn't sure. But Eddie had to do something, so he tried CPR - but stopped when each compression of her chest sent a splatter of blood over her smooth skin.

Eddie went in the ambulance with her body, tattered book in his hand; using the other to hold her cooling hand even when the EMT's pronounced her dead on the scene.

This wasn't happening - this wasn't real.

Eddie waited for hours as an autopsy was performed - telling the morgue he wasn't leaving until he had answers, and planting himself on the sidewalk as he vapidly read the book she wanted him to take. The pages that answered all of his questions were dotted with dried drops of her blood; allowing Eddie to assume she was suffering for longer than he could've imagined. It's where Jonathan and Nancy found him when they were cruising through town, looking for any sign of their friends. When they arrived and sat beside him, softly asking Eddie what was wrong and what happened, he just pulled his knees in and sobbed loudly.

They waited with him.

16 hours after he found her, her parents were coming to a screeching halt in their car before bolting for the morgue's front doors. Eddie picked his head up, waiting; wondering; watching for any movement.

His hand fisted the book in a white-knuckle grip, the other wiping his eyes of stinging, guilty tears.

18 hours after he found her, her parents were shakily exiting the morgue with grim looks of acute distress. Her Daddy caught Eddie's eyes and after assisting his wife into the passenger seat, turned for the young man who his daughter loved more than anyone. Nancy and Jonathan shared a nervous look as Eddie couldn't stop crying, looking to her father through red eyes.

"I was told that... You found her?" Her Daddy whispered.

"I-I did," Eddie whispered.

He nodded, "She was still in her dress, all dolled up."

"Sh-She looked beautiful in that dress," Eddie sobbed, a hand slapping over his mouth.

"Docs know what happened," he nodded, clearing his throat. "Said there were Crowns of Thorns crowding in her lungs. Said it made it almost impossible to breath, said-said that the thorns were cutting her from the inside; said she was in a lot of pain from all that."

Eddie hated the idea of her suffering, opening the withered book to show her Daddy the folklore she'd discovered. Nancy and Jonathan shuffled down the sidewalk a little, watching as her father turned and dropped to the concrete beside Eddie; backs against the morgue building as he read the inked words through dried blood. Her father gingerly leafed through a few pages before sighing sadly, nodding in acceptance.

"I killed her," Eddie whispered. "I-I couldn't see that she was suffering, and... And I killed her."

"You didn't - "

"Didn't you read what I did?" Eddie snipped, sunken, haunted eyes staring at her father and begged him to understand. "Sh-She got sick because she loved me, and I couldn't love her back. She's gone - because of me."

"Unrequited love is never really anyone's fault," her father sighed, closing the book and handing it back to Eddie. "I just... I just hate my little girl suffered."

Eddie's heart shattered, nodding before whispering, "Me too. I didn't help her," Eddie wobbled. "I-I promised I'd always help her, I promised I'd always be there for her - an-and I wasn't." His eyes filled with tears as he admitted, "I forgot her, and went to prom with another girl - "

However, this made her father bristle, and he snapped, "Don't you say another word if you want us to keep our good opinion of you. Because if I find out that you're telling me that... That my little girl was waiting on you, and that she died alone, I'm going to lose it, Eddie. You hear me?" The younger man swallowed thickly and nodded. Her father nodded once, "Good."

Eddie had to remind himself that the man just lost his daughter, and his 180 attitude change was completely warranted. If Eddie were in her father's place, he was sure he wouldn't know what to do either except hate whoever was responsible.

"Could I ask you for a favor?" Eddie asked through his tears; Steve Harrington pulling up with his car loaded with Freshman, plus Robin, and Vickie - and yeah, even Chrissy - only to pause and watch the scene on the sidewalk.

"What is it, boy?"

Eddie reached up and pulled the necklace from around his neck, handing it over with a shaking hand, "Y-Your daughter got me this pick when I first told her I wanted to learn the guitar when were were kids. She, uh... She always knew how to make me feel supported, so, I just... I don't know," Eddie's voice cracked painfully and tears poured down his cheeks, "I just thought she should have it back... Just to... Have a little piece of us wherever she ends up."

Her father swallowed and shook his head, "I'm not burying my only child with a keepsake from the man who killed her." Eddie's eyes widened and his hand retracted, pulling the necklace into his chest as her father's red-rimmed eyes turned to him, "We'll tolerate you going to the funeral, we might let you read something, too. After that, make no mistake, we want nothing to do with you. She was..." Her father shook his head as the words stuck in his throat like flower petals had done to her's, "She was the best of us, and you ruined her. I hope you know that all she did was love you, and I hope the guilt sticks with you, kid. Because her mother and I will never know peace... You took that from us when you decided to take another girl to prom and forget about my innocent baby girl. Now, I get to identify her body and instead of picking out a graduation dress, I get to pick out a casket." The two men held eye contact for another minute, her father shaking his head, "Never thought it'd be you, boy, but... I've been disappointed by you before."

"I'm sorry," Eddie gasped through his emotion. "I'm so sorry, I feel terrible, please, please know that I'm so fucking sorry."

"Sorry don't bring the dead back. Sorry won't fix my girl, I can't ever get her back and you? You get to live a long, happy life... Love many girls... And my little girl? My only child? My ray of sunshine in this shitty, cursed town?" Her father scoffed, "She got a cruel and unusual punishment that made her suffer because you could never get your head outta your ass long enough to see how she felt. She didn't deserve that."

"She didn't," Eddie agreed brokenly. His guilt felt insurmountable, but increased tenfold to understand her parents blamed him - that was okay, because he blamed himself.

Her father stood to his feet and sniffled, nodding at Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers (still in their prom clothes). Before he could walk away, Eddie's best friend's father nodded down at a defeated Eddie, leaving him with one last comment, "Now you're seeing clearly, and now, you'll only get to only see her from inside a coffin. Some best friend you are."

Eddie sobbed on the sidewalk for at least another hour, everyone surrounding him and passing the blood-splattered book around that explained her untimely end. Both your friends cracked with emotion; Steve leaning in to hold Robin as Nancy sobbed into Jonathan's shoulders, the kids with tears just silently falling down their cheeks.

However, despite knowing he deserved it, the others didn't blame him, and instead, tried to offer a small amount of comfort to the distressed metalhead who had held his dying best friend in his arms, in her final moments. He didn't know about her feelings, and she never voiced them openly - nobody could blame him for wanting to date. Nobody could blame him for not knowing his best friend harbored deep secrets.

Still, while his friends didn't, Eddie blamed himself.

Damn near the whole town went to her funeral.

Damn near everyone - except the boy who killed her; who chose to wait at the graveyard, wait until her casket was lowered, wait until everyone left, and wait until the dirt was pushed back into the hole she'd been lowered into before he approached. He did so slowly, hands in his prom suit pants pockets that now doubled as funeral attire; a bouquet of flowers silently laid on her grave.

Eddie dropped to his knees in the dirt; sobbing until his chest hurt, and then sobbing some more.

He begged her spirit to forgive him - despite knowing he never deserved it. Nothing made sense to him, and he hated how empty his life was without her. He agonized over the last few weeks the two of you had together, cursing himself for not noticing; and hating himself more for forgetting.

Every single Tuesday, Eddie visited her grave. Like when you two were in school, you hung out together on Tuesdays, and Eddie kept the tradition. He brought new flowers every other week, and started to keep a journal so he could easily update her about his life, as if there were only distance between them - and not transcending planes of the living and dead. He and Chrissy eventually got married, and never once did she try to interrupt his Tuesday plans because even after she were gone, Chrissy knew there was no replacing her as Eddie's best friend - not even Chrissy could fill that void.

Her parents eventually moved to Tennessee to live with other family, dropping off only a box of her things they figured Eddie would want, but he could never leave Hawkins. He couldn't - not when she were buried there. He couldn't - not when that's the town he met her in. He couldn't - not when this was both of your homes, and the only town you both ever knew. He couldn't - not when his guilt was preventing him from ever considering moving on.

Chrissy hated watching him suffer but there was nothing that could alleviate the stress and guilt Eddie felt. There was nothing to do but let him disappear to the graveyard every single Tuesday because it seemed to be the only thing that brought him the smallest sliver of comfort. He felt close to her on those Tuesdays, and nothing would deter him - not even that crazy wicked snow storm of '91.

He never left Hawkins because Eddie had forgotten you once, and it cost him everything - so, he promised to never forget you again.

i'm sorry

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fics #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson series #stranger things season 4 #stranger things 4 #stranger things #stranger things x reader #requests open

[katerina-marie]

The Beach Episode (Romantic Sunday)

Sukuna x Reader

You and Satoru are supposed to be filming a short ad on the beach, but your blue-eyed costar has a habit of never showing up on time. What happens when a certain tattooed, pink-haired band member surprises you with a visit? You frolic in the ocean of course!

Notes: A celebrity!au that popped into my head while listening to Romantic Sunday by Car, the Garden and would not leave. While this is a Sukuna x Reader fic, other characters do play minor roles and may have brief POVs. This fic is pending in my head as a chapter in a larger work that chronicles reader's and Sukuna's developing relationship and is inspired by other scenarios that come to be while listening to music, but nothing is concrete. Since that's so, Sukuna and reader's relationship isn't explicitly defined but is certainly past friendship.

Word Count: 5.3k

Content: bandmember Sukuna x actor female Reader (referred to as such, but left descriptively vague), no y/n, manager Nanami, bodyguard Toji, actor Gojo (he's picked on, but I love him so please don't take offense), other favorites who have small supporting rolls, all fluff, crack, and humor, includes an innuendo or two, but other wise PG/PG-13, out of character Sukuna (he's so fluffy).

P.S. I've used a line from a favorite TV show back in my teen years. Let me know if you recognize it!

——————————————————————————————————

“Well…you did say you wanted to go to the beach, Kento. Look where we are!”

Your teasing tone and amused grin did nothing to budge the frustrated scowl off the face of your manager. If anything, it drove the furrow between his eyebrows that much further, and you swore a vein in his forehead started to throb. 

“A vacation, actually,” Nanami began, sending you a pointed look that said he knew exactly what you were playing at, “in Malaysia…on a beach…by myself.” 

You tutted at him before giving him a dainty smile and settling further into your makeup chair, “I was only trying to make you laugh, Kento.” 

In your opinion, laughing and smiling was something Nanami Kento seldom did but often should. Whether it was a personal standard he held himself to or some other form of ritual torture, your manager stuck to a strict dress code no matter where he went. Case in point, on a beach in the middle of the summer, Nanami was clothed in his usual suit, tie and dutifully styled hair in tow. The only indication that he planned for the environment you all would spend the day in was the thick white stripes of sunscreen pasted on the sharp angle of his nose and over the apples of his cheeks. Whether he intentionally matched the color of his tan suit to the sand under your feet was anyone’s best guess. You hesitated to ask, a mercy for Kento if you did say so yourself, if only because he looked one wrong word away from throwing himself in the ocean, and not in a way that indicated any fun would be had. 

As if privy to your thoughts, he released a drawn out sigh and crossed his legs in his own chair across from you. He took a quick glimpse at the time on his phone and shook his head. 

Poor Kento. He really did deserve that vacation. And honestly, you did appreciate and acknowledge his dedication to his craft—and you, by extension. 

“I’m sorry,” Nanami murmured, an apologetic softening of his eyes making his whole expression smooth out, “my frustrations are not towards you, I assure you. I’m confident you could guess at whom my ire is directed at currently.” 

You snorted. “Well, of course I c—,” 

“That blue-eyed bastard is late again!” 

The flap of your makeup tent was thrown back with enough force that you were surprised it hadn’t ripped clean down its seam. Your overgrown tree of a bodyguard had a habit of “forgetting” the strength and stature that made him so adept at his job and simply enjoyed his ability to throw any object—or person—around as he pleased. 

You scowled at Toji for interrupting you and watched as he stomped over to stand next to you and Nanami with a pout that pulled at the, frankly, appealing scar at the corner of his mouth. Between that, his eyes that looked as if they knew every secret you ever had and shaggy black hair that probably needed a cut, Toji posed both an intimidating and handsome figure. That was besides the point though and not that it mattered much to you. He had a son that was a friend of your friend and only a couple years younger than you. Not that Toji looked it one bit. 

“Satoru hasn’t been heard from, I presume?” 

Toji and Nanami both leveled you with a deadpan look and answered you at the same time with the same disgruntled voice, “no.”

You threw your head back in exasperation and instantly regretted it when you were reminded of the dozens of pins holding your styled hair in place as they all poked you quite viciously in the back of the head. You winced and raised your hand to rub at the sore spot, only to have it slapped away by a member of the hair and makeup team to prevent you from mussing it further. You crossed your arms with a huff and slouched further into your chair. 

“You look like you’re having fun,” Toji remarked, his smirk full of sarcasm and twisted amusement. “I think they missed a spot with your makeup though.” 

You found no humor in the waving of his hand as one of his fingers circled the entirety of your face in the air in front of it, nor were you concerned with the false insinuation that you looked anything other than well put together. Now, the chance of said makeup sliding right off your face as soon as you stepped into the late afternoon sun? Plausible, but best left to the worries of the experts. 

“Toji,” you crooned, voice cloyingly sweet but eyeing him with a sharp glare he was surely well acquainted with, “we’re at the beach. Why don’t you, oh I don’t know, go play in the ocean and swim with the fish? Or, do you want to build a sandcastle?” 

The smug grin he was wearing fell clean off his face and was replaced with an ugly pinch of his nose.

“Hell no, I hate sand! The damned stuff always gets everywhere no matter what I do. In my socks, my sandwich, the crack of my a—,” 

“Enough!” 

Nanami’s exclamation was loud and angry enough that it caused you and Toji both to jump and effectively ended whatever crude tale he was about to subject the crowd in the tent to. 

“I’m going to go call Geto and see where the hell his client is.” 

Nanami stood and brushed any bits of sand from his suit. Not that anyone could tell if there had been any in the first place. 

“You,” he added, pointing in your direction, “will get dressed so that once I finish ripping Gojo’s manager a new one, we can talk with the director of this damned affair and see if we can get any film done with just you while we wait.” 

Without leaving any room for protest or discussion, Nanami was gone with a flutter of a tent flap and you were left making wide eyes at your equally stunned bodyguard. There was silence and stillness for a beat of time before Toji shrugged and movement about the tent resumed again. 

“Well,” he drawled, “that’s my cue to leave. I’m off to go guard some bodies and what not.” His eyebrows danced and his eyes flashed, not in the least deterred by your annoyed stare. 

“We’re on a closed off, private beach, Toji. There’s no one here for you to throw out.” 

He was unbothered and took a few sauntering steps back towards the entrance of the tent. 

“Still, I wouldn’t want you to think I was slacking on the job and quit paying me. Have fun getting dressed, Princess.” 

Toji ignored the baring of your teeth and left just as quickly as Nanami did. You blew out a resigned sigh as you took a peek at the mountain of lace, fabric, and strings that hung from a corner of the tent and decided at that moment that you wished it was Toji being stuffed into a dress and primped within an inch of his life. 

“He’s going to charm his way back into the refreshment tent and pass out,” you grumbled, and oh yes, that was seething jealousy you held for your bodyguard. Someone chuckled behind you, but was quick to prompt you to stand and disrobe. 

Really, it couldn’t be that bad…right? 

——————————————————————————————————

Some suspiciously placed tape, three assistants, and nearly forty five minutes later would prove you to be exceptionally wrong. Lace sleeves had been tugged up against sweaty arms, the strings at the back of your dress that held it together had been pulled and tied so tightly that you were hesitant to move too suddenly for fear of busting it, and the pins in your hair had been removed to let it lay as styled. You were one moment of heat induced lightheadedness away from falling over into the sand, and there would be no getting up after that. There was fabric clinging and swishing against your legs and you thought you had seen a train at the back of the dress, though that made no sense to you at all given what was planned to happen in front of a camera. 

“Please,” you begged to anyone in the room that would listen. “Can I be done now? If I don’t get a breath of fresh air, I’m going to pass out.” 

Your wish was acquiesced, and with the promise to not mess anything up, you made your great escape out of the tent and towards the edge of the ocean before anyone could change their mind. There was no need for any more hair to be pinned, makeup to be touched up, or fabric draped. 

The water that went on endlessly for miles in front of you was a light blue and mostly calm in its movement for the day. Sandy beach on either side of you stretched out until you could just barely see it transition into rocky cliffs that helped form its crescent shape. If one could ignore the highway and paved parking lot a couple minutes walk behind you, it was almost like you were on a secluded island paradise. 

Though the sun was still hot, the fresh air was successful in clearing your mind, and the salted mist of the water was enough to help balm the warmth under your dress. The multiple tents strewn across the sand each served their own niche purpose with people popping in and out of them all day. There was chatter about, people hustling from one side of the camped setup to the other and cameras placed strategically to capture whatever commercial or short that you and Satoru were supposed to film.  However, no one paid you much mind at the moment, and you sidled up to where the water met the sand, dress held above your ankles so the waves could tickle your feet. 

“Don’t you look pretty.” 

Elated surprise made your heart leap at the sound of a familiar voice, and you whipped around with excitement written all over your face to meet the eyes of the handsome man behind you. 

“Sukuna! What are you doing here?” 

The man in question grinned, his expression half mischievous and maybe the slightest bit bashful, though no one would dare point it out. His pink hair was pushed back into its normal style, but due to the humidity, random pieces drooped down his forehead and into his eyes slightly. His tattoos were on full display in the tank top and swim trunks he was wearing. Every bit of him was a sight for your sore eyes. Sukuna opened his arms for you and it took only a moment of hesitancy before you stepped into them for a quick hug. 

“Yuji and Choso wanted to go for a drive since the day was nice, and naturally Fushiguro tagged along. Coincidentally though, Yuji had us drive along the highway behind the setup you all got going on and ‘poof,’ here we are.”  

You pulled back from Sukuna as he finished his sentence and gave him a small, happy wiggle of your shoulders. You made a note to remember how you felt his fingers dancing down languidly over the lace covering your arm and swirling gently around the edge of the sleeve that came to a point on the back of your hand before letting his arm fall back against his side. 

“Well, I’m glad the four of you made it, coincidence or not,” you quipped at him. Your eyes still hadn’t left his and you knew it was going to be a struggle to wipe what had to be a lovestruck grin off your lips. 

“You sure about that?” 

Sukuna laughed and threw a hand back over his shoulder, gesturing towards what your eyes followed and found to be the refreshment tent. What you saw had you doubling over in laughter, or at least as far as you could in your dress. 

Yuji and Choso, Sukuna’s brothers and bandmates, were struggling to stifle giggles as they hovered over a hulking figure laid out in a chaise underneath a misting fan. As you predicted, Toji was dead asleep, mouth agape and a half eaten cheeseburger dangling from a hand resting on his chest. What really set the whole thing apart was the way Yuji and Choso were surreptitiously trying to see how many french fries they could place in Toji’s mouth before he either woke up or started to choke when one inevitably fell back down his throat. In the corner, Megumi stood watching with barely concealed glee and a phone in his hand capturing the whole ordeal. You assumed that no matter what way this went, Megumi was bound to come out of it on top with either the joy of having comedic blackmail to hold over his father’s head or the pleasure of getting to watch him beat his friend’s asses. In the best case scenario, it was both. 

You recovered from your laughter with a shake of your head and a measly deep breath before turning back to Sukuna. It was sucked right back out of you when you found his eyes trailing up from the tips of your toes, lingering at where the dress cinched your waist and then at the lace scalloping your chest before finally coming up to meet your eyes. His gaze was half lidded and heavier than usual, and it set your cheeks aflame in a way that you could never pass off as from the sun. He smirked when you stuttered over some inarticulate noise that had escaped your mouth, and you were about to take a giant step back to compose yourself when his face eventually softened. Sukuna offered you a quick wink, not so devious and more contrite than anything else, though it didn’t seem to affect your racing pulse any less, and then continued his tirade as he hooked his pinky finger around a lock of hair framing your eyes. 

Somewhere in the back of your head choirs were singing and clouds were parting, but all you could think about was the hint of black polish on his nails that you spotted out of your peripheral and the growing number of people you could see beginning to take interest in the way Sukuna towered over you and how you didn’t seem to mind. You finally made space between the two of you by pressing your knuckles against his chest with just enough pressure to send the message. He obeyed and returned the small smile you sent his way to soften the gesture. 

“So,” he started, his hands set deep in his pockets and a rock to his heels that would make anyone else look nervous, “what are you all waiting around for?”  

Thankful for conversation to focus on, you threw your hands up to convey that you were just as confused as he was and followed it up with what you made to sound like the most logical and obvious explanation in the world;

“Sa-to-ru is late. Again.” 

At the first enunciated syllable of Satoru’s name to leave your mouth, a corner of Sukuna’s nose quivered in disdain and he rolled his eyes in a way that was clearly disparaging, yet you found weakened your knees. 

“Tell me about it. He most likely forgot or got caught up w—,” 

The most ungracious snort left Sukuna’s nose, and you were so taken aback by the fact that it happened, and let alone found it attractive, that you missed whatever he had hissed under his breath. 

“Tied up is probably more like it.” 

“What was that?” 

“Oh, nothing. Nothing important.” 

His voice was too intentionally innocent and his face suspiciously cleared of any ill will for you to believe an ounce of what he said, but there was no chance in getting Sukuna to admit anything he didn’t want to, and you were more preoccupied with getting that look from earlier back in his eyes. So with that, you meandered back a few steps into the water and waited. 

“So, tell me, what brilliant songwriting have you been up to, oh esteemed ‘King of Curses’, or is that strictly confidential, band member-only info?” 

You knew asking Sukuna, or even Yuji or Choso, about their wildly popular band ‘The Curses’ was a sure fire way to get them talking about their shared passion, and it always brought a smile to your face to see them so excited. You expected the same now, but were caught off guard when Sukuna stumbled over the step he took to follow you and the brief way his face shuttered blank before he recovered. That act alone would have been enough to put an end to your flirty intentions—because you just knew that nickname of his got him riled up whenever it came out of your mouth—but the sensation of fabric being pulled tight against the back of your legs had you stopped. A quick glance down into the water confirmed that he had stepped on your dress and the extra fabric was beginning to swirl around his calves. 

So that’s what the train was for! A devious, delicious idea began to form in your head and you knew you had only one chance to make it happen. 

You glanced up at Sukuna through your eyelashes (he struggled to recall in that moment if they had always been that long or if it was the makeup making his mind fuzzy) and cocked your head gently to one side before beginning a slow prowl around him.

“What, no love songs or epic tales of star crossed romance have emerged from that practice studio of yours lately? Don’t tell me a cat has got your tongue?” 

Ever focused on the way your lips curled into a sultry smile and the feather-light drag of your finger along the top of his shorts at his hip, Sukuna was unusually quiet as he followed you with his eyes. You began to pass behind his back and your circle was nearly halfway complete. 

“Su-ku-na,” you called when you received no answer, watching as he gave a shake of his head as if to clear a haze from it. 

“Quit being a brat and distracting me!”  

There was no malice in his tone, but you could tell that he was being truthful. You had completed your circle and came to stand in front of him once again. 

“I’m just waiting for you to answer my question,” you sing-songed. 

Sukuna’s mouth stuttered open for a second and nothing came out before he finally seemed to collect himself, “No! No love songs, no sappy lyrics, and no star crossed romance. Who do you take me for?” 

Your peals of laughter that followed his blurted response floated about the beach and seemed to soothe whatever had come over him in the last couple of minutes. In a haste, you cast a glance down at his legs to check that everything was in place. 

“I’m just playing with you, Sukuna,” you cooed at him, “there’s no need to get defensive.” 

His eyes narrowed and you watched with glee as he pulled himself up to his full height, leaned down into your face, and let a haughty smirk tug the corners of his mouth. 

“You don’t want to play with me, Sweetheart. I. Play. Rough.” 

“Hmm, you think so?” 

You let a delicate, breathy sigh brush up against his mouth from yours while you arched your back slightly to press your chest against his. Sensing you had Sukuna’s full attention, you smoothed your leg between his to let the side of your foot trace oh so gently over the bone in his ankle. His breath hitched, and in the same moment you tipped your head back to close a fraction of distance between your lips, you also tightened your fingers in the furls of your dress. 

“Really,” you whispered, “somehow I think that I play rougher.” 

Yank. 

Since he was already off balance when you ripped the fabric of your dress out and around from under his feet, it only took a quick sweep of your foot against Sukuna’s leg to keep the momentum going and to dump him and his gobsmacked expression into the knee-deep water of the ocean. You jumped back to avoid as much of the splash as you could, and in the same heartbeat, you lifted your dress and took off in the direction of the tents set back on the shore. Your plan was a success.

There were two oversights on your part, however, that became all too clear in the couple seconds after this monumental event took place. 

One, the amount of water your dress accumulated and how much it now slowed you down due to its weight and tangle in your legs. 

Two, which you really should have anticipated if you thought back on it, was the unbelievable amount of speed and agility with which Sukuna pushed himself out of the water, set a borderline maniacal look upon you that promised glorious retribution (you would have to question yourself later as to why this sent shivers down your back and warmth to places you would rather not think about), and thus began an inhumanly quick sprint towards you. 

So, naturally, you did what any independent, perfectly capable woman would do; you screamed at the top of your lungs bloody murder for your bodyguard and high tailed it out of the ocean. 

——————————————————————————————————

The first thing Toji wondered upon being awoken by the screams of a dying woman was why his mouth was full of french fries. He sputtered on the cold and soggy pieces in his mouth as he leapt from the chaise he had barely remembered falling asleep on and frantically looked out towards the water to see what fate he had let come upon you. Toji was certain there were only two possibilities. 

One: he had fallen asleep on the job and you were now being eaten by a shark.

Two: he had fallen asleep on the job and you were now drowning in the ocean. 

To his sleep addled brain, which was currently working through the onslaught of you shrieking his name, either option had an equally probable likelihood of occurring. The outcome, however? In both scenarios, there was only one logical conclusion. He was getting fired. 

With that thought in mind, he started the process of becoming your own personal search and rescue. All in a flurry of forward movement, he kicked off his shoes, dropped the crumpled half eaten cheeseburger from his grasp, and flailed his hand around in his pocket to locate his wallet. He was not about to let his most important possession be lost to the tides—especially with the encroaching threat of unemployment looming over his head—and was about to seriously consider dropping his shorts to the ground altogether when he heard your screams reach a sudden pitch and then descend into hysterical laughter. 

Toji took that as a sign to further scope out the situation in front of him and after rubbing sleep and sand from his eyes, he could now better understand that you weren’t actually in mortal danger. You were just flirting. 

With the adrenaline that was previously coursing through his body now taking a sudden nosedive, Toji staggered back into the tent to plop onto his previously occupied chaise. While he was obviously relieved to see you weren’t dying, he was even more glad that he wasn’t going to have to call Shiu tomorrow and admit that his asset was dead and he was in need of a new job. Surely offers would be next to none, and he didn’t think he could handle guarding any more feisty starlets or listen to them vent about their secret love affairs with pink-haired band members…at least not without the blood pressure medication his doctor had threatened him with at his last check-up.

At the sound of muffled laughter to his left, Toji swung his gaze over to his son, a grin on Megumi’s face and phone in hand, and his son’s two idiot friends, both of whom were having to help hold the other up. 

“Not you three now too,” he grumbled, standing up from his chaise and making his way over to where they stood. “What’s got you idiots making so much n—,”

Toji came to a sudden halt as Megumi’s hand lifted up to shove his cell phone in his face. His eyes squinted at the screen, the laughter from Yuji and Choso increasing in volume, and he needed only a second to process the video he was watching before snapping his head towards the two brothers. 

“You bastards!”

Megumi watched as his father and two friends stared wide eyed at each other for a couple of seconds before they all took off running out of the tent and beyond. The thought of catching the pummeling that was coming the brother’s way once his father caught them was plenty enticing, but years of living with Toji Fushiguro taught him that he too was to be considered guilty as an accomplice, and thus making himself scarce was the wiser decision. Besides, there were plenty of cameras already rolling anyway. 

——————————————————————————————————

You had taken only a couple of steps onto dry land before a set of well muscled arms locked around your midsection, lifted you clear off your feet, and jerked you back against a solid chest. Sukuna’s breathing was loud and heavy in your ear and you could feel water leaching through the back of your dress from where he pressed forward against you with the entirety of his body. 

“That was naughty,” he taunted, and the low scratch of his voice made your feigned attempt to wrestle out of his hold falter. 

Before you could say anything in response, in an impressive feat of strength, Sukuna once more swept you off your feet and planted you stomach down over his shoulder. He turned and began to wade back into the water, and it wasn’t until your view from beside his hips started to be filled entirely by water that you struggled—in earnest this time. 

“Sukuna!” You gasped, trying to come up with some kind of plea that would keep you from your fate of being dropped into the ocean. “Suk-Sukuna, I can’t swim, I can’t swim!”

This wasn’t true in the slightest, but you hoped his concern for your safety would outweigh his need for vengeance. Just as the ends of your hair became engulfed by water, Sukuna dragged you back up from over his shoulder and slid you down his front until he could grasp at your thighs and pull them open around his hips. You threw your arms around his neck and prayed that the pleading look in your eyes would work.

“That sounds like a ‘you’ problem,” was all the warning Sukuna gave before cocking an eyebrow at you and promptly falling flat backwards into the ocean with you secured against his chest. The two of you crashed into the water just in time for a wave to surge over you both. It was a cold shock to your system, but you had no more than a hiccup to process the feeling before Sukuna was up on his feet and trudging back to shore with you in his arms. You sputtered the whole way back and pawed at your face to pry a curtain of soaking wet hair from your eyes. 

It was at the line where ocean became more sand than water that Sukuna stumbled, presumably from wet fabric caught in his legs again, and rotated mid-fall just quickly enough to save you from being squashed under him. 

It took a minute for your combined unabashed laughter to subside, and when you finally caught your breath from where your head rested against the curve of his shoulder, you flew upwards. You swatted Sukuna’s chest when the glimpse of sparkling eyes and a full smile snagged your attention, and you hoped that the swaths of fabric pooling around the two of you was enough to disguise how you straddled his hips and that his fingers were tracing absentminded figures at their place right on the small of your back. Unable to control the flush of heat through your limbs, you exclaimed the first thing that popped into your head and then immediately regretted it. 

“Sukuna, I’m completely soaked!” 

The quickness of the wicked grin that spread across his face astounded you, and when you noticed his lips begin to part, to no doubt retort something highly inappropriate for the given situation, you slapped a hand over his mouth. His smile was still present under your palm, his eyes soft and adoring, and you swore you felt him place a small kiss at the meat of your thumb. 

“AND CUT!” 

The director’s shout was enough to shatter the intimate quiet that had gone unnoticed by you two, and the both of you lurched just far enough apart to separate your bodies but remain near enough for the bump of a knee or shoulder. Before you could even gather your bearings enough to understand what was going on, a tall shadow appeared over you, and you leaned your head back to squint up at whoever it was. 

“That was certainly entertaining.” 

You recognized the voice of Satoru’s manager just as he held out a hand to help you to your feet, and you shot him a look of dismay once you steadied yourself. 

“It’s nice of you and your client to finally grace us with your presence, Geto,” you replied dryly. 

Geto shrugged, not a single care evident on that pretty face of his, and brought your attention to the crowd gathered behind him with a flourish of his hand. You took a tentative glance at what he was referring to and nearly cringed when you caught sight of the numerous cameras pointed at you and Sukuna. Not to mention Nanami, who stood next to the director with a hand pressed up against his temple like he was in great pain. Though from the small smile you could just barely make out and the animated chatter from the director into Nanami’s ear, you assumed that what had just transpired wasn’t such a bad thing. Even Toji, who was a couple feet behind them with Yuji and Choso in head locks under each of his arms, looked like he had gotten quite the chuckle out of the whole thing.

“It seems like the film was still able to get captured well enough without us,” Geto remarked. “I don’t believe there’s any reason to re-do anything with Satoru just for the sake of appearances.” 

You were about to open your mouth to make known your agreement to the idea when Sukuna suddenly threw an arm around your shoulder and popped back at Geto with a brusque “hell no.” You weren’t sure if you felt offended or disappointed by his objection, but before you could start to fret over it, Sukuna was stroking his thumb gently across the back of your neck, and you proceeded to melt into his side. Perhaps his initial disagreement had less to do with his reluctance to be seen as part of the project and instead had everything to do with him making sure you had the full ability to determine how much of him at your side you were ready to share with the world. The thought had you giddy. 

“I have zero objections to using the film with Sukuna.” 

There was a jubilant cheer from all the staff once they heard your words, and you couldn’t tear your eyes from the satisfied look on Sukuna’s face that followed them. 

“Ah, question,” he called out suddenly, making pointed eye contact with the director, and even Nanami too. “By agreeing to this, that means she doesn’t have to frolic around here with the white-hair idiot, right?” 

Over the immediate roar of laughter from everyone around, an indignant “hey!” could be heard from the nearby makeup tent, and for just once, you were grateful for Satoru’s inability to ever be on time.

——————————————————————————————————

Part 2

Notes: If you made it this far, thank you for reading! If you didn't catch it, the line "Somehow I think that I [you] play rougher" is taken from a scene in the Vampire Diaries (I was obsessed). Did I also get inspiration from that scene in the horse movie Spirit for Sukuna and Reader's moment in the water? Yes, yes I did.

Also, in my decade and a half of reading fan fiction, I have not once written or posted any of my own. So if I miss something important, please kindly let me know.

Always feel free to share comments, thoughts, or questions <3

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x you #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro #nanami kento #gojo satoru

[the-orange-tabby-cat]

Wednesday: Part II

joel miller x fem!reader

Summary of the fic: For the last 5 years, every Wednesday you watched a handsome man walk by your street with a lilac bouquet in hands. Except he doesn't stroll on your street this Wednesday, he shows up at your grief support group. 🐾

read on AO3 | masterlist | previous chapter

Warnings: No outbreak AU, Grief and its implications, Reader lost her mom, Reader's mom has a name (but no physical description), Group therapy, Grief support group, Parent grief, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Fluff, No use of y/n

Word count of the chapter: 3,6k

II. BUTTERCUPS

In how many boxes could you put your whole life? Your mom could do it in 12. There are 12 boxes in your living room, all about her. You’ve been ignoring it since the day you put everything inside them and said to yourself that you could do it in another moment when grief didn’t overwhelm you. It has been over 5 years.

You peaked the boxes here and there over the years, of course. You left part of them between your apartment storage and Grandpa’s house, who was much more in day with them. He gathered the memories, cleaned up the gunk and decided to hold on only to what it was personal — her handwritten recipes, the photo albums, her favorite record.

It was Henry’s idea to review all these boxes, he had helped his parents to move and leave his childhood house behind, including Sam’s room.

“I have my own place, Sam didn’t live with me, and look at how I’m doing. Thought my parents could move on easier if they didn’t have his bedroom waiting for him, you know? They cleaned up a bit after, you know, but his things were there still. I got to myself some of his comics and one of his action figures, everything else we donated.” He said to you last grief support group meeting while sipping coffee.

“How do you feel now?” You asked in a small voice.

“Like some weight left my shoulders, honestly. His stuff is just stuff, they aren’t him. The meaning behind it is what makes us cling to it. I prefer to have memories of him than have everything waiting for his return.”

You nodded in guilty of the boxes waiting for your review. If your mom didn’t accumulate so much while raising you, traveling, meeting people, maybe you wouldn’t be in this position of choosing which things you could keep.

“You should do it too, give it a try.” Henry smiled tightly and went to sit in the circle. You sighed and texted your uncle if he was free that weekend.

And here you are, with 12 boxes opened and ready for you. Uncle Michael has been an angel, trying to make this somewhat easier on you. After Grandpa, the family moved on quickly from it. They found themselves back on a routine, on their daily habits and she became a memory, not a constant. He lived his grief privately, never speaking in detail with you both because he knew that neither was ready for it. He was more than happy to help you with the boxes, even more if it meant to get you out of the perpetual grief inside your apartment.

The twins came with him, another good thing since they were playing with the cat and leaving you and your uncle alone with the 12 boxes. Too many things, you were already lost on it.

“Okay, kiddo, have you ever done this before?” You shook your head still looking at the boxes. “Don’t worry. Abby and I had to do this to grandma’s stuff, it’ll be like a band-aid. The sooner you rip it off, the better, alright?”

“What have you done with grandma’s things? Like… Have you donated? Gave to people close to her? How do you choose what to keep?” You asked putting both hands on your hips and trying to choose which box to start from.

“We choose to keep whatever we had attached memories to it. It wasn’t my idea, of course, Abby led it. She separated what we would be heartbroken to lose and everything else we gave away. Do you know how many dishcloths grandma had? Over a 100, I counted myself.”

You laughed at the memory of your mom calling you to say she had never seen that many dishcloths inside the same drawer. She sounded happy in that call, not emotionally drenched from running her mother’s stuff. You can do it.

12 boxes became 3 piles as the afternoon became night. Uncle Michael made a pile of everything that he would donate to the Salvation Army, a second pile for the things he would keep for him (you almost started a fight for her harmonica, but he knew how to play it and you had no clue) and third one for what you choose to keep.

Her sea animal drawings, some technical books, her jewelry box, her fridge magnets and postcard collections, got even an old cardigan that she would always use in winter inside the house. You did feel lighter like it wasn’t no longer in the back of your mind that at some point you would have to open every single box and be reminded that she was no longer here.

Uncle Michael was still separating some books to donate when a picture fell from one of them. You saw a little girl’s face and smiled at how much of her features she still in her mature face after growing up. He nodded for you to get closer to the picture.

“Look it. You kinda looked alike, see?” He pointed to some parts of her face, the ones you haven’t noticed in you in a while. You couldn’t help but smile at it.

“Never saw this. Does it have a date?” Uncle Michael turned the picture and in a corner you could read May, 1972. “She was an only child yet.”

“Yeah, that’s why she is smiling, still had some peace,” you both laughed at it. With a smile on his lips, Uncle Michael put the picture in your hands. “You should give it to Grandpa. He is always at his office, this picture is from a window near his table, see? I think he would like to have it.”

You pondered about it, if his behavior had some connection to the picture just like Joel’s lilacs were still connected to Sarah. Joel. You haven’t seen him in a while, mostly getting updates here and there from Tess. Maybe he was busy with his own set of boxes too, cleaning up his baggage a box at a time.

Ink moves faster in the paper getting shape little by little. You are near the catering listening to Henry’s story, but your mind is focused on taking every detail of Joel’s side profile. 

He is oblivious to it, lost in his thoughts to notice you drawing him from afar. Rare are the moments he allows himself to come to the grief support group meetings, you can count on your fingers how many times you saw him on Wednesdays since his first time.

“Since when did you become an artist?” Henry teases you as he tries to sneak a peek at your sketchbook, gaining a push from you.

“I already told you, this is for therapy. I won’t show you shit.” Closing the sketchbook, you move around the table trying to look busy as Joel walks in your direction.

You are getting bolder with every new interaction, including bringing your sketchbook for the grief support group just in case you run into him. Not that you would ever share your drawings with him, that would be creepy. Some habits are private, not shared.

 Joel, despite being unaware of the impact he has on you, seems to be getting more comfortable in your presence as well. His hair is a little shorter than the last time you saw him, months ago. You miss the curls but enjoy how his square jaw is more evident. His smile is genuine and you can’t help but smile back. There is some calming quality about him, something that makes you want to stay by his side whenever he shows up at these meetings. And this is exactly what you do.

“Want some coffee? Black, right?” You ask but start to pour right away, not waiting for his response.

“Thank you. Have you seen Tess? She said to meet her here.” His eyes don’t avoid yours, holding to the weight of your stare as he tastes the coffee.

“Didn’t she say something about a doctor’s appointment earlier today?”              Henry tries to remember and Joel frowns a bit but quickly vanishes from his face when Frank gets everyone to sit in the circle.

Today is a special meeting, the type you avoid every year, a death anniversary kind of meeting. You know it from before coming here because Hannah made sure to say every five minutes last week. And here she is, looking bright as new even if it is her sister’s death anniversary.

You shouldn’t judge how someone mourns their dead ones, your mom raised you better than that, and yet there is an uncontained jealousy spreading all over your body at how easily Hannah can use a dreadful date as a sweet reminder of her sister’s life.

You are lost on her words, still clinging to your jealousy of how easygoing she is about it. She is speaking nonstop and you wish nothing but to shut her up.

“She planned it, you know. Her funeral. I hated her for it, making my nephew and I think of her in this position. She had been struggling to breathe in her palliative care and still found time to make us understand that her death wouldn’t mean the absence of her in our lives. I try to make him still feel her around as time goes by.

“This is a buttercup from her funeral wreath, she chose herself the yellow because it was our bedroom color when we were growing up. I saved this one for me, I keep it on my nightstand as if we were still little girls sharing a room.”

The dried flower was sitting delicately in her hands, she held it with such care that you felt bitter for having envied her. There were unshed tears in her eyes, you wondered what was worse: losing a loved one violently, abruptly, or seeing them slowly dying without being able to help?

Being able to say goodbye, to cherish a final moment, was something that you couldn’t have with your mom. What would you say to someone you knew it was about to die? No idea but it is glued to your mind since you realized through the meetings that everyone has a final moment with their loved one, whether they choose or not.

You can’t remember your final words to your mom. You hope it was “I love you”.

Tess joins the meeting in a hurry, sunglasses on even if it is evening. Without a word, she plops next to Joel (who was kind enough to spare a spot next to him) and dismisses any question he might have with a hand before crossing her arms.

His eyes search for yours in a “Do you know something about it?” just to receive a “not a clue” from you. In your slow friendship, you became able to identify the meaning behind his frowns, even more so since Joel appears to be always worried about something.

Hannah finishes her sharing and tucks delicately the dried buttercup back into her purse, with that the atmosphere shifts back to the regular meeting state but your mind drifts to Hannah and her sister's last moments.

Did they plan her final day? Was Hannah with her in her final breath? What were her sister’s final words? Part of you want answers because maybe, just maybe, they won’t make you feel jealous anymore.

Joel’s eyes are boring into yours, you notice as you move from Hannah’s purse back to him. The perpetual frown is there, now asking you “Are you okay?” and you nod just once in response. He doesn’t take it as true but gets his attention back to Frank as the man starts to speak.

“Thank you, Hannah. Bringing with you the buttercup was very sweet, thank you for sharing.” Frank affirmation dawns on you, the woman brought with her the last connection with her sister from such a private space of her life and you are here feeling jealous.

Your hand goes straight to the necklace resting on your neckline. The small starfish pendant that your mother gave to you as a graduation gift, “You’ll always be my star, baby” she said as she hugged you. What if you lost it one day? Would you also lose another part of her?

“Tess, glad you could get here in time. The space is yours.” Frank smiles sweetly to a groaning Tess.

“Yeah, okay. Let me just, sh-,” she angrily moves in her chair and gets a flyer from her back pocket, shoving it in Joel’s hand to move around. “Santa Lucia Hospital is low on blood donations, again. It wouldn’t be a surprise to some of you the amount of times I went on emergency and needed one of those. So yeah, I spoke with Frank and Henry earlier, we’re thinking about doing something to help their campaign to get more donors.”

Henry’s arms are resting on his knees as he nods to Tess’ words. “If you can donate, please do. One bag can help up to three people.”

He once lost his baby brother to sickness too, just like Hannah. You never questioned Henry about his final words to Sam, just like you never envied him for being able to say goodbye. You saw behind his actions how much Sam’s presence was a ghost he was still struggling to deal with. It made so much sense that he, from all the people in the grief support group, would help this cause.

“You can count on me for it.” You spoke right away, but the same second that a smile appeared on your lips, it froze as you noticed a stare exchange between Frank, Henry, and Tess. “What?”

“This is a state campaign. The hospital receives people from all over Texas, they’ll be holding the main donation in Houston. At the beach.” Frank stated with a sad smile.

You faded little by little. Most of the group knew about your situation, except a few people like Joel who was frowning at you in anticipation. 

“It's okay, guys. Really. I can donate at the hospital here in Austin, maybe help with the logistics overall before the campaign day?” It was fine, it was. At least you tried to tell yourself that as you held once more the starfish pendant.

“That would be lovely, I’m sure we’ll need as much help as possible.” Frank tried to amend it before choosing another person to speak.

Later on, when everyone was getting ready to leave, you felt a warm hand on your shoulder. Turning around, you faced Joel somewhat closer than you have ever been to him before. You tried to keep your cool hoping he didn’t notice.

“Tess asked me to tell you that if you need help delivering the materials for the campaign, you can use my truck.” He said almost whispering, like a secret that only you could hear.

“Thanks, Joel. Can I have your number? So I can sort out the logistics.” You tried hoping for a yes and received an eager nod.

In a weird circumstance, you met Joel on a Friday. You had to check your calendar a few times, just to make sure, but yes, he would meet you soon enough on a Friday morning, 8 am.

He cleared his whole day to focus on Tess’ campaign, you knew they were best friends and it just reinforced that. His truck was parked in the university lot, near the lab where you were still finishing some analysis as you waited for him.

He knocked at the glass window, gaining your attention. You made a quick gesture for him to wait before proceeding to take the gloves and your coat before walking out the door.

“Hey, Joel. Thank you for coming by to get everything, I put the stuff in the office, c’mon.” You started to guide him through the university’s corridor, but he was still looking into the lab from the window. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, let’s go,” he quickly replied following your steps. 

“It’s these t-shirts and the stress balls, I put everything in that corner.” You pointed to the other side of the room, as you opened the door for him to enter. 

Joel’s eyes were taking in the wall decor: your mom’s sea animal drawings, some shells at the table close to the exposed shark cranium. The office screamed marine biologist, or at least that you should be out there at the sea.

He must have noticed and kept to himself, too polite to get in your business. The comfortable silence filled the room as you collected all the materials before making the way back to the truck, but you could feel him thinking about it. Why the hell would a woman who studies the sea and their animals have a problem with being at the beach?

You faced that question whenever someone asked you to do on-site research, which you would politely recuse. For years the head professor of the department tried to tag you along, but you would say a harsh no. You were happy with reviewing papers, doing your best at the university’s lab, avoiding the sea breeze directly on your face.

Joel glanced once or twice at your face as you kept your eyes staring in front of you, too afraid of his reaction to your small secret.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? I can give you a ride.” He asked simply, opening the truck so you could put everything there.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Send my love to everyone, will you?” With a smile, you tried to get your shit together. 

He smiled back before hopping in the driver's seat, leaving you alone with your thoughts and memories. Is not like you couldn’t get back to the beach, you could. The sand between your toes, the water splashing around, how the boat moves between the waves… You missed everything dearly, but couldn’t be there. Not yet, at least.

The day went by, nothing new happened. When you getting ready to leave the university, your phone lit up with a new notification from Joel’s number.

Got a big one for your collection, x

 He wrote with an image of a big pink shell, almost the size of his hand, attached. A grin appeared on your face automatically, as if it was the first time you saw one of those.

I love it! It’s so pretty! Thank you, you wrote back still shocked he took his time to go shell searching for you. 

Maybe this is why you decided to open those 12 boxes, to create room for new objects and the memories they represent as you live.

“You are late,” Grandpa mumbles as you enter the room. There is a gift carefully wrapped in your hand but he doesn’t care, he is too busy staring at your face in search of a motive.

“Yes, I am. Got caught up on work, sorry.” You place the gift next to him not minding to justify your actions longer, he hates excuses even when they are true.

Today isn’t the case. Deep down you know he knows you lied about work, too much time in a family event without her doesn’t sit right with you. She was the glue between you all, conversations don’t run as easily as before.

You already greeted everyone when entering the house, from your uncle to your cousins who still give you a sympathetic look at these family gatherings. They can sense your discomfort from afar, no matter how much you try to sound interested in their lives you can’t keep up with them, you can barely keep up with Grandpa.

There’s laughing and chattering next door, your uncle is retelling some old family joke. You can almost hear the sound of her laughing with them. Grandpa must read your mind as unwraps the gift.

“You know, Abby’s favorite spot to hide was behind the curtains of that window. I could always find her there after a long day. I think I use here as a hiding place too, she found a good spot for clearing the mind.”

His voice was soft just like his gaze between you and the paper he was tearing apart, revealing a picture in a gold frame. You didn’t hesitate to frame a picture of your mom when a girl leaning from behind these curtains as a birthday gift after Uncle Michael's commentary.

“Found it in one of her boxes, I think she stole it from grandma. Thought it should be here in your office, not in a cardboard box in my storage room.” 

Grandpa nodded as his thumb was caressing the little girl’s face. Her toothless grin, the dimple on her cheek, everything made Grandpa travel back in time.

“I took this photo, did you know that? She lost her tooth earlier that day and felt ugly without it. Found her here and took some photos as she giggled, showing that beautiful smile.” His other hand found yours, holding it tightly. “Thank you.”

“Happy birthday, Grandpa.” You replied ignoring the tightness in your throat as you watched his face lighten up. “Do we still have cake?”

He placed the frame at his desk, facing the window’s curtains, and got up from the chair guiding you to the laugh in the kitchen. The cake with candles signing 84 was right in the middle, you scootch yourself to a corner as everyone found a space around the kitchen’s island to sing Happy Birthday. Glancing around, you made mental notes about the smiles on their faces, the lightness of your grandpa’s eyes looking back at his family. He was living the moment, not holding on to the past just like a second ago.

When Grandpa blew out the candles, you made a wish too: to allow yourself to feel peace, not just longing.

previous chapter | next chapter

Taglist: @islacharlotte, @anoverwhelmingdin, @aquanatalie

#joel miller #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x original character #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfic #the last of us #the last of us hbo #wednesday series

[kitten4sannie]

11 - ɪᴍᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ - ꜱᴀɴ

ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇꜱ

part 1

pairing: lead singer! san x groupie! reader (fem) feat. guitarist! seonghwa (seonghwa is just kinda there in this i’m sorry ;;)

genre: band au, smut

summary: after being rejected by your favorite guitarist, you give the lead singer a visit instead.

w.c: 2.6k

warnings: some mxm in the intro, san’s a menaceeee but so is the reader, dom leaning! san, sub leaning! reader, dirty talk, nipple play (m/f receiving), degradation, marking, brief spit mention (it wouldn’t be my fic if there wasn’t spit somewhere 🫶🏼), unprotected sex, impregnation kink (duh), there’s a big focus on cum bc i’m filthy, tiny mention of cum inflation, multiple creampies

a/n: i think this might be my favorite fff fic so far <3 i just really like the idea of alt metal ateez okayyy and plus san's my bias so i went completely off the rails 🥵 also no one asked but the lyrics of the song in the intro were taken from the ending of “kingslayer” by bring me the horizon and the bridge of “the death of peace and mind” by bad omens <3

FFF Masterlist

✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖

“I can feel youuuuu!” San sang with every ounce of his being, bending himself backwards, his head hanging upside down, a few beads of sweat dripping from his temples. He stood back up and held onto his mic with a death grip, bringing one leg up onto the speaker that continued to blast out the loud, angsty instrumental. “Is this what you want?” The crowded chanted his name, fueling his ego and his wish to leave everything he possibly had to give on the stage.

“Then, this is what you fucking get,” he growled out, a few veins visibly straining against his freckled neck, his dark eyes filled with pure rage. “Augh!” Consumed with the energy of their performance, he tore his loose black tank top off in a downwards motion. The remaining fabric hung off of his frame, his perfectly toned upper body now on display for everyone and their mom to gawk at. When the music came to an intensely loud peak, he suddenly reached his arm out to point to someone who probably blew their load right then and there.“You motherfuckin’ shit!”

You were squished against the barricade, hardly paying attention to the rowdy people routinely bumping into you from all sides, too distracted by how mesmerizing San was onstage. And how incredibly wet you were. If Seonghwa was so fond of sharing himself with others, what was stopping you from doing the same thing?

San and the rest of the band, including Seonghwa, began banging their heads to the heavier-sounding combination of guitars, drums, and bass. “Put your hands up, motherfuckers,” San exhaled into the mic, scanning the crowd with his blown out pupils, looking certifiably insane. He always stayed in character onstage, but how much of it was an over exaggeration and much of it melded with his true persona? Not knowing turned you on to a degree you were almost ashamed of.

Most of the crowd followed his lead, reaching a hand out into the air to put up the rock symbol, though a few girls were too busy ripping off their bras to toss in his direction. You simply stood there with your bottom lip trapped in between your teeth, waiting patiently for him to find you in the crowd. Once the lead singer’s hooded eyes were on you, you lifted your band hoodie up and allowed your tits to drop out of the thick material, bouncing a bit on your heels from your excitement.

San groaned at the sight of you, not having the self-control to keep himself from grabbing his half-hard cock through his tight pants. “Are you ready for this? I said, put your fucking hands up,” he shouted to the sea of people below him, not able to take another look at your bouncing tits when Seonghwa grabbed San by his small waist, his fingers hooking into the material of the lead singer's torn jeans, yanking him in his direction.

Licking his lips, San lifted his mic in between them, allowing Seonghwa to let out his own raspy yell, his voice starting low and guttural and eventually growing louder and raw, showing off his impressive pipes. San watched him with a fondness that bordered arousal, his hands sinking into the other’s damp raven locks, gripping it tightly. Seonghwa’s eyes rolled back, his fingers still expertly hitting note after note without much concentration, as though it were second nature.

“Are you satisfied?” San yelled out, expelling the air from his diaphragm in order to produce the perfect metal scream, almost being drowned out by the overwhelmingly heavy sound of guitar and drums. He tugged Seonghwa in his direction, pressing a rough kiss onto the guitarist’s open mouth, his tongue slipping inside. Once San got his fill, he shoved Seonghwa backwards, a small string of saliva dripping from their mouths. He bent over near the edge of the stage, squeezing the mic inside his calloused hands, his once slicked-back hair now falling into his eyes. Waiting for his cue, he took in a deep breath, his neck veins making a return, shouting with raw intensity, “Are you fucking satisfied?!”

The crowd lost their goddamn minds, cheering and shouting, some still holding their rock symbols up, and others too busy shedding a tear. Personally, you didn’t understand how you survived witnessing set after set for so long, or how anybody else did, for that matter. Their performances were always so viscerally stimulating, it physically hurt that you couldn’t simply jump onto the stage and let each of them use you to their heart’s content.

-

You found yourself standing at the door of Seonghwa’s hotel room, despite your plans to talk to San after the show ended. “Goddamn it,” you mumbled to yourself, wondering why you weren’t capable of playing hard to get around him for even a microsecond. Maybe if you did, you wouldn’t be the one waiting around for him.

Hearing your eventual knocks, Seonghwa answered the door, his raven hair wet and clinging to his bare face, remnants of mascara present underneath his eyes. Naked for only a moment, he wrapped a small towel loosely around his slender hips. “Baby, hey. What’d you think of the show?”

Your pensiveness melted in an instant, instead being replaced by your clear adoration for him. “God, I can’t even describe how it made me feel, Hwa. I just know how fucking wet it made me.”

He chuckled to himself, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. “You’re always wet for me, Y/N.”

You took a step closer, your hand moving past his towel to lightly stroke his length, lifting yourself up onto your heels to whisper near his face, “Always.”

Seonghwa took in a deep inhale and let it out, leaning his head back, growing hard inside your grip. "Baby..." After a few moments, he brought himself back to reality, suddenly grabbing you by the chin and pressing a harsh kiss against your lips, only to push you away, a sad smile on his flushed face.

“Hwa…?” you mumbled, slowly retracting your hand, your eyes wide with surprise.

Two separate feminine voices came from the bed that was out of view, the both of them whining about how he was taking too long. Seonghwa sighed, rubbing his neck. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I should’ve told you I was busy tonight. Why don’t you visit San?”

“Maybe I will.” No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t keep your lips from forming a small pout, though you were able to furrow your brows in annoyance. “You know what?”

Seonghwa frowned, feeling bad, but knowing you wouldn’t want to join him as a third. You simply required too much attention from him in a group setting, unable to handle when he took care of others in front of you. “What?”

Your pout was replaced by a subtle, but distinctively smug smirk. “I’m gonna let him put a baby in me.”

-

Okay, take two. You knocked on San's hotel room door, unconsciously pulling on your hoodie strings, leaning back on your heels. You almost felt like you should back out, not wanting to get rejected by your idols one after another. Before you could take a step back, San opened the door halfway, giving you a lewd, almost cheshire-like smile, his eyes surveying your chest as though he were reminiscing about what had occurred an hour earlier. "What brings you here, doll?"

Wrapping one of the hoodie strings around your index finger, you looked up at him past your fluttering eyelashes, your tongue wetting the corner of your glossy lips. "Is that offer still good?"

San’s brown eyes dilated in real time, his face and body almost frozen like he was malfunctioning, before immediately turning around to yell at the half-dressed groupies lazing around on his bed. "Time for you guys to go! Something just came up, so go find another band member to fuck, alright?”

The group of girls and guys, some older and some younger, groaned and cursed amongst themselves, eventually filing out of the door, some of them giving you dirty looks. “You better fuck him good for us,” one of them grumbled near you, prompting you to emit a small ‘yep’, before he disappeared down the hallway with the rest of the groupies.

You turned your attention back to San who had already grabbed your wrist, pulling you into the room and shutting the door behind you, pressing you against it with his heated body. "You were about to fuck all those people?" you asked casually, reaching down to slip your hands underneath his sleep tee, your fingers exploring the soft curves of his hips and stiffness of his abdominal muscles, not able to decide which felt better underneath your touch.

"Yeah..." he sighed, arching his back slightly when you began to play with his pierced nipples. “I like performing for a crowd…” He eventually leaned his head into your shoulder, emitting small breaths of air, your fingers expertly tweaking and twisting the small metal bands to give him maximum pleasure.

“Of course you do.” You lifted San's shirt off of him, your fingers going back to his pebbled buds to play with them some more, pulling at his piercings, making him groan. "Do you fill all of them up with your cum, Sannie?"

“Uh-huhhh…” San exhaled into your neck, bringing one of his hands up to slip underneath your hoodie, grabbing onto one of your tits, squeezing it roughly inside the palm of his hand. “Every last one.”

You moaned, your fingers going lax for a moment, caught up with how San pushed both hands under your hoodie to knead your tits around, his fingers flicking your nipples. "Ahh, how do you not run out?"

He grinned after hearing the small squeaks you made when he pinched and pulled at them instead, mumbling in a deep voice near your ear, "I just have a lot of love to give, doll."

Boldly slipping your hand past his briefs and gripping his hardened cock, you asked in a sweet tone, "Does that mean you have a lot of love to give me?"

-

San had you folded up on the mattress, holding your ankles down near your head, slamming his hips into you so quickly and forcefully, neither of you could take a proper breath. He leaned his head down, his wet bangs tickling your forehead from being so close, chuckling softly at the sight of your starstruck expression. "You look like you want to say something, Y/N."

"You were—aaah—so amazing onstage earlier, Sannie..." you breathed out, your cunt clenching tightly around his throbbing cock, familiar with the warmth and thickness of his cum, knowing he was shooting more inside you. "You made me so fucking wet..."

Almost shuddering from how hard he was cumming, San buried his face into your hickey-covered neck, sucking on the skin of your collarbone, groaning out, “I already know how goddamn wet I made you. I bet those panties of yours were drenched by the end of the show, huh?" San moved down from your neck to your chest, slurping up each of your tits into his mouth, one at a time, giving them both the attention they deserved.

"I had to play with myself on the tour bus on the way back here..." you admitted, wanting to say more, but being unable to, emitting a sharp gasp instead. Your tits were a lot more sensitive now, especially from how San alternated between having them inside his mouth and using his tongue on them. “No one saw me though, I swear. I did it in the bathroom.”

He spit onto one of your already shiny tits, wanting to make more of a mess, before he dove in to suck and lick at them like he was racing against an invisible timer. "Mm, looks like babydoll can't get enough of me onstage...so much so that she resorts to being a needy little whore all by herself," he mumbled on your bruising skin, eagerly flicking his tongue at a nipple, making you squirm underneath him. "Bet you wanted me to pull you onstage and pump a baby into you in front of all those people, huh, naughty girl?”

"Yeah, I did...and it's your fault," you whined softly, emitting a set of soft, airy moans, San's cock brushing against your g-spot over and over. "Take responsibility, Sannie." Your fingers clenched into the muscles on his broad back, feeling them tense up underneath your touch.

"My fault? My fault you needed me so badly that you resorted to showing these pretty tits off in front of everyone?" Finding your dick-drunkenness to be amusing, he wanted to push the topic, pressing kisses to your neck up to your jaw, still thrusting into you at a fast pace. "It's my fault for turning you into a shameless little slut? Hm?"

"Yes!" you cried out, your voice broken and hoarse from how hard you were cumming, your trembling thighs squeezing around his tiny waist.

"Hm, I guess I should take responsibility, huh?" Blowing a few strands of hair out of his hooded eyes, he pulled out slightly, holding the tip of his cock against your pulsing hole. "I should take responsibility for all these fucking loads I'm filling you with too," he groaned, stroking himself for a few more seconds, his seed eventually spurting out onto your mound, the liquid dripping down along your puffy folds.

“Mm, fuck, that’s it,” you reacted, reaching down with one hand to rub his cum around your cunt, pushing two fingers inside your gaping hole to fuck the liquid into yourself. However, your fingers weren’t enough to satisfy you. You needed his cock inside. You needed to be filled with his hot, milky love one last time. “It’s not enough, Sannie. I need more.”

Your shameless desperation and insatiable lust was like chicken soup for his black soul, making him hard again almost instantaneously. “Yeah? You want to milk me completely dry, doll?”

“Yes, please.” You suddenly lunged up from the bed and pushed San down, his back hitting the mattress with a bounce, sinking down onto his length without a second thought, his cum being pushing out of you.

“God, yes, fucking ride me, you whore,” San growled, gritting his teeth, one hand gripping your hip tightly, the other on your lower stomach, allowing you to fuck yourself to hell and back using his cock. “You’re so full for me…so full of my seed…yet, it’s not enough…” He pressed on your abdomen, feeling some resistance, convinced that his cum was making your tummy swell slightly. “God, I fuckin’ love you…”

Bouncing on San’s dick with feverish speed, you started to pant heavily and drool a bit, not even caring that he was seeing you in such a fucked-out state. You were simply too desperate to make him cum again, to the point that you didn’t even care about reaching your own high. “Fill me up, Sannie. Please, please, please fill me up with your cum…Fuck it into me, into my womb…make me yours…”

Your whiny-sounding words and tight, cum-slicked cunt brought San to his end, making him shudder and thrust wildly up into you. “God, here it comes, baby…take my fucking load…” He let out a series of throaty, almost guttural groans, ramming himself into you until he held you completely still, slowly pumping his seed as deep as he possibly could.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah…” you echoed weakly, pretty sure you were unraveling in that instant from how insanely amazing it felt to be stuffed completely full of your favorite lead singer’s seed. If you were having a baby for anyone, it was definitely him.

Once you came back down to reality, your body felt heavy and almost numb, causing you to slowly drop down onto San’s chest, your sweaty, sticky bodies melding together. “That was…Fuck, I can’t even form the words…”

San stroked your wet hair, gazing up at the ceiling, the post-nut clarity incredibly kind to him this time around. “I might have to write a song about it.” You giggled softly, moving your fingers upwards to slip into his hair as well, gently massaging the shaved area of his hair near his pierced ear.

After some comfortable silence, San eventually inquired, "So, am I your favorite band member now?"

You lifted your head up, your skin still flushed beyond measure, bringing your hand to your mouth to wipe some drool away from your lips. "I don't pick favorites."

San burst out into laughter, patting the top of your head and giving you a pleased smile, his dimples making your heart race. "Now, that's a fucking lie."

✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖

FFF: @hwalysm @scuzmunkie @creativechaoticloner @dilucpegg3r @yeosxxx @gemjimin @wonwowzers @sanjoongie @manipulatedstars @k-drizzle 

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

© toxicccred, 2023.

#ateez #ateez smut #san #ateez san #san smut #san x reader #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #san x you #san x y/n #kpop smut #ateez fanfiction #ateez oneshot #ateez hard hours #february filth fest

[sunflowervoltwentyeight]

Hi! This is a fic rec of my favorite Exes to Lovers fics. These fics are organized by word count from longest to shortest. You can view my other fic recs here. Enjoy!

Given A Chance by fabby / @fabby1d (173k)

Five years after One Direction took their last tour, the last thing Louis Tomlinson ever expected to happen while on a tea run at the local Piggly Wiggly was to run into his ex-boyfriend and ex-bandmate Harry Styles.

The odds of them ever running into each other again had to be super slim, right?

Wrong.

What happens when you mix ex-boyfriends with a large serving of Small Town America? Will Louis and Harry be able to set aside their differences, or will Louis be able to stay breezy as fuck in the wake of Harry’s arrival?

(or, the one where Louis and Harry run into each other five years after One Direction ends and learn how to love each other again. Featuring: Reggie as the overweight labrador, Niall as Louis’ last grip on reality, and Nowheresville, North Carolina as the setting for Louis’ worst nightmare to come true.)

Empty Skies  by green_feelings / @greenfeelings (134k)

For three years, Harry has been running from his past. Now, he is moving to London and pledges to fulfil his only dream – making it big in the music industry. Not everyone has a place, though, and the competition is tough. As is his past catching up on him.Louis is part of the biggest boy band of the world, and getting there had meant a lot of hard work, as well as sacrificing parts of his heart and soul. He’s still happy. Maybe not as happy as he could be, but who is he to complain?

After All These Yearsby LifeInAColorWheel (127k)

It’s been seven years since One Direction went on hiatus and it’s been eight years since Louis and Harry broke up. They’ve been strangers to one another since then.

But, over the course of a weeklong boys’ trip, history between Harry and Louis resurfaces.

Or,

The one when Louis and Harry don’t talk, connect again years later, and reflect on why their love collapsed.

Bitter Tangerine by purpledaisy / @daisyharry (119k)

Maybe it’s Niall, he reasons to calm his storming heart. Maybe he’s not actually gone for the holidays yet, maybe Harry got the dates confused. Slowly, he holds his breath and pushes the kitchen door open. The first thing he sees make him jump, a wooden spoon held out like a sword. Once his brain processes the sight in front of him, it’s less the sword that gets him than who is attached to the wooden spoon.

“Harry,” the swordsmen speaks before Harry can, his voice low and steady though confusion laces each word.

Harry’s breath catches. Every string around his heart, all the protection he spent nine months building, rips out and tears open all at once as he says, “Hi Louis.”

-

AU: Nine months after they break up, a twist of fate brings Harry and Louis back together at Christmas.

Burn to Ash by bethaboo (116k)

Harry is sitting there, so fucking casual, and Louis realizes in a split second he was not ready. When Harry walked out in Detroit and never looked back, he was a boy verging on a man, still only twenty years old, but there's a man in his place now. Hard and resolute, yes, but still, for the first time in a long time, Louis can kind of see the old Harry in him. The soft, directness of his gaze, the hesitant smile he gives to Lou, the way he wrings his ridiculously large hands in his lap.

He's a little bit the eager sixteen year old puppy dog again, his innocence and sweetness resurrected miraculously, and Louis freezes in place. He was prepared to face the asshole Harry. He was prepared to meet a whole new Harry.

Louis is not prepared to meet one of the old incarnations of Harry, and it absolutely tears him up.

Or the fic where Harry spirals out of control, the band breaks up, and then he shows back up, five years later.

Mine Would Be You by crinkle-eyed-boo / @crinkle-eyed-boo (114k)

Louis blinks his eyes open, his eyelids fluttering as the room swims around him. He takes several gulps of beer once he confirms that he’s definitely not hallucinating, that the very first portrait Harry Styles ever painted of him is hanging on that wall.

Louis stares at the wall, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest as he realizes that there’s not just one painting of him, there’s five, the portraits lined up like they’re some sort of storyboard depicting the rise and fall of his deepest love. His greatest heartache. A pain that cut him so deep that he left the fucking country, severing all ties with his life in New York, now suddenly surrounding him as if he’d never left.

Fucking shit motherfucker fuck.

Louis returns to New York City five years after he left it – and the love of his life – behind. He didn’t intend to see Harry again, but fate has a funny way of pulling them together, whether they like it or not. After making a begrudging truce, they both start to wonder: Would it be so bad if history repeated itself?

Emperor's New Clothes by sunsetmog / @magicalrocketships (92K)

The fact that Louis’s most precious belonging was a cat with a face like thunder and an uncanny ability to cover every single inch of Louis’s clothing with cat hair was something that Louis chose not to think about too much.

or: Harry’s a pop star and Louis isn’t, and there’s a non-disclosure agreement where there used to be a relationship.

Perfect Storm by cherrystreet / @cherrystreet (80k)

What do you do when your best friend asks you and your (now) ex to be the best men at his destination wedding? You can either tell him the truth, tell him you’re not together anymore, and deal with the consequences, or you can pretend you’re still together and roll with it, just pray you don’t spiral. Fake it ‘til you make it. You know, for the sake of the wedding.

Harry and Louis choose the latter.

The Stars Are Guiding Me Back by coffeelouis / @coffeelouis (80k)

Directing the first ever season of The Bachelor with a bisexual star is a huge career move for Louis. After throwing himself into his career, he finally has the opportunity to prove himself as a director with a unique vision.

For Harry, being cast as the first ever Bi Bachelor means finally putting his ex-boyfriend behind him and starting anew. He's taking a chance on finding love and determined to do it right this time.

They didn't exactly think this through.

[or, the BACHELOR AU where Louis directs his ex-boyfriend Harry in his season as America's first bi bachelor.]

Consequences by allwaswell16 / @allwaswell16 (78k)

Two years ago Harry let his powerful family come between him and the love of his life, something he deeply regrets. Louis has tried to move on from their devastating break up. Sometimes, he even thinks he has. It only takes one moment to freeze them back in time.

An amnesia au

To the Ends of the Earth by stylinsoncity / @aliensingucci (68k)

During a yearlong hiatus, Louis visits Harry at his cabin in Idaho, where long-buried feelings ignite like the fire keeping them warm.

Your Memory Over Me by shimmeringevil / @shimmeringevil (64k)

Three years have passed since Louis last saw him, but all it took was a few minutes in Harry’s presence for him to be relegated to the desperate twenty-one year old that was practically begging his boyfriend for an ounce of reassurance that he still cared about him.

Harry shouldn’t be here. He’s brought too many unresolved feelings with him, that Louis thought he’d never have to face.

It’s Harry’s apparent apathy that’s the most difficult to come to terms with. Anger, he could handle. Regret, he would welcome. But Harry’s amiability, and carefree demeanor can only be born from indifference.

He’s moved on. He doesn’t care. And that is something Louis doesn’t think he’ll ever be strong enough to face.

-

OR - The worst heartbreak of Louis’ life walks right back into it when his parents invite their family friends on an all-expenses-paid trip for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Facing a past that he tried to bury long ago, Louis learns that some people have a way of sticking with you even when they’re gone.

Far Away. by dimpled_halo (57k)

Harry swallows hard, clearing his throat. “Hi Lou,” he says, looking at Louis reluctantly. He’s even more gorgeous than he remembers, so much, he feels uneasy looking directly at him, he’s so beautiful.Louis looks at Harry, does a quick once-over and smiles, eyes so bright and blue—just how Harry remembers. “Harold!” He gets up out of his seat and embraces him into a warm hug. It’s a friendly platonic hug; one that ends way too soon. Harry wishes it would last longer so that he can breathe Louis in and memorize his new but somehow still familiar scent. It instantly leaves his body aching for more.

 **** Harry returns to London after five years. Stuck in the past with "what ifs" and "what might have beens", he sees that his friends and ex (and possible love of his life) Louis have all moved on with their lives while he finds himself questioning his own life choices, past and present.

I Was Yours (I Wish You Were Mine) by staybeautiful / @harruandlou 56k)

“Harry Styles!”

His name rang out clear through the city streets. He turned quickly back to the bar, startled by his own name and startled by the voice that called him.

Standing in the doorway to the bar, back lit and glowing slightly was Louis.

Not an eighteen year old apparition dressed in the same low slung blue jeans and t-shirt with swooping bangs that was always the image in his mind. No, he was Louis now.

or Ten years ago Harry dropped his best friend and high school boyfriend off at the train station and never saw him again. Now, he's twenty seven, living in NYC, and dreadfully unlucky in love. He can't stop wistfully thinking of Louis promising that they'd see each other again in ten years time. A chance meeting outside a bar has them tumbling head first into a summer of music, milkshakes, and maybe each other.

You Taught Me How To Love (You Taught Me How To Stop) by devilinmybrain / @thedevilinmybrain (50k)

“I was always better at hand to hand than you,” Harry growls, even as he leans his weight into the blade. It’s small, sharp, has a handle of gold roses.

“I don’t know about that.” Louis moves his arm forward, makes the presence of the barrel of the gun fit snugly to Harry’s hip. “I think we just play differently.”

“You going to shoot me?” Harry asks, those wild eyes tracking over Louis’ face. “Do it.”

“I think I’ve put enough scars on you,” Louis answers, means it about the stretch marks still lining the sides of Harry’s stomach, but it lands a little too raw. There are other scars on Harry’s body that Louis blames himself for, scars inside too.

No One Does It Better by nodibs (49k)

Harry’s an alcoholic and Louis is a bartender. The first time they meet isn’t the first time they’ve met.

Drifting, Weightless by dinosaursmate / @dinosaursmate (45k)

“We’ve been asked to do a gig,” Niall said slowly. “Harry and Liam are completely up for it, I am too.” “Alright. What’s the catch?” Louis asked with suspicion. “It’s, um…” Niall cleared his throat. “So, Juliana was contacted by this themed cruise company, and they want us to do a four-day One Direction cruise.” The words hung in the air as Louis’ right eyebrow slowly crept up and he fixed Niall with a stare. “Absolutely not.” Louis rolled his eyes. “You’re essentially asking me to go on a working holiday with my ex. Stranded on a boat in the ocean for four days.” “Cruise ships are huge! You don’t have to see him in your down time.” --- Harry and Louis are exes with benefits until they're not, and the Mediterranean Sea might just be the perfect place to work through some unresolved issues.

Bloodsport by tofiveohfive / @tofiveohfive (40k)

“You know how our next game is against the Cardinals, right? You remember how vicious those guys can get. I wanted us to come up with some plays, maybe work on a block from the left—”

Louis stops when he hears a chuckle.

He doesn’t think he’s said anything particularly funny, so he turns to Harry, waiting for an explanation.

“‘S funny, ‘s all.” Harry throws his finished bottle somewhere near the other discarded ones. “This is the first time you’re talking to me in eight months, and it’s still about football.”

#exes to lovers fic rec #larry fic rec #fic rec #category fic rec #read #hlcreators.

[oiwxa]

UMAZANE MISLI | c.bg

STARRING: Choi Beomgyu x fem!reader

CAST: Lee Heeseung (EN-), Lee Geonu (Just B), Jung Sungchan (ex-NCT), Yang Jeongin (Stray Kids), Felix (Stray Kids), Choi Seungchol (SVT)

RUNTIME: 35.9k (sorry)

SYNOPSIS: Beomgyu thought that a life of academic excellence, popularity contests, and ego trips were left behind the moment he graduated from a prestigious private school. However, he found himself locked in an intense, three-year rivalry with you. He always had to be number one in everything that the two of you were involved in, but god damn, your band makes incredible music. Lord knows what would happen if one day, you find him moshing to one of your basement shows. Alas, you were oblivious, and he managed to convince himself that several streaks of messy, temporary red dye and ripped jeans immediately transformed him into a spy that infiltrated your band's smelly, sweat-infused, beer-rotting basement.

GENRE: Coming of age, slice of life, romance, comedy, band!au

WARNINGS: R15+ | Heavy substance abuse | Academic trauma | Familial and generational trauma | Profanity | Strong and explicit language | Crude humor and a flurry of sexual jokes | Honestly there's way too many explosive fights in this fic | Borderline existential | MC and the entire cast basically goes through a breakdown at some point in the fic | If any of these warnings trigger you then please DNI

DIRECTOR'S CUT: hi everyone !! this will be my debut into txt writing !! i hope you enjoy this fic, and as always, PLEASE triple check all warnings and make sure you read this work at your own discretion. You are responsible for the content that you consume. also !! of course, some facets of the band is inspired by the lovely joker out, the slovenian band that stole all of our hearts in esc 2023 !! the family dynamics and rich kid problems in this fic is inspired by succession, the HBO tv series. i also just wanted to give a quick shoutout to alice @jayflrt and her stoner's guide to starbucks smau, which inspired heeseung's character in this fic !! do give it a read if you have the chance !! she's vv funny LOL. also !! another shoutout to @jitaros for the e2l law school dynamics !! i tried my hand at the trope (watched too much better call saul for this LOL) !! this is an homage to crying lightning, and i hope reading this will inspire you to complete law school!hyuck :")))

SOUNDTRACK: Umazane Misli, Plastika, Demoni, Vem da Greš, Proti Toku, Carpe Diem, A Sem Ti Povedal, Bele Sanje, Katrina, and Dopamin by Joker Out (basically the entirety of Joker Out's discog tbh)

VISUALIZERS: Joker In // Law school Beomgyu

COPYRIGHT OIWXA 2023. DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION.

I. SHAGADELIC, BABY!

The studio has seen worse things. Pizza boxes covered in mold spreading toxic mildew across the entire room; broken drum sticks that were basically tetanus-inducing pieces of legos on the floor for the unlucky person sans socks or sandals; curled ends of guitar strings strewn across the floor like upturned nails; permanent stains of beer scattered in patches on the wooden floorboards; broken lightbulbs for more tetanus and other forms of infectious diseases; a nest of fruit flies concentrated on one of the leaking pipes next to the generator; an unidentifiable liquid etched on the edge of a dirty carpet with an equally mysterious source; crude graffiti filling up the bare cement walls; the temper of a lead singer with a god complex; and lastly, the simmering temperament of a guitarist that believes he deserves more credit than he is currently given. 

To call the basement of an abandoned house on the distant outskirts of Hongdae a studio was an insult to professional musicians who spend their entire lives in a well-insulated creative space. Your band barely had the budget to install acoustic foam panels across the basement—not like you needed it, though. Nobody in their right mind would dare take the last train to the station and hike at least an hour atop a closed trail to record music in a dilapidated house. It wasn’t like there was anything or anybody listening to the so-called “noise” you and your friends made at ungodly hours, too. If there were, it was probably the ghosts of those who once populated what you assumed was a small, forestry village before the war. 

Nonetheless, it became the meeting place that would house all of the band’s creative endeavors—and to be fair, you didn’t mind the musty smell or the murky leakages of dirty water. All of it to you slowly became a sanctuary that broke you free from the bondage of a degree you weren’t even interested in. What was even better was the people that occupied the rather decrepit space. Sure, there was a lot of infighting in the band that made you want to throw your drum sticks at each member or assault them and get charged with battery, but in the end, it was growing pains for the fruition of an otherwise decent band. For you, the disagreements everyone often faced were a testament to the band’s potential longevity. Even if you didn’t consider yourself the most vocal member of the ensemble, you had a reliable voice of reason that validated the input you’d give to every suggestion or performance discussed. 

“Disagreements should be normalized, you know?” You once remember saying when Jeongin would often cry about the heated arguments Geonu and Sungchan would have. “I don’t think we’d be as good as we are now if we never fought or stood up for what we wanted in this thing.”

A word had to be said about the duo before proceeding into important matters—after all, it was the two of them that had the longest overall experience in Seoul’s university basement scene. Geonu in particular was who one might call the “veteran” in your band. He practically grew up around independent musicians his whole life, and his brother was in the garage rock scene since Geonu graduated from middle school. It was the norm for him to show up underage inside bars, venues, taverns, and any place that reeked of spoiled beer, sticky sweat, and copious amounts of cannabis abuse. Of course, Geonu managed to stay clean save for a few sips of beer here and there; he was notorious for his inhumane self-restraint and resilience, after all. When Geonu was fifteen, around the end of his last summer as a middle schooler, he started a hardcore band and toured a couple of basements around Seoul and beyond. The problem, though, was that his lead singer was a late bloomer. Instead of obtaining the gruff, aggressive, and extremely hardcore (for lack of a better word) tone that was required for the genre, Geonu had to suffer through his band receiving “baby noise” status. To his credit, he took it extremely well, using the ridicule to his advantage. It became a common gimmick later on for the band’s cult following to bring pacifiers and cry like an infant during the breakdown of each song. He even began attaching packets of powdered milk with each tote bag or cassette tape purchased from his fans for extra humor. 

That period of his life closed when he was in his second year of high school, where he founded an indie band and completely changed the direction of his music. The hardcore punk to soft boy indie pipeline was a pretty common shift in many musicians in the current generation, and by then, Geonu had grown out of the nu-metal craze of gelled, spiky hair and repetitive power chords. He wanted something more out of his music and thus formed an unexpected friendship with Sungchan, who at the time was the star football player in their high school. Since then, the two had been in the same band together, often changing the lineup depending on where they were music-wise. The first generation of the band was called King Suit, and most of their shows consisted of covers translated from English to Korean. King Suit was perhaps the most radio-friendly iteration out of all the bands that Geonu and Sungchan were in, and they broke off for the exact same reason. 

“Nobody really wanted to write music,” Geonu explained one time after a freshman party. “I mean, I can’t blame them. It takes a lot of effort, and most of us were self-taught. Sungchan was the only one who was willing to make the academic sacrifice to write and produce music with me, so we broke off after graduating high school.”

From what you could tell, Geonu didn’t seem to look back at King Suit with the rose-colored fondness of nostalgia. Each time he complained about his former members in a drunken pursuit, his voice would drop an octave lower, seething bitterness and poison in his slurred cadence. Geonu also only complimented Sungchan when he was drunk. 

The second iteration of his attempts into the underground indie scene was with a short-lived shoegaze venture that was ironically named DARE. One surprising fact that you managed to squeeze out of Geonu was that Sungchan conjured the idea of starting a shoegaze band. He had been listening to a lot of my bloody valentine and Cocteau Twins owing to his nightly Naver scrolls and Spotify recommendations. According to an extremely inebriated Geonu, Sungchan became obsessed with collecting effectors and pedals, blowing his entire savings and part-time earnings into expanding his ever-growing collection of overpriced battery boxes. Truth be told, his obsession for pedals didn’t necessarily come from a place of musical interest—he just thought that some of the artworks plastered across the Keeley or Electro-Harmonix pedals looked cool. He managed to learn how to use them through deep research on YouTube and Reddit, but he would never admit that the sole reason for his collection was the pursuit of aesthetics. Geonu would also never admit that he wanted DARE to live a longer life, simply because his stubborn pride wouldn’t allow it. He would always argue with Sungchan about how the genre of shoegaze itself was a cut-and-paste replica of each other, and for Geonu, it would be embarrassing to admit that his opinions can change over time. He was too much of a staunch idealist in the sense that he stood by most—if not all—of his opinions, thus it would take an eternity for him to admit that he was either wrong or misconstrued about whatever statement came out of his loud mouth. 

Then, Joker In was born—at least, that was what the current band was called. Prior to the name change, the band didn’t have an official name, so each gig just listed your names as individuals. It was the only iteration of Geonu’s bands that consisted of you in the lineup, in addition to Jeongin’s replacement as the current bassist. Prior to Jeongin’s untimely recruitment, the band had an upper year who promptly had to leave because he graduating and he was an exchange student. You didn’t know what went inside Geonu’s mind theater when he recruited Felix, but you assumed that the short-lasting membership was worth it if he was that good of a bassist. 

And to your judgement, Felix was amazing. He was a veteran of the instrument and played the double bass at his university’s big band back in Australia. Naturally, he would adjust to the electric bass pretty quickly, mastering all the techniques and genres by the time the band scored their first gig. Felix wasn’t particularly good at Korean, but he didn’t need the language when his skills spoke for themselves. In addition to mastering the instrument, he was a phenomenal performer that captivated the audience through his laid-back playing style. Every note he plucked was effortless, and his deep, sultry voice complemented Geonu’s powerful vocals quite well. 

The first time you saw Geonu cry was when the band dropped Felix off at the airport, bringing Jeongin along despite the awkward, one-sided tensions between them. Felix didn’t mind Jeongin’s presence since he joined the band knowing it was a short-term commitment, but Jeongin thought otherwise.

“What if he’ll hate me?” Jeongin would lament. It was your job to comfort him whenever he would dive deep into his woes about filling such a big role. Geonu was too cutthroat, and Sungchan was too much of a deadpanner. There was no way those two could ease the noisy thoughts of an anxiety-ridden boy. 

“Felix doesn’t hate, Jeongin,” You’d reply as you stuffed his mouth with endless slices of pizza. “Have you seen the guy? I don’t think he could get angry even if he wanted to.” 

The band became Joker In after Jeongin’s obsession for Eurovision came to light. At first, the three of you eyed him with confusion and bewilderment, wondering how a boy born and raised in Korea could care about a Europe-exclusive song contest. After being subjected to an entire week or two of arduously rewatching past contests and performances, you’ve grown to realize that Jeongin never watched Eurovision for the quality of songs that each artist produced. Sure, there were some good hits that grabbed your attention, but Jeongin didn’t care about the meaning of the songs written for the contest. For him, Eurovision was specifically created for drama and political tensions, paired with ridiculous, overtly surreal, and over-the-top staging that made you question the infinite potential of the human mind. What initially started as Jeongin’s sole hyper fixation now influenced the entire band’s direction, and Eurovision became a pact of friendship in Joker In. 

“You have to watch Viktor Plushenko skating on a fucking ice rink on stage with Dima Bilan,” Jeongin said, pushing his phone screen on Geonu’s face. 

“I’ve already seen that performance dipshit. You’ve shown it to me like, I don’t know? Every single time we go to the studio?” Geonu would reply, then keep his eyes glued to the performance. He didn’t want to admit that his go-to stage costume of a wifebeater and loose, silver parachute pants came from endlessly watching Dima Bilan on YouTube, but the avid Eurovision fan could pretty much piece his inspiration quite easily. Luckily for him, Korea didn’t have a lot of people that were willing to watch four whole hours of countries they’d never heard of sending artists runnings around in hamster balls singing about dusting a turkey in 2000s-era technicolor. 

“They sure did bring a wholeass ice rink on stage, did they?” Sungchan said, using his tall stature to tower over Geonu and Jeongin. He kept his eyes focused on the Olympic figure skater as he gracefully slid around the small, constrained ice rink in Belgrade. 

“Anything for Dima Bilan. Anything.” Jeongin cooed, eyes never leaving the blue-tinted stage on his phone screen. “Look at him! He’s so… sexy.” 

“Take a shot every time Jeongin simps over Dima Bilan,” You interrupted, snatching the phone from Jeongin’s hands. You went on the search bar and typed in the keywords that led to your favorite Eurovision winner, Duncan Laurence. Once his deep, solemn voice began to reverberate across the vast emptiness of the basement, you felt the three roll their eyes in your direction. 

“Of course, you’ll always play Duncan Laurence’s performance,” Jeongin sighed as he shook his head. He yanked his phone back from your hands and paused the video, momentarily admiring the tall, Dutch man playing the grand piano before shutting his phone off altogether. You returned the sentiment and folded your arms, closing your eyes from exhaustion. 

“Jeongin, you know that people can enjoy the contest for the actual music they produce, right?” 

“Well… yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Jeongin replied, giving you his signature foxy smile. “You’re free to argue that Stefania won last year because of its musicality and experimentation with hip-hop and Ukrainian folk music, but man, you can’t deny that people liked it because of Mr. Pink Bucket Hat and MC Kilimmen’s breakdancing.”

“I don’t know, dude.” Sungchan interrupted. Whenever the topic of Eurovision 2022 came up, he always felt the need to join the conversation. “I think Chanel with Slomo deserved the trophy.”

Sungchan always had a penchant to enjoy female entries in Eurovision. When the band rewatched Eurovision 2010 and host their first sleepover in the basement for the first time, Sungchan fell asleep until Lena’s “Satellite” came on. The moment he heard her voice, he jolted awake as if someone shocked him with a defibrillator, posture immediately upright as he leaned his tall frame too close to the projector that they managed to hook up. For the whole week since, he kept replaying her performance whenever he had free time. When he was doing chores around the basement or setting up for practice, he would constantly hum the chorus of the song, following the singer’s odd, breathy cadence while swinging his hips to the rhythms in his head. It got to a point where it became an earworm for the entire band, and for a while, Geonu decided to ban the song from playing whenever they were together. 

“You can’t keep playing Satellite when Alexander Ryback was way better,” Jeongin would bitterly mutter under his breath. He would then pretend to hold a violin and prance around the floorboards, using his light, airy steps to do several failed pirouettes. 

Eurovision became the center of your band, and it became a gimmick to put at least one Eurovision song on your setlist—much to your chagrin. On the one hand, you would enjoy the songs that Jeongin would pick, such as “Believe” and Lordi’s “Hard Rock Hallelujah” for your university’s Halloween bash. In those moments, you were into it because you enjoyed the songs. On the other hand, the songs that were often chosen for your gigs were too “poppy,” for lack of a better word. There was not much you can do except keep steady beats intact while you watched Geonu and Jeongin mess around on stage. It was fun watching them get extremely drunk on copious amounts of cheap beer and vodka cranberries, but in the end, you were left performing basic 808s while the rest had their share of fun. 

It wasn’t unfair. It was just the way music was evolving. You weren’t much of a connoisseur to begin with as well, so you sucked it up and kept the musical harmony of the band. After all, what was important to you wasn’t the ability to execute flashy fills or steal the stage from the rest of the members. If you wanted that for yourself, then you wouldn’t be in a band in the first place. The sole purpose of forming a group is to produce quality as a collective, not as individuals—as such, you kept your role practical. So long as you sounded good as a band, that meant you were doing your job right. 

Maybe that was why you got along with everyone very well. Unlike Sungchan, who had a greedy streak of outdoing Geonu’s vocals with his shrill fills, or Jeongin, who had the opposite problem of staying behind and lowering the volume of his bass on the amp, you kept a good balance between showing off your skills and keeping the band’s overall sound in mind. That dynamic was also reflected in the way you interacted with the rest of the band. When you were with Geonu, you were an agent that showed him humility. You would always slap him in the back without any ill will, making sure he understood that there was no hierarchy in the band. 

“We’re not Geonu and friends, you jerk,” You would often say to him while pinching his ears. “We’re Joker In now, and I don’t recall seeing your name at the forefront of our group.”

“My bad, my bad,” Geonu replied, feeling the pain inflicted wherever you pinched him. Sometimes, it would be a drum stick thrown in his direction. When you were feeling generous, you just shook your head and taunted him. 

“I could do your job just as well, wanna bet?” You’d ask, pushing him to your drum kit in jest. Geonu could take jokes pretty well, but whenever this threat would reach his ears, he’d often see his life flash before his very eyes. Even if he prided himself in his skills as a multi-instrumentalist, he didn’t want to admit that he was terrible at the drums. 

You had a relatively peaceful relationship with Jeongin, owing to the fact that you were both in the same section. As such, you had to parle with Jeongin the most about the musical direction of each song Geonu wrote or translated. Since the genre that you often played with the band was along the lines of contemporary indie rock or pop, you didn’t struggle a lot with learning the songs or creating a soft, basic beat that can go along with Geonu’s vocals and Sungchan’s playing. Jeongin’s case was rather different. Although he was a great bassist that had an impeccable sense of rhythm, he lacked the confidence to properly execute all the bass lines he had in mind. Whenever he felt daunting, it would take him a few drinks or a few words of encouragement until he could finally swallow his insecurities and face Geonu. 

“Why are you so scared of that tiny angry man,” You’d often joke, sticking your elbow to Jeongin’s sides. He would look back at you with a flushed and nervous look, scrambling for answers in his fast-paced head while looking back at Geonu. 

It’s not to say he was scared of Geonu, because you can’t really be scared of a man who was his height. Rather, Jeongin was intimidated by Geonu’s presence—and you completely understood where that unfounded sentiment came from. Jeongin was the only one who did not have any experience with live performances prior to joining the band. Sungchan had been playing with Geonu since high school, and you paid your dues back in high school when you were forced to play jazz drums in the big band. Sure, you had a bit of a blank when it came to performing live, but it was easy to get back in the motions of it all when you already knew what to do. Jeongin didn’t have the experience; he only had skill. No matter how great he was at the instrument in theory, he often didn’t know what to do once he was on stage. Geonu would have to pull him back an hour before rehearsals and sound check just to tell him to let loose—which ironically wasn’t something anyone could teach. 

“Loosen up, kid. You just gotta get out there and play! Don’t think about being perfect or fucking up, because once you do, you mess up. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, so you gotta get in there with good vibes only.” 

Jeongin’s gotten better now, but he still shared the same meekness and apprehension when it came to Geonu. You were sure that it’d completely disappear with time, but you weren’t completely confident about the band’s status in a few years. There was a part of you that still considered it a short-term gig—something you’ll eventually grow out of once you graduate from university and get a “real job.” For this reason, you got along with Sungchan quite well. 

Another word about Sungchan: Though he had the longest track record of witnessing Geonu’s god complex, he was also someone that didn’t take the band seriously. In fact, your shock persisted to this day when Sungchan drunkenly told you that he planned to leave the band and music altogether after he graduated.

“This is just a hobby for me,” You vaguely remember him saying with overly dilated pupils and languid, hazy steps. “I think I’ll quit when I get my shit together someday.”

It wasn’t until you were four months deep into the band that you realized why Sungchan didn’t want to pursue music forever. At first, you thought it was an uncomfortable, yet silent and covert tension between Sungchan and Geonu. They’ve known each other for so long; it was natural to have disagreements. Then, you realized through Sungchan’s work ethic and his commitment to the Varsity baseball team that he simply had more going for him than a four-piece cover band. He wasn’t the smartest of the bunch, but he was extremely athletic—which was always a plus when it came to the unlikely colliding worlds of mosh pits and Olympic-level stamina. 

Joker In often had its moments of explosive fights and passive-aggressive silent treatments, but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. Usually, all it took was for Sungchan to complain that he was hungry, or for Jeongin to take his phone out and plug it into the projector, screening his niche obsession of odd European performances for everyone to see. 

Unfortunately for you, though, the topic of today’s fight was around the one thing that should have brought the band together: Food. 

“What should we eat tonight?” Geonu asked, adjusting the microphone stand with one hand while scanning the messy, crumpled, and coffee-stained lyric sheet in his hands. 

“Pizza?”

“Sungchan, we’ve been having pizza for the past six months. If we order the same shit again I swear I might throw up,” 

“Yeah, I’m siding with Jeongin on this one,” You added, leaning your head on Jeongin’s shoulder while clutching your unruly, growling stomach. “Pizza’s just not it right now.”

“Then what the fuck do we order, captain?” Sungchan snapped, heaving a sigh as he groaned in pain. 

“Hey, don’t call me that!” Geonu replied and returned the sentiment, scratching his head in frustration and confusion. He looked out at the sky and checked his phone, taking quick glances between all the furniture in the basement. The skies were dark, and the only source of light the band had was the dim, low glow of an ancient, yellow light bulb that was still there before they called the place their studio.

“Didn’t I say we’re all equals here?”

“Well, you’re technically writing all the songs that we’ve played so far, and you’ve been really anal about the solo I’ve considered for Butterflies and Katrina…”

To be fair, Sungchan was right. For the past three weeks or so, Sungchan has tried his best to add more input into the mixing process, but Geonu would either turn his suggestions down or ask him to play quieter in recent gigs. At first, Sungchan could understand the frontman’s qualms; it was never in his best interest for anyone to overshadow each member. However, he disagreed with the way that Geonu played favorites. Two nights ago, he caved in and allowed you to perform a drum solo—but then again, that was out of the request of the audience. You were lucky enough to have half your friend group and the entire law society show up to embarrassingly chant your name over and over again until you had the opportunity to strike. For Jeongin, it was much more forceful. Geonu had been trying to replicate the same charisma that Felix had brought to the band, and as a result, he has given Jeongin complicated bass lines that aren’t the easiest to execute in front of a crowd. Geonu had his own moments as well, but he chalked it up to being the “face” of the band. Disagreements between the two were commonplace, but it wasn’t common to completely diminish Sungchan’s role to basic chords and simple riffs. 

“Sungchan, for fuck’s sake,” Geonu replied in his usual tone. “I’m not being anal because I don’t like it. I’m being anal because  I know you could come up with something better. This is the same, lazy, cut-and-paste solo that you’ve been playing in every single show so far, and we need more diversity in our tune to get everyone to eventually listen to the stuff we put out.”

“Geon, we’re a cover band. Don’t you ever forget that,” Sungchan chimed. He was sick of hearing Geonu tell him the same thing since they were in high school. 

“So? Translation takes a lot of work! Besides, the only reason we’ve gained our following so far is that we do something unique and original that Joker Out don’t do on their shows.”

“Oh please, all the gimmicks you do on stage basically count as stealing. You see fan videos of Bojan online and regurgitate that.”

“Oh? Like what? Please give me an example, because from what I can see, the crowd loves what we already do.”

Usually, all it took was for you and Jeongin to step in and break the two apart. Jeongin would console Geonu on the sidelines, and you would take Sungchan out for a “walk” until he came back with a fresh perspective. Sometimes, it took hours—days, even—for both of them to set their differences aside and swear an oath of momentary truce. However, this was the first time you’ve seen their bickering evolve into a full-fledged fight. You snuck glances between a panicked Jeongin, who slowly unplugged his bass and turned off the amp. He looked like an ostrich that constantly peaked his head in all directions, eyes rapidly scavenging the best time to step in and do what he does best. 

“I don’t know? You call our music shagadelic sad boy rock—just like how Joker Out describes themselves,”

“It’s an original word!” 

“It’s not if they’re already using it…”

“Guys!” Jeongin finally screamed. “I’m hungry! Can we just postpone this little lover’s quarrel for another time?”

“Jeongin’s right,” You backed up, watching the two attempt to bicker amidst Jeongin’s ear-grating, dolphin-like screech. “We haven’t eaten anything since we arrived, you know? We’ve just been busy going through our setlist like, five or six times. Can’t we just call for a break and get back once we’ve eaten?” 

“I hate that you’re always right,” Geonu finally responded after a light, pondering pause. “Pizza?”

Before Geonu could start dialing the usual pizza place’s number on his phone, a light creak bounced back and forth between the gray, cement walls of the basement. It came in little waves, then echoed with a booming shriek. The four of you immediately looked behind you, catching the lanky silhouette of a man wearing an oversized rugby shirt with marinara stains all over its striped pattern. He tipped his cap off and gave all four of you a smile, the very definition of heavy embodied in the soft, yet dense movement of each footstep. He wasn’t even wearing leather boots or platforms; his sneakers seemed to shake the entire room with every step he took. Once you were able to catch a glimpse of the intense redness in his eyes, you finally knew why someone who appeared so light carried such weight with him. 

“Oh my god, you scared me, Hee!” You jokingly exclaimed, greeting him with a strong pat on the shoulder. He cocked his head back and forth, giant, glassy eyes adjusting to see the blurriness of your face. Once he was able to stay still, he returned the gesture with a wave that almost knocked him down to the ground. 

“You losers didn’t call the shop so I got worried you died or something,” Heeseung said, passing the large box of pizza to Sungchan before slumping his entire body on one of the couches in the studio. “This place looks pretty gnarly, so I kinda expected a horror movie plot going on where one of you goes insane and murders everyone in the room.”

“To be fair, you did come at the right time,” You said, practically shoving a glass of water in Heeseung’s mouth. “Geonu was one step closer to ripping Sungchan’s head off just now.”

“Did you bring the usual?” Sungchan asked, knowing the answer just by the whiff of garlic, tomatoes, and mozzarella that wafted throughout the entire basement. 

“Yeah, so every single one of you better pay me back. This was out of pocket.”

“You have the employee’s discount though, so the total price was probably around like, 12,000 won or something,” Jeongin said, trying his best to hold his laughter while taking a slice of pizza out of the box. Whenever Heeseung came with pizza, the war zone between Geonu and Sungchan subsides into a peaceful truce. 

“Hey, shit’s brutal lately, okay? I gotta get my money back.” 

Heeseung kept his body within the crevices of the old, unwashed couch, sinking his body further and further until he practically disappeared from your current realm of reality. At this rate, you would be surprised if Heeseung could get up and go home on his own. Though he was notorious for smoking copious amounts of weed every day, it wasn’t like him to show up to work completely fried. While the boy had problems with addiction, he was perhaps behind Geonu went it came to self-control and resilience. One time, he was able to quit weed for an entire month to focus on his studies. In those four months, he refused temptation altogether like a patron saint. No matter how many people tried to tempt him with a single puff or a bong rip, he would cover his nose and run away from the room. So far, he’s never caved in during these periods of asceticism. 

“Fine, you stingy ass motherfucker,” Geonu replied, opening his phone to send a few Wons to the demanding pothead. “Broke ass bitch.”

“Can I talk to you real quick?” Heeseung suddenly interrupted. His brain shouldn’t be capable of multitasking in his current state, but the addition of money to his bank account was enough for him to forget about collecting his debt from the band. 

“If it’s about that guy then I don’t wanna hear it. Besides, that’s all you talk to me about.”

“Beomgyu’s not bad if you give him a chance, trust me.”

Beomgyu. Hearing the name alone was enough for you to reach the same levels of anger that Geonu and Sungchan had just presented. Whenever the topic of Beomgyu came into the conversation, Geonu and Sungchan’s outbursts seemed like nothing but child’s play. While their arguments could easily be solved between a slice of pizza or a pint or two, you could never imagine yourself sitting idly and peacefully at a dining table with Beomgyu. 

“Trust you?” You suddenly interjected, anger slowly seeping into your brain with each passing second. “Trust you? The person who gets insanely high and goes to Starbucks because you find the barista cute? No thanks!” 

“Hey, man,”

“Don’t hey man me, you prick.”

“But you’re gonna love what I’m about to tell you,” Heeseung shushed, doing his very best to lull your unquenchable temper. The funniest thing to him was how being quick to anger was never in your personality. Throughout all the times that he’s known you, he was sure that it took infinite attempts to get you to at least crack or start getting annoyed—not angry. This was why no matter how much he tried to restrain himself, he couldn’t. It was too much fun watching you explode over some guy that apparently made it his life-long goal to get under your skin as much as possible—the best, or worst part about it is that it worked too well. 

“I caught Beomgyu listening to Joker Out lately,” Heeseung started, barely containing the eruption of laughter that was bottled within the confines of his throat. “It’s probably your doing,”

“Of course he would,” You snapped, rolling your eyes at the thought of Beomgyu listening to your band’s idols. “He’s nothing without me,”

“You know what the better part is? He’s trying to learn Slovenian so he can one-up you and see them live in Europe or something,”

“I don’t care,”

“You clearly do,” 

When it came to Beomgyu, you were terrible at keeping your temper in check. This was a well-known fact among your bandmates and a funnier gag to Heeseung. While your bandmates tried their best to pretend Beomgyu didn’t exist in your so-called friend group, they counted on Heeseung to spark the dormant anger within you. It’s not as if they were afraid of you, per se. It was more so the idea of taking responsibility; they’d rather let Heeseung take the fall than have you endlessly scream at them throughout practice for even mentioning Beomgyu’s existence. To be fair, they were right. With Sungchan and Geonu, things were simple. Even if they were to start punching each other during practice, everything could be solved if they ordered a slice of pizza. With you, however, things were different. You would endlessly talk about how much you hated Beomgyu regardless of the occasion. Even if there were pizza or expensive tickets to see your favorite band live, you would never let your loathing for Beomgyu come to a timely rest. It was always in the back of your brain, itching to come out at every opportunity you had. 

“Look at you, little miss I have to be number one in everything,” Heeseung mocked in his inebriated state. He took a dab pen out of his pocket and inhaled its contents, watching the world around him slow down by the minute as your warped, contorted face continued to deepen its wrinkles. You were tempted to take a huff, but adamantly shook your head in absolute refusal. 

“Say that one more time and I’ll hit your already empty head,” You replied, already hitting him a couple of times on the shoulder. 

“Ouch,”

“Who the fuck does he think he is?! He’s the one who started this whole thing! I never even wanted it to be this way!”

“Yeah you kinda did,” 

“How?!” 

“I don’t know? Like, that one time you got angry because he beat you in a project,”

At this point, the band dropped everything to pay attention to Heeseung. He was already somewhat dangerous when he was sober, but he practically had no filter when he was high—which was, to be fair, about ninety percent of his existence. Whenever Heeseung was high, all social filters were removed, allowing him to gain access to all of the things that would incite anger in you. This time, it was the sacred project that sparked the endless rivalry between you and Beomgyu. The band knew to keep their mouths shut around the topic to maintain the peace that they kept between you, but Heeseung? The word peace itself didn’t seem to exist whenever he was too high to even think about what he would order at Starbucks. 

“Well, that’s because he kept rubbing it in my face! I wanted to congratulate him!” 

“He told me you got this close to beating him up in the lecture hall,” Heeseung replied, failing to contain the large grin that was permanently etched on his face. “One of the TAs practically had to grab you before you swung your knuckles in his face.”

“Well, that’s because he kept being annoying about it! He said I got a good mark because I sucked the professor’s dick!” 

“You should know him by now, though. He has no filter.”

“But he said it like he meant it,”

“Yeah… about that…”

Even if Heeseung was, indeed, high, he was not a snitch—at least, he believed himself to be a man of his word. Even if tormenting you with talks of Beomgyu was one of his favorite forms of entertainment, what he refused to tell you was that Beomgyu was doing it out of his weird ways of telling you he had the hots for you. Heeseung didn’t know much about Beomgyu, to begin with, but to him, obsession in all forms was a pure sign of attraction. 

“Look, I think you two just need to lock yourselves in a room and fuck,” Geonu interrupted, rolling his eyes at the scene playing in front of him. A part of him enjoyed watching you lose your cool at a single man that couldn’t even utter proper insults correctly. Whenever Geonu had the displeasure of seeing you and Beomgyu fight, he ironically laughed at the two of you without realizing that it was pretty much a reflection of his own battles with Sungchan. 

“Hee’s right,” Jeongin quietly muttered, breaking his silence after devouring the last pizza slice. “I think you just need to get laid.”

“Excuse me?” You replied, mouth agape at the thought that Jeongin out of all people would call you out in your endless musings towards Beomgyu. “For your information, I do get some.”

“Oh really? When?” Sungchan joked. “When was the last time you fucked?”

“Last month!” 

“Rebounds don’t count.”

“Yes, they do!” 

“No, they don’t.”

A word about your rebound: it didn’t count. It was just a quick hate fuck with an ex that you haven’t talked to in three years. There was no preamble; it was action without thought. You didn’t even bother asking for her contact information after, and the two of you parted ways in mutual acknowledgement to never cross paths again. In that sense, it didn’t count. 

“Anyway, you better sort whatever beef you got going on with Beomgyu out. It’s getting really annoying watching you two fight all the time.” Heeseung said, taking another puff out of his dab pen once he started to feel the ground on his feet again. 

“Why is it up to me to fix things?! As I’ve said so many times before, he’s the one who started this whole mess!” 

“Sure…”

“Why don’t you guys believe me?!” 

“Have you seen yourself?” Geonu interrupted, scratching his head at your poor attempts at salvaging your once calm demeanor. “You’re like, little miss perfect. You’re in like, a million different student clubs, you’re volunteering around campus to the point where you live there—hell, you’re even running for student government this year.”

“Well, that’s because I need to! I need my resume to look good or else I’ll be unemployed for the rest of my life! It’s not like I’m doing so much because Beomgyu does a lot too!” You rebuked, treating the basement like a criminal court. So far, all the witnesses acted as judges with a gavel, striking each of their hammers down to denounce your alibi. Even if you believed you were right, it was up to them to recite the final verdict: Sure enough, you were guilty. Guilty of the vice that is competitiveness. 

“I mean, I believe you when you say that, but you have to admit that you’ve been overworking yourself since you met the guy like, three years ago,” Sungchan admitted, shuffling his feet towards you to give you gentle pats on your back. 

“No I haven’t!” 

“Listen,” Geonu started with a deep sigh. “You’re in varsity, you’re in charity, you almost joined a cult, you’re in debates, you used to be a senior editor for the school paper, you completed your internship like last month, you’re acing all your classes, you’re in the administrative board for your faculty’s association, and you’re in Joker In. That’s overkill, and I’m betting my dick on you not doing this much had you not met Beomgyu.”

“He just brings out the worst in me!” You screamed to no avail. This was the dead end of your court case, and you had to leave the basement without the last word. 

“He brings out the private school overachiever in you that’s for sure,” Heeseung joked, his pupils consuming the whites of his eyes until they were overly expanded like obsidian marbles. 

“That was so uncalled for, Hee. Put a trigger warning before you make my PTSD worse,” 

“Sorry, princess, didn’t realize that going to a super rich private school would be the same as surviving the Korean War,”

“Get the fuck out, Hee.” 

You had to stand your ground. Every single time the conversation led to Beomgyu, you were always seen as enemy number one. To be fair, you were the more aggressive out of the two of you. While Beomgyu limited himself to crass insults, you elevated the threat of physical assault and a free boxing match for all of the university to see. Sure, it wasn’t your intention to want to beat him up into a neat, fine pulp, but there was something about Beomgyu that always made you so violent. 

“And tell Beomgyu that he’s a prick!” You shouted, after finally managing to push an incredibly high Heeseung out the door. Through the small cracks that you left open, you could see him stumbling on his feet as he began to walk away, waving your figure off with a haughty grin. As always, he left his hat in your basement, and once you descended to the meeting point, you picked it up and threw it out of the broken glass windows, watching it swing back and forth between its sharp shards. 

“You two really need to see a marriage counselor or something,” Geonu whispered, watching your rage slowly disperse into your usual calm. 

“Geonu’s right, and I rarely agree with that cunt,” Sungchan added, attempting to flail his elongated arms on Geonu’s shoulders. 

“Hey! We’ve been playing together for centuries and this is how you repay me?”

“My bad, captain,”

“I think you two need to go to couples therapy instead of them,” Jeongin interrupted, using his thin, fox-like eyes to slyly look at the pair. “I mean, you guys have been at it since high school. They’ve only been at it for like, three years.”

“Thank you, Jeongin. Thank you.” 

As always, it was up to Jeongin to fix things whenever the entire band was on the brink of disbandment. For Jeongin, though, it was another stressful addition to his reluctant ventures as a member of Joker In. First, it was his anxieties about keeping Felix’s legacy after he left. Then, it was helping you mitigate the couple’s quarrels that Geonu and Sungchan always found themselves in. Now, it was helping you calm down after the mere mention of Beomgyu’s existence. 

“Anyway, let’s get back to practice. Rhythm first,” Geonu snapped. The one thing about him that made him an efficient frontman was his ability to gather the team back into practice. No matter how many times he’d often want to throw his microphone stand in Sungchan’s face or duct tape your mouth shut whenever Heeseung would come in and deliberately bring Beomgyu up, he had faith that the entire band would succumb to obedience once he took control. 

“Why?” Jeongin grumbled. To his detriment, Geonu had asked the rhythm section to double their practice time for the past week. At first, he didn’t really see an issue with this, but now, he was skeptical. You, too, shared the same sentiment, looking at Jeongin in confusion before reluctantly shrugging your shoulders and picking your drum sticks from the floor. 

“I have to talk to Sungchan about something important,”

With this, you gave Geonu a salute and watched the two climb up from the basement and disappear altogether. Once they were gone, you started to hit your sticks together, counting from two as you waited for Jeongin to play the backing track. 

As for Geonu and Sungchan, they eased into the abandoned kitchen of the rustic house, watching Heeseung’s slumped, sleeping figure on the broken couch. They made sure to drop him home before you finished your round with Jeongin, and they hurried to one of the care packages they’d often pack for a bottle of water. 

“How do we tell her that Beomgyu’s been sneaking into our gigs?” Geonu asked in a hushed voice, his ears turned to the direction of the stairs that led into the basement. 

“I mean, I don’t think we need to tell her,” Sungchan replied. “It’s gonna ruin the band and everything we’ve got going for us so far.” He nonchalantly took a sip of his water and took a quick glance at Heeseung, who was knocked out cold. 

“What do you mean? I think she deserves to know so the two of them can finally fix things,”

“Geon, it’s not that easy,”

“How would you know?”

“I don’t, but I can tell,” Sungchan muttered, trying to keep his already quiet voice even lower. “It’s probably just them blowing some steam off because they couldn’t find a way to do it before,”

“Hate fucking?” Heeseung joked, keeping one eye open before slumping back down into the comforts of the smelly, tic-ridden couch. Geonu also reminded himself to tell Heeseung to visit the doctor and take a long shower once he got home. 

“Not quite,” Sungchan said, returning the sentiment while walking towards Heeseung with another bottle of water. “You know, if you think about it, both of them come from a pretty well-to-do background. They’re both in the same program, and from what I sort of know about her situation and from what I can guess about Beomgyu, they’re both just facing the consequences of overbearing tiger parents,”

“What did she tell you?” Geonu asked. He was always one for good gossip. Unfortunately, Sungchan wasn’t. 

“That’s not my story to tell, I’m just trying to see it from her perspective,”

“So we don’t tell her?” Geonu asked again, rolling his eyes at Sungchan’s tight-lipped nature. 

“I mean, if she finds out, then she finds out. Just let it happen on its own.”

“And how do we make sure that nothing too messy happens in our gigs?”

“I don’t know, let them fight it off if it happens,” Sungchan muttered after a long, quiet thought. He’s thought about the scenario one too many times, but he wasn’t one to stop the inevitable. “It’s good to let all that pent-up frustration out I guess…”

“You’re too nice, Sung.”

“I know, Geon. I know.”

“What?! Come again?!” 

For Heeseung to call Beomgyu’s voice a scream was an understatement. If a dolphin were to learn to speak, it would sound better than Beomgyu whenever the topic surrounded you and your entire being. It was for this reason that Heeseung sometimes loathed the idea of coming home; he supposed the price of free rent came at a cost of living with the earthly incarnation of wrath. 

“Gyu, I know you heard me the first time,” Heeseung said, attempting to cover his ears to no avail. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Hee. My ears are getting bad from hearing her name!” Beomgyu screamed again, fury visible in the twitches of his eyes. 

“Jesus, you don’t have to shout at me… I’m just your messenger boy,”

“And I don’t need to hear about her! So what if she’s playing their songs? She’s probably gonna fuck it all up anyway…”

“Says the person who went to their gig two nights ago,”

In the same way Heeseung knew all the tricks and tactics to turn you into a red, fuming ball of anger, he also knew how to push all of Beomgyu’s buttons. Then again, it wasn’t that difficult to get Beomgyu angry, for Beomgyu was the type of person to get angry at a mere fly that happened to land on his shoulder. It was very easy to tick Beomgyu off, but only you had the power to get him into a continual period of rage that never ceased to disappear the moment he hears your name or catches a whiff of your scent. Heeseung wouldn’t compare Beomgyu’s so-called hatred towards you in a predator-prey dynamic—to him, both of you were blood-thirsty warlords that could never come to terms with a ceasefire to the detriment of the rest of the world. 

“Hee, I swear, if you told her that—”

“Don’t worry, Gyu. I’m not a snitch.” Heeseung interrupted. “What I am, though, is a messenger boy, and if I’m being honest with you, I’m getting sick of my job. Just admit that you like her and I don’t know? Go fuck her or something,”

“Hee, I don’t like her. Let me correct myself: I will never like her. I like her band, not her.”

Beomgyu was an enigma in many, many ways, but what never failed to amuse Heeseung about his reluctant roommate was how hatred was stronger than attraction or any feelings of love. Beomgyu was the type of person to go through lovers like a page in a novel—fast, yet detailed, but never stuck on the same page for too long. And yet, when it came to you, he seemed to be an avid reader that ceaselessly consumed and repurposed every page of a novel, adding and subtracting everything that he could concentrate all of his energy on understanding the layers and complexities of a text revered by schools and institutions alike. 

“All you talk about is how impeccable the mastering is on the drums whenever you listen to their SoundCloud…”

“So? I just happen to like how she plays. That’s not a testament to me liking her,”

“Why do you hate her so much, Gyu? I don’t think I’ve had the chance to properly ask,”

Heeseung never had the chance to ask Beomgyu out of fear, even when he was high. That was the one thing that never went away no matter what state he was in. To be fair, he had every right to be scared or fearful in any shape or form; he’s never seen a type of hatred as intense and raw as the one Beomgyu harbored over you. 

“Because she exists, Hee. She exists.” 

“Can’t you just let it go?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Beomgyu took a deep breath. He hated that he always ran out of something so essential to life whenever you came up. “Because some dipshit keeps telling my parents that she’s basically beating me in everything! Her!”

“So…?” Heeseung replied, rolling his eyes at the underwhelming result of their rivalry. “Why can’t you just tell them to shut up and mind their own business?”

“I wish it was that easy, Hee. God, I wish. Every time they call me it’s like Oh that girl got number one again! Oh that girl’s president of the law society, why are you VP external? Beomgyu-yah, why can’t you be better?”

Another word about Choi Beomgyu: If it wasn’t as clear as day, then it would be helpful to explain it now. He was from a well-to-do family with no financial obligations or the threat of living a brooding, middle-class life chasing paycheck after paycheck to sustain the bare necessities in Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. With this in mind, Heeseung begins to paint a kaleidoscopic diagram of the various reasons why Beomgyu may be so hung up on always being number two against you. He closed his eyes, allowed the remaining traces of cannabis to set the cogs in his brain into motion, and came up with an epiphany that shook him to the core: Beomgyu was a bored, rich kid that needed something to keep him at his toes, and you were the very stimulant that he was looking for. Sure, it was, in a sense, an underwhelming conclusion, but Heeseung could only digress. He wasn’t born into a family that had it all, and he reckons that if he didn’t have to worry about his finances, he would end up being a bratty, bored student out for blood just like the very person that offered him a taste of wealth in a sky-high apartment. 

“Yikes… Talk about Tiger King and Queen…”

“So yeah, it is personal.” Beomgyu spat. It would be rude to call the boy tone deaf—especially in his hot-headed state. Heeseung kept his mouth shut, something that he rarely did when he was inebriated in any form. 

“You don’t have to tell them about her, you know?” He asked after finding the right words to say. Beomgyu rolled his eyes and huffed under his breath, his hands twitching to throw his phone off the balcony. 

“I’m not! That’s the point! I’m not telling them about her! They’re just stalking me on their own!” 

At this moment, Heeseung thought of trying his best to reconcile the bad blood between you and Beomgyu. Then again, he pondered—another thing he never seems to do. If he were to succeed in getting you and Beomgyu to set your respective differences aside, then he wouldn’t have his very own source of entertainment anymore. As much as he would’ve hated to admit, he always looked forward to getting high just to hear Beomgyu complain about you. What made it even funnier to him was how you were nothing like the devil that Beomgyu pictured. It wasn’t to say you were an angel that descended from the heavens, either. You were, in fairness, just an average university student that couldn’t—and shouldn’t—care less about a rich boy that endlessly yapped about you. Without Beomgyu in the picture, you were just a drummer that had to deal with another pair of noisy rivals that needed to go to some form of couple’s therapy. 

“Hee, you don’t get it, do you?” Beomgyu suddenly spoke, breaking the short-lived silence that Heeseung tried to salvage. 

“Afraid not.”

“I can’t get along with someone like her. I just can’t. She gets on my nerves, and I wish she didn’t exist!”

It was common for Heeseung to hear Beomgyu complain about his parents and his brother in the few months or so of him living with the boy. In fact, it was a routine for Heeseung to hear Beomgyu complain. That was what he was good at, and he was glad that he was putting his skills to good use by choosing the right program and career path. Now that Heeseung had the chance to picture it, Beomgyu would make a fine lawyer, incessantly nagging his way through each court case until the jury rules in his favor so he would shut up. 

“Jesus, you rich kids are kind of an ick…” Heeseung whispered. He gave Beomgyu a quick wave and headed straight to the balcony, closing it to see his roommate flash him the middle finger. He returned it with a smile, and fished a lighter out of his jean pocket to light the stem of a dirty, unwashed bong that was filled with beer instead of water. 

“You should be lucky I’m letting you live here for free,” Beomgyu mouthed through the glass windows just enough for Heeseung to see. 

“Yeah, I guess hearing you pine about a fellow overachiever and trauma dump about your terrible childhood is better than paying for rent,” Heeseung replied, opening the door to let Beomgyu into the balcony. Beomgyu hated it whenever Heeseung would smoke. A part of it came from the stench that stuck to his hair and clothes despite three laundry loads in the washing machine, and another part came from his irrational fear of anything related to drugs—which was rather odd since he was the type of person who was pretty loose when it came to drinking copious amounts of alcohol at social gatherings. 

“Hee, if I go to jail one day, you’ll probably be out of this earth to witness it.”

“Oh, I’m so scared!” 

Heeseung tried his best to stifle a bout of laughter that began to accumulate in his lungs but to no avail. In an instant, he was a laughing mess with red-laced eyes, and all Beomgyu could do was cover his nose as the hooded boy continued to blow smoke on his face. 

“Close the fucking door when you smoke, you’re hotboxing the entire apartment,” Beomgyu screamed, storming out of the balcony to close the glass windows shut. Before he could go back to his room, Heeseung stood up and opened the door again, letting the stench of weed laced with moldy beer enter the ventilation system. 

“You should try it sometime, Gyu. It’d loosen the stick up your ass for sure,” Heeseung said with a languid touch to his cadence. Every word and movement he uttered was met with heavy restraint, and Beomgyu knew that Heeseung wasn’t on earth anymore. 

“Are you coming?” Beomgyu asked. He knew there was nothing he could do to reason with someone that was properly baked. 

“To what?” Heeseung responded, almost shattering the bong in his hands as he languidly danced back into the apartment. 

“Joker In’s gig tonight,” Beomgyu said reluctantly—almost too quick for Heeseung to catch. 

“Gyu, I deliver their pizza like, every day. I don’t need to go there again unless they give me shrooms for free.”

“Whatever,”

Beomgyu stormed off into the bathroom to grab the essentials that he relied on for the perfect disguise: a disappearing can of Manic Panic hair dye in neon red, a pair of scissors and a bunch of razorblades that he used to tear his jeans and his tank tops, a pencil of kohl eyeliner that he stole from one of his first hookups during freshman year, and a near-empty bottle of black nail polish. Heeseung often joked about how his so-called “disguise” was just a blast from the MySpace, scene-girl past, but Beomgyu refuses to admit that his go-to look to your gigs was less-than-perfect. He’s snuck into your gigs since he saw you secretly put posters of a Valentine’s bash on every crevice of the law faculty; he was sure a couple more gigs couldn’t hurt before the inevitable occurs. 

“You’re going alone?” Heeseung asked, waving at his reflection in the mirror while trying his best to stop himself from uncontrollably laughing. 

“Yeah, why?”

“What if she sees you?”

“Have you seen her play? She only focuses on rubbing two sticks. I doubt she’d even notice me.” Beomgyu replied, sharpening his eyeliner. Heeseung knocked the bottle of nail polish and caught it, a wide grin of pride on his face as he carefully placed it back in its original position near the sink. 

“See? You’re constantly horny for her,”

“I’m not, she’s ugly and she’s annoying,”

“And yet you’re going to her gig,”

“Man, shut the fuck up.” To Beomgyu’s surprise, this had become his way of saying goodbye to Heeseung whenever he would go to your band’s gig. He used to push Heeseung out of the bathroom so he could concentrate on applying eyeliner on his waterline, but he’s become desensitized to the stings that he would feel when he would accidentally poke his eyes. Sometimes, Heeseung was willing to help Beomgyu apply red dye to his hair, tracing the lines of his tattoos around his arms and calling them crude shapes such as dick nozzle or pee pee stains. Whether he liked it or not, it had unfortunately become a ritual to have Heeseung with him when he was going through his transformation, and now, he was afraid that Heeseung’s absence wouldn’t give him the push and comfort he needed to go through with his covert operation to see you play the drums.

“I’m calling out to you, I wish I could hide,

Oh, no one loves me tonight

It’s just my demons and I,”

This was supposedly the hundredth time that Beomgyu had seen Geonu sing, but he could never learn from his mistakes. Alcohol, nicotine, and Geonu’s voice seemed to give Beomgyu the worst cross-faded experience of his life. Contrary to what others might believe, Beomgyu felt like this during all of Joker In’s gigs because Geonu was too good at his job. His voice had an enchanting quality to it that made Beomgyu’s walls collapse into putty, turning the decrepit paint-job of the basement into one, giant quicksand that continually pulled Beomgyu in. It didn’t help that the rest of the band amplified Geonu’s hypnotic timbre; Sungchan’s guitar acted as a second voice that harmoniously meshed with the mystic melodies that left Beomgyu in a trance-like reverie; Jeongin’s bass didn’t act as a stabilizer with its own heavy renditions of weightless bliss—and, of course, you. 

Suspension of disbelief was something that Beomgyu thought he could never accomplish, and yet, the moment you started to strike each tom with your drum stick, he knew that everything in his life didn’t matter to him anymore. He supposes it was the power of music, but he also hatefully admits that your skills carried an unbreakable spell with each note you hit. Rhythm wasn’t even something he particularly enjoyed, seeing as most of the music he listened to was melodic and lyrical in nature. It was only when you took the seat to the drum kit that he was finally able to stand close to the speakers, in the very corner he saved for himself, just to see your tireless figure effortlessly match the energy of the rest of the band. He didn’t know what it was that made him nearly obsessed with the way you played: What it the nonchalance you brought to the stage? Or was it the fills you’d add here and there whenever there was an instrumental break? Was it perhaps the almost-melodic nature of your playing that aroused not just him, but everyone in the room into a mosh-pit frenzy? Maybe it was the way you looked when you played—but he wasn’t drunk enough just yet to admit something so… raunchy. 

The walls started to fade one by one, and the group of people that crowded all corners of the basement slowly blended together into various forms and colors. The neon, old gray test lights that dyed the room in a diverse spectrum of colors swirled into one, hazy, hypnotic vision that almost made Beomgyu nauseous. Geonu’s voice began disappearing into thin air, and all he could hear was the muffled bass drum that you kicked with patterned intervals. 

This was out of the norm, and Beomgyu’s recklessness amplified into tenfolds of fear. He couldn’t feel the sensations of his skin anymore; his eyes continued to swirl into an amalgamation of colors and people that looked like blurry amoebas; time seemed difficult to track as everything was moving too fast and slow for him to ground himself; each body he bumped into felt like he was getting crushed under its weight; Beomgyu couldn’t breathe; Beomgyu couldn’t see anything anymore; the only thing that Beomgyu could hear was an all too familiar voice that he wasn’t sure he hated or loved. 

“Hey, you alright?”

When Beomgyu opened his eyes, he was outside the concert venue, crouched down on the same levels of the tall grass that tickled his face. His cheeks felt cold to the touch, almost as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on him. He felt through his hair and tried to contain the fear that embraced his body, locked in a state of panic at the sight of bright red staining his palms. It took a while for him to realize that it was just the temporary dye that he’d placed on his hair, but the apprehension and trepidation came to haunt him again when he looked up to see your concerned, glassy eyes. 

“You don’t look too good,” You repeated, kneeling down to his level as you lit a cigarette and blew the smoke against his direction. There were several empty water bottles next to you, coupled with an entire cooler filled with soft drinks, fruit juice, and whatever Beomgyu could see in the dimly lit outdoors of the outskirts of town. 

“No, I’m fine.” He breathlessly replied, staring down at the soles of his scuffed, leather combat boots. There was no way he could look up now. He could tell that you weren’t convinced; your chuckles made the pits of his stomach dance with the bile that was piling up in the organ. You took a water bottle and gently held his face in the soft surface of your palms, letting the liquid slowly refresh the corners of Beomgyu’s mouth. The haziness that he felt in his vision slowly dispersed into clarity—which worsened the nausea that overwhelmed Beomgyu in waves. It was the first time he got this close to you without wanting to rip your head off. He didn’t know how he felt about it, but the remnants of alcohol that swirled throughout his bloodstream made his cheeks flush in a bright shade of red. He quickly took the water bottle away from you, drowning himself in its cool temperature. Maybe that way, he would wake up and remind himself that you shouldn’t be a friend. 

The cool winds of the summer night grazed his cheeks in a tender embrace as he tried his best to keep his head down. He relentlessly prayed that the dimness of the venue’s entrance would hide his worst-kept features from you, fearing for the worst. Ever since his first visit to your band’s gig, he’s never felt something so close to a palpable sense of freedom—a euphoric high that gave him the taste of being a carefree young adult caught up in the fast times of rock music and decadence. He’s thought about making amends just to keep his little, secret sanctuary intact, but his stubborn pride wouldn’t allow him to yield to someone like you. Now that he was sober enough to think about it, he found the irony behind you embodying both his shackles to parental approval and a one-way ticket to liberation quite laughably fascinating. During the day, you were the very picture of something his parents wished he could be, and during the night, you had all the qualities of becoming a musician he idolized. He cursed fate under his breath, wishing that you weren’t blessed with the gifts of intelligence and innate leadership skills. He refused to admit it, but in another life where all you were to him was a drummer in his favorite band, he would’ve given you the benefit of the doubt and let you into his life. 

He was reminded of your presence when you hovered a thin, white stick in front of him that glowed within the vast darkness of the night sky. He politely refused, shaking his head as a way to tell you that he didn’t smoke. You stifled a bout of laughter and tucked the cigarette back into its flimsy, dilapidated box, taking a languid seat next to the boy that you decided to take care of without realizing that he was the main source of your misery in your school life. 

“What was the last song that you guys performed? I think I missed it because I blacked out or something,” Beomgyu asked with slight hesitance. 

“A new version of Vem Da Greš that Geonu translated a few days ago,” You replied, humming the tune to the song that he wished he saw you play live. Something inside of him was telling him that he shouldn’t stay here any longer, so he got up and stretched his arms and legs, callously calculating his angles so you wouldn’t see a single hint of his face. He reveled in your denseness but despised your natural amiability. Once you got up and mimicked his stretches, he turned his head back and stuffed his hand in his jean pocket, fishing for his keys as he mustered a small goodbye in your direction. 

“Are you sure you can go home alone?” You asked. “I can drop you off at the bus stop or something, since this place is pretty far out from the nearest city,”

A part of Beomgyu knew that the city lights would reveal his identity, but another part of him also knew how stubborn you can be. Even if he were to tell you that he was fine, and that he’s been known to rely on drunk navigation a lot, he was sure you would ceaselessly insist on taking him home. That was another thing he hated about you—you were too nice, too caring, and too kind to be his rival. 

“I’ll be fine,” Beomgyu replied, trying his best to change the tone and cadence of his usual voice. As expected, your cackles echoed across the large stretches of grass and greeneries that surrounded the abandoned house that your band inherited, and you slowly walked closer to his side to poke his shoulders. 

“You were literally wobbling around the basement, and if it weren’t for a nice group of girls that nursed you back to health at the sofa, you wouldn’t be here standing up to go home,” 

Beomgyu covertly checked the time on his phone, afraid that the phone case filled with his cards and IDs would give his identity away. The time read 03:46 A.M., and he heaved a long, drawn-out sigh. He should’ve called Heeseung a little earlier to pick him up before he got absolutely wasted. In fairness, he could just call an Uber and hitch a ride home, but the transaction would raise another round of suspicion for his parents. He already had enough to worry about when he turned off his location and lied about going on weekly hiking trips with his friends, and he didn’t want to subject himself to another endless lecture and the threat of heightened surveillance from his parents. 

“Fine,” 

You jogged back to the venue and quickly came out with several water bottles in your small backpack, tossing one in Beomgyu’s direction. It was already bad enough for him that you out of all people saved him from his drunken downfall. The last thing he needed to end his night was to go on a long walk back into the city with someone he was supposed to hate. 

“So, where do you live, if I may ask?” 

Beomgyu pondered. He didn’t have to tell you his exact address. “Around Mapo-gu, near Mapo station.” 

“Oh?”

He didn’t like the lack of response on your end. A low, vibrating hum escaped your lips, and you snapped your fingers as your mouth widened in amusement. “That’s where my friend lives! I can ask him to pick you up once we get there!” 

You quickly took your phone out of your pocket and held it in your ear, too quick for Beomgyu to protest and stop you from doing so. Now, he was sure it was all over. The moment he heard the receiver pick up, he braced himself for what was to come. 

“Hee, are you awake right now?” You asked, impatiently tapping your foot on the concrete roads that led to the only bus stop in sight—a shadowy silhouette of a thin, metal pipe with a flat circle that read Supsok Village Complex 2. He took a quick glance at your fretful stance, fidgeting with the straps of your phone’s drum keychain while fiddling with the pair of sticks that were lodged under the straps of your loose, billowy joggers. A satisfied hum huffed out of his breathless mouth when he saw you irately throw your phone inside your backpack. Even if Heeseung didn’t pick him up from the venue tonight, he knew that he could always rely on his copious cannabis routine to fall into a deep, unyielding sleep around this hour.

“I’m sorry, my friend’s a bit of a pothead so he’s probably knocked out cold or something,” You apologetically muttered. I would know, he’s my fucking roommate, Beomgyu thought to himself, returning your regretful sentiment with the only form of forgiveness he was willing to give you. Now, it was just the two of you, and Beomgyu had no clue if he should take the long, arduous hike back to his apartment or be thankful enough for your clumsy attempts at assisting him back to his domicile. The fact that he leaned towards succumbing to your aid made him realize that he wasn’t as good with alcohol as he would’ve liked—and now, he was sitting right next to you, eyes glued on his warped reflection in the glass windows as he watched you idly fidget in your seat. He was more than willing to suffer through the entire bus ride to his area of town in awkward silence, but judging from the way you tapped your feet and snuck quick glances between his brows and the tip of his nose, he knew that there was no escaping your desires for a tangible conversation. 

“So… did you enjoy the show?” You asked after passing through six different bus stops. Beomgyu played with the loose hems of his tattered tank top, letting the seams go undone. He didn’t expect you to take your hoodie off in one motion, tossing it to the side of his neck as you quickly looked away. He tried his best to etch the rare shyness he saw written on your curved, cat-like spine; this was definitely something he’ll be bullying you for tomorrow. 

Was he at fault for catching you in your most vulnerable state? No. You were just too dense to realize that the handsome, messy, rocked-out, drunk stranger right next to you was the very bane of your existence. 

Beomgyu’s glory was short-lived, though. Now, he had to make the move. He remembered what his brother had taught him back in middle school, when Beomgyu was still struggling through incessant voice cracks and embarrassing one-liners that he’d religiously recite to get the girl of his then-dreams to bat a single eyelash in his direction. Step one, take a deep breath—because oxygen is the key to looking good, apparently. Step two, expand the diaphragm to fill the ribcage and beyond. It provided the facade of chest muscles. Step three, turn the chin low enough so the vocal cords could only register low notes—he didn’t know the science behind it, but he found that doing these three steps immensely lowered his already low, baritone voice into unknown depths (Beomgyu would like to add that he would never do this sober. It took courage for him to fall for his brother’s tricks, and he was only ever so courageous when he was drowned in eighteen glasses of tequila sunrise). 

“Y-yeah, you guys did great as always,” Did it work? 

No, it didn’t. The timid shyness in your slouched stature was gone, replaced with your best attempts at keeping your laughter within the confines of your throat. He couldn’t tell if you were choking on air, stifling your dinner and pushing it back into your stomach, or suffering through an intense, sharp pain in your abdomen. All he knew at the moment was that the tension that was once present in the air instantly dispelled into the flowery picture of two young adults failing to hold their laughter back in the empty seats of the night bus. It was certainly an odd experience for Beomgyu to not just share a ride home with someone he would very much murder in the confines of an empty, night bus, but he couldn’t deny how right things felt at the moment. Within the dim, flickering fluorescent lights of the shaky bus, all he could see was another universe through the reflections of the glass windows—a universe where he met you under different circumstances. A different reality where he would take you home and house you in his apartment, watching sad movies in his bedroom until the first sunrise. 

Are you more of an action person, or comedy? My favorite genre is melodrama, he wanted to say. Maybe in his “new” identity as a faux washed-up youth in leather combat boots and ripped jeans, he might have some leeway into managing his double life. Tirelessly hating you for three years straight certainly added tired him out, so perhaps it would be a new thing to try 

“Ah, a repeater,”

“That’s… odd? I don’t see you around a lot, though,” You replied. It was often common for your band to track and befriend those that constantly attend your shows—then again, you weren’t the best judge of that. Each gig always ended in 

“That’s because I don’t stick around after the encore. I just leave once the song is done,” Beomgyu replied, trying his best to alter the tone in his voice. He couldn’t tell if you were just extremely tired or if you had too much to drink, but the deep swirls of colors under your lids was enough for him to feel a sense of security in his identity being under wraps. Just like the milkiness of the dark skies that danced with several shades of navy, you swayed back and forth with the motions of the car, heavy lids slowly going in and out of sleep as you tried your best to stifle a yawn and pay attention to your somewhat new companion. The driver announced the last stop, acting as an alarm for you to slap yourself in the face and hop off your seat. 

To be fair, both of you were in an equal state of fatigue and inebriation. Beomgyu was waddling as he tried to balance himself on the railings of the exit door, and you placed your weary palm on the semi-wet surface of the bus, momentarily taking it away after the driver had angrily beeped at you until you did so. Once the bus zoomed away, you felt a wave of nausea hit you—at first, it began at the back of your stomach, then, it slowly climbed its way up until you were hunched over at the nearest sewer, coughing out everything that was supposed to fuel you for a one-hour set. Beomgyu turned away and reluctantly placed gentle pats on the small of your back, hiding his face from the city lights that threatened to blow his cover off. 

“My apartment is this way,” He muttered. You nodded after a few rounds of coughing, then doused yourself with the last water bottle that was inside your backpack. 

“Mine’s on the other end of the street,” You replied, wiping your mouth with your jacket and quickly waving off his concerns with a tired grin. He couldn’t imagine the toll it took on you, or any musician for that matter, to play intense, fast-paced songs back to back without any rest, but perhaps that type of stamina was what it took to become a professional of sorts. Maybe that was also why you were such a feisty fighter, because you needed the energy to carry yourself throughout the day. 

“See you around?” You asked. He didn’t turn to look at you. He simply stood still, lowering his head until all he saw were the messy, beer-stained surface of the degrading leather in his combat boots. He gave you a quick nod, then stuffed his sweat-ridden hands in his jean pockets. Somehow, he could still feel your presence lurking around, waiting idly until he entered the apartment. It wasn’t until he was within the comforts of his building, swiftly jogging up to the elevator, that you began to walk away. Through the large, glass windows of the apartment building, you were but a mere ant, eyes lingering on the path he took as if it were a complex maze. He could see you taking quick glances between your road and his, a satisfied smile on your face as soon as you confirmed that he was, indeed, safely home. That was another thing he hated about you. There was no need for you to have gone that far to make sure a stranger from your gig got home without getting mugged. 

He didn’t need to be cautious when he opened the door to his apartment. Heeseung was already fast asleep on the sofa, strewn with empty bags of potato chips and bags of Starbucks takeout that he probably went out to get once Beomgyu had left to go to Joker In’s show. In his current state, it was practically impossible for him to get up and pick Beomgyu up. Beomgyu was pretty much used to ending his night with the role of a babysitter, but now, he didn’t feel like he had the energy to keep up with his routine. Heeseung could probably manage fine on his own, and Beomgyu desperately needed a cold shower to refresh his head at the unexpected encounter. God, she’s so fucking dense, Beomgyu thought, smiling to himself as he plopped his body on the warm, soft surface of his duvet. The shower will have to wait until the morning, and until then, he didn’t mind the extra load of laundry that came with massive spots of red dye on his pillowcases.

II. VOTE NO.24 ON EUROVISION! GO SLOVENIA!

To your luck, Geonu didn’t announce a practice session today. Normally, the band was privy to five hours of practice every single day—including the weekends. A part of it came from Geonu’s penchant for perfection, but another came from the growing bond that the band had developed over time. While Geonu and Sungchan didn’t necessarily need more time together, the daily sessions helped the entire band get to know each other and experiment with compatibility in the most esoteric way possible. In your first sleepover with the band at the eerie, decrepit basement (Heeseung would call it a horror movie set), you were able to call Jeongin a friend after he gently sat you through one of your first acid trips, gripping your hands tight as you endlessly cried about the visions and voices that still manage to chain themselves in your nightmares to this day. Another thing you learned about Jeongin that day was that he had a problem with mushrooms during high school, only quitting in his second year after an intervention that led him spiraling into a near-death experience of impulsively taking his car out in the middle of the night. You didn’t ask him for the specifics, nor did you mention that you were surprised that someone like him had gone through rehab, but you learned that Jeongin had trusted you with his story. 

“Believe it or not, but Eurovision was what got me through that entire ordeal,” You remembered Jeongin telling you at some point. He was confined in a psychiatric ward for nearly a month, his schedule and time dictated through therapy sessions, group activities, and worksheets that he haphazardly filled. He also told you that time passed differently when one was locked inside the same, white walls every day, and so the only time started to move for him was when the person next to him invited him to watch several Eurovision performances in preparation for the finals in Rotterdam two years ago. 

“I knew nothing about Europe then, but the guy next to me was married to a Swedish woman for a decade before she passed. They made it a routine to watch Eurovision every year, and he still tries his best to keep up with it even when she’s gone.” 

You expected him to mention Maneskin as the band that got him through his slump, but Jeongin was a man full of surprises. For someone with beady, glassy eyes and a geekish demeanor, you didn’t think that Finland’s Blind Channel would be the one that would get him out of the institution. 

“I mean this sounds like an edgy fourteen-year-old’s confession on an anonymous forum, but man, I’ve never really seen a band like that go so hard on live television, you know? Every time I see crazy antics or bands that had the same energy as Rage Against the Machine, it was always in the 90s or the early 2000s, when things weren’t too radio-friendly. And it wasn’t just them being hardcore like that, but it was how down-to-earth they all were—almost like they really loved what they were doing.” 

Jeongin didn’t tell you why he started taking mushrooms or what led to him getting institutionalized in the first place, but it was enough for you to know that what you once perceived as an odd affinity for Eurovision was to him, an important getaway that cemented him back into the ground. Since then, the topic of Eurovision had become a daily part of your life—and now that the 2023 semi-finals were coming, Jeongin and the rest of the band had been keeping tabs on the latest culmination of the contest. In your downtime, Sungchan would update the Discord server with his ever-evolving tier list of entries, and Geonu would log on just to argue and contest Sungchan’s opinions. Of course, both would know their places once Jeongin would enter the conversation, but nonetheless, it came to a point where your days would feel empty without someone mentioning anything Eurovision related. 

There was Eurovision, and then, there was Beomgyu. 

Oddly enough, your days also felt incomplete without Beomgyu. Ever since you made the bold mistake of scheduling the same office hours as Beomgyu, the two of you had been in a constant stalemate of academic excellence. For you, it wasn’t necessarily the fact that you needed to prove something; you initially enjoyed seeing someone get so riled up and bothered at the fact that you were always better in everything you did. In a sense, your goals, ambitions, and fortitude didn’t come from a place of parental pressure or identity-building—you had to be on top of your game to the detriment of your well-being. While Beomgyu may have seen it as a competition, you saw it as a zero-sum game. To you, your entire livelihood basically depended on being the best at whatever, whenever, and wherever—excluding your role as a drummer in Joker In. 

“Good morning, dipshit,” An all too familiar voice rang in your ears. You didn’t need to turn your head around to see who took the spot next to you in the vast lecture hall. Keeping your head to the busy tabs on your laptop, you heaved a sigh of both relief and exhaustion. Despite the absence of practice, you still had another part of your daily routine in check. 

“What the fuck do you want, Gyu,” You coldly spat, knowing that the response you were going to get had to do with your gigs last night. 

To the surprise of many—yourself included—your persona as the drummer of Joker In had been one of your best-kept secrets. Sure, being in a band was something most college kids got to experience, and student musicians were a common phenomenon across all facets of campus life. You nonetheless kept those two aspects of yourself as separate as possible, creating a clear divide that made sure none of those parts of your world intertwined and meshed together in any way. The law society didn’t need to know about the nightly debauchery you involved yourself in within the confines of the basement; those were stories that you kept to yourself to your grave—a musical pandora’s box that was meant to stay a secret. 

“Heard through the grapevine that Little Miss Perfect got shitfaced last night,”

This time, you closed your laptop and snapped your head towards Beomgyu. Heeseung was terrible at keeping his mouth shut, but he wasn’t there to bear witness to the copious amounts of alcohol and weed that muddled your body that night. In a flurry of panic, you did your best to remember everyone that was present at the gig, scouring through the entirety of emails on Eventbrite that signed up for a ticket or two. 

“And?”

Then again, what consequence would you get if you got caught? It wasn’t like the Law Society could strip you of your position; you were single-handedly the only president of the contemporary generation that managed to revive the organization from near death. If you told any of your professors about your musical ventures, you doubt they would look at you differently. In fact, they might even check out your gig or look up Joker In’s several sites across the internet, either becoming a fan of the band or not. Truthfully, there was no certain risk that threatened your current position and reputation on campus as the face of the Faculty of Law. The only thing that mattered to you was the unpleasant nature of combining your professional life with one that you exclusively created to escape the shackles of boundless perfectionism and tireless efforts to maintain all that you had built. 

“That’s not a good look for the law society,” He grinned, perching his chin on his palm as he flipped through his notes. You did the same, clearing your throat as soon as the ten-minute mark on the digital clock succumbed all students into a quiet, dreary dread of a two-hour lecture. 

“Last time I recall, you’re the one seen at a super sketchy rave last summer,” You whispered, keeping your head low enough so the professor couldn’t see you. “If you’re ratting me out for my band, then I’m ratting you out for doing lines with Heeseung at the Seoul Jazz Festival,”

“I only did one line, mind you,”

Another odd occurrence between you and Beomgyu’s rivalry was how both of you had accumulated so much dirt on each other, that it was practically impossible to call everything a truce. For the past three years, each intense battle between grades, essays, and projects was met with threats of outing the other for reckless behavior. Whenever Beomgyu would bring up your period of weed addiction in first year, you would rebut with some of his worst speeding incidents. If he were to draft an email to the program coordinator about your experiments with DMT when you just began your friendship with Geonu, then you were ready to send pictures of him doing lines with his rich friends at a yacht in Mykonos. Three years of constant rivalry also meant constant surveillance, and now that the two of you had reached the finish line to your respective degrees, the tension and threat of total exposure increased tenfold. 

“A line’s a line,” Beomgyu silently spat through gritted teeth. “I’d never do coke, so you should be thankful I’m not kicking you out as president,”

“Fuck you,”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I’m lucky, then.”

“That’s the only luck god’s gonna give you, Gyu.”

Three years of unyielding pride and egoism also meant that the two of you knew when to stop arguing. Even if most of the people around you saw you and Beomgyu as a pair that didn’t know when enough was enough, there were certain limits that introduced a silent armistice in the war that Beomgyu had waged on you. For one, if fights were to occur before a lecture began, both of you were willing to swallow your feelings of pride and pay attention, ushering the competition elsewhere in the form of aggressive keyboard smashing and who could raise better questions to the professor. This was one of those instances, and as always, you left the lecture hall as the main victor, even being called after class to discuss the prospects of constitutional reform with the professor. Beomgyu simply stood to the side instead of leaving—another trait about him that you grew too accustomed to. Every single time you were either called after classes to discuss further questions or network with the professors, Beomgyu would always be behind you, scanning through every nook and cranny to seize any opportunity to either sabotage your efforts or present himself as the more eloquent and intelligent version between the two of you. Usually, professors didn’t mind this type of engagement—in fact, many academics would thrive in an environment where their students would actively contest and participate in the discourse surrounding topics that interest them the most. However, between you and Beomgyu, this would be a strenuous experience for any professor that was unlucky enough to be caught in your competitive mess. 

Luckily, in every case, Heeseung would always be the savior, dragging the two of you out of the lecture hall in the nick of time. 

“You two should just make out already,” He would often say while muttering strings of apologies to the meek, slouched professors that would hastily grab their bags and rush back into the comforts of their own offices. Albeit humiliating at first, you were now too accustomed to the lanky, tall, and especially inebriated man taking both you and Beomgyu’s collars throughout the ends of the campus, only momentarily seating both of you at the edge of the cafeteria to either laugh or complain. 

“That’s giving him too much luck, Hee,” You bitterly retorted, giving Beomgyu the middle finger as a late greeting. 

“She’s privileged enough to be a rich private school nerd who sucks people’s dick on LinkedIn. I can’t give her too much action,”

“You’re the nepo baby, Gyu! Last time I recall, you got in because of your brother’s recommendation letter,”

Talks about Beomgyu’s brother were what always riled him up the most—of course, second to talks about you. 

Here’s the thing about Choi Seungchol: Though he wasn’t in the Faculty of Law, he was a memorable student that continues to be the face of the Faculty of Medicine. An accomplished oncologist with a prestigious tenureship at John Hopkins, he was one of the few Korean medical students who were able to break the difficult threshold of Western-dominated academia, proving himself with his tenacity, wit, and ever-expanding knowledge of cancer research. From the young age of seventeen, he had already graduated high school and shortened his study as an undergrad, dedicating his entire life to an ambitious—but certainly commendable—dream of finding an affordable, accessible, and efficient cure for cancer. Coupled with a look that was universally easy on the eyes, having a brother like Seungchol would have definitely sparked a deep-seated inferiority complex in anyone who had the displeasure of being his younger sibling. 

Tit-for-tat seemed to be the game that you and Beomgyu often engaged in, and if his kryptonite was his brother, then yours would be the long line of lawyers that you descended from. 

Unlike Beomgyu, who chose to study law out of an intense desire to separate his identity from his brother, you treaded onto the same path that marred your family name with generational pride. Sure, it wasn’t to say you wanted to become a lawyer, but rather, you wanted to become the best lawyer out of your family. Rich people had a different set of issues that they needed to face—a constant, mental battle that cut all ties between blood and family. In your family, there was no such thing as a maternal or paternal bond; every one that bore your name was wrought with the constant pressures of living up to it. Each generation was always compared to the last, and each brought the troubles of the past to the realities of the present. All the woes, infighting, and distasteful pride have unfortunately been a product of an entire familial generation that fought hard to keep its legacy intact—and for you, that meant your ticket to leave all of that behind was outdoing the family altogether, reigning supreme in the lifelong struggle of succession. 

With you, your family wasn’t family anymore—they were stepping stones. A key to success and freedom that can only grant liberation once you did everything to prove yourself. 

In a sense, all rich families were Darwinian. The Chois were a household name in medicine, and yours happened to dominate the legal system. One wanted to break free by independently taking another route in life, while the other aimed to destroy an old empire from within. To those that didn’t have the taste of prestige or the amount of free time to comprehend the psychological detriment of wealth, it was a simple case of money bringing too many unnecessary problems. Why worry about such minute issues like reputation and status when your windows didn’t work? 

To you and Beomgyu though, things were different. Too different, in fact. When both your lives were mapped out to success and filling in the shoes of the past, it was inevitable that you would define yourselves and your actions around your family’s troubles. Something as simple as joining a band would cause immediate ruin to the decades of perfecting your role as the ideal candidate to take over your family’s law firm. 

What Beomgyu didn’t know, and what you kept as an even deeper secret than your nights of musical debauchery in the basement, was that you were a bastard—the only child to a second, hidden marriage that broiled your entire family’s law firm in a mess that led to buying out several news outlets and tabloids who eventually took the money to erase all evidence regarding the scandal. You were paraded as the legitimate daughter of your family, and every single facet of your life had been broadcasted to the public since. From bagging first place in an essay-writing contest as a child to constantly making headlines as one of the best debaters in each high school debate competition, you had maintained the aura and image of a perfect successor. And now, all your accomplishments throughout university had been scantily advertised in university newspapers, online gossip forums, and local magazines—from your events in the law society, the talks you’d organize and give in legal seminars, down to the minuscule acts of charity you would do with the Cold Case Foundation. All of your life was documented for the world to see, prepping you up so the family could contain its skeletons within the safety of its closets. 

This was why you couldn’t contain the hatred and anger you’d managed to keep to yourself for so long when Beomgyu would bring your family into the conversation. An inferiority complex paled in comparison to a family secret that threatened to bring the mighty walls of your family’s empire down to the ground with a single slip-up. 

“News flash: I’m not the one who comes from an entire family that practices law,”

Ah, there it was. You stood up from your seat like always, never looking back as you stomped out of the cafeteria in blood-curdling, fuming anger. It was natural for Beomgyu to assume that you had an uncontrollable temper—after all, to him, you were a figure of contempt. Someone who was lucky enough to be born into a profession that he took up just to escape his lack of medical skills and affinity for science and mathematics. 

“Jesus Christ, she’s so entitled,”

“Not cool, dude. Not cool,” Sungchan suddenly appeared as he always does, carrying a carton of coffee milk and sipping its sweet contents into his throat. Heeseung never really understood why Sungchan would always come to defend you whenever it came to any mentions of your family, but he chalked it up to the behavior of a secret admirer. Spending time together every day in the basement and playing in a band is a great way to get to know a person, and an even better chance to fall in love. If that were the case, then Heeseung certainly felt bad for the guitarist. Although you were already perceived as a picture of admiration, awe, and intimidation from afar, nobody truly knew how cutthroat and blunt you were behind the sheer curtains of model excellence. Heeseung was one of the few that bore witness to how ruthless you can be, and if it were him, he would thwart all chances of attempting to woo you. If Beomgyu was already enough of a testament to your mercilessness, then it was the strict, iron command you had at the law society that made you a less-than-ideal lover in bed and beyond. 

“So I’m the bad guy for bringing up her family,”

“To be fair, she was the one who brought it up first…”

“Thank you, Heeseung!” Beomgyu exclaimed. Sungchan rolled his eyes and tossed the carton of coffee milk; a perfect shot right into the plastic opening of the bin. Heeseung watched with envy, lamenting at his failed basketball career. If only he had been taller, then maybe he might’ve had the chance to skip college altogether and fly to the US to sign a contract with the NBA. He’s always wondered why Sungchan didn’t opt for basketball as a sport, playing for the university’s varsity baseball team instead. He had the height and build to quickly gain ranks as a star player, and he certainly had the agility and aim to entrench himself as one of Korea’s best three-point shooters. Whenever Sungchan would look in Heeseung’s direction, the sense of being tinier than an ant in the entire universe maximized tenfold. It wasn’t just Sungchan’s height, but his general aloofness coupled with his nonchalance made everyone feel small under his presence. 

Sungchan raised his hand at Heeseung, waving goodbye once a mutual high five was sealed and locked—a pact of honest brotherhood, as one might say. He mustered a quick, awkward bow in Beomgyu’s direction and ran off the same way you treaded, ignoring the pair’s curious gaze as he scoured through the maze of crowded young adults and intertwined hallways to catch you in your usual spot. 

Beomgyu trailed Sungchan’s tall frame, watching his forehead graze the entry of the cafeteria. He huffed a sigh and grabbed his backpack, slinging it on his shoulder while knitting his eyebrows in frustration.

“Gyu, you’re not red anymore. You’re green,” Heeseung joked. Before Beomgyu could land a clean, painful hit on Heeseung’s neck, the boy quickly waved and ran past the swarm of students that crowded the hallways, waving his dab pen in the air as a quick sign of surrender. Beomgyu rolled his eyes and stared in the direction that Sungchan treaded, wondering if he should follow along. 

Then again, what was it to him? Why was he so angry over something that didn’t even concern him in the first place? You were the one who brought his brother up constantly, so it would only be right for him to hit you where it hurt the most. He didn’t know much about you, but an aching, swelling pang of guilt began rising up in the form of acidic bile, swirling like rough tides in his stomach until a bout of nausea overwhelmed his entire body. Why the fuck do I care? She’s the one who started it all, Beomgyu thought. He gave the hallway that led to the Law Society’s office one, last glance, completely turning his back in the other direction. He had another lecture to catch; he shouldn’t be worried about you.

Once he found your figure crouched under the table of the Law Society’s main office, he knelt to your height, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. You swatted it away with faux bravery, rigorously wiping the soft tears that marred the apples of your cheeks. 

“Hey,” He greeted. 

“Leave me alone,”

“I can’t,” Sungchan laughed under his breath. “I’m witnessing you cry like a baby for the first time,”

“Shut up, Sung.”

For Sungchan, striking a friendship with you was unexpected. He’d at least expected himself to be on good terms with Jeongin before even attempting an acquaintanceship with you. When he initially met you, he had to admit that you were a deplorable person of sorts. You carried an air of superiority wherever you went, treated everyone like they were below you, and you always had a ruthless, competitive streak that turned everything sour with a single blink of an eye. From the moment he laid eyes on you, he was sure that he was going to tell Geonu to look for another guitarist. 

“I can’t work with her,” He confided right after he heard you play the drums in a mock-up audition for a new recruit. “She’s… bitchy.”

“Sung, she’s a professional,” Geonu would often retort, ignoring Sungchan’s complaints about his own strict standard of musical perfection. “I’ve never seen anyone play with so much dedication and tenacity. If only you took this shit more seriously, then I think you can learn to put those feelings aside and actually play the way I want you to.”

For a while, Sungchan did his best to avoid you. Every time you would ask him to play with you so you could synchronize your playing style with his, he would politely decline, opting to send you recordings of his guitar practices from home or outright pretending he didn’t hear you. Granted, he anticipated that you were the type to not let passive-aggression go. One thing he knows about all law majors was their argumentative streak—to him, that was the reason why so many of the people enrolled in that program were born under the star of Aries. Hot-headed, independent, and defensive—those were all the characteristics that aligned with Aries Suns and anyone practicing the legal field. 

It wasn’t until he got too drunk to stand that he experienced your rare displays of kindness. Though it was common courtesy to take care of drunk people at parties, you and Geonu were the only ones who actively checked up on him, closing the door to one of the rooms that became his personal infirmary while constantly feeding him water and a few, light snacks. Whenever he felt like throwing up and Geonu was unavailable, it was you who took him straight to the bathroom, lifting his head of hair as he lurched out his organs into the once pristine, white ceramics of a toilet bowl. Instead of asking him why he hated you, you simply kept your mouth shut, actively giving gentle massages on the crook of his neck and on the small of his back, gently feeding him more water in timed intervals as he continued to hurl and belch in the tiny, squared space of someone’s bathroom. 

“Aren’t you gonna ask me why I don’t like you?” He asked, completely aware of his slurred words. You laughed and pretended you didn’t hear him—the exact same way he behaved whenever you would ask him to practice some of Joker In’s parts with you. 

Perhaps he had too much to drink, or perhaps he just felt safe in the small, cramped, yet cozy spaces of the bathroom, but the first thing he told you—sans re-introductions—was the fact that he wasn’t sure if he was attracted to Geonu or not. In what felt like hours of him trying his best to keep his voice down amidst the blaring, muted, and bass-booted music that streamed into the tiny cracks of the wooden door, he sobered up in a crying fit, watching your figure transform from blurry blobs of wooziness into swirling, tear-soaked waves that made you look like you were submerged into an ocean of his woes and worries. He admired your silence; he admired the small smile that you gave him throughout his entire episode; he admired the way you screamed at whoever was banging at the front door to fuck off; he admired how head-strong and confident you were, even if he knew that you didn’t return those qualities to yourself. 

From that day on, there was a mutual, unspoken pact that formed into a true, life-long bond between you and Sungchan. Whenever Geonu or Jeongin would ask him why he suddenly changed his mind, he would simply shrug, mimicking the same silence you gave him when he spilled his entire emotional journey of sexual discovery inside that holy bathroom. You did the same, giving subtle looks of confusion or outright denying the bad blood between you and Sungchan. The two eventually suppressed their qualms about Sungchan’s drastic shift, nodding in reluctant agreeability that this had to happen eventually for the band to continue. 

“Anyway, I’m pretty sure Beomgyu didn’t mean it,”

“To be fair, I brought it up first. I got what I deserved,” You whispered, careful eyes scanning through random bystanders through the small creak of the agape, wooden door in front of you. Sungchan stood up to close it, but you grabbed the hem of his sweater, begging him to stay. 

“Shh, don’t say that to yourself,” He replied, humming lowly to himself. “I think this is the point where you realize you should probably just get over it all. I mean, it’s been three whole years. Shouldn’t you just get over it and be the bigger person?”

Sungchan’s words hit you like a knife that slashed and hacked at an open wound. Each pause of silence brought another ounce of pain in your chest, and you couldn’t pinpoint if those feelings were a guilty conscience or another byproduct of your massive pride. You hated it when others were right, and you hated it even more that you continued to do the wrong thing despite knowing you could just ignore Beomgyu and get on with your day. Certainly, if you had kept things at light insults three years ago, then you shouldn’t be as riled up or hurt by Beomgyu’s actions and words by now. What bothered you even more, though, was how you didn’t seem to know who made things worse. At this rate, the rivalry between the two of you had gone on for far too long. You couldn’t pinpoint a true start that fueled your spite for him. It was almost like you had always hated Beomgyu from the start, even if there was a part of you that wholeheartedly disagreed with that predicament. 

“You know what, you’re right, Sung. I should stop giving him any of my attention if I want him to shut up,”

“See, it’s not that hard!” 

Before you and Sungchan could shake things off with a friendly hug, your phones buzzed in unison. With a quick nod, the two of you burst out of the Law Society’s office, ignoring the wary eyes that watched each of your steps with confusion and suspicion. You declined the call and swiped right on Sungchan’s phone, popping your head near the camera to see who was on the other end of the line. To your relief, it was an excited Jeongin, carrying crescents in his eyes as he huffed on his earphones’ microphone. 

“Guys!” 

“What’s up, Jeongin?”

“The finals!” He screamed, loud enough for you and Sungchan to mute the phone and cover the speakers. 

“What about it?”

“It’s streaming right now on YouTube!” 

You gave Jeongin a look of confusion, arching your brows and poking Sungchan with your elbows. Despite only getting close to each other for a short time, both of you mastered the art of silence. You didn’t need to tell him to look up the ESC’s website to check if Jeongin was right; there was a certain telepathy that linked your brains together. There was no need for eye contact or physical gestures, it was as if thinking was all it took for Sungchan to understand what you wanted him to say or do, and vice versa. If you were to picture it, then there would be a thin, invisible wire that connected your soul to his, matched with telephone cups where you each whispered your thoughts and actions back and forth. 

“Oh word?” Sungchan muttered once he reached the homepage of the ESC. The semi-finals happened too fast, and it didn’t occur to you that you missed the entire ordeal. Sungchan nodded along, shrugging his shoulders while using his height to push past the sea of students who fell victim to your band’s antics. The key to the exit was Jeongin jumping up and down at the entrance to the university’s main gate, fighting his way out of the security guards trying to calm him down. 

“Come on!” Jeongin exclaimed with infectious glee, grabbing you and Sungchan by the hand and taking the two of you to the nearest train station. 

“Jeongin, where are we going?” You asked. You were sure that Geonu had pinged the entire group chat about the absence of practice that day. Sungchan checked his phone and showed you Geonu’s message once the three of you slowed down and tapped your transit passes to the gates. There was indeed, no practice at the basement today out of Jeongin’s incessant pleas to cancel it. Geonu would have never imagined canceling practice over a singing competition held in Europe, but Jeongin threatened to leave the band if Geonu and the rest didn’t comply with his wishes. Considering how Jeongin was the most compliant member who never seemed to ask for much unless it had to do with Eurovision, Geonu granted the boy’s wishes. 

“The watch party!” 

You scrolled through Joker In’s Kakao group chat with Sungchan, only to find no mentions of a Eurovision watch party anywhere. By now, the entire band had figured that Jeongin was the impulsive type. While you had access to his hidden story of mushroom addiction, the rest were privy to Jeongin’s sudden online activity at the crack of dawn. He would send a barrage of memes and videos on the group chat only to disappear for a week. The only times he would come back was if Geonu had made a practice announcement in the chat, or if the band called him to the meeting place. 

Ergo, Jeongin was not the type of person to organize an entire watch party with his sporadic communication patterns. 

Once the three of you had reached the apartment, a barrage of cannabis hit your nose. Of course, Heeseung was on the side with a bong in hand, while Geonu was already absorbed into the couch, eyes red artificial bliss. Before you could take off your shoes to step inside Jeongin’s apartment, you halted your steps, blinking several times to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. Some people say that hate was just another form of obsession, and the last thing you wanted was to see Beomgyu in your dreams. 

“Why is he here? 

“Beomgyu is Heeseung’s roommate,” Jeongin meekly replied, keeping a small smile on his face as he kicked his shoes off to dash into the kitchen. Sungchan reluctantly followed suit, taking a bowl of potato chips and popcorn to the small, glass coffee table that was at the center of Jeongin’s rather spacious living room. 

“So? Heeseung never brings him to the basement when he delivers pizza,”

“That’s because Beomgyu doesn’t work at the pizza chain,”

Instead of sitting in the empty space next to Beomgyu on the couch, you opted to take a random spot on the couch, sitting behind Geonu’s legs. Normally, he would complain about you using him as a headrest, but at this rate, he was too high to comprehend that there was something leaning into his calves. 

“Whatever. Since when did you like Eurovision anyway?”

“Before you did, that’s for sure, fucking poser,”

“Oh my god, you son of a—”

Before you could stand up, Sungchan placed a firm grip on your shoulder, entrenching you within the surface of Jeongin’s soft, fur carpet. You took a mental note to ask him about his tastes in furniture. On the other side of the couch, Jeongin had hurried back from the kitchen with a few packs of seltzer that he struggled to carry, pushing one of them into Beomgyu’s lap before he could retort in violence. 

“So everyone in this room is voting for Slovenia, right?” Jeongin asked with an eerily large grin. 

“Yep! Number twenty-four!” Sungchan confirmed, making it his duty to make sure you didn’t lash out throughout the entire song contest. There was no use in fighting back; the hands of a varsity athlete cannot be contested with the likes of an occasional charity player. 

“I’m voting Finland…” Beomgyu huffed, rolling his eyes in your direction.

“Gyu, you literally listened to nothing but Carpe Diem last night,” Heeseung retorted in languid, heavy breaths. If one could guess the lightness of his lids, it would be comparable to a bodybuilder’s daily dumbbell perched on top of his eyes. 

“Shut up. I vote for whoever I want, and my money goes to Finland,” Beomgyu replied, cracking a can of cherry seltzer open with his hand. You followed suit, prompting the boy to roll his eyes once again. 

“He’s voting for Finland because he wants to be oh so special like the rest of the world who’s basically riding Käärijä’s dick!” 

This time, you gulped the can of seltzer down in a single sip, crushing the weak, malleable material between your fingers while raising a middle finger in Beomgyu’s direction. Instead of chugging his drink, he took a deep breath, pacing the amount of alcohol that entered and exited his throat. He knew what he was like when he was drunk, and even if the need to punch you into oblivion was there, he had to control himself—at least, for Jeongin. 

“Shut the fuck up, you two! It’s starting!” You and Beomgyu immediately behaved accordingly, exchanging silent death glares while Jeongin ushered to the middle of the large, flat-screen television mounted on his wall. Even if you knew how serious Jeongin was about anything Eurovision related, you didn’t know that he could exude a level of anger that outmatched you and Beomgyu’s squabbles. 

The introduction to the Eurovision Song Contest lined up with the flurry of buzzes that attacked your back pocket. Upon seeing the caller ID, your fingers automatically hovered over the red button. However, the ringing didn’t stop. No matter how many times you’ve tried to dodge each call you got, it would only come back in waves, accompanied by a barrage of text messages that caught your eye,

Dad’s in the hospital.

To be fair, all your memories with your father had been non-existent at best. The only time you’ve ever seen him was in a pristine, neatly-ironed business suit, gallivanting around the meeting rooms of the law firm or taking the same behavior with him on the dinner table, only allowing everyone else to lift their forks once he was seated. Your father’s presence had a shroud of mist around it—mostly because you couldn’t remember a time when you genuinely bonded with him. To call your father a father only suited you best when you were writing your college application essays or passing interviews for internships and research opportunities. Outside of that, you addressed him with utmost formalities, keeping his power trips unbridled by addressing him as Sir or President. He used to like being called an attorney, but after he began to realize that everyone in the firm held the same occupation, he opted for something more. As such, the news of him being in the hospital was shocking, but it was the least of your current concerns. To you, he was just your lifelong boss, slipping you into the legal world with a guaranteed, secure career filled with success and everlasting wealth. The only reason you had to visit the hospital was to discuss the potential inheritance papers that might have to be negotiated on his deathbed, not because of a familial, patriarchal bond that was never even there to begin with. 

“Hold on, I have to take this call,” You said, hastily getting up while balancing yourself on the carpet. You whispered a mute sorry in Heeseung’s direction, who was suddenly sober at the sight of his bong tipping over. 

Once you were in the bathroom, you locked the door and turned on the lights, keeping your eyes away from the large vanity mirror that enhanced the brightness of the entire room. Closing your eyes, you allowed a mouthful of oxygen to enter your lungs, slowly breathing it out as you dialed your brother’s phone number. It didn’t take a single ring for him to pick up. 

“Hey,”

There was always something about your brother’s voice that irritated you. It wasn’t too nasally, but it wasn’t the most clear-cut pitch either. There was a certain grating quality to it that made listening to an obese chain smoker for hours on end a better feat than hearing your brother in a firm meeting or a case discussion. This was probably the reason why you could tolerate Beomgyu, because you’ve lived with people you genuinely despised for as long as you could count numbers and read the alphabet. 

“Why the fuck are you calling me?” You spat, anticipating the worst. You could hear your brother’s breath hitch on the other end of the line. Of course, a situation like this would stress him out. 

“You know I only reach out if it’s important, so get your ass to the fucking hospital right now. Dad’s going through a hemorrhage, and it’s the worst one we’ve seen so far.”

“Oh,”

“So hurry the fuck up. I’ll write your uni up so you can take an academic leave. Shit’s pretty serious,”

Whenever your brother classified a situation as pretty serious, it usually had to do with money. Talks of a potential merger, a big case that’s worth billions of won, or the acquisition of smaller firms that soon became a part of your family’s legal empire. Anything that had to do with money was serious to your brother, and of course, anything that had to do with money was discussed between the family, beneath the nose of your father. 

“What do you mean?”

“You know what this means, right? Dad’s dying, his fucking secretary had just been named the sole trust to the firm, and the entire family’s basically going to war over this fucking fiasco.”

“What the fuck do you mean he signed over the trust to her?”

This was the only time you agreed with your brother about the nature of serious situations. The entire firm and the family were aware of the affair he had with his secretary, but you didn’t know how bad of an impact his senility would have on the future and well-being of the firm and beyond. You kept the phone latched between your shoulders and your chin, taking a seat on the toilet cover while crossing your legs. 

“Just come to the hospital. One of the Choi-owned clinics in Gangnam.”

“Okay, I’m on my way.” You curtly replied. “I’ll be there in twenty,” 

Family ordeals were things that Geonu forgave when it came to skipping practice, but you weren’t sure about breaking the news to Jeongin. Perhaps if you simply told him about your father’s condition, he would let it slide. After all, he was the caring sort. Anything that tugged his heartstrings would render him in a thick, melted puddle of tears. All it took was a story of an old, dying man, and you were sure that Jeongin would let you go. Taking another deep breath, you counted to three and opened the door, slowly making your way from the kitchen and into the living room. Instead of taking your seat back next to Heeseung, you stood still, placing your hands on your waist. Despite Geonu’s current state, he managed to groggily sit upright, eyes peering straight into your soul. The rest of the people in the living room followed him as an example, eyes switched from the television screen to your leveled posture. 

“Guys,”

“Look who’s back from her makeout session with the prof,”

“Beomgyu, not now.” You interrupted, clearing your throat as you mentally ran through the quick story you conjured up in your head. My dad’s bleeding out, and I have to go to the hospital to make sure he’s okay. I hope you guys understand. 

“What, you can’t take a joke? Jesus, I never knew little miss perfect was a softie…”

You would usually let your temper subside and give Beomgyu the benefit of the doubt, but this time, he had crossed the line. It wasn’t to say you cared about your father, but it was still a dire situation that needed to be taken seriously. For all the intelligence that Beomgyu prided himself in, he was not the type to understand basic social cues. As if remaining still wasn’t enough of a message, you let the frustration you’ve built up for years wash over you, closing your eyes as you unleashed three years of pent-up irritation and vexation escape your lips in a shrill shriek. The only thing you felt sorry for at the moment was how this was directed at Beomgyu instead of your family, but you needed to release it all before you eventually exploded. Heeseung dropped his bong and alerted himself awake, leaving his mouth agape while his eyes quickly darted past your forehead. Even Sungchan, who was privy to your bursts of anger, lit up in static shock, rendered in a frozen state that made him glued to his seat. Everyone in the room now had their eyes on you—including Jeongin’s roommate who peeked his head out of his door. 

“Seriously?! My dad’s dying, and this is how you react? Look, I don’t know what the fuck I did to make you hate me this much, but this isn’t a game anymore. I’m done, and I’m out of here!” 

In a flash of a second, you were out the door, letting it swing before reclining into a loud thud. The entire room was now drowned in an ocean of silence, and Beomgyu was the only one who gasped for air. He tried to stand up and chase after you, but his legs were stuck to the cotton of Jeongin’s carpet, pulling him deeper and deeper until his entire body was one with the ground. Geonu exchanged glances with Heeseung and the rest of the band, taking a nearby glass of water and gulping it down in a single sitting. Sungchan quickly climbed up to the couch and sat beside him, patting gentle circles on the boy’s back before directing his attention to the sole, uninvited guest that ruined the watch party. All Jeongin could do at the moment was take the remote from the coffee table, lowering the volume of the television until the entire apartment was laced in another wave of deathly silence. Even if the living room was packed, it felt as if he was the only one in the room, stuck between the carpet and the technicolor screen that showed the first performer of the night. Glimpses of red, black, and white dyed the entire space in ominous colors, flashing images of Edgar Allan Poe in the empty, white walls that surrounded the entire group. The only time someone spoke up was when Jeongin’s roommate passed by to turn off the lights, quickly rushing back within the safety of his room as he locked the door shut. 

“You fucked up,” Heeseung started after a few rounds of unspoken guilt. “Hard…”

“It’s not like I can tell her that I’m mad at her because I don’t know? My parents always yelled at me for not being like my brother?” 

No, that’s not what I wanted to say, Beomgyu thought, but it was too late to take his words back inside his mouth. Now, the initial state of shock that occupied the room was replaced with pure, unbridled resentment. 

This time, he was sure he fucked up. 

“Why did you keep this up for so long, anyway? It’s not like it’s that hard to say sorry or something,” Geonu retorted, slowly sobering up. 

“Look, whatever. I’ll get going now, because apparently, I’m always the bad guy,”

“Gyu!” 

Jeongin tried to chase after Beomgyu’s silhouette, only for Sungchan to hold him back. With two silent nods, Jeongin let go of Sungchan’s sleeve, fiddling with the hems of his sweater while watching the tall, lanky boy jog out the door. He didn’t know if he should end the watch party then and there, or if all of them should continue from where they left off. By now, the second performance had started. Flashes of green and red brightly encompassed their eyes, and they remained seated. Geonu texted the band’s group chat and pinged your user to give them updates on your father’s situation, while Heeseung swiftly took his lighter and lit the stem of his bong, deeply inhaling the glass rim in what was going to be his biggest rip to date. 

What was going on outside of Jeongin’s apartment was a different story on its own. You had called one of your drivers to pick you up from the nearest train station, and now, you were zooming past highways and fast cars, reaching your destination as soon as Beomgyu had stepped out of Jeongin’s apartment building. He tried to rush past the flurry of people during rush hour that crowded the station, but the only person he could see was Sungchan, who had managed to chase him by the tail of his jacket. 

“Hey,” Sungchan uttered, never letting go of Beomgyu’s jacket. 

“Here to defend your girlfriend?” Beomgyu spat. Sungchan was used to this by now,

“No, but I’m here to let you know that deep down inside, I know you’re not a bad person,”

The two were now in front of a vending machine behind the station, a place where drunken white-collared men would drink their sorrows away. It also happens to be the place for a rendezvous to hide under the neon lights of the city—high school couples that secretly meet after the academy for a kiss goodbye before going home, college kids that are too drunk to scan their passes at the gate, office workers that feel the need to have a drink or two before being welcomed back home by their kids, smokers who hide their vices under the surveillance system, and people that are waiting for their online saint to whisk them off their infinite suffering. The vending machine was witness to all facets of society, including Beomgyu and Sungchan’s conversations that would have never seen the light of day. Before the two began, it was a natural ritual for any that chose the vending machine as a meeting place to treat their interlocutors with a beverage or two. Sungchan chose a sizzling can of lemon cider, tossing a couple of loose change he had jingling in his pockets and inserting it in the machine. He tossed the can in Beomgyu’s direction, who accepted it with a meek, small bow. Then, Sungchan fished for the last few coins he could find in the deep trenches of his slacks, pressing the bright, green button that displayed a tall bottle of water. It didn’t occur to him that he had a half-filled water bottle that he took with him in his tote bag for baseball practice; the movement was as automatic as the vending machine dispensing a plastic water bottle in its hooded container. Once Sungchan had the water bottle in his hands, he twisted the cap and waited for Beomgyu to snap the can open. The two clinked their beverages and consummated a few sips. 

“Sure, you’re insufferable and bratty as fuck, but I know you have the heart in you to listen,” Sungchan said, after he was finished with his water bottle. Beomgyu took the can back to the side of his arms, holding it tightly to make sure its fizzy contents didn’t spill out into the streets. 

“She’s been going through a lot, so you should probably cut all of this and apologize if you still want to go to our shows,” 

Beomgyu slowly nodded, taking the can of lemon cider up to his lips once again. For a big city like Seoul, his bright, neon yellow can stood out from the masses of commuters that passed the duo to get to their destination. Sungchan kept his water bottle under his arm, tapping on the plastic cap twice to make sure that he sealed it properly. With a satisfied hum, he cleared his throat and eyed the boy who couldn’t take his can off his lips. 

“I know you’ve been sneaking out in your really shitty disguise, but for my sake, hers, and yours, you should talk it out and hopefully fix whatever you got going on,” He continued. His fingers found themselves at the edges of his pocket again, and an exasperated sigh escaped his lips upon failing to feel through a small, rectangular carton that eased all of his woes with a single huff of smoke. What he found instead was a small, cheap plastic lighter that he didn’t remember purchasing. Granted, he probably stole it off Heeseung’s collection or took it with him when he helped Geonu light his joint. Whatever the case, he found no use for it now. 

“If not, I’m gonna have to ban you from ever showing up again,”

Beomgyu finally took the can off his lips, wiping his mouth with the thick decor of his jacket’s sleeve. Considering the weather, he should’ve probably opted for a lighter cardigan that didn’t graze his lips with leather. Nonetheless, he ignored all feelings of discomfort. He should be used to it by now. 

“Whatever,”

“It’s not whatever, and I’m sure you know that too,”

Beomgyu watched Sungchan’s tall, lanky frame stand upright from his slouched posture, waving his transit card in his face as he started to walk towards the station. He didn’t know if Sungchan was going to go back to his place or if he would pay a visit to the hospital. The only way he would find out is if he bumped into him in the white, putrid halls of a place he’d been avoiding since he left home to attend university.

Beomgyu had always hated hospitals. For as long as he could remember, the smell of antiseptic and rubbing alcohol would always overwhelm his nose, rendering him in a trance-like state that made everything around him a blurry haze of fragmented memories. He could try to recollect the countless hours he’s spent waiting for his father to get off his shift, but all he could gather was the car ride home, sitting silently beside his brother while the driver played an old rockabilly tune from his time. His father wasn’t even in the car with them, and he was probably doing another late shift in the operations room with his mother on standby. When Seungchol was old enough to shadow their father’s sessions, he would be on these car rides alone, carrying the same, putrid odor that reminded him of a distant family that never had dinner together once. When Beomgyu would get home from the hospital, he made it a habit to call his maids or helpers to set up a dinner table with him, each member of the cleaning team acting as his father, his mother, and eventually, his brother. This was the only way he could sleep at night, because the scent of antiseptic would be replaced with dish soap, cleaning tools, and remnants of flower-scented detergent. If the cooks were available, they would also join Beomgyu at the large, family dining table of the Choi household acting as external relatives that he would only see in family functions. 

Now that he was back at the hospital, the memories of a lonesome dinner came flooding back to him in tidal waves. First, his father’s tall silhouette would come into full view, for he was never the type of person to turn his head towards his second son. Then, he could see his mother’s side profile, eyebrows knitted in a constant frown as she would scan through each clipboard and envelope with a mixture of confusion and exhaustion. When he was in high school, his brother had already begun shadowing for one of the several hospitals that were under the Choi name. He would initially tag along, but opted to stay home once he realized that this wasn’t a game of doctors that he would play with his brother in one of the many playrooms they were granted as children. Seungchol had patients to attend to, and he was a mere nuisance to the inner workings of his family’s craft. 

This was also the point where he figured he would try his hand at the humanities, shifting from an interest in stock brokers and the financial sector to settling for the legal field. In earnest, he never found an affinity for anything political. The newspaper was one of many things that made it so difficult for Beomgyu to remember his parents’ faces, since they would spend their mornings jeering at the headlines in disgust before rushing out to work. Seungchol started doing the same once he was old enough to understand the weary woes of the world outside of their wealthy life, and at that point, Beomgyu had already resented the news enough to block it off his phone and other devices. 

If his lifelong grudge had taught him one thing, it was tenacity. It was a trait his parents exhibited when they went from performing surgeries to managing hospitals, and it was the same trait that Seungchol inherited when he began his own medical career. For Beomgyu, tenacity meant suffering through a lot of the things he disliked—whether it was politics, the news, or medicine. To him, tenacity came in subtle ripples. At first, it was the several scandals that he would hear about at the academy regarding big pharmaceutical companies patenting life-saving medication and selling it at a higher markup. He didn’t even know what a markup meant, but he did know that it was something he could use to destroy his family once and for all. When he entered university and applied for the law program, he used his tenacity to climb to the top, even when the humanities weren’t the strongest set of subjects in his CSAT exam. He didn’t understand how money worked, and he certainly couldn’t care less about the politicians he would see campaigning on the streets during election season. The only thing that mattered to him ever since he was a child was to do whatever it takes to get his family back in a single piece—even if it meant destroying the legacy and generational prestige that the Chois had built for themselves since the Occupation period. 

Places like the hospital were what made Beomgyu’s tenacity disappear into thin air, replacing it with irresolute shakiness. It didn’t occur to him that a single whiff of the hospital’s chemicals immediately turned him into mush—a walking, wandering blob that’s place was always behind his parents or his brother. Here, he didn’t feel human at all. He felt like a visual display—a name tag that bore his family name in shame. It was for this reason that Beomgyu refused to call an ambulance or take himself to the hospital no matter how hurt he was. Every episode of alcohol poisoning would always end in several over-the-counter drugs that would end up in the toilet with the remnants of bile that trickled up to his mouth, coughing up every stint of regret that failed to leave his system. No matter how drunk he would get, he would always berate Heeseung for threatening to dial 119, constantly reassuring him that he could cure whatever he could on his own. 

Now, he was back in the very place that he spent his entire life avoiding, hiding behind the metal railings of a hospital bed once his eyes caught a familiar, white coat sported by the outline of someone he hasn’t seen in years. 

Apparently, years of playing doctors with Seungchol worked against him, and now, he was faced to face with someone he had the displeasure of calling his brother. 

“Hyung,” The word used to come out naturally, but now, it felt too foreign to him. At this rate, he was more comfortable calling his own brother “Doctor Choi” than by any other name that he used to call him. He tapped his tongue twice inside his mouth to feel its insides squirm, then, he restfully let his eyes sit at the crown of Seungchol’s jet-black head, watching the luster of his healthy hair shine under the bright, fluorescent lights of the hospital that always managed to invoke a certain nausea within him. 

“Beomgyu-yah,” Seungchol replied, his voice barely a weak whisper. “It’s been a while,”

“Are you in charge of him?” Beomgyu asked, jutting his chin towards the emergency room. Seungchol looked back and shrugged his shoulders, resting the clipboard on the hilt of his belt as he longingly stared at his younger brother. 

“Who?”

“Him,” Beomgyu asked again, pointing to the patient’s profile on his clipboard. Seungchol adjusted the thick, rectangular frames that slid down his nose, squinting his eyes at the tiny fragments of characters that he could barely read. Beomgyu didn’t know that his older brother’s eyes had degraded past his early problems with astigmatism. 

“Ah, you mean Kim & Lee LLC’s current head?” Seungchol asked. 

“Yeah,”

“Yes, I’m in charge of him. My department assigned me to him since our family sort of owes them in some ways,”

Beomgyu didn’t question the Choi’s relations with yours. None of that concerned him in the slightest, and he was aware of the magnetism that many rich families often exhibited—birds of a feather flock together, especially when feathers were made of gold. 

“How’s school?” He asked. He began walking towards the emergency room and stood outside of the door, peeking his head inside the tinted windows while he vigorously tapped his pen on his clipboard. Beomgyu kept his hands in his pockets and followed suit, peering at whatever he could read in Seungchol’s report. 

“Alright,”

“I’ve heard his daughter’s faring better than you at school,”

Speak of the devil, and she shall arrive. 

By now, a single sliver of your presence was hard for Beomgyu to miss. If tenacity was one thing he had, then perseverance was the other. Throughout the three years he had known you, he’s learned one, giant lesson: to persevere. No matter how much he dreaded the preparations for the bar exam, no matter how worn he was over countless hours of dedicating himself to reading pages upon pages of ancient Roman law, a part of him embraced the sheer hard work that he dedicated to each and every aspect of his academic career. 

Then again, none of that mattered when he was always second best when it came to you. Even if the number of hours both of you had put into a project or an essay was the same, he would always fall short of a mark or two, forever trailing behind your shadow the same way he had always trailed behind the success of his ancestors, then his parents, and now, his brother. 

“This is why I’ve always hated you, hyung,”

“I know, I know,”

That was another thing that Beomgyu noticed about the people that managed to do better than him in every facet of his life. From stories he would hear from his mother, the Choi ancestry was filled with quiet, blasé doctors whose first and only priority was to tend to each patient that required assistance. The same trait was replicated tenfold in the way his parents would berate him; both of them would shrug their heads in blatant displays of disappointment instead of yelling at him. He was sure he was never hit as a child, but the string of pain that came from the sheer looks of despondency was imprinted on his shattered ego, forever sinking their sharp fragments into the throes of his heart. When his brother reached the age of twenty, he had mastered the same, cold look that his parents would often give him, doing the same whenever Beomgyu interrupted him at the hospital. 

How did it all come to this?

Beomgyu wished he knew the answer to a question he had been pondering since he was old enough to think for himself. 

“So you’re not even gonna say sorry? Apologize? Admit that what you and our entire family’s put me through is wrong?”

“Beomgyu, that’s just how it’s always been. I don’t really know what to say other than how lucky you should be right now,”

Luck. Being born a Choi meant a lifetime of financial security and a plethora of career options knocking at the foot of his door, and yet, Beomgyu couldn’t see how this luck was worth the feelings of inferiority that plagued him to no end. 

“How the fuck am I lucky, Hyung? How the fuck am I lucky?! Because from what I know, I’ve been the one that just so happened to be born with the inability to do math and science!”

Seungchol slid the pen he was tapping inside his breast pocket. He placed the clipboard on one of the empty, leather chairs that lined the entrance to the emergency room, adjusting the rims of his glasses in the process. 

“All my life, I’ve studied so hard, went to the academy, and never complained about it—hell, I sucked it all up and gave up on getting friends, having fun, and basically being the best example of what mom and dad wanted. But no! Apparently Seungchol-hyung is always better! That law girl is always better! Inseong from fifth grade is always better! Everyone is always better than me! If they wanted someone better, then they probably shouldn’t have asked for another son!” 

The only thing that Beomgyu could hear was his own voice bouncing back and forth between the walls of the vast hospital. Seungchol stood in silence, taking his glasses off and wiping the lens with the hems of his white coat—a pure semblance of their father. 

“Beomgyu-yah,” He whispered with a lower voice. “Just know that I did all this because I wanted you to be free. I care about you, you know?”

He waved his younger brother goodbye, pushing the large doors to the emergency room where people dressed in blue scrubs awaited his command. Beomgyu tried to chase after him, but he stopped in his tracks. All his life, he was always behind his father, his mother, and his brother. Now, he was behind you. Through the small creaks of the door, he traced your sulking silhouette, seeing himself in the way you bowed down to your own brother, who stood upright with a phone and several envelopes in his hand. Maybe if he let his pride aside a long, long time ago, then he would’ve come to the conclusion that the two of you weren’t so different after all. 

“This is Kim & Lee LLC’s associate speaking, and we would like to file an academic leave as soon as possible.” 

Throughout knowing you, he had seen you cry for the first time, mimicking the exact same sorrows and anguish that plagued him since he was a child. There was nothing to be done, so he left the hospital, never turning back once.

III. VENUS PLAYS WITH MARS IN A GAME OF CHANCE

Nearly three months had passed, and you didn’t show up since. The band was aware of your periods of being a recluse, but none of them anticipated how bad it was until you stopped responding to their texts and calls altogether. The meeting place felt like a barren wasteland in your absence, and none of them could start practicing without you chanting the counts before every song. Heeseung would come by with a slice of pizza from time to time, and it has become a ritual for them to leave you a slice even when you’re gone. It didn’t matter to them that the offering would turn into mold in a few days—what mattered was how the last slice or two was always going to be meant for you, almost as if you’d come back in the crappy basement to devour your slice and complain about how it’s practically inedible. 

  The band wasn’t the only group of people that felt your absence, though. Beomgyu never realized how important you were in the law society until you gave him a passive-aggressive email that relinquish all your responsibilities as president to him. While a part of him felt happiness at the thought of finally taking over, there was an inkling of guilt within him that felt too unqualified to assume your role. Yes, he’s often lamented to Heeseung that he would’ve been a better president than you, and he even told his parents in a bitter argument that he was doing more as one of the vice presidents than you actually were as president, he had to admit that your absence caused an impending upheaval that practically caused the law society to implode. At first, it started with self-fulfilling prophecies stated by the other executives that were anxious about Beomgyu’s ascension as the de-facto president. Some said he wasn’t suited for the role based on academic performance alone, and others have already made predictions about his eventual impeachment from the board of executives. Your rivalry with Beomgyu was a well-known gag in the law society, but now, it didn’t feel like an inside joke anymore. In your absence, nobody knew what to do—and Beomgyu began to realize that perhaps he didn’t have it in him to be an effective leader and a prolific communicator. 

In some ways, Beomgyu finally realized why you were so effective in a group setting. For one, your ability to make compromises with the rest of the team elevated your status and competence from a newbie to a reliable figure. The same could be said for your band. From what he’s heard from Heeseung, Geonu only recruited you because of your background in jazz. He never considered your dynamics with the group or if you were a difficult person to work with, and he chalked it up to luck that you were good at mitigating all sides of the argument whenever he and Sungchan would bicker. Your effectiveness as a team player was further highlighted in the dashing performances that you and your band would deliver as Joker In. Despite all the arguments and horror stories he’d hear from Heeseung, the Joker In he saw on stage didn’t evoke a single ounce of disagreement or discord. Once the four of you were on stage, it was as if you were a single unit with the rest of the band, seamlessly playing melodies as a natural instinct more so than hours of relentless practice and infighting. 

Rhythm is the pillar of music and poetry, he once heard you utter in your conversations with the band. Though he initially disagreed and tried to back up Sungchan’s lamentations of playing a bigger role in the group, your absence has instantly highlighted why you were a stable foundation in everything that you were involved in. Sure, you weren’t the flashiest of both the law society and Joker In, but your absence placed a large dent in the operations of both. Even if you were a quiet figure in the law society, often staying on the sidelines to approve or reject event proposals while everyone was fighting for credit, everyone would always look to you as a final figure of approval. Once you either accepted or rejected an event and started dispatching the organization committee to plan and make these events come to fruition, all elements of disjuncture ceased to exist. It was the same with Joker In. Sure, you were often in the background trying to maintain stability while Geonu and Sungchan played the lead in each performance, but he was willing to admit that the band’s sound was nothing without your invisible hand guiding each melody and verse into perfection. 

In a way that the band and the law society needed you, Beomgyu realized—albeit with denial and extreme hesitance—that he needed you as well. Without your presence, he couldn’t care less about his academic performance. Nothing mattered when the certainty of him being at the top was secured. The astonishing irony behind all this was that, in some ways, he did ask for this. He did ask to become number one in everything, and yet he failed to realize that perhaps being number one in itself was never something he could ever be. 

The reason he got this far was because of his intense rivalry with his brother. For as long as he could remember, he was always vying for attention from his parents—practically pleading to be seen as anything but his brother’s shadow. Then, it was the several rivals he’d encountered in school once his brother was off to university. They were no match against your unyielding nature, but he would be lying to himself if they didn’t push him to further heights. 

Competition was something that he was always surrounded with, and with you gone, he didn’t know where to start. Nothing mattered to him anymore, and he hated that feeling more than hating you. 

For someone that prided himself in intelligence, he certainly fell short of common sense. Throughout all his years of trying to chase after your success and your achievements, he wasn’t ready for the loneliness and emptiness that would overtake him once he reached the top. Maybe that was why you decided to play in a band, even if doing so would result in parental disapproval. Sure, he didn’t know your life story, but that was at least what stopped him from starting his own band in high school.

What the fuck are you thinking, you bastard. Starting a band? In high school? This is why your brother was always better, Beomgyu-yah. 

“Shut up, Dad,” He whispered, remembering all of the GPS trackers laced on his phone and the strict curfew he had to maintain in his teenage years. Even if he knew nothing about you, it was perhaps the freedom and carelessness you had in you that made him envious of everything you had. To him, you were the epitome of a life he could’ve lived had he not been born into his so-called family—a breath of fresh air that tempted him with the fruits of liberation and rebellion. 

In some ways, he loathed you because he idolized you. He wanted to be you in any shape or form. That was, of course, until he rested his eyes on each news headline that managed to damage your reputation bit by bit. 

KIM & LEE LLC’S GOLDEN HEIRESS DEMOTED AND DISOWNED FROM THE FAMILY TRADE: HER SECRETS ARE REVEALED

The news came out roughly three months ago, right after he caught a glimpse of your brother making a call to the university’s board of directors. A part of him wished that you would fight back the same way you did whenever Beomgyu would cuss you out or make your life a living hell—because to him, you were always a fighter. 

He was aware that hospitals could change a person from the moment they entered into its sanitized walls, but he wanted to believe that you weren’t privy to its wicked curse. Above all the families that wept and got their morale weakened by an undesired diagnosis, an incurable disease, or an exorbitant bill that took a lifetime to pay back, he was sure you were immune to it all, keeping a headstrong demeanor in any situation. 

But all rich children were doomed the moment they were born, and you were just like him, a victim of circumstance. 

All he could do now was to continue dialing your phone number, even if the reply he got was the same, automated, female voice that told him your digital existence was erased from its archives. 

I’m sorry, but your call cannot be completed at this time. Please try again later. 

What if he gave you a chance? What if he got to know you instead of letting his bitterness get the best of him? Could things have been different between the two of you? Or would the rivalry persist in a different, more amiable form? Flashes of images were reflected in the large, bathroom mirror that he constantly gazed at, and in these times of automated mundanity between attending classes and fulfilling his new duties as the de facto president of the law society, all he could see was your smiling silhouette imprinted on the chair that he occupied, telling him again and again that he didn’t belong there. 

He contemplated visiting your father, but the nurse at the reception would always get back to him about your absence. You hadn’t visited him since the day your family withdrew you from university, and now, he didn’t know where you were. The band refused to talk to him altogether, and Heeseung hadn’t been to the basement since he quit his job at the pizza place. Sungchan’s whereabouts were also unknown, and whenever he would bump into Geonu in the hallways, he was met with firm resistance. 

“Don’t talk to me unless you’ve figured out a way to fix this entire mess.” The lead singer’s voice looped in his head. 

Beomgyu didn’t believe in a lot of things, but now, he believed in one thing and one thing only: Pillars and foundations of a building can be broken, but they can also be repaired. If you were what kept everything from falling apart, then maybe it was his fate to be the carpenter that rebuilt all the things that he had managed to destroy. Donning the same, neon red hair dye and scuffed combat boots, he decided to live out his life as the boy who simply wanted to see his favorite band play one, final show in the place where he knew he could be himself, free of the shackles that bound him in a life of academic rigor, a lack of identity, and an endless battle of finally finding who he truly was.

“So you weren’t joking about Dad giving the trust to his secretary instead of us, his goddamn kids…” You remember saying to your brother when you saw your father laying unconscious in the hospital bed. To you, your father was a figure of utmost respect and order, someone who didn’t suit the strings and tubes of IV drips and an oxygen mask. He was an innovator, a natural leader that was always meant to stay seated right in the middle of everything—whether it was the dining table or the main meeting room of Kim & Lee LLC. It was your first time seeing him outside of his usual pristine, tidy suit, and you didn’t know what to feel about the sudden change in appearance. Sure, he has aged, but even in old age, you had at least expected him to live and fight for his life for ten more years, still donning a black, expensive suit with utmost pride. 

“Isn’t this ridiculous?” Your brother replied, crossing his arms. The one thing that separated you from your brother was how difficult his expression was to read. Even in the face of adversary and doubt, he always managed to carry with him an aura of unyielding demonstration, refusing to display his woes on his sleeve. 

“Yeah, I guess,”

“You know, I never wanted to consider you as a part of the family,” 

“I know,”

“But this is a crucial time for all of us, and—”

“So what? Are you gonna create a fucking coalition of sorts within the family and try to sue Dad? The current owner and founder of the firm?”

It didn’t even scathe you one bit that your brother had, for the first time, openly shown his disdain towards you. It was always evident in the way he would avoid you around the house, never uttering a single word to you unless it had something to do with your academic achievements or the future of the firm. When your father announced that his solid line of succession had been broken by your existence, your brother moved out to America, only coming back when news broke that your father’s health was waning. It had always been that way since the two of you were children; the two of you were only siblings by family name and nothing more. 

“If it’s several against one, old man, I’m sure we’ll win,” He coldly stated, flipping through several documents that outlined the future of the firm. There were many things you hated about your family, and your brother was the best example of why that was the case. Even if you refused to believe it, the opportunistic trait that carried your family’s name for generations was a genetic plight that even you couldn’t escape. 

“Don’t you even have a shred of humanity within you? That’s our Dad, and he’s dying!” 

“You didn’t look like you cared enough to arrive at the hospital on time,”

I was spending time with my friends! The only people who cared about me! You kept your mouth closed, demonstrating a pensiveness that only the law society and Beomgyu have seen you perfected. As always, your brother’s lips were pressed in a firm, thin line, eyes never acknowledging your existence. To him, the papers were more important than whatever was in front of him. 

“You didn’t look like you cared enough to even be there,” You retorted, mimicking the same nonchalance that soon became your family’s trademark. 

“My point exactly,” He hummed. “You know how terrible he was to us when we were children, right?”

“That doesn’t excuse ousting him from his position, though,”

“If his so-called leadership and stubbornness is what’s bringing the firm down, then I think it’s about time he left his post,”

“And you’re telling me that you’re the better alternative?” 

It was one thing to admit that your brother was right, but it was another to acknowledge him as the next best option in the line of succession. Despite your father’s rather tumultuous decisions that came as a result of senility and burgeoning egoism, he was a natural at micromanagement. Even in his old age, he still commanded an air of elitism that only leaders had. Your brother, on the other hand, lacked such charisma. For all his smarts and his efforts, he simply didn’t have it in him to wield the same charm and authority that your father did in his younger years. Even if he was a spitting image of him, there was no denying that the resemblance was only in the skin. For what your father had in terms of innate control and governance, your brother fell short of such defining qualities. While you had made a name for yourself as a promising air, he was forever tainted in the tabloids as your father’s shadow, forever chasing behind the outline of his pointed shoulders. 

“Well, I mean—”

“Shut the fuck up,” You spat. “I got better grades than you when you were a kid. I was first place in everything, and you were second at best. I attend the best school in the country, and, as always, you got rejected, opting for inferior schools. I’m already getting offers to attend law school in Ivy League institutions, while you had to beg your professors for a recommendation letter to even try to get into Columbia or Yale. You had your first internship at our company? Motherfucker, I worked at Morgan & Stanley Korea when I was nineteen. You think you’re the only alternative? You think you’re the next best option? Grow the fuck up and sit down. You’re just lucky to be where you are right now because you’re Daddy’s first.”

Now, three months later, you wished you could say more—not to your brother, but to your unconscious father lying down on his eventual deathbed. You wanted to cuss him out; you wanted to tell him how horrible he was; you wanted to plug his life support off then and there; you wanted to maul him into pieces; you wanted to slap him the same way he did when you would do every little thing to disappoint him; you wanted to take all his money and run away; you wanted him to experience the same pain and suffering of being a bastard child that should have never been born in the first place. 

But, by doing so, you were admitting defeat. You were succumbing to an ideal scenario of revenge that would leave you unsatisfied even when your father would die on the spot. As much as it tempted you to destroy him when he was chained by his disease, you were in the game long enough to know that there was a better life out there waiting for you—a life of a true winner. You’ve wasted your entire existence on being the perfect heiress, but now, it was time for change. Now that you were disowned, you were free, and in your eyes, this was a victory in disguise. 

And luck would have it that your pleas for freedom would be answered in a single phone call that sealed the deal. 

“We just got a deal from DooRooDooRoo, they got back to us about the record deal,” Geonu had called you a month later, when you were spending every single day under the comforts of your duvet. Back then, you couldn’t even tell that a month had passed, because everything had remained frozen in time. Each passing sunrise and sunset meant nothing to you when seeing your father’s bedridden image would always feel like yesterday. In a sense, time had been completely difficult to track, and you opted for stopping your clocks altogether, tearing off the calendar in your apartment, and replacing it with its original white walls. You didn’t think that the newfound sparseness of your apartment would worsen the lagging of time that hazed your entire being, but it didn’t matter to you. You were out of school, and you didn’t have a schedule to follow anymore. Why place a calendar on the wall when all the dates are merged into one? 

“What do you mean record deal?” You replied, keeping the phone on speaker to hear his voice. “Geon, we’re a cover band, I doubt they’d even want to sign us because we didn’t send them an original demo,”

Truthfully, the only thing that made the time pass was when you were in front of the electric drum kit in your room, replaying the same songs that once brought you joy in the basement that you managed to call your sanctuary. You contemplated leaving your apartment to visit it once in a while, but there was something in you that didn’t allow you to face Geonu, Sungchan, and Jeongin. What were you going to say to them? They already knew everything the moment the tabloids embarked on a journey of defamation, bearing their voracious fangs on another opportunity—a good story that would destroy the stronghold of your family’s empire. All they needed to know were in the headlines of each news article that was displayed on their television screens and their phones. If Geonu was right about signing a record deal with one of Korea’s biggest indie labels, then it would be bad press to have a fallen heiress as its core member. 

“I sent them the track you worked on,” He stated an amalgamation of static breaching your ears. He was definitely in the basement—most likely alone. The day you disappeared, Sungchan had also gone missing, turning off all his devices and blocking off any form of contact. The same could be said for Jeongin, sans the drastic effort to cut all ties with everyone else. You could still get a hold of him, but it would be in inconsistent lapses of time where he would either sound groggy or overtly happy—nothing in between, and especially nothing like his usual self when he was active in the band. Word had reached your ears from his roommate that Jeongin was admitted to the psychiatric ward a few weeks ago, the culprit being psychosis and his sudden relapse into the same, old habits that marred him in his younger years. 

Ironically, the news you would get from the people that you usually surrounded yourself with when you were a student didn’t come from themselves, but rather, from Beomgyu. Even if you didn’t answer his incessant calls, he would always leave you a voice note every day, detailing his new life as the president of the law society, the current status of your bandmates, and even little tidbits of his life. Without fail, he would always send these in at around six in the evening, making that hour the only way you could tell time. Before you knew it, you kept your watch active, setting an alarm with your smart home monitor to alert you whenever the hour was coming. Then, you would hide under your covers, pressing your cheeks on the cool, glass surface of your phone to hear his voice. Sometimes, you would close your eyes, watching fleeting images of a life that could’ve stayed intact had your father not succumbed to old age. Beomgyu had the voice of a narrator, and each description and detail he provided painted a picture of fragmented memories that felt distant yet so far away. 

“What?” You screeched. You didn’t know how to talk to Geonu, and it was a shame that someone you played music with every day suddenly felt like a total stranger. You were too used to Beomgyu’s soothing voice giving you a glimpse of the outside world, that it didn’t occur to you that the current phone call you were having wasn’t a product of one of Beomgyu’s scheduled voice messages.  

“The track that was in our drafts like, before you went MIA,”

“You mean Carpe Diem? That’s just something I wrote when I was bored, though,”

There were too many sessions in the basement that led to unfinished songs and fragmented drafts, but there was one, concrete product out of all the practices you’ve had as Joker In that never left your head. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact date of writing and actively composing the song, but it was certainly around your sixth or seventh night as Joker In when you began to voice more of your creative inputs into the musical journey that Geonu commanded. 

It was perhaps around the summer season when Jeongin had just replaced Felix as the new bassist of the band. You were sitting on a draft that you had carried with you since high school with your covert experimentations with the adolescent underground music scene. The song was obviously incomplete, but you had the drum track narrowed down to perfection after years of working on it and rearranging some of the fills and sections, experimenting with complex time signatures while retaining a certain sense of replayability that many radio-friendly songs had. At first, it was just a side project that you conjured up after Beomgyu had challenged you to write a song. It may have counted as cheating to repurpose a draft that you made before meeting him, but so long as you changed and updated the song, then it could’ve counted as a new song. By then, you were still on shaky terms with Sungchan, so you opted to ask Geonu to play both the rhythm and lead sections of the guitar. Felix had happily worked on the bass when he was still in Korea, changing a few things here and there to suit his rather intricate playing style. You had worked with Geonu for a few weekends to complete the lyrical bits of the song, but each draft left you in an uninspired mess. Being eloquent in your essays and your courses certainly didn’t translate well into poetry, and even Geonu’s longtime experience with writing lyrics couldn’t quell the dissatisfaction you had with the piece. 

That was until you decided to write your frustrations about Beomgyu, matching up each word, rhyme, and cadence with the tune that you believed you had perfected. You showed Geonu the first draft, solidifying your efforts with his nod of approval. He worked on rearranging a few words to fit the bridge and the chorus, and then, the song was suddenly scrapped. You didn’t know if it was because the band got busy with a surge of live shows and activities, or if you just didn’t want to work on the song any longer. All you knew was that by the time you decided to let go of the song, Beomgyu had replaced your brother and the rest of your family as enemy number one, making the song a daily reminder of him and his deplorable antics. 

“Well, Sungchan completed his bits and covered Jeongin’s bass parts. I sang through it with some of the lyrics I came up with when I was listening to the initial track,”

“Wait… you got a hold of Sungchan?”

Sungchan's whereabouts were kept under wraps since the day you left the hospital and your university for good. At first, you tried to call him, but his number was non-existent on the third ring. Text messages led to nowhere, and his account on Kakao had been defunct when you checked the band’s group chat. The only remnant of his identity was left in Beomgyu’s daily voice messages to you, where he speculated that he might have gone back home somewhere in Seoul.

“I saw someone who might have looked like Sungchan at the station near Mapo-gu today, but I could be wrong. These days, high schoolers are basically giants now, and it’s pretty hard to tell, but I’m still searching for him nonetheless. Did you know? He chased after me when I tried to go to the hospital to see you. We had a long conversation by the vending machine, and then, he just disappeared like that. I think I owe him a lot, really, and if it weren’t for him, then I doubt I’d have the conscience to make things right. Once again, I’m sorry for being a coward that could only apologize through these stupid voice messages. You deserve so much more than that, and even if you don’t wanna see me, the least I could do is try to make amends. You can forget about me after that, but I just wanted you to know that I never hated you—really. I did say that a lot, and Heeseung might disagree, but I don’t think I hated you. I think it was a bit of the opposite.”

You could vividly picture the outlines of Beomgyu and Sungchan by the vending machine near Jeongin’s apartment, sharing a drink or two as they talked about the sudden turn of events. Without Geonu, who often brought out the best and the worst in him, Sungchan was the diplomatic type who disliked conflict. You were aware of him giving warnings here and there to Beomgyu whenever you would storm off from a heated argument with him, but you didn’t know that he would go to such lengths to make things right—and now, the only trace you had of who you could finally call your best friend was in the images that Beomgyu would leave in his voice notes and an unknown text message that read I got rejected. 

“It’s a long story, but he signed the deal. You’re the only one that needs to sign it—of course, if you want to. I mean, I know how much your career and all that matters to you, so it’s no pressure. If you want, I can—”

“I’m signing it,” 

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m signing it,” You repeated without preamble. Back then, music was just a hobby for you—a way to escape the fast-paced, yet unchanging life of perfecting your image as the ideal candidate to lead your former family’s firm. In your younger years, the thought of pursuing music full-time and escaping the legal field to attend a music college in the heart of Seoul had plagued you, but you let the only thing you’ve known your entire life take over. Now that the foundations of your identity were shackled, you believed it was high time for you to rebuild everything you had lost in the process, facing forward to a newfound pursuit instead of constantly staying in the present. 

“Damn…” You could hear Geonu slowly sniffle in the distance as if he were right next to you. The empty walls of your bedroom had suddenly transformed into the decrepit, unpainted cement that lined the basement. The scent of rotting, molding pizza and lukewarm beer wafted your nose, bringing you back to the sanctuary that you would now call your one, true home. 

“What?”

“I just… You know… it’s been a while since we’ve last seen you, and I just didn’t expect you to sign the deal…”

Now, you could tell that Geonu was crying—something he never did in front of anyone unless he was drunk enough to let his tear ducts do the job. You took the phone away from your cheek, taking your comforter to dab a few splotches of wet tears that slowly trickled down your face. 

“Well, a lot can happen in three months. I’m not in school anymore, I’ve been disowned, and I’m out of the line of succession. I’ve been given an apartment and some hush money to do whatever the fuck I want, and my so-called family has nothing to do with me anymore. I’m free to choose whatever I wanna do, and I think I’d like to tour with you guys for the rest of my life. I never thought I’d be saying this, but fuck, man. I need you guys.” 

“I could say the same for you, asshole. Now quit moping around and get your ass in the studio. We’ll be recording and perfecting our debut album until we can all get a house in Europe and live with fast cars, big houses, and a nice life on the hillside.”

“Sounds like a cult or something,”

“Joker In is basically a cult, and we’re nothing without our founding member, so hurry up and get your ass to the studio. Now.” Before you ended the call, you could hear Geonu’s wide smile welcoming you back to the studio. You ended the call and tossed your phone on your bed, taking your bag of weary drum sticks with you. The map that led to the basement was entrenched in your head, and for the first time, you kicked your sneakers back onto the soles of your feet, jingling the keys to your apartment between your fingers as you heard the click that confirmed the safety of your house. You didn’t even check to see if the door was fully locked. None of that mattered when you were finally coming home.

Sungchan had told you personally that Geonu rejected him in the most “Geonu” way possible. A few days after the band’s reunion in the basement, he had invited you for coffee in one of the cafes near campus. At first, you wanted to change the location of your meeting. After all, being seen as a dropout was the last thing you wanted in your gradual return to life. However, the curiosity within you didn’t seem to die down when you breathed in the air of young adulthood and fast-paced trains. The cafe had always been there since you were a first year, and yet it had only occurred to you now to visit it and see what it had to offer. 

It was a quick, heartfelt conversation between slices of apple crumble and hot cups of warm, camomile tea. He didn’t even give you a greeting; he just sat you down and told you that Geonu didn’t like him back. 

“He said it was to keep the band intact, but I’m sure that’s just his way of telling me that he still wanted me in his life—you know? Even if he didn’t like me that way,”

You would’ve expected an underlying tension in the room during your first few practice sessions with the band, but the moment you entered the basement, everything was left as it was. The rotting boxes of pizza continued to collect mold and mildew, dyeing everything in a murky shade of green. All of the instruments collected dust—a remnant of a time when everything was actively used. Curled ends of guitar strings were strewn on the floor, uncleaned and unscathed since the moment everyone decided to take a break from the basement’s security. The only thing that struck you as a testament to time was how clean the abandoned house looked, perhaps due to a lack of usage. Conversations persisted the way they usually did, and before you knew it, everything was back to normal. Jeongin looked thinner than usual, but he had the same, bright aura of joy and the same passion for Eurovision that he did as before. Sungchan and Geonu continued to bicker in the same manner that they always did, letting the elephant in the room stay dormant. There was no awkward tension or uncomfortable silence that engulfed the entire band, and before you knew it, Joker In was coming closer and closer to perfecting their debut album. 

Today was a different story. There was an announcement by Geonu that practice would commence as usual, and it was granted that there would be a couple of sleepovers in the basement since the deadline to pitch your demo to the label was coming to a close. Being one of the more punctual bandmates out of the rest, you decided to show up an hour earlier, carrying several backpacks filled with toiletries, instant food, and a comforter that held you in your worst breaks. 

“Guys?” You called, only to hear your voice bounce back to you. 

It was normal to hold pranks in the studio, but hide and seek wasn’t the band’s forte. Even if Geonu used his height to his advantage and crept behind small cracks of furniture and large amplifiers, you would always manage to find his mop of hair sticking out in the distance. Sungchan’s footsteps were too loud to ignore, and Jeongin was terrible at keeping his laughter at bay. None of those remnants of your bandmates was present in the studio, and all you could do was heave a sigh at the fact that they might be late. 

Then, there was an eerie feeling that began to consume you. No matter how many times you’ve run up and down the entire house to see if anyone was there, you were left with an empty feeling of solitude, even if you were sure that you weren’t the only one in the building. There was an unshakable presence that made it too difficult for you to ignore, and after ceaselessly checking the same hiding spots again and again, you decided to halt your search altogether and give up. Heeseung often joked about the basement’s ideal location as a horror movie set, so maybe he was right about a few lost souls from the war that lurked in the corners of the basement. 

“You know, this place could have been a burial ground or something, right?” You remembered him saying amidst a flurry of smoke from his bong. Perhaps he was right, and it was about time that you coined yourself a believer of the paranormal. Dropping out of school and throwing away your potential degree was the last thing you imagined, so if the unpredictable managed to stir your life in a completely different direction, then maybe ghosts did exist. Right? 

“Hey…” A voice that only existed within your phone’s voice messages popped up behind your ears. You managed to let out a shrill shriek, quickly turning around to see a man with bright, red hair. His black nails were chipped to the edges, and his dark, grey jeans were distressed to reveal his protruding knees. The scuff marks on his combat boots were accentuated by the dull luster of leather that shone in the sunlight that seeped into the basement. 

“Oh, hi there,” You replied, clearing your throat as you collected yourself. It didn’t occur to you that three months could change anyone this drastically, but seeing your former rival in an outfit that didn’t suit him eased all of the apprehension that was built up in your system. 

“I know I’m the last person you want to see right now,” Beomgyu whispered. You weren’t used to seeing him so solemn, and you certainly couldn’t shake the dissonance in the calmness that he exuded. Even if you hadn’t seen Beomgyu in a while, you always associated him with a ball of anger that threatened to explode at any second, and now, the only thing that resembled his fiery passion was the bright, poorly dyed red dye that stained his head. 

“Well, not really. You’re up there, don’t get me wrong, but you’re definitely below my half-brother, my father, and basically every single person in my family.” You said with a small, awkward smile. 

“Oh, well, that’s good to know, I guess?” Beomgyu asked. He expected you to question his disguise or his presence, but perhaps you weren’t as dense as he thought. Maybe you knew who he was right from the start, even in your drunken state when you decided to send him home from a gig that felt like ancient history. 

“Did your brother tell you what happened?”

“No, but your face was all over the internet for a while. Some tabloids saying Kim & Lee LLC’s star daughter had been removed from the line of succession after it’s been exposed that you were in the underground music scene,”

“Jesus…” You couldn’t help but laugh. “Out of all the reasons that they could’ve chosen, they chose that,”

“Yeah…” His voice was barely a whisper now, and he stuffed his hands in his jean pockets, the same way he did when he nervously walked home with you from the bus stop. “I also heard that your band got signed.”

“Through Heeseung?”

“No, through Sungchan actually,”

“Wow, I never expected him to talk to you like that,”

“I know, right?” 

The light in Beomgyu’s eyes had disappeared, mellowing him out into a completely different person. Now that you had the chance to think about it, his newfound rebellious look suited him more when he would incessantly curse at you and call you by all of the profanities that the Korean language had to offer. The clean-cut, professional air of arrogance that he carried was reserved for the silent meekness that Beomgyu now exuded. 

“So, why are you here?” You asked. 

“The boys told me you were coming,”

“Ah…”

You checked the group chat and saw a flurry of texts from the rest of your bandmates detailing their tardiness. Geonu never went to the music shop since he would usually borrow instruments and equipment from his vast network of student musicians, and Sungchan was never the type to be late over a visit to the record store. Jeongin was a bad liar, and it was evident in his texting patterns that he tried his best to cover everything up with a rather believable excuse of waking up late from a nap. 

“They set us up, didn’t they?” You scoffed. Beomgyu slowly nodded—the confirmation that you needed to finally piece everything together. 

“I mean, three-ish years of basically wanting to kill each other needs to come to an end at some point, right? And it’s not like I’m graduating since I’ve already dropped out of uni…”

Beomgyu continued to fidget with the edges of his pockets, whistling a low, barely audible tune as he lightly kicked the can of empty beer that landed on the sole of his combat boots. When the can rolled over to your feet, you returned it to him with a stronger kick, initiating a simple game of soccer that allowed Beomgyu to display his years of practice in the varsity team. 

“I quit the Law Society, and I also quit the debates team.” Beomgyu interrupted, keeping the can to himself instead of kicking it back to you. He began to do a few tricks and keepy-ups, stopping at the fifth pass to kick the can back to you. 

“Oh,”

“I’m off student clubs for a while, and I’m just focused on getting my degree,”

“What happened to the Choi Beomgyu who wanted to be the best at everything?” You retorted with a grin, turning the can into an impromptu volleyball. 

“You get to a certain point where none of that even matters anymore, really.”

“Oh?” 

“Yeah…”

Now, the can was on the ground. You kicked it into a nearby corner and used your bag as a seat, taking your comforter out to wrap yourself around its soft surface. Beomgyu hesitated before joining you on the floor, maintaining a sense of empty space between the two of you. Your eyes traced the thin, sheer curtains that flowed back and forth with the gust of wind that cooled the basement, tracing its trajectory until your eyes landed on Beomgyu’s lonesome outline. 

“Wanna… you know? Talk about it?” You asked, wrapping the comforter tighter around your shoulders. 

“I think we should talk about you first,” He replied with a smile that used to be reserved for everyone else apart from you. 

“Right… Well, I’ve been disowned! Yay!”

“You’re a full-time musician now, though,”

“Another yay!”

The basement had always been a place where you would escape Beomgyu for the simple reason that people like him brought you back to the familial infighting that plagued your childhood. It was a place reserved for music and music only, not a place to recall the copious amounts of studying and perfectionism that you allowed yourself to suffer through in your three-year rivalry with him. You would’ve never imagined that one day, you would be able to share this place with someone like him, but something about having him sit a couple of spaces next to you as you caught up with him felt right, rendering the intensity and tension that you associated with him into an evaporating mist. 

“Man, you’re actually funny,” He said behind a light chuckle. 

“And you’re actually pretty nice behind all your stupid dick jokes,” You retorted with the same, gentle sentiment. You took a can of lemon seltzer out of your bag and tossed it in his direction. He caught it mid-air and gave you an even brighter smile, glassy eyes scanning through the can with awe and nostalgia as he opened it and took its nectarine contents between his lips. 

“Anyway, what about you? What’s going on?” You asked, taking a water bottle out and twisting the cap open. 

“I think I’m gonna stick to being a lawyer, but I’m definitely staying out of the family drama,” Beomgyu replied. The can of lemon seltzer was now on the ground. 

“I thought big pharma and the medical industry didn’t have as much fun as we do in the private sector,”

“After I kind of got over my brother being cut out for the job more than I did, I just felt the need to stop being bitter. I mean, it’s whatever. I don’t really care anymore about my parents telling me that I’m basically a disgrace to the Choi name. I overcomplicated my entire life by focusing on that the moment I started breathing, and I think it’s about damn time I act like a fucking lawyer and defend myself from them instead of constantly looking to them for approval.”

“That’s not a very Choi Beomgyu thing to say,” You laughed, rolling the water bottle until it knocked over his can of lemon seltzer. Its contents began pouring out into the wooden floorboards, and you knew Geonu was going to scold you about it later. 

“Well, the Choi Beomgyu now is not the same as the Choi Beomgyu three months ago,” He replied with a smile, as if to tell you that he’d stick around to help you clean up the mess once everyone else arrived. 

“I still don’t get why you hated me so much though,” 

If Beomgyu were to apologize to you at the hospital or right after the Eurovision watch party, you weren’t sure if you had it in you to forgive him. This wasn’t out of the bitterness and pent-up grudges that you managed to hold onto for so long, but rather, it was more so out of your own pride. You were sure that you would take his apology as is and never speak to him again out of a failure to admit that you, too, had crossed the line when you brought out the same traumas surrounding his own family and his brother. 

Three months of silence was all it took for you to admit that a three-year rivalry felt like a childish game. In essence, the two of you were one and the same, both marred by the heavy expectations of generational wealth and status. Even if there were slight differences in your respective stories, perhaps the intense hostility that characterized the two of you came from the same place—one that made it rather difficult to see each other as equals or separate people. You didn’t know if Beomgyu felt the same, but the peak of your aggression with him certainly came from a hidden, inner dilemma that came from seeing yourself in Beomgyu’s glassy, beady eyes. 

“I actually came down here to explain all that, to be honest—then again, I already feel like I did it pretty well when I talked about my brother and whatnot.”

“Some sort of innate, deep-seated inferiority complex since you were always compared to everyone around you?” You retorted and whistled, prompting Beomgyu to muster a dejected nod in your direction. 

“Yeah, that.”

You know, I had the same thing with my own brother too. Crazy, right? You thought but kept those words to yourself. Words weren’t needed between the two of you anymore; you knew him long enough to understand that he could probably guess what was on your mind. 

“Can I be honest?” You interrupted, taking your comforter and tossing it between his lap. You shuffled closer until the space between the two of you ceased to exist. Beomgyu reluctantly nodded again and took your blanket in his palms, feeling through its seams as he stared at the setting sun. 

“I thought you already were,”

“Well, I mean, really honest.”

“Shoot,”

“I actually knew you were sneaking into our gigs.”

A part of Beomgyu wanted to get up and run out of the basement, but another part of him knew that he should’ve trusted his gut from the start. Though he was aware of socially dense, book-smart academics, he was sure you weren’t of the sort. From managing the law society with impeccable leadership down to being a core member of a band, he knew deep down that adept communication and management skills came with social awareness. Nonetheless, he took the confession with ease, admiring the events at the night bus with a newfound perspective. 

“I played dumb because I didn’t wanna ruin things for you, you know? Music is something that brings people together, and I can understand that in some ways, being in this basement was a safe space for you—some sort of escape from all the bullshit that your parents put you through,” You explained, heaving a sigh as you kicked the now empty can of lemon seltzer towards the same corner where the crushed, dented beer can had landed. 

“And at first, I thought you weren’t so bad. I mean, you actively came to our shows even if, for whatever reason, you hated me at school. I think my thing about the entire ordeal is how I can’t wrap my head around you being so mean to me.”

He always knew you were honest, but he didn’t think you would be honest in such a raw, authentic way—especially with him. 

“Like I’ve said, the Beomgyu three months ago is a different Beomgyu. I didn’t really know how to process the grudges I’d held against my parents since I was kid, so I guess I took it out on the people I’ve been compared to,” He replied, after a few seconds of silent pondering. 

“Is that really it?” You asked, repeating his pensiveness with your own rendition of a long, drawn-out pause. 

“Yeah, that’s it, I guess,”

“Are you sure?”

“What are you trying to say?”

You grabbed your comforter and tossed it into his face, running behind the drum kit in anticipation of an attack. Instead of seeing your comforter fly across the studio, however, Beomgyu remained still, slowly taking off the cotton blanket and neatly folding it into a pile beside your backpack. 

“That you were obsessed with me,” You finally joked. The sun had completely set, and there were no signs of your bandmates coming into the basement anytime soon. Heaving a sigh of relief, you took a seat on the stool that saw the best of your musical abilities, grabbing a thin, 7A drum stick that was worn down in an amalgamation of splinters and cracks. You twirled each stick around your fingers, humming a light, jazzy beat on your head before hitting the ride cymbal and placing your feet on the hi-hat pedal. 

“You’re not entirely wrong,” Beomgyu retorted, taking a seat on one of the amplifiers as he watched you perform a small solo that reminded him of the bossa nova records that would often leak out of his maid’s earphones.  “I did find you pretty cute, I just wished you didn’t show your cards as a teacher’s pet in our first classes together,”

“Little boy couldn’t handle being bested by a girl?”

“No, more like little boy couldn’t handle being bested by a nepo baby,”

The crash cymbals rang in Beomgyu’s ears, but he didn’t step away from the noise. After hearing your band’s studio sessions on several online music streaming platforms for so long, he couldn’t resist the opportunity of watching you play live in such close proximity. To him, you were surely a one-of-a-kind musician, one that managed to turn senseless beats and fills into a melodic journey. 

“Not anymore!” You yelled, tapping your sticks to the side of the snare drum while kicking the bass drum’s pedal to accentuate each rhythmic interval with timed, yet deeply dispersed vibrations. 

“Ex-nepo baby,” Beomgyu corrected. He wanted to pick the acoustic guitar beside one of the larger amplifiers in the basement, but he resisted the temptation to play alongside you. 

“That’s more like it,” You said with a smile, halting your drum solo and slipping your sticks back into a small, slender bag. Pushing your weight off your stool, you leaned backward until you could reach the hilt of the acoustic guitar, gently handing it over to Beomgyu as you readjusted the towel that lined the entire snare drum. He took it and admired the woodwork, recalling the chords that he had taught himself when he was a teenager that had the ability to dream. 

“So, what do you wanna do?” He asked, bitterly scrunching his nose as the dissonance of untuned strings reverberated in his ears. You tilted your head to the side, but Beomgyu took his palm up in the air to stop you from getting up from your stool again.

Thom Yorke was right, everyone can play the guitar. 

“Can you sing?” You asked, leaning your chin onto your palm while keeping your elbows leveled onto the cotton surface of the towel on top of the snare drum. 

“Sorta?” Beomgyu replied with a shrug. 

“Can you set up the mic on your own?” 

“I think so?” 

“Great, show me what you’ve got. I’m sure being a big fan also means belting out notes like Geonu, right?” Once Beomgyu was confident enough about the tuning of the guitar, he started to strum the chords that lined each stanza to the song you wrote. Instead of playing along, you deepened your trance and kept your eyes on his slouched figure, watching a man that could’ve been a musician with you in a different world. The basement had always been a sanctuary for the two of you, and now, free of all the ills of wealth and familial obligations, you openly shared your secure liberation with him, watching him play a song that was written for him.

EPILOGUE: CARPE DIEM

Wе'll play our love against your hate

Don't you count on us to let you win today

Today

Through the corners of your eyes, you could see Beomgyu in his so-called disguise: bright, long, red hair sprayed on with less than perfect agility and accuracy, torn sleeves that revealed his stick-and-poke tattoos across his arms and chest, ripped jeans to match his long legs, and a pair of combat boots that made his walk turn into awkward waddles between the dance floor and the bar. God forbid you found him attractive in the daylight, but the nighttime brought out a different beast in him. He wasn’t the snobbish, prideful boy that you would bicker with during your law modules; he wasn’t the sharp-tongued asshole you wanted to fight in the middle of the hallways; he wasn’t the man that made you feel less than a woman whenever he unluckily graced you with his presence; he was just Choi Beomgyu—a lost boy under the dark, neon lights of the disco ball of fate that spun the two of you together in a distorted, complicated mosaic of trials and tribulations. 

You wouldn’t dare admit it, but you found him rather attractive from the start. That was the reason why you wanted to catch his attention when you first met him in your first-year orientation. Back then, he had sleek, black hair, trimmed to perfection to explicitly embody his status with a single look. While you presented yourself as the exact opposite of who he used to look like, there was no harm in trying, right? 

Who knew that your lack of courage to speak to him and befriend him from the start would spur a three—almost four-year—rivalry of academic battles and hurt? You certainly didn’t predict it, but perhaps fate worked in wonderful ways, as he was now doing two-steps to a song that you wrote, composed, and poured all your heart into. 

A song about Choi Beomgyu. 

We danced and played until the sun came

Writing a story using our names

About a generation not afraid to seize the day

Geonu’s voice was the perfect touch to the lyrical prose and intricacies you communicated through the song. It was sweet, yet packed a pang of pain in each syllable—something that you always applauded him for. What made his performance better was how it made Beomgyu’s wasted presence look like an angel—as if Geonu’s voice was the spell you needed to finally see the man as a divine, untouchable being in your eyes. The test lights of all different colors glowed like a halo on the crown of Beomgyu’s head, and with the last cymbal to end the song, you immediately got up and dove to the crowd, throwing your drum sticks behind as your lips grazed the man you’ve hated for the past three years. 

Beomgyu couldn’t tell if he was too drunk or if he’s waited for this moment since he saw you on the edge of the row at an introductory elective he chose to fill his schedule, but he took your arms in his in one, fell swoop, catching you in your fall with the sturdiness of his grip. In an instant, all of the feelings he had for you blended into a single word: love. 

Who knew that hate was not the opposite of love? He certainly didn’t. In a sense, he should’ve listened to Heeseung from the start and swallowed his stubborn pride—then again, he also knew that life didn’t work that way. At this moment, he thanked his unyielding nature for allowing him to be with you for three, long years. Even if there was an incessant voice within him that complained about the prospects of being with you earlier had he not been so difficult, there was an equal part of happiness within him that was completely satisfied with the way things were. Chance worked in wonderful, albeit unpredictable ways, and maybe if he didn’t hate you so much, he wouldn’t even know of your existence from the start. 

The crowd around the two of you cheered as they watched you engulf Beomgyu in another, languid embrace. Their voices were mere whispers filtered with the booming sound of Geonu’s speech in the microphone and Sungchan’s own guitar solos; all you could see was Beomgyu’s angelic face between your soft, sweaty palms. The rush of adrenaline that usually came with playing shows was now replaced with the gentle hums that echoed across the cages of your chest, aching with a pulsating pain that threatened to implode inside of you. 

“You’re such a loser,” Beomgyu whispered, taking the back of your hands in his as he caressed the surface of your knuckles with his thumb. You could feel his rapid pulse quicken by the amount of alcohol he consumed, but that didn’t matter. You didn’t need to be inebriated to feel a certain way. 

“Shut up,” You retorted, touching the tip of your nose on his before climbing back up to the stage to finish the song one and for all. 

With the band together, arm in arm, the four of you gave the crowd the last bow you’ll ever give them. Salty tears were shed, roaring claps and cries for an encore were heard in the distance, and the only person in your eyes was Beomgyu, who was sober enough to stand still and spill his drink in your face. In return, you blew him a kiss and threw a single drum stick in his direction, watching him effortlessly catch it and twirl it between his fingers. As the chants for an encore grew louder, you stared at each of your sweat-ridden bandmates—all of them nodding at the last request. 

“Alright, assholes,” Geonu began, taking the mic stand apart and throwing it to the side. “You asked for it, so we’ll give you one more performance. One more, yeah?” 

Sungchan didn’t even need to play the first chord to the song; Jeongin didn’t need to pluck the strings to his bass; you didn’t need to go back to your drum kit to strike the first beat; Geonu didn’t need a microphone to signal the first note of the song. Everyone knew what the next performance was going to be, and they crowded around the stage, forming a circle with Beomgyu at the center. 

This one’s for you, prick. You mouthed with a wide, ear-to-ear grin on your face. You took a can of lukewarm beer and pierced it right in the middle with your teeth, watching the crowd gaud you to finish it all in one go. Then, you crushed the empty can in your fingers and threw it to the side, rushing back to your band as they all sat on the edge of the stage. 

“You guys know the words to this one, right?” Geonu shouted. The crowd roared with approval and kept their feet still in anticipation despite the hazy inebriation that turned their vision into a mere collection of blurred movements. The alcohol had rushed past your bloodstream and circulated in your head, forming a telescope that pointed to Beomgyu as your one and only North Star. 

Look me straight into the eyes,

When I truthfully lie to you

For a graduation gig, this was perhaps one of the best gifts you could ever ask for. No amount of material desire could replicate the sense of community felt within the tiny, decrepit basement that your band has called home. Now that you’ve thought about it, this basement didn’t seem to belong to your band anymore. It belonged to everyone in the room. Those who wanted to escape a life of mundanity and academic pressures, those who wanted to forget about the time they fucked up their jobs, those who wanted to remember their youths with rose-colored lenses and shagadelic sad boy music, and those who just wanted a place where they could be themselves. The basement was a home—no, a sanctuary—that welcomed everyone with open arms—even the likes of Choi Beomgyu. 

Dreams are of your taste,

Mornings smell like you

You took control of the chorus and screamed to your heart’s content. Everyone’s voices blended into a harmonious blend of heartfelt solidarity. There were people making out in the corner of the bathroom, those that were too drunk to stand and yet muttered the lyrics in the best way they could, and the strongest soldiers of your long setlist remaining still, arm in arm with each other as they continued to sing the lyrics with you and your band. Beomgyu was still in the middle, eyes glued to your swaying figure as you slowly descended from the stage again with a microphone in your hand. 

The compass fails to listen to me,

My lost soul’s wandering,

And searching for the path that leads to you

Geonu, Sungchan, and Jeongin descended the stage too and started interacting with the crowd. You could see Heeseung in the distance waving at you with two joints between his fingers and a girl clad in a bright green apron in his other arm. He gave you a thumbs up and bowed before going to the bar, and you returned his gesture with a fervent scream of gratitude. You then took Beomgyu’s head and ruffled his hair, letting the residue of his red dye stain your palms. 

“So that’s what the song meant,” Beomgyu whispered right next to your ears, watching your panting figure gulp down an entire bottle of water in one go. He took the microphone from your hands and sang the last verse to the of his best abilities, letting his mind scavenge through all the times he’s secretly listened to your band’s discography on Soundcloud. There was no use in pretending he didn’t know any of the words when he’s spent every waking moment listening to Joker In on his commute to and from campus. 

“Yeah, kind of funny, right?” You replied, tossing the empty bottle to a nearby trash can. Beomgyu tossed the microphone back to Geonu, who was now being nursed back to health by Sungchan. You gave the two a nod and took Beomgyu’s hand to leave the confines of the basement. 

Now that the two of you were outside, you breathed in the fresh scent of grass and greeneries that surrounded the abandoned house. The night sky in hues of navy evoked divine iridescence with the hymns of the crickets and fireflies that sparked the outskirts of town into a bright, starlit grove of secrecy. You took another can of beer that you hid inside the pockets of your overalls and crushed it open, offering a sip to Beomgyu once you were finished taking a large gulp. He refused, leaning his tall frame on the unpainted walls of the house. The noise from the basement echoed into the vast, empty skies. Everyone’s voice seemed to repeat the chorus of the song in muffled hums, and you joined their choir with a quiet rendition of your own, humming the song that brought you to Beomgyu in a gentle lullaby. 

The compass fails to listen to me,

My lost soul’s wandering

And searching for the path that leads to

You stared at Beomgyu before finishing the last line of the verse, twirling the cool can of beer between your fingers. It was impossible to hate him under the moonlight. 

“Do you still think I’m that sexy stranger that you almost took home with you from the bus stop?” He asked, craning his neck to look at you with his glassy eyes. 

“Dipshit, we went over this a long time ago. Did you really think I was that stupid?” You replied, returning the rhetoric while fishing for a pack of cigarettes in your pockets. Beomgyu scratched his head and cleared his throat, averting his gaze to meet the destroyed leather of his combat boots. 

“Well, you’re still kind of dense…” 

“A face like yours is difficult to hide, you know? Even with your dumb excuse of a disguise.” 

A light chuckle escaped your lips. Beomgyu always wondered what you’d sound like if you laughed with him instead of laughing without him. Perhaps it was the remnants of alcohol that remained in his bloodstream, or perhaps it was the irresistible, honey-like tone in your voice that made him want to hear you laugh again. 

“Can we start over again?” Beomgyu interrupted. This time, he positioned himself at an angle that made him face you regardless of where his neck was aching to go. You gave him a small smile, followed by a middle finger as you let the fizz of beer emulsify within the confines of your mouth. 

“Seriously? I thought seeing your dumbass play guitar in the studio was already enough?” You replied, letting the embers from your lighter reflect its yellow flames in Beomgyu’s marble-like eyes. 

You were not one to waste a cigarette, but a single puff engulfed you in a woozy feeling of nausea and turbulence. As you stubbed the light out of the long, white stick on the dying grass around it, you turned your attention back on Beomgyu—the most patient he’s been since the two of you first met. Everything with Beomgyu felt long and drawn out, but this time, you didn’t mind. The night was long, and you wanted all the time in the world to start over, even if it meant confessing some of your deepest, dirtiest thoughts to him. 

Carpe diem. Seize the day. 

And so, you did. Beomgyu’s cheeks felt like satin feathers ruffling and tickling each of your fingertips, electrifying you with a gentleness that lulled you closer to him. There was nothing to be afraid of from the start, and even if it took you three years to overcome that unbridled, irrational fear that is Choi Beomgyu, you were nonetheless glad that it was all over. Another day was about to come, and who knows? Maybe Beomgyu wouldn’t be an enemy anymore.

—CREDITS: @writingmochi @gyvhao @chocorenchin @michipan @hsgwrld (hi meg !! also tagging you on this because this is a eurovision fic lMAOO this is vivian on her txt blog btw !!)

#txt #txt imagines #txt scenarios #txt fluff #txt angst #txt au #txt oneshots #txt fics #txt x reader #txt x you #tomorrow x together #tomorrow x together imagines #tomorrow x together scenarios #tomorrow x together oneshots #tomorrow x together fics #beomgyu #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu angst #beomgyu au #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x you #beomgyu oneshots #choi beomgyu #choi beomgyu imagines #choi beomgyu scenarios #choi beomgyu au #choi beomgyu fluff #choi beomgyu angst

[lulu101]

I’ve had multiple JD AUs in mind but the one I’m most fixated on writing rn is:

- “Hook”

Some info in this AU, trolls can reproduce an egg by asexual reproduction or two trolls have strong feelings for each other that it can manifest through an egg

Another thing to add, the trolls had managed to escape from Bergen Town before Brozone split up, and the Family Harmony was meant to be their first concert in the new Troll village as a way to celebrate

What changes is that once their Grandma’s taken by the Chef and Branch turns grey, King Peppy decides they need to relocate once again, which none of the brother were aware of (I’ll get in detail with Viva and Clay’s situation later)

While exploring the Neverglade Forest and having an egg, he also finds baby Rhonda

The egg reminds him of his brothers, especially Bitty B, and wanting his egg to grow up with his family, he decides to head back

Something goes wrong though and while severely injured, stumbles near the Rock Trolls, where King Thrash and toddler Barb were on a stroll of sorts

Despite clearly being a pop troll, King Thrash does wish to see egg orphaned so he does his best to save JD

Unfortunately, his injuries were too severe and the doctors note that him being able to get close to the Rock Volcano from the Neverglades was a miracle

The egg does hatch and JD gets to hold him before his death but isn’t able to slip out the name he wanted for him (Branch actually knows as JD had once told him as a baby what he would name his children if he had any but his memory won’t be jogged until the end of the fic)

Barb is the one who names him, which is Hook

Hook is then raised by the Rock Trolls, who don’t treat him any differently as he was basically one of them

Rhonda is raised by them as well, her being Hook’s and Barb’s “secret” hideout

Hook helps Barb in World Tour and meets Poppy when she’s captured, who is shocked to meet him as he’s nearly identical to JD from Brozone

He briefly explains that he had been raised by the Rock Trolls, he has no loyalty to the Pop Trolls and is doing it because he feels it’s the least he can do for Barb

Branch doesn’t meet him until after the strings are ripped and every genre gets their color back

Think of it like the scene from Secret of the Wings where Tinker Bell meets Periwinkle, with Branch seeing a familiar silhouette and calling out “John Dory?”

King Thrash has a strong reaction to that name (he had forgotten his name, only knowing he was named after a fish), which prompts Barb and Hook to turn around, Branch going through a mix of emotions at seeing someone who looks identical to JD standing right before him

Cue Branch starting to tear up and growling in frustration/hurt when Hook gets defensive over King Thrash while asking who John Dory is

I already have ideas for Band Together but I feel like I should save them until I’m done with this first part first (there’s define a lot of angst)

Part 2

#brozone #john dory #trolls john dory #trolls barb #trolls #trolls king thrash #trolls world tour au #trolls branch #trolls poppy #trolls au #trolls fanfic #John Dory has a son #said son is raised by the Rock Trolls because they’re not monsters #They name him Hook because JD died holding him before he could announce his name #The only thing JD left him is Rhonda #Did I really come up with this because I thought it would be sad if Brozone couldn’t get proper closure? #And that it would be even more sadder is not only does Hook look like JD #But he sometimes unknowingly acts like him #hook au