#he just sent me a picture of himself with the lead singer of one of my favourite bands 😭 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

selarina · 9 months

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Out of Style

-> Suna Rintaro x Fem!Reader

Chapter 2: Digitial Duet

Summary: The following night, Suna can't help but find himself lured by your online persona.

Content Warnings: celebrity au, rockstar!suna rintaro, actress!reader, online interactions, band dynamics, fluff, sexual undertones, mention of smoking, character study, sensual imagery, eventual smut

Word Count: 1.7k words

Author's Note: I'm ngl lead singer!atsumu does things to me.... also, bonus points for you if you guess what osamu, aran and kita's roles are in the band

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

Suna’s public account is filled with carefully curated images sent by his publicist, or sometimes it is simply just posted by a poor intern whose only job is analyzing and curating his online presence. He tried maintaining a sense of autonomy at first. After all, he only becomes a star after being on social media for quite a while. He quite liked it, the unseriousness of it all but too many sites have risen and fallen since then, and he’s realized he might be too old or too busy to get used to the new features.

So… Suna’s not one to spend a lot of time on social media, barring the one private Instagram account his sister, Reiko, set up for him. It’s private, it has the only photo ever posted on the account — a selfie of him and his sister from the same day she set the account up. She’s smiling at the camera, perfectly posed while he’s right behind her, his face is twisted, caught off guard. You could say he was objectively ugly in the photo.

Hmm? He stares down at the picture. Seems like he never really deleted it. He switches to his public account.

His eyes move to scan his phone screen for a brief second before he finds it. He’s still not used to how different everything is from the last time he used this app, and it’s only been two weeks. How can you change so much in so little time? And why would you even?

His finger taps to reach the search option, his fingers moving to type in your name. Immediately, he gets a list of results — a verified account on top with a profile picture of you. He looks at the rest of the accounts below yours, a list of fan accounts of you.

He clicks on your account.

When the screen finally opens, Suna is accosted by your familiar face, scattered across the range of tiny boxes.

He clicks on the first picture that catches his immediate eye, it’s a picture of you sitting outside an establishment. Your shoes are scattered beside you as you smile sweetly at the screen. He smiles.

Your profile actually looks like photos you are posting yourself, but well, so does his, he thinks. Frowning, he scrolls, and he scrolls. He feels like an intruder as his scrolling continues, but he can’t seem to stop for some reason. The photos are like a collection of your life — it’s full of photos of you, your friends, co-stars, your sister, and your cat. Sometimes, the occasional movie promotion, a fashion event, or something like that.

And then he stumbles upon it, it’s a photo of you wrapped in a blazer, as the rain pours in the foreground. And you — you’re twisting your head ever so slightly to address the camera directly with your eyes, and you manage to hold his eyes to yours for quite a well somehow. He can’t help but think if your lips are purposefully quirked with a ghost of a smile. He lingers far longer than he’d care to admit but eventually, he scrolls again, as one does.

Only to wash away his opinion of you, he says. Only to get accustomed and to get rid of this new feeling, he says.

He then stops at another picture, a promotional picture, but it’s not for your movie. It’s for this band. Scarlet Riot.

He remembers this band, during a meeting where his manager was very upset with the band for Scarlet Riot’s new single surpassing his band, Black Velvet’s single on the rankings. He remembers dozing off during the meeting and being forcefully woken up again, and again, and again until the manager had enough and sent him back home. He happily accepted.

He doesn’t know anything about Scarlet Riot, apart from the fact that they are apparently cut from the same cloth as his band but yes, he notices how there isn’t much visible. Not your face, not the guy’s face but he seems to be holding you and your very lightly covered body — just you in your bra, and your underwear to be candid.

The said faceless guy is clothed entirely with one hand grasping the small of your back, and the other one holding your leg up as you seem to lift it in tandem.

He immediately clicks off the post, switching to his official account as he searches for your profile.

His hands hover for a second over the send button before he clicks on it.

To be fair, he isn’t technically lying in his texts because he is now rewatching your movie to drown out the anticipation of your response, but at the moment he only had enough heed to hit send on the message then, and he didn’t know how long that would last.

He eyes his abandoned phone on the teak table in front of him, as he watches your movie. It currently has a conversation between two guys in the movie, and honestly, he couldn’t care less about them.

He couldn’t help it. He looked up the video, and he admits he can find himself agreeing with the rest of the 14 million people who seem to find the appeal. He pauses the video, and it pauses at a picture-worthy shot if he could say so himself — your eyes are heavy-lidded resulting in a sultry expression, akin to a languid panther moving through the tall grass, that makes something primal rake right beneath the confines of his body.

H clicks off from the video, turning off his phone as he unpauses your movie continuing to chomp on the rest of his pasta.

—

The next day, Suna found himself on auto-pilot making his way through the band's rehearsal studio. The place was cramped and confining — just as he secretly liked. It’s always overfilled with a diversified jumble of instruments, amps, and other recording equipment.

He adjusts his guitar strap as he began the process of plugging his instrument in. He’s early today, so it affords him the opportunity to observe as his bandmates and studio staff trickle in, one by one, as he sips on his coffee. He’s not usually a fan of hot beverages, preferring cooler, or lukewarm drinks but today, he needs the searing warmth to keep him from biting off his bandmates’ heads.

Atsumu, the drummer, finally saunters in with his signature impish grin that sent a surge of irritation coursing through Suna's veins. It’s just lack of sleep talking, he reassures himself as Atsumu takes a seat near him seating himself behind the drum set.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," Atsumu quipped, his voice cutting through the studio's ambient hum Suna grew comfortable in.

Suna's retort was swift, a deadpan stare, as he took another sip. "Don't call me that.”

“Well, you look the part.” Atsumu remained undeterred, as he reclined against the seat, a smirk etched upon his features.

Suna doesn’t respond, his attention returning to the coffee cup, as he took another sip.

“Where's everyone else?” Suna set aside the guitar, carefully placing his chair as he weaved through to discard the now-empty cup into the bin.

"Aran’s out for a smoke. Osamu’s stuck in traffic, surprise surprise. Kita’s at a shoot. He should be late today," Atsumu replied.

Suna's response was a barely discernible hum as he sat back in his chair. He occupied himself with tuning his guitar, his fingers moving with practiced familiarity, attuned to the nuances of each string.

They continued to wait in silence, Atsumu’s soft humming withheld. Not that Suna particularly took issue with it, in fact, it was a bit soothing to exist in his space, until Atsumu spoke again that is.

"So, you seemed to have an interesting night.” Atsumu's tone was teasing, his words laden with an underlying implication that Suna found distinctly annoying.

A warning glint flickered through Suna's eyes, his response lax but firm. "No idea what you’re talking about."

Atsumu leaned back against his seat, a smile playing on his lips. "Oh, come on now. We all saw you last night. Never knew you could physically bring yourself to smile."

Suna's eyes narrowed. “We were just talking.”

Atsumu barely hummed in response, but Suna’s annoyance seemed to seep back under his skin – he didn't want to engage in this conversation, especially not with Atsumu, who generally had a talented knack for pushing his buttons early in the morning.

Atsumu waggled his eyebrows as they raise up. "So, what kind of talkin' were ya doin', hmm?"

Suna shot a sharp look at Atsumu, his fingers pausing his task on the guitar. "None of your business."

“Okay,” Atsumu responds and Suna’s relieved. For all his many complaints about Atsumu, he truly does know how to read people, and as much as he seemed to like pushing boundaries, he never truly seemed to cross them.

“Just be careful,” Atsumu speaks up, Atsumu's tone was tinged with a rare sincerity. Suna finds it a bit too jarring like he’s an alternate reality.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just — Relationships with other people like us never truly work out, ya know.”

“I know,” Suna responds, as his eyes flit down to his guitar. Suna's fingers slipped on the strings, creating a dissonant sound.

Atsumu sighs as his voice comes out in a subdued murmur, “I should know better than anyone,” before Osamu's voice carries from outside to inside the studio, disrupting the momentary exchange.

Osamu walks through pushing the entry door as he stomps over to where they are.

“Get off my seat, ya imp,” he says, tossing his back to the side before he proceeds to push Atsumu off the chair, and almost like he was slapped out of it — Atsumu’s back to his usual self as his hands rise up to pull Osamu’s hair.

At the backdrop of the familiar dance between Osamu and Atsumu, Suna pulls out of his phone and the muted buzz against his thigh.

Ping! His eyes flit up to the top of his phone. It’s you. He clicks on the notification.

yn_ln : sorry i passed out but wow, flattery and a movie review?

yn_ln : i'm honored

Suna smirks as he taps on the screen. His fingers seem to type out a reply before he's even fully aware of it.

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only10tion · 1 year

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i think I have chosen the worst possible time to get into up10 but would you mind telling my your favorite of their songs and maybe something about each member? only if you want to ofc!

px101 era was worse

I would love to tell you about the up10 men!!! Literally you did not ask for a full on 5 page guide but im making it anyway!!

SO. YOU WANT TO KNOW ABOUT UP10TION? (a guide)

Members (age order):

Kuhn (leader/rapper) - gives off dad energy. Has a very attractive singing voice!! Listen to some CoolFM karaoke to hear him sing!

Jinhoo (leader/vocal) - has pretty lips! Takes on team mom position. TOP media put him on hiatus on April 7, 2020 and then sent him to the armed forces, he has not been seen or mentioned since. TOP media will not tell us where he is. I miss him.

UPDATE: Jinhoo signs of life. He has a personal Instagram.

Kogyeol/Ian (vocal) - gives off church crush/princely vibes. Has an interior design business for some reason??

Jinhyuk (high-tone rapper) - furry. weeb. gamer. Likes skinship a lot. He's doing solo stuff ever since px101...it's okay. He's not a very good vocalist 😭 Top Media put him back in the group NOW.

Bitto (low-tone rapper/main dancer) - cute. He seems quiet in interviews but he can be VERY chaotic. The master of girl group choreo + ultimate fanboy.

Wooseok (vocal/visual) - just a guy. He is kind of a quiet troublemaker type, and has a devilish streak. He has been doing solo stuff since px101. I like his solo stuff. But Top Media PLEASE PUT HIM BACK.

Sunyoul (vocal) - he has a WIDE vocal range. Well known for performing on masked singer and having everyone think he was a girl. Has done boy/girl duets by himself. Appears sweet but...he will not hesitate if you annoy him. Other mom figure.

Gyujin (lead dancer/vocal) - eyebrows!! He is babygirl and poses as such in pictures...very silly guy. They never give him lines and always try to cover him up in big coats. :(

Hwanhee (vocal) - LOUD. I CANNOT EMPHASIZE HOW LOUD HE IS. Often compared to Baekhyun in terms of looks and voice. Whiney and loveable. In Boys Planet rn

Xiao/Dongyeol (lead dancer/vocal) - #1 taemint. Hanse from VICTON's bestie. Mischevious and attached to hwanhee. In Boys Planet rn.

Songs/MVs (divided by album):

Top Secret - 1st Mini

Title: SO, DANGEROUS

Choreo is very cool! Will get stuck in your head!

Other fav songs on the album: Phoenix, Never Ending

BRAVO! - 2nd mini

Title: Catch me!

Silly MV (affectionate) with aged styling, but a very catchy song

Other favs on the album: call me, Holic

SPOTLIGHT - 3rd mini

Title: Attention

Should have won so many awards.

Other favs: Stay, I wish a miracle, Cherish (Sunyoul ft. Yuju from Gfriend!!)

Summer Go! - 4th mini

Title: Tonight

WOW! I can't believe UP10TION invented summer with this song and album!! (I love her dearly)

Other songs: Beautiful, OASIS, MAGIC

BURST - 5th mini

Title: White Night

Up10 does a story MV!! Ft hockey and Somi

(This song makes me go feral)

Other favs: Because, Stuck On You, Just Like That

ID - 1st Japanese release

Title: ID

Please don't skip their Japanese releases, they are some of their best songs.

Other favs: Stand up, The World is Waiting

STAR;DOM - 6th mini (no Wooseok)

Title: Runner

Other favs: Everything, True Love, Hot Blood

UP10TION 2017 Special Photo Edition (no Wooseok)

Title: Going Crazy

Wild Love - 2nd Japanese release (no Wooseok)

Title: WILD LOVE

Other favs: Sign Me Up, FEEL SO RIGHT!

Invitation - 1st full album!

Title: CANDYLAND

Era where i became a honey10 so I know this album like no one else

Other favs: Mixed signals, Always, Superstar, Love sick

Chaser - 3rd Japanese release

Title: CHASER

This album has my favorite b-side...lose myself supremecy

Other favs: BIG WAVE, LOSE MYSELF

UP10TION 2018 Special Photo Edition

Title: So Beautiful

tour footage makes me jealous. Anyway.

Laberinto - 7th mini

Title: Blue Rose

widely regarded by the three honey10s on this site as their worst album. It's mid.

Other favs: Burning, Midnight,

The Moment of Illusion - 8th mini (no Wooseok or Jinhyuk)

Title: Your Gravity

Honestly not my favorite, but i appreciate her.

Other favs: Skyway, Lover

Light Up - 9th mini (no Wooseok, Jinhyuk, or Jinhoo)

Title: Light

I miss jinhoo. They start making really good albums again from this point on.

Other favs: Destiny, Dawn, Empty House

Connection - 2nd full album (no jinhyuk, wooseok, jinhoo)

Title: SPIN OFF

SPAN ABSOLUTE OFF. Literally The ALBUM™

Other favs: Liar, Parade, Destroyed, Forever, Believe in you

Novella - 10th mini (no jinhyuk, wooseok jinhoo)

Title: Crazy About You

VOCALS!! VERY GOOD album

Other favs: Give Love, PANDORA, Incredible,

Code Name: Arrow - 11th mini (no jinhyuk, wooseok, jinhoo)

Title: What If Love

puts you on the spot.

Other favs: Angel, Flash, Rewind

🍯🍯🍯

#up10tion #sorry this took 1000 years i was doing song rec research lmao #long post #answered ask #feel free to just randomly choose out of each album's recs :

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deathmimedream · 1 year

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The Murderdolls Muse Box:

The muses:

New:

Ghost/demon verse:

1. Zenead (Z, Zed, zen, zennie ) @alastors-radioshow Alastor’s water ghoul servant, usually the one sent on errands topside, he’s rather good at glamours, so it’s rare to see him wear the same disguise twice unless it’s a favorite.

Born albino to a small water ghoul tribe, they were all enslaved by Astaroth, later to become the band, hellraisers. Later, Zen was the only survivor of his family’s massacre at Astaroth’s hands.

Instead of horns in his unglamoured form, he has bone ridges along the sides of his head, and long, silky white hair, with gold-green eyes. Usually looking serious, it’s said his laughter sounds like rain striking a glass wind chime.

Though most ghouls are called by a name relative to an element, Zen has been named after a former priest who held blind loyalty to the demon prince. Zen has of late, become rather rebellious.

He once tended the water garden, his master’s meals, and was once the keyboardist for the Hellraiser’s band Astaroth was lead singer for.

Now he’s helping keep Al’s studio tidy, running errands, and anything else his new master requires of him.

He has hydromancy, and water manipulation, but it’s harder for him, as he’s adapted to his icy home. Ice is more his forte.

Zen’s photo at end of post

2. thanks to a mutual who got me into the Ghost project, I am adding another muse:

Papa Emeritus III (Terzo)

I’m hoping to do him justice. But you can still ask for him, just keep in mind I’m still getting through the lore. So forgive me a few mistakes as I ease into this new muse. I’m playing him as pre- and post death (alive via spell) so let me know which version you like when you request him. (Post death photo pictured)

Since I can totally blame @alastors-radioshow for my ghost obsession, Terzo is theirs to ship with, E X C L U S I V E L Y!

3: Cardinal Copia/ Papa Emeritus IV.

Both versions available. Multiple timelines available. I shall do my best with trying my hand at this sweet little papa, who I have also fallen for. (I’m looking at you, @alastors-radioshow this is your fault! Lol)

4. Oracle (Quintessnce ghoul)

He’s a seer, summoned by Abbot Marcus Vitel, to a small, quiet abbey in Tuscany.

The abbot had wanted healer, to aid in caring for the local villagers (who had converted to worshiping Lucifer) when they became ill or injured.

Instead, he got a young, unstable seer.

Very unstable, it seemed.

He had visions, and they were helpful, but often vague, confusing, or sometimes eerily accurate.

All well and good, except the visions caused Oracle to pass out for their duration, and wake up with splitting migraines, some lasting days, and often a bloody nose or tears.

The visions appeared at irregular times, which meant Marcus was constantly at his ghoul’s side to make sure he wasn’t falling and hurting himself, or…after one incident, dropping out of a tree on someone either.

The lavender-haired ghoul tends to travel with his master, but tends to stray from public events.

Apparently too many humans around can trip a vision.

Aside from his foremost ability, Oracle can heal, not mental damage, but physical. He sadly, cannot heal himself of injury, however.

He can teleport, but longer distances can trigger a strong vision, and wears him out for some time.

His face bears three claw marks, from his left cheek to just over the bridge of his nose, and his right eye is missing. The marks were present upon summoning, he lost the eye when defending Marcus from an angry village outsider.

It was the only time Oracle had unglamoured of his own will in public.

Thankfully, the villagers were sympathetic, and saw Oracle as a ‘dark Angel ‘ sent by Lucifer to save Marcus from death.

Though Oracle has Marcus, he is the only ghoul at the small abbey, and still rather lonely.

(Oracle has recently discovered his beloved ‘father’, Marcus, has been Kit trafficking topside with kidnapped ghoul children. He would summon them and hand them to lesser clergy wanting ‘docile and naturally loyal’ ghouls. He’s pretty messed up over it)

#update! @iomadachd ‘s Cowbell has EATEN Marcus. Oracle’s is currently miserable and stuck working for sister Imperator.

Photo

5. :C A L I B E R : H Y D E:

A return of one of my oldest muses, remade for a new setting once more!

8’5” of impure, frightening muscle, claws, teeth, and power, he’s quite a mystery.

Is he some sort of Ghoul? A demon? A genetic mystery of humanity? All three?

He’s not one to talk much on it.

Despite his outer unglamoured appearance, Caliber is a very gentle giant, well, unless he has reason to be angry.

(He likes to cook, and comfort over fight, really)

He can utilize infernal magics easily, as well as the separate elements, but he’s best at fire, and Earth.

He’s well versed in combat of multiple styles, and no one is certain how old he is, but it’s rumored he appeared during the earliest years of the Church’s founding, and has ‘protected the faith when, and where needed’ for possibly centuries.

He hasn’t stayed in one place long, usually moving to where he is needed. To avoid trouble, he’s sometimes traveled with other clergy and pretended to be a ghoul, or actually clergy.

Other times he will vanish for decades, and be merely a fairy tale.

There’s as many rumors as stories about him too::

Other rumors include:

:He’s the child of Lucifer and a ghouleh he fancied several centuries ago.

: he was a ghoul summoned by the oldest papa of the church, and bound to the faith, rather than a single person

: he’s just a realllly fucking big, old as hell, ghoul

: he’s a tamed cryptid

: he IS Lucifer in disguise

:a fallen Angel

There’s sooo many. sometimes he will entertain himself and let you believe one or more are correct.

But he’s certainly not what you think.

Photo: glamoured, and unglamoured (add bat wings)

6: O M E G A

(I am once AGAIN blaming @alastors-radioshow for ANOTHER Ghost muse!)

Say hello to another gentle giant, Terzo’s most fan-lusted after Quintessence ghoul, Omega!

He’s sometimes overprotective of his papa, and worries a lot about him and his band mates.

Laid back, and gentle until you really upset him, Omega is sort of a big brother/protective surrogate dad type to both Terzo, and the other ghouls.

He just wants everyone safe and happy, yeah?

Holy shit there’s more!

7: Cinque

8: Lucifer Morningstar

9: Viencenzio Camilo Imperator

10, 11, and 12: coffeshop random ghouls:

13: Cardinal Shoia:

::::14,15,1617:::

I am adding:

Swisstopher (Copia’s wild and crazy multighoul)

Rain (Copia’s sweet and gentle water ghoul)

Mountain: (Copia’s earth ghoul, the sweetest and kindest of giants)

Cumulus: (Copia’s Air ghoulette, everyone’s big sister and den mama)

::: HAZBIN HOTEL::::

Remington Lafayette: male. A stag style demon with stunted bat wings, one antler is broken, the other a double spike. albino and rarely speaks. He’s petite and frail, looking closer to 15, when he’s actually about 19. Part of a cult that worshipped Alastor, killed running from an angry mob with tracking dogs. He’s ACE, and will not do anything except platonic.

::Multiveresal::

1. Dream.

A childlike redhead with milk pale skin, ears hidden in his hair, and tail rarely seen. His usual attire is a motley of teal, green, purple and black for his midnight circus performance clothing. Chirps, purrs, and trills like a vocal Maine coon, But often talks in third person. Human speech isn’t his native language. He’s light on his feet, and an aerialist, seemingly sweetly innocent.

He’s been occasionally been noticed devouring people in a feral, brutal manner, but often will avoid most people stronger than himself.

Dream is mainly Hazbin, but like the rest of the hellish midnight Circus, is multiverse.

2. Arkady Villisonne

A tall,slim figure in dashing attire that resembles a gothic ringmaster of sorts.

Hair to his waist, white as snow and eyes like black pits in his head, his abilities as a demon make all but another demon see him as their ideal partner.

Be it in love, or crime, he’s always just what you’re looking for.

Often mistaken for a mere vampire, Arkady is in fact an incubus, hence the visual representation he portrays to most. But! He’s ACE. No interest in sexual relations at all.

Years of research and hard work have made him able to chose when and where the circus travels, but it cost him his wings and horns. His tail is usually hidden, wrapped around his waist, and he controls the veil of magic protecting his circus.

If he realllly likes you, you’ll never leave the grounds.

3. Bacardi:

Another incubus, this one with rainbow hair, and all the charm his sibling, Arkady lacks.

He dresses mainly like a fairy tale Prince, and is the circus sword swallower, and knife thrower.

His performance gear makes him look less princely and more like an androgynous masked Venetian jester.

He’s actually big on consent, forming relationships prior to romance, and very much a Prince Charming.

Photos:

two of Zenead(albino water ghoul) Tiny little Remi! (Hazbin mini deer demon with wings)

#alastors-radioshow #iomadachd #new babies!

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ddejavvu · 2 years

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i'm obsessed with rockstar!sirius so i was thinking him flirting with interviewer!reader

Today is multiverse monday! send me any au you can think of :)

"Your fans have had an amazing response to this new album of yours," You overenunciated your words, the mic clipped to your shirt picking up every word for the camera.

The band before you nodded emphatically, a few sly smirks thrown here and there at the memory of the fans that had nearly destroyed the venue in their excitement.

"That's gotta be a powerful feeling, yeah? Like, all those people out there, they almost tore down that arena for you." You laughed, pictures of the screaming mass of fans flashing on the screen behind you.

"It really is," James, the lead singer laughed, "It's kinda scary to think about, y'know, because today it was a public arena, but one day it could be one of our homes. So that's freaky," He gave the camera a goofy grin, "But in general it's really sweet."

"How would they find our addresses, James?" Remus, the guitarist scoffed, "We don't go giving that out to just anyone."

"Fans are extraordinary!" James exclaimed, "They could find a needle in a haystack if we wanted them to."

"Well, Remus is right." It was the first time Sirius, the drummer, had spoken throughout the entire interview, having been too preoccupied eyeing you up and down, "I don't go giving out my address. But I might have to make an exception tonight," He sent you a wink, and you thought if you'd been any less professional, you'd have squealed and jumped up and down on the spot. But you simply looked into the camera with a wide-eyed grin, taking a deep breath before quickly wrapping up their segment on the show.

As soon as they were off-camera, James dove for the snack table, cramming several bagels onto a too-small plate. Remus occupied himself with his phone, sitting quietly in the corner of the room with their coats. As for Sirius, he lingered by the set as you gathered your things. You looked up at him expectantly when he stood beside you, mouth falling open slightly as he slid a piece of paper into your hands.

"Wasn't kiddin', doll," He crooned, voice low and silky-smooth, "'M free tonight if you are."

He left without another word, and you were free to stare down incredulously at the scrap of paper you had clutched tightly between your fingers. On it was scrawled an address, his address, in black sharpie. The same black sharpie he was using just now to sigh autographs for employees at the studio.

You watched him cater to his fans with a soft smile on your lips, knowing that no matter how many times he signed his name tonight, you'd be the only one leaving with his address.

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dat-town · 3 years

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not gonna miss this chance

Characters: Han Seojun & soloist!female reader

Genre: fluff

Setting: true beauty au, set a year after the tv show’s ending timeline

Summary: Your career is on the verge of ending, hence your management puts you up to do a duet with the infamous Han Seojun. You have heard too many rumours about him to keep track of and yet, none of them could have prepared you for the feelings that came with meeting him.

Words: 4.1k

Self indulgent little snippet because he deserves happiness too.

You had heard of Han Seojun before meeting him, of course you had. Everybody who was in the industry had heard of the hot trend of a Newstagram star-turned idol and his band's shining debut from a year ago. They were told to have snatched teenage girls hearts all over Korea with their good looks and soulful music. You had heard their title track and you had to admit it was nice but nice wasn't enough in a cut-throat industry like entertainment.

Look at you, starting training at twelve, debuting at fifteen and now barely twenty-one you were on the verge of becoming a thrown away doll. Once you had been called cute and the it girl of your generation and now? People were saying you got boring just because your music had matured. Gosh, you couldn't keep singing about first love like your hit song had been for the rest of your life for god's sake. Your last album had been a flop, your company had been losing money and you were still afraid that even with a year left of your contract, they would cut you. But your manager had begged them for a chance and here it was: a collaboration with the newest love of Korea.

But the thing was, Han Seojun had quite a reputation and you didn't know who to believe. Some said he was well-mannered and hard-working. Others gossiped that he was always flirting with his makeup artists and Chen claimed he had been rude to her even when he had just been a ‘nobody’. Not that you were particularly fond of Chen either but as a fellow solo female singer you were a tad bit worried how the infamous singer would treat you.

Well, standing in front of Move Entertainment, you were just about to find out. Taking a shallow breath you followed your manager's lead, bowing to the receptionist and getting into the elevator after taking your visitor's badge. You had heard the company has gone through many changes after the executives were replaced due to the revealed Seyeon scandal but everything looked expensive, shiny and new, unlike in your small agency.

“Hey, I’m Lim Heekyung, nice to meet you. Seojun will be in a minute, too,” a woman in a pantsuit walked up to you on the right floor with a confident smile as she introduced herself. She led you to a meeting room which was apparently customized for a few people only and started preparing papers. She looked excited which was a relief and nice to see, at least someone from Move Entertainment was happy for this project apparently. You were a bit afraid they would see you like a leech, trying to cling onto their new star’s popularity.

“Shall we start? Seojun is a fan of dramatic entrances anyways,” Miss Lim laughed joyfully as if it wasn’t new to her that the idol didn’t make it on time. Ah yeah, you had heard rumours saying that he had something on the company and that was why they were so lenient with him.

You sat in silence, let your manager do the talk about the collaboration project. Seojun could play the guitar, you could play the piano, apparently it was perfect for a ballad duet, though if you used instruments yourself it added to the preparations time. But luckily, there was a songwriter named Leo at the company who had already sent in a few samples specifically for Seojun, so you didn’t have to start from zero.

“Ah, I see you started without me. What did I miss?” A tall boy opened the door wide and flipped down onto the chair across you casually. He had grown into his lanky limbs and with those wide shoulders hugged by the leather jacket, helix earrings in one ear and soft brown hair brushed to one side, it wasn’t a surprise how many female fans swooned over him. But there were a lot of handsome boys in the business, just his looks – no matter how confident he was in them based on the way he carried himself – wouldn’t make a difference.

Miss Lim patiently let Seojun know about the advances and only when she mentioned your name, did the boy glance at you. His dark brown eyes had a sharp form, just as piercing as his gaze, but the cunning smile spreading over his lips softened it a bit. He looked at you as if he wanted to see through you, to figure out how he should have approached you. You expected a snarky or arrogant comment, but in the end, he just flashed a blinding smile at you, one you could see on his posters, before turning back to Miss Lim.

“What’s the schedule?” he asked simply and you both were notified about the deadline of deciding and finalizing the song, the dates of planned recording sessions and the photoshoot. Since there would be no promotion period, it all would be done within a month and half from start to finish. You were a bit relieved hearing that and leave Move Entertainment without any confrontation.

You thought you were good at masking your wary feelings since the further meetings went well and the first recording session went okay-ish. Although both of you had been a bit scolded by the producer for not putting enough feelings into your singing. He claimed that the demo sent by Leo was much more emotional which made Seojun scoff and mumble under his nose. The PD called it for a day, making you promise to practice for next time and one by one they all left. Your manager told you that he would bring the car while you refresh yourself in the bathroom, so you really didn’t expect anyone to wait for you when you stepped out of the restroom, much less Han Seojun.

"Spit it out," he bit out barely glancing your way as he leaned against the corridor’s wall.

"What?" you spluttered as you were really taken aback by his out of blue appearance and question. The guy let out a tired sigh at your obliviousness and pushed himself away from the wall just to walk up to you, towering over your height with his.

"You look at me as if I killed your hamster or something. Which rumour about me bothers you? I fucking can't keep walking on eggshells around you, especially when it's just the two of us," he tsked and you gulped at the sudden called out. You didn’t think it bothered him, or that he was considerate enough to ‘walk on eggshells around you’, you merely thought he was so distant from everybody. It was still better than what Chen had told you.

"Oh, I… nothing. It's stupid. Sorry," you mumbled, feeling embarrassed for your your actions but Seojun apparently wasn’t satisfied without a real answer as he carried on:

"I didn't bully kids in high school but I threatened ones that deserved it, I didn't only get a pity chance from the entertainment, one of our makeup artists is actually one of my best friends, I'm not…"

"Chen told me you are rude and arrogant and have no respect for girls," you blurted out to stop him from speaking because you felt like you didn’t deserve to hear all that. He didn’t owe you any explanation for the way he was. You were just co-workers for a project after all, you had no place in his life, nor he had in yours, so he shouldn’t have been that bothered by your opinion but you understood that he felt uncomfortable due to your silent accusations.

Hearing your hasty interruption, the singer scoffed, a laugh-like sound leaving his mouth.

"Well, I have no respect for girls like Chen who harass my friends and turn their lives into hell just to go on a date with me," he said and it made you blink slowly.

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. Check your facts before you go around believing such crap," Seojun stepped back with a roll of his eyes.

The whole situation made you feel made about how you acted, so you wished to apologise but it fell from your lips all too carelessly: "Sorry, I was just worried. This is my last chance, so–"

"Last chance?" the guy quirked a brow at you, curious but you quickly waved his question away.

"Nevermind, I just need this song to do well."

"Of course, it will. I'm Han Seojun, it will turn to gold under my hands," he grinned and made eccentric gestures as if he was about to do magic. You couldn't help a smile. “Or well, vocal chords.”

And turn it to gold, he did.

The rest of your recording sessions went smoother, even the previously grumpy PD complimented your for the development in your chemistry. Funny, you wouldn’t have thought that the wall pulled up between the two of you mattered that much, but at least you didn’t have a knot in your stomach, nor did you worry about every small thing you did around Han Seojun. He also acted more casual, more playful, joking around when both of you had a bit of time to take a breather. He snapped silly pictures, showed off with his height, smirked when he got too close but despite all his bravado and lowkey flirting, you believed even he wouldn’t have jeopardised his career over something like this.

Maybe that's why wrapping up the recording felt a tad bit weird: you got used to his presence, his jokes, his beautiful, deep voice that you could have fallen asleep to. Sure, sometimes he was cocky, a bit rough around the edges but he was a great singer and a fun guy. The project seemed to work out well and you loved it a lot, so you hoped the listeners would appreciate it as well.

But before all that you had one photo shoot together for the promotional pictures and the single's cover. You were grateful for the simple pastel colour background and elegant setting. The warm light latte colour and the clock in the background really fit the song's vibe. Luckily, your dress was decent and pretty as well, you didn't have to feel uncomfortable in it at least. However, you didn’t expect that happy yelp coming from one of the makeup artists stepping into the dressing room. You turned to face the girl, wondering whether she was your fan judged by her excitement.

"Oh my! I'm so happy to finally meet you! Seojun told us about you so much!" she beamed at you which obviously took you back. Well, that you didn’t expect at all. He spoke of you to others? Ah. Apparently to the makeup artist who was most probably that certain one of his best friends he had told you about?

"Don't exaggerate, Imju, I mentioned her like what… once?" Seojun walked in on cue. He rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, trying to avert the topic. "How's Suho?"

You had know idea who that said guy was but after a moment or two you could breathe properly once again while listening to their chatting.

“Just the usual. He’s excited about your duet.”

“Of course, he is,” Seojun grinned, a bit snarky but you could hear the proud undertones of it. When he looked at you, you were surprised by him leaning close though as he quieted down until only you could hear it. “Don’t worry, Jugyeong is really good and just stop her if she gets too gossip-y.”

“Are you talking about me behind my back, hah, Han Seojun?” The pretty girl called Jugyeong raised her fist as if she was about to hit the idol but he just laughed it off and left you two alone when he was hurried onto the set to start with his individual shoots.

“Have you known each other for a long time?” you couldn’t help but wonder as you were seated to get your makeup from her.

“Ah, almost 4 years, I think. We went to high school together. Plus, he’s best friends with my boyfriend. Though, they are always bickering like a married couple,” Jugyeong chuckled joyfully as she started with the cushion. You closed your eyes, listening as she kept going on about the time when Seojun had been obsessed with his motorbike, getting into trouble with his mother. It was strange hearing about a whole other side of him, mama's boy but the image tugged on your mouth, making you smile even though you weren't sure you had the right to know all that. You also learned that Seojun's sister was dating Jugyeong's brother and you felt so involved with the girl's trust albeit it was your last meeting, you were sure Seojun must have only told good things about you.

Hence, you felt shy under his knowing gaze when you walked out of the dressing room. He must have known that Jugyeong couldn't shut up for the life of her, so he looked a bit uncertain, too, stretching the back of his neck, forcing a cunning smile onto his smile when you took your place next to him.

To fit the ballad's theme, the setting was a piano decorated with flowers and you were instructed to sit beside him as if you were about to play a four hands piece. As you did what you had been told, you were very much aware of the way your arms brushed, his long fingers over the keys close to yours, his smile small but genuine.

"Great, great, guys! Someone help her onto the piano and Seojun, stand in front of her," the photographer directed the next scene but before any staff members would have rushed up to you, the singer next to you shushed them.

"I can do it," he insisted as he stood up and looked you in the eyes, silently asking for permission. You nodded while holding your breath back before Seojun put his hands on your waist above the fluffy tulle skirt part and counting on three, he lifted you onto the lid of the beautiful instrument.

You crossed your legs, watching in awe as your pink skirt fell down on waves but your breath hitched for an entirely different reason when you looked up, gaze meeting Seojun's feline eyes trained on you. You had never seen him look at you like that, lacking playfulness or suspicion or curiosity. He looked open, vulnerable, outright starstruck. Your lips parted meaning to ask something but your brain shut off when you heard the shutter of the camera go down and the director yelling compliments at you. It made you snap out of it and later, you blamed the evident blush on your cheeks on the makeup. Seojun blinked too, his guarded expression back in no time, finishing the photo shoot professionally, always lingering close to you, but never touching you. Even though you wouldn’t have minded.

"Hey," Seojun peeked into your dressing room just as you were about to leave, packing up, with a smile on his mouth and sparkles in his deep brown eyes. But unlike half an hour ago when he wore a fancy suit and looked at you like a prince would have looked at his princess, he acted just as casual as he looked in his denim jacket over dark tee. "Wanna grab something with me if you finished for today?"

His question took you back but first thing first you glanced towards your manager, eyes begging for permission which you had gotten with a sigh.

"Just be discreet and call me if you need me to pick you up," your manager shrugged, leaving you two alone with a knowing look that told you to be careful. You didn't need to be told though, you knew how much depended on the current public response to your image.

"Seems like a green light. Have you thought of anything specific?" you turned back to the boy with a subtle smile.

"Not really but I know a few less frequent, secluded places to avoid much talk about us," he said and you nodded, following his lead. Masks, caps and hoodies on, you barely talk on your way to the tent with the lovely ahjumma who welcomed Seojun (two heads taller than her) with a pinch of his cheeks and told you to get seated.

"Are you a regular here?" you inquire, carefully pulling down your mask since not many people are around.

"You could say that," the boy hummed letting you adjust to the place at your own pace, not pressuring you with extra reassessments about how safe it is there. Yet, he is so casual as if he wasn't afraid of a getting mobbed by Dispatch out of the blue. Not that it happened to you a lot of times but you heard stories and at such a crucial time in your career, you feared something like that more than anything.

"Do you want to come up to mine instead?" Seojun blurted out suddenly which made you wide eyed in a span of a moment as you splattered out a surprised yelp. "Come on, I don't mean anything by it. You just look really nervous being in the public," the singer said, his deep voice softening, soothing by the end and you needed to take a breather before answering. You didn't think it was so obvious but apparently you had never been a good liar with him.

In the end, you decided on going over to Seojun's place, so he asked the ahjumma to pack your food to go and you headed towards his flat a few blocks from the company. It was a small but cozy place, much softer and brighter than you expected, lots of pastels and photos of friends and family. While the boy busied himself in the kitchen, getting you plates, chopsticks and beer, you were encouraged to look around and you couldn't help but smile at his photos with not only his band members but high school friends, too. You had seen photos of his graduation with Jugyeong, then another one of his debut with her and another guy. He was a recurring person on a lot of pictures, so you assumed that he was the so-called Suho.

"He's Jugyeong's boyfriend," Seojun affirmed as he walked up to you which you acknowledged with a hum and smiled at his photos with his sister and mother. The makeup artist was right when she said he was only tough on the outside.

"You knew Seyeon?" you whispered as your gaze shifted of a picture of three boys smiling widely into the camera. The middle one was the talented boy you had known from the news of his committed suicide. Such a tragedy.

"Uhum. We were best friends. Him, Suho and me," Seojun nodded and without having to ask, he told you how they had gotten to know each other, what were their favourite past time activities and how they fell apart when he died. You could see he was hurting even now as he was talking about it, so you grazed your fingers against his knuckles as though to say you were there for him to listen, or whatever he needed.

Talking about his best friends and how a group of guys including someone named Chorong stuck by his side over the years warmed your heart. It was nice to know that not everyone had it as lonely as you who basically missed out on high school and memories from that time to be able to turn your dreams into reality. Your only friends were also in the industry but it made things both easier and harder.

"What about you? What did you mean by this being your last chance?" Seojun asked like a loaded gun but after everything he had just told you, you knew you could trust him with this and being in the industry for a while now, he must have understood, too.

You told him about the rising expectations, about your image and your company's ultimatum. It actually felt nice to talk about with someone other than your manager. Especially since Seojun seemed to understand exactly why you felt conflicted over the matter. You have given your youth to this dream of yours, so giving up on it would have felt like betraying yourself and everyone who believed in you but you weren't sure you could give it another 10 years of your life no matter how much you liked music. You had decent CSATs result, maybe you could have applied for a university program. Seojun even offered to arrange a meeting between you and Suho who was studying to become a proper songwriter.

You talked for hours and ate the tteokbokki even though it had gotten cold long ago and you couldn't remember when was the last time you had felt so light. You felt giddy even with just the tiny bit of alcohol in your system by the time you knew it was time for you to go.

Once you had felt relieved knowing that promoting your duet would be only one performance but recently, you started dreading the moment because that meant that you wouldn't have any more excuse to see Seojun. In the backstage, this time around you greeted Jugyeong like an old friend and teased to give Seojun a funny makeup before walking up to your own assigned staff members. Your look was full of sparkles and glow fitting the silver colour of your dress, completing the ethereal vibe off the stage you were going to do and the beautiful song you had grown to love so much you held it close to your heart. The last rehearsals went smoothly and if you noticed Seojun's gaze lingering a bit too long, you didn't comment on it.

"Are you nervous?" he asked before the final recording and you knew it would have been unreasonable to deny it, so you replied with a small smile.

"A bit."

"Don't be. You're pretty and you'll do amazing," he reassured you and the way he said those words oh so easy. As if they were natural. As if he believed in you and maybe this was all the reassurance you needed because when you walked up onto the stage, not taking your eyes off his, it felt like it was just the two of you there. All the stress about not being good enough, about being judged for who you were and what you wanted to do with your life was subsided as you focused on the moment, just to sing this one song with one while trying to fight your heart's crazy beating.

You didn't really have the luxury to have crushes. You had always been concentrated on your work, you couldn't let yourself have distractions, especially since love scandals always affected girl worse than guy. At least that was what you told yourself for always putting up a wall around you and guarding your heart all too well. But during the past few weeks, between playful or flirty remarks, between smiles and ruffling hair, Seojun took apart your wall brick by brick even if he wasn't aware.

So it might have been only a few days since you had last seen him but in that rare moment of boredom, alone in your room, you realized that you missed him. Hell, you liked him and the feeling made me want to scream into your pillow as if you were a silly teenager. As if on cue, your phone buzzed with a new message and seeing the KakaoTalk ID made you shy.

duet partner, han seo jun

so...

i've been thinking

you

sounds dangerous but ok

duet partner, han seo jun

don't get sassy with me, miss

you

what have you been thinking about?

duet partner, han seo jun

that i don't want to miss my chance

there's this girl i like

i thought of asking her out

do you think she would say yes?

you

oh. well... why wouldn't she?

i mean, you are talented, handsome, funny and reliable

duet partner, han seo jun

and what about my job? it's busy and a bit crazy

don't you think it would be unfair of me to ask?

you

I think you should let her decide that

duet partner, han seo jun

okay

are you free on friday?

you

um, sure?

duet partner, han seo jun

cool, then go on a date with me?

#han seo jun x reader #seojun x reader #han seojun #han seo joon #true beauty #stories #i just wanted to give him a happy end after ep16 #that's what this is about

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smallblip · 3 years

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You asked, I deliver! Part II of Accidental baby acquisition💖 I lost one of the asks 😩 but anon who asked about baby Udo, I named the baby in your honour! Saddle up cowboys! I’m not good with sequels but here we are-

Babygate:

the scandal that implies that a certain boy band member cheated on his partner (another band member) and had a kid even when the mom was never pregnant.

- urban dictionary

—

Reiner thinks things are alright. Life is definitely picking up. Pieck still sends him excerpts of her dirty fanfiction to proofread, Bertholdt is still doing all he can to “retire at 30”, Annie might have eloped with said boyfriend. But he’s seeing Porco on the regular now, he’s really cute, he’s got a nice ass. Reiner can’t complain.

He’s also recently donated his Levi Ackerman standee. Only because it’s getting increasingly hard to reconcile the fact that he has a life sized cutout of his colleague’s boyfriend in his room.

What he can complain about is said colleague (and friend) dropping bombs on him. He’s one of the moderators of one of the bigger No Name servers. Sometimes he wonders if that’s a conflict of interest because, well, he knows the guy on a first name basis. But today he has other concerns. He sees his notifications blowing up and decides to go on the No Name server. And lo and behold. There’s a paparazzi shot of Levi and Hanji with a stroller taking a walk in a new channel called “MYSTERY FAMILY?”.

He cancels his plans with Porco. “Don’t text me for the next few hours, got a fire to fight.” He clicks send, and feels kinda bad, so he sends Porco really dank meme to appease him. (That doesn’t stop Porco from doing exactly what Reiner told him not to do and demanding an explanation every five minutes).

He forces himself to take a deep breath before texting Hanji-

“Hanji… I don’t mean to be rude but…

WHAT THE FUCK?”

—

So here begins babygate. A conspiracy theory that took the Internet by storm.

“Levi Ackerman had a secret marriage! He was keeping this from us from the start!”

“It’s a publicity stunt to keep No Name relevant during their hiatus!”

“It’s an elaborate scheme by the company to punish Levi for announcing the hiatus without their knowledge!”

“Levi’s mystery partner was sent by the lizard people to take control of his mind and produce half-lizard, half-human hybrid babies to take over the world! What a bitch!” (This is Hanji’s favourite).

And the internet’s favourite- this is all an elaborate scheme to cover up the scandalous love affair between Levi and Eren- the band’s guitarist.

“What the fuck?” Levi had said during dinner once, to which Reiner had to swallow his food and pretend he never read or actively looked up ereri content. Yes. Reiner knows the name of their ship.

Levi hadn’t been too worried before, but when pictures of them shopping for baby stuff leaked online, something snaps. Something snaps and Erwin tells him he needs more time to figure out the biggest PR crisis in No Name history.

It’s Levi. Levi is the PR crisis.

So in the meantime, no shock reveals, no more social media, (if possible) no more leaving the house with pregnant girlfriend in tow. “Don’t do ANYTHING.” Erwin had said, “especially not you!” Erwin had directed that at Eren, who suggested he makes an announcement. Erwin shudders. He remembers all the past scandals they got themselves into just because Eren, bless him, didn’t know when to shut up.

“I’m sorry…” Levi says to Hanji when they’re cuddled up on the couch watching a documentary on whale migration.

“Huh?” Hanji says, voice muffled through her incessant sniffling because “whales are delivered tail first, Levi! They wear their mothers like hats!”

He apologises for putting her through the mess that is him and his job. And Hanji smiles at him. He wonders if their kid will look like her. He’s hoping they would.

“Levi…” Hanji sighs, taking his face in her hands, “that night at the bar I thought to myself ‘this man has a face I would risk it all for’… I think this counts within the realms of ‘all’”

Levi scoffs, but a smile is threatening the corners of his lips. Erwin’s nagging over the phone fades a little and he sinks a little lower into the couch. He sighs one more time for good measure before saying-

“So… you wanna know which my favourite babygate theory is?”

—

“And you’re really not bothered by all this?” Reiner asks, in an emergency meeting that he had scheduled into her calendar. He hates that he’s packing things into her already busy schedule when she’s about to pop but, he figures it’s better now than when the baby’s actually out. He had booked a meeting room and everything, figuring if he projected some of the crazy shit they’re saying on the fan boards up on screen, Hanji would start taking this seriously. Because if Reiner knows anything, it’s that the fans will do anything to keep their ship afloat.

He scrolls past another post on the lizard people and Hanji gets him to pause.

“I mean… A little?” Hanji pinches her fingers together.

“Hanji…” Reiner sighs, “you and Levi discuss and rate babygate conspiracy theories you find online I don’t think you’re taking this seriously at all…”

Hanji looks at Reiner- an absolute state of panic. And she considers panicking for a moment. She’s read articles dissecting babygate and although they’re absolutely batshit, Hanji appreciates how well-researched they are. Which is a little scary. To be fair to Levi, he’s been trying to get her to worry. “I can’t keep you safe all the time, you have to be careful” like he’s going off to war somewhere. But it’s not in Hanji nature to worry about things like this. She’s a researcher at a lab who lived an ordinary life up until the point the universe hit her with a-

Sike! Levi Ackerman is your baby daddy! What are you gonna do about it?

And now she knows what headcanons and lemons are, and she really doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge. So Hanji decides, she’ll do nothing. She’ll go on indulgently long walks Levi in tow, she’ll talk his ear off about work. And like a good girlfriend, she’ll listen to his demos (and enjoy them) and tell him “are you sure anger rhymes with danger?”.

“I don’t really know how to worry about anything beyond our samples getting contaminated…” Hanji says, sheepish. Reiner sighs. He doesn’t want to be a wet blanket on Hanji’s life. He wants to be fun Reiner. Cool as a cucumber. Reiner who manages to make it through dinner at Hanji’s without having to excuse himself to hyperventilate in her bathroom because Levi is right there. And he’s so afraid that he might just be able to read his mind and find out he had looked up Levi Ackerman x y/n fanfiction once in his foolish youth (youth being approximately four months back)

Reiner shudders.

“Yeah okay… That’s um… That’s cool… Right?” He says.

Hanji shrugs.

—

So Levi Ackerman is your baby daddy. Now what?

You go into labour of course, with a matter of fact- “oh. Look Levi. The water broke.” All while refusing to leave the house until you demolish that amazing sandwich he made for you. You go into labour and you yell and grunt like a beast as you squeeze the life out of your baby daddy because he kinda deserves it. You both kinda deserve this pain. Take it as heavenly punishment for being horny and stupid if you will.

And in the middle of it Hanji thinks huh, this feels like a mix of a reality TV show from MTV and a badly written fanfiction. Except Hanji isn’t a teen mom and she’s too old for self-insert fiction that involves a lead singer of a popular band.

But Levi is here, and he doesn’t complain one bit even though he looks like he’s about to pass out. So as far as drunken one night stands go- this is pretty damn aspirational.

The baby enters the world with a huge cry.

“Kid’s got a huge set of lungs…” Levi says, but his own voice is quivering.

“Just like her dad…” Hanji smiles.

As he watches Hanji fall asleep with their baby on her chest, Levi thinks fuck it. Fuck keeping this under wraps. Fuck the fans and them enjoying how Eren gets on his nerves. Fuck Erwin and his “Levi. You’re giving me a headache. You are the cause of this headache.” Because the baby has Hanji’s nose and his eyes and he loves them more than anything in the world.

He snaps a picture of them and tags bigdaddyzoë-

“Welcome to the world, my love.”

—

Reiner can’t help the tears that well in his eyes after seeing the picture Hanji had sent him of the baby-

“He says hi to his favourite uncle!” Was the caption, and Reiner could only reply with a crying cat meme and an incoherent text that Hanji favourites.

He’s on the bus on the way to the hospital when his phone buzzes incessantly. It’s Porco.

“REINER WHAT THE FUCK.”

“LEVI ACKERMAN IS HANJI ZOË’S BABY DADDY?”

“HANJI ZOË MY PHD SUPERVISOR?”

“LEVI ACKERMAN OF NO NAME?”

“REINER WHAT THE FUCK?”

He sends a reply at the entrance of the hospital-

“Welcome to my world”

—

Reiner thinks things are alright. He’s one of the moderator of one of the bigger No Name servers, so he can block and remove people at his discretion. Some days he lets it get to his head. It makes him feel like a king. But today, he’s putting out fires.

Erwin decided their PR strategy was absolutely no strategy, because “they’re zooming in on the pixels Levi. Once they doubt the pixels, they won’t believe anything we’re saying”. With that. Babygate has officially taken on a life of its own. Eren still sends Levi babygate articles to annoy him, and to Hanji because she asked very nicely. Hanji thinks Erwin’s strategy makes sense, Levi thinks it’s just lazy. But Erwin framed a certificate that says “survived a PR crisis (sort of)” that Hanji had insisted be hung up on their wall, so that closes one chapter. Besides, Eren has been spotted going out on dates with a mystery girl. Which has the double effect of diverting attention away from Levi and exacerbating babygate because “see? Told you the company’s doing all they can to prove they’re not together!”

“Can’t you keep it in your pants?” Levi had thrown at Eren, to which he had responded cleverly with a-

“Could’ve said the same for you!”

Touché…

“See? That can’t be Levi! Look at how he’s smiling!”

“That can’t be a baby! Looks like an animatronic to me!”

“Do they even make animatronics that realistic?”

Reiner pins his “no slander” rule- one day they’ll get it. Or at least he would’ve gotten rid of all the people that don’t.

“Who’s this bigdaddyzoë anyway?”

“Maybe she isn’t real? Company probably invented her…”

“Heard she’s a crazy groupie who got knocked up…”

“Heard she’s hot…”

… several people are typing

—

“So… I heard from Reiner you were defending my honour in the server?” Hanji quirks an eyebrow.

Levi shrugs. Whatever goes down in the server stays between Leviackerman173810 (leviackerman and all 173809 permutations of said username had already been taken) and the hundreds of people who haven’t quite figured out he’s the real deal. Besides, Erwin has issued him three warnings so it’s best to lay low for now.

“My hero…” Hanji chuckles, pressing a kiss on Levi’s head. Below them, baby Udo wriggles and yawns against the fabric of Levi’s shirt. Cute.

So Levi Ackerman is your baby daddy. Now what? You look at your son and know he’s going to break hearts like his father of course. And if you’re Levi, you pray to god he never asks about babygate because Hanji has read up enough about it to be considered a connoisseur.

One day the internet will break when they find out the identity of bigdaddyzöe. But for now baby Udo has his parents wrapped around his tiny fingers and he doesn’t quite understand the concept of him being the spawn of every typical band member x y/n fanfiction. Or the centre of a very popular, very absurd, yet strangely believable internet conspiracy theory. Or the canon plot that has sunk one of the biggest No Name ships. And that’s okay.

#babygate was a 1D conspiracy theory #levihan #whoopwhoop!#levi x hange #levi x Hanji #Drabble #inbox #anon #mine #again Pieck is me #un beta-Ed I’m sure it’s full of mistakes #shingeki no kyojin #Levi Ackerman #hange Zoë #celebrity au

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fantasydaydreamers · 3 years

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“The Burning Rose Part 2/3″ Boyband!Au Bakugou x Reader

Summary: Continuation of PART 1

Word Count: 4,992

Warnings: Angst

Author’s Note: When I first published this fic, I wasn’t planning on making it a series, but TBR is coming to be a 3-part series!! I want to dedicate it to @sarcasm-is-my-form-of-attack because I believe she told me that this fic is how she found my blog and she’s just amazing so thank you!! I hope you’re all ready to meet The Heartless Heroes again~!

Song: Lullaby by Umi ft. Yeek

Dating the lead singer of a boyband was hard. It's been months since you went to 'The Heartless Heros' concert and received a burning rose from the lead singer, Bakugou Katsuki. After the show and during the meet and greet, Bakugou's approach to you led to something you'd never expect. That is--his number and a kiss on the cheek goodbye.

Your cheeks burned hotter than the rose did.

Since then, you and Bakugou's relationship has been a secret. A part of you still felt like you had to tiptoe around him because you still viewed him as 'famous.'

Untouchable.

Why me? What makes me so special to be with him?

It was hard, but every day felt like a dream the way he sent you daily texts and pictures of his band practice or when he was in the studio recording. Your life seemed so...bland...compared to his but you felt welcomed and accepted into his life. Although his work sparked your curiosity, you didn't want to ask too many questions in fear of him thinking you're some weird obsessive fan.

You weren't. Well, you were a fan of him but you didn't want to give off the wrong impression and it was difficult. There were times when you two hung out and everything seemed normal where being a 'celebrity' or having a 'status' didn't exist. Moments like that even managed to make you forget who he was.

You'll never forget the day Bakugou picked you up in a truck, which Kirishima, the bass guitar player for the band, lent him. Why? Bakugou drove you two to a cliff overlooking the city below and set up a small bed in the back of the truck, an air mattress with pillows and blankets making everything comfortable to lay on. He even brought a small picnic basket for you two to feast on as you watched the sunset.

At that moment, nothing else mattered. You remember looking over at him, the orange, yellow, and red hues illuminating his face as he took a swig of water. The conversation died on your lips when you saw the angelic being next to you, staring up at the sky in wonder, a stray bead of water trailing down his chin. It was a rare emotion to witness on Bakugou's face and he looked like another person entirely.

'"What're you looking at, dumbass?" Bakugou had asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand without turning to look at you. "I can feel your gaze burning into the side of my head." His cheeks flushed a light pink which blended so perfectly with the dusk-colored sky. You smiled softly and reached out to grab his hand that had just put the water back off to the side. Bakugou tensed briefly next to you but accepted the affection when you turned your head again to watch the city lights flicker on. The sun was setting lower into the sky, the cool night air picking up and spreading goosebumps over your arms.

Bakugou must've noticed because he lifted the very top blanket the two of you were currently laying on and covered both of you, settling down further in the bed of the truck until you were laying on your back staring up at the now darkened sky. Being away from the city the stars were so much brighter and now you feel like you understood the wonder Bakugou must've felt. Realizing you have yet to answer Bakugou's question, you hum and give his hand a squeeze. "Do you think we still would've met if you weren't famous?"

The question came out as a whisper, a hint of sadness in your voice realizing that this whole date had been nothing but normal. Perfectly normal. Nothing was mentioned about his career until now, and although you didn't want to ruin the moment, you just wanted to know how he felt. Bakugou shifted next to you. You couldn't bother to look over at him but in the corner of your eye, you saw him prop himself up on his elbow as he stared down at you.

After what felt like the longest second in the history of time Bakugou answered. "Yes."

This time, you turn to look at him and see that even though he was embarrassed, there was a sureness in his eyes that made you shy away. "Famous, huh?" Bakugou scoffs, shuffling closer as he leans over to block your view of the stars. "Fame won't change me...the fuck do I look like?"

A sincere smile crossed your face which quickly turned into a teasing one. "Is that so? Well...I'll believe it when I see it." Sticking your tongue up at him, it wasn't even five seconds later when you were laughing and squealing at Bakugou to stop tickling you.

By the time both of you had calmed down, you were getting drowsy, overtaken by exhaustion, and comfortable with laying here next to Bakugou. Now side-by-side, stargazing forgotten, you two gaze at each other as he leans in close, keeping eye contact until he's just centimeters away from your lips.

"(Y/n). We would've met regardless of who I am. I would've never given you that rose if I didn't feel something that night I first laid eyes on you. As embarrassing as this fucking is...I'm serious and I promise that the shitty music industry couldn't change me if it tried."

Butterflies erupted in your stomach as he whispered those words against your lips, sealing the promise with a kiss.'

That was the night you fell in love and it was the last night you had a normal date with Bakugou Katsuki. The video of him handing you the rose circled the internet, reaching people who became intrigued. Overnight, 'The Heartless Heros' had grown in popularity which led to scheduled tour dates around the world. The day Bakugou told you, you felt your heart crumble the tiniest bit, your newly developing relationship being pushed back. You didn't even have the confidence to speak up about how you felt.

The was a big deal for them as a band. Something Bakugou had been wishing for and who were you to deny him of his dream. It didn't help that their record label became more strict and the time you were allowed with Bakugou became limited. His whole life became managed by other people and the promise he made you was hanging on by a thread.

It was the night he was about to fly out to the first stop on their tour, and he came over to your house thrumming with energy.

"This is really fucking happening, (Y/n). Who would've fucking thought that I would be going on tour? My friends and I together." He sounded so completely in awe, it just made your heart shatter more.

You offered him what you hoped to be an exciting smile and you continued to listen to him vent. He was currently laying on your bed, staring up at the ceiling as you tidy up your room, opting to stay busy because you knew if you laid down next to him, you would cry.

"...I'll send you pictures every day of what city we're in and record my shows for you!" Bakugou was still hyping himself up, but a sudden thought of him at other shows made you stop in your tracks.

"(Y/n)?" Bakugou called out to you, noticing you were no longer paying attention. There was a long pause before he spoke again. "C'mere," he said softly.

With your head down, you crawl on top of him and place your head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. Warm. You felt so secure and safe in his arms which made you feel that much worse. It was selfish and you knew that but how could you not feel that way?

"I'm going to miss you," you mumble against his chest. Bakugou squeezed his arms tighter around you, rolling you two over to the side as he cuddled you close.

"Tsk. I'm not going to be gone forever," he replied, but you could hear the embarrassment in his voice. The only thing you could do was clutch his hoodie tighter, hoping he would understand you were serious. "I'm going to miss you too, dumbass," he mumbled this time.

It was quiet; his hand stroked your back as you bit your lip as hard as you could to not sob into his chest. Just then, it hit you. With him being gone for a long period of time wasn't the problem. It was the single most important thing that brought you two together in the first place.

"...Are you giving out any more roses?" Your throat started to burn from you holding back tears as that single burning question slipped out.

The hand on your back stopped before wrapping around you tightly, crushing you against him. "Is that what's bothering you? No, I'm not going to do that because I already have you." Bakugou murmured, leaning up to kiss the top of your head. "No one could ever make me give out another rose. I promised fame wouldn't change me, didn't I?"

The bright glimmer of trust in his promise dimmed just the smallest bit.

You didn't respond.

~*~*~*~*

🥀Babe: 'Fifth show! Everyone says hey btw!'

You smile down at the picture Bakugou just sent you. He was on stage, microphone in hand while throwing a peace sign, as Kirishima, Kaminari, and Sero stood behind him at their stations, grinning widely sporting equally cute peace signs.

So far everything seemed like it was going well. You haven't heard any news of Bakugou giving out another rose and he did manage to text you often about what was going on in his life, but the amount of times he was cut off from his phone by management made you upset. At first, he tried to sneak out late at night when everyone was sleeping to call you but that just made you feel guilty. After a while, you convinced him that it was fine and to get some rest so he had enough energy to put on his shows.

Which, they were doing fantastic.

Not only did you watch the videos he sent you, but you also watched the video's fans were posting online. The fanbase grew larger with each passing day and the number of fangirls skyrocketed. Sometimes, seeing them talk about Bakugou online was too much for you to handle and you started to question if this was all worth it but then you remember the secret moments you and Bakugou spent together, and nothing else mattered.

It didn't help that there was another up-and-coming musician by the name of Camie who had recently expressed her interest in 'The Heartless Heroes' on social media. More specifically, an interest in Bakugou. This made both fandoms go wild, coming together to ship the two of them and comment on their posts for them to collaborate. It hurt. It hurt so much.

It wasn't long until you noticed Bakugou had followed Camie back on all social media platforms which made your heart sink to your stomach. You tried not to think too much into it, but Camie wasn't interested in the others. It was strictly Bakugou she was pinning after so that made you skeptical.

So you decided to stalk her page and look up her music and you hate to admit it, but she could sing. She had videos posted of her in a studio recording an upcoming song and even her singing acapella was amazing. 'Looking for a feature👀' the caption said and you opened the comments, only to see everyone tagging Bakugou and Bakugou only. You saw that Camie had pinned a few of them.

h3ro3s_fanatic: @HeartlessBakugou !!!! you would sound greatttt on this😩😩

cami.stan: omfgggg someone pls...get bakugou on this ASAPPPPPP😭😭😭

From what you saw, Bakugou didn't comment or like the picture, but him following her was enough for you to get the message. It was pathetic that you felt this way. This is how it was, right? Dating a famous celebrity only to have millions of fangirls thirsting over him while other equally famous celebrities tried to get with him? Whenever you felt like this, your mind strays to the memory of that day in the back of the pickup truck when Bakugou kissed you so sweetly that the world faded away.

The day he promised you nothing would change.

You had exited quickly from her page and decided to mute her account for your own mental well-being. Bakugou wouldn't do anything to hurt you. Right?

Brushing off your insecurities, you save Bakugou's picture on your phone when another text pops up on your phone from Kirishima.

Kirishima: Heyyy (Y/n) I have a question

You: yeah?

That was weird. Although you had gotten close to Bakugou's friends, it was strange to see them randomly hit you up.

Kirishima: The boys and I were talking and we have an idea👀

You: okayyyy...👀

What?

Kirishima: Bakubro has been moping around a lot and we think it's because he misses u~😉 soooo we were thinking about flying u out here as a surprise. What do u think?

Your heart rate sped up at the thought of surprising Bakugou and seeing his reaction. The media and your self-consciousness was making things harder with each passing day but maybe if you saw him again, things would be okay. Maybe everything could go back to the way things were. Maybe fame didn't change anything.

You: oh wow...yes please!

Kirishima: Great!😁 I'll send u the details when we buy the ticket. U have to fly out tomorrow though. We're leaving tonight and arriving at the next stop tomorrow so we'll meet u there.

You: ok!

The excitement was building up in your stomach so much that you couldn't sit still. As you get up to start packing your bags, you stop in front of your dresser and admire the burnt rose you had saved in a resin case. Bouncing on the balls of your feet, you turn on some of 'The Heartless Heroes' music and sang your heart out as you packed.

~*~*~*~*

Kirishima had texted you that once you landed, there would be a chauffeur waiting with your name on a sign to pick you up. Sure enough, after you walked through gates, a man was holding your sign and you approached him cautiously. "Uh...hi."

"Miss (Y/n)?" He asked. You nod your head and he grins and motions you outside the airport. To your shock, a limo was waiting for you and the chauffeur chuckled, holding the door open for you. "The boys said they wanted to treat you right so I hope it's to your liking."

You wordlessly get in the limo and see a note on the seat addressed to you. The chauffeur closes the door and walks around to his side of the limo to get in the driver's seat.

'Welcome (Y/n)! I hope you were surprised about the limo, but if it's too much for you we're sorry! Blame it on Kami if you don't like it.'

You snort and roll your eyes.

'Right now your driver is going to be taking you to a music video set instead of the concert venue. Turns out Bakugou has something to do first before we could head to the show. But! We'll still surprise him. Just text us when you arrive at the set. See you soon!'

Music video? You furrow your eyebrows and think about what song they could possibly be doing a music video for. As far as you know, they haven't released any new music, unless Bakugou has been working on something and hasn't told you. Shrugging it off, you watch the city pass you by through the windows as butterflies start to erupt in your stomach.

What do I even say?

All this excitement and you haven't even thought about what to say when you see him again. I missed you. Well, obviously. How have you been? Too lame. I love you. Too soon? Did you forget about me? Of course, he hasn't. You were flown out here for a reason.

The limo slowed down as it pulled up to an apartment building, cars parked outside as people ran around outside. The chauffeur looks at you in the rear-view mirror and nods his head. "We're here."

"Thank you." Pulling out your phone, you start a group text with Kirishima, Kaminari, and Sero and text them.

You: I'm here!

Deciding to wait in the limo, it wasn't even two minutes later that the three came waltzing down a staircase before sprinting to the limo. Opening the door you couldn't get out before you were tackled by three bodies in a group hug.

You laughed and hugged them back as they excitedly tried to ask you how your flight was and if you did in fact like the limo. Before you could answer, the chauffeur calls out to you. "Miss (Y/n), I'll be waiting in here until you're finished and then I'll drive you to the venue."

Thanking him again, you close the door and try to answer all of their questions. "Yes my flight was good, and I guess the limo was okayyyy~" You playfully roll your eyes and Kirishima and Sero shoot Kaminari a look.

"What?"

You laugh again and look around nervously, seeing some people stare at the four of you. "So...um what's going on? What music video are you guys doing?"

Instantly all of their expressions dropped into nervous ones. "Uh..actually...it's not ours."

Confused, you look at each of their faces, noticing they were avoiding eye contact with you. Sero sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, breaking the silence first. "We got a call late last night that Camie was going to be in this city at the same time we were so she and Bakugou could shoot a music video for the song they did together."

Time stopped as you took in his words. They did what? They actually did that song together? Bakugou didn't tell me this.

The three of them noticed your confused expression and they shot each other worried glances. This time, Kaminari chuckled and reached for your hand. "Hey! It's okay, you can surprise him when he's done shooting. They're about to do his verse right now. C'mon."

You were dragged behind Kaminari as Kirishima and Sero trailed behind you, giving each other a cautious look that you missed. Going back up the stairs, the four of you entered a long hallway that had more production staff with sound systems and lighting all filtering in and out of one room in particular.

Waiting for people to pass through, Kaminari poked his in and then pulled you in behind him, hiding you behind the camera screen that was focused on Camie. Even in the shadows, you could see how much beauty she radiated as she talked to someone on set. But that's not who you wanted to see.

Your eyes leave the screen and immediately find Bakugou who was sitting in a set chair. A low gasp escaped your lips seeing him dressed in a white t-shirt, a leather jacket over it with black jeans on. Chains hung from the pants and black biker boots pulled the look together. What really got to you was the famous eyeliner he usually wears during concerts that framed his ruby eyes so well.

He looks so handsome.

Your swooning was cut off as Camie cuts into your line of vision and starts talking to Bakugou, her hand resting on his knee as she talked. Noticing this, your eyebrows shot up and you were about to step over and say something until the man in front of you at the camera screen spoke up. Kirishima, Kaminari, and Sero were standing behind you and threw their hands over their face in disbelief.

"Lullaby apartment scene take one! Places!" The set people scattered and Camie moved away from Bakugou, not before trailing her hand off of his leg which revealed him smirking at her. Excuse me?

Everything around you started falling away as dark thoughts, exactly what you were worried about, consumed your head. Your eyes couldn't leave Bakugou as he stood with his back against the wall, by a large window, the sunset pouring in as Camie took her place down the hall and out of frame.

The lights on set dimmed as a camera on a track moved down the hallway to where Camie was and you could see her on the screen. A familiar melody started in which you recognized from her social media account that one time and you so badly wanted to turn away. A soft voice carried from the speakers as Camie began lipsyncing on screen.

I know you're hurting, you're hurting inside

Know when you feel it, you feel it at night

Why won't you let me in?

Why won't you let me understand you?

Why won't you let me in?

Baby, just take my hand and

She slowly worked her way down the hallway as the producer and someone from video editing discussed in low voices on how they were going to edit the final product. Camie worked her way out of the hallway and your eyes flicker briefly over to Bakugou who was watching her with a glint in his eyes you didn't like.

The camera wasn't even on him yet.

Now she was getting closer and closer to Bakugou, who had pushed himself off the wall and stalked towards her. She turns before they could meet and Bakugou's arms wrapped around her waist which you turn to the three boys behind you who looked equally as shocked.

"We had no idea, (Y/n)," Sero whispers, tugging your hand into his. You look back and can feel the cold sweat start on your neck as Bakugou leans into her neck, Camie arching back into him as she finishes her verse.

Can you let me sing you a lullaby?

And maybe then you'd let me in tonight

Your heart crumpled.

She gracefully spins around to Bakugou and raises her arms, placing them around his neck as he begins his chorus. He places his hands on her waist, as they lean closer together, their foreheads touching as they gazed into each other's eyes.

Remembering what Kirishima told you earlier, you held back tears threatening to fall. It's just a music video, it's just a music video, it's just a music video...

Trying to convince yourself that this wasn't real, that Bakugou wasn't looking at her a certain way, made it harder as you feel another hand on your shoulder, not being able to look away. They look so good together...like they belong...

Bakugou opened his mouth and that familiar silky voice filled the room.

I've been cooking up a playlist

'Cause I don't know how I could say this

If love was a subject in school

Couldn't major in communication

Feelings (I don't want 'em)

They won't show

But when it's time to sleep

Halfway through his verse, Bakugou lets go of her and walks backward to sit down on the bed, moving towards the window, looking out at the darkening sky, smoothly adjusting himself in a leaning position. The cameraman zooms into his figure and you hold back your choked gasps as he leans his head against the window, finishing his part, a strange longing expression crossing his features.

You get emotional

You barely notice the camera panning back to Camie as she finishes the song. Your gaze remaining stuck on Bakugou as he absently kept staring out the window, his arm coming up to rest his chin in the palm of his hand on the windowsill. They picked the perfect evening to do this because his frame was lit up by the setting sun, making you think of happier times.

"Good! That was good!" The producer announces, making everyone erupt in applause. You watch as Bakugou doesn't move, a small sigh escaping his lips, his hand moving to mess up his hair. You're about to step forward to go surprise him when Camie comes bounding over to him.

"Katsu~! You did amazing!" She pounces on the bed and what you didn't expect was her to kiss Bakugou.

On the lips.

In front of everyone.

This time you let out a gasp, one of the boys behind you inhaled sharply. You back away slowly, your whole world crumbling around you as you bump into the wall, not tearing your eyes away from Bakugou who has yet to pull away.

Finally, a flood of tears comes pouring down your face as you turn and bolt out of the room. "(Y/n)!" You couldn't tell who called out to you, but somehow you found a fire escape, running up to the roof for fresh air. This couldn't be happening. Not this. I should've known.

Opening the door to the outside, cold air hit you suddenly as you tried not to cry out. Taking deep breaths, tears still fell freely down your face, not knowing what to do. How do I get out of here? I can't stay here.

You couldn't even get five minutes to catch your breath when the fire escape door opened behind you again. "(Y/n)!" The voice of the last man you wanted to see right now called out to you in panic. You didn't turn around and let him see you like this. Footsteps sounded behind you and soon Bakugou was trying to turn you around to face him.

"(Y/n)-"

"Don't!" You yelled at him, wrenching your arm free from his grasp. "Don't touch me."

Turning to look at him, you see him grit his teeth, panic clear in his eyes. "That's not what it looked like, (Y/n)!" Bakugou tried to reach out to you again but you gave him a broken look that had him pause again.

"Oh yeah?" You huff out a sarcastic laugh. "Couldn't have been part of the music video because I thought the producer said cut."

"It wasn't part of the video!"

"So it was real. That was real. Everything I just witnessed was real?! So what's your story, Bakugou? You think you can just keep me as someone to have when you come back while you get with all the girls you want now because you're famous." You spit that word out, glaring at him through your tears, feeling like a complete idiot.

"No!" Bakugou yelled out, making you flinch. "Listen to me that wasn't what you thought it was! Camie just-"

"Baku~! Where are you~?" A sing-song voice could be heard through the door and you laughed. You laughed at the irony of it all. Here you were coming to surprise someone you thought you could call your boyfriend. Someone you thought you loved.

Bakugou whipped his head around and immediately turned back to you shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it all. It was dark out by now, the full moon illuminating the two of you on this rooftop in the middle of some city you never want to step foot in again.

"(Y/n). She just kissed me. I didn't expect her to do that I promise there's nothing going on." It was weird seeing him plead, inching closer to you like he wanted to hold you. "Teddy bear...please."

You froze at that nickname. "Don't ever call me that ever again." You take a deep breath, pointing a finger out at him. "Do you realize what you've done, Bakugou? I can't even look at roses the same because of you! Every time I see one in public, I'm reminded of that night you handed me such a fragile gift. It felt like you were giving me your heart..."

Which is now sitting in a resin box on display in your room.

You take a shuddering deep breath.

"And now we're up here alone under this beautiful night sky, just like before, and depending on how this plays out, remembering this moment might make me hate the moon and the stars permanently! Watch what you say, Bakugou. Don't ruin this for me too."

A single tear fell from Bakugou's wide eyes, the cool wind touseling his hair gently as he stood unmoving in front of you, speechless.

"Fame won't change you, huh? Fuck you, Bakugou."

With that, you walked around him and back through the doorway, tears streaming down your face. Kirishima, Kaminari, and Sero were at the bottom of the staircase with anxious looks on their faces. Once they saw you were crying, they looked guilty as they brought you away from the production.

"I-I'm so sorry (Y/n). We wouldn't have flown you out here if we knew this was going to happen-" Kaminari started to explain, but you held your hand up for him to stop.

They all stared at you as you took a deep breath, your chest aching from the pain you were currently experiencing. A shake exhale left your mouth as you wiped at your eyes pathetically.

"I want to go home."

They all glanced at each other like they weren't sure what to say until Sero finally nodded and grabbed your hand. "Let's go."

The boys had escorted you secretly to your ride, and you could see growing frustration on their faces the more you shook with sadness. You did offer them hugs goodbye because you knew they meant well and they each hugged you back with a firmness that made you think of him. The drive to the airport was deathly silent, your chauffeur looking at you in the rearview mirror every so often which you couldn't bother to tell him to mind his own business. You felt drained and empty the unknown city flashing by your window in blurs.

All you could think about was how Bakugou didn't even bother to chase after you.

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songbirdstyles · 3 years

Text

sparks

summary: you’re a music journalist assigned to covering one of harry styles’ gigs, and he’s absolutely smitten with you. (part one.)

warnings: slight fluff, excessive liberties taken about music journalism; smut in later chapters, angst in later chapters

word count: 8.2k

inspo.: almost famous - cameron crowe; sparks - the who; hello, i love you - the doors

You’d never truly gotten a big assignment before - sure, you’d gotten a few pieces here and there detailing local LA bands that you knew would never live to see more than 100,000 monthly listeners on Spotify, and they mostly ended up buried by your higher-ranking coworker’s higher end stories on the front covers - and, for the most part, you’d honestly been fine with it. You’re fresh out of college, the newest recruit to your company and your colleagues who are sent out to tour with big bands and artists have been here for years, some even decades, and you suppose they deserve the opportunities more than you, don’t they?

You work your way up, your boss had told you the first day you’d started working, following him around like an eager puppy as he showed you the office. Eventually - if I’m impressed with you - you’ll get something big.

It’s enough for you. Small bands playing in hole-in-the-wall clubs and restaurants may not be the exact thing you’d envisioned when you’d set your sights on being a music journalist but it’s worked out well for you so far, hasn’t it? You’ve made friends - even dated the lead singer of an underground rock band who cheated on you hardly two weeks into the relationship - and your portfolio is slowly building, stacked with exposés and detailed recounts of small gigs that you’d watched from backstage. Eventually, you’ll leave this company and move on to something bigger, like Rolling Stone, and your career will take off until you’re practically the face of music journalism.

And, really, those dreams have carried you through college and the first year of your career, putting your all into every article and every piece just so your boss can tug you into his office one day with a rarely-seen grin to finally tell you -

“I want you to write an article on Harry Styles.”

You furrow your eyebrows, shifting in the cushy office seat that your boss has for guests in his office. It’s a facade that you’ve learned to acknowledge, because, no matter how much he makes it look like he appreciates guests in his office, you know he regards you as nothing more than an interloper, even if he’d invited you there to begin with. “Harry Styles?”

“You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?” Mike asks, light shining off his bald head, and your mouth opens and closes a few times uselessly.

“Of course I have!” You push yourself to sit up straighter in your seat, staring up at your boss with shock written in every feature of your face. You, writing about Harry Styles? God, you nearly want to pinch yourself to see if you’re dreaming. “Write an article about - about what?”

Mike scoffs in that pretentious way that makes you hate ever having to talk to him, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at him. “He’s coming to do a few shows along the West Coast. You can go to one or two - talk to him a bit, talk to his band - you’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

“With small bands, sure - Tacocat and - and the Mystery Lights -” You swallow thickly, and Mike stares down at you in your seat like he’s unimpressed with your enthusiasm, or lack thereof. And it’s not that you aren’t executed - but, Christ. Going from bands performing in underground clubs to Harry Styles is like going straight from crawling to flying a fucking plane and you’re not sure if any of your experience with the musical locality in LA could prepare you for that. “I mean, that’s huge, Mike.”

“It is huge,” Mike confirms, crossing his thick arms over his chest, leaning against the desk before you as though he’s immune to sitting in his seat behind his desk like a normal boss. “Do you not want to do it? Because Melissa, you know - she’d love to, was going on and on about it last week -”

“No!” Your cheeks flush at the volume your voice raises to, and if you didn’t know better you could swear you see the ghost of a grin on Mike’s face. “I want to, Mike, I really want to - it’s just crazy.” There’s a pregnant pause between the two of you, your boss nodding smugly down at you as you struggle for words, before you ask the question burning the tip of your tongue with its desire to be heard. “But - why me? I’m sure you have people more qualified for it -”

“Easy,” Mike says, cutting you off and you’d be annoyed in any other instance but you’re too desperate to hear his answer. “Look, Harry’s a young guy. Younger than anyone else our people have interviewed - I think he’ll respond more to a young, pretty girl like yourself than someone older than him.”

Well, that makes sense, you suppose. The only coworker even close to you in age is Melissa, and she’s pushing 30 as it is. You’re 23 - graduated college just over a year ago, and by far the newest recruit this company has taken in years - but you had always imagined that was the main reason you wouldn’t get many big articles, and here it’s the main factor in you getting what will surely be the highlight of your portfolio once you apply to Rolling Stone. An interview with Harry Styles - God, they’ll probably foam at the mouth when they see it, and a grin spreads across your face as you think of it.

“Is that a yes?” Mike questions, blonde eyebrows raised high and nearly disappearing into his scalp.

“Of course,” you respond without another moment of hesitation, and you push yourself to stand, office chair rolling behind you with the force, and it hits the wall behind you with a soft thump. “Yes - of course - of course.”

“Great.” And he crosses to the other side of his desk, pushing aside a few loose papers and folders on his desk, and you clutch your hands in front of your stomach as you watch him, practically bouncing up and down with uncontained joy and fear bubbling inside of you. The last time you’d felt like this was the first time you got a real assignment - more than just ranking songs and discussing new album releases - and you’d been sent to a strip club to cover a gig from an up-and-coming band. Back then, you’d never expected to ever feel more excited over anything in your life, and yet, here you are, eight months later, fighting back the urge to burst into joyful tears. “They come in a week - I’ll send you the address - if you need help with your questions -”

“I’ll ask Francine,” you finish the same advice he gives you every time you’re assigned an article, referring to your oldest coworker - a little old woman who’s been with the company since the 70s. She’s always been more than willing to help you with your assignments but this - you need to do this by yourself. “Thank you so much, Mike, this is - this is great.”

“Don’t let me down,” he says, pointing his finger at you, and you nod furiously. “I’m trusting you on this - it’s a big opportunity.”

“I won’t disappoint you,” you promise, holding up your crossed fingers just to show him how much you mean it, and you know it’s the truth - you’ll make this piece the best damn one this company has ever seen if it’s the last thing you ever do.

The night begins a bit - rocky, to say the least.

For one, you couldn’t decide what to wear, even after spending nearly a half hour trying on every variation of clothes in your closet and tossing them onto the floor of your studio apartment when they didn’t satisfy your needs. In the past you’d worn to gigs what you’d wear if you were a simple concertgoer, albeit a bit more modestly, but you can’t decide what you would wear to a Harry Styles concert if you got the regular chance to - and you’d never even dreamt that it would happen in the first place -

Well, you peruse your closet intently and land on a pair of patterned flare pants and a long sleeve sweater. It only seems fitting for the chilly weather outside, and you fold a shirt into your bag in case you need to change if it gets hot backstage. You’re not dressed to impress, necessarily - you’re dressed to get a job done, as Mike would always say, but how could you be expected to not attempt to impress Harry Styles? It’s a preposterous idea. You’re sure anyone would understand.

Journalism pass - phone - keys - deodorant - when you’ve checked your bag over three times to ensure you have everything necessary you finally leave, locking your door shut behind you and ordering an Uber to take you to the concert.

You hadn’t anticipated Uber and Lyft being absolutely overloaded with patrons due to the concert just a half hour away and you need to be there by 6:30 at the very latest to ensure you get in and can at least talk to Harry before he goes on - a quarter of your questions are geared towards how he feels pre show and you can’t get pre show questions after the show - that’s barbaric. But the minutes inch closer to 5:30 and your Uber driver is still ten minutes away and your heart beats so fast against your chest you think you might vomit right into the street in front of your building -

You’re in the car by 5:45. It’s not ideal, and you know you’re cutting it close, but hopefully you’ll be there before the soundcheck ends. It’s always an ideal time to take photos, watching the band warm up and check mics, and with a piece like this, you need all the opportunities for pictures you can get.

And traffic is horrible - you suppose that’s also to be expected, and your Uber driver curses in a language you can’t recognize as cars cut him off on the highway and if you were a different person, you’d recommend a shortcut he takes, but he doesn’t look like he wants to hear a single word come from your mouth. He had given you a dirty look when you entered the car, and that’s enough to make you shut up and pray for the entire car ride that you make it on time.

6:27. Mike would piss himself if he knew how close you cut it, and you hop out of the car with a speed you didn’t even know you could muster, pushing past the buzzing crowd standing in front of the main entrance. The hoard of people seems to have a steady heartbeat, pulsing with excitement much like your own, and you can’t help but smile as you make your way around the group, goosebumps cropping up over your skin as your teeth chatter in the coldness. For a moment you fear that the directions to the backstage entrance that Mike had given you were total bullshit - but then you see the door, blocked by a burly security guard that glowers at you as you walk up to him like you’re something sticky beneath his shoe.

“Hi!” you call, breath exploding in a white cloud in front of you in the cool night air. The security guard smells so strongly of booze that you need to try harder than you’d care to admit not to scrunch your nose - you cough softly. “Let me - um - find my pass - I’m with Autoamerican, the magazine?”

Fingers grab onto your journalism pass, deep within your bag, and you tug it out, flashing it to the security guard with a slightly nervous grin. All of the gigs you’d been to before hadn’t even had backstage doors - to get backstage, you just had to climb onto the stage and walk behind the wings - but this is a fucking stadium, not just a measly club, and a big one, at that. In your youth you’re sure you could recall your dad watching a football game that occurred in this very stadium - funny how life turns out, sometimes.

“Autoamerican?” the security guard questions, bringing his face closer to your badge as the wafting smell of alcohol increases, and he raises his eyebrows with a scoff. “Never heard of it.”

“Oh.” you pause, feeling your teeth beginning to chatter in the cool February air. You’re not quite sure what to say - you’d assumed Mike had called to arrange the entire thing, hadn’t he? And this is the time you’re supposed to be here - “well, we’re not as big as Rolling Stone magazine, but - we’ve done interviews with The Cure, The Smiths - even Zeppelin, at one point -”

Your voice trails off into silence. He doesn’t care. He’s looking at you like you’re some innocent teenage girl, trying to bribe your way backstage so you can bombard the artist and not a fully grown woman here on business, goddammit. And you’re not sure what to say - he doesn’t believe you, clearly, and you hadn’t anticipated that even as you listed all the ways tonight could go wrong.

“Look, kid,” he begins, and that really has your blood boiling, eyes narrowing to glare at him. “We get this all the time. I’m a journalist - I’m with the crew - it’s a bunch of bullshit. Now go to the front with your general admission tickets like the rest of them -”

“I have a pass - I’m a journalist!”

“Sure -”

“I can call my boss if you want proof!”

And before you can reach into your bag to search relentlessly for your phone to follow through on the promise like you intend to, the door the man is guarding suddenly swings open, nearly hitting the guard in the ass as it opens out. You take a step back as dim light from inside floods the darkness, and a man steps out of the doorway, his eyes darting between you and the security guard.

“Are you with Autoamerican?” the man questions, raising his finger to point at you as though he could be speaking to anyone else. You nod furiously, and you hold up your journalism pass again just to prove it. “You can come inside, then - c’mon, Steve, she’s got a pass, for God’s sake -”

And you can’t resist flashing the guard a smug smile as he steps to the side to let you inside, rolling his eyes so far back into his head that all you can see is a strip of white.

The man lets you inside and the door shuts behind you, and you nearly knock straight into a second security guard standing by the door inside, as though trying to stop people from going out. And, well - you’ve been backstage at more concerts than you could count but this is certainly bigger, better, bustling with people carrying equipment and makeup artists and more people you couldn’t possibly identify. You’re half inclined to reach into your bag and grab your notebook to jot down exactly what you’re seeing so you can make sure to include it in the article, but you have a distinct feeling you’ll never forget it.

“I’m Jeff,” the man tells you, already setting off through the people, and you’re quick to follow, trying to maintain your pace beside him. After a second of walking in silence you realize he’s waiting for you to say yours - you clear your throat and introduce yourself, and he sends you a smile. “The band just finished their soundcheck, if you’d like to have a word with them before they go on - what’s the article about, anyway?”

Jeff shoulders the two of you through lingering groups of people until you emerge into a small hallway lined with doors, and you can hear bustling noise coming from the one closest to you - holy shit, is that Harry?

“Um - just about the shows, the tour, how everything’s going. My boss basically told me to do what I want with it, so I’ll have a better idea once I speak to the band.” It’s the loosest instruction you’ve ever been given for a piece - you’d expected a clear cut outline - but perhaps with an artist this big, Mike trusts you to know what to write. “It likely won’t be anything too personal, but I’d love to get a chance to speak with Harry before and after.”

“Sounds great,” and you can tell he’s stressed - you wonder if he’s always anxious before his client’s shows, or if there’s something special about tonight that has him worried - and then he reaches past you, twisting the doorknob closest to you and holding the door open for you to enter before him, and you give him a gracious smile before walking in.

The room isn’t as crowded with people as you’d expected but they’re bustling with energy - a woman and a man, holding a guitar, lean against the wall with each other - two other women sip water bottles, laughing loudly amongst each other - another woman leans above someone, their body hidden from view except for their legs, covered in silk, floral printed pants -

Your breath catches in your throat as Jeff shuts the door behind you both, and the sound of the door clicking shut draws far more attention to yourself than you’d expected - it seems like every pair of eyes lands on you and Jeff, and you’d decided on being a music journalist to keep away from being the center of attention. You’ve always preferred being behind the scenes, a bit, at least until your career progresses until you’re a household name for music journalism, and now -

You feel very much in the scenes, eyes on you as Rhiannon plays in the background.

And then Jeff is tapping you on your shoulder, leading you around the room to the small groups of people lingering - you shake hands with Mitch and Sarah, the couple against the wall, and the rest of his band, and they’re so nice your smile feels like it’s going to break your face in half. You’ll need to interview them at some point - nothing too intense, and you may not even need to, if Harry’s answers are satisfactory enough - and you can already feel yourself building a strange sort of rapport with the band, their kindness rubbing off on you until you practically glide beside Jeff to the woman bent over Mr. Floral Pants, whose identity you’re fairly certain you’ve already deduced.

It doesn’t make it any more surprising when the woman steps aside where she’s carefully applying powder to the man’s face, and then Harry fucking Styles is staring up at her with a smile and an outstretched hand, suit jacket matching the floral pattern of his pants. His curls are carefully slicked back from his face, skin matte with the powder the woman resumes applying to the side of his face that isn’t turned to you, and you swallow your shock before reaching to shake his hand, Rhiannon turning into Hello, I Love You, playing from a source you can’t identify.

“Nice t’meet you,” Harry says when you’ve told him your name and the magazine you work for - Jeff had already mentioned it, but it is customary to repeat it to whomever you may have to interview. “Y’know, I love Autoamerican - told Jeff, s’the only magazine I’d let interview me backstage. Don’t usually allow it.”

“Really?” your stomach flips as Harry stops bouncing his arm, but it takes just another half second for him to untwine his hand from yours - you’re sure it’s because the makeup artist fretting above him is using her thumb to wipe off powder from his nose, but it still makes your heart thump faster against your chest. “I assumed most people haven’t heard of it - it’s nowhere near Rolling Stone.”

“I love it,” he insists, dropping your hand, and he looks so casual, as if this interaction isn’t blowing up your entire life, and you’re brought back to the many moments you’d spent as a teenager fawning over him in his One Direction days - God, this feels like a dream, and you’re half inclined to pinch yourself in case it is. Maybe you’ll wake up in Mike’s office to him giving you another shitty underground LA band to interview. “The interview with Sublime s’great - read it all the time.”

You swallow thickly, grin spreading wider across your face, and before you can open your mouth to tell him about Francine’s go-to story about how Eric Wilson had flirted with her while she interviewed them for the story, Jeff interjects - “Steve hadn’t even heard of it.”

“Steve’s an idiot,” Harry starts, and you giggle - his lips lilt upwards just a bit. “Hope he wasn’t hasslin’ you ‘bout it.”

“Just a little,” you say, hoisting your bag further up your shoulder just as the makeup artist drops the powder back into the apron slung around her waist, and her manicured nails tilt Harry’s head around for a moment before she seemingly deems his makeup satisfactory before leaving, sending you a tight lipped smile as she goes. “I’d love to ask you a few questions before the show - nothing too heavy - and then I’ll observe the concert and how everything goes, ask a few questions after.”

“Sounds great,” Harry responds, lifting his fist with his thumb up and you didn’t think your heartbeat could grow any faster or louder but you suppose today is just proving you wrong time and time again. “D’you need t’record m’answers? S’a bit loud in here.”

The truth is, you’re sure you’ll have this entire experience engraved in your brain for years to come - you’ll remember every word he utters for you until your dying days - but it is more practical to have a recording. You swing your bag off your arm and open it, digging through the jumbled mess of items inside until you find your phone, and you hold it up with a nod. “Yeah - there isn’t anywhere a bit quieter, is there?”

It takes a minute of bustling - Jeff tells you two instructions to go down the hall into another room where you may find more silence - and Harry promises, accent thick and eyes rolling, to be back in twenty minutes or less, if tha’s enough time for you, ma’am, and you try to trick yourself into thinking the burn flushing up your cheeks is due to the heat of the room.

Down the hall is another door that Harry opens for you, letting you walk in first. It’s a small room, clearly meant for storage, and he shuts the door behind the pair of you. There’s - luckily, or perhaps unluckily - just enough room for you two have at least a few feet between you, and he leans against the wall with an air of casual elegance you couldn’t hope to achieve as you scroll through your phone to search for the voice recorder app.

“Hope this s’good enough - is it?” Harry inquires, leaning his head closer to yours, and you nod. “Good - wish there was a nicer spot for you, but -”

“Don’t worry about it,” you interject, smiling up at him, and he grins back, and your stomach churns violently. You almost feel like you could vomit - when he goes on, you’ll go and have a bit to eat at the table set up with foods that Jeff had wheeled you past when you arrived. Eating seems to solve more of your nerves than you’d care to admit, and you feel like you’re nearly 95% nerves right now. Your fingers fiddle with the voice recorder app, adding a title to the recording while entirely too focused on the sounds of Harry’s breathing above you, and you can practically fear his eyes boring into your face before you press record.

And, for the most part, it does go smoothly. Harry introduces himself with an ease that only comes with years of practice, so much time spent being interviewed that it must feel like as much of a second nature to him as interviewing is to you. He’s charming and charismatic - flirtatious, even - making jokes and adding lines that you make a mental note to be sure to include in your final piece - whatever direction you go - and you can’t say you’re bothered by the way he leans closer to the phone, and thus closer to you, in order for his voice to be heard more on the recording when occasional noise bustles in from outside.

You don’t need to look at the questions you’d spent weeks laboring over - every question you inquire derives directly from his answers like he’s practically feeding them to you, and then you’re interviewing him so naturally, you could nearly fool yourself into thinking it’s an organic conversation between friends.

What’s his process to prepare for shows? Well, listening to Fleetwood Mac and eating finger foods, of course - he loves mozzarella sticks. Does Fleetwood Mac make you less nervous for shows? No, he doesn’t get too anxious before shows, now that he’s out of the band. He just loves Fleetwood Mac - he could listen to them at any time of the day. What do you think makes your solo career less anxiety-inducing than being in the band? Different fans let him be himself more. There’s less pressure to be someone he isn’t - do you think he could’ve worn a floral printed suit at a One Direction concert?

And, in the end, twenty minutes hardly feels like it, and by the time Harry tilts his head over the screen of your phone to check the time, you could nearly convince yourself that you’d merely spent a minute with the heartthrob, and it pains you to stop the recording.

“How’d I do?” he questions, cheeky smile indenting the dimple in his cheek, and you feel like you need to dip your face in ice once he goes on stage - your face hasn’t felt anything less than piping hot since the first moment he rested eyes on you, and his kind-bordering-on-flirtatious nature only makes your skin heat more under his gaze.

It isn’t as though you’d have it any other way, though.

“Perfect,” and you send him a smile. “I’ll watch the show - probably eat a bit, too, if I’m being honest - and maybe ask you a few questions. How many shows are you doing in LA?”

Harry reaches past you, grabbing the doorknob and opening the door for you once more, and you slip out with a small smile as he follows, face twisted in what’s clearly a show of being in deep thought. “Four. An’ a few more on the West Coast ‘fore we move out - reckon you’ll need t’come t’a few more?”

“Depends.” He looks at you curiously as the two of you make your way back to the room you’d been in before, and when you enter, it’s clearly in a more prominent state of preparation for the show - there’s more bustle and movement between every band member and Jeff, who looks entirely relieved to see you two come in as She’s a Rainbow thumps softly, volume clearly turned down on whatever produces the music. “If I feel like I’ve got enough material from this show, then that’ll be it - I usually just do reviews of specific gigs, and this is a lot broader - so I really don’t know.”

Harry nods, and you feel a flutter in your heart at how intently he seems to be listening to you, like he really cares, and you’re sure it’s a facade - he probably has a million other things on his mind as Jeff descends upon the both of you, whisking him away as he calls goodbye! to you - but still. When was the last time you’d felt listened to? By Mike, or by the security guard outside, or even from your own parents when you try to convince them over and over that you have a plan, that your degree wasn’t a waste of time when you could’ve been a doctor -

Well, Harry’s a gentleman, you decide, sliding your phone into the back pocket of your flares as you reach in your bag for your notepad. You can tell they’re preparing to go on soon and so you descend against the wall, grabbing your pen from deep inside the confines of your bag to scribble the essential notes of what you’ll need - it’ll make it easier when it’s time to write, rather than listening to the entire 20 minute interview again to try and find the important sections to include.

His responses to your question still burn fresh in your mind, and you began scribbling your bullet points on the small notepad in your hands. It’s decently easy to block out the chatter of the room you’re in along with its music, volume turned down further until it’s hardly audible, and it really is a skill you’ve mastered, though you suppose you’ve had to - trying to take notes for articles about gigs occurring in buildings so small that their noise reverberates off of every surface has made you a master in tuning out noise surrounding you.

You are aware, and acutely, at that, when the band starts exiting through the door beside you. They don’t look nervous, returning your encouraging smiles with ones of their own, and you watch them pour out the door with confidence practically radiating off of them. Well, that’s something to mention, isn’t it? Most of the bands you’d interviewed were practically vomiting with nerves -

Harry takes up the rear, fingers running through his slicked back hair, and you can’t tell if it’s a nervous habit or if he’s simply trying to let his curls fall in front of his eyes more. Jeff walks in front of him, giving you a smile as he leaves, and the singer stops beside you.

Your breath just about catches in your throat as you look up at him, and he’s staring down at you with a decidedly ambiguous look in his eyes, and you smile at him. “Good luck out there.”

“You’re gonna come and watch?”

You nod. “Eventually - I’m gonna eat something first, finish my notes. Maybe give myself a tour of the backstage in case I decide to include it.”

“Sounds good t’me,” Harry says, but he doesn’t make a motion to leave, and then his eyes roll down your body and is he fucking checking you out? Because - no - that’s crazy. That would cement into your brain the knowledge that this is a dream, and not reality, because there’s no fucking way Harry Styles is checking you out, eyes roaming from your eyes to your stomach to your - “I like your pants. Where’d you get ‘em?”

Ah. Of course. Fashion icon, he is, inquiring about the pants you’d chosen specifically because they looked like something he may like. “These?” You glance down as though you’d forgotten what pants you’d donned, as though you hadn’t spent hours in front of your closet envisioning what outfit you could wear to impress him. “I think they’re from Zara. Got them a couple years back.”

“They’re pretty.”

“Why, thank you -”

“Harry!”

Jeff’s voice calling from outside the room snaps you both out of your conversation, a slightly embarrassed grin spreading across Harry’s face that you’re sure is mirroring your own. His cheeks are tinged pink and he clears his throat.

“Sorry - gotta go - make sure y’try the mozzarella sticks, ‘kay? They’re good,” Harry tells you, and you grin, drumming the pen clutched between your fingers against the notepad in your hands.

“Will do,” you reply, and then you lift your hand and point to the door, raising your eyebrows with a smile. “Go break a leg - and then be ready to talk about it when you’re done!”

He doesn’t say anything else - just gives you a thumbs up and slips out the door, and you can hear his frenzied apologies to Jeff as their voices fade away, surely preparing to get on stage and sing his heart out and blow the fucking stadium away, but you can hardly focus on it. Because - God, you really don’t want to sound like a narcissist - but he was joking around with you, complimented your pants, and he did technically check you out, even if it was just to see your pants.

Was he flirting with you?

Surely not. No, that would be absurd. He’s probably just bored - maybe entertaining random people backstage is his way of dealing with his nerves.

That makes a bit more sense.

When you glance back down at your notepad, the page half filled with scribbled bullet points of things you’d sworn to remember, and when you click your pen open to continue your list, you find that you can’t quite think of anything else to write. All you can think about is the mozzarella sticks waiting for you, and then standing in the wings to watch him sing his heart out to a crowd of adoring fans that you, at one point, would have killed to be apart of -

You shove your pen and pad back into your bag with a determined spin of your heels. Food first - contemplation second.

~~~

The show is - needless to say - amazing.

You’d feasted on slightly-cold mozzarella sticks that were, even in their lowered temperatures, immensely good, and clearly garnered all the affection Harry had for them. The food table was nearly completely empty, crew members repeatedly coming up to fill plates with vegetables and snacks, and so you simply gathered the last three sticks of celery once you were done with your sticks before taking a leisurely stroll along the backstage area. Celery firm between your teeth, you pulled out your notepad and your pen once more and jotted notes of what you could possibly include in the article to jog your memory later -

It takes a while, admittedly. You don’t want to leave anything out, and eventually you have two pages filled with notes in your handwriting that would surely be illegible to anyone else who happened upon them - and, sure, your pages are small, but still. Two pages is a lot, and you’re sure most of it won’t even make it into the article but you don’t want to risk forgetting any important information.

A trip to the bathroom - perusing the food table again to pick up the last few carrot sticks - and the show is nearly halfway over, so you decide it may be time to slip into the wings and watch. Take notes, possibly, but mainly just listen and absorb the music and the atmosphere and exactly how the fans react to his every move. That’s what the people want to know, isn’t it? It’s what you would want to know - so you slip past the lingering groups of people into the wings of the stage, where you get a clear view of Harry and his band, singing his heart out to a tune you know to be Kiwi.

It’s ear splitting, truly, in a way that none of the other gigs you’d witnessed had been. But it sounds good - better than good - and he’s as charismatic on stage as he is off, waggling his eyebrows during the more suggestive lines and undoing the button of his suit jacket, and the latter garners a deafening scream from the adoring fans in the crowd.

No, you won’t need to take notes, at least not yet. You’ll remember this forever, won’t you? Watching him work the crowd like he was born to do it, like it’s a second nature and you’re sure it is, at this point. It’s all you can do to stand there, watching him, and you’re sure you look no different from the other fans in the crowd, your eyes wide and lips parted in absolute awe of him -

His head turns to the side, briefly, as if he can sense your eyes on him above anyone else’s. In reality you’re sure he’d simply turned his head to flick a sweaty curl out of his face but it’s never a bad thing to dream right? And your gaze locks for just a moment, his eyebrows raising when he sees your face, and heat burns at your cheeks before his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and his right eye shuts in a quick wink before he’s turning back to the crowd as if his attention had never left them.

Shit. You nearly drop your damn carrot. God, he’s a fucking tease, and you’re not even sure he knows it - that this experience will never leave your brain for as long as you walk this Earth, watching him wink as he stared into the depths of your fucking soul, clad in a gorgeous suit with his gorgeous hair and -

Harry truly is a sight to behold, and you’re more than content to watch him forever.

Forever ends up being another half hour or so before you’re made entirely too aware of the fact that you have to pee - not insanely bad, but enough to make you shift uncomfortably from side to side before sighing, turning and making your way further backstage in your search for the bathroom. In your determined tour of the backstage you’d forgotten to search for the restroom, and you wander about for nearly five whole minutes before getting to it -

You do your business. There’s not much more explanation needed.

It’s when your washing your hands, though, water freezing cold against your palms, that you become slightly aware of a myriad of noises occurring outside the restroom. At first you choose not to focus on it, shoving your hands beneath the air dryer to ease your soaking, cold hands, and the noise of violent air assaulting your palms drowns out the scuffling sounds from outside.

When the dryer turns off, and you reach down to wipe your damp hands on your pants, the noises haven’t stopped. And, sure, no one could expect it to be completely silent backstage, but whatever you’re hearing isn’t the normal laughter and chatter and muffled music that you’re used to hearing -

It sounds like someone is fighting, and your hand freezes in its place on the cool metal doorknob. You lean forward, scrunching your nose as you plainly try harder to hear what’s happening -

But, Hell. You have a job to do - you need to get back to the wings to watch the remaining few minutes of the set before Harry leaves and, subsequently, returns for the encore, and you’d intended to write with detail about his closing repetition of Kiwi. So you grab the doorknob, swing the door open and step out, and freeze nearly immediately once you’ve exited.

There is a fight - not as violent as you’d expected - as the security guard from inside scuffles with Steve, who looks positively wasted in a way you’ve come to know all too well, doing gigs in LA. His face shines with a sheen layer of sweat, skin glowing in the artificial light, and his fists move slowly to pummel into the other security guard’s back. It’s, truthfully, a bit pathetic to watch - he isn’t putting up much of a fight against the guard trying to hold him, and your mouth parts with poorly-concealed confusion at the display in front of you.

You’re not sure what to say - or do - or think - standing in the doorway of the bathroom as you watch the poor excuse of a fight, Steve nearly toppling to the ground as the other guard tries to contain him.

“Come on, Steve - don’t be like this -”

Then the other security guard looks up and sees you, and the expression on his face nearly makes you burst into laughter, but you contain it with a bit more difficulty than you’d like to admit. He looks annoyed, like he’s absolutely done with his coworker, and also slightly embarrassed. Clearly, he’d dragged Steve into the hallway containing the bathrooms with the hopes of nobody seeing either of them, and you’ve interrupted his bid for privacy desperately. “Sorry, ma’am,” the guard says, grabbing one of Steve’s flailing fists in his hands. “Don’t mind us - he’s drunk - just trying to contain him.”

You’re doing a damn good job, you want to say, but you bite back the retort with a small nod and a whisper of a smile on your face, walking with your back to the wall past their display in the hopes of Steve not seeing you. He hadn’t been particularly nice to you when you’d first seen him and you can tell he’s in a much more heightened state, now - he’d been drunk when you’d seen him before and you can tell it’s only gotten worse.

Maybe you should’ve told Jeff the guard was drunk?

Well, it’s counterproductive to dwell on the past.

You’re not so lucky, though - you’ve barely made it down five steps down the hallway before Steve lifts his head, pupils blown and skin even stickier looking than before, and he gives you the same disgusted look as though you’re something his dog had left on the grass. “Hey - hey - Jim - do you know who that is?”

And the other security guard - Jim - just rolls his eyes. “No, Steve, I don’t - stop making a fool out of yourself.”

“She works at - at - Eat to the Beat - Parallel Lines - what is it?”

Do you answer him? You don’t quite know. You just swallow thickly, forcing yourself not to don the smile that’s urging its way onto your lips as you hear roaring screams from the crowd that alerts you to the fact that, if Harry isn’t done with his set yet, he’s close, and you need to watch the end. “Autoamerican. Those are all good albums, though.”

“She’s snarky - get off of me, Jim -”

In Steve’s final bid for freedom his legs kick out, and his sneakered foot knocks into your ankle, and it’s certainly not hard by any stretch of the definition but it’s enough to catch you off balance, his toe hooking into the loose fabric around your ankles as he brings his foot back to kick again. One kick did it, though - you tumble to the ground, legs flying out from under you until you land on your ass on the hard floor, your bag slipping off your shoulder, and its contents scatter across the ground.

Fuck. That hurt, more than you’d care to admit, as you brace your elbows behind you to stop your head from knocking into the ground. Your ass hurts and you can see Steve’s leg bracing backwards for another kick, and you push yourself backwards so his foot merely pushes against the air.

You can already see Jim opening his mouth to desperately say sorry when a set of footsteps interrupts his apology - you don’t have to look to your side to see who it is, the smell of expensive cologne wafting before him like an introduction. You practically feel him before you see him.

Your name falls off Harry’s lips entirely too easily, like he’d been looking for you in the overtly small window of space he has before he has to go back on stage - his hair is messy and his skin is sweaty and he bends down next to you with such sentimentality in his eyes - you almost feel like a child again.

“Are y’okay?” Harry questions, and his hand rests on the small of your back and warmth seems to seep through your body from its spawning point, palm moving in circles against your sweater so gently you can tell he’s scared to go much harder. “Wha’ -?”

For his eyes had just landed on the sight in front of you - Jim managed to pull Steve up, the latter clearly coming to his senses at least a little bit, and his eyes narrow at the sight of you on the floor and subsequently widen as he sees Harry next to you.

“Wha’ happened?” And you can hear anger quivering under his voice like boiling water, ready to overflow, and you instinctively reach up to press your hand against his forearm - you do it to your niece all the time when you can tell she’s on the verge of a tantrum and it always works on her - but she is five, and Harry’s twenty years her senior, so, needless to say, the motion doesn’t do much to soothe him. “Fightin’ back here, kickin’ her - you’re s’posed t’be security guards!”

“It’s okay, Harry -”

“S’not okay -”

And then there’s another set of footsteps jogging over to you, and you look up to see Jeff -

“Har, you need to get back out -” but you can see the confusion set into his features as he stands over the scene, eyes flickering to you and Harry on the floor to Jim and Steve, the former having settled the latter into a fairly calm position. The scent of alcohol is strong and you can practically watch as Jeff smells it, his nose crinkling. “Is he drunk?”

“He is drunk, an’ got into a fight wit’ -”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupt, squeezing Harry’s arm again as you push yourself to stand, attempting not to wince at the pain in your ass as your muscles tense. He’s looking at you like you’ve just been hit by a car instead of having a mild scuffle with a security guard, eyes wide and concerned, and you shake your head at him. “Didn’t get into a fight, Harry - he accidentally kicked me. It’s really fine - you need to go back out, anyway.”

“She’s right,” Jeff insists, reaching down to tug Harry up as his eyes bore into the sight in front of you, Steve slowly calming himself down until he’s simply red in the face and reeking of booze. “Come on, Har - you need to get on.”

But Harry’s already bending down again, grabbing your pen and your notebook and your phone (you can see a crack in the screen that most certainly hadn’t been there just a mere ten minutes ago) and you could nearly laugh at the display he’s putting on, shoving your items back into your back, if Jeff’s demeanor wasn’t bordering on murderous as he drags Harry up again. You reach down and grab your bag, now fully stocked again with all of the items that had clattered out, and you give the tussling security guards one final fleeting look before following Jeff and Harry as they make their way down the hall.

“Y’sure you’re okay?” Harry questions, slowing his pace so you can jog beside him, much to Jeff’s lingering annoyance as he brings his fingers up to rub at the space between his eyes. “Y’should know - tha’ doesn’t usually happen -”

“I get it,” you tell him.

“No, really.” You’ve reached the wings of the stage, and Jeff leaves the pair of you alone to descend on to where the band stands, clearly waiting for the cue to go on. Harry runs a hand through his hair, and he looks oddly exasperated and you wish you could get it through his head that it really isn’t a big deal - “Someone will take care of the guards, okay?”

“Don’t fire them,” you insist, even though you’re sure he has no say in it. “Not Jim, at least.”

“Jim -?”

“The sober one.”

“Oh.” He pauses, dropping his hands to his sides. “I can’t make any promises.”

“Just try.”

“Will do.”

There’s another brief second of silence before you nod towards the stage where he’s needed - the few lowly minutes between the end of the show and the encore has come to an end, and you’re sure people are beginning to wonder if he’s not coming back. “Go on, Har. There’s people waiting for you.”

“M’going!” And he isn’t going, just staring at you with his brows furrowed, and you raise your own with a confused stare. “Are y’gonna come t’any more shows?”

You pause, nibbling on your bottom lip as you contemplate your answer. “Well - maybe. If I need more information.” “You should,” he tells you, and you tilt your head to the side. “Look, I don’t want your only impression of m’shows t’be that they’re violent an’ crazy.”

“I don’t think -”

“Jus’ one more? In two days. I’ll send you th’address. I really want you t’come -”

Before you can process the request Jeff has stepped forward, hooking his arm in Harry’s and practically dragging him towards the stage, and you watch him prance back in front of the audience like it’s his God given purpose and perhaps it is. You’ve never quite met anyone like him, you don’t think, and you’d certainly had a perception of what you’d imagined him to be like based on the insane amount of time you’d spent obsessing over his band when you were younger -

Your mouth feels suddenly dry as you watch him begin, and the music seems to reverberate beneath your skin, and suddenly - without having to think about it much at all, really - you know it won’t take much convincing on his part to get you back for a second night.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles series #harry styles drabble #harry styles one shot #im sure im going to regret starting this as a series and not trying to make it one long piece #but honestly??#im working on another fic right now so i just want the beginnings of this to be out there #i hope u enjoy

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creativeashproductions · 4 years

Text

Lost Time // Luke Patterson

Summary: Things changed since Sunset Curve fell apart literally as three out of four members died before a gig. Leaving a sad girl behind Luke by chance runs into the reader with someone else. Death tore the couple apart, and time can’t fix this.

Warning: Talk of death, depression, angst and fluff

Words: 2.2k

Might as well join the Julie and the Phantoms fan club!

*For the sake of the story the time frame has been altered, it takes place in the mid-2000s. Also! I tried to make the reader as generalized as I could to make sure that everyone can relate. The reader is Alex’s sister, for inclusion that can be biological, adopted, half or stepsiblings. I want to make sure all people can be the reader.

Masterlist

THIS IS FROM MY SECONDARY BLOG! REPOST!!

The 1990s was definitely some of the best years of your life watching your brother grow more comfortable in his identity. Alex had kept his sexuality secret, taking the frustration of the secret by learning how to play the drums. You would often be found curled on the chair listening to his growing talent; Alex was a great brother.

Alex found friends in three local boys Reggie, Bobby and Luke, even a little more than friends with Luke briefly. By 1991 the boys had formed a band Sunset Curve with each other and a loyal fan in you. By mid-1994 the band had a fanbase and some gigs, but playing The Orpheum was the goal.

Luke had admitted to Alex, he had feelings for you, and with a lot of encouragement from Alex, he approached you. Luke had been focused on music since his parents gave him his first guitar, so relationships weren’t even on the backburner.

“Hey.” Luke spoke, pressing a kiss to your cheek backstage, “Missed you.”

His hair tickled your skin, bringing a bright smile from the teenage boy and a deep blush from you, private time wasn’t as often as it once had been. After Luke’s fallout with his parents a few months back, he had couch surfed between Reggie and Alex’s rooms; he wasn’t allowed in yours.

“You saw me last night.”

“A monumental time.” Luke bent his bend to place a lingering kiss on your bare shoulder, his jacket having fallen down, “Three years together and a bright future ahead.”

Last night had been the third anniversary of your relationship and hopefully the previous night worrying on parents walking in, cheap dates Luke often felt guilty about. Luke knew in his bones playing The Orpheum tonight would open the door to a legendary future. A future where money wasn’t tight and he could you on dates he deemed acceptable for the love of his life.

Bobby voiced brought Sunset Curve’s lead singer back to that moment, you dropped from the stage to settle in the empty audience to watch the soundcheck. With a wink from Alex, he started making the beat to Now or Never, you beamed as they poured their souls into the song. The four were talented and made to be in a band together even if you didn’t really like Bobby.

Cringing at the awkward wink Bobby sent you turned on your converse to head to the bar for a glass of water. Thanking the bartender, you tuned out the conversation with the waitress and the band only jumping when arms wrapped around your waist.

“We’re getting street dogs.” Luke spoke, bringing your body to rest on his chest, “Do you want one?”

The thought of those street dogs honestly horrifying given they were cooked in some random guys car. The one time you tried, it had permanently tattooed the taste in your memories forever, and just remembering was vomit-inducing.

“I’ll pass.” You wrinkled your nose, turning to wrap your arms around his neck, “I don’t know how you guys like those.”

“Tradition.” Luke shrugged caressing your cheekbone with the pad of this thumb. Gazing at features he wanted to wake up to for the rest of his life, “Still down with the plan?”

“The minute I’m eighteen, we go to the nearest chapel.” You grinned playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, “I’ll be waiting Rockstar.”

Luke pressed a long passionate kiss on your lips, pulling away to jog over to Alex and Reggie waiting at the door. Bobby having declined the street dog invitation to flirt with the waitress Rose. Alex waved before the door closed. Little did you know that would be the last time you saw them alive.

1995 was the worst year of your life. 1996 was the hardest, especially with the forever reminder of your love. You wouldn’t trade 1996 for the world however, only wishing for one change.

Los Angeles, 2004

Alex, Reggie and Luke had learnt a mere few days away from that life had drastically changed forever. Firstly, the three boys had died from eating the street dogs mere hours before performing on the stage of The Orpheum. Secondly, it was no longer 1995 but instead nearly ten years had past bringing the three ghosts into 2004.

The most jarring wasn’t being able to be heard playing music with a random girl named Julie but that the most constant part of the band no longer was there. You hadn’t died that night, and Alex was pretty sure you were still alive. Luke felt lost waking up without you beside him and the deep regret of not reconciling with his parents.

It would be a week before Luke would swallow his pride enough to orb himself into his unchanged childhood home. Emily, Luke’s mom, was in the well-worn chair knitting a scarf Luke recognized as his favourite colours. Mitch was in the kitchen, putting the groceries away. It was heartbreaking being invisible to his aged parents.

“Hey, Mom.” Luke sniffled sitting on the couch nearby staring at his silent mother, “Sorry for not visiting sooner.”

Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes feeling hopeless, not being able to ease his parents’ pain, the regret and guilt bubbling to the surface.

“How is Y/N? I bet she’s living in New York of London now. We promised to travel the world together. Part of me is guilty of wishing she had eaten a street dog that night so we could be together.” Luke sobbed, wrapping his arms around his midsection reminiscing on the beautiful girl he had unwillingly left.

“Hey.” Mitch spoke, kissing his wife’s forehead. Her eyes closing in contentment.

“I wonder if you know where Reg and Alex’s parents are. Reggie’s neighbourhood was torn down who knows when. It makes me scared to see if Alex and Y/N’s parents still have their place. I don’t think so. They lost their son.”

“Hey Luke.”

Luke glanced over his shoulder to see Alex at the door, reluctant to impose of Luke’s privacy.

“Yeah.”

“We’re rehearsing.” Alex spoke, smiling as the other teenager took one more wistful look at his parents before orbing out of his house to the Molina family’s garage. Minutes later, the front door opening and feet thudding brought the noise to the Patterson home.

“Grandma!”

A four-foot blue of green and black blur covered the room in seconds nearly sprawling Mitch to the floor. Why was that 1996 year difficult? Well, ’95 was when Sunset Curve tragically died, and a stick changed your life. ’96 was spent going through the last five months of pregnancy without Luke.

October 1995

You kept your lips pressed tightly together, unable to look at the smooth, shiny mahogany rectangle surrounded by flowers. Looking up meant the reality kicking in. Funerals sucked. Especially the third funeral in the last handful of days. It was surreal thinking that one week ago you had kissed your boyfriend and hugged your brother and now they were dead. Gone. Not even a goodbye.

“Are you okay?” The broke voice asked, gaining your attention. Swollen red eyes matching yours held unimaginable pain. While the last few months had been icy with your parents, it didn’t mean losing one of their kids didn’t sting.

“I will be.” You whispered clasping your hands over the scratchy black velvet dress, one you had worn three times too many.

The sobs broke out seeing the best picture Alex had taken in his life, it encapsulated his best features; his beaming smile and kind, caring eyes. Alex was gone. Your brother was gone because he ate a bad hot dog with his friends. You would never see your boys again. Never feel Luke’s skin or share a laugh with Alex or complain about things with Reggie. You wouldn’t get to meet in the chapel with Luke wearing second hand ‘fancy’ clothing. In one night, your life changed.

It changed further seeing the two lines on the test later that night. The heartache growing. The baby you carried would never meet his uncles and his Dad. Would never hear them play or learn to play. ’95 and ’96 sucked ass.

You sighed, closing the door to follow the rambunctious ball of energy into the living room where he entertained Mitch and Emily. Some days it was difficult to stare into the green eyes he inherited from his father.

“Benjamin Lucas.” You spoke crossing your arms, meeting the gaze of the eight-year-old boy, “What did I say?”

“To not runoff.” Ben quietly replied, playing with his hands. His messy brown hair, in need of a trim, falling into his eyes, “Sorry Mom.”

“Please don’t do it again.” You gently told the little boy elated as he quickly found the toy box in the corner of the room.

Ben was loved deeply by Mitch and Emily, who had stepped up when your parents made the decision to sell your childhood home. Wanting Ben to know his paternal grandparents, you had struggled to find an apartment and job to say in the neighbourhood. Since the baby was the last part of their son, the Patterson parents’ had welcomed you into the home where you stayed until Ben was two.

“Do you want us to come around for Luke’s birthday?” You questioned sitting on the love seat, the same love seat you had made out on with Luke many times during movies.

The room turned sad at the question and reminded that for the ninth year, you would celebrate Luke’s birthday without him. A day where Ben wouldn’t fully understand. Emily simply nodded her head.

“Have you met anyone?” Mitch asked, leaning over to clasp his hands together. For the last few years, they had been pushing you to date. They wanted your happiness and for Ben to have a father even if Luke couldn’t be it.

“Mama can we stay here tonight?” Ben’s innocent voice cut the tension, saving you from answering the question again. Mitch and Emily each nodded their heads at the question, unable to tell the young boy no.

“Have you ate?” Emily asked, turning to look at you in concern. The chuckle left your mouth at the question she frequently requested, she missed cooking for more than two.

“We had pasta before we came.” You replied, turning to gaze out the window to the dark sky, “I should put Ben to bed.”

The soft whine from your son and denial was a nightly routine and very much a mirror image to Luke’s character as well. With a smile, Emily held out her hand to her grandchild, she was notoriously the only one able to get Ben to sleep fast.

“Come on Bug.”

It seemed the universe was keeping Luke from seeing you and discovering Ben, but when that night came, he was shocked. Emily was curled up on the patio couch, watching Ben in the newly bought sandbox. The patio doors opened. Inside, Mitch had invited a stranger who knew his son into the house.

“I think I heard the doorbell. I’ll be right back.” Emily called out to you. You had found shade under the tree reading a new book.

The soft cry had you up and running to Ben before you even realized, on his knee was a bleeding wound. You had already scooped the boy into your arms to quickly get into the kitchen. The moment your foot stepped into the home, the sound of a familiar voice and song filled the house.

Gently placing Ben on his feet, you followed the sound to the living room. Across the room behind a young girl stood a boy.

“Luke.” You breathed floored at the sight of the teenager who looked exactly like he did back in ’95. The ghost singing widened his eyes at yours, taking in the mature features and change of fashion.

He continued to sing the song Unsaid Emily he had written as an apology to his mom following the last big fight. The song he never got to show her. His voice faded as the ending of the song came around.

“Mama!” Your attention broke from Luke’s when a tiny hand reached for yours. The pain in his voice bringing you back to the most important part of your life, “It hurts Mama.”

Despite being sad, Mitch was the one to cross the room to lift the little boy into his arms. Placing the little boy on the counter, the man gently wet a paper towel to wash the area.

“I think he needs stitches.” Mitch sighed, furrowing his brows.

“Who is that?” Luke asked the Molina girl. The girl shrugged taking in the features she could recognize. Julie asked Emily.

“That’s Ben.” Emily beamed, looking over her shoulder at the little boy that filled the void of Luke’s death. It didn’t fix the wound or erase the pain, but Ben’s existence helped with the loss as he was a precious gift, “When Luke passed away his girlfriend Y/N found out she was pregnant with Luke’s baby.”

The choked sob fell from Luke’s mouth echoed by the thud of his knees, hitting the floor in the pure shock. The heartbreak painted so clear Julie was sure she could feel Luke’s agony.

God, why did Luke have to eat that fucking street dog. Fuck his band dreams. Nothing hurt as bad as finding out about Ben and Y/N having to be a single parent.

“I have a son?” Luke cried, orbing himself as far as he could from the Patterson home and his most tremendous loss.

Part Two

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taeyohonic · 3 years

Text

stolen dances | chap. 10

summary: sometimes supporting the person you love is the hardest challenge you’ll ever face.

pairing: jeon jungkook x fem!reader

rating: m

warning: alcohol consumption (drunk people / hungover people), swear words

additional tags: f2l, ceo!jungkook, bestfriend!jungkook, shrink!yoongi, my best friend’s wedding meets 27 dresses (if the boss/secretary couple had happened), angst-y

words: 2100

links: prev. | next [masterlist]

note: lower case letters intended

chapter summary: jimin is team jungkook... whatever that means

“fuck”, jungkook hisses in your ears as the sizzling pan burns his hand. even years after their final performance, seokjin still inhabits the second nature of being the leader. he moves swiftly around the table to check on jungkook, who stays in his position. his breath is hot on your neck as you try to kill yoongi with your stare. with caution you touch jungkook’s burned hand, but the singer won’t let your fingers rest on his before he withdraws himself from you. jimin looks at the scene in front of him with distaste while the oldest coos at jungkook.

“let me be, hyung.”

“you’re hurt, kookie. we have to ice it”, seokjin insists and you pry your eyes away from your therapist to turn around, only to find jungkook watching you intensely.

“_____ knows where the ice is.” yeah, every single one of his friends knows where the freezer is. it’s essential for margarita wednesday. but you don’t dare to voice that – not when even the loudmouthed taehyung is keeping quiet.

“come on, kook”, you say softly and stand up, the delicious chicken completely forgotten.

there is the faint sound of yoongi’s apology in your ears as you move closer to the kitchen, jungkook like a cloak following behind you.

“how bad is the pain?”, you ask and collect an icepack, looking more at the granite worktop in jungkook’s spotless kitchen than your best friend.

“____, look at me”, he orders roughly. instead of taking the ice from you, he waits.

after a second too long, you face him. his eyes are hot on your skin and you feel yourself shrink inch by inch.

“you sang for him?”

“i… no – i just helped him out”, you explain. “yoongi needed the track for his audition and … he really tried other options – you, you know how terrible my voice is. but the label demanded the tape – we didn’t have time.”

you don’t know why an apology is nestled on your lips; there is nothing to be sorry for. jungkook disagrees.

“you sang for him”, he repeats, not in question, but as an accusation.

“what’s the big deal?”, you whisper and press the icepack onto his hand. for a split-second you think he’ll push you back and throw the cooling aid across the room. but your best friend does the complete opposite, taking a step closer to you. you feel his chest heaving as the space between the two of you grows smaller and smaller.

there are a lot of reasons why you love jungkook. one of them is that you are oh so attracted to him.

your heart kindly reminds you of that fact by beating heavily against your ribcage. you can smell his skin and see the tiniest scar his brother gave him when he was a toddler. this is not good.

“you won’t even sing karaoke with me, but you’ll sing for him?”, he asks and grips your hand to push it onto his burn. he hisses in pain but does not stop the pressure.

“you’re all famous singers, jungkook… i.. i don’t wanne embarrass myself in front of you”, you answer. he only huffs.

“____, you puked on me.”

“the rollercoaster was too fast – even jimin said that.”

“you had diarrhea during our last road trip.”

“nobody noticed that.” his eyes widen in disbelieve at your claim.

“i massaged your stomach the whole night to get the cramps to stop. everybody noticed, ____.”

“i don’t know what you want to achieve with this, jungkook”, you whine and try not to notice how delicious his collarbone looks under the kitchen lights.

“___”, he starts, “you can’t embarrass yourself in front of me.”

your eyes are still set on his collarbone and he breathes, clearly annoyed.

“there is no shame in this friendship, ___”, jungkook states with finality in his voice. you do not dare to meet his eyes, after the word ‘friendship’ burns itself onto your mind.

“music is half of who i am”, he continues, “i’d love to share it with my best friend.”

“okay”

your answer is met with a soft smile you do not see.

“okay”, he repeats and gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

he steps away from you a moment later and now, his skin out of reach, you look at his face. his eyes are kind on you.

“let’s see if they left some chicken”, you say and before jungkook can respond, you’ve left the kitchen and your beating heart behind.

“where is all the chicken?”, you exclaim as you join the boys again. jimin’s faint blush is overshadowed by taehyung’s snicker.

“we were only gone for a second, hyungs!”, jungkook adds and helps you by adjusting your chair after you take your seat across from a full-mouthed yoongi.

“there is enough pasta for you to not go hungry”, seokjin answers and passes on the sauce to your best friend, who coats his spaghetti with the citrusy sauce, muttering to himself.

“so, you’ll help with the remix?”, taehyung asks yoongi, clearly done with your complaints.

yoongi looks at jungkook instead of taehyung as he replies.

“yeah, joon and i have been drabbling for a few days.” they have?

“maybe you can bring your demo next week to movie night?”, taehyung questions next.

“next movie night?”, yonngi repeats with furrowed eyebrows matching jungkook’s expression.

“or you can bring it by the office to my meeting with namjoon?”, seokjin offers. sorry, what?

“joon called you already?”, you ask. you distinctly remember the business card you’ve given your favorite barista at the restaurant. but you never imagined him to act this fast. even yoongi seems surprised.

“i like his voice”, seokjin nods at you and continues to eat his last chicken piece.

“but not as much as mine, right?”, jimin whines only to get slapped by the youngest.

your friends are really, really spoiled, you think with a smile and nudge yoongi’s foot under the table.

you hate how heavy your eyes feel while you blink at jungkook.

“you sure you don’t want to have a sleepover?”, he whispers as he helps you into your jacket. scratch that, your arms are heavier than your eyelids. your whine reminds him more of a kitten than a human and he smiles at you.

“nooo, i just… i-i wanne have my special pillow. and my socks.”

“okay, okay, okay – honey – don’t need any tears in this hallway”, seokjin hushes before hugging you. “drink lots of water, understood?”, he asks and lets you go. you nod silently and smile at him. even that is a task.

jungkook looks at the both of you and can’t help his chuckles at your big eyes in front of seokjin’s wide shoulders. it’s just… too cute.

“thanks for the invite.” yoongi pulls the host back to reality and jungkook nods at him with a fake smile.

“sure”, he says. now that you are half-away in dreamland, he doesn’t have to pretend to like your friend. he just wants him out of his house and your life. it physically pains jungkook to let you go together. how special can your at-home-pillow really be?

even in your state you notice how jimin sidesteps yoongi’s hand and how fast taehyung opens the door to lead your therapist out in the hallway. jimin pushes seokjin aside to say goodbye to you, huffing into your hairline as you squeeze him half-heartedly back. his behavior towards yoongi makes you dislike him more than you care to admit.

your friend bows to the boys before moving to the hallway. there is just taehyung between you and the exit now. jimin passes you off to the troublemaker, but not without some clouded thunder in his eyes. embraced by taehyung, you whisper: “what’s up with jimin?”

the former singer knows that eyes and ears are on you – they always are when you’re with them – so he presses his lips close to your ear before answering.

“he’s always been team jungkook.”

it takes you six hours of sleep, two coffees and one aspirin before his words reach your brain the next morning.

you to troublemaker: what’s team jungkook?

your message to taehyung goes unanswered. it makes you mad and you do not like being ignored. after crafting the whole day with your kids in pottery class, you make your way out of the school. you try to repress memories of the awkward lunch with jisoo, not ready to face the reality that she made jungkook uncomfortable, and the alcohol still makes your steps more sluggish than graceful.

jungkook’s mercedes in front of the building comes as a surprise.

“surprise!”, he exclaims and opens the car door for you.

“what are you doing here?”, you ask, too drained to be more forthcoming. the former idol smiles behind his sunglasses.

“surprising my very chipper, sunshine-y best friend.” jungkook sounds so excited that you can feel your lips – and mood – lifting by the second.

“and what’s the surprise?” other than your very busy ceo taking the afternoon off to give you a ride instead of letting you take the crowded train home.

“i wanted to take you to the park!” he points to the basket hidden in his car and your cheeks flush while looking at his long, long finger.

“come ooon”, jungkook tries to shush you into the seat, not ready for some of the pedestrians to notice the famous man. maybe he shouldn’t flash his gucci sunglasses.

“okay, okay, kookie, okay”, you relent and squeeze his shoulder before getting into the mercedes.

it only takes him seconds and then he’s in the driver’s seat, smiling happily at you.

“how was pottery?”, he asks and speeds out into the traffic. you’ve sent him some of your students’ creations from today during lunch, trying to escape jisoo’s eyes – they’d been so proud. you haven’t shown him yours.

“my mug looks so ugly”, you mutter, only to hear a huff from jungkook.

“no way – your designs are unique… never ugly.”

at the next red light, you flash him a picture of your grotesque creation. he is silent until the lights change to green. eyes on the road, jungkook tries to soothe you.

“practice makes perfect, ___.” you only snort.

“yeah well… i think we’ll focus more on learning tomorrow. minimal creativity. maximal brains.”

there is a comfortable silence in the car – but not for long.

“how was your day?”, you ask and turn your upper body to the driver so you’re more focused on his hands gripping the steering wheel.

jungkook sighs before responding. “the board doesn’t like our promotion strategy for europe. so, we’ll have to revise the concept. sales are good – the finance department had a boner for their whole thirty minutes presentation, calculating how much money we’ll make this quarter.”

he takes a turn and you can already see the green from the park.

“had lunch with jin and went for a mini workout after that.”

jungkook parks the car in one swift motion and you have to suppress the moan at his controlled handling of the wheel. he doesn’t even look bothered by the vehicles waiting for him to maneuver into the tight space. after he turns off the engine, your best friend faces you fully.

“and i googled a bit”, he admits. it’s a random fact, making you conscious of its deeper meaning.

“during your lunch with jin?”, you ask. “or while doing squats?”

“during the finance presentation – it was so boring, ____”, he groans and falls forward onto your shoulder.

“and what did you google?”, you ask and press his earlobe between your fingertips. you can still feel the numerous holes from his idol days. it’s a shame he doesn’t wear earrings anymore.

“you know…”, jungkook starts softly, “i wondered – at the restaurant, with namjoon.” his forehead is still resting on you, so he easily notices your stiffened body.

“i would have kind of believed it if you met him first. you drink way too much coffee. he’s a barista.” jungkook’s explanation is hushed against your skin.

“but you met yoongi first, _____.”

“yeah”, you admit quietly.

“min yoongi’s practice has a website, ____.”

“yeah”

“min yoongi is a licensed therapist, ____.”

there is a beat of silence as he waits for you to decide how open you want to be with your best friend… and yourself.

“he is my licensed therapist, jungkook.”

_____

sorry for the late update. hope you are all healthy! love, dana

p.s. this had a whole lot of “uhhh she went to therapy” vibe. therapy is cool, i only survived because i went to see a therapist. jungkook thinks so too; don’t let the last scene fool you. so… we’ll have the park “outing” next and after that… all goes down the drain. I promise.

taglist: @livewittykid @thequeen-kat @kagami-s-void @goldenclosethobi @youwannabelostandnotbefound @jinsalpaca @bishuthot @laabellaavitaa21 @baekstans @jalexad @jinsearthh @kseokwu

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waywardnerd67 · 3 years

Text

Star Crossed: Shining Star

Summary: Between filming and conventions, Jensen Ackles hardly has a moment to himself. During a panel one weekend he learns that his favorite band’s lead singer is a fan of his. Encouraged by his best friend, Jensen steps out of his comfort zone and reaches out to her on social media. That one decision throws his entire world into a whirlwind adventure. Pairing: No Pairing Rating: E - Everyone Warnings: Fluff Word Count: 1595 A/N: None

Check out: Star Crossed Masterlist

Jensen Ackles walked into his apartment kicking off his shoes by the door. Thankful to be done filming for the week and looking forward to not having to travel too far for the convention this weekend. He loved meeting fans and performing on Saturday nights. There were some weeks where he wished he could relax in his apartment and not have to worry about traveling.

Deciding a night of Netflix and pizza was in order, Jensen took a quick shower then put on some sweats with a t-shirt. He had settled in with his pizza with The Witcher series pulled up to watch when his phone started buzzing.

“No Jared, I don’t want to come out.”

Laughter came ringing through the speaker, “Jackles, it’s only a few crew and myself chilling at our normal spot. Come out for a little while.”

“What part of no don’t you understand? The N or the O?” Jensen rubbed his forehead hearing everyone behind Jared chanting his name, “Buddy, I’m showered and in for the evening. I’ll make it up to y’all tomorrow night.”

“Fine old man, see you tomorrow.”

He groaned, ending the call and no longer interested in the show on Netflix. Turning off the tv, he walked over to his record player turning on the band he had been listening to on repeat. He discovered Wayward Stars a few years ago when a fan gifted him their cd. They were a hard rock, alternative metal band with lyrics that spoke to the soul. Also, the lead singer was drop dead gorgeous.

There had been late night shoots he would turn on one of their albums listening to (Y/N) (Y/L/N)’s voice letting it seep into the far reaches of his mind. As he sat in his apartment alone, he allowed his mind to wander of singing with her on stage one day. Making a mental note to talk with Creation and Rob Benedict about getting her to come to Vegas for SNS. For now, he let the music flow over him well into the night.

The next day, Jensen slept in until he heard Clif knocking on his door. Twenty minutes later, he was walking down to the lobby where Jared was sitting with his eyes closed.

“Hey Jared!” He yelled.

Jared jumped falling off the chair he was on. Jensen and Clif started laughing as he mumbled curses under his breath getting off the floor.

“Not funny and I will get you back.” Jared’s eyes narrowed on him.

“I’m sure you will, big guy. Now, can we get on with our day?”

They had a few interviews at the studio and some meetings before they had to get ready for the concert that night. Since the convention was in Vancouver and there was no traveling, Jensen had agreed to sing that night. He was excited to perform new songs and to be in front of the fans. As they pulled into the studio parking lot, he sighed knowing it was going to be a long day ahead of him.

It was near six o’clock when Jensen arrived back at his apartment to get ready for the night. Once again, he turned on his favorite Wayward Stars song, A Light in the Dark. It was a slower song with beautiful lyrics and then a killer riff in the end. He was in his room, singing when he heard his door open. Only two people had a key to his place and he only needed one guest to know who was walking in.

“Really? Wayward Stars again?” Jared flopped down on his couch.

“I can’t help it that you have horrible taste in music.” He chuckled.

“I like the band… just not 24/7 like you.”

He rolled his eyes, shutting off his record player, “Don’t judge me. Now come on and let’s go hang out with the fam.”

Saturday Night Special was exactly that, special. Especially when they were in Vancouver. The cast and crew seemed to cut loose a little more backstage. He was catching up with Matt Cohen when they called him to get ready to go on stage. Jared and Misha were standing by the stage to watch as Rob called him up on stage.

There was nothing more exhilarating than being hit with a roar of an audience. An electric current steady ran down his body over the next fifteen minutes as he performed. When he walked off stage, as promised, he celebrated with Jared, Misha and others until the early hours of morning.

Their early morning panel was rough as the coffee worked through knocking out the whiskey from his system. The last question of their morning panel came from a young lady wearing a Wayward Stars shirt.

“Love your shirt.” Jensen smiled.

“We get it Ackles, you’re their biggest fan.” Jared jokes.

The fan laughed, “Actually my question is about them. SPN family loves this band since they are fans of the show. Wondering if you ever had a chance to meet them or if they could be invited to a SNS show?”

“Go on fanboy…”

Jensen rolled his eyes, “I would love to meet them one day and have them come perform during Saturday Night Special. I’m forever thankful to the fan who gave me their cd a couple of years ago. Many, many a night their music has kept me sane during shooting. So yeah, definitely would love to meet them.”

“I would love for Jensen to meet them so I can film it and post it on social media for everyone to see him fanboy all over (Y/N).”

The crowd ohhh as Jensen glared at Jared, “Alright, alright… I think we have to get going now. We will see y’all later.”

Waving as they walked off the stage. As soon as they were on the stairs, Jensen punched his friend in the shoulder.

“Ow!”

“You deserve that.” Jensen could hear Jared laughing all the way to the green room.

The rest of the convention went without a hitch. Monday morning brought a whole new week of filming. Jensen was in his trailer when his phone buzzed seeing a text from Jared.

He pulled up his app, seeing a few friends tagging him in a post from a girl named Addy. Clicking on the YouTube link surprised to see (Y/N) watching him sing from SNS.

“I can’t help it. He’s gorgeous and talented and the perfect man.” She threw her arm over her eyes dramatically pretending to faint.

Text flashed on the screen, “#1 Jensen Ackles Fangirl”

He sat there stunned for a moment watching the video again. He could not wrap his mind around that she was a big fan of his. He knew the band liked the show, but to think he was perfect? His heart thumped against his chest as his shaking hands typed a message back to Jared.

Jensen took a few deep breaths before typing a Tweet then deleting it. He typed another one and deleted it. The third time he hit post and immediately regretted it, sounding like an idiot. Within minutes he received a notification from (Y/N) on Twitter.

Before he could reply, Jared was calling him, “Are you freaking out?”

“N-No… maybe, yes.” He stammered.

Jared’s laughter filled his ear, “Oh my god I wish I could see your face right now. This is your chance to make all your dreams come true.”

“I’m hanging up now, Jerk.”

“See you in an hour, Bitch.” Jared was still laughing as Jensen ended the call.

He watched the video a few more times and sent another Tweet out to (Y/N) after following her page. He went on all his social media making sure he was following her before realization hit that it seemed stalkerish.

“Jay, calm your roll.” He muttered to himself.

Putting his phone down, he tried to go over his lines for the next scene they were shooting. When he could not concentrate then he buckled, putting in his earbuds and turning on Wayward Stars. His hands were still trembling as he tried to control his fan moment.

Over the next several weeks, Jensen and (Y/N) were chatting all over social media. He posted a picture on Instagram tagging her in holding up her vinyl record.

Finally, he gathered the courage to ask for her number in a DM to chat with her more in private. Since their fans were going nuts over their new friendship. Now they would text each other everyday like they had known each other forever. She would tell him about her shows and cities she was in. He would chat about filming without spoiling anything for her. The only thing he wished could happen was their schedules to sync up so they could meet.

That thought ran through his mind everyday especially when he was at conventions like the upcoming weekend in his hometown. Thursday night, he was on a plane heading to Dallas when a notification popped up on his phone from (Y/N) posting on Twitter.

“Not next to me.” He mumbled snapping a picture of himself before replying to her Tweet.

He knew where she was off too after they had talked earlier in the day. They were still a thousand miles apart but closer than they had ever been since their friendship had begun. Settling back into his seat, he enjoyed listening to Wayward Stars newest song released that week.

If you enjoyed this story then check out my Masterlist!

For updates please follow #waywardnerd67fics

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the-firebender-girl · 4 years

Text

The Songbird (Zuko x Reader)

-> Takes place during “The Promise” comic timeline, about a year or two after his coronation and Zuko is 18 years old here.

Fire Lord Zuko is trying his absolute best to make good on all his promises. To his nation... his hopes and dreams of restoring it to what it was before Fire Lord Sozin’s reign. To the rest of the world... in helping them heal the wounds that his ancestors have inflicted on soo many innocents.

No, he doesn’t want any of them to forget or for history to be rewritten. He proudly shouldered the burden from all those heinous crimes against humanity, to serve as a reminder, especially for himself. Of what happened if kings or leaders become arrogant and greedy, if power is unchecked. The kind of leader that to Agni he prayed, he would never turn into.

And everyday he paid the price, even though it’s not even his to begin with, but still it passed down from generation to generation. Like a snowball, growing bigger with each tumble down. It’s taking its toll on him to the point that it’s not even possible to hide how worn out he is. The dark circles under his eyes more prominent than ever, sunken cheeks, hollowed eyes. But Zuko would never yield, not until he knows he has righted all the wrongs. But with each day, Uncle Iroh realized he has to step in or else this load that torment him would ended up killing his nephew. Literally.

And he has just the solution in mind.

———————————————————————

“I think we should establish an official court entertainers for this palace.” Uncle Iroh said in between sips of another one of his exotic tea.

Zuko merely looked up briefly from the correspondence that he has in hands, “There are more pressing issues than extravaganza, Uncle.”

“Indeed, indeed. But entertainers would bring life to this dreadful palace, Fire Lord Zuko! Agni knows the staffs and ambassadors need it. With all that’s been going on with the rebellion within this capital, we all deserve some distraction.” Uncle Iroh continued. “There is an unrest brewing in this palace, people are scared for their safety. We need to contain it and what’s more delightful than musics or dances to bring people together?”

Zuko only hummed and shifted his attention back towards the letter. His frown returned as he let out a loud sigh and slumped in his chair.

“Any news that I should be aware of?” Uncle Iroh asked. If Zuko doesn’t want to consider his idea then maybe he should try another approach and let him vent first.

“It’s about the Harmony Restoration Movement... I launched it with the aim of transferring the Fire Nation colonials back here to their true home. But new disputes arose and now we risked war with the Earth Kingdom if we don’t handle this delicately.” Zuko answered. “How am I supposed to deal with both this and the civil war that we already have in hand within the nation, uncle?”

“As I said before, Zuko. Sometimes we need to step back and renew one's assessment. To see the big picture instead of braving the storm without any solid plan in mind. That would be both foolish and futile.” Iroh replied, letting his words sinks into his nephew’s mind.

Zuko squared his shoulders and sit straighter, putting down the letter that he has been holding for hours and look at his uncle. “About that court entertainers idea, is there any candidate that you have in mind?”

Uncle Iroh mentally pat himself in the back and let himself smile now that he got Zuko where he wanted him to be. “There is this band of traveling musicians from North Chung-Ling that I constantly heard about. They said that the mysterious lead singer’s voice is so lovely that it can put whoever’s listening into a trance. I only know that they nicknamed her as ‘The Songbird’ but other than that nothing else, and I for one would like to find out.”

Zuko nod his head a few times, “Then I should find someone who can reach out to them and invite them here.”

———————————————————————

A month after the invitation has been sent out and the palace received the confirmation that this famed band accepted the offer, preparations are made. Not only to welcome and host them for the time being but also for the ball where they will perform before the ambassadors from other nations and all the palace staffs. Turns out Zuko haven’t had the slightest inkling as to how popular they actually are before he made the announcement and suddenly the whole palace is in a frenzy. Everybody wants to go and watch the performance.

And the night that they’ve all waited for is now upon them. Sadly Zuko cannot welcome them himself because he was held up in the meeting so it was only Uncle Iroh who greeted and escorted them. He has heard from the tittle-tattle exchanged between the staffs though that the band consisted of 9 person and they’re all women.

It’s been a while since Zuko got to relax and enjoy the luxury that came with his position. And not many know that their Fire Lord is actually a huge art nerd especially for theater, but music performances has a special place in his heart too. He could only hope that this band lives up to their reputation.

———————————————————————

Zuko sit at his ornate covered throne (minus the wall of fire that usually accompanied every reigning Fire Lord) and he’s embarrassed to admit that he may or may not be shaking from anticipation. Tapping his right foot on the floor to ease some of the tension. Even Uncle Iroh noticed his behavior and looked at him questionably to which Zuko only waved his hand in dismisal.

The Throne Room is crowded with people dressed to the nines in elaborate robes and gowns. But the center of the room remains empty for the musicians before they take their place there any minute now.

Some minutes later the door opened and nine women stepped in. Their colorful dresses so different from what he’s used to seeing amongst his people in their go-to black and red. Their hairstyle elaborate and completed with large hairpiece accessorized with beads, pins, tassels, or fresh flowers.

“Qitou” Zuko thought to himself. That’s why he recognized the style of hair from the time that he spent as a waiter in Jasmine Dragon. The women in the upper ring of Ba Sing Se sported that kind of hairstyle.

He spied them carrying various musical instruments ranging from pipa, guzheng, dizi, and others. Holding it close to their chest as if it’s a baby.

When they reached the center, they wordlessly take their designated position forming a half circle but left an empty space right in the middle of their formation.

Before Zuko could watch any further, the door swung open again and the last of the member entered. It’s her.... The Songbird.

She walks as if she’s floating, the fact that her feet are covered by her trailing dress produced an even more dramatic effect. But it works in her favor, Zuko realized, as all eyes in the room immediately goes to her.

There is something magnetic about her, he could feel it as he drink her in, a tug in his chest. She graced him with a small smile and a bow before she took her position and motioned to the rest of her companions that she’s ready.

Melodies filled the room as the musicians played their instruments expertly, hands moving with little to no effort as if it’s all already imprinted to their muscle memory.

Zuko never thought that it’s possible for her to dazzle him even more than she already did, but that was before she opened her mouth and starts singing that heavenly tune. After that, Zuko knew that he’s a goner.

He clings to the lull of her voice, letting it fill him, resounded in him. He never felt this serene ever since he found out that his mother had left. But The Songbird managed to accomplish the impossible and made him feel alive. Truly live instead of just existing.

It seems like he’s not the only one who she won over. Uncle Iroh’s gapping like a fish, some of the palace staffs eyes are either glazed or filled with tears, and the ambassadors for once are not in each other’s throats.

If he wasn’t convinced earlier on making them this palace’s official entertainers, he sure is now.

———————————————————————

On the next day after the ball he immediately approached one of the members when he saw her in the hall to inform her of his offer so that she can tell it to the others and discuss their decision.

He doesn’t need to wait long for in that same night he just got himself an official court entertainers.

Starting from there he invited them to play at dinners and afternoon tea times. Any excuse that he can get really to see her. Y/N... that’s her name, the girl who has been living in his head rent free ever since she walked into his life.

Sometimes it’s only her that he called for to sing for him as she strums her pipa. Her voice accompanying him while he sorts through correspondence, writing back a reply, or draft up a plan.

Zuko and Y/N grew closer and became friends, they share about their day to each other. All that they’ve been up to before they finally got the time to enjoy each other’s presence.

Spending soo much time with him daily makes Y/N aware of certain things. The most pushing matter is the fact that the Fire Lord is close to burning himself out yet there’s no sign of him stopping anytime soon.

“You know you should get more rest, you look awful.” Y/N said to him that night instead of jumping to another song as she just finished the last one.

“Ouch you’re hurting my feelings, Y/N. Do I really look that bad?” Zuko replied but his manners is all teasing.

“I don’t mean that you look ugly, I don’t think you’re even capable of it. It’s just that you look like you’re about to drop dead anytime, Zuko. It’s killing me to see you this exhausted but I couldn’t do anything to help it.” She murmured, looking at him tenderly, the man she has grown to care for much more than she ought to.

Something in her words served like a lock that turned open the vault of Zuko’s hidden emotions, to the ugly burden that he insisted on bearing alone. He let his guard down and made himself vulnerable in front of her, all his raw emotions on display.

“I have trouble sleeping, because of nightmares mostly, but some nights sleep just doesn’t found me at all.” Zuko confessed, the words pouring out before he could think it through.

The encouragement in her eyes made Zuko go on and he told her all about the things that troubles him so. The rebels inside the capital planning to usurp him, the conflict with the colonies, the impending possible war with the Earth Kingdom, even his own insecurities about his credibilities to rule. He bared it all to her and once he finished, he saw no judgement or pity in her eyes, only understanding.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to be you... but you have been so strong, Zuko. And i’m proud of you, I bet so is your uncle, the Avatar, and the rest of your friends. Please stop doubting yourself too much, you’re capable of achieving soo many incredible and revolutionary things. And I want you to know that I believe in you.” Y/N said as she slowly took his hands in hers, running her fingers across his knuckles.

And Zuko felt himself beaming, because for once he truly believes that he is indeed capable and in the end he’ll figure it all out. All thanks to her, his Songbird, if she even wants to be his.

———————————————————————

Zuko and Y/N talked late into the night and she ended up falling asleep right where she sat in a divan across from his bed.

When she woke up sometime later, she saw that it is already 1 in the morning. And she felt like she’s overstaying her welcome by being in his chambers, it wouldn’t be appropriate at all if a servant were to discovers them.

So she stretched her body, hearing some cracks from the stiffness, but then she heard a whimper. It’s coming straight from Zuko’s bed where he’s trashing around and getting himself all tangled up in his silk blanket. At this rate she’s afraid he might accidentally choke himself to death.

Y/N lowers her feet to the rug covered floor and slowly padded her way to his bedside. She went down on her knees and reached out a hand to rub his hair back, hoping that he could feel her touch and that it would call him down from his nightmare.

“Shhh....shhhh” She cooed to him, her heart broke in her chest when she saw how pained he look. “It’s alright, Zuko. I’m here and it’s just a dream.”

Zuko flung himself up, his eyes wide open. Chest heaving frantically and she can see the sweats trailing down the side of his head.

It took him some time before he calmed down and became aware of her. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

Y/N shaked her head, “Don’t worry about that, is it always this bad? the nightmares?” She asked him, her heart fluttering over the fact that he’s aware of her hands holding his yet he doesn’t pull away.

“Yeah... sometimes even worse, this is actually a mild episode compared to the others. Some night I actually woke up screaming.” He said as he lowered his head, avoiding her eyes.

But she softly grasped his chin and tilted his face back up, “Hey now don’t shy away from me, we’re way past that don’t you think?”

“Do you want me to sing you a song? I’ve been working on it for some time, it’s for you actually.” Y/N said.

Zuko stammered over his words, “Y—you wrote me a song?”

“Uh huh, scoot over if it’s a yes.” To which Zuko gladly did and gave her a generous amount of space.

“Sorry if it’s a weird request but can you hold me?” Zuko asked timidly.

Y/N answered with a nod and smile at him as she tugged him close, letting him rest his head on her stomach and draped her hands on his sides. Once she deemed that he’s comfortable enough with the position, she took a huge breath and starts to sing.

Sweetheart, you look a little tired when did you last eat?

Come in and make yourself right at home, stay as long as you need

Zuko’s eyes found hers as he listened to the words that she wrote with him in mind. A weary smile bloomed on his handsome face at the realization that all this time she was paying attention to how he has been doing.

Tell me, is something wrong? if something's wrong, you can count on me

You know I'll take my heart clean apart if it helps yours beat

He gulped, hard. This girl with a golden voice, wrote all this... for him? Agni, this is too much for him to even process. He could barely calm his heart, it’s pounding so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if it actually burst.

Like a force to be reckoned with

A mighty ocean or a gentle kiss

I will love you with every single thing I have

Y/N forced herself to hold his searing gaze, every part of her body feels warm and alive at the way that he’s looking at her. Like he’s truly at awe and he doesn’t deserve any of this. But she continued, pouring her feelings into every single word so that he would understand, could see how wonderful he is in her eyes.

Like a tidal wave, I'll make a mess

Or calm waters, if that serves you best

I will love you without any strings attached

There is a hidden but lingering promise in this song, one that Zuko founds himself debating whether or not he dare tread to. Because he knows that if he took that one step in, he could never go back.

No, I don't want to talk about myself

Tell me where it hurts

I just want to build you up, build you up

'Til you're good as new

And maybe one day I will get around to fixing myself too

Zuko reached out a hand and rub her cheek, marveling in the softness of it under his touch. He felt her breath hitched for just a second but she never faltered.

And what a privilege it is to love

A great honor to hold you up

Zuko let out a chuckle as he heard the word honor, how different he perceived it now from a few years ago.

She reached the final lyric and the song came to an end, for a while they can only look at each other.

“Thank you.... it’s lovely, you’re lovely.” Zuko murmured to her, with a hand still on her cheek.

“I’m glad you like it.” Y/N said, smiling down at him as she relishes in the feeling of his soft strands between her fingers.

“Would you stay here with me, Songbird?” He asked, hope alit in those amber eyes.

“Yes.. yes,” She replied. “Tonight, tomorrow, the day after that... as long as you want me here then I won’t go anywhere.”

Zuko grinned, “Then you’ll be staying here for a long, long time.”

Y/N leaned down and planted a kiss on the crown of his head, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

So they stayed, together in that bed, all tangled up. For the first time in forever, the nightmares didn’t come and Fire Lord Zuko got the best sleep of his life.

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olivemac · 3 years

Text

1300 miles | chapter 3 | b.b.

Summary | Bucky Barnes is adjusting to civilian life, living in Brooklyn, visiting Sam in Delacroix when he can, and trying to figure out what he wants. When he meets Jo Landry, the tattooed lead singer of a New Orleans-based band, he thinks he might have found the answer. Too bad they live 1300 miles apart.

Time Frame | post-TFATWS

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc

Rating | explicit

Warnings | mentions of combat-related injuries, alcohol use, tattoos/body piercings, coarse language, gay male character, bisexual female character, recreational/medicinal drug use (weed), pet names (doll, pretty girl, Sarge), smut [f/m, mutual masturbation, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), PIV, very very slight dom!Bucky, slight praise kink, very slight somnophilia], angst if you squint but not really, and all the romance tropes/fluff because I'm a sucker for it; more warnings to come; 18+ ONLY, minors DNI

Tag | @mrs--barnes

A/N | Decided to go pure filth and fantasy for chapter three. Enjoy. 😉

series master list | AO3 link | full master list

1300 miles playlist

_____

previous chapter

_____

Since returning in The Blip, Bucky has hated the time between when he lays down and when he falls asleep. He can't seem to turn his mind off. He's still getting used to being alone with his own thoughts, having his own thoughts. Wakanda offered him some peace, and in his apartment, he keeps the TV running constantly to fill the silence and stop himself from getting too lost inside his head. But at Sarah's house, he's afraid to turn the television on for fear of waking anyone else. So, on Sunday night, he lays on the couch listening to the house creak and groan around him, trying not to overanalyze everything that's happened in the past twenty-four hours. He also tries not to think about Jo and everything he likes about her: her laugh, her voice, her eyes, her lips, her hands, her breasts—

He cuts off his train of thought. She's funny, clever, and kind, and in just a few short hours, she seems to have commanded Bucky's undivided attention.

_____

On Monday morning, Bucky debates whether or not to text Jo. Sam advises him to wait a day or two: "Put the ball in her court. You don't want to seem over-eager," he says. Bucky doesn't point out that he hasn't felt this way about a woman in eighty years, so he is definitely beyond eager.

Luckily, Jo texts him first.

The slightly outdated smart phone Sam convinced him to invest in chimes. Jo's name appears on the screen, a small pink heart next to it, along with a photo of her in her glasses holding Toulouse and the message, I think Louie misses you, Sarge.

Another picture comes through. This time it’s of himself, asleep with Louie on his chest. Bucky smiles.

“Sam,” Bucky calls across the boat, “how do you save a photo on this damn thing?” He holds his phone up.

Sam laughs and trots over to him. “Hand it here,” he says.

Bucky hands him the phone, the message from Jo pulled up on the screen.

Sam raises his eyebrows, “Sarge, huh?”

“Don’t say a word,” Bucky warns. “Just show me how to save the photo.”

Sam walks him through the steps, then says, “You can make it your background, you know, instead of this…” he exits out of the text message and looks at the screen, “sad, generic picture.”

“You can do that?” Bucky asks.

“Did you not watch the tutorial videos I sent you, man?” Sam sighs.

Then he holds up the phone, snaps a photo of himself, sets it as Bucky’s home screen, and hands the phone back to Bucky.

Bucky stares at it for a moment. “What the hell?” he mutters.

“Watch the videos so you’ll know how to change it, Sarge.” Sam teases.

_____

Jo spends most of Monday and Tuesday trying not to think about Bucky and failing miserably. The only reprieve she has is band rehearsal which gives her something to focus on that isn't Bucky's hands or mouth or eyes or broad shoulders...

She throws herself into learning new music and tries to avoid texting Bucky every five minutes. They keep a fairly regular conversation going throughout the two days, but she's afraid she's going to scare him off if she seems too enthusiastic.

_____

When Tuesday evening finally arrives, Bucky pulls up outside the bar on a borrowed motorcycle Sam hooked him up with. He's sure that Sam only made it happen so Bucky wouldn't ask to drive his car.

He calls Jo on the intercom outside the residential door to the right of the bar. She buzzes him in, and he takes the stairs two at a time. He's full of nervous energy that he can't seem to burn off. At Jo's door, he runs a hand through his hair before knocking.

When Jo opens the door, Bucky has to stop himself from kissing her immediately. It doesn't seem like the right move for the very beginning of a first date, despite what happened between them two days earlier. Jo's dark hair is loose, falling across her shoulders, and her lips are a deep shade of red. It reminds him of the color women wore in the '40s, but he can't remember anyone looking as beautiful in the shade as Jo does.

She's wearing a black button-down shirt tucked into slim, black jeans, and when Bucky's eyes follow the trail of the gold necklace laying across her collarbone, he's greeted with the sight of the beginning of her sternum tattoo and the lace of her black bra peeking out. He licks his lips and flicks his eyes back to Jo's.

She smirks at him.

"You look gorgeous, doll," Bucky says.

"Not too bad yourself, Sarge," she says, taking in his usual dark jeans and leather jacket. She notices that he's not wearing his gloves.

"These are for you," Bucky says, handing her the small bouquet of flowers he picked up on the way.

Jo smiles and takes them. "You did say flowers." The corner of Bucky's lip pulls up in a smile. "They're lovely," she continues. "Just let me put these in water."

She moves away from the door, and Bucky follows her into the apartment. He watches as she pulls a vase from a kitchen cabinet and fills it with water. He can't stop himself from staring at the curve of her hips and backside in the tight, black denim she's wearing. All thoughts of not kissing her yet are dismissed.

He steps up behind her as she stands at the counter, snipping the ends of the stems and placing the flowers in the vase. Bucky's hands sweep over her hips and around her waist, pulling her flush against his own body — her back against his front. He takes her hair into his hand and moves it, so it falls over one shoulder, granting him access to her pale neck. His lips find the spot behind her ear, and he kisses her gently, before moving down to suck a bruise into the skin where her neck meets her collarbone. Bucky hears the scissors Jo was holding clatter onto the counter.

"If you start that, we'll never get to dinner," she says almost breathlessly.

"I did promise you dinner," Bucky mumbles against her neck.

"You did."

He spins her around and kisses her lightly on the corner of her mouth, careful to not smudge her lipstick.

"Then dinner it is," he says, pulling away and offering her his hand.

Outside, Jo eyes his motorcycle with suspicion. "You want me to ride a motorcycle. In New Orleans," she says.

Bucky shrugs.

"The potholes alone will kill us," Jo argues.

"Do you trust me?" Bucky asks, his eyes shining with excitement and his mouth curved up in a flirtatious smile.

Jo nods. With that look, Bucky could ask her to ride a motorcycle naked through Mardi Gras and she would agree. "Of course," she says.

Bucky's smile broadens, and he places the extra helmet on her head. Jo doesn't care how much this will mess up her hair; she's too focused on how gentle Bucky's hands are as he secures the strap and flips the visor down. He puts his own helmet on and motions for her to climb on behind him. Jo wraps her hands tightly around Bucky's waist as he starts the bike.

He's surprisingly agile as he maneuvers the motorcycle through the streets of New Orleans, avoiding potholes and roadblocks. Jo relaxes her hold on his waist a bit and rests her helmeted cheek against his back. Bucky's heart swells at the thought that she trusts him to keep her safe.

_____

The restaurant Bucky chose from Sam's list of suggestions is housed in a converted warehouse a few blocks from the curve of the Mississippi River. Inside, it's louder than Bucky would have liked, but that also means that Jo sits close to him so she can hear him over the noise, her body angled toward his and her hand resting on his arm as she looks over the menu. Bucky places his own hand on her knee.

He has to remind himself to actually read the menu in front of him instead of just staring at Jo. He's finally made himself focus long enough on the entrees to decide what to order when he hears Jo let out a soft snort beside him. He looks up.

"Sorry," she says before biting her bottom lip to stifle another laugh.

He just stares at her.

"You do this thing," she continues, "when you're concentrating on something, where you squint your eyes, and you rest your tongue on your bottom lip. It's kind of adorable.”

Bucky sets his menu down on the table. "I don't think anyone's ever called me 'adorable' before," he says.

Jo hums and cocks her head to the side, staring at him. "Definitely adorable. But would you prefer charming? Handsome? Incredibly sexy?" Bucky blushes. "Should I go on?" she teases.

Bucky takes her hand in his and kisses her knuckles. "Please don't," he says.

"Not a fan of compliments, Sarge?" she goads him.

"Not used to hearing them," he mumbles.

Jo smiles and squeezes his hand. "We should change that," she says.

The corners of Bucky's eyes crinkle with his smile, and Jo wants to place kisses over each line created. Instead, she closes the short distance between them and opts for placing a kiss on his stubbled cheek. She likes that Bucky lets her do this, lets her show her fondness for him this way. She's always been overly affectionate with people she likes.

For his part, Bucky is enjoying the contact. He used to love to hold a woman's hand, brush the hair from her face, press a kiss to her cheek, and after being denied any form of gentle touch for eighty years, he finds he can't get enough of it. He thought he would shy away from it after so long without human connection, but Jo makes it easy. She seems to make everything easy for him. He thinks about how normal it is to sit in a restaurant with a beautiful woman, and he chokes down the thought that maybe he doesn’t deserve anything easy or normal.

Over dinner, Jo leads the conversation. While Bucky answers her questions and engages with her stories, she's noticed that he prefers to stay quiet, prefers to listen. So, she talks. And while she talks, she observes him, observes the way his eyes follow her hands, the way his tongue drags over his bottom lip, the way his body tenses and turns ever so slightly to an unexpected noise in the room.

"You're very intense," she finally tells him.

"Sorry," he says, running his tongue over his lips again.

"Don't apologize," Jo says. "I like it. I like you."

The corner of his mouth pulls up in a smile, and, for a brief moment, Bucky wants to pour himself out before her, tell her how she makes him feel like himself again after so long. He wants to confess to her, wants to tell her more than he's told Sam or his therapists or anyone in a lifetime – stories of his childhood and family, of Steve and the war, and everything after that. But the words get caught in his throat and the moment passes.

When they step outside of the restaurant after dinner and another drink, there's enough of a late-night breeze blowing to cause Jo to wrap her arms around herself. Bucky shrugs off his leather jacket and drapes it over Jo's shoulders before tucking her body into his side. She lifts her head and smiles up at him as he leads her the few blocks to where the bike is parked.

Before he places the helmet over her head again, Bucky kisses her, his arms wrapped around her waist, pressing her body against his. He nips her bottom lip gently with his teeth and lets his hand wander down her backside, pressing her body impossibly closer. When he finally pulls away, his cheeks are flushed, and his pink lips are slightly swollen.

Jo brings her hand up to cradle his jaw. "Take me home, Sarge," she whispers.

_____

At traffic lights, Jo, warm in Bucky’s leather jacket, finds her hands wandering from Bucky's waist to his thighs, drawing slow circles across the thick muscles there. When they stop at one particularly long light, Jo has to stop herself from letting her hand ghost across his crotch. She’s trying to respect his boundaries, his need to be in control. By the time they reach Jo's apartment, Bucky's half-hard beneath his jeans, and Jo is anxious to get him upstairs.

He parks the motorcycle on the street outside the bar and stashes the helmets while Jo unlocks the building's residential door. When the helmets are locked up, Bucky meets her at the door and guides her inside, his hands on Jo's hips. She turns and presses him against the inside of the door, reaching up to stroke her fingers through his hair and ghost her lips over his, their breath mingling.

"Are you done teasing me?" Bucky growls.

"Never," she laughs and moves out of his reach. She makes it to the bottom of the stairs before Bucky catches up to her. In one swift move, he lifts her up and tosses her over his shoulder, smacking her backside before climbing the stairs. Jo laughs and enjoys the view of his muscled back beneath her hands.

Bucky doesn't put Jo down outside her apartment. Instead, she hands him her keys, and he unlocks the door while holding her with one arm around her thighs. He doesn't set her down in the living room either; he carries her all the way through the apartment to her bedroom and tosses her gently onto her bed. Jo bounces once and laughs before sliding out of his jacket, kicking off her shoes, and pulling Bucky toward her.

"Come here," she says, releasing his dog tags from beneath the collar of his shirt and tugging gently on the chain.

Bucky steps out of his own shoes and climbs onto the bed, hovering over Jo. He pushes a strand of hair out of her face and stares at her. Her lipstick is faded from dinner and their kisses, but her cheeks and chest are flushed red in its place.

“You’re beautiful, Jo,” Bucky says, and he leans down and kisses her gently. They stay like that for a while, kissing slowly, finally breaking away for air and for Bucky to spread kisses across Jo’s jaw and neck.

“Bucky?” Jo whispers. He hums in acknowledgment, his lips pressed against her collarbone. “You're in charge, okay?”

Bucky exhales slowly, his fingers trailing up and down Jo's sides. “Good," he says. "Because first I'm going to make you come apart on my fingers, then my tongue, then my cock."

Jo practically whimpers, and her back arches, her chest pushing toward Bucky’s hands as they trail across her breasts then down to untuck her shirt. His fingers move quickly over the buttons on her blouse, and he parts the fabric to reveal the black lace of her bra. He leans back slightly and takes in the sight of her pierced nipples pressing against the fabric.

"Gorgeous," her murmurs before laving at one of her nipples through the lace. He leans back again and pulls the fabric down to take her nipple into his mouth, sucking gently.

Jo sighs and weaves her fingers into Bucky's hair, her nails scraping against his scalp. Bucky growls against her breast, and his fingers move to the button of her jeans, popping it open and tugging the zipper down. His flesh hand dives beneath the waist of her underwear, and his fingers ghost over her clit. He's moving purely on instinct and maybe, he thinks, muscle memory.

“Bucky,” Jo whines as his hand dips lower, two fingers sinking into her wet heat.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He presses one more kiss to her nipple before claiming her lips again. He strokes her slowly, enjoying the way her walls clamp around his fingers and her eyes fall shut.

“More,” she pleads, and Bucky smirks against her lips. He crooks his fingers and presses his thumb against her clit until she’s gasping.

“Look at me when I make you come,” Bucky whispers, increasing the speed of his thrusts, his thumb pressing harder against Jo’s clit. He feels her tighten around his fingers, and she keens, arching her back, her eyes flying open and locking on Bucky’s. “Good girl,” he praises, and he adds a third finger as she clenches around him and digs her own fingers into the bed sheets, coming undone on his hand.

Bucky slips his fingers out of her and tugs her jeans and underwear down her legs, tossing them on the floor. His hands slide up her legs, over the curve of her hips and across her stomach to reach behind her back and unhook her bra. Jo sits up and shrugs out of her blouse and bra, letting Bucky throw them aside. His hand on her shoulder guides her to lay back down.

Bucky sits back on his heels and takes in the sight of her, from her flushed cheeks to the barbells pierced through her nipples to the trim patch of hair between her legs.

“Fuck, doll, look at you,” Bucky finally says, licking his bottom lip.

Jo breathes out a laugh and pushes at Bucky’s shirt until he’s pulling it over his head. He stands from the bed to pull his jeans off, as well, keeping his boxers on for now, then returns to her, his lips finding hers again. Their teeth clash, and Bucky’s fingers dig into the skin at Jo’s hips, holding her in place, keeping her from pressing up against his crotch.

“Be still,” he whispers, and his teeth nip at her jaw.

Bucky runs his tongue down her neck to the top of her left breast where he stops to suck a bruise into her tender flesh. He soothes the spot with his tongue and a kiss before continuing his path down her stomach to her hip. He uses his tongue to trace the floral pattern inked on the outside of her left hip down the top of her thigh and across to her cunt.

Bucky's heated breath ghosts across her sensitive flesh, and Jo gasps when he dips his tongue into her folds. He laps at her slowly, then sucks her clit between his lips, and Jo’s back arches and her whole body seems to rise off the bed.

“Be. Still,” he hisses again, and his arms wrap around the backs of her thighs to hold her in place.

“There," Jo whines. "Don’t stop. Please."

Bucky shifts his own hips against the bed, seeking any form of relief. He loves the sounds he's pulling from Jo, loves the way she tastes, and the way she ruts against him, despite his iron grip on her thighs. Later, he thinks, I'll lie on my back and let her ride my face until her legs collapse.

Stars explode behind her eyes when Jo comes, and a scream is caught in her throat. Bucky places a final kiss against her cunt, then pulls back and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Jo reaches for him. He kicks off his boxers before settling back over her. She can feel him hot and hard against her thigh, and Bucky reaches down to stroke his cock, pulling the foreskin back with a groan.

"Are you sure?" Bucky asks, his eyes meeting hers.

Jo nods and cups Bucky’s face in her hands. “Are you?” she asks.

"Yes. God, yes," Bucky groans. He hasn’t wanted — needed — anything this badly in so long.

Jo wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him. Bucky fists his cock, running it along her folds to gather her slick, before pushing forward, sheathing himself inside her in one thrust. Jo gasps, her head falling back against the pillows, her neck bared for Bucky’s lips and tongue.

Bucky’s vibranium fist is clenched so tightly in the sheets he thinks he might rip them. He relaxes his hand slowly, the plates that work as his muscles whirring quietly beside Jo’s ear.

Bucky groans against Jo’s neck. “Fuck, it’s like you’re made for me.”

He holds himself very still, giving Jo time to adjust to him, until her hips rise to meet his. He sets a slow pace at first, enjoying the way her body flutters around him. Jo digs her short nails into the skin of his shoulders, and Bucky is surprised to find he likes the slight sting. He shifts her legs even wider with his large hands on her thighs and sits back slightly to watch himself sink into her over and over.

Jo's hands drop to his waist, and she caresses the skin there gently before whispering, "Faster, please."

Bucky practically growls at her request before pulling back and snapping his hips against hers at a frantic pace. Jo keens, and Bucky shifts again to press his body over hers, covering her completely. She can feel his dog tags against her heated chest. He watches her bite her bottom lip, her green eyes meeting his. Jo is lost in his eyes, his pupils blown wide; the look he's giving her somewhere between awe and adoration, and Jo is certain the look in her eyes mirrors his because she is so far gone for him.

“I want to see you come again, pretty girl. Give me one more,” Bucky demands, his thumb rubbing harsh circles against her clit.

That simple command is all it takes to send Jo spiraling over the edge for a third time. Bucky follows behind with a low groan, tensing and burying himself deep within her. He drops his weight on top of her briefly, his head resting against her shoulder, before pulling away and rolling onto his back, bringing Jo into his side.

They lay like that for a while, Bucky running his flesh hand up and down Jo's arm while Jo presses lazy kisses against Bucky's chest. Eventually, she excuses herself to take her contacts out and wash her face, tossing Bucky a clean washcloth from the bathroom door, and when she slides back in bed, Bucky is on her again. He makes good on his promise to himself to have her cunt over his face, pulling another orgasm from her before she falls onto the bed beside him, laughing.

He takes her face in his hands and sweeps his fingers across her cheeks gently. He wants to tell her how amazing she is, how happy he is to have met her, how wonderful the past few days have been, but he isn't sure how to put all of that into words. Not yet.

So, he rolls them both onto their sides, her back pressed against his chest and his flesh arm wrapped tightly around her waist. Jo hums and laces her fingers with Bucky's, her eyes closing. She's warm and happy and sleep is calling her name.

_____

Bucky wakes an hour or so after he's fallen asleep, the beginnings of a nightmare fresh in his mind. When his senses clear, and he feels Jo's body pressed against his, he feels calm. He uses the arm wrapped around her to pull her closer to him and presses kisses against her shoulder until she stirs.

Jo mumbles sleepily and pushes back against him, Bucky's cock nestled against her lower back. His fingers find her cunt, and she's still slick with evidence of their earlier encounter. He presses inside her slowly, groaning as he fills her, her walls tightening around him.

"Bucky," Jo sighs, her hand moving back to grip his hip as he ruts into her.

When he comes, he sinks his teeth into her shoulder to stifle his cry, then runs his tongue across the spot to soothe the sting. Jo drags the hand wrapped around her up to her mouth and kisses his palm. He tries to remember what he would have said to a woman in this situation eighty years ago, but the romantic words don't come.

Instead, he whispers, "I really like you, Jo," against her shoulder.

Jo laughs sleepily. "Good. I like you, too, Sarge."

_____

When Bucky wakes the second time, he’s alone. He can hear faint music coming from another room. He checks his phone. 6:00 AM. He slips out of bed and slides his boxers on.

The apartment is still dark with all the curtains closed, apart from light spilling from a crack in the music room door. Bucky finds Jo sitting on the floor, a guitar in her lap. He knocks and pushes the door open further. Jo turns to look up at him and smiles.

“Sorry. Did I wake you?” she asks. Bucky shakes his head no. “I don’t always sleep well,” she says.

Bucky sits on the floor with her, his back propped against the wall. Jo has to stop herself from staring at his muscled chest and thighs.

"Play me something, doll," Bucky says, resting his head against the wall behind him.

She runs through a couple of songs while Bucky replays the events of last night in his mind.

"Shit!" he says suddenly, sitting up straight. Jo stops strumming and looks at him, bewildered. "I didn't wear a condom," he says.

“It’s okay. I have an IUD so I can’t get pregnant," she tells him. "And I’m disease free. I assume you are...you know, with all that super soldier serum running through your veins," she gestures toward him.

Bucky nods but stays silent.

“Do you know what an IUD is?” she asks in response to his silence.

He blushes. “When the government pardoned me, they made me do a complete physical — doctors poking and prodding me," he shudders involuntarily. "So yeah, I'm clean. Afterwards, I don’t think they really knew what to do with me, so they gave me a bunch of pamphlets on everything from mental health to safe sex.”

Jo hums and mutters something about the state of the American public health system.

“We should have had this conversation before we slept together," Bucky finally says. "That’s what the pamphlets recommend.”

Jo tosses her head back and laughs, and Bucky beams with pride at the sight.

“Come on, Sarge," she says, setting her guitar aside, "I’m taking you to breakfast."

_____

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rushingheadlong · 3 years

Photo

POP IN THE SUPERMARKET

Conveyer rock - is it all a hype? Colin Irwin looks at pre-packed pop and talks to the men behind new bands Queen (left) and Merlin

Hype. An ugly, unpleasant word frequently recurring in rock circles.

Up in the boardroom of a vast record company the fat cigar brigade are scratching heads. Binn and Batman have come up with another surefire hit and they want somebody fresh to market it. They ponder a few names and finally decide on one with slight but clear sexual connotations - suggestively camp.

Name settled, they work on the people who will be in this new band. They might be able to find a ready-made group to fit the bill but better to mould their own. There's a singer who has been around for a few years.

He's not great but he knows how to throw himself around a stage, has a hairy chest and can hit the high notes. Give him a new name and he'll do. Somebody knows a lead guitarist who can play a bit and looks good. They can advertise for the others.

They'll work out a sensational stage act, rig them up in some flash gear, buy them the best equipment and arrange a string of appearances in some influential venues. Plunge a few thousand quid in launching them with advertising and posters and "They'll be the biggest thing since sliced bread," chief fat cigar tells his underlings.

Session musicians are employed to record the single and being a Binn and Batman special the radio stations label it "chart bound" and play it twenty five times a day. Seeing the glossy photos in the bop mags the kids gather up their pennies and buy it.

VOILA, stars are born - or manufactured. An extreme form of hype.

There's also a cliché commonly used in the business about people who have been around for many years and finally make it. It's called talent-will-out. An idealist phrase but there is still a popular belief that if a band is truly talented enough it will win through in the end.

Yet even the greatest band in the world need a bit of pushing in the first place. When a record becomes a hit it's not always that easy to distinguish between hype and talent-will-out.

If a record company spends astronomical sums of money promoting a band, is it hype? Or is it a legitimate and necessary weapon in the music business? The argument is that the BBC's ever-tightening playlist and the effects on the industry of the three-day week have made it harder than ever for a new group to make it - talent or no. Without a big money machine behind it there isn't a hope.

The situation is illustrated by two energetic new bands, who both look like breaking.

Big money has been spent on Queen and Merlin, who have had new singles released during the last month.

Queen's record, "Seven Seas Of Rhye," is already moving swiftly up the chart, while Merlin's "Let Me Put My Spell On You," is doing well enough to suggest it might follow suit.

There is no suggestion that either band is a manufactured or manipulated product in the sense of the Monkees. They play the music on their own records entirely themselves and they are both hard at work on the road.

Yet the question arises as to whether they would be doing quite so well without the resources of big companies behind them.

In the case of Queen it's Trident Audio Productions and EMI and for Merlin it's Cookaway Productions and CBS.

The one common factor is that money and backing has been provided because the companies have a solid, unshakeable belief in the artists they are promoting. They are indignant about any suggestion of a put-on or that there has been any attempt to con the public.

Listen to Merlin's producer Roger Greenaway for half-an-hour and there is no doubting his faith in their ability. "They are going to break, I know they are. I'm convinced the record will be a hit."

Nobody's saying exactly how much it has cost to launch either band. "Over a period of months between £5,000 and £10,000" has been spent on marketing Queen by EMI while the figure for Merlin is even vaguer. "A bit, but not a vast amount. Not a fortune by any means."

"Seven Seas Of Rhye" is Queen's second single and was recorded as part of the album "Queen 2" which has just been released. Things started to move for them about a year ago when they recorded their first album for Trident, who have a distribution contract with EMI.

An advance was paid to them to help with the immediate costs of putting them on the road.

Review copies of the album - about 400 of them - were sent out to everyone who might conceivably have any influence on the record buying public, from discos to the national press. Copies were personally distributed to radio and TV producers and extensive advertising space was bought in the trade papers.

The launch for Queen was more concentrated than most artist are entitled to expect.

Trident were completely behind them from the start and found them their American producer Jack Nelson. EMI promotions men Ronnie Fowler and John Bagnall decided they had a product with an exceptional chance of success and they went all out to exploit it to the full.

Says Fowler: "Every record we release we work to a pattern of promotion. When I went round with the album it was normal procedure. It becomes un-normal when people start phoning you - that's when you put more effort into it."

Bagnall adds: "It became obvious after a week or so that it wasn't standard promotion that was necessary. We did a more complete promotion job than usual on Queen because we thought they were going to make it.

"They're all good-looking guys and I did a round of teeny papers and all the girls in the office swooned over them. Brian, the lead guitarist, had made his own guitar and a couple of the nationals picked up on that. It was good, gossipy stuff."

Queen's publicity machine was working from all angles because they were also getting external promotion from Tony Brainsby's promotion office.

He had been involved with them from the time they had been trying to get record producers interested. The intensity of it all paid off when they were invited to do a spot on the Old Grey Whistle Test. Radio Luxembourg latched upon the single "Keep Yourself Alive" and played it regularly.

Their first tour, supporting Mott the Hoople, got the full works. Local press was saturated with releases about this new band which was shortly coming to their town, elaborate displays were arranged at the front of the house on the night of the concert, local disc-jockeys were informed, and window displays were made in about 200 local record shops.

"Trident and EMI committed themselves right from the start to this band, to make sure they had a PA which was better than other bands had and to make sure they had the right clothes. Some of their outfits cost £150 each," said Bagnall. "Spending money on a band isn't hype. It wasn't being flash or extravagant for the sake of building an image. It was making sure that everything else was as good as their music."

Not so far removed from the attitude towards Merlin, although it has been on a smaller scale in this case.

The first Merlin tour, still underway, is rigorous. They are playing ballrooms and colleges all over the country on a lengthy round.

An ambitious project for a new, unknown band, but it has already been successful in that it has launched them as a name people now know. A full-page advertisement was bought in the MM. That's the sort of treatment you might get if you're Bowie, or Ferry, or even Mick Ronson. But Merlin?

They have only been in existence in their present form since last May.

They emerged as a result of discussions between Alan Love and Derek Chick about the possibility of forming a band with definite commercial appeal and a glamorous stage act. The idea reached fruition via a band called Madrigal, who had for some time been working the same circuit as Mud before "Crazy" broke for them.

Madrigal disbanded but reformed with the same drummer and bass player, and Love as singer and Chick as manager. A couple more young musicians were found to join them and Chick started the usual hustling to get them going.

In due course they came to the attention of Cookaway, and Roger Greenaway was hastily summoned to take a look at them. He had already seen Madrigal and when he saw the new model he immediately saw a big future for them.

Greenaway says: "I'd been looking for a group of this type for three years - a young under-20s group who can present a good act. There's a lot more showmanship attached to bands now. I wanted an act with a slightly different approach. I was in New York producing the Drifters and I came back especially to hear them."

He quickly took them into a studio to see how they reacted there and among the tracks they recorded was "Let Me Put My Spell On You" which had been written by Greenaway in collaboration with Tony Macaulay. Like Queen, the best equipment and some fancy costumes were bought for them and the launching process was put into operation.

My own experience of the Merlin project was a couple of weeks ago at Reading Top Rank - a bizarre mixture of precocious boppers, ageing teds, and stern-looking heavies.

Posters and pictures of the group were plastered all over the place and by the time they eventually appeared late in the evening you had been informed quite thoroughly that Merlin had made a record called "Let Me Put My Spell On You."

Greenaway says of Love: "He's got star quality and he's a great charmer. The guitar player Jamie Moses has got a terrific potential too. I've worked with Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones but for me this guy at 18 is a better player than Jimmy Page was at the same age. He's the sort of player guys can follow - like Jet Harris - he had an incredible following with the guys."

He likens the Merlin launch to a military operation. The career of the group has been minutely planned since October. Accepting that it is almost impossible to get airplay for a new band on the BBC they decided the best way to break them was through a solid mass of live dates.

The dates were booked, once again the best equipment, including a light show, was bought for them, and distinctive stage costumes especially designed.

"By the time the tour has ended they will be a really tight band. We are getting support in the regions and you can break a record if you can get regional radio stations and disco plays. I believe this record is a hit and the signs are there. This is a ten-year job as far as I'm concerned."

Not that big money backing is any guarantee of success.

One of the biggest projects of this type was the launching of young Darren Burn as Britain's answer to Donny Osmond. To their eternal credit the record-buying public didn't apparently want an answer to Mr Osmond and the campaign failed.

The pop supermarket is not a new trend. The attractively packaged mass-produced record has been a part of the industry for a long time. The early releases of Love Affair, White Plains and Edison Lighthouse for example spring to mind.

The whole thing is justified for the makers by the fact that they still become hits, thus proving there is a demand for made-to-order records. If the public is willing - or gullible enough - to pay 50p for music created in the boardroom. Well it must be OK.

The Merlin single is blatantly, unashamedly aimed at being a big hit - that seems to have been the one criterion in making it. It has all the ingredients and as the whole thing has been done with concentrated professionalism it will probably be a hit.

Back to Roger Greenaway: "I don't want to present this as a Monkees type of image. It's not a manufactured group in any way - these guys have all been in other bands.

"What Merlin are about is success - reaching people. It's so wrong for opposing people to criticise. If Chinn and Chapman go out to reach a particular market at the thing they do best, and they reach them, then they're doing their job. They've filled a gap.

"When this record happens it'll be called hype but we haven't hyped anybody. Not a vast amount of money has been spent on them. It would be silly to have a tour like this without some sort of advertising. All the money that has been spent on them so far has been towards getting them on the road.

"It's expensive but it's minimal if you think of it as a along term thing."

It may be unfair to associate Queen with the pop supermarket. The group themselves were apprehensive about appearing on Top Of The Pops and the prospect of a hit record.

They have always regarded themselves as an album band and were concerned about being connected with the chart groups. The fact remains that they have been on the receiving end of a giant campaign to create a best-selling single and album.

The first album had sold far better than they had anticipated and there was great excitement around Trident and EMI as the second one was being made. Manager Jack Nelson came in virtually every day to play new tracks as they were completed and many discussions followed on which one should be released as a single.

A special meeting was held between Bagnall, Fowler, marketing manager Paul Watts and a few others to discuss the approach to the release of "Queen 2."

"We talked about the possibility of boxing the album, and other various publicity and posters needed to produce an album we were convinced was going to be one of the biggest of the year. We set a high target for it. 'Seven Seas' isn't a housewives' record so with the daily shows like Edmonds, Blackburn and Hamilton, there's no chance of getting it played, we knew that from the start. But the weekend shows - Rosko, Henry, and D.L.T. - they all flipped over it. I took the records round personally because I felt so strongly about it."

The prime plug, however, is Top Of The Pops. If a record gets exposure on that there is a more than even chance that it will become a hit. He played it to the show's Robin Nash and a couple of days later Nash phoned him and asked him where Queen were. Later he rang back and invited Queen to do a session.

The band weren't too sure whether they wanted to do it but eventually agreed although even then they didn't know until the last minute whether it would be used because they were half expecting a David Bowie film to arrive and take it's place. But in the end Queen were shown and "Seven Seas Of Rhye" moved dramatically from there.

"A lot of people have invested an awful lot of time and money in this band but not as a hype," says Bagnall. "The only truth in the music business is that if a band isn't good, no amount of money will get them to make it."

Greenaway may be right that Merlin are one of the most exciting bands to merge since the Beatles. Fowler might be right that Queen are one of the best since the Who. But big business still remains one of the sadder aspects of the music industry today.

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Huge thanks to the anon who brought this to my attention, since I’ve been looking for a copy of this article for ages now!

Credit for the original scans goes to @Chrised90751298 over on twitter, though I stitched it back together into a single image for ease of posting over there. Open the image in a new tab to see the full-size version!

#queen band #queen #queenband #merlin band #long post //#text

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