#i also really like those shirts that have like a completely different band written on it theyre so fucking funny

[natromanxoff]

Roger Taylor live at the Manchester University in Manchester, UK - March 20, 1999

Photos supplied by: Chris Phillips

Fan Stories

“It was the second time in just four and half months that I found myself with a smile on my face, making the journey down from Lancaster to Manchester to see a former Queenie in action... if only Brian and Roger could always tour this frequently! After the obligatory purchase of a tour shirt on the way in, I headed upstairs to the University Debating Hall and settled for a centre-stage position on the fifth row - just a couple of feet from my place upon Roger's visit of December 1994. After plenty of conversation and storytelling from Rog's previous dates which helped pass the intervening hour or so, at 8.30 the house lights went down and Treana took the stage. I've got to say that I wasn't at all sure what I was expecting from her as it's difficult to gauge an opinion from those contributions she made to "Electric Fire". I must say at this point that I felt sorry for her accompanying guitarist, Alden Evans, who had to sit like a complete lemon through the first track "I'll Sing For You" which Treana performed solo. Surely he could have been brought out afterwards, not unlike Matt Exelby (Roger's rhythm guitarist) who played keyboards on, and added backing vocals to, some of Treana's other songs? That moan aside, it was a gentle little number which nicely shifted the crowd from their pre-gig chatter to "paying attention" mode. (Incidentally, scrutiny of the sleeve notes show that Matt also features on one of the tracks on Treana's album, playing his more customary guitar). All in all, Treana's set was, in my opinion, rather impressive and certainly pleasing on the ears. "Naked On You" is certainly catchy and despite this being only the fifth night of the tour, quite a few people in the front few rows certainly already knew all the words. I think it was around about the end of this song that I decided that a copy of her album would be finding its way into my pocket before I left the venue. "Warning", "You Call Me Up" (a track not featured on her album) and "I Know Better" followed, leading up to the climax of her set. Now, "Sleeping On The Sidewalk" has always been an interesting piece of Queen history, being as it was recorded in a single take when the band weren't aware the tapes were still rolling. The fact that Treana had decided to play this old Queen chestnut to a predominantly Queen (no disrespect to Rog as a solo artist, but we know where our heritage lies!) audience just ahead of a former Queen artist taking the stage was a big risk. But she certainly does the song written by the curly haired cloggy one justice, using a rather different arrangement which features some really lovely blues licks, particularly in the opening bars. Just twenty five minutes and six songs later (definitely not enough, IMO) and it was time for Treana and her cohorts to bid their farewells to plenty of applause, cheering and smiles from the crowd. Ten or so minutes of work from the roadies - I'm surprised it even took them that long to shift four acoustic guitars and a couple of stools! - and the stage was ready for RMT.

Following a series of taped introductory noises reminiscent of "Interlude In Constantinople" from "Fun In Space", the band took to the stage. Roger immediately headed in the direction of the second drum kit, sporting his Henry Ford look (i.e. any colour so long as it's black), a somewhat trimmed beard and his usual cheeky grin. After blasting out the opening salvo of "We Will Rock You" and waking up the hearing of those who had only just wandered in from the bar, Rog wandered down towards the front of the stage, cast a quick glance along the front couple of rows and, before launching into his first vocal, pulled his tongue out. Now, whereas Brian seems to take his shows very seriously, Rog is very visibly just out to have fun - that's no complaint about either of them, just an observation that they are obviously quite happy to go out and do their own thing, and quite right too! Roger co-drummed the opening to "Pressure On", which was succeeded by "A Nation Of Haircuts" ('that one is a bit energetic for someone of my age'), "Believe In Yourself", ('here's an old one') "I Want To Break Free", "No More Fun" ("lot's of fun really!!!"), and "Tonight". As with it's previous outings at Cross gigs, "A Kind Of Magic" was preceeded by some electronic wizardry but then warmed up into the song proper. It was then time for the forthcoming single, "Surrender", which saw Treana making one of several return trips to the stage. Having received my promo of the single on the morning of the gig, leading to an inevitable "play it to death" mentality before heading to Manchester, I've got to say I wasn't overly grabbed by the live version. But, admittedly, I'd probably already had more than my fill of that song for one day. Back to the Queen catalogue and "These Are The Days of Our Lives" came along, as moving as ever. Although Roger obviously doesn't perform it anything like Freddie, you just feel there is something significant about his own version that you can't quite put your finger on, given it was one of the last pieces he wrote for Freddie to sing. Back to the drum kit for Roger and after a nice piece a quick nod to Steve Barnacle yields the bassline to "Under Pressure". An interesting choice, and one which I believe Roger and Treana perform far better than David Bowie and Annie Lennox did at the Tribute Concert. "London Town, C'mon Down" brings the main set to a thundering and all-too-soon climax. Before retaking the stage for the first encore, RMT swaps his black shirt and jacket for a white shirt and waistcoat - if I was being facetious, I might suggest that he was trying to emulate BHM's trademark late 80's look *;-) Stunning versions of "I'm In Love With My Car" and "Tenement Funster" give proof positive that good live songs are good live songs irrespective of their age - or indeed that of their performer! It's certainly hard to believe that Roger is now basically double the age he was when he wrote those tracks. "Strange Frontier" dutifully followed but was somewhat marred by some very audible crackling over the intro. The song was well-received, but I personally think that "Man On Fire" works better. That said, it's nice not to have too many of the same tracks from tour to tour. The band vacated the stage for a second time and, it has to be said, that the calls for another encore were less than rapturous. But, thankfully, the band dutifully returned as per the set-list to finish off with "Happiness" and "Radio Ga Ga", complete with the traditional sea of arms.

Electric Fire is, I believe, a whole different affair live than on a piece of plastic - far more energy, far less production and far more enjoyable. It was certainly nice to see Mr. Taylor behind a full kit for parts of four or five songs - of course, more would have been nice! - and the lad can certainly still drum like the best of 'em. The band were tight all night and everyone appeared to leave the place with the feeling that they had got more than their moneys worth. Hello to all those I knew at the gig,namely Simon D. (what a way to celebrate a birthday, eh!?), Andy, James, Simon H., Sarah, Kev, Glenys, Paul and Jamie. Oh, and of course, a quick mention to the Tunney's who I *will* meet in person and not just post-gig cyberspace one of these days! BTW: Am I the only one who thinks that Matt Exelby is trying to look like Jarvis Cocker, while Jason Falloon lookes increasingly akin to The Edge from U2?” - Ste Wade

(x)

#queen #queen band #roger taylor #roger meddows taylor #queen concerts #roger taylor concerts

[comfortable-hobbit-hole]

I bought a streaming pass to watch a Queen concert this week. It’s was a recording of their performance in London last month, the rescheduling from 2020 that I was meant to be at (fuck COVID).

In a very exciting turn of events the link came with ‘4 bonus videos’, including TWO OTHER COMPLETE CONCERTS!!!

I have now watched three Queen concerts in under 24 hours and am enjoying myself thoroughly.

Brace yourselves for another stream of consciousness Hobbit Watches episode!

I am developing an unhealthy appreciation for black and shiny outfits. Standouts so far include dragon scale gloves, long trench coats with pearlescent diamonds, sequinned waistcoats, glittery platforms. Uuuggghhh.

I would like to steal most of Adam Lambert’s jackets.

And somehow he’s wearing glittery (faux?) leather trousers. I don’t know how those fabrics are sticking together but some seamstress somewhere has made real life anime costume magic fabric and I WANT a pair.

I’m such a wallflower of a humanoid that I’d probably never wear any of these pretty things but even just to keep them in my wardrobe and sigh lovingly at they’d be so worth it.

Also I want Brian May’s shiny white shirt. I could look plain and corporate until the light hits me then GLINT! (I wonder if wearing silver sequins in a car could affect oncoming traffic in bright light? Anyone know?)

Clearly the overriding messages from this experience is that I REALLY need to find a way to glam up my wardrobe. If anyone has tips on how a short, curvy, not-Caucasian person can manage this please send them my way!

Other notes:

1) I still have an inbuilt and overpowering weakness for a man with sharp eyeliner and smirk.

2) Either Adam Lambert should never be allowed to use a fan unsupervised, or he should always be left unsupervised and viewers should be strongly advised not to watch while in public. I am undecided.

3) It’s been 49 years since Queen’s first album and this music is still SO GOOD.

4) It’s also all still deeply relatable. Sadly that also includes the protest songs and I’m deeply unimpressed that the world has barely changed in half a century. Youthful people - the right score for your frustration may have already been written. I would love to hear a March belting out Under Pressure at some point. And yes, The Show Must Go On does hit differently in the third year of a global pandemic. There may have been tears present.

4) There’s some incredible staging here but it’s just a band, lights, smoke, and occasional animations on a screen. No dance crew, acrobats, set changes etc. It’s really nice to see how engaging a group can be just on their own. FWIW I say this as someone who adores watching P!nk’s tours. The full production can be brilliant. And apparently so can doing it with just flashy flashies.

#Queen #adam lambert #queen + adam lambert #rhapsody tour #brian may #roger taylor #glam rock #guyliner #concert #beautiful recordings #seeking advice #seeking fashion advice #the hobbit watches tv #this hobbit has dreams #of owning and wearing other peoples stage outfits #the killer Queen routine made me blush #fun fact - I have a 100% strike rate for guys that register immediately for me as being attractive being queer #going right back to the kid in my class I had a love/hate academic competition crush on in year 1 #Joseph wherever you are these days I hope you’re doing well

[magnusrosen-blog]

Blog 10

"The Tree Of Life Tour" together with Green Cross blogs for Sweden Rock Magazine.

Bengt, I and Ivo are sitting in a rented bus for our mission. The clouds are big and towering in the sky with sunbeams shining through here and there. I think to myself, let the rain come and fertilize nature with the substance that makes life possible "the water" that we so easily take for granted. Even though we will be out in the rain forests for a couple of days, I hope for rain 🌧️ as it is really needed.

So curious about the day. We have a bus and a trailer with 5 people plus driver besides myself and Bengt in our film crew including guide. The guy driving the other vehicle is also part of the film crew / producer is also a Metal bass player for many years. His name is “Jayth Neto” It's absolutely amazing that it knows my rear end this far away. I get to hear stories where you yourself are involved. Yes, people know a lot more than you might expect.

I didn't expect anything myself, so this comes as an extra pat on the back.

This morning, as almost every day, we have interesting conversations about humanism and also apparatus that can make a self-propelled in the form of cultivation and energy / electricity. The conversations at breakfast were about solar energy based on solar panels where the energy can also be saved for the night without "environmentally dangerous" batteries!

Yes, we will now check this with people we know who work to calculate how this simple but very functional apparatus could look in terms of size and what energy supply would be possible.

After a few hours of travel!

When we checked into the small, simple hotel, it was time for lunch. Then we entered the Amazon rainforest. So far, the air conditioning in the bus was doing its job, but when the door opened and we stepped out, the heat and humidity hit like a road. The sweat poured down and the t-shirt got completely wet as well as the pants. Hot and stuffy was just the first name. The jungle with its tall trees and small streams that wound their way. If there were mosquitoes, the answer is yes, I had bargained on quite a lot of mosquito spray but didn't think it really kept the little critters away from me.

Standing in the middle of the Amazon is something absolutely fantastic. The day before, bassist Jayth Neto talked about legends and myths, beings and creatures from the rainforests. These stories made the forest even more alive. As if the forest had a soul of its own.

It has been seen on satellite images and other discoveries from ground level that there have been large civilized cityscapes inside the Amazon jungles in the form of outlines under the vegetation. Yes, this part of the world contains secrets that we still don't really know much about. The riddle hides far back in history from developed civilizations with knowledge and perspective about the miracles of life.

The film we are making here is about Dreaming visions and faith in the future for the rainforests and those who live there.

It will be a music video mixed with documentary elements. Our mission and belief in a healthy world. It's something we can all do, it's just trying to make the right choice in a small or big way on different levels. Our plan is Love peace understanding. Most things start with a dream loaded onto a simple paper plan with ideas thrown into the future to one day come true! The song will be Paperplanes which I and Chitral Somapala have written from Sri Lanka.

We will spend a few days here in the jungle.

On Tuesday there will be a solobass concert in Manaus, which I'm looking forward to, plus I'll be sitting on a rock jury to select the band that will play cover for Blind Guardian. There are also some special meetings that will take place on Monday. Will report back on this. But now there will be a video / film in a couple of days!

I believe human rights is Peace. if you cant find a peace solution then its wrong people round the table!!! Thats what i believe!!!

Make the world a better place 🌍 Love Peace Understanding Questions give knowledge Free Speech is given a Free World

Magnus

For those interested in the following, Sweden Rock Magazine's page is: https://www.facebook.comswedenrockmagazine Green-Cross www.green-cross.se

Magnus Rosen - Ambassador for Green Cross www.magnusrosen.com

[oujibaka]

I wanna get and wear a joy division shirt just to piss off music bros when I tell them I hate joy division

#i also really like those shirts that have like a completely different band written on it theyre so fucking funny #🐀🤠

[charlie-rulerofhell]

For they know exactly what they do

Today there was a pretty long article published in the German newspaper FAZ, written by Julia Schaaf. Since there were quite a few interesting topics raised in it and Måneskin talked about some new aspects (or in more detail), I translated the whole thing (it might also have helped me to procrastinate).

Full interview in English under the cut.

For they know exactly what they do

June 22, 2021

Four young rock musicians from Rome are today's hottest band. Måneskin are enchanting Europe. Why? We met them for an interview.

Every romance needs its founding myth, an anecdote from the beginning, something you can tell later in more difficult times for self-assurance.

In the case of the band Måneskin, who first had Italy and now half of Europe wrapped around their fingers, and who are now trying to conquer the rest of the world with their rock music, there is the story of the shoe box. Rome, around five years ago: Four teenagers who are meeting every day after school in their rehearsal room to make music together, and sometimes they play their songs on the Via del Corso in the city centre in front of a changing audience. One day they want to record their own stuff. They find a studio that they can actually afford and as they go there they bring a shoe box, with the name of the band written on it, 'moonshine' in Danish, the bassist's mother is Danish. In the box: around seven kilogram of coins. The things you get from playing music on the streets. Everyone searching through Instagram for photos from that time can find four hippies with children's faces, three boys in batik, the girl is wearing a straw hat.

As they have to pay [for the recording], frontman Damiano David, 22, says that there was this guy, Angelo, and his bandmate Victoria De Angelis, 21, is interrupting: “No, Andrea, not Angelo”, and all of them have to laugh because a rigid studio manager with the Italian name 'angel' would be even funnier for a founding myth. David continues his story: “The guy was completely dumbfounded. 'We can't do that.' We went: 'Sure we can, that's worth the same even if it's just 20 cent coins, it's still 300 euros.” Thomas Raggi, 20, the guitarist of the band, is gasping for air as he laughs, while drummer Ethan Torchio, 20, is smiling dreamily. David finishes: “And then we snuck off before he was able to count it.” [the German text says 'verdrücken' here which is just a colloquial way of saying 'we left', but it entails some sort of a dramatic exit, so yeah, let your thoughts get creative how they left exactly :D].

Four young musicians on the verge of global fame are sitting on a white interview sofa in Berlin, completely styled, babbling across each other like overeager teenagers.

Ever since the Roman band first won the music festival Sanremo and then also the Eurovision Song Contest, carried by the enthusiasm of European viewers, you could say Måneskin has become a phenomenon. “Rock 'n' Roll never dies!”, Damiano David yelled fueled by the adrenaline of winning, and the insinuation that circulated on social media of the singer snorting during the counting of votes in front of a live camera – including their strict denial followed by a negative drug test result – might have given an additional boost to their public interest, their exploding album, ticket and merch sales, and their outstanding success on Spotify.

“We think it's a shit prejudice against rock music that there always have to be drugs involved. We fully threw ourselves into our participation with the utmost professionalism. We give everything for the music. So of course we don't want people to think that we can only do that because we take drugs.” – Victoria De Angelis

Prior to Eurovision, Måneskin was more of an insider's tip outside of Italy. Handmade rock music, not creating something entirely new but paying homage to the good old times with classic guitar riffs and cracking drum beats, being a lot of fun but also quite fragile and vulnerable at times and, first and foremost, conveying a captivating energy. Finally, on the stage of Rotterdam, live after so many months of isolation and renunciation, this wave of energy spilled straight over into European living rooms. It seemed easy to (mistakenly) interpret the winning song “Zitti e buoni” (Shut up and behave) as a declaration of frustration of our youth in times of a pandemic. In fact, singer Damiano David is singing about the favourite topic of the band: the unrelenting need to, against all odds, be yourself, despite or perhaps because you are different. The message fits their provocative sex appeal, which the band uses to demonstrate their independence of gender norms at any given time. But the core essence of rock music has always been the promise of unlimited freedom.

Thus at the first moment, the meeting with Måneskin is kind of startling. It's Wednesday, we are in the top floor of the new Sony head quarters in Berlin. The four Italians have just started their two-week long promotion tour through Europe. In the afternoon there will be a live concert in a queer club [the SchwuZ, but that's not mentioned here] in Neukölln, which will be streamed via TikTok. Around one million viewers will watch the show, some of them even from Brazil, so people at Sony are pretty excited [for Måneskin to come here]. But at first, these stunningly gorgeous creatures [yes, that's the exact wording :D] are standing surrounded by an entourage of people – their management, PR team, a stylist, a photographer, people who can hold a smartphone or a cigarette if needed [this paragraph is worded a little weirdly, especially taking into account that basically their whole team / 'entourage' is just friends of them, but it seems like the journalist didn't know that or maybe they just wanted to describe their first impression]. They seem like fictional / artificial characters out of a Hollywood movie. Transparent frill blouses with blazers and flared leather trousers, even the platform boots, everything brand-new, the makeup makes their faces look like a glossy magazine cover even in person. The smokey eyes of De Angelis and Raggi make them look smug and bored. Later, on the pictures it will probably look cool.

So of course your first impression might be: This band is under contract to industry giant Sony ever since their success on an Italian casting show [X Factor] in Winter 2017. The music industry must have its hand in the game when a band is photographed half-naked by Oliviero Toscani and styled by Etro. Also, one does not simply rent a villa with a pool in Rome to produce new music there, isolated from the rest of the world. And who else went to London for two whole months, shortly before the winter lockdown, just for inspiration? After the TikTok concert in Berlin – De Angelis and David are now wearing fishnet shirts that sparkle with every move, their bare nipples covered with an X of black tape – the band is posing with a few influencers. In the world of social media you would call that 'producing content'. But what does that mean for a band who are preaching their hosanna of authenticity? How authentic is Måneskin? And is their pointedly casual approach to sexuality and gender cliches in today's pop-cultural spirit more than a marketing strategy?

We're in the interview, the recording device is running for not even five minutes, when Victoria De Angelis says: “Actually, we just try to be ourselves and do what we really want to do.” And really: The more you listen to those four how they speak about the early days of the band in their slurred Roman dialect, about the shoe box and their own experiences with being different, but most importantly about their shared obsession [with music], the more you realise that [De Angelis] is  very serious. Ethan Torchio, who got his first drum kit at the age of six or seven from his father because he was beating everything he could reach, says: “For me, music is like food. I cannot live without it.” The bassist next to him laughs at his pathos. Singer Damiano David applauds the otherwise more reserved friend for his truthfulness [it says 'klarer Punkt', meaning 'for the point he makes', but it makes it seem like Damiano is agreeing with Ethan here, although it doesn't indicate whether he agrees that yes, music is everything for Ethan or that he understands and feels the same].

De Angelis and guitarist Raggi already knew each other from middle school and they were the ones who tried to form a band at the age of only 13, a band that actually took music seriously.

De Angelis: “It's just difficult at that age to find other people who really put everything into music and who truly commit themselves and are willing to invest a lot of their time.”

Raggi: “We set strict rules and scheduled fixed times for the rehearsals, for every day.”

David: “Fever, stomach ache, there was no excuse. Even if you were feeling sick in the rehearsal room. At least you were in the rehearsal room.”

The way the four of them talk across each other, completing each other's sentences, taking turns in talking and sometimes joking about each other, seems intimate and playful. Singer David remembers how at first bassist [De Angelis] was merciless towards him when it came to her first metal band project, as she told him that he wasn't committed enough [to the music]: “Back then I was still playing Basketball. I was one of the people that Vic absolutely didn't want [in her band].” Drummer Torchio was later discovered through Facebook, even though there had already been a drummer, a close friend, but he was not good enough. It seems as if even back then music was everything for them. Even if it meant that only Raggi managed to graduate.

And why rock, why rock music of all things? Because it's great, the four of them say in unison. David adds: “Actually, it's a genre that allows you to do everything you want to do.”

When they played on the street, they were laughed at by their classmates. But not only there. De Angelis explains that she never wanted to be a typical girl: “I was always deterred by those stupid boxes that people put you in, and that are just restricting and constraining you, because something is only regarded as male or female. I always rejected that. Instead, I just wanted to do the things I enjoyed doing, I went skating and played football.” Torchio says: “Friends who are not friends anymore were already telling me at the age of ten that those“ – he grabs his long, silky black hair – “were wrong. Because I'm a boy and boys are meant to have short hair, long hair is only for girls. I was bullied a lot for that.”

“Compared to the past, people in our age became much more open-minded. It gets better.” – Thomas Raggi

Frontman David on the other hand, for whom eye shadow, jingling earrings and nail polish as well as his bare torso with the tattoos have become trademarks by now, says: “I was actually more of the average boy.” De Angelis convinced him to try out some eyeliner, which he describes as a spiritual awakening: “I liked myself much more [with makeup]. I saw myself more as myself. As if it had been a suppressed desire of mine.” On a trip to Copenhagen with the others, when he realised that it really didn't matter what people were thinking about him, he got his first fake fur [coat? the article doesn't specify that] in a second-hand shop and let his clothing style be guided by his own love to experiment: “I realised that my whole life I was just going at half speed.” When it comes to diversity all four of them are becoming almost missionary.

At the same time, their success is not only opening doors for them. Back home in Rome they are barely able to go out on the street due to all the paparazzi. “[You need a] hoodie and huge sunglasses”, David says, “the mask is quite helpful, too.” And still, none of them is complaining, and Torchio explains why: “Even if those experiences right now may have sides that are not so pleasant, we still know that for us a dream is coming true. We experience something that we always had in our minds, so we are willing to face every consequence that this entails.”

So is the band facing difficult times, is Måneskin going to change with all the success? Again, all of them answer at the same time.

David: “I'm not worried about that.”

Raggi: “No way!”

De Angelis: “On the contrary. Everything that happened to us happened because we are who we are, so we want to continue the exact same way and stay ourselves.”

Just a few hours later, they are at the stage in Neukölln, bouncing around like pinballs, hammering at their instruments, flirting with each other. “We are out of our minds, but different from the others”, David sings their winning hymn against conformism, and: “The people talk, unfortunately they talk.” Here on stage, the four paradise birds [a German word describing someone with a flamboyant personality] with their half-nude-glittering outfits are radiating an incredible energy with the utmost sincerity, and you begin to wish there was a live audience instead of the TikTok cameras, absorbing and spreading this energy. Måneskin. A cry for a life after the pandemic, a cry for freedom and a better world.

“We do what we wished for all our lives.” – Ethan Torchio

#måneskin #maneskin #måneskin interview #my stuff #i'm sorry if someone already translated it but i was working on this for the past 3 hours now so i'm still gonna share it #i know most of it is not very new but there were some quite interesting details in there #and it's just always great to read about those four dorks so i wanted to share it with all of you who wanted to read it but couldn't #enjoy and please ignore any possible mistakes i didn't have the time to proof-check everything

[magnolias-make-me-happy]

Hey! :)) You're very talented! So I dare to send in a Bucky imagine <3 Maybe one where you're dating but you're not an avenger, so you sometimes feel not good at all for him even though he always makes you feel special and he loves you more than anything. one time he comes from a mission to you waiting in his room, doubting again but he immediately tries getting this thought out of you and gives you his dog tags to prove he's yours forever and it's all cute then and also soft smut? :)

a/n: thank you my love!! <3 omg the dog tags, this is amazing. this one is probably one of my favorite things i’ve written so far, I took it and kinda ran with it lol. but i certainly hope you enjoy it, i can also always rewrite it with any gender you want!!

———————————————————————————

It was always hard when Bucky was on missions, he’d go away for god knows how long. Sometimes a few days, sometimes a few months, it was extremely hard on your relationship at first, having him in your arms one minute and then gone the next.

Even since you started dating he had tried to keep you as far as possible from the life he knew as an Avenger. Now there was nothing wrong with being an Avenger but it was dangerous, and as long as Bucky was alive he’d do anything to protect you. You were the one thing in his life that wasn’t tainted by his past, and he wanted to keep it that way.

At first you didn’t understand why Bucky didn’t tell you more about where he went or what he did, whether it was a recent mission or something that happened in his Winter Soldier days. It made you feel bad to feel like it, but you had started to think that he thought that you couldn’t handle it.

That sweet innocent little y/n couldn’t handle the burden of knowing the horrible things that his other persona had done. Now you knew who Bucky really was and you knew that all of these thoughts were irrational, but sometimes it made you feel like you couldn’t truly be there for him.

It slowly started to make you feel helpless, the nights where Bucky woke up screaming from a dreadful nightmare and all you could do was just hold him and tell him it would be okay, not really knowing what you were comforting him from.

It’s not like Bucky neglected you in the slightest, in fact that beautiful man showed you that he loved you in some way just about every single day, if not more. If it was bringing you flowers, asking how your day was, holding you for hours, or even just plain telling you.

Bucky had left about two weeks ago on a mission with the rest of the Avengers, you of course stayed behind. It had been a long two weeks and you missed Bucky something terrible, so you left your quiet apartment and went and stayed at the tower for a little while.

The last night before Bucky was supposed to be back you laid in Buckys bed, tossing and turning, doubts flowing freely in your mind. What if Bucky was pulling away from you? What if he was realizing that you’re not good enough for him?

Because of all the thoughts swirling in your head as you sat up, you didn’t even hear the heavy footsteps outside your bedroom door, not even the door opening and the tired super soldier trudging in. Bucky stopped at the sight of your shrugged over shoulders “doll?” He called out

You jumped at the sudden voice and turned around a tired smile spreading across your face “Bucky!” You walked into his embrace, sighing as you took in his smell. Even after a grueling mission he still smelled good.

Bucky noticed something was wrong by the way you carried yourself across the room, he pulled back and lifted your head up gently by your chin. “Is something wrong y/n? Are you okay?” You let out a small chuckle “I should be asking you that”

You pulled away and sat on the bed, Bucky following you “You mean because of the last mission?” He had a feeling he knew what was bothering you, he just wanted to hear you say it. “Among other things” you whispered looking down at his hands in your lap

“I just” you continued “I feel so helpless all the time, I feel like I’m not doing enough for you, you know? Every time you wake up from a nightmare, every time you come home with bruises and cuts and all I can do is just clean you up and blindly tell you that it’s gonna be okay” you sighed. “Sometimes I feel like I’M not good enough, for you.”

You finally looked up at Bucky, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. At your statement, his face softened “Oh babydoll, I’m sorry I let you down” he pulled you into his neck, wrapping his arms around your waist. “You mean more to me than you’ll ever know. I can’t even put into words how much you’ve changed my life” he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

He pulled away slightly to look at your face. “The reason why I don't talk about” he looked down. “The things that I’ve done is because I don’t want you to think any differently of me. I want him to be long gone and I don’t want him to ever come back, and I’m just not ready to admit that there’s a possibility that he’s still there okay?” He kissed your temple “it’s got nothing to do with you doll”

“Here, I want to give you something.” He reached into his pocket and you heard something that sounded like metal clinking together. He pulled his hand out and into your view

“These are my dog tags, you know from the war. I keep them because, well they help me remember who I used to be. Who I really am, they remind me that I’m more than what all those years with Them made me into.” You gingerly reached down and touched them

James B. Barnes

32557038 T42 A

He took them and pulled it over your head, the metal resting just above your chest. “I want you to have them” he said “Oh Bucky, I can’t take these away from you” Bucky gave you a soft smile “You can and you will, I want you to have these, that way I’m with you all the time. Now any time you miss me, you can know that i’m right here” he placed a finger on the dog tag over your heart

“Always. Because I’m always going to be here for you, no matter what honey” He titled your head up, eyes meeting yours. “Because I love you.” You blinked away the tears welling up in your eyes “I love you too James, thank you” He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss onto your lips.

You wound a hand in his hair tugging him closer and he placed a hand on your thigh, rubbing circles on the skin there. “Bucky” you whispered against his lips. He slowly laid you back on the bed, shifting to lay in between your legs. “I know doll, just let me show you how much I love you okay?” He trailed down to your neck “I’m not going anywhere”

Bucky sat up, trailing his hands down your sides. He reached your sleep shorts and hooked his fingers in the band. He pushed your shirt up a little bit and placed kisses on your waistline before pulling them down your legs.

Bucky worked on your underwear next, he placed gentle kisses on your thighs before placing one right over your clothed clit. You could feel his eyes on you, watching your reaction as he pulled those down too. He kissed his way back up your torso and pressed a soft kiss to your lips “You’re so beautiful doll, so so beautiful” he whispered in your ear.

Your hands gripped Buckys as he pulled off your shirt. His hands cupped your breasts through your bra, as he placed a kiss on the top of both of them.”Gorgeous” you heard faintly. You felt the roughness of his hands on your skin before his hands worked to unclip your bra.

The brunette made his way back down your body, his thumb immediately swiping your clit, you grabbed onto his shoulders as he leaned down to replace his finger with his tongue. Bucky lapped at your clit and slowly worked a finger inside of you. “Taste so good doll, my favorite thing in the world” he mumbled

Bucky could feel you getting closer so he sped up his movements. “Wait” you panted and he stopped completely “what’s wrong y/n? “Just wanna feel you already, can’t wait anymore” He smiled and kissed your hip bone before crawling back up your body

“Anything for the lady” Bucky used his right hand to spread your other leg out for him more, settling in between your thighs as he kissed you. It was the kind of kiss that left you breathless, and most certainly wanting more. “Ready for me baby?” He pressed a kiss to the collum of your throat. “Always, Buck”

Bucky's arms caged you between him and the bed as he slowly slipped inside of your wet pussy. Both of you letting out groans of pleasure at the feeling of Bucky filling you up. After a minute and Bucky whispering to you how good you felt around him, he started to move.

The only sounds in the room were the sounds of your pants and moans of each other’s names as Bucky fell to his forearms, trying to get as close to you as possible. His eyes caught a glimpse of his dog tags resting over your breasts and it stirred something inside of him.

Both your hands tangled in Buckys hair as he went faster, somehow working himself deeper than he already was. “ God I love you so much doll, you look so pretty wearing my name around your neck” he panted into your ear as he pressed a kiss on your neck.

One of your hands fell to Bucky's side pulling him closer “Buck” you moaned “I’m gonna cum” you squeezed your eyes shut as he grunted “me too doll, cum with me” Bucky worked you higher and higher until you finally orgasmed around him, an airy “I love you” whispered into his ear.

Bucky wrapped an arm around you tightly as he came inside of you, praises and grunts falling from his lips and his hips slowed as he milked you both through the high.You both stayed like that for a while, neither one of you wanting to move as you threaded your hands through Bucky's now damp hair.

“I know I’ve got to be more open with you, you’re the most important thing in my life and I don’t want anything to ruin that” the man laying on your chest suddenly spoke. He squeezed his arm around you pulling you closer together.

“I know Buck, i’m sorry. I just wanna make sure you’re okay you know?”

“Don’t be sorry” he leaned up and gave you a sweet kiss “As long as i’m with you, I’m gonna be just fine” he laid his head back down on your chest “Plus we got one hell of a night out of it” he smirked

“Ow!”

“Idiot”

#bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan imagine #requests #james barnes smut #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #james barnes imagine #bucky request #bucky reader insert #the winter solider x reader #bucky x y/n #y/n #reader insert #smut #the winter solider imagine #the winter solider #y/n smut #bucky barnes

[ethanesimp]

WHEN YOU’RE GONE // D.D.

Pairing: Mob Boss! Damiano David x Mob GN! Reader (it was originally written with a fem! reader so please let me know if you spot any slip ups on my part)

Summary: Soulmates are already a difficult concept to grasp and things don’t seem to get any easier when you like a person who already has a soulmate.

Word Count: 9.8k (it’s so long lakjd)

Warnings: Swearing, death and mentions of it, injuries, angst -lots of it-, it’s a mob fic so violence, smoking, Damiano being kind of an asshole? Me probably using swear words in italian wrong... Just read with caution pls

Masterlist // Taglist link in bio

A/N: If you’ve seen this before, it’s probably because this has been written and posted on my other blog @pparkersbitch as a Tom Holland fanfiction at the beginning of the year (which has now been deleted). It’s the same person and I’m not stealing anyone’s work :) I just like it and wanted to bring it back. I did add/modify some tiny details though. The idea is probably dumb, but I’m sharing anyways.

Taglist: @gretavanfleetlove​ @superchrystaldrug​ @reputationdamiano​​

“This isn’t how I wanted to start my morning,” Your best friend mumbled in a tired voice. You could barely hear him from where you were standing over the sounds the old -and surely broken- coffee machine kept making and the music playing from his phone.

“Well, sucks to be us, huh?” You chuckled and poured coffee on both of your cups as you did a small dance to try and shake the tiredness off your body. You handed Damiano his cup after preparing his coffee the way he liked it, a teaspoon of sugar with a splash of milk, and walked with him to the large office down the hall, “I don’t get why Ethan and Thomas can’t do this instead of us.”

The room was always cold and you seemed to forget about it most of the time since it still slipped your mind to wear a sweater or hoodie over your thin pajama shirt. You grabbed one of the blankets from the small black couch on the corner of the room and wrapped it around your body as best as you could with your free hand. 

You sat down on the chair next to him to have a better look at all the papers and files he had spread out on the desk, “What exactly are we looking for?” You asked with furrowed eyebrows. All those documents were enough to keep you occupied for the whole day if you didn’t work fast enough.

“We are looking for any leads to the drug cartel or its leader. Really anything that can help us find them,” Damiano explained and took a sip of his coffee as he opened the first file. 

You had been trying to track a drug cartel ever since they infiltrated your warehouse and stole some of your products. Damiano’s father had been at both of your necks ever since it happened as if it had been your fault instead of the incompetent guards that were supposed to be guarding the entrance at all times, “I’m sure these are people we’ve made deals with in the past, they wouldn’t have been able to break in otherwise. We’ve always been far too careful for this to be a mere coincidence.”

He removed the gold ring from his ring finger and left it on the jewelry bowl you had placed on his desk. You had known Damiano David and his family for years. For as long as you had known him, the band on his ring finger had been gold, and you hated it. 

That stupid little gold band was a silent reminder that he had met his soulmate and there was nothing to be done about it. For months you had silently hoped and prayed for Damiano to be your soulmate, but any illusion or wish you had of it happening, had vanished the moment you saw the gold ring on his finger for the first time. You later discovered he avoided wearing it on his hand because it put his soulmate at risk of being found, but he still kept it close to him at all times by using it as a necklace.

You avoided wearing yours for an entirely different reason. The black ring and all the stares and words of pity that came with it were saddening and something you didn’t need. While gold was a reminder of love and good luck, black was a reminder that your soulmate was no longer alive and you were doomed to spend the rest of your life alone. You were sure the band had been black for most of your life, or at least that’s how you remembered it.

It was safe to say you were jealous of Damiano’s soulmate, Marlee. Not only was she one of the most beautiful women you had ever met, but she got to have perhaps the most amazing man by her side until her dying day, something you could never have in any way that wasn’t platonic.

You successfully ignored it most days, which wasn’t so hard to do since you had better things to think about most of the time, but nights were always the hardest. In your loud and chaotic life, there was a speck in time where everything quieted and calmed down. During those few hours was when you’d break down and grieve for the person whose name you didn’t even get to know. You’d cry for being stupid enough to fall for someone who wasn’t only your best friend, but who also had a girlfriend.

“Damiano, Y/N?” Marlee’s sweet voice interrupted your train of thoughts. You had been reading the files consciously enough to notice anything unusual, but you had paid no mind to anything else until she walked into the room. You smiled politely at her and waved. 

She walked up to Damiano and he immediately closed all files with any sort of photo that might be too graphic for her to look at. Marlee cupped his face and pressed her lips to his for a few moments that felt like an eternity to you, watching everything from the side as a feeling of jealousy invaded your senses. You did nothing but look at the painting on the wall until they stopped locking lips, which took a bit longer than you would’ve liked.

“Did you two find anything?” Marlee asked once she pulled away from Damiano. He gave her a look you knew as ‘I cannot tell you anything about the mob to keep you safe’. She had been involved with the mob’s administration for most of her life, only after she met Damiano and her father united his mob with Damiano’s did she stop working. 

You had been brought in as a replacement of sorts once Marlee stopped doing any mob business per Damiano’s request. His parents had saved yours from a legal accident, which left you in debt with his family, so you didn’t have much say on whether you’d join the mob or not. 

Something you were grateful for was that Damiano always kept your hands clean. No matter what business it was, he made sure to keep you out of any sort of situation in which you’d have to hurt or get hurt by another member of the mob. Most people that worked for Damiano didn’t have the pleasure of knowing him as the lenient and caring individual he was around you.

You excused yourself after spending a few more minutes flipping through the files in search of something but ultimately found nothing. It was supposed to be your free day, or at least that was what Damiano had promised. Apart from that impromptu search for information at 5 am, he promised he’d have Ethan, Vic, or Thomas help with anything he needed. 

That was why you took the liberty to lock yourself inside your room and put your phone on silent. You desperately wanted to catch up on all the hours of sleep you had lost in between those early morning duty calls and coffee runs. No matter how much you enjoyed spending time with Damiano, you still missed your normal sleep schedule.

-

When you woke up a few hours later, the house was completely silent. The usual chatter coming from the kitchen wasn’t there, neither was the noise of Vic repeatedly firing bullets at the targets in the garden to practice her aim like she did every morning or the soft sound of Thomas softly strumming his guitar as he tried to piece an unplanned melody together with the assistance of Ethan’s drumming.

It wasn’t a Sunday, which meant they weren’t away visiting their families. They were all supposed to be home. That last thought made you nervous and you couldn’t help but wonder if something had happened while you were asleep. Being in the mob, you knew a lot of unexpected things happened all the time and you had to be prepared for them all.

You walked to the door, determined to investigate what was wrong. Your hand was already firmly grasping the doorknob and you were about to undo the lock when someone knocked harshly on the door, startling you. 

Without hesitation, you jumped back and reached for the gun stuffed in one of the drawers nearby, “Y/N? You awake?” 

You let go of the drawer’s handle and your tense body relaxed at the sound of Victoria’s raspy voice, “Fuck, Vic, you scared me,” You spoke as you opened the door to be met with her panicked blue eyes. Your eyebrows furrowed at her worried expression, but before you could ask, she grabbed you by the arm softly and dragged you out of the room.

Once you were in the hallway, you finally heard everything with a lot more clarity. The faint sound of glass clinking before falling to the floor, Thomas’s exasperated shouts, and Damiano’s complaints. You looked at Victoria, expecting an explanation.

“I don’t know what happened,” She began, “One second he was alright, then at like 9 AM Ethan and I heard them fighting. She’s gone and Damiano’s locked in his room, won’t let anyone in. Thomas is trying to get him to talk while Ethan looks for the keys.”

You walked past Victoria and ran up the stairs. Damiano’s room was right above yours. Upon walking up to the third floor of the house, you saw Thomas repeatedly knocking on Damiano’s door. Once he heard footsteps and spotted you, it was like relief washed all over him at the sight of you.

“Do you mind trying?” He asked, “He’s been asking for you,” Thomas added with a sigh as he brushed his messy hair out of his forehead. You nodded and got closer to the door once he got out of the way.

With hesitation, you knocked on the door and patiently waited for a response, which arrived only after you knocked once again, “Vaffanculo, Thomas! Which part of your tiny fucking brain cannot understand that I want to be left alone?”

You flinched at his words and took a long breath as you gathered the confidence to speak up, “I-It’s Y/N, Dami,” You said, loud enough for him to hear you from where he was. You were expecting rejection; if Damiano didn’t want to talk to people who were as close to him as siblings, why would he talk to you? Sure, you were one of his best friends, but he’d known Thomas for longer than he—

Your thoughts were interrupted when Damiano opened the door and quickly dragged you in before slamming it shut once more. For the first few minutes, you stood in silence while Damiano faced the door. You couldn’t see his face or his eyes, so you had no idea what could be going through his mind, so you focused on your surroundings instead. 

The room was a mess, but not more than it usually was. What alarmed you was the shattered glass on the floor as well as the drops of blood that stained the white floor. You looked back at your best friend and noticed that it was dripping from his hand. 

“Damiano,” You called, “Amore, your hand,” He turned to look at you and that’s when you finally saw his red and swollen eyes as well his tear-stained cheeks. His gaze softened once his eyes fell on yours. He choked back a sob and turned away from you once again.

If his hand hadn’t been bleeding, you wouldn’t have hesitated on wrapping your arms around his neck and trying to comfort him. Instead, you ran to his bathroom to grab the first-aid kit. After years of being in the business, treating Damiano’s cuts and injuries wasn’t anything new to you, but you were oblivious as to why he was in such a state in the first place.

Being the person he was, Damiano had learned to conceal his emotions incredibly well to protect himself, even around the people he trusted the most. You had only seen him that shaken once when something had gone terribly wrong. The fact that Marlee was gone too only gave you a worse feeling. The fact that her clothes were all gone from the closet didn’t ease your worried mind either.

Damiano was sitting on the bed patiently waiting for you to return. Once you did, he avoided your gaze and said nothing as you examined his hand. The cuts were all superficial and would surely cure on their own in a few days, which was why you only focused on removing the tiny shards of glass that had stuck to his skin with a pair of tweezers.

Once that was done and you had cleaned the cuts, you wrapped a bandage around his hand once and secured it with a small piece of tape. You sat in silence for a while, you didn’t comment on the sobs that would escape his lips every once in a while or the tears that had started falling down his cheeks.

Instead, you waited until he was ready to say something, “I don’t even know how to tell you this,” Damiano mumbled. His eyes stayed glued to the floor. He seemed… embarrassed to look you in the eye.

“I was finally going to do it this morning, N/N,” He said as a sigh escaped past his lips and he took a small velvet box out of his pocket. He didn’t have to say what was inside the box because you knew exactly what it was. Damiano had been planning on proposing for months, but there was always something that managed to get in the way of completing his goal.

“She went to the bathroom and had left her phone on my bedside table. I was going to get the ring and Y/N… I-I swear to God I didn’t want to look but the messages kept coming, one after the other, the fucking phone wouldn’t stop making noise. Cazzo, she was the one feeding information to the drug cartel and Lord knows to who else,” He said those words in one breath and you had barely been able to catch them all. Damiano threw the box at the wall angrily and from the noise, you didn’t doubt there’d be an indent there.

“I asked her about it and you have no idea how much I wished she’d deny it, but she didn’t even try,” Damiano cried. Unexpectedly, Damiano turned his body around to face yours and wrapped his arms around your waist while he buried his face on your neck.

It took you by surprise, but you said nothing. Instead, you focused on rubbing circles on his back and whispering soothing words into his ear. Part of you knew there was something else going on, even if you didn’t ask. You hadn’t seen Damiano cry in a long time and even then you saw nothing more than just a few tears rolling down his cheeks. What happened with Marlee had truly driven him right to the edge and he couldn’t keep in everything he had been trying so hard to hide.

-

In the four months that followed, you didn’t see Marlee once. She never had the guts to return after Damiano found out about everything she had been doing behind his back. At first, he had been utterly destroyed by her absence, it pained you to see him shut everything and everyone out with the lame excuse that he had work to do. Every single time he did so, you’d quietly sit down and help him despite his complaints. 

He got better though. Once enough time passed, he healed, but all that love he had once felt for her was now nothing more than pure hatred every single time her name was mentioned. You knew better than anyone that it wasn’t the healthiest thing to do, but it didn’t matter how many times you told him so because it never truly changed much.

As for the mob, things seemed to calm down once Damiano and Ethan were able to track down the leader of the drug cartel and get the stolen products back. Everything was too good and too quiet. While your four friends enjoyed all that peace, you couldn’t help but worry about something being wrong. It was a silly thing anyway, there was nothing that gave you even the slightest confirmation that your worry wasn’t just fueled by paranoia, not a single thing.

You should’ve been grateful instead. Your sleep schedule had gotten acceptably regular and there was no more working from 5 am to 10 pm every single day. You also had time to finally sit down and read the books that had been sitting on your untouched shelf ever since the start of the year, just like you were doing at that very moment while the boys were playing poker in the basement and Vic was on a date.

Damiano walked into your room eventually, still smelling like the cigarette he had just been smoking minutes back. He couldn’t help but scrunch up his nose as the smell of lemon incense burning hit his nostrils.

You looked up and giggled at his disgusted expression, “You cannot be disgusted when you were the one who walked into my room smelling like cigar and beer,” Damiano rolled his eyes and plopped down on the bed next to you.

“Incense is bad for you,” You shot Damiano a killer look and closed your book. He gave you a funny look back and then put his attention on your book, “What are you reading anyway?”

You hummed and showed him the cover. It had a beautiful yet simple design, which accurately represented the story hidden in between those pages, “Okay so, it’s the story of these people that all get invited to this island. They’re all summoned there for different reasons but it turns out they all have this common enemy. It’s terrifying because they get killed off one by one when a children’s lullaby plays. I truly cannot explain it enough to do justice to how intense this book is.”

“Oh and before that I got to read the most wonderful romance book! It was apparently the first book written where soulmates weren’t a thing and it was just a piece of art. Beautifully written, made me cry for hours too.”

Damiano smiled and you could almost see all the gears turning inside his brain, “Wouldn’t it be amazing?”

“What would?”

He shrugged and propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look at you, “A world without soulmates, where you’re not bound to someone since birth.”

You sighed and turned to look at him, “It’s our own fault… being bound, I mean. No angel from the heavens came down to tell us we have to love our soulmate as anything more than a close friend, you know? It can be purely platonic, we’re just stupid.”

“Were you ever able to fall in love with your soulmate or was it just platonic?” Damiano asked. You never talked much about soulmates with him. He still didn’t know your soulmate had been dead for as long as you could remember.

“I never got to know them,” You smiled sadly and showed him the black ring you had gotten used to wearing around your neck, carefully tucked under your shirt to stay unseen. His mouth fell open as he grabbed the ring and inspected it closely. It was the first time he had seen a black ring.

“I didn’t know… I’m sorry,” Damiano let the ring go. You shrugged and waved your hand to silently show it wasn’t too important, “I thought you guys were separated or something.”

You shook your head, “Mom says the ring turned black when I was six, but I don’t really remember so I just like to pretend I never had one in the first place… I don’t know.”

There was a question on the tip of your tongue, but you didn’t want to ask it, as intrigued as you were to know the answer. You hadn’t talked about her ever since she left and he’d most likely avoid the question because he truly wanted to keep her name out of his mouth. Nonetheless, he noticed your hesitance because you suddenly got too silent. 

“You can ask, you know? I know I just touched on a sensitive topic, so…” You nodded. Both of you were lying on your backs, looking up at the ceiling which had some of those glow-in-the-dark stars and planets you had glued when you first moved in to feel less lonely.

You hummed softly as you tried to find the right words. You didn’t want to be too straightforward with your question in fear of upsetting your best friend even though he had asked you the same question minutes earlier, “Did-did you ever… you know, fall in love with her?” 

Damiano thought about it in silence, you had probably caught him off-guard with your question, “No, not really. Not in the way I was expecting at least. You know truth be told, I was a bit disappointed. Don’t get me wrong, she had this angelic look to her, she was a stunning girl. I just- there was nothing we had in common other than being soulmates. For years I had seen my parents act like they shared one mind and just thought the same things. I always imagined it’d be like that for me too.

“My expectations couldn’t have been further from what it truly was like. Honestly, I’m not even sure which part of our relationship was true anymore. Now that I look back on it, I’ve realized most of the things she did or said were just to get information out of me.” 

It was weird to hear him say all that. As a person who always got to look at the way Marlee and Damiano interacted with one another, you would’ve never expected Damiano to feel that way, “And,” He continued, “I was expecting it to be someone else.”

His last confession made you turn around to look at him. It was the first time he had admitted that, probably because of the beer he had been drinking while playing with his friends.

“I know it sounds terrible but… I met her and this other person on the same day, almost at the same time. I didn’t notice my ring had turned gold until much later. I had only been with them both and people I already knew. I thought it had been the other person until she told me her ring had changed too. Meanwhile, the other one said nothing. Now I realize it would’ve been impossible for them to be my soulmate.”

It might’ve been because he was telling you all those things and you felt safe to admit what you felt, or maybe because you were tired of bottling it up for so long. Either way, you spoke up, not caring if you’d regret it later, “It’s not as terrible as you might think.”

“Look, I’m not bound to anyone. The black ring gives me the freedom of loving someone else. I never met my soulmate so there’s no guilt in being with someone else. It’s supposed to be a perfect thing, Dami, only it isn’t. I know a lot of people who’re also blacksouled,” You hated using the word. It was usually how people would refer to those who didn’t have a soulmate anymore, “And I fell in love.”

“T-that’s great!” Damiano replied, “Why didn’t you tell me? I mean, not like you’re obliged to tell me anything just because we’re friends but I-”

You interrupted his rant, “I fell in love with someone whose soulmate’s still alive.”

“So what? You said it yourself. Are they together?” He asked. You told him they weren’t. If only he knew you were talking about him… He’d probably run away and never speak to you again, “Then fuck it. Fuck the rules and everything else society has to say.”

“It’s not that simple, Dami. I truly wish it was, but it isn’t,” You wanted nothing more than for the conversation to be over. If it went any further, you knew you’d spill every single thing. It had gotten far too hard to conceal your feelings when you were close to him. Now that you were talking about them, it’d be even harder.

You got up and walked to your bookshelf, where you started accommodating your books as an excuse to avoid being so close to him, to avoid his curious gaze. Even if they weren’t together anymore, you knew Damiano would reject you, that was far too obvious. Even if he felt the same, after what happened, it’d take Damiano a lot of effort to ever trust someone in such an intimate way, even if that someone was you, his best friend.

“Why? It is that simple. If they’re not together, what’s stopping you? You’ll never know what could happen if you don’t try,” You turned around to look at him, fists clenched by your sides, “Listen Y/N, I know you’re scared of relationships and everything they involve but you cannot let that sto—” 

“Fine then, I’m in love with you! I can barely breathe when I’m around you because my love for you is so suffocatingly strong, and I can’t think straight either! You and your stupidly handsome face drive me insane. How’s that?” You admitted, interrupting his small speech midway, too irritated to process what you had just said. Once you did, your hand flew to your mouth and you shook your head. You wanted to say it wasn’t true, no, it was nothing more than a lie to get him to stop poking his nose into your love life. Except it wasn’t and, if you were being honest, no part of you wanted to hide it anymore.

Just like you expected, he said nothing. Damiano stayed silent for a few seconds before getting up and walking out without another word. He slammed the door on the way out so hard you wouldn’t be surprised if the door separated from its hinges.

For the weeks that followed, Damiano avoided you as much as possible. You were still his right-hand person and needed to be present at every meeting and would have to discuss any type of business with him. It used to be your favorite part of the day when you got to sit in the meeting room with Damiano and discuss plans to make the mob prosper, now it was nothing but uncomfortable because you’d do all the talking while he looked at you as if his biggest desire was to carve your heart out with his pocket knife. 

While you understood that he was still mad at Marlee and wanted nothing to do with her, you didn’t understand why he was treating you that way when you had nothing to do with it and weren’t to blame for the stupid shit his ex had tried to pull. You thought he knew that you loved him far too much to ever do anything to jeopardize his safety. Yet again, he might’ve assumed the same thing about Marlee.

You walked out of yet another unsuccessful meeting with Damiano and slammed the door as hard as you could to let him know how much his childish behavior annoyed you. Ethan was standing close to the door and you could see the shadow of a smile that was threatening to break out and illuminate his face, “Don’t you dare,” He raised his hands in defense and bit his lip to try and hide the smile that would just annoy you further.

“You two are starting to act like two teenagers and it’s fucking pathetic,” Thomas chimed in from where he was sitting on one of the couches.

“Yeah? Tell that to your friend who is giving me the silent treatment like a fucking toddler! I just want- I need to have a serious conversation with him,” You admitted and sighed as you fell on the couch right next to Thomas, head in your hands to try and cover up the tears that were threatening to spill down your cheeks.

Both men stayed silent as they watched you, Even though you could feel their stares, you decided to focus on not crying instead. The truth was, the longer Damiano spent ignoring you, the more you regretted telling him what you had been bottling up for years, it had been a mistake there was no coming back from. Unless he decided to stop acting like a kindergartener, things would never go back to the way they were.

It was frustrating to think that your friendship would go to shit just because of your confession. Being rejected by him wouldn’t have been a big deal if he had actually stayed in your room and spoken like the adult he was.

“For the record, I think he’s acting like an idiot because he’s scared,” Sighed Victoria, who had just walked into the room with an ice pack placed over her hand, “I know it’s been a while but, give him time. He’ll come around or I’ll make him, I promise.”

You gave Victoria a tight-lipped smile and nodded. You hoped more than anything that it wouldn’t have to come to getting locked up in the same room as Damiano to get him to speak to you.

Except… as more days passed, you feared it would most likely have to be that way because he was still saying nothing to you. He had only spoken once and it had been to call you out for being doing everything wrong while looking through some important documents when you were, in fact, doing everything just like he had initially requested. Now, not only had he been giving you the cold shoulder, but he had started acting like a complete jerk around you too.

You tried to distract yourself by focusing on all the work you had pending, but it wasn’t working. Every single day, no matter what you were doing, your mind still wandered back to the brown-eyed man and his stupid face, his stupid hair, and stupid smile.

Even as you stood in the middle of the kitchen, your thoughts made it difficult to bake the cookies you had been craving all week. You had started to work on the second batch after the first one came out disgustingly salty because somewhere along the process you had mistaken the salt for the sugar.  

You hated how bothered you were by the whole situation. It had affected you way more than you would’ve liked to admit. Truth be told, you had never felt sad about his rejection because it was something you had expected ever since that attraction for him first settled on your brain. It was the way he was treating you that got on your nerves. 

That was mainly the reason why you were so thankful for being alone in the house at that very moment. Apart from a few security guards here and there, you were completely alone. You allowed yourself to relax for a split second and connected your phone to the speaker system in the kitchen. You started playing one of your favorite playlists before getting back to making cookies the right way this time.

You softly swayed your body along to the music as you dumped all the ingredients on the large bowl in front of you. As you poured the flour in the bowl and mixed it with your hands, you noticed Damiano standing by the door. For some unknown reason, he scared you so bad you accidentally tipped the bowl and made a mess of the counter. 

A frustrated sigh escaped past your lips and you threw your head back, feeling defeated and irritated, “I’m sorry,” Damiano spoke up hesitantly, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You shook your head and wiped your hands on the apron you had tied around your waist, “It’s fine,” You turned around so your back was to him and started wiping the counter with a damp towel. 

“You deserve so much better…” You heard him speak up over the music. His words caught you by surprise. You turned around to look at him but said nothing. You could tell he was nervous by the way his hands trembled by his sides and the way his jaw was firmly clenched.

After a few minutes of hesitation, Damiano started walking to where you were. He placed his hands on the counter by your sides, leaving you trapped in between the counter and his body. You looked into his dark eyes to maybe try and guess what was going through his mind. 

You breathed in so deeply your chest hit his. You gulped at that and tried to control your trembling hands without looking away.

“What you said the other day, did you mean it?” Damiano asked, without hesitation this time around. Your eyes widened.

“I-I… What?”

“Just answer me Y/N, please,” Damiano pleaded. He looked so desperate to know the answer, which only made your blood boil. After weeks of silence, of glares and being a jerk, he dared to just show up and demand answers?

You shook your head and pointed your finger at his chest, “How dare you?” You took a step towards him, which made Damiano take a step back, “You have no right to show up like this and ask me to give you answers after how much of an asshole you’ve been.”

He seemed taken aback by your truthful words, but you didn’t care. If he wanted to know how much truth had been behind your words that night, he’d have to hear it all, “You know I’m your best friend and you also know I’d keep up with anything you do because that’s how much I care about you, but can you stop it? I know I was stupid for telling you because of what you just went through and I’m sorry, but please don’t keep giving me the cold shoulder. I just want to fix this.”

After a few minutes of silence, you shrugged and, like it was the simplest thing in the world, spoke up, “And yeah, I meant every word.”

Your expression softened as you waited for any sort of reaction from Damiano. You expected something similar to what had happened the day you first told him. No part of you expected him to cup your face with his warm, calloused palms to bring your face closer to him once again. 

Neither did you expect to feel his soft lips pressed against yours, or the feeling of his soft hair as you brushed it back with your fingers and your eyes slowly closing as you basked on the joy and pleasure his soft touches caused.

Damiano was gentle as he held your face in between his hands, almost as if you were made of glass and he was afraid of breaking you into pieces if he didn’t hold you delicately enough. That kiss felt so intimate, like nothing you had ever felt before. Everything from the way he held you to his slow movements and touches was so much better than you could’ve ever imagined.

When he pulled away, he left you completely breathless, wordless. There was nothing you could possibly say after the way he had kissed you, so you waited for him to find the right words instead.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Damiano mumbled. He still hadn’t let go of your face, “You truly deserve better. You are so beautiful, so perfect. I’m so sorry for being such an idiot and hurting you, ignoring you. I just- I know I cannot love you as you deserve. Believe me, I want nothing more than to have you close to me all the time, to kiss your lips until you grow sick of me, but I can’t,” His voice was starting to crack as he said those words to you and you knew it was because of how he saw your face fall.

“No, no, shut up and listen to me,” You pleaded and placed your hands on top of his. You gave them a soft squeeze and let your forehead rest against his, “I know it’s hard for you to trust after what happened with her and I know it’s not going to be easy, but believe me, I’m willing to try if you are, Damiano.”

“You were that other person,” He confessed and got closer to kiss you once more, with as much passion as the last time. You were too concentrated on the smell of his musky cologne and the faint taste of vanilla chapstick he had surely stolen from your room to respond to his comment.

His hands fell from your face and comfortably rested on your hips as his lips attacked yours. Damiano pushed you against the counter and kept savoring the moment as if it were the first and last time he’d kiss you like that. You hoped for your sake it wouldn’t be the last.

Damiano pulled away reluctantly and unexpectedly lifted you up so you’d sit on the counter. He stood in between your legs and intertwined his fingers with yours.

“Remember when I told you about the person I met the day I met Marlee?” You nodded, “That was you... Ever since I met you I’ve felt this inexplicable attraction towards you and it’s been driving me insane. I couldn’t believe it when you told me you loved me because I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

“You’ve done so much to deserve it, so so much,” You mumbled and brought him close to you to kiss him for the third time. It was such an addicting feeling and both your heart and mind were screaming to feel it again.

That time around, Damiano didn’t hesitate to lift you up once more, he carried you to his room and locked the door.

— 

It had been a few weeks since your conversation in the kitchen. Things returned back to normal after that night. Other than your relationship with Damiano, things were the same again. You had to go back to working at ungodly hours of the morning thanks to some suspicious activity Ethan had noticed. Apparently, one of the oldest members of Damiano’s mob had tried to establish a deal with an unknown subject but had been caught before he could accomplish it. 

This put you both on edge because there was someone out there desperate to break into the mob and finish it for good. At first, you thought it wasn’t more serious than whatever had happened with Marlee, but Damiano’s father proved you wrong the moment he brought you, their most loyal employee, in for questioning. 

It had been nothing too serious, at least not in comparison to what you had heard others say. In your case, it had been done mostly as a standardized protocol, to stop others from thinking there was some sort of preference or special treatment towards you just because you worked so close to Damiano. You knew almost everything Damiano did, so you were possibly the greatest source of information outside the David family and their small circle of friends.

“Amore?” Damiano asked softly as his hand caressed the exposed skin of your waist. You had been cuddling in bed for almost two hours with the excuse that you needed a break after all the hard work you’d done, “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You turned around to be face to face with him and pressed a kiss to his freckled nose, “Not much. I was just remembering I need to get my ring resized again. I tried putting it on a few days ago and it didn’t fit anymore.

Damiano frowned at your words, “Your soulmate ring?”

“Mhm,” You responded simply and let your head rest on his chest. You enjoyed the feeling of warmth his body irradiated, it was soothing and the soft sound of his rhythmic heartbeat never failed to make you feel calmer.

“Soulmate rings don’t need to be resized, ever. Not that I know of, at least,” Now it was your turn to frown because, as far as you remembered, you had always gone to get your ring resized by a family friend who didn’t live too far away. No one had ever told you it wasn’t necessary.

You pulled away from his embrace and reached for the bedside table where you had been keeping the ring for the past few days. Once you turned back around, Damiano looked confused and almost scared, “Just, out of curiosity, tesoro. Have you ever taken off the ring and left it like far away for longer than a few hours?”

A giggle escaped past your lips at his silly question, “It’s just a piece of jewelry, Dami. Of course, I have, several times.”

You laughed nervously once you saw his horrified expression. Damiano was starting to scare you, but you knew better than to say something because you’d end up looking like a fool if he started laughing and told you it was all a joke. Except, it didn’t seem like one.

“Please get dressed and meet me in room five, okay? I might be going insane but I just need to make sure I’m not,” Before you could ask any questions, Damiano had already grabbed a pair of pants and a t-shirt and disappeared into the bathroom to get dressed.

You tried not to think much about his weird questions and got dressed quickly instead. You grabbed your cup of tea, which had already gone cold, and walked to meeting room five.

You opened the door and were surprised to see all your friends already sitting around the small table you’d use for informal meetings. Thomas and Victoria looked tired and Ethan’s long hair was tangled and messy. That gave you the impression that Damiano had most likely woken them all up for your impromptu meeting. 

They all looked just as confused as you felt. There were a lot of questions you wanted to ask, but Ethan beat you to it, “Okay, now that we’re all here can you fucking explain why you had to wake me up? Please.”

“Have any of you three—,” Started Damiano, referring to Thomas, Victoria and Ethan, “—tried to take off your ring for a while but have started feeling sick and weird?”

Thomas and Victoria looked at each other, confused, but nodded. Ethan did after a few seconds of thinking about it, “Yeah, there was actually this one time I went on a date and I didn’t want the girl to see the ring had turned gold, so I left it at home. Thirty minutes later I was puking everywhere. I didn’t really understand why but someone at the Soulmate Centre explained rings are an extension of the soul and they need to be close to us at all times and there are actually records of people dying after losing their rings. Why?”

Damiano looked at you and raised his eyebrows to silently ask if he could share the information with the other three guys. Once you nodded, Damiano spoke up, “Y/N doesn’t need to have it close to them and they need to get it resized every once in a while.”

Ethan shrugged his shoulders, “That’s as far as my knowledge goes. I don’t know. I think the best thing you can do is go to the SC.”

You sighed but nodded. Ethan’s explanation had started to freak you out. What if there was something terribly wrong with you? What if you were born without a ring and your parents lied to you all your life?

— 

After having a short conversation with Damiano in private, you decided to follow Ethan’s advice and go to the Soulmate Centre that was only a few minutes away from your house. He wanted to go with you or send someone to watch over you but had accepted your petition to go alone after you told him it was a private matter and you'd tell him all about it once you got back.

So there you were, on the reception of the SC, with your sweaty hands intertwined together as you tried to ignore all the dirty looks people were giving you. Everyone around knew exactly who you were and most weren't one bit pleased to see you there. While some didn't hesitate to look at you like they wanted to kill you, others were afraid to do so.

Those few minutes that passed until the lady at the desk called your name were some of the most uncomfortable of your life. Some part of you hated having the mobster title because that usually gave people the wrong idea and drove them to hate you even if you could proudly say you had done nothing illegal or violent in your whole life. You had to admit the mob wasn’t an ideal job to have morally wise, but you had found a family inside those four walls others doomed to be cursed.

You walked up to the lady. She had what you could interpret as a nervous smile as she stood behind the desk, patiently waiting for you to tell her what had brought you there in the first place. You were hesitant to communicate your issue because you were mortified of finding out a truth that should probably stay hidden.

You reached back and unclasped the chain the ring was looped through. You left it on the counter and smiled softly as you shyly spoke, “So uh, good morning, ma’am. I was hoping you could take a look at my ring, I’m slightly concerned there was something wrong with it.”

The lady nodded and removed the ring from the chain. She inspected it closely for a few minutes before nodding her head towards one of the rooms that said ‘only employees allowed’. She started walking towards it with a quick step and you saw no other choice but to follow right behind her.

She opened the door and quickly closed it with a lock once she verified you were inside, “Listen, the only reason I’m not turning you over to the authorities is because you don’t strike me as someone stupid enough to walk into an SC with a soulmate ring like this.”

Your jaw dropped in surprise at how direct she was being. For a second, you noticed her face fall before she realized it was best to keep a face that communicated seriousness instead of begging for your forgiveness or whatever people did when they pissed Damiano off.

“I don’t know who gave this to you or in which illegal market you bought this but if a higher authority sees you with this, not even Damiano David could save you from the consequences of sporting a fake ring,” She said. You honestly didn’t know how to respond because panic had started to drown out any coherent thought that tried to form on your mind.

You didn’t even try to disguise your panicked expression that time around. Instead, you focused on regulating your breathing and trying to keep all your emotions at bay before you lost control and began to hyperventilate. The other woman noticed your distress almost immediately and led you to sit down on one of the couches.

After you took a few deep breaths, you looked back at her, eager to ask thousands of questions, “How can you know they are fake?”

She sat down next to you and put the ring on your palm, “Look at the inside,” She demanded while pointing her finger to a spot on the inside edge of the ring, “They usually have something engraved inside, a code that only repeats itself twice. Whenever one loses their soulmate, this code vanishes. Your code is still there. I also used a detector to confirm my suspicions and it detected nothing.”

“And with… with that code, can you tell me if my soulmate’s still alive? Or who they are?” The older lady looked at you with pity in her green eyes and shook her head.

“Unless this is the original code engraved on the real ring, there’s not much I can do for you other than telling you how your soulmate is. I need so much more information to ever give you a name,” You nodded in understanding. All you needed to know was if they were alive, that’s all you wanted.

She took your nod as a sign of approval and disappeared into another room. While you waited, you couldn’t help but secretly hope they were dead. You wanted all those weeks of bliss you had spent with Damiano to last a lifetime. He knew everything about you, from the number of scars scattered around your body to what book you had read the most times. No soulmate could learn that about you until years after meeting each other. Besides, it wouldn’t feel right. The Gods had already been too cruel for not making him your soulmate, but now that he wasn’t with Marlee and you knew he loved you just as much as you loved him… 

She walked out of the room and cleared her throat to catch your attention. You were thankful for her interruption because you were mere seconds away from bursting into tears of distress. She looked nervous to tell you what she had found out, but the way you looked at her made her spill the truth without any warning.

“Your soulmate is still somewhere out there, alive.”

— 

Damiano clutched his side with his hands as every type of curse word spilled from his mouth, “Thomas! Dammit Thomas, where the fuck are you?” He screamed and pushed the ache in his throat and side to the back of his mind as he limped towards the table where his loaded gun was placed, ready to be grabbed and shot. 

Things had been perfectly fine just ten minutes back. He had been drinking and playing pool with the boys in the basement. They were all laughing and messing around when Victoria heard the first gunshot. Thomas had been quick to dismiss it as one of the guards practicing his accuracy like they did every once in a while, so they went back to playing the game.

Then they heard it again and again and again. In that time it took the four men to walk up the stairs, people had already successfully broken into the house and they were shooting at anything that moved. The blood-red snake symbol all these people had on the masks that were covering their faces was one he had grown far too familiar with. These were the people Marlee had been conspiring with and they had managed to overthrow every single line of defense in between them and the front door.

Damiano had been in his room fetching a gun when a smoke bomb was thrown into the room. It had stopped him from seeing the person who shot him. Thankfully enough, their vision wasn’t much better either, because the bullet only grazed his side. It was still painful as hell and blood was pouring out of the wound, but it wasn’t going to be anything deadly. 

He finally got ahold of his gun after minutes of feeling around the table to try and spot it with the low amount of vision he still had. Once Damiano had it in his hands, he raised the scarf he was wearing to cover the lower part of his face to try and lower the quantity of smoke he inhaled.

He walked out of his room and into the hallway, still holding the gun firmly ready to shoot it at the first person he saw with that red symbol. Damiano opened the door to every room on the third floor. He had to shoot at one or two people before walking down to the floor below. The first room he opened was yours. His eyes went wide as he remembered you were still supposed to be at the SC. Damiano cursed under his breath. He needed to warn you not to come back but to go to your parents’ instead. Damiano opened the tracking app first, a precaution he had been insistent on taking just to make sure you both knew the other was safe. 

“Fucking hell,” Damiano mumbled as he saw that blue dot with your name above it was right on the same spot as his. You were back home.

Every thought of investigating each and every room to make sure there was no intruder flew out the window and instead he focused on trying to find you. Everything had turned chaotic on those few minutes he had been in your room, which was why it had gotten harder to get around without finding someone waiting on almost every corner for him to appear.

Damiano heard a piercing scream that made his blood go cold. You were in danger somewhere inside the large home and he desperately needed to get to you, to make sure you were safe from any danger. He knew his friends would be perfectly fine, they had their guns and several types of weaponry close-by, but he knew you didn’t. You always refused to take a gun or dagger with you whenever you went out and if they had caught you right when you had just gotten back… you’d most likely have nothing to defend yourself with.

There was no doubt in his mind that you were witty and incredibly smart, not to mention agile and great at coming up with plans on the spot, but he still needed to make sure you were alright. 

He got down on the first floor and his eyes met with a pair of blue ones he knew far too well. He let his eyes trail down to her carmine-tinted shirt. Marlee smiled at him and trailed her thumb along her jawline. That’s when he noticed her hands were also red and she had also left a trail of bloody footsteps from his office to where she was standing. His office.

Damiano didn’t hesitate to point the gun at her leg and pull the trigger. He then aimed for her other leg and shot it. She fell to the floor as an agonizing scream fell from her parted lips. Damiano was satisfied now that her stupid smile had been wiped right off her face.

He quickly ran to the office and opened the door. What he saw inside made time stop. It made all those sounds go silent. It made him feel like there was no floor beneath him to stand on. You were lying on the floor, a dagger piercing your chest.

You looked panicked, sad, like you wanted to do nothing but scream and cry, which you had started doing the moment you saw Damiano walked into the room. He didn’t know if your reaction was out of relief or if there was something else that concerned you, apart from the obvious.

“Damiano,” You spoke up weakly, The sound of your raspy voice was like a slap back into reality. He didn’t waste a second to fall to his knees right by your side. Damiano cupped your face with his trembling hands and brushed your cheek with his thumb.

“Shh. I’m here amore, I’m here,” He responded voice barely above a whisper, “I just need to find something to press against this wound I— something…” He stood up, ready to look for a rag, bandages, anything to stop the blood from rushing out of your body so quickly, but you stopped him.

You wrapped your hand around his arm and with all the strength you had brought him back down, “No hey, stop,” You mumbled, “Unless she happened to study every major artery, vein or has awfully perfect aim, I’ll be dead in minutes.”

He shook his head and wiped the tears that were starting to fall with the back of his hand. He was not giving up. Damiano was not going to let you die, “Wait, no, no. I can do this,” Damiano took his sweater and scarf off. With the help of his scarf, he applied pressure to the wound, careful not to move or dig the dagger further with his movements.

You shook your head and Damiano couldn’t help but cry harder at the desperation and panic in your eyes, “Please, Dami. Stop it, there’s no use. I-I just want you to hold me, please.”

He wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand and nodded repeatedly as he careful cradled you in his arms and moved your head to rest on his lap, “Everything’s going to be okay,” Damiano mumbled and left a long kiss on your forehead, then another one on your cheek and a last one on your lips.

You cupped his face with one of your hands and wiped the tears with your thumb. There wasn’t much left to say, not like you’d be able to talk even if you tried. Instead, you offered him one last sincere smile with all the energy you had left. 

He watched in horror as life slowly started to drain out of you as his ring simultaneously turned black. Damiano sat there for minutes after you were gone. He cried and let every frustration, confusion, and pain escape his body with a loud scream.

Damiano didn’t let go of your body until Victoria and Thomas had to forcefully pull him away and let someone else take care of you.

— 

Ethan didn’t walk into the room until he made sure every single intruder had been killed, except for Marlee, because Damiano had asked to keep her alive. When he did walk in, all he saw was Damiano with a folder in his hand and multiple pieces of paper scattered around the desk in his room. He looked pale, mortified by everything he was reading. The long-haired man didn’t understand what had gotten his friend in such a state of shock until he walked closer and looked at what seemed to be a contract.

You were Damiano’s soulmate. All your lives you had been tricked into believing you weren’t meant for each other. Your parents had made you believe you had no soulmate and Damiano had been fooled into thinking Marlee was his. You had gotten right to the bottom of it all and the secret would’ve gone to the grave with you if you hadn’t left the papers lying on his desk and if he had left his ring on the pocket of his jeans like he usually would. But now it was far too late to do anything about it.

#damiano david x reader #damiano david x y/n #damiano david x you #damiano david fanfiction #maneskin x reader #maneskin fanfiction

[dropsofletters]

avenue of tears

— summary: listening to the latest album of the living daydream that is the drummer jeon wonwoo isn’t quite the best idea when, supposedly, it’s written about an ex. missing him to bits, she decides to plug in her earphones, and get lost in the words written by him, for her, perfectly put together to describe what was once broken…but can now be healed.

— title: avenue of tears — pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader — genre: drummer!au ; podcast host!au ; friends to exes to strangers to lovers!au — type: fluff ; angst ; drama ; humor ; suggestive ; romance — word count: 19,796

For the first time in her life, she can say she is happy while having a sore-throat.

Well, there have been other good times in her life that have included such a symptom—the after-effects of a concert, the times in which she really believed the vocalists of the bands she loved would end up looking at her and falling in love, or when she screamed out of joy, whether on amusement park rides or from pure happiness. Having a voice is enough of a gift; saying and speaking out our thoughts, the most divine of talents that one can possess. Using that voice for the first time in her own podcast is a blessing.

Though, no amount of throat-clearing can get the staff backstage to open up some space for her to walk in. In some parts of her life, being talkative does not compare to being loud, and this is one of those moments she wishes her throat wasn’t dry and in the need for tea, simply to shout to the slow walker in front of her just so she can get to her boyfriend faster. Perhaps, feel the roughness of his calloused fingertips rub against her palm when they hold hands, and he gives her one of those lazy smiles that beg for her to give him a kiss.

The room has gray walls, and around four bands have gathered in the same space. She smells everyone’s deodorants mingling together, and she doesn’t know if the stench is favorable or she’d rather not smell anyone at all, even if it’s not an unpleasant smell. Masculinity exudes from every band, lacking the female character that should exist in rock by now, but someone’s bleached blonde strands of hair, long enough to reach that person’s waist, remind her that there is a representative of female power in this giant gig for small bands.

The vocalist of Wonwoo’s band.

The chopped strands of her hair are, thankfully, long enough to welcome the rotten pair of scissors she uses before every show, not standing split ends, and also not standing the way she calls out her real name. You see, one year ago, the vocalist would’ve been called Eunkyung, with pretty straight hair in chocolate brown, curves covered in small sprinkles of ink, sporting a little black dress of a nice day, but that’s far from the case. Now, Eunkyung has taken up the name Love, an ode to what she hates the most, cutting her hair like she cuts the men out of her life, sporting leather pants and chains falling from her shoulders, cheeks hollowed in absolute distaste of the place she finds herself in, but quite enjoying the bottle of beer she brings up to her mouth.

“Eunkyung!” She calls out again, waving her hand in the air but not getting a reaction. Instead, she stops on her tracks, the sole of her boots barely lifting from the ground as her eyes scan the room. Eunkyung stands out because of her hair, but it’d be difficult to find Wonwoo’s dark head of hair. “Love!”

With the bottle of beer perched up between her rosy lips, Love lifts her hand in the air to greet her, trying to call her over only to stop her ministrations. The little ounces of oxygen left in her lungs ask to remain on her chest before she passes out, her white boots probably dusty by the amount of people who have stepped on her.

Love moves in between the groups of people, pushing people away with a force that could barely be contained in her tall body, never once letting a single droplet of beer fall on the floor. Just when she reaches her, Love wraps her fingertips around her wrist, tutting her name out in a raspy tone, perfect for the edgy tune in the new band. “Shit, what are you doing just standing there? Could’ve gotten your shit stolen.”

Her hand absentmindedly cradles the back pocket of her jeans. Her phone is still there, thankfully. “Sorry, didn’t know I was dealing with prisoners and not with rock enthusiasts.”

Love chuckles at that, now much different from the person she used to be, tattooed up to her neck, flowers blooming on the thin skin. If she looks from close enough, she believes her jugular palpitates against the dark ink. “Here, they’re about the same.”

Once they reach the corner the band had taken up, she finally gets a glimpse of people she has met. In Wonwoo’s apartment last year, for example, when a list of names had been written on a whiteboard and each sounded worst than the last. A man with a burgundy and green beanie sits with his bass on his lap, thin legs parted and yet, seemingly thicker because of his baggy pants. His head is thrown back, as if the chatter around him doesn’t distract him from his thoughts, looking ahead at the ceiling as if there’s something interesting on there. She really does look up, just in case Hansol has found the secret to life in that damned white ceiling.

The bassist doesn’t seem to be paying attention when she directs the question towards Love. “What did he smoke?”

Love finishes her beer in one go, patting her hand against Hansol’s leg before taking a seat on it. The two childhood friends had been the ones to start this whole band ordeal—and to be quite honest, it’s all thanks to them that Wonwoo got the guts to be in a band. Love’s Midnight may not be doing quite well right now, but it will someday. “Vernon didn’t smoke a thing. If anything, I’m the one looking for a smoke.”

“Weed’s bad.” Hansol, or by his stage name Vernon, says from his spot as he finally concentrates on the conversation at hand. His brown eyes seem gentle, even when his dark eyebrows join in a frown. “You’re gonna fuck up your voice.”

“So what?” Love asks.

“We don’t have a vocalist, then.” Hansol continues, pushing her off his lap to put his bass back inside its case, rubbing his sweaty palms against his black pants. “And we don’t have anyone to back you up. My singing is not as good. Andy’s singing is shit and Wonwoo sounds mysterious when he sings, but put him on the front of the stage and he’s going to black out.”

At the mention of her boyfriend, she can’t help but feel a smile creep up her face. Wonwoo was supposed to only be her little cousin’s drum teacher, a little part-time job he had to keep the dream alive, but one of those times her aunt couldn’t make it, she was asked to drive the little boy to class. There, Wonwoo captured her attention, and just before she left with regrets, she had slipped a paper with her number onto his palm.

And he had called.

And now, seven months later, they’re there. Coexisting in the same world, uniting their loose threads, and living out of it.

Well, he’s not there.

“Where’s Wonwoo?” She asks, resting her hands inside the pockets of her jeans, and a little grin appears on Hansol’s face at the mention of his name.

“He’s—”

Hansol’s deep and tranquil voice cuts short when an interruption comes through in the shape of the shortest of the band, purple hair done a mess and yet, matching with the hickeys trailing up his neck, doing his best to conceal it with the thick choker around his neck. Andy, the band’s guitarist, whose innocent features bring him just about any lover to his side, thinking he understands them, listens to them…but he’s a player.

And a damn good one, too. “Twenty bucks and I’ll tell you where he is.”

“Twenty bucks and you shut up.” Her tongue is witty enough to reply, and the sound of familiar laughter stirs her heart alive. When her hands spread on top of Andy’s shoulders, pushing him to the side to look for Wonwoo, she sees him nearing them, perhaps accompanying Andy in the process, black hair falling upon his forehead in sweaty strands, framing his elongated face, rounded ears, enigmatic eyes and tender, thin lips.

He gets closer, enough to wrap an arm around her and make her feel the coldness of the chains on his leather jacket, as dark as the rest of his outfit, but she knows the red shirt underneath is the tank top she bought him not too long ago. “Don’t give him your money. He’s a scam.”

“Girls don’t say that.” Andy shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest and gently rubbing the hickeys on his neck.

“I doubt they get to tell you anything at all.” She answers, twirling on Wonwoo’s arms until he’s hugging her completely, his taut chest breathing in and out, meeting hers in the middle. “There’s only so much you can know about someone while having sex.”

“Listen—”

Love stands up from her spot to wrap her arm entirely around Andy’s shoulder, smiling wickedly at the people in front of her. “Instead of arguing with our two lovebirds and the reason why our love songs are good, why don’t we look for a blunt?”

“Be careful out there.” Wonwoo conquers, lifting one of his eyebrows as if to question Love’s actions. The woman simply chuckles, already dragging Andy away for her.

“The only difference between a cigarette and a blunt is social norms, Wonwoo.” Love complies, clearly talking about the smell of cigarettes that breathes out in the aftertaste of the cologne and mint in him. He picked it up not too long ago, and hasn’t been able to get away from nicotine since then.

Hansol, once again too lost in his own world, doesn’t seem to notice—or mind—when her lips meet his in one of those brief dances of excitement, a smile barely able to conceal itself on her face when she looks into his glistening eyes. “How was the gig?”

“Tiring.” He answers, tugging at the collar of his leather jacket. “Love insists we have to look edgy, but this make me sweat buckets.”

“It makes you look hot.”

A tinge of pink creeps up his ears, smiling widely when he moves her from side to side. “What’s with all the love today? You’re awfully happy.”

How not to be so when she’s with him? Awakening to the sound of his fingers pattering against the counter of his kitchen, mumbling out the lyrics of the songs he is always writing. Wonwoo is not only a dreamer but a dream, a sight to look at and a potion inside her stomach. If she could, she’d throw up hearts at the mere mention of him, but the impossibility only further explains her infatuation for him. Love, love is this.

“Well…” She trails her voice, just at the same time that her hands take place by his abdomen, toying with the fabric there. “Did you listen to the podcast today? First episode early in the morning. Not a lot of people tuned in, but twenty is more than nothing, right?”

His black hair covers the darkness that looms over his eyes, lips faltering that smile to instead part delicately. Even his body moves away at the mention of the podcast, little droplets of sweat intensifying on his neck. “T-The podcast was today?”

A sigh leaves her before she could stop it. Forgetfulness is not his thing, but it seems to be today. “Yeah. I told you today before you went out to practice.”

“Shit, sorry.” Wonwoo lets his hand hover on her cheek, lips leaning forward to join hers, but she can’t even purse her own to meet him, leaving him with her blank expression instead. “I went to the gym after practice, and then I was too busy to actually listen—”

“You decided to go to the gym instead of listening to the podcast I have been working so hard on?” Nights spent listening to her favorite albums, preparing topics and asking Minghao to help her achieve the best quality in sound. Publicity done just about everywhere, asking her close friends and family to listen. Twenty people had listened, and none of them was Wonwoo. Her boyfriend.

“It was a mistake.” He whispers, like the boyfriend he is, not forgetting to pour all his emotions out in the pout of his lips. Giving her another kiss, she wants to stay angry, let the pits of hell stay inside her, but his eyes glimmer as if he means it when he promises: “Maybe, next time I will listen, okay?”

Maybe. A relationship should not be gray; it’s either black or white, it’s yes or no, never an in-between. Never a maybe.

But she takes it, because Wonwoo is just the type to say things without thinking. His ‘maybe’ may mean ‘certainly’.

His ‘maybe’ may mean ‘I’m sorry’.

Or it just is meaningless. Not ‘maybe’ at all.

###

Pen to paper. Cigarettes to lips. A mess done person, or a person done a mess.

The press has met the man that she has loved for over eleven months, and yet, she feels like each article that gets out about Love’s Midnight just makes her know the people in the band a lot less. This thought crosses her as her feet come in contact with empty bottles of soda, thrown across the floor of the hotel room they rented for their first real gig. Wonwoo’s cigarettes have been his lover for the night, as well as his lyricism notebook, but Andy seems to be having other ideas in the cheap room next door. It may be just some hooker, but something in her gut tells her that the lack of Love on the afterparty gives her an indicator of who it may be…

The reaction is long gone when she closes the door behind her, sporting her best dress—the one Wonwoo always talked about, the one that had his eyes lingering on her legs a lot longer than necessary, unable to keep his hands off her waist whenever she used it. The attention from him was well received, and yet, it was lacking tonight. The lonesome yellow of the lightbulb in front of them flickers, her heels click against the tiles on the floor, and he doesn’t even pull away from his notebook, humming out the notes to the song he is writing. At least, he’s not the one with the hooker.

But, what kind of thought is that?

It’s not the kind of idea she’d normally have about Wonwoo. Her Wonwoo, all rock songs but soft heartened words. Yet, with each passing month of his newfound stardom, she sees him less. Feels him less. Talks to him in ways that feels as though he is a stranger, and not the kind that wants to meet her. Definitely not the interested strangers they were in the past, the reason as to why they fell in love.

The lighter in between his fingers basks the cream walls in a faint light, the first smoke of the cigarettes leaving his lips and then, he keeps his hand up, a little bit twisted to keep the ashes away from his notebook. She moves closer, the back of her thighs meeting the edge of the bed when she calls out his name. Nothing. Wonwoo feels like nothing these days.

There, in a pretty dress, and yet not of his liking, pushing the pink fabric to fit more of her body, like a woman in her honeymoon. Insecurity latches to each portion of her uncovered skin, clearing her throat to catch his attention as she rests her extended palm on his back.

The toned muscles seem to welcome her touch, but his face remains stoic, hair standing out in various spots, dark eyes packing worries inside his heart. “Wonwoo?”

“Baby, I’m busy.” Annoyance exists in his tone, though it’s almost imperceptible. These days, all his feelings seem to be this way—happiness is the same as sadness, as annoyance and worry. Wonwoo is just a blank canvas, and she can’t seem to paint him. “Can’t seem to finish writing this song.”

“Maybe, it’s just not a good song.” The words don’t come out in the way that normally would. He has been talking about this song for three days, maybe it’s about time he drops it. Maybe, it’s time for them to drop this strange silent treatment between them—

“What?” Finally, he looks over his shoulder, his lips barely wrapping around the cigarette before each blow of smoke is thrown her way with his words. “What do you mean the song is not good? You haven’t even heard it.”

“If you can’t write it, it’s because you’re not inspired for it.”

His eyebrows raise up at that, taking his notebook in between his finger and stomping his cigarette against the bedside table, perhaps leaving it for later. He turns on his back, on the verge of becoming silent again, when he stops tapping his pen against the notebook. “What do you know about music anyways? It’s not that easy to write a song.”

A laugh escapes her nose, because she’s not half happy at the man in front of her. “The podcast I have, the one you don’t listen to, talks about music and I have a minor in something music-related. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“I listen to your podcast.” Wonwoo defends, letting the notebook rest on his taut abdomen as he lifts his hands to rub at his eyes. “I just don’t have enough time to listen to you talk for more than an hour—”

Her legs can’t seem to stay still then, standing up from her spot on the bed and making sure to pull her dress as far as possible. Somehow, being looked at by Wonwoo at this moment feels absolutely horrendous. Earlier this afternoon, she would’ve loved to have his hands all over her, his lips mouthing the things he loves the most about her. Right now, he’s impossible. “Isn’t that what a boyfriend should do? Listen to his motherfucking girlfriend?”

“I listen to you, oh my God!” He throws his head back, covering his face with his hands before sighing. “Babe, you’re being irrational. You come in here and tell me my song sucks, and now you’re making this about our relationship?”

“Well, you were the one that told me I didn’t know anything about music.”

Wonwoo stops for a moment, uncovering his face to look at her with what seems to be despair. “Then, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Her heels click harshly with each step she takes towards him. “You can’t just say sorry like you’re bored. Saying sorry has to be meaningful.”

“That’s just how my voice sounds.” But she knows that’s not the case. Deep, tranquil, that’s his voice, but that doesn’t mean it’s not meaningful. That doesn’t mean he can talk to her in a way that feels as though he has never loved her.

“No, that’s not how your voice sounds—”

“Babe—”

“Wonwoo.” She closes her eyes tightly, kneeling to take the empty bottles of soda in between her hands. “Who are you and what did you do to the man I fell in love with?” The question is rhetorical and not meant to be answered as she continues: “You’re messy and uninterested, this is not—”

“Maybe, if you let me speak, I’d be able to tell you what’s wrong with me.”

“Oh, so there’s really something wrong?” Far too entranced in her anger, she crosses her arms over her chest. “Is it me? Am I the wrong thing in your life?”

“When you get like this, maybe.” Wonwoo conquers, standing up and taking the resting empty bottles of soda before sighing. “Hey—”

“No. Repeat that.”

“Give me a break.”

She takes him by his arms, then, his tank top moving with the motion as she makes him turn towards her. Tired eyes to tired soul. One for him. One for her. “You really want me to give you a break? Because I could totally leave you if that means you being happy.”

Wonwoo has always been a selectively silent man. His lips don’t part unless necessary. He loves being a listener, not a talker. She wishes he would’ve stayed silent that night, but he didn’t, instead frowning deeply as he pushed his body away from her. “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t listen to me. So, maybe, it’s better if we give each other a break, don’t you think?”

She has to scoff, pulling her dress further down her thighs as it had ridden up, yet not once breaking eye contact with him. “Why call it a break? Why don’t we just break up and that’s it? Call it fucking quits so you can go fuck some other chick that actually listens to you, baby boy?”

“Don’t talk to me like that.” He answers, shoulders rising and falling as he gets closer to her. “Don’t talk to me at all if you’re going to be like that.”

“Well, tough luck. That’s just how I am.” Her voice drops a few octaves, pushing at his chest to get him away from her. His eyes seem to change, then, ever so present in his feelings, burning through him when he calls his name and tries to reach for her, but she is halfway through the room when his skin barely grazes her.

“Baby—”

“Don’t you fucking touch me. Don’t you talk to me. Don’t look for me. Don’t…” Her voice breaks then, breathing out slowly when her hand comes in contact with the handle of the door. “Don’t, Wonwoo. Just don’t.”

“Hey, sorry, you know I love y—”

“Don’t.” She whispers, loud enough for him to hear when she opens the door. Why is that, even when the air in the corridor feels fresher than the one basked in cigarettes in this room, she feels more suffocated when she leaves?

Right, because she never listened to him.

And he never got to talk honestly to her.

###

“Listen, you’re a podcast host. I think you should really leave the coffee aside and go for tea and honey.”

One of the biggest wonders in this world is how in hell Minghao’s blonde strands of hair seem to be soft even when he dyes it continuously. The other wonder is how such a sweet voice like his seems to have the pointiest of remarks just at the tip of his tongue. Perhaps, that’s why Minghao is the tech of her podcast, and not a host to be exact. He’d be far too honest about the newest releases in music. What she’d call ‘something different yet not tasteful’, he’d call it ‘absolute garbage taken out of the trash, eaten by a dog, and then thrown up onto the floor’.

But hey, that’s just Xu Minghao.

Twirling on his chair, he writes something down on their shared document for this week’s podcast, two years on the run and yet, doing better than ever. Thousands of listeners check up each week, either on YouTube or on Spotify, to tune in and talk about the newest music dropped into the world. Mostly rock, but she doesn’t forget some other genres if they catch her attention enough.

He runs his fingers through his hair, leaning back on his seat and parting his jean cladded legs, fixing the plain yet expensive t-shirt resting on his slender body before she responds. “Get on with your life, Hao. If I don’t drink coffee, I could totally die.”

“Stubborn as ever, I see.” Minghao tuts, lifting his cat-like eyes from the screen just as he clears his throat. “Your kidneys are the ones dying.”

“As long as it’s not my vocal cords, we’re fine.”

“You’re not going to die because of lack of caffeine. That’s just stupid.” Yet, his eyes keep concentrating on the screen, organizing both good and bad albums to talk about, maybe a sprinkle of singles here and there as not to make the podcast too long. However, just as the straw of her iced coffee meets her lips, Minghao’s face stands out in their office setup, widening his eyes at what he sees on the screen. “You’re going to die because of this, though.”

Exaggerations are not his thing. That’s why he is so poised even when the audio cuts off, or when her voice breaks. Nothing impresses him, nothing leaves an imprint on him, so her body moves to his side before he could completely finish his sentence. “Why? Why? Why? Why would I die?”

Minghao doesn’t let her look at the screen of his laptop, instead reading out the title of the article he read online for her. “Love’s Midnight has released a new album after their one-year hiatus. The drummer, Jeon Wonwoo, surprises with his songwriting skills in their new project: Valentine. The release date is next week and…” Minghao turns to her then, eyebrows lifted as he inspects her features. “Apparently, it’s an ode to a past lover.”

It’s been two years since she opted to never hear those names again. Love’s Midnight. Jeon Wonwoo. Even Eunkyung, Hansol and Andy had been completely eradicated from her thoughts.

Valentine, perhaps because they had gotten together on February, but what are the odds of Wonwoo actually writing a song about her? An album, at that? He had never reached out, not by hand, not by text, not by a single call. Wonwoo had dissipated after a few missed calls, as if he had given up, and it was for a cause.

“Well, we’re not talking about their album next week.”

Minghao shakes his head harshly enough for a few strands of his hair to jump at the motion. “We have to. Love’s Midnight has been huge for the past two years,” The lack of her in their lives must have been the reason of their success. All friends of hers, now nothing in comparison. “And with the departure of Andy and the entrance of lady-killer Hoshi into the team, we better have all the fangirls tuning in for our podcast.”

Andy. The innocent features, short height, the banter in between them. She had not even gotten to know he had left. “Why did Andy leave?”

“Ooh, messy stuff.” Minghao conquers, not one for gossip, but one for knowing it all. “Love and Andy were dating since the start, right?” Now, that’s not the story she knows—Andy and Love were pals for lust, but they were never really a serious thing. “They broke up. Andy departed because of how difficult it was to be around her, and that was it for them. That’s why the hiatus happened, but now Hoshi joined them.”

“Who’s that Hoshi dude?”

The tech turns to his laptop, writing down the name quickly on the search before an image popped up in front of them. Pierced ears, rounded cheeks and sharp eyes, all highlighted by makeup on his cheeks to make him glisten like the sun, the thick eyeliner matching his leather jacket and his pushed back hair full of gel. He seems to be blonde in that picture, but in the one next to it, his hair is darker, playing guitar on stage with Love, who’s singing in the microphone. Skinnier than ever, with her eyes hollowed out and yet, the smile never leaves her face.

“I see,” She starts, pushing her body away when she sees a glimpse of Wonwoo with his hands up in the air in the back, ready to smack his drums again. “We’re not talking about them, though. I don’t care about anything Jeon Wonwoo can write.”

But her heart picks up just at the mere sight of him. Would he be alright? His health, fine? His lungs still working perfectly or is he still in the way to addiction to nicotine? Does the loneliness still haunt him at times in the middle of the night, or has he found someone else already?

“Don’t be like that,” Minghao states, rolling his eyes at her. “It’s just an album, and you haven’t listened to their music in a while. It was two years ago, I’m sure it will be fine.”

“What if it is about me?”

The question haunts her, makes her feel insecure in a way that she hasn’t felt in a while. Maybe, she fears to know what he really wanted to say—the regrets or the acceptance, the things he felt. If it made him happier or sadder. If he, to this day, hasn’t been able to love someone equally as much as her, because she knows she can’t. No man can compare to the fluttering feeling that came with him. “It’s just a few songs. I think not all of them are about you. Besides, it can be any past lover…and I’m sure you weren’t Wonwoo’s first girlfriend.”

Not his first love, and definitely not his last. A sigh leaves her lips as she crosses her arms over her chest. If she spoke about his album, maybe she’d prove to herself that he was wrong. Music exists in her blood, she acknowledges it as part of her, and he can’t tell her that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about anymore.

“I’ll give it a listen once it drops out.”

With a dizzy smile on his features, Minghao claps his hands in excitement. “Well, look who made you agree to something for the first time in his life.” Sending his two thumbs his way, he chuckles. “This guy.”

###

Being the center of attention has never been of his liking. It’s not the thing Jeon Wonwoo is known for, but it’s the thing their publicist wants him to do.

Flashing lights end up all over him, makeup-less and yet, not caring that he is showing every imperfection on his skin. He cares about what he has to say, though, to take out the buried memories of a past love just for the sake of an album, or for healing. The documentary they’re doing about Love’s Midnight, however, is another ordeal he can’t seem to understand. Not quite feeling connected to the camera in front of him, the white background, the staff that gather as if they want to listen to him. They don’t.

Hansol is somewhere by the corner, getting his makeup taken off for his own interview—people want it to be realistic, or so they say. Somewhere around the room, Love is singing at the top of her lungs—not reaching those notes that had once been the point of her knowledge, but still sounding like an angel sent from heaven. Hoshi is the only one nearby, seated with his legs crossed, looking at Wonwoo in understanding. Not equally as introverted, but somehow capturing the essence of dread in Wonwoo’s soul.

He shrinks into himself, each curvature of his muscles hidden by his posture, though the tank top on him does nothing to conceal what he knows will get him compliments, but never too meaningful. He sends a smile to one of the staff members that passes by him, fixing the lights one last time and asking him to take off his glasses. He does, never the type to say no.

“So, Wonwoo…” The cameraman says from his spot, learning his questions like the palm of his hand, and no amount of preparation and knowledge could’ve prepared him for the question thrown his way. His mind knew it was going to happen, but much like a teenage student in high school, he didn’t prepare. “What’s this album about?”

Her.

It’s not a ‘what’, it’s a ‘who’.

It’s his February 21st, his little memory in a pink dress, his ode to the drums, the reason why he sometimes touches the piano in hopes of composing a song. The only smile he can’t seem to remember perfectly, from the shade of her lipstick to the way her lips felt against his. The little smile she gave him after their first kiss, the way she called out his name, the only ode he has been able to give to the world…his memories of her.

“It’s about love, heartbreak, healing. All of the like.” He says, clearing his throat soon after, only to watch the cameraman move his hands, instructing him to say more. His eyes close for a second, letting out a breath that mingles with an uncomfortable laugh. “It’s about someone I loved dearly. Someone I don’t want to forget.”

“What did you love about them?”

“Pardon?”

“What did you love about them?” The cameraman asks, and Wonwoo has to lean back on his seat to capture the gasp that was about to leave his lips. He was never one to say it much—those three words that would have otherwise made her feel better. She’s talkative, he’s not.

What did he love about her?

Was it the love that she made him feel? Was it the movement of her hips, the shape of her lips, the way she spoke about her issues as if the world was falling down on her? Was it her enthusiasm, her happiness—?

“That everything about her made me want to be a better person.” His head nods once, twice, trying to further convince himself that it’s okay that he doesn’t have her. She’ll always exist in his music, in his rhymes, in his handwriting as he gives another poem to her—another melody to cherish her. “She was the only woman I ever imagined myself loving for a long time.”

Yet, he can’t clean up the mess they made. Can’t return to the avenue they left abandoned because it had taken too long to get to their goal. With one last breath, he hears another question:

“Care to explain some songs to us?”

But the words never come to him. They didn’t back then, they don’t now.

###

Okay, an album. She has listened to thousands of those, maybe even millions. It shouldn’t be an issue for her to sit down in front of her computer, plug in her earphones, and just let the melody of Love’s Midnight songs fill her eardrums with absolute bullshit. Cheesy love bullshit that never happens.

But this is not yet another album.

This is an album about her.

Minghao could be right, though. What are the odds of Wonwoo actually remembering her, much more in the form of lyricism? This thought is what has her pushing her earphones inside the laptop, sighing deeply as she presses play. The introduction shouldn’t be that difficult to listen to, and the artwork is simplistic, something of the like of a sunset merging into artwork in its abstract form. It feels romantic, but it isn’t about her.

The first song changes it all.

The first track of nine has Love’s strong vocals, reaching her high notes like they are part of her voice, slow and steady with that edge of slow rock, a plea for a lover to trust them even when they don’t seem to be showcasing their truest intention. A fool, the song speaks about over and over again, blaming themselves for not being able to point out their realest feelings to their lover.

The bass is heavy on the second track, and Hansol—Vernon, in this case—hasn’t lost a single ounce of his talent to fame. Metaphors speak about Wonwoo’s growing love for literature, grieving the end of a relationship and cladding it in pride. A man who can’t seem to understand the finalization of his relationship, covering it with more wrongdoings, and yet, begging for another yesterday, another chance. Something that has her tightening her hand against her heart, listening to Love’s voice dragging feelings through the pits of hell.

The third track is the one she likes the least, and it’s the one that seems to be the most about her. Talking about smiles, laughter, reminiscent of times much happier and yet, mixing a sound that she would’ve never imagined from Wonwoo’s band. It feels like she is walking on the streets of Madrid, waiting for a lover, letting the Spanish guitar pull her in only to dizzy her. Far too happy. Far too difficult to understand with their bitter ending.

The fourth track feels like him, enough for her fingers to hover over the space bar to pause it a few times. Slow, steady, and the pain of the break-up is felt through every single note. Loneliness haunting, drowning and drowning him into this pit of nonexistence. Love’s voice seems to fit every feeling, and she wonders if it’s just her amazing way of portraying sentiments, or it’s common for people to go through so much pain.

Fifth track, and the echo of it makes her feel even lonelier in her room, leaning back on her gray bed and fluffy pillows to close her eyes lightly. Drunken feelings, it speaks about, a man in the middle of a party with the smell of smoke clinging to him, speaking his feelings into the microphone as if they come directly from his heart, remembering how his life seemed to be easier, much easier when it was simpler. The minimalistic whisper coming from Love’s voice indicating: “I’m good, what about you?” in such a broken tone has her sending a weak smile to the air.

She’s not half as good as he is.

Insecurities seep through the sixth track, and her back cracks by the time she moves again, wanting to hear this from up close. This past lover comes haunt him in his dreams, and he only wonders if they’re happy. The sixth track is far more commercial than the rest, reason as to why it doesn’t surprise her it’s the one, they dropped with a music video she has yet to see. The allegories indicate that this lover, maybe, has found someone else, and the thought alone makes them sleepless. Insomniac. Saddened.

Huh, wouldn’t even surprise her if Wonwoo was the one that found someone else. Each of her dates have ended in her going home without a single kiss, not wanting to have anyone but him.

The seventh track shows Wonwoo’s talent by the drums perfectly, upbeat and coming directly from the 80’s, Love doing her best to portray the meeting of two lovers and the immediate chemistry between the two. A pink dress is mentioned, and the only thing she can do is purse her lips together.

Fuck Xu Minghao.

Fuck him for making her listen to this motherfucking album.

Fuck that pink dress that she keeps in her closet.

The piano on the eighth track takes her breath away, far more heartfelt than anything they have ever done—far more mature than anything she would have imagined from Wonwoo’s little band. The fear of losing someone, one last goodbye, the speech through a break-up. It speaks about turning and twisting, about running out of things to say and saying the worst ones. Tears gather by her vision when she hears that female voice speaking all the pain, she has gathered in her heart for only four minutes. It feels like a lifetime.

Getting Wonwoo to sing for her was difficult. It’d have to come after long conversations, when he was really tired, or when she couldn’t sleep. His voice in the last track was unexpected, so much that she wouldn’t even be able to recognize his voice if only she had not listened to it for almost a year of her life, every single day. His deep tone breathes out words of wanting someone back, but not knowing if he should trust his heart or his brain. Starting slow and then building up to a pop beat, it’s a nice song to snap fingers to, yet, she can’t bring herself to do anything but stare at the screen.

He’d still try for her, he says. In some point of his life, or when he wrote this song, he wanted her back.

He’ll always want her back with him.

And it’s with that thought that she closes her laptop, breathing out harshly at the same time that she texts Minghao.

To: Hao.

I hate you for making me listen to this album.

Track number three sucks ass.

Yet, her fingers hover over the search bar, letting the line tickle the write surface with its glow before she is writing down his name. Jeon Wonwoo, but with an addition—girlfriend, she wants to know who this could be about if it’s not about her—

The first pictures that pop out break her heart in a million pieces only to deliver it across the world as a souvenir. Wonwoo is getting out of a party with some model by his side, long dark hair cascading down her back, a little black dress cladding her elongated body, shiny legs in display as a shy smile creeps up her red lips.

Want you back my ass.

Maybe, it’s this model he is missing.

###

Blue lights bathe his skin in its sinful glow, seated by the entrance of a bar. Their usual spot packs people as if they’re the box of cigarettes on his coat’s pocket, one long stick of nicotine dangling from his lips only to be lit up by someone else. Some of the people gathering around him, perhaps, or the femme voice that has been asking him personal questions for the past hour. Short answers have escaped him, but seeing how risqué they are getting and how uncomfortable he is, he can’t bring himself to care.

Tonight, he’s supposed to celebrate the release of Valentine, his newest album. The happiest night of his life, it must be, but it’s far from that. Droplets of champagne pour from the ceiling, cheers being heard as yet another electronic song plays in the background. Eunkyung is lost in God-knows-where, Hansol has embarked in a conversation about the universe with a group of college students, and Soonyoung is dancing as if he doesn’t have a care in this world. He probably doesn’t, and that’s the dream.

It feels weird. Earning money and success from his sentiments should make him feel better—narcissistic in a way that fuels his ego, but only makes him feel as though the headlines are eating him alive. With each person that nears him, he feels more faux. A product, nothing more, nothing less, enough to be dismissed when he stands up from his spot, blowing out smoke into the condensed air. Some bump his side, staining the expensive leather of his coat, but the conceptualization passes him by quickly. At least, he gets to feel something.

Footsteps are heard beside him by the time he opens the door to the bar. If he’s lucky, he may get to go to his apartment, smoke another cigarette, and head to bed quickly. However, just when the black, sleek door slides from his fingertips to close it down, the flashes of cameras attack his features. Each regret is highlighted by yet another paparazzi throwing themselves at him as they ask the same old questions. The only thing that people seem to wonder about him.

“Who was Valentine about? Please, tell us the details!” One of them screams directly to his face, the microphone grazing his bottom lip and making him stumble back. He tries to smile, but the beam falls down by his fakeness.

“Wonwoo, over here!” One of the shortest interviewers says, waving his hand in the air to capture his attention. “Was it about Eunji?”

Right, Eunji. His publicist would love if he simply said it was about her.

The woman comes in the shape of a goddess, and the tremor of her voice brought a distraction for one night. A distraction, compliments that are void, words that did not have to have meaning, and the frustration of not being able to move on. Eunji said she understood—she, too, had been going through some kind of heartbreak and the relief was needed, but each text that came after said events went directly through his head and towards the deleted pile. One night was enough.

Blowing the air of his cigarette in the air, his mind desires to give the paparazzi what they want. Be the good boy he has always been in a band of people who have stood out for their unique qualities, but tonight, when it’s about her and the success tastes like blood and iron on his tongue, he doesn’t want to be who he used to be.

Jeon Wonwoo, did everything to be one of the most well-known drummers of the year, and ended up alone in the process.

“It’s just for someone, let me be.” He whispers, pushing through the seas of people with his bodyguard trailing right behind him. One good thing comes from fame, but just as he is getting away from the bar, the clicking of cameras still following along with the words from the paparazzi, he hears a lively voice cut through the air with worry.

“Wonwoo, what do you think you’re doing? That’s bad publicity.” Soonyoung speaks quickly, brushing his blonde hair away from his face to showcase his reddened face. The honesty must come from being a bit tipsy.

“Sorry.” It’s the only thing he can bring himself to say, because he knows it’s bad publicity, but isn’t it bad enough that people have been speculating about the muse behind his album? And none of the suppositions are right.

“Stop smoking and look at me for once.” Soonyoung indicates, and Wonwoo parts the cigarette from his lips for a second, quirking one of his eyebrows as they walk together. “What is going on with you?”

“I’m about to become a million seller by exploiting my past relationship and I’ve been getting more attention than usual in the process.” The night seems to swallow each and every single one of his worries, leaving him with a sigh. “I think I’ve just had enough.”

“That’s what happens, dude!” Soonyoung conquers, as if trying to make him feel better. His arm wraps around his shoulder, moving him from side to side. “You’ve done something great for our band, and you’ve been able to let go of all those pent feelings.”

Ha. That’s something he hasn’t done at all. How stupid does he have to be to be in love with her when it all ended so wrongly? Besides, it’s not like she would’ve waited for him—he was a dick, and she has all the reasons to find someone much better. The thought has him putting the cigarette up to his lips again.

“I suppose.” He shrugs, watching a limousine pull up not too far away from them. Since when did he forget about the existence of taxis and started to be too rich for his own good?

“The publicists are going to be so mad at you.”

Wonwoo stops at that, looking ahead and back, ahead and back, not knowing if he should move forward and drag himself to the past. Was it easier when no one cared? Is it easier now that he has all he ever wanted?

Was this all he ever wanted at all?

“Soonyoung…” He says those words into the air, playing a smile into his features as if he feels it. He doesn’t. “Can’t we just get in the car and not talk about this for a second? Let’s talk about any other band but Love’s Midnight.”

Something in the blonde man switches, opening the door to the limousine as he nods with uncertainty. He doesn’t like being looked at like that—as if he doesn’t know what he’s doing with his life…

Because it’s damn right.

But hey, at least he’s almost a million copies seller, right?

###

“Huh, I listened to an album this week,” Her voice drags with the continuation of her sentence, eyes trailing up until she meets Minghao’s, far too concentrated on the sound of her microphone, on stopping the echoes and making sure that those who tune in live do get to hear her properly. She has to muffle a laugh. Nervousness makes her sound stupid. “Well, duh, of course, I always talk about music and listen to albums…but I listened to a weekly favorite just last week.”

Each day has been worse than the last. The headache doesn’t leave her, finding herself humming the tunes to Love’s Midnight songs—that one song, the last track, keeps playing in her head as if she had been the one who composed it. Whatever. It happens. I’m sure most of the women in music who had songs written about them felt the same way. Maybe, Courtney Love felt like this. Could’ve been worse, at least Wonwoo didn’t pull a Lennon and wrote a song along the lines of “Dear Yoko”.

She fixes the beanie on her head, staring forward at the white doors of her office, the coldness seeping through her sweater, a shiver going down her spine. “It’s Love’s Midnight latest album, Valentine. You guys were recommending it a lot this week, wanted me to talk about it and all…” Her fingers start to play with the straw of her drink, trying her hardest not to take too many pauses. The podcast is live for some, after all. “And it’s here. I’ll talk about it.”

With the last ounce of sanity left inside her body, she takes a long sip of her drink, smacks her lips and starts pouring out her thoughts into professionalism.

“Track number three sucks. Sorry to anyone who is a fan, but track number three is the corniest, stupidest thing I’ve ever heard from them. No hate, just truth.” She lifts her hands in the air, watching Minghao lift his gaze to mouth something to her. Don’t, he says, and she remembers that was the last word she told Wonwoo. Fuck. “In all honesty, though, I liked the conceptualization of the album. I think that…uh…they could’ve added some spice here and there. Everything felt like a pile of heartbreak—”

The screen by her side lights up, showing up the live chat and the viewers speaking about the album.

Jeon Wonwoo wrote it for a past lover. He must be heartbroken.

Track number three is the best, though.

Finally, you’re talking about Love’s Midnight. Favorite band.

“But yeah, Love did amazingly with her vocals, contrary to what one would believe. She went to high highs and low lows, exquisite in her vibratos, that raspy tone of hers still captures everyone who listens.” Looking up at the ceiling, she swallows thickly. So much to say about nine tracks about her, and still the words don’t come out. “H—Vernon, he’s very good with the bass. You know, maybe our tech Minghao will agree with me on this, but Vernon is the one who makes the songs feel profitable, like it can be heard in a club, can be heard in the car, both adults and teens can like his sound. Definitely one of the pillars of the band, I think.”

Minghao nods his head from the booth, and she feels a little bit of warmth in the room. She’s not alone—if she fucks up, she’s not alone.

“Hoshi. Didn’t even know Hoshi was in the band until our tech told me, haven’t been really up to date with Love’s Midnight…” Because watching him play would only bring back the memories of the first time they met, the feeling of his skin tattered in tattoos under the weight of her hands, the tremble of his voice, the tender way he held her. Like she meant something. Like her words meant something. Until they didn’t. “God, his solos? He’s—I think in this era, in this generation of musicians, it’s impossible to stand out as a guitarist because there’s hundreds, thousands, millions of good guitarists. Haven’t seen Hoshi live, but I’m looking forward for the acoustic sets with his talent. Just from listening to him, I feel like he has real talent.”

Her eyes divert towards the screen, shaking a bit when she reads a question on her opinion about Wonwoo’s songwriting skills. There, she can imagine him sprawled on his bed, his notebook covering most of his face as he looks at her from the corner of his eye, sending a shy smile her way before venturing into a new world, writing her in it as if he cared.

Did he ever care?

“Ah…what I think about Jeon Wonwoo’s songwriting skills?” Saying his name out loud has her scrunching up her features. If she closes her eyes, he’s there, so she keeps them wide open. His voice calls her out—baby, baby, I didn’t forget you. “I think they could be better.”

It’s at this time that Minghao scoffs from his spot, shaking his head as he places his hands behind it. Liar, his pretty lips mouth at her.

“Wonwoo, whoever this album is about,” Me, she thinks, it’s about me and my stupid dumb smile when around him. My insecurities. My world. “I don’t know, it feels fake. Maybe, it’s just me…” Her voice trails for a second, shaking her thoughts out before sighing. “They’re good, they’re just not…you know, they’re not ‘album of the year’ worthy. He seems to be stuck in the same topic and I can’t judge his range if he’s only written about…one thing…you know, like—” Shit, she’s really digging her own grave right here. What is she supposed to say? That she liked it? “Like, yeah, we get it, you’re heartbroken…but, I mean, judging from what he has written in the album…he fucked up, too, you know?”

Maybe, she should just read some comments. Reassure herself that she’s not sounding like the one who had an entire album written about her.

Emo boy energy, doesn’t surprise me. Very Jeon Wonwoo-esque. One of them writes.

The drums were sick, though. Say hi to me, host!

People say it’s about Song Eunji.

Song Eunji. Model. Wonwoo’s latest known lover. The pictures flash before her eyes as she thinks about it. Maybe, it’s really about Eunji and not about her…

Why does the thought make her sadder?

“So, yeah, I’d give it an eight point seven out of ten. Favorite track is track number nine. Hoshi is the backbone of this band to me now. That’s it.”

Regret clings to her like a leech. Song Eunji. Jeon Wonwoo. An album. Failed dates. A broken relationship. Why is love always extra difficult for her?

###

“Come on, babe, lighten up.”

With rosy cheeks, her friend, Jade, speaks those words like there is enough space in this party for her to feel free. There isn’t, quite clearly, but Jade is on the brink of her youth, ready to mess up her long hair, get on some tables and drunkenly sing to the world, albeit a bit messily. Her family, all consisting of enormous classic musicians, rooted from the most intricate and exclusive of schools, would shake their heads at the sight of Jade, already rid of her shirt and practically dragging her body towards her to wrap an arm around her shoulder and keep herself steady. The bottle of champagne Jade had been drinking from is brought up to her lips, and she has to take a sip if she doesn’t want Jade to start whining in a high tone, able to break through the bass-boosted music in this club.

It’s Jade’s birthday, and Minghao is nowhere to be seen. He probably left early—her fault for trying to play matchmaker between Jade and Minghao over a year ago, but her apologies had never been enough for the awkward blind date she had set up for the two of them. If there’s one thing Minghao can’t stand is lying, and much more if it’s about his romantic life.

To be quite honest, she thought it’d be a match. Stylishly rich guitarist of a local band, Jade, and stylishly average tech of her podcast, Minghao.

Maybe, she was wrong.

“Shit, Jade—” She’s already taking off her jacket from her shoulders to drape it across Jade’s chest, who simply looks down at the fabric with a scrunch of her nose. “You’re on your bra.”

Jade chuckles sweetly, because inherently, she’s dulcet. The kind of girl that wipes your tears after a break up, lends you some powder after you throw up in a bar’s bathroom, and the one that just wants everyone to have a good time. Everyone including her. “Babe, it’s Victoria’s Secret. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Everyone is going to see your nipples.”

“You know, it’s better for me to have two very healthy nipples than not have them at all. So, whoever wants to see, can see.” With that, her jacket is given once again to her, staring at Jade who brings up the bottle of champagne up to her lips, the pink liquid trailing down her cheeks and her chin. “Why are you here all alone?”

Because the music is shitty, Minghao is nowhere to be in sight, and Jade was playing a game of body shots not too long ago. College has been long dead for her since a while ago—and she doesn’t think she’d be confident enough to have someone drinking directly from her body.

Props to Jade, of course.

“Ah, maybe because I wanted to leave soon?” She asks, rubbing the back of her head to play with her messy ponytail. It had been sleek once, but being around this amount of people, dancing against one another, and trying to move through them while also avoiding anyone getting too close to her, was a difficult task that ended up getting her a bit riled up.

“Shut up!” Jade screeches, wrapping her arm around her once again and resting her cheek against hers. “Shut up, babe! You’re not leaving…anywhere…no.”

That’s the drag of her voice, the clear sign that Jade will be too drunk tomorrow, drunk enough for her not to remember if she leaves her alone here—

But shit, she can’t leave Jade alone. She’s shirtless, meaning that her Versace shirt must be somewhere on the floor, or covered in vomit, and she’s drunk. God knows what could happen if she leaves her alone.

“I’m not leaving you, don’t worry.”

“Yay!”

“But I should clean you up, you’re all sticky from the alcohol, Jade.” She replies, already making her way through the masses of people to find the bathroom. It must be by one of the corners, but she’s not too sure in this club. “Why did you drink so much?”

“Because—”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Just because.”

When the bathroom’s door is only a few meters away, she sees him. The song that is playing in the background is too robotic for anyone’s taste, but the one that plays inside her head is the one she mumbled to him before they fell asleep once.

‘Love of my Life’ by Queen.

Because if there’s someone that she loved in this world, in this hellish world that they dare call real life, it’s Jeon Wonwoo.

Closed eyes, head tilted back enough for his Adam’s apple to bob when he takes another drag of his cigarette. Nicotine is his lover for the night, while Love seems to tell him something angrily, fingers threading through her bleached blonde hair, dying at the number of products she puts on it, fried at this point. Wonwoo looks like himself, but he also doesn’t. She knows those black strands of hair, and how they curled against her fingertips when she tightened her hold on them after a kiss. Her mind recognizes those lips, now pink yet chapped, but when they wrap into an answer that blows the smoke into the air, he doesn’t seem like her Wonwoo. His eyes open, he stares at Love as he speaks to her, but Love’s eyes are already looking at someone else.

Eunkyung is calling out her name and there is nothing that seems to stop her as she stumbles away from her seat.

It’s at nights like these that she wishes to be forgotten. Get on a car, preferably old, drive until her feet hurt or until the gas runs low, wearing a thin jacket as she listens to classics. She’s tired of this new version of her life that she can’t seem to get used to. People that she thought she knew seem to be far too different now, with Eunkyung not existing when she reaches her and Jade. This is Love, the vocalist of Wonwoo’s band, with eyes so hollow she almost feels dead, and a mouth that wraps up in a smile that begs for a second chance.

Because everyone wants to go back.

But no one can.

“It’s been so long since I last saw you!” Love’s arms wrap around her to take her away from Jade, but her friend doesn’t seem to mind as she giggles mindlessly. Love’s hold is strong, calloused hands meeting her spine as she cages her face on her shoulder. There are tears there, an unspoken word, perhaps the need to feel like herself again. This is not Eunkyung. “Where have you been?”

“Somewhere. Always here.” She replies, pulling away and yet, capturing Wonwoo’s gaze in a single second. His eyes are already on her, twinkling heavenly in the pits of hell, and she has to give a step back to deny the gravity in between the two.

“Wonwoo’s over there. Let me call him over—!”

Little by little, she loved him.

And little by little, she shall erase the memory of him.

“No, sorry. Me and my friend are going back home.” She replies, wrapping her hand around Jade’s wrist, pulling farther and farther away from the people she had known the most. Yet, she doesn’t know them now. These people on world tours, selling millions of copies of their albums, making money out of their past…those are not people she had known.

And she doesn’t want to know them again.

Her feet bring her out of the club, and she swears she feels someone behind her, but with rushed steps the feeling becomes barely a ghost. Then, nonexistent. Finally, in the car she starts to think about it.

May the stars only know if it was him going after her.

###

With him, it always feels like one of both said something wrong. Or, rather, didn’t say anything at all.

What’s with her, this feeling of talking too much and saying too little? What’s the regret that overtakes her when her head leans back on her seat, listening to the song Minghao has put on per her request, played for their viewers and yet, not quite admitting to her most intricate of desires even on a verse? Her eyes stare at the ceiling, imagine him in front of his drums—imagine him calling her beautiful, holding her head, longing for her. All things she wants now, all equally as impossible.

A week since she last saw him, and she likes to believe Wonwoo went trailing after her. It’s the only thing that keeps her up at night—the questioning of reality and a dream. Maybe, he was never behind her—it could’ve been one of the partygoers, one of those drunken people that don’t know where to step, or it could’ve been him. Why does she feel her lungs relax against its own confines when she imagines him?

Because this is Wonwoo. The one who writes songs about her. The only man that she can’t seem to get over. Memories that come back all the time, because he’s in every single one of them. Wonwoo’s name spill from her tongue without knowing, his songs come to her in the shower without meaning to, and his scent is felt on every portion of her bed. He hasn’t been there in years, but it’s almost like he left only yesterday.

It was two years ago.

Two years, and she really should get over him.

Her eyes divert towards her computer screen, watching the messages pop in slowly before she sees a collection of digits. It’s a date—the date in which everything ended, continued by a text that has her mouth drying up.

I want to see you again.

It has to be a coincidence; it really has to be so. It could be that someone’s important date was two years ago, in that night in which everything ended. She sighs deeply, clearing her throat when the song finishes itself and she has to talk again.

“Well, now we have to talk about that album—”

Another message pops up, but it’s impossible. Wonwoo rarely listened to her podcast, and when he did, he never said anything.

Love’s Midnight album is about who you think it is about.

Please, let me see you again.

She wants to see him again, too. It’s that feeling that keeps her up at night—knowing he could be close, but never close enough.

“Ah, in case anyone comes across a bunch of messages in the chat about seeing me again. It’s just some ex.” She tries to chuckle, but her voice has long gone left for something duller, stranger, as if she can’t get used to talking when it’s about him. “Already seeing someone dude, sorry.”

Seeing who?!

Minghao lifts his gaze, his hat doing nothing to conceal the disappointment on his face. What can she do? Admit that she feels jealous whenever she hears those rumors about who the album is about? That she has looked at pictures of his possible lovers and yet, the feeling never quite settles well with her?

The last man she saw was a man of wealth—son of a record label owner, very much into music, yet not quite in a band or participating anywhere as a solo artist. Mingyu was a nice date; the kind that made her laugh, ate a lot with her, drank a good glass of burgundy colored wine with her…but he wasn’t a forever. Wasn’t even a kiss. Mingyu became a friend after, and then, she didn’t want to date again.

But it’s what she has to do. If Wonwoo can go date some Eunji, and possibly write one or two songs about her, she can date whoever…

Right?

Right?!

###

The documentary didn’t show exactly how Love’s Midnight came to be what they are today.

People love a good story. Movies are a profitable job because of that, and books keep on fueling fantasies for those who can’t live in a better world for the same reason. What happens is, if something is boring, people don’t care. There has to be sentimentalism; enough to move anyone to tears, or make them feel inspired. Everyone who has been legendary has gone through a story of pain, only to reach their best spot. There’s a downfall in between, but the point of union always brings the grand finale to life.

In reality, Love’s Midnight happened because of Hansol. Eunkyung, who now can’t seem to stand anyone calling her that name instead of Love, worked part-time in some bar downtown. The place was ratchet, with hidden call-people expecting someone to capture them for the night, some drunkards that got a little bit too loud, and the owner, who’d always thank Eunkyung’s presence, calling it Love’s Midnight whenever clients gathered around…because her drinks were that good.

Hansol said, as he happened to be sitting down in Wonwoo’s couch, that it sounded like a band’s name. Andy was there, too, partly rubbing the skin of his arm after getting his first tattoo, and also hardly listening—but it seemed to be fitting for him, to join their forces and make a group. Originally, Eunkyung was supposed to be a guitarist, but Wonwoo would not even dare step in front of masses of people to sing a goddamned song about love.

What did people who watched the documentary believe now? That it was because of Andy’s nickname to Eunkyung. Love, when they were lovers, and the midnights they spent together. It earns them more money, yes, but it’s also heavily exaggerated to have people asking for more. Andy and Love were one of the biggest couples years ago, after all, and people thirsted more and more for their little interactions, even if they were nonexistent at this point.

Luckily, Hoshi is now with them.

But people are now even more interested in the band, and the arenas for the concerts of their world tours have been selling like hot bread. The problem is that being in a van with his three bandmates gets more tiring with each and every day that they spend pretending to be people they are not. They have to be cool, edgy, attend parties when they are told to, drink alcohol like it’s water, talk like they think of themselves as the most mysterious in this world. He can’t even call Hansol his real fucking name without having one of their managers tug him by the arm and correct him to Vernon.

The news outlet displays itself on the television screen. Hoshi keeps strumming on his guitar, and Vernon doesn’t seem to mind as he lays sleepily on his bed, ready to knock off. Love is somewhere in the back with someone she met in the afterparty of the concert—some groupie that she can’t seem to get her hands off of. The worst part is that he can’t seem to continue writing this song for the next album, because a picture of him is displayed on the screen.

“Who do you think Valentine is about, Rose?” One of the hosts asks, moving her short hair away from her sturdy shoulders to look at her taller counterpart.

Rose plays with the strands of her bubblegum pink hair, smacking her lips together before she speaks up. “People say it’s about Eunji Song, but I think there’s a line of girls that say it’s about her.”

“Wonwoo’s totally a womanizer.” Another host says, fashionable in the way he dresses, one leg crossed over the other. “We have fourteen idols who have been linked with him, three models, one entrepreneur and all in the last two years. We don’t even know who could’ve slipped the public eye.”

Rose takes a sharp breath, her teeth clattering in a way that has Wonwoo closing his eyes tightly. Two models, and that was about it. Neither lasting more than a week. Neither meant to be more to him. Just two people that he happened to come across with, and helped him forget. Well, tried to, at least. “He has even more lovers than Vernon!”

“Vernon’s been with the same girl for a while. Maybe, he could learn a thing or two about a committed relationship.”

The first host chuckles at their words, shaking her head in the process. “Everyone’s into drummers. I think he just likes the attention.”

The lonesome tune of Hoshi’s old guitar stops playing in the background, and Vernon’s soft snores mix with the cars passing by. His fingers reach for the remote, turning off the TV before those words stain his heart even further.

“Want to talk about it?” The bleached blonde man in the room asks, resting his cheek against his guitar to pay his utmost attention to him. “Vernon knows. Love does, too. But you’ve never told me what happened with your Valentine.”

Maybe, Hoshi seems like the kind who doesn’t take anything seriously—but he does. His eyes glaze over as he quietly speaks into the night, but Wonwoo can only stand up from his seat, eager to lock himself in his own room and think of what exactly happened. He doesn’t know what’s going on inside his head. “It’s nothing special,” But it is. Wonwoo believed in a lot of things—that Van Gogh was the best artist of his generation, that knowledge is the best form of revenge, and that she was his person. The only individual in this world that could see him for who he was and still, gauged him to be better. “Just what happens to everyone.” He fixes his jeans then, hanging low on his hips when Hoshi scoffs.

“What happens to everyone?”

“…Just, falling in love and never being able to make it work.”

“That’s not your fault.”

He stops in front of the door that leads to his room, and he wants to believe what Hoshi says. Maybe, if she had understood him as an artist, they’d be together. Perhaps, if he had just listened to her, he wouldn’t have written an entire album about heartbreak. It was not inherently his fault, but partly, like DNA that splits in two and creates the atrocity of what they were. The beauty in the fallout. “I’m heading to sleep.”

A hand wraps around his thigh, caging him in his spot when Hoshi, with a widened gaze, asks: “Who is it about?” The gossip must’ve gotten to him, too. Secrecy at its finest made an entire festival for the world to enjoy. “Like, who out of all the women they say it’s about…the album is actually written for.”

“None of them.” Wonwoo conquers, pushing his body away from him with a dizzied smile on his face. “…And that’s all I’m saying.”

“Wonwoo—!”

“I’m not saying who it is about.”

“…Damn it.” Hoshi adds, finally leaning back on his seat and returning to his guitar, soon after playing a tune with a few invented lyrics: “Jeon Wonwoo has a stick up his ass…”

The door closes behind him with a swoosh, all thoughts of rationality building themselves down out of pure impotence. The room is far too tiny, and Hoshi will join him sooner than later when he finishes his little guitar rendezvous, but that’s far from the point now. With each step he takes towards his bed, the more he notices his phone. Changed it like four times in the past two years because of crazy groupies, obsessed people sending him threats and just because he could do so. He wanted change so much that he doesn’t need it anymore.

The bed welcomes his weight as if he had never left, molding to his every curve, bouncing at his mere presence. His fingers subtly reach for his phone, lurking through his contacts like a man searching for answers.

His past lover is taken, and he’s stupid enough to press down on her contact even when he’s not drunk. Not an ounce of alcohol clads his vision, his stance, and that only makes it more pathetic.

But, how could she be taken? If love’s not as easy to get rid of for him, it should be difficult for her, too.

The ringing stops, and someone picks up, though the voice that welcomes him is old, a femme to be exact, but definitely over her sixties. “Hello?” She asks on the voice, and Wonwoo closes his eyes tightly out of embarrassment. “Who is calling this late?”

Right, a sixty-something-year-old woman is probably not used to two in the morning calls.

But who is, actually?

Out of embarrassment, his thumb presses down on the red button and he’s once again left with his silence. This has to mean that he should stop—calling his ex-girlfriend, who said was taken, is not the worst thing he has done, but it’s outright pathetic. For a second, he thinks of texting someone else—a friend, a model, a singer, someone who clearly wants to pay attention to him, who wouldn’t mind having the star of the year talking to them about anything and everything but her.

Yet, his mind can only think about an old friend, and it’s not even a friend to start with. Calling him would earn him a few insults, so he opts to text the only direct line he has to what he wants to get back. The thread that could move him closer to getting an answer.

To: Xu Minghao.

Hello, Minghao. This is Wonwoo.

Jeon Wonwoo from Love’s Midnight.

Minghao probably recognizes him more as his friend’s ex-boyfriend, but hey, he doesn’t know what to say.

Still, he mentions her name.

To: Xu Minghao.

Do you have her number?

I really need to talk to her.

For a few seconds, he wishes he could dissipate. Of course, Xu Minghao probably has made his life, twirled in his bedsheets and perhaps, with a lover that fits him better than he ever fit his ex. He’ll probably get insulted nonetheless, knowing just how protective he is over the podcast host. It’s two in the fucking morning, Wonwoo’s not drunk, but he really wishes he was so he could have an excuse for being…

Stupid.

A dick.

From: Xu Minghao.

Are you drunk?

To: Xu Minghao.

No.

From: Xu Minghao.

Are you planning on getting drunk?

To: Xu Minghao.

No.

Her number is linked soon after, not without forgetting to add something else.

From: Xu Minghao.

Anything you say can and will be held against you.

I’ll know if you do something stupid.

Don’t fuck it up, dude.

The thing is that Wonwoo is a thinker. Immature at times, or most of the time, but really an overthinker. His dad always told him that going through life as if he’s in a game of chess would help him make right decisions. Count every movement as a step forward, but also a step closer to either winning or losing. Each and every action could cause the fallout of others, of himself, or absolute success. He doesn’t know where he stands as the phone rings and he awaits her response.

“Hello?”

That groggy tone, he has heard before. Whenever someone wakes her up from a nap or a deep night of sleep, her voice seems to be eerily quiet. It’s the only time he has heard her something far from perfect, not as knowledgeable as she is. Love-filled confessions were given at the peak of the night, when Wonwoo’s fingers would ghost over the delicate spot on her waist and she’d grasp his hand with her warm ones and say: I love you.

Muffled, silent, followed by sleep, and yet so meaningful.

“What do you mean you’re taken?” Wonwoo wants to say a million things. Say hi, and indicate that her podcast has only gotten better. That he’s sorry for not believing in her, or rather, not knowing how to show it. However, his mind is clouded with the image of her, holding hands with someone else, kissing someone else, being in absolute love with someone that is not him—and making it work. Egotistic as it can be, he is.

The bed ruffles, and for a moment, she’s silent. Too unlike her until she breathes out, much more awake now, surprised even. “Wonwoo, why are you calling me?”

The only time he has heard that surprised tone was after their first kiss. One would think that someone as beautiful as her would’ve kissed him with little to no reaction after, but his collarbones can almost feel the weight of her face at the memory. Her features hid away from him, the dumbest of smiles accompanied with a few giggles of her own. It was as if she had been waiting for him, and he had taken too long.

It’s not that different now.

“I—Uh, I needed to hear you. Hear from you.” Wonwoo doesn’t know what to say, straightening up his position on the bed and taking his pillow to slot his fingertips against the fabric. “I told you what I really felt and what I did, and all you do is ignore me.”

“I’m not friends with my exes, sorry.” She replies, and Wonwoo is about to retaliate, but the words have come back to her. Angry. Burning. Scalding. “And why in all the fucking hell would I have to tell you why I’m taken?”

“Because—” He wants to be honest for the first time in a while. With himself and with her. “Because we used to be friends before we were lovers, and I still care about the kind of person you’re seeing—”

“Do you really care?” The scoff that leaves her lips brings a frown to his face. “Go ask one of your models, or Song Eunji, about who they’re seeing and what they’re doing with their romantic lives. You don’t need to protect me from anything.”

Oh, so she knew about Eunji. “I’m not with any of them.”

“And you’re not with me, either.”

Wonwoo has to run his fingers through his messy black hair in order to grasp onto something else, or organize his thoughts before he goes absolutely insane. “I’m not.”

Silence. “So, why are you calling?”

“Because I can’t stand the thought of you loving someone else.” He breathes out, and before she could interrupt him with one of her pointy, correct, honest speeches, he bares his heart and soul. “…I’ve only been yours, I’m still yours. I want to know who it is that made you not want to be mine again.”

Again must not be in her vocabulary, and if he listens close enough, he can hear the change in her breathing, as if she starts to live life slower. “So, you date some model and I’m supposed to stay single?”

Fuck.

“I didn’t date her.”

“Then, you slept with her. Or various women, I don’t know.”

He can only stay silent.

“I know we broke up, and it’s totally okay for you to do that, but why would you ask me to stay waiting for you, when you didn’t wait for me either?”

“Okay, shit, sorry.” Wonwoo tries to reorganize his thoughts. He’s stupid. She wasn’t wrong when she said most men are stupid in the past, and now he has entered the spectrum. “I did it because it just…I just…I needed to get you out of my head.”

“By sleeping with other women?”

“Two.”

“Oh, two.” She releases, sarcasm thick in her voice. “What would you do if I said I have had more than two?”

Wonwoo closes his eyes, imagining her going on dates or perhaps, simply looking for someone in a bar. For men to sweeten her lips with a taste of their own, before treating her like less than what she deserves. It’s not what he wants for her, but it’s the same medicine he took. “It’d suck, but it’d be acceptable. We are not together.”

“Exactly.”

“…But who is it?”

“Who?”

“Who is the person you’re seeing right now? Out of your repertoire of people.”

She remains silent for a few seconds, as if she’s thinking too deeply, and yet, Wonwoo can’t keep his mouth from running. For the first time in his life, he wants to say a lot instead of saying nothing at all.

“No one.” She whispers into the dark night, the lullaby of his dreams coming directly from his lips. He wants to call it a second chance, but it just means solitude. “…Because unlike you, I wasn’t able to move on as easily.”

“I didn’t, fuck, I didn’t move on.” Wonwoo replies, laying on his stomach as he hides his face on the sheets. “I was just stupid. I don’t know how to explain myself.”

“Do so or I’ll hang up. Last chance to hear my voice—”

“I wanted to get over you, and I thought I’d do what most rockstars do. I’d just sleep with someone and feel powerful, like I don’t care…” His voice trails, eyes glistening when he lifts his gaze. “But I do care. I care about you.”

“…I don’t know if I should trust you.” The insecurity is palpable through her voice, as if she’s a star in this sky and she’s only getting farther away from him. Tiny, miniscule for her; big and bright for him. “Wonwoo, we didn’t understand each other then, when we were barely starting to be the people we wanted to be. How would we understand each other now that my podcast is doing the best it has ever done, and you have about every woman in this damned country wanting to throw their wet panties at you?”

Looking up at the ceiling, Wonwoo wants to say the truth. What he has always regret not telling her. “I’ll always try my hardest for you. I didn’t do it then, but I’d go back and do it differently if I could.”

The line cuts short after she hangs up, leaving him with no more than a sharp intake of breath.  

###

The chocolate on the man’s ice-cream cracks under the force of his teeth, sliced nuts meeting the white substance in between—vanilla ice-cream, most likely, with a few lines of caramel. She had forgotten just how much Mingyu seemed to enjoy life, lips forever petrified in a smile as he looked around in the ice cream shop. Her delight has disappeared into the depths of her stomach, but Mingyu is on his second ice cream. Not a care in this world. Not a single wrinkle on his face to indicate he is feeling the weather a little bit strongly. He’s just eating, living, existing, breathing.

Jade tagged along, because something about her being in his father’s label and Mingyu absolutely needing guitar classes means that they had to ask her to come to their little ‘not a date’. Judging by the way Jade’s cheeks stain pink, and how she continuously play with the strands of hair, becoming a shy version of herself she had rarely gotten to see—unless they went to a concert and got to meet the artists backstage—, she thinks there is a reason why everything felt so inherently wrong with Mingyu, and with her setting up date for Minghao and Jade.

The young woman’s eyes glaze over when Mingyu smiles at her, and her fingertips reach for his lips to rub the chocolate away. Those stares, in between shyness and comfort, in the stage of not knowing what to say and yet, doing everything all at once—she lived that with Wonwoo, and she knows they’re probably less than a month away from calling it the truth.

So, she stands up, because if she can do something right in this life it’s making two people get together, even if she has to fake a few actions in the process. “I’m getting another ice cream. Want one, Jade?”

“We’ll share.” Mingyu adds, already putting his newly bitten chocolate ice cream up to Jade’s lips, and he barely ignores Jade’s widened eyes as she wraps her lips around the sweet and bites on the chocolate.

“Okay…” She whispers, lifting her hands in the air with her phone dinging in between her fingertips. “I’ll be right back.”

She doesn’t miss the way that Jade whispers ‘take your time’, before Mingyu joins her with sweet laughter.

Ugh, love.

It’s so motherfucking annoying when you don’t have it.

But, let’s admit it—it’s cute in its early stages.

To: Hao.

So, when I set you up with Jade…

From: Hao.

You mean: Worst idea you’ve ever had?

To: Hao.

Yeah.

Did you hate me for it because Jade’s not your type, or because you knew she’d be a better match for Mingyu?

From: Hao.

Jade denies it, but she’s always had a thing for Mingyu.

To: Hao.

Oh, tea?

From: Hao.

I guess.

She drunkenly admitted it to me once.

Well, initially she said she wanted Mingyu to tie her to a ceiling fan and make her spin.

But I continued to talk her out of it and she admitted that she thought he was cute.

And I’ve been working on building up her crush on him for a year straight.

To: Hao.

Trust Xu Minghao on finding the love of your life.

Upon approaching the counter to order her ice cream, she hears someone softly calling out her name. It’s a delicate voice, definitely not used a lot, as if the air could take away the words in one single swish. Locking her phone as she turns to the side, she sees a smaller young woman by her side. Probably on her teens, with black hair and red highlights, a band t-shirt representing the pinnacle of her youth. Long ago, before Jeon Wonwoo even existed in her life, she may have looked like this.

“It’s you.”

But she wouldn’t have said that to a complete stranger, lowering her voice to a deep whisper as she clings onto her backpack. The pins read Love’s Midnight name and logo, making her swallow harshly.

“Sorry, I don’t know you—”

The teen fan gets her phone out of her pocket, lurking through her pictures as she speaks. “You’re the woman Valentine was written about,” The lisp on her tone is ever-present, clinging to her every syllable as she shows the device to her, pictures with Wonwoo displayed one by one, moved by her finger to show even more proof. Her face behind important pictures of their first few gigs, a few messages in social media that she was sure she deleted before— “Fans have been going crazy trying to find who it was about, but I saw you in the pictures and decided to look you up.”

She has to take a step back. Fear overtakes her. A young fan could do anything they wanted with this information, and if she was able to find all that…this is not the normal kind of fan. With shaking fingertips, she clasps her phone against her chest. “Did you follow me here, kid?”

“No. This is dad’s ice cream shop.” A smack of her bubblegum fills the air, twirling her finger against the straps of her backpack. “…I just saw you here and I thought it was destiny.”

“It’s not destiny.” She speaks, curt and clear. “And also, I’m not the woman you’re looking for. Sorry.”

“You’re in all his pictures from the past—”

“We were friends.” And she doesn’t know why she’s explaining this to a teenager, instead of actually calling her father and telling him that her daughter is batshit crazy. “And it’s none of your business, ain’t it? If you really like a celebrity, you need to learn how to respect their privacy.”

“Everyone is looking for his Valentine, and if I am right with my assumptions, we’ll finally get to know—”

“What do you earn from it?” Turning around, she spares one glance at Mingyu and Jade, with Mingyu looking at them with a frown on their features. Confusion, definitely. “Whoever it is, that’s the drummer’s issue.”

“It’s you! It’s so you!” The teenager says, a smile on her face as she jumps on her spot. “The blog’s so gonna love this!”

Grasping her hand with force on top of the teenager’s, she sighs deeply. “Don’t do that. That’s wrong.” She starts, eyes raking over the room before clearing her throat. “One day, you’re going to be older, and you’re going to realize those people you look up to are as normal as you are. You don’t need to make them more important than they already are, for you or for anyone. Don’t let being a fan of someone take over your life.”

The teen looks down at their joined hands, eyelashes fluttering with the heavy mascara, chest going up and down with each breath she takes, deeper than the last. “Okay, sorry…” She whispers, pulling away from her. “I must’ve gotten it wrong.”

“Don’t worry, I was also a fan of some people in my time.” She shrugs, returning her gaze to her friends to give them a tight smile. Everything’s alright. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Alright, thank you.”

The problem is that only that night when she gets home, Minghao links her straight to an article, written fresh from the oven and reading:

Forty Women (+1 Unexpected Guest) That Can Be The Inspiration Behind Love’s Midnight’s Valentine!

Scrolling down with shaking fingertips, she prays to the heaven for her to not be in that list—for it to be another rumor, another person that has been wanting to be thought of by Jeon Wonwoo, but once she reaches spot number forty-one, her heart feels like it has fallen out of her chest.

Her name is on the forty-first spot.

41. Podcast Host, Communication Major, Music Minor: This one is the most unexpected, yet the newest guess. Fans were able to compile pictures of two or three years ago of Jeon Wonwoo and this podcast host. Not only that, but she seemed to be close friends with Vernon, Love and Andy! Ouch!

Personal pictures were attached under the small paragraph, tugging at her heart strings.

Isn’t that the pink dress Wonwoo always talked about? Or could it be Song Eunji’s favorite color?

As if things couldn’t get any harder…

###

This is Eunkyung’s little dream. Her tea party filled with reporters, cameras, flashes, cigarettes and bodyguards. Everyone says that what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger—and he feels like he has become a weightlifter with how much he has coped with, leaning back on his seat as the reporters in front of them beg to eat them alive. Each question pointier than the other, each silence dragging on for longer than the last. The center of attention is not the album, not Hoshi’s guitar solos or Vernon’s enigmatic bass skills. The center of attention is that Jeon Wonwoo had fallen in love, and couldn’t seem to get his old lover back.

His friends are different, and so is he. It should make him feel better that the evolution is ever-present in their lives, but it isn’t. The man he sees projected on the glass of water in front of him is exactly who he would’ve never thought he’d become. His black hair is pushed away, forehead is full display, not a single imperfection left for the world to see as he’s covered in makeup. The red leather jacket makes him sweaty, but he still wears it. It’s a gift from Versace and there’s only two of them in the entire world; he just has to wear it, according to his stylist.

One of the reporters stands up from his seat, fixing the blue sweater atop his toned body. The long strands of his black hair give him a bohemian look, but the preppy outfit and the glasses make him look somewhat nerdy. He could definitely be a reporter in music, but Wonwoo doesn’t really give a shit, does he?

“Wonwoo, excuse me—” The man starts, voice as nasal as ever as he brings his recorder up to his lips. “Forty-one women have been linked to be your muse for the latest album, but only one of them stands out.” He already knows the answer. Song Eunji. If rolling his eyes was an option, he’d do it, but he’s been staring at the cameras flashing for too long and his eyes feel like they may give up on him at any moment.

“Sorry, uh, we said no questions about that.” Wonwoo leans forward on his microphone, offering a brief smile in order to keep it at peace. The least he wants is drama for being an absolute diva.

The reporter doesn’t listen, calling out her name as if he knew her. As if they had shared cups of coffee, mornings where conversations merged into memories, nights in which her tears couldn’t be stopped with memories of either really good or really bad times. “…Podcast host and communication graduate, whose connection with you was clarified by your fans after finding pictures from two years ago, seemingly in a relationship with you.”

Fuck.

Where was his publicist when he needed her the most?

He didn’t know that his fans were able to find such things. Each trace of his past with her had been deleted—for the sake of his band, and for the sake of forgetting her. “I won’t make any statements.”

“So, you do admit that you were in a relationship with her?”

“I said,” He presses his lips to the microphone, lifting his eyebrows in the process. “No statements. Meaning, no comment.”

“Ignoring my question is a confirmation, Wonwoo.”

This time around, Vernon is the one who takes place in the interview. “Ignoring his complaints about not wanting to answer is a confirmation of your lack of knowledge in reporting, sir.”

The masses in front of them go crazy, each asking questions louder than the last, penetrating his ears with absolute hatred. Wonwoo stumbles backwards by the time his body leaves his seat, shaking his head when his manager tries to reach out for him, make him sit down before he absolutely ruins his career. Yet, the only person he can think about is her. His fans had found her, the reporters knew about her, too. A life void of privacy simply because of him.

Once backstage, his shoulders tense, cradling his phone in between his hands and bringing it up to his ear. The phone rings a few times, but she always hangs up. Each and every call is ignored exactly in its beginning.

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

I didn’t tell anyone about us.

Tell me you’re alright, please.

Please, answer the phone.

Are you okay?

Why aren’t you answering?

I’m sorry for everything.

Regret bites at him, slices him to bits as he sits down on the sofa, hearing the commotion outside and yet, doing nothing to conceal it. Love would hate him for this, tension rising between them ever since he became the center of attention—but he never asked for this. If he could take it back to the time in which he had her, and Love’s Midnight only played small gigs in some bars downtown, he would.

And he’s been meaning to.

To: Jeon Wonwoo.

I know you didn’t tell anyone.

I’m alright.

I just need time to think of what I’m going to do.

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

I could book a hotel for you so you feel safer.

Paparazzi are going to look for you.

To: Jeon Wonwoo.

I’m staying at Minghao’s, don’t worry.

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

Fine, but take care of yourself.

To: Jeon Wonwoo.

Wonwoo?

He can imagine her, calling out his name softly as if she had never left him, as if everything was alright—

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

Tell me.

To: Jeon Wonwoo.

I need you to take care, as well.

I don’t want you to stress out over this.

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

I’ll take care, baby.

Before he could regret what he said last, she left him on read. As if she had heard him too, but decided not to listen.

###  

The only beverage Minghao’s going to give her while staying at his place is lukewarm tea with honey. No matter how hard she tries to get him to give her coffee, it doesn’t happen.

The cars pass by the windows, stuffed by her breath that fans upon the clear glass. Her heart can’t stay still, much like her hands, fiddling against the other, waiting for the bad news. They have arrived—the world knows her, and past the comfort of Minghao’s place, she knows there are cameras flashing in front of her house. They had captured her before she got here, and after endless twists from Minghao, they managed to get to his apartment safe, sound and unnoticed.

Each and every insecurity is highlighted by the cameras. The fact that there had been someone else after her mocks her—tells her that people are just going to end up comparing her to those after her, or even before her. Ghosts that never existed in Wonwoo’s life, too. Some may be taller, some more petite. Some may have a clearer tone of voice, others may be unable to speak in anything other than profanities. Some may kill it on the guitar, and some may kill for a guitar. Everyone in Wonwoo’s life has been so different and yet, she’s the only one with an entire album written about her.

It’s winning the feeling of feeling unique that makes her feel less like shit. Wonwoo cared enough about her to write a million apologies in the form of notes, for him to pour his entire heart out in a guitar, a set of drums, a piano, a voice, the bass—all inspired by her, they rotate around her like the constellations around the universe. The smile she misses had dissipated with the memories of them, and she wants to bring them back. Fuck two years, more than six hundred days, because time is just a concept we don’t understand.

“Hey,” Minghao’s hair is not disheveled, put-together like he’s about to go over the runway with the newest pajama collection from, probably, Louis Vuitton. His body leans against the doorframe, wood against his soft skin, looking at her with worry as she sits on the bed of the room in Minghao’s apartment that he doesn’t use. “There has to be some good to this.”

“Yeah?” She asks, tilting her head far enough for her forehead to rest against the window. “Tell me what it is.”

The tech moves closer until he is in front of her, delicately kneeling in front of her before patting her leg. “This could bring potential listeners to our podcast—”

“Or girls that will hate me because I’m dating their rocker fantasy. Minghao, get real.” Her voice isn’t meant to sound so sharp, but it does. Her world shatters while Minghao can only see from up close, first row, even.

“Don’t think about them. Think about you.”

“What am I supposed to think about?”

“What you want out of this. If this is only a sign from the world to just get in contact with Wonwoo and clear things up. His career, yours, your relationship—” Minghao is speaking too fast, fingers fiddling with his own hair before sighing. “And if you’re not going to do it, I am. I can’t keep seeing you haltering your life because a relationship didn’t work. You are the one that needs to get real.”

She pushes his hand away then, crossing her arms over her chest to shelter herself. “Well, hear me out, you haven’t been in love, but I have. It’s damn fucking annoying when it doesn’t work, and you think that’s the only man that will ever get you, know you, feel you like he does. It’s not the same when you imagined your entire life with a man and he’s suddenly taken away from you. He changes. Twists. He’s not the same anymore, but you know that deep within him, there’s that man you love.” Her chest shakes with every breath she takes, and Minghao takes this time to step away from her. “And you wait for him. Wait for the day he realizes that you never meant to make him feel bad, and hope that he never meant to say the words he said to you. You don’t know what regret is, but I do—”

“Just mend it.”

She wishes it could be that easy. “And then, what?”

“Why do you always have to think about the future?” Her eyes inspect Minghao’s features, as if pulling away every thread of his enigma.

“Because the future is always happier than the present, ain’t it?”

His hand hovers over her shoulder, as if he wants to touch her, shelter her, but he doesn’t. Instead, Minghao smacks his hand against his side, looking for his phone before speaking up. “It’s up to us to make our present happy, too.”

The only response he gets is the sound of her sipping on her tea. Bland tea that Minghao loves, but doesn’t keep him in the room as he closes the door behind him with a thud.

For some moments, she can only look ahead. The cameras follow her, and it wouldn’t surprise her if she closes her eyes, only to awaken to the world trying to get information about her—a picture where something sags in her body, or her pimples are visible, or the stress marks around her face become wrinkles. However, even sleep seems to be out of town today, and she can’t do much but watch some movies on TV. Let the world decide for her again. The Notebook. Then, she couldn’t quite look at the screen without tears on her face.

When sleep welcomes her, it doesn’t stay for long.

It’s like the culprit that opens the door to the room, closing it behind him with an accidental bang—like the way he left. When her eyes can finally clearly see the outline of him in the dark, Wonwoo becomes a living being after years of trying to erase him. Dark hair pushed away from his face thanks to the droplets of rain that had coated both his leather jacket and his black t-shirt. His boots squeak against the flooring when he moves, stopping whatever force brings him closer to her. Eddie The Eagle plays in the background, but no star has ever been as bright as him. As the twinkle in his eyes when he breathes out his name as if he had never forgotten the lullaby in it. As if, for some reason, she’d always have a taste of that tongue and those lips, even when they are nowhere near or over hers.

Proof that love exists beneath him, over him, in him, is when he asks: “Are you alright?”

She could say no, or even just confirm it. Her words could turn into lies or truths, but they decide to stay in between. With him, saying too little or too much is granted to be a loss. “…I could be worse.”

Wonwoo lets the jacket fall on the floor with a thud, and before he could part his lips to say anything else as he nears her, she asks:

“How did you get in?”

“I was hiding in some hotel downtown, when I realized I just couldn’t leave you alone through this.” His voice is gentle, barely above a whisper when the wind keeps blowing on the windows, rain pattering like droplets of paint. “So, I called Minghao, and he told me he’d leave the door open and I just could get in.”

“No one followed you, right?” Worry piles in her expression when mirrored in his starry eyes. The music of their love has lulled to a weak piano tune. They fell, lifted themselves up, only to be pushed to the ground again.

“I made sure no one did.” And the weight of him falls on the edge of the bed, the gray bedsheets wrinkling under his wet presence, leaving an imprint of him. A memory as strong as the ones she holds of him. “I’m sorry this is the way we ended up meeting again.”

Chances, figures in percentages that we don’t expect. We hope for them, and rarely get them. The chance of meeting Wonwoo again was lost thanks to his lack of privacy, but it would a lie if she said she hadn’t been worrying about him all night. In the edge of the bed, biting at her nails, wanting nothing more than to reach out for him.

Who loves you now, Wonwoo?

Who loves you more than I do?

Is it the world? Your fans? Your bandmates? Is it someone else?

Have you been loved at all while I have been gone?

“It had to happen someday,” She whispers into the night, bringing her knees up her chest, taking her coat off and tossing it his way. The cotton material meets his hands quickly, draping it over his body as if the tears that had been dropped in the same garment manage to warm him up. “Not the way I expected it to happen—”

His lips quirk up in a shy smile, shivering with happiness and glee, or perhaps from the coldness of the room. “You expected it to happen?”

It’s her time to shut her mouth for a second, thinking of the next step. “…It’s one of those vague daydreams I have. What would happen if we met again?”

“And what did you think was going to happen?”

“…That I’d try to run away.” She replies, and his smile falls at that moment. Yet, she doesn’t want to lie to him. “But if you got close enough, I’d start thinking of your hands around my waist, or the little kisses you used to press to my hands when you held them, and I wouldn’t be able to keep myself away from you.”

Wonwoo gets closer, like a wanderer trying to land on his preferred island. Swimming through their insecurities, the issues that pulled them away— “I like that.”

“You do?” She asks. “I think I sound stupid.”

“…Love’s like that.” He shrugs. “I took the stupid decision to write an entire album about you, but here’s the thing: I don’t regret it.” His words condense every single bit of coldness inside her chest, letting the tremble of his voice awaken the senses that never left her, loving him to death. “If writing a song about you is a sin, take me to hell.”

Kicking him softly on the leg, she chuckles. “Metaphorical as ever.”

“I like to read.”

“I know, you liked reading more than talking to me.” There, one of the issues of their relationship arises.

“And you don’t know how many books I have wished to un-read just to hear you talking again.” He replies, sighing soon after as he plays with one of the threads of the blanket. “But that’s life. I make bad decisions, they bite me in the ass, and then, I try to mend it.”

“And how are you planning to mend it?”

His arms extend at that moment, taut muscles contracting against the wet shirt. “I offer a hug for the night, if that’s alright.”

She wants to say no, but her body welcomes his embrace, feeling his strong chest pressed against hers, the curve of his spine, the way his scent always seems to be there—so warm, so his, so memorable, and yet, unable to feel as strong as a perfume. It is as though the scent of him drenched in rain makes her feel better, not quite as cold as in that bed alone, even when her skin clads itself in goosebumps. Her heart thumps with so much force that he probably feels it against his waist, in the way he leans back and cocoons her into place. She can’t look at him, just because she knows herself, and she’s one centimeter away from falling.

“It’s what I need.”

“Good.”

Zero point five centimeters away from falling.

Then, his breathing becomes tranquil, and his lips rest atop her hair.

Zero point twenty-five centimeters away from falling…

Zero point seventeen…

Fallen.

###

She knows he is still in that apartment when she hears his fingertips drumming against the counter.

You know, that’s also one of the issues of their relationship…the one they had two years ago. Waking up to the sound of Wonwoo playing whatever ACDC song on their kitchen counter wasn’t a pleasant noise in the past. When she’d go to the bathroom, phone perched in between her fingertips, she’d feel the rhythm thrumming through the tiles, interrupting her precious time of privacy. He’d do it before going to sleep, when bored, when watching a show but on her legs. It’s one of those things she’d ask him to stop doing, but as her eyes open and she comes face to face with the opened door, she feels safe.

Because Wonwoo is there, and that’s more than she could ask at this moment where her name is imprinted in every magazine. Her hand looks for her phone, and for a moment, she wants to stop. God knows what most of the pages she follows on her Instagram page must have written about her—gossip sites that she is not proud of following, but does it to have topics to talk about in her podcast. Whatever. She’s a nobody, there is surely one or two things about her—

But when the light of her phone casts down on her with horrid pictures of her going through the seas of paparazzi to get out of there as soon as possible, she feels shallow.

She’s not a podcast host.

Not Wonwoo’s ex-girlfriend.

But Song Eunji’s rival.

Comparisons, one after the other, from physical appearance to the ultimate statement coming directly from Eunji. Some messages that could be understood as a simple song lyric, if it wasn’t from Wonwoo’s song itself, displayed on a throwback picture of the two of them. Finished, with of course, as much class as the model can have on an apparent drunken night, when she writes down on her caption—

Shout out to the man who writes an entire album about me and yet, can’t last more than four minutes in bed. Love you, Woo.

The laughing emojis after surely don’t settle well in her stomach.

She has to put the phone to the side to think about what bothers her—Wonwoo being with Eunji could be it, but it could also be Eunji taking the spotlight that does it. Maybe, it’s just the fact that she’s involved in all of this, covers thrown away from her body as she goes towards the kitchen, only to watch her best friend and ex-boyfriend seated face to face. Minghao, peacefully drinking from a cup of warm tea, and Wonwoo making conversation as he plays whatever difficult song he can’t seem to get out of his head.

It’s the fact that she hates it—this feeling that tells her she’s proud of being his muse, but in secret. It’s the fact that, all this time, she’d rather have him than anyone else—words be forgotten, actions be damned, only at this moment when his eyes meet hers again, and he dares say:

“Good morning. Slept well?”

How not to think of the fact that, after pushing him to the bathroom to get him to change into warmer, drier clothes from Minghao’s closet, she ended up falling sleep on his arms? That being in silence felt comfortable when around him? That healing is not quite complete when she can’t have him?

“Better than I expected.” She whispers, moving over until she is closer to him, inspecting his features before breathing out softly. “Eunji said the album is about her. People are going crazy over it.”

Wonwoo’s features soften for a second, head thrown back when a groan escapes his lips. “It’s not—”

“I need you to tell me why you wrote an entire album about me.” Her eyes don’t close, honesty overtaking her when her hands ball to her sides, breathing controlled, world stopping just for her to listen to him.

Wonwoo’s brown eyes shake, looking over to Minghao as the dullest shade of pink takes over his face, bathing him in an enchanting glow. “To forget about you,” He says, though he laughs at his antics a bit soon after. “Didn’t work out.”

“Why did you want to forget about me?”

“I thought you’d never come back.”

“And did you want me to come back?”

“From the moment you left that hotel room.”

“Why?”

“…I’m going to leave.” Minghao announces softly, already parting ways to go to his room with his mug of tea, but she can’t keep her eyes away from Wonwoo much longer. The question lingers in the air, just in time for him to connect his hands with hers.

“Why, Wonwoo? Why write about me, think about me, when you could’ve just let go?”

“It’s not that easy when it’s about you.” He says, a small smile playing on his features when he pulls her closer, not all at once but step by step. Slowly, she falls in between his legs, looks into his eyes when he lets sincerity live within his words. “I got everything I could ever wish for, and I still wanted you.”

“…Oh, God.” Her smile can’t hide itself when she wraps her arms around his shoulders, head resting on his chest as she chuckles. “Why do I like that so much?”

“Maybe, because you wanted me back, too?” The hope lingers on his voice, and she has to pull away for a second, looking up and down his features as she licks his lips.

“Let’s fix this entire mess first.”

“I’ll deny you are my album’s muse if that makes you feel better.”

For a moment, she feels the weight falling off her shoulders, but instead, she perks up, spine straightening when she says: “And why not confirm it instead?”

“Would you want to? This world I live in, it’s not good—”

“If I have to confirm a past relationship just to have you again, I will. I would.”

“…I won’t do that to you.” Wonwoo whispers, lips pressing to her knuckles like they used to at the earliest stages of their relationship. “You know what I want to do? Mend the lost time with you. Think and heal together. Talk to each other. I don’t want anyone else but us having a say on what we are…not stardom, not the band, not anyone.”

When she looks into his eyes, it feels like the old Wonwoo is back. Not the rockstar drummer that everyone has fallen for, but Jeon Wonwoo who’d laugh at the idea of ever being famous.

And it’s nice to think the world is different today, that they’re alone and there are not a thousand pictures of her online.

“Let them talk,” He finishes. “The only person I want to listen to is you, anyways.”

An avenue of tears has welcomed a sweet lake, and when she has seen her reflection in the water, she captures Wonwoo’s figure beside her. Maybe, they can get through this together. Perhaps, music united them, separated them, and now it has brought them back together again.

That’s the magic of love, isn’t it? Trusting again.

“…And you’ll hear me talk a lot about the past two years, Jeon Wonwoo.”

With a smile, he answers. “And I’ll gladly listen.”

Though, the only sound she gets to hear is the small intake of breath from his lips when she leans forward and tastes the early morning cigarettes in him. Everything she has ever wanted exists in him, so imperfect and yet, so fitting for her.

#wonwoo scenarios #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo #seventeen #kpop scenarios #writing #wonwoo au #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo angst #seventeen au #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #drummer!au #yea i wrote about wonwoo bc whenever i have wifi i have binge watched gose lemme be #also SUPER inspired by one of those ask games i did and hehehehehe i'm excited

[suchalonelysunflower]

The Next Chapter (c.h)

Pairing: Calum Hood X Reader

Requested: yes!

Summary: A family gathering has you and Calum thinking about the future

Warnings: Fluff. I used the word vagina once. Maybe some grammatical errors (English is not my first language, sorry)

Word Count: 1.7K

Author’s Note: Loving these request 🥺❤️ a little fluffy piece for my favorite boy ✨ Remember that Reblogs, comments, feedback and likes are very important and appreciated ❤️ I love to hear from you guys and you don’t know how much that helps me and motivates me! Hope you like it and Happy Reading🦋✨🌻

My materialist // wanna be part of my tag list?

Anon: omg can you do one ab asking if cal wants to start a family

“Babe! Hurry we are going to be late!”

You were standing at the front door, looking inside of your bag in case you have forgotten anything.

“Y/N, you do know I went to the bathroom five minutes before you were done getting ready, right?” Your husband, Calum, said as he walked up to you.

You had to admit, you married the hottest guy on the planet. How can someone make a pair of jeans with a simple white shirt look so good?!

“But I still beat you at the door, didn’t I?” You asked with a grin that Calum easily reciprocated.

“That you did” He smiled, placing one hand at your side, kissing your template, and whispering in your ear “But that doesn’t mean you can beat me at the car” And with that, he started sprinting towards the driver’s seat.

It amazes you how after almost 7 years of relationship you never got over the honeymoon phase. You have met Calum when both of you were young, reckless, and stupid; and not looking for a relationship. But it only took one look at those brown eyes and you were hooked.

You still remember how he came to you with a lame excuse to talk to you at one of the many parties you used to crash with your best friends.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” He said, and you almost thought he discovered you and was going to call security “I’m pretty sure god will wonder where all of their angels went”

He quickly apologized once he realized the words that fell out of his mouth, but you just stood there giggling at this cute attempt of flirting. And, as they say, the rest was history.

The next couple of years came and went and it almost seemed like you were in some kind of an alternate reality where everything played out as it was supposed to. Yes, of course, there were rocky times, especially when distance came to play, but all those times just made your relationship stronger.

Neither of you knew why, but being together just felt right. Which ultimately came to him proposing one eventful night in August after visiting his parents in Australia. And that then leads to your wedding just a few months later, you still recall that as one of the happiest moments of your life.

That was 3 years ago, and you were proud to say that you got to marry your best friend. Every day felt like a never-ending slumber party with new adventures and dreams to fulfill. And you wouldn’t change it for the world.

You were thinking about it as of now, looking at Calum with a smile as he drove to your cousin’s place to celebrate the birthday of the newest addition to the family: your baby niece.

Going to these kinds of parties became pretty regular for you, given that you came from a really big family and all your cousins were almost the same age as you, so they started popping babies out like it was nothing! And you were so thankful Calum was always happy to come along “I love your family, Angel!” He said “And you have to give it to them, they know how to throw a party”

It was true. If there is something your family doesn’t take lightly is parties. You still get a headache every time you remember the stress of convincing them to do something lowkey for your wedding. And as you parked outside your cousin’s house you wonder how you actually did it.

“Wow,” Said Calum as he looked at all the balloons decorating the front door “They really went all out on this one” He laughed.

“Sabrina is one year old!” You laughed, unbuckling your seatbelt as Calum opened the door for you “She won’t even remember this!”

“Yeah.. but at least Aunt Bridget will get to brag about having real mariachis playing at the party”

“Real maria-?” You asked, but Calum was already trying to hold his laughter as he pointed to a mariachi band getting out of their van “Okay, that is new… We are not even from Mexico!”

“No… but mom went to the wedding of Mr. Gómez’s son and she insisted we hired the same band for little Sab’s birthday” Your cousin answered as she opened the door.

You and Calum hugged your cousin before making your way inside the house. You stood in awe as you walked up the backyard and everything was decorated in different shades of pink and purple. Even the family dog had some sort of ribbon around his collar.

“This looks…” You began

“Like if a vagina exploded?” Calum finished for you. You slapped him in the arm playfully, trying so hard not to laugh along with him and be serious.

Your cousin came back a few moments later to hand each of you a drink and inviting you outside to join the party.

*

The mariachis were actually really good, especially when they made Calum have a dance-off with one of your uncles to the chicken dance song. And the rest of the party was also really fun for kids and adults alike.

Now the sun was starting to set and most of your family members decided it was time to call it a day after so many games and dancing. You and Calum, however, decided to stay a little longer since most of your cousins unofficially agreed to have a ‘family-friendly after-party’

You were sitting next to your cousin as you held her baby in your lap, making her dance along with the music.

“You are good at this,” Your cousin said, looking at you and baby Sabrina.

You laughed “It’s not too hard of a job to entertain a baby” And to prove your point, you started making faces at your niece, who started laughing right away.

“It’s not that! You, my dear, have the touch”

“The touch?” She nodded.

“You have that motherly essence, it’s easy for you to engage with the children - they all love you by the way, which is a fact I’m extremely jealous of - And you just have that capacity of love only a parent can understand. C’mon, don’t tell me you and Calum haven’t thought about having a family?”

You drifted your eyes to find Calum amongst the crowd of adults and children.

He was playing soccer with your older nieces and nephews, laughing as he threw himself to the ground on exaggerated acting as the kids scored goal after goal, laughing at your husband’s antics.

And just like that, it was like an image of your future passing by You and Calum sitting in the backyard with Duke running around with your child, playing all sorts of games with you, swimming in the pool, and eating ice cream. Reading bedtime stories as Calum sang them to sleep, him teaching them how to play different instruments and sports, always encouraging them to follow their dreams and passions… Yes, you could get used to that.

“I- I haven’t thought about it” You finally said with a light blush on your cheeks. You didn’t know if it was because of the question, your daydream, or the way Calum was looking and smiling at you.

*

You couldn’t stop thinking about what your cousin said even when you were already in the car and on your way home with Calum humming along with the songs on the radio.

Once you reached your home you started looking around, thinking of all the places you could share with your potential future family; cooking dinner together at night or watching frozen one thousand times on movie night or creating a playroom just for them so they could have their own space to create whatever comes into their minds and-

“You are really quiet, Angel,” Your husband said, interrupting your train of thought “Is everything alright?”

You pressed your lips together in a tight smile and nodded as he came to hug you from behind, resting his head on your shoulder “Did you have fun with the kids today?” You asked cautiously.

Calum chuckled “Yeah… Matthew almost threw me off at one point, he’s getting good at soccer”

“I hope so! His dad told me he started going to practice cause he wants to be a soccer player and a musician like his uncle Cal” You said, pecking your lips in Calum’s red cheek. You could see that he was slightly embarrassed but in a good way. You wonder if your future children will be like that as well.

Maybe they’ll have his cheeks, or your eyes… oh, please let them have Calum’s curly hair.

You smiled to yourself at the thought of little chubby-cheeked curly-haired heads running around your house. They will be perfect and they will be so loved…

Calum hummed next to your ear, placing a little kiss to the shell of it “I know what’s got you all wrapped up in daydream land” He said, hugging you tighter.

You turned your face to look at him “You do?” He nodded and placed his head on your shoulder again.

“Knew it since I saw you looking at me when I was playing with the kids” He placed a kiss on your cheek and made you turn around completely while still holding you by your waist. You swore you could hear the beating of your heart thundering louder and louder.

“And to be honest, I’ve been thinking about it since the first time I saw you hold a baby”

You blinked at him, confusion written all over your face “What?”

“Well… I knew from the moment I saw you that I wanted to start a family with you. I just confirmed it the day you took me to Matthew’s birthday party to meet your family” He said as a matter-of-factly.

“Yo-you want to start a family with me?” You asked with a flash of hope in your eyes.

Calum smiled at you, his eyes filled with pure adoration “I want to start everything with you, Angel. As long as you let me”

“Do you think we’re ready?”

“I love you, you love me” He said and you nodded with a smile “We’ve been together for 7 years, married for 3; we both have steady jobs, I’m not leaving for tour anytime soon so I’ll be home through every step of the way, we live in a nice house and Duke is more than ready to have a new partner in crime, so… what do you say, love?” Calum said with a cheeky smile.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer into a kiss.

“Let’s do it”

Tags: @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @theshyspy @talksoprettyjjx @sarcasticallywitty15 @hoodhoran @flaneurcth @Yeah-and69 @mystic-232

*if Your @ is crossed it means I can’t tag you for some reason, please send me a message so we can fix this ✨

#calum hood #5 seconds of summer #5sos #calum hood fanfiction #calum hood imagine #calum fic #suchalonelysunflower #fanfic #calum fanfic #calum imagine #calum hood 5sos #calum hood fluff #calum 5 seconds of summer #calum 5sos #5 seconds of summer fanfiction #5sos fic #5 seconds of summer imagine #CALM #calum x you #calum x reader #calum thomas hood #calum rec

[delacyrose224]

Gold Rush

-Pairing: drummer!Jungkook x reader, with a side of guitarist!Jin x OC

-Premise: You were never one for rushing into relationships, but what happens when you meet a certain blue-haired drummer?

-Genre: rock band!AU, some fluff but also some angst

-Word Count: 8.1k

-Author's Note: This is based on the song 'gold rush' by the one and only Taylor Swift! It will still make sense if you don't know the song, but you'll find some fun Easter egg references if you do know it. Also, fun fact: this is the first fic I've written since high school...do with that what you will.

“Come...on!” Margot grunts as she tugs on your arm. You literally have no idea why you’ve agreed to this night out-it’s Tuesday, you have work in the morning, you’re already tired and the night hasn’t even started.

“I’m coming,” you mutter begrudgingly, as you step carefully in your heeled boots down very narrow steps into what looks like a very seedy bar. The Dynasty. You walk in the door, and instantly try to retreat-it’s tiny, the floor is sticky with who knows what, and it’s packed. More like The Die Nasty...this could not be further from your comfort zone.

Margot, meanwhile, could not look more excited. She’s been talking about this concert for weeks now. You can’t even remember the name of the band, that’s how not your scene this is. Margot steers you towards the bar. “What do you want? My treat, since I made you come out on a work night just to be my wing woman.”

You scrunch up your nose in disbelief. Her wing woman? Has she seen you? You’re the most awkward person alive around men, especially cute men. Plus, it doesn’t help that you barely had time to throw on an Eagles t-shirt with a pair of jeans, and your hair has frizzed out from the light drizzle of rain that started on the walk over. “A Malibu with coke works,” you say, adding, “And make it a double!” at her retreating back.

You turn and scour the packed room for an empty booth, table, anything. Your eyes finally land on a tiny two person booth in an awkward corner of the room. Margot may not be able to see the band perfectly from here, but at least you’ll have seats. “A drink for my best friend in the whole entire world!!” Margot smiles brightly as she brings your beverages over to the table. “Do you think Jin will notice me? I tried to look cute, but not try too hard, y’know?” She smoothes down the front of her blouse nervously. You immediately have a witty retort ready to go, but you don’t have the heart to say it when you look up and see how fidgety she is. “Mar-if he doesn’t notice you, he’s an idiot,” you smile kindly.

The show isn’t due to start for another 30-45 minutes, so you spend that time chatting with Margot about work, life, and everything in between. She’s convinced that if she can just get Jin to notice her, that she’ll be able to introduce you to one of his bandmates, and then you can go on double dates (or something like that). “Mar, do you really think tortured artists go on double dates? I really can’t see it,” you snort into your drink. Let alone a guy in a band being interested in you, you’re about as boring and straitlaced as they come. You lose track of time as you continue the conversation, and the alcohol is certainly making you less annoyed that you’re here.

“They’re starting, they’re starting!” Margot squeals, gripping your arm. “Really?” You try to twist around in your seat to see, but before you get very far, you’re being dragged out into the space right in front of the stage. You’re not quite front row, but you’re awfully close-too close for your own liking, if you’re being honest.

“Margot…” you hiss, trying to get her attention, but all hope is lost. Her eyes are glued to the small stage, waiting for the man she’s deemed to be the love of her life to walk out and pick up his guitar. You give up after a while, huffing and crossing your arms to show your displeasure. A few girls around you give you a sidelong glance, seemingly judging you for being upset at a concert. How dare you? After staring at you for what they deem to be an appropriate amount of time, they go back to their own conversations, which you’re able to overhear due to your close proximity.

“Were you at the last show? They’ve improved SO much since they started, I love them!!” one yells a little too loudly, while her friend nods enthusiastically.

“Have you heard that Jungkook dyed his hair blue?! He was hot before, but now…” the girl can’t even seem to finish her sentence, she’s so overcome by the ‘hotness’ of this Jungkook guy, whoever he is.

As soon as his name is mentioned, you suddenly seem to overhear it multiple times in the conversations surrounding you while the band’s crew finishes setting up for them. You lean over to ask Margot what the heck the deal is with Jungkook, but just as you open your mouth to begin talking, a loud strumming blasts from the speakers on the edge of the stage, and you mouth ‘nevermind’ and step back to where you were.

A tall, broad shouldered man steps out of the shadows at the back of the stage to deafening screams, his guitar already strapped across his chest. He lifts up a hand in greeting, and steps up to one of the mics set up. “Thank you all for coming out! We hope you have a great time tonight!” He blows a kiss to the crowd (to more deafening screams). Margot looks like she might faint-this must be Jin.

Next to walk out is a sullen looking guy, shorter and smaller than the first. He walks to the side of the stage opposite of you, and picks up a bass. Forget Jin, forget Jungkook (whichever one he turns out to be), you like this guy. Sure, he’s cute or whatever, but he literally looks like he wants to be anywhere but where he’s currently at. “Same, dude, same,” you mutter to yourself under your breath. One of the girls from earlier must have overheard you again, because she turns and gives you a weird look. The multiple Malibu and cokes you had earlier give you the courage to tell her to mind her own business and leave you alone, but just as you begin to lean forward, the loudest screams yet erupt from the crowd. You immediately clench your hands over your ears (which you realize looks ridiculous at a concert) and turn to look at what’s caused the reaction.

Over the heads of the people in front of you, you see a mop of almost neon blue hair making its way to the drum set, but the rest of him is obscured as he swiftly walks across the stage. This must be that Jungkook guy those girls were talking about earlier. His hair looks like a blueberry as far as you’re concerned, and you still don’t understand what the fuss is about.

He settles behind his kit, and as the people in front of you move slightly, you catch a glimpse of Jungkook. His blueberry hair falls around his face in waves, and his nose is scrunched up because of the giant grin on his face, clearly ecstatic to start the show. Okay, he was cute. Cuter than bass guy and Jin (though you’d never utter that sentence out loud to Margot for fear of losing your life). Still, he’s just another guy in a band, right?

Jin starts the opening chords to the first song to deafening cheers, bass guy starting to play shortly after, and Jungkook having the time of his life on the drums. After a long intro, you hear a smooth voice with a tinge of rasp come through the mic. It instantly feels like your bones have turned to jelly, and you want to melt into a puddle (in the best way). However, you are confused. You’re staring at Jin, who is immersed in his playing, sweat already starting to drip from his brow from being under bright lights. His mouth isn’t moving. Why? He’s the lead singer. Are you imagining the lyrics you’re hearing right now?

You lean over to Margot, who’s conveniently also looking at Jin, albeit for a completely different reason. “Why isn’t the lead singer doing anything?” you shout over the music. “Huh?” she screams back, unable to clearly make out what you’re saying. “I said, why isn’t Jin singing?!” you yell.

Margot looks over to you, mirroring the confusion on your own face. “Look!” she points towards the back of the stage. There you see Jungkook, not only playing the drums, but also singing lead vocals in one of most attractive voices you’ve ever heard. Not only that, but he’s somehow managed to keep that scrunched nose smile from earlier on his face while doing it. So THAT’S what all the fuss about Jungkook was over. Just as your brain makes the connection between it being his singing coming through the speakers, he makes eye contact with you and his smile seems to grow even bigger, his eyes sparkling with delight.

Oh, you’re in big trouble.

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

The rest of the concert seems to go by in a blur. You have no idea how many songs the group does, you are so caught up in watching Jungkook perform...he clearly has talent, but you can tell he’s in love with what he’s doing. Even when sweat makes his hair start to stick to his forehead, he merely gives his head a shake (sort of like a dog), and keeps going with that wide smile on his face. It certainly doesn’t help that it feels like at least every other song, he’s making eye contact with you somehow-even though you’re not front row, even though his drum kit is at the back of the stage. Surely you’re making that up. He’s just a good performer, right? He makes all the girls feel like this, like he’s performing just for them.

As Jin strums out the final notes of the last song, you shake your head to clear your thoughts. This is dumb, you had too much to drink, and you were distracted by a cute guy who has a pretty voice. That’s all.

As the song dies out, you turn to your best friend. “Margot, you ready to go? I’m tired.” What you’ve failed to notice is that your best friend has disappeared while you’ve been wrapped up in your own thoughts. Did she go to the bathroom? Had she gotten more drunk while you were busy swooning (no, NOT swooning) over a certain blue-haired drummer? Just as you’re about to start panicking, you see her as the group of fans in front of you starts to disperse...and she’s talking TO JIN.

He’s sitting on the edge of the stage, long legs dangling off the front, head tilted back laughing at something Margot has said. His laugh doesn’t quite seem to fit him-it’s loud and squeaky, kind of like a windshield wiper dragging itself across the front of a car. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his guitar pick, and goes to hand it to your friend. Simultaneously, he leans in and gives her a kiss on the cheek. Other girls that are around you, hanging back in hopes of meeting the boys, are clearly fuming at the action and some even stomp off.

On one hand, you are excited for Margot-she’s gotten the attention of the man she’s been talking about nonstop for days. On the other hand, you also want to leave-love is gross and you have no time for it. Since you can’t abandon your friend in a seedy bar with a man she hardly knows, you settle for the next best thing-your fifth (you think?) drink of the night.

“A Malibu and coke please,” you ask the bartender while sliding cash across the counter. You know you’ll regret the alcohol running through your system in the morning, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care enough to stop. You pick up the drink, filled to the brim, and turn quickly to go hide in your booth from the beginning of the night. Surely Margot will come find you when she’s done talking, right? Just as you turn, someone walking the opposite way bumps elbows with you with enough force to cause half your drink to slosh down the front of your shirt and onto the floor.

“Oh wow, I am so sorry! I should have been paying more attention-let me get some napkins for you!” says some unknown male voice. You’re too busy mourning over your half spilled drink that you’d just paid too much for to reply. Suddenly, there’s napkins thrust into your hand, and you look up.

It’s Jungkook.

He’s even more attractive up close, if that’s even possible. He’s sweaty, but somehow makes it look good-his longer hair is swept back into a little blue half bun, his eyeliner is smudged, and he’s down to his white undershirt with ripped jeans. The dim lights of the bar are reflecting off both his earrings and what looks like the stars in his eyes.

“Um...are you okay? I can go get you a new shirt to change into-wait here!” Before you have the chance to form any words, he jogs off towards the stage where he has a conversation with the bassist. The bassist doesn’t look happy about what Jungkook says, but Jungkook still goes to the back of the stage, and comes back with a black piece of fabric in his hands.

“Yoongi’s pissed because these aren’t even ready to be sold, but whatever. Just think of it as an exclusive sneak peek or something,” Jungkook says as he hands the shirt to you. You accidentally brush your hand across his as you take what he’s handing you, and you feel like you might burst into flames with the way your insides feel like they’ve become molten lava.

You unfold the shirt to see that it’s got song lyrics written across it in dripping graffiti font, along with their signatures. The realization suddenly hits you that you still have not said a single word to the man standing in front of you.

“Y-Yoongi?” you stammer out. You hate how much you sound like a high schooler asking their crush to prom. “Oh yeah, that’s our bassist. The one who looks like he’d literally rather be anywhere else than playing with Jin and me,” Jungkook chuckles. “He’s really a softy underneath it all, but don’t tell him I said that.”

You laugh, though you feel like it sounds a little too forced and a little too loud. Your assumption seems to be right, as you see Jungkook raise one eyebrow.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I really am sorry I made you spill your drink.” He genuinely looks worried. About you. What universe are you even living in right now?

“I’m fine, really. Thanks for the t-shirt, you didn’t have to do that,” you mumble softly.

“It’s the least I could do for a pretty girl whose Eagles tee I ruined, don’t worry about it. Yoongi will get over it.”

Jungkook smiles that same smile he seemed to throw your way throughout the concert, nose scrunching up, eyes sparkling. It feels like you’ve been thrown overboard into the ocean in the middle of a storm. You can’t get your bearings, the waves keep throwing you under, and you’re disoriented. The only light is coming from the stars in his eyes. Surely this man who could date anyone he wanted to did not just call you pretty, as casually as he might have mentioned the weather outside?

You’re shaken out of your reverie as Margot and Jin approach the two of you. “JK, my man, sorry I took so long-I was too busy being enchanted by this lovely lady,” Jin smiles, and you can see that Margot is beaming with happiness. You’re glad someone’s night has gone well.

“No problem, I was just talking to...” Jungkook suddenly looks lost, realizing he doesn’t know your name.

“Y/N.” you blurt out. Margot looks at you strangely, but is distracted once Jungkook begins talking again.

“Yeah, I bumped into her and made her spill her drink, so I gave her one of our shirts and we were just chatting.” He smiles gently at you and your heart does a somersault.

“Nice to meet you. You must be cool if you’re friends with this one,” Jin nudges Margot with his shoulder. How long have the two of them been able to talk for, for him to know you’re friends? You’ll definitely need a debrief on the walk home.

You speak to Jin with much more ease and control than you can manage with Jungkook. “I like to think I’m cool,” you grin. At this, Jungkook smirks.

“She’s the best!” Margot chirps, clearly still a little drunk. Jin chuckles and puts an arm around her shoulders.

“Well, pretty girl, JK and I need to go help Yoongi with getting everything put up in our van. It was lovely to meet you,” he drops his arm from around her shoulders, only to pick up her hand in his and kisses her knuckles promptly. Margot giggles. “I’d love to take you out sometime.” She nods enthusiastically.

“It was nice to meet you too,” Jungkook leans in to half-whisper in your ear. When did he get that close?! You nod with a small smile in his direction-that’s all you can seem to manage when that drowning in the ocean feeling suddenly returns.

He and Jin turn to leave, and you go to your booth, making sure you didn’t leave anything behind before the whole drink-spilling fiasco happened. Seeing that you have everything, you turn to find Margot, only to see Jungkook whispering in her ear across the room and laughing.

Your heart drops. You were right all along-he does treat all the girls like this, like they’re special to him.

Margot comes up to you shortly after. “You ready to go?” you ask quietly.

“Yep!” she smiles, and drags you out of The Dynasty by the hand. The entire walk home, all she can talk about is Jin-how cute he is, how funny he is, how talented he is, and oh, did she mention how cute he is? You nod and smile in all the right places in her story. You are happy for Margot, but you can’t help comparing what she’s telling you with your interactions with Jungkook. You had acted like an idiot, and there was no way he was interested in you on any level. Plus, he clearly thought that your best friend was worth flirting with after Jin helped him escape your awkward conversation.

You shake your head to clear it as you reach your apartment building. Margot bids you farewell at the second floor, while you continue your trudge up the stairs to the fourth floor. You key into your apartment, throwing your keys into a bowl and heading for your bedroom.

Makeup off, pjs on, you’ve just finished washing your face when you look at yourself in the mirror. “Boys are dumb, and love is stupid,” you say to yourself, not sure if you actually believe what you’re saying. As you dry your face, you hear the sound of your phone receiving a text. Margot, no doubt, still waxing poetic about how she can’t believe that Jin wants to take her out on a date.

You slide into bed and turn off your lamp, grabbing your phone to set an alarm for the morning and to tell Margot that you’ll talk some more tomorrow during lunch.

Unknown Number

2:37 AM: Hey, it’s Jungkook!...I hope you don’t mind, I got your number from Margot. thanks for coming out to the show tonight, I hope you had a good time!! if you didn’t, you don’t have to wear the shirt I gave you, that would be weird for you to wear it if you hated our music…

2:41 AM: anyway, I just wanted to apologize again for making you spill your drink. Usually I’m not that clumsy, I guess I was distracted. You should come hang out with the band before our next show on Friday! only if you want. let me know...or don’t. Whatever you want.

2:45 AM: Can you tell I’m nervous? haha

2:46 AM: usually i’m not like this, but you’re really pretty and you seem cool. ANYWAY. I hope you hang out with us-bring Margot too, Jin would like that. I hope you got home safe and i hope i see you soon :)

You stare in disbelief at your phone. Jungkook just texted you. Jungkook just texted you FOUR TIMES IN A ROW. Good thing you are much less awkward via text, mostly because you have time to think out what to say. You can’t help the giant grin that forms on your face as you type out a reply.

2:50 AM: I made it home, thanks for checking in...I can’t turn down a good band shirt, so I’ll definitely be wearing it. Maybe I’ll wear it if we hang out, you’ll have to wait and see!

You place your phone on the nightstand and turn over to get comfortable. Maybe Margot wasn’t the only one who had a good night after all.

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

Three days later, you’re staring at your phone sitting on your desk. “Can you not?” Margot huffs from beside you, rolling over in her desk chair. “Just freaking text JK and tell him we’re coming to hang out with the band,” she rolls her eyes and lets out a huge sigh.

“Margot, can you not? Stop being so loud, we’re at work,” you hiss. Margot looks slightly taken aback at your comment, and then swiftly rolls back to her own desk.

You’ll deal with her hurt feelings later. For now, you go back to staring at Jungkook’s text that is boring a hole in your brain...he sent it about six hours ago, and you still haven’t replied.

Jungkook

8:53 AM: Morning! I know it’s kinda early, but i figured you might be at work already. You and Margot coming by later? Jin will cook for us! i think i can manage some cookies too, just don’t judge if they don’t taste as good as jin’s cooking...i swear he was a chef in a past life. You like chocolate chip?

You’d had brief text conversations each day since you met, nothing too crazy. Even so, you still can’t help but feel like your brain is freezing over, ceasing all functioning momentarily every time a text comes in from him. Margot is right, you just need to text him back already.

3:30 PM: Make it snickerdoodle and I’m there.

Jungkook immediately sends back a reply, overeagerly filled with emojis, their apartment address, and instructions to come over at 6. For a drummer in a rock band, he is surprisingly silly, kind, and warm. You’re not sure what you expected from him, but it wasn’t this.

The rest of the work day goes quickly, your mind preoccupied with what’s in store for you at the boys’ apartment. As soon as you and Margot step outside your office, her eyes are glued to her phone. “Hey, Margot...I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. I just don’t know what this...thing...is with Jungkook, and I’m stressed. Not an excuse, but you didn’t deserve me being rude,” you say in a small voice.

“Girl, I forgave you like ten minutes after you said it, it’s whatever. Look at this!” She shoves her phone under your nose, and you examine what she’s trying to get you to look at. Pictures of food? You’re confused.

“What is it?” you ask. “Our dinner, silly! Jinnie’s making us pasta carbonara with homemade breadsticks!” Your mouth involuntarily starts watering at even the mention of food. Homemade bread? Jungkook must not have been kidding about Jin’s cooking.

“Look look look, your boyfriend is making us snickerdoodle cookies too-how sweet!” Margot gives you a sly smile, and you can immediately feel heat radiating off your cheeks.

“He’s not my boyfriend! He’s just-whatever! He’s not even interested in me like that, he hasn’t asked me out or anything. Not like someone I know,” you attempt to distract her by bringing up her date with Jin (it had literally happened the day after meeting him, and he’d set up a second one for the weekend-you couldn’t help but be impressed). Even though you’re flustered, you still can’t stop the warmth spreading through you. Yes, embarrassment. But also Jungkook was making snickerdoodle cookies like you asked.

“Boyfriend or not, we’re here!” Margot singsongs as you walk through the front doors of an apartment building, and step into an elevator, pressing the button for floor seven.

There’s a loud pinging sound as you step out, and Margot knocks on the door directly across from the elevator. You hear clanging sounds, alongside shuffling and male voices indistinctly talking. The door swings open to reveal Jin in a pink apron.

“Hey pretty girl,” his eyes light up when he sees Margot standing in the doorway, and he immediately bends down to kiss the top of her head. Margot is positively beaming, and looks up at him like he’s her entire world.

You clear your throat awkwardly. “Oh hey, y/n,” Jin smiles warmly at you. “Jungkook’s excited to see you, he hasn’t stopped talking about you coming over since he started making those cookies.” Jin winks as your eyes grow wide.

“HYUNG!!” you hear Jungkook bellow from you assume the kitchen. As you all walk into the apartment, you can see him glaring at Jin.

“What? I’m just telling the truth, nothing wrong with that-right, Margot?”

“Right,” your best friend grins.

“Not you too, M. Why do I put up with this torture?” Jungkook pouts in your direction, blue strands of hair falling messily in his face. You can see he’s also wearing an apron, black-but with lots of flour stains.

You walk closer to the kitchen and lean on the counter that separates it from the living room. You may be nervous as ever, but maybe if you fake confidence, things will feel better.

“Oh, I dunno, maybe because he’s one of your best friends and bandmates? Because maybe it is the truth?” you grin cheekily.

Jungkook’s doe eyes go even wider than you thought possible, and it looks like he may drop the mixing bowl he has in his hands.

“Weren’t you excited I was coming over, Kook? I can leave if you want…” you step into the kitchen with him, reaching forward and gently pushing a loose strand of hair out of his face. You swear he leans into your touch, and it feels like electricity is coursing through your veins.

“I-I mean, of course I was! I invited you over, didn’t I? Of course I want you here.” Jungkook has a fierce blush creeping up his neck towards his face, and he looks like he wants to sink through the floor.

A deep chuckle resounds from the corner of the living room, and you turn around to see Yoongi smirking at the two of you from an armchair. “Can we eat now, please? As much as I love seeing the two of you absolutely not know how to function like normal human beings...I’m hungry.”

Jin uses this opportunity to sweep into the kitchen, grabbing his pasta off the stovetop and bringing it to the center of the dining room table. Margot brings the breadsticks over and places them down as well. You each take a seat, Yoongi sitting at one end of the table, Jin and Margot on one side, you and Jungkook on the other. Dinner unfolds in a relatively normal fashion, mostly silent because everyone is so hungry. Jungkook may have actually been underselling Jin’s cooking ability, because you’re not sure when the last time you had pasta this good was.

Just as you’re finishing up, the timer on the oven beeps, signaling that Jungkook’s cookies are done. He hops up out of his seat to grab the pan out of the oven. A few seconds later, you hear a loud expletive and a metallic clang. “Kook?” you call, already walking towards the kitchen. As you round the corner, you see him holding his hand under the faucet, water streaming over what looks like a nasty burn.

“Kook!” you exclaim, swiftly moving towards him, peeking around him to see the injury. “What happened?”

Jungkook turns around, seemingly just noticing your presence. He gives you a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Don’t worry about it, it’s nothing. The pan started slipping out of my hand, so I went to grab it with my other hand to steady it. I just happened to forget I was only wearing one oven mitt.” He forlornly looks behind the two of you. You follow his gaze to see that most of the cookies have fallen on the floor, save for three. “I just wanted the cookies to be perfect.” His lower lip juts out as he begins to pout, staring at the cookies littering the floor.

“Jungkook, look at me.” His eyes raise from the floor to your own. “The fact that you even made any cookies at all is very sweet-pun intended. It’s the effort that counts. That, and making sure you don’t have permanent burn damage.” You reach out for his wrist and delicately turn his hand to look at it. It’s angry looking, but you can tell it will heal pretty easily (you may have suffered several cookie-related burns yourself in your day). “Just make sure you put ointment on this a couple times a day for about a week, and you should be fine.” You shoot him a soft smile, which he returns.

“What are you, a doctor?” he asks.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you reply, grinning widely.

“Yah, why do you have to be so difficult? Here I am, trying to be nice, trying to get to know you more, and this is what I get in return,” he gripes, but there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Hmm...I dunno, Kook. I think you like it when I’m contrarian,” you giggle, turning to leave the kitchen. Before you can move through the door frame, Jungkook moves in front of you. You look up at him confused. He leans in close, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers.

“...maybe I do. But next time I see you, you should actually wear the shirt I gave you.”

He winks, leaves the kitchen, and leaves you to wonder what the heck just happened.

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

Your sporadic texts with Jungkook have turned into one long, continuous conversation over the past few weeks. It feels like you talk about everything, but also nothing. He remains somewhat a mystery, though you know this is because you’re still keeping him at arm’s length.

Jungkook is too good for you, you’ve decided. He’s cute, funny, charming, and talented. Everyone is in love with him for good reason. Every time he makes eye contact with you, his smile lights up his entire face. That smile has you falling faster than you’d like, and it isn’t a pleasant feeling. A cloudlike floating down to Earth? Try hurtling through the atmosphere like an asteroid determined to destroy the planet. You haven’t hit the ground yet, but you’re not sure if you’ll be able to properly recover once you do.

Kook

4:23 PM: Come with me to the beach this weekend! You need a break from work, and i need a break from the morons i live with...don’t tell them i said that. I need to work on song stuff too, but i’d like some company :)

Your chest constricts at his latest message. Is this a date? He hasn’t asked you on one before, but this feels suspiciously date-esque. But he’s working on band stuff, so maybe he really just wants company. You shoot off a quick text in the affirmative before you can think much harder about it. Jungkook immediately sends back a slew of emojis, as well as telling you he’ll pick you up at 8AM on Saturday to drive the two of you down to the coast.

The next two days go by in a blur. Before you know it, you’re standing in front of your closet Saturday morning, wondering what to wear on your not-date. It’s not quite summer yet, so you know the two of you aren’t wearing bathing suits (not to mention that would have been a whole other crisis to work through-being half naked in front of a very attractive man on a maybe-date? Absolutely not). You quickly put on a pair of jean shorts, and smile as you grab their band tee and slide it over your head. You still hadn’t worn it in front of Jungkook. You finish off with french tucking the shirt, sliding on sandals and wearing a simple gold necklace with your first initial on it-you didn’t want to be too fancy.

You make yourself a cup of tea to pass time waiting for Jungkook to arrive. Halfway through drinking it, there’s a knock on the door. You hastily place your mug on the coffee table, grab your bag, and open the door to find Jungkook leaning against the doorframe.

He lights up upon seeing you, his doe eyes widening when he notices your outfit. “You’re finally wearing it! I thought I was gonna have to bribe you or something,” he smiles.

“Let’s go, dork,” you reply, shutting your door behind you and making sure it’s locked.

Jungkook leads you outside to his car, opening the door for you. “After you, m’lady.” You roll your eyes, but not without laughing at his antics. He slides into the driver’s side and starts the car. “Off we go!”

The car ride is comfortably silent-probably because it’s still early in the morning, neither of you are completely coherent yet. The hum of the road beneath the car combined with the radio playing in the background puts you at ease. You can swear you keep seeing Jungkook look at you from your peripheral vision, but maybe you’re imagining things. You settle for looking out the window at the passing scenery, which honestly is beautiful-you should get out of the city more.

After about 10 minutes, you glance over to the driver’s side, only to make complete eye contact with Jungkook. “Kook, why do you keep looking at me?” His eyes widen, and now you know you weren’t imagining things earlier.

“Oh, uh...I-I’m just glad you decided to come. Yeah. And um, you look really good in my shirt.” You can see his ears reddening as he says this, and all of a sudden, you’re looking at anywhere but him.

There’s an awkward pause for a few moments, and then suddenly that molten lava feeling from a few weeks ago at the concert is back. You whip your head back towards Jungkook so fast, you think you might injure your neck. He has reached his hand across the console to where yours sits on your thigh, and as you watch, he intertwines your fingers with his. It feels like an out-of-body experience, where you’re watching yourself from above. Is this really happening? You glance up at Jungkook’s face with wild eyes, and he meets you with a steady smile. Not only is the molten lava feeling back, but it’s brought along the storm in the ocean feeling as well. Only this time, Jungkook is there to be the lighthouse that leads you back home.

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

The rest of the drive is peaceful. Jungkook continues to hold your hand the rest of the way to the beach, shooting you smiles every time you look over at him. You’re so mesmerized, you don’t even realize that you’ve parked until he lets go.

He immediately rushes over to open your door after getting out of the car, and then proceeds to pop the trunk open and grabs a cooler and a picnic basket.

“Kook, what is all this?” your eyes widen in surprise.

“Please, like I was going to take you to the beach and not pack a picnic. We have to eat, don’t we? I got those weird sparkling waters you like too.”

Your response is to grab the picnic basket out of his hand and immediately intertwine your fingers again with his free hand. Jungkook looks like his face might split in half with how big his smile is.

“You like it?” he asks with a hint of uncertainty.

“I love it.”

The two of you walk hand in hand down the beach quite a ways before you find what Jungkook deems the ‘perfect spot’. “And what exactly makes it perfect?” you peer up at him.

“Easy-one, we’re snagging the last free shaded spot,” he points at the umbrella stuck in the sand, “and two-it’s far enough away from other people that I can work on songs without a ton of noise distracting me.”

“Are you sure I won’t distract you?” you frown slightly, worried that he won’t get any work done.

“You’re never a distraction, you’re an inspiration.” He winks conspiratorially at you, and chuckles at the flustered look on your face. He sets the cooler down under the umbrella and looks over at you. “There’s a blanket in the picnic basket, can you get it out? As much as I love the beach, I don’t really want to find sand in my shorts for the next month.”

You set the basket down next to the cooler, open the lid, and pull out a bright blue blanket. Jungkook takes one side, you take the other, and you unfold it and place it lightly on the sand. He immediately plops down on one side of the blanket and reaches his hand up toward you, motioning for you to take hold. As soon as you do, he yanks a little too hard, and you careen sideways onto the blanket and into his side. “Well, that’s one way to sit down I guess,” you laugh at his appalled face.

“Are you okay? I didn’t mean to pull that hard…” his brow furrows in worry.

“I’m good, weirdo. Great, even.” You reach into the cooler, pull out a sparkling water (key lime, your favorite), and pull the book you always keep in your bag out. You lay out on the blanket, propped up on your elbows, and begin to read. Jungkook lays down beside you in a similar position, pulling a small notebook out of his back pocket and starts scribbling.

You sit in this position for a couple of hours, silently working, occasionally catching each others’ eyes and smiling when you do. Suddenly there’s a loud rumbling beside you. You laugh. “Hungry, Kook?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he laughs, sits up and reaches over to pull the picnic basket closer to the two of you.

“What’s on the menu?” you peer over as he starts to pull plastic containers out.

“Gimbap. Simple, easy, and delicious.” He hands you one of the containers as he pulls out a second for himself.

“Did you make this yourself?” you ask, mouth half-full. He nods. “Delicious,” you concede through your mouthful. He grins.

“Maybe I could actually cook for you sometime. Without burning my hand on cookies, that is.”

“I’d like that,” you shyly respond, eyes firmly locked on the plastic container of gimbap in your lap.

“It’s a date, then.” Your eyes shoot up to meet his, and you can see dimples forming alongside his smile. You can’t help but smile back.

After eating, the two of you go back to your previous positions-you reading, him working on song lyrics in his notebook. This time, though, after about 30 minutes you start to get restless. Looking over at Jungkook, you notice he keeps shoving his hair behind his ears as it falls in his face while he’s writing. You rummage through your bag for a hair tie, and scoot over closer to him. He raises an eyebrow in curiosity at you, and you just lean over and gently start pulling his hair back for him into a half bun that matches the way his hair looked the night you first met.

“Better?” you ask quietly, running your fingers absentmindedly through the hair at the nape of his neck that’s too short for the bun. He looks up at you, awestruck.

“Everything is better with you,” he whispers. You’re not sure if he knows he’s said this out loud. He suddenly sits up on the blanket, flipping through the pages of his notebook he’s been working in. He stops about halfway through. “Can you look over these lyrics? I’m not sure they’re quite right, I need a second opinion.”

You look down at the page and see lyrics scribbled in Jungkook’s messy handwriting.

“I wish you were right here, right now”

“This mad, mad love makes you come running”

“See your face, hear my voice in the dark”

Different versions of these lyrics are scattered across the page, certain words changed, scribbled out, and moved around within phrases. As your eyes scan the page, they land on one final line etched out on the bottom of the page. No scribbles, no changes-it simply reads:

“I wish you knew that I’ll never forget you as long as I live.”

“This is really good, Kook! It’s so much different than the music the band’s done before, how’d you come up with this?” You’re genuinely curious, this almost seems more like a ballad compared to the band’s usual upbeat tunes.

Jungkook looks at you warmly. “I’ve had new inspiration lately, that’s all.” You suddenly notice that he’s way closer to you than he was when you started looking over his notes...he’s sitting directly in front of you now.

You feel frozen as you see him stealing glances at your lips while his face inches closer. Is he going to kiss you? He’s going to kiss you. Oh my gosh, JUNGKOOK IS GOING TO KISS YOU.

As his lips meet your own, the molten lava turns into an erupting volcano. You feel hot and tingly all over, and Jungkook is assaulting your senses in every way possible. You can smell his cologne, feel the softness of his lips, taste his mint chapstick, hear the satisfied hum that gets caught in his throat as your lips collide. Even though your eyes are closed, the vision of Jungkook leaning in to kiss you is seared into the backs of your eyelids.

The kiss is over far sooner than you’d like. As Jungkook retreats, he doesn’t go far, instead leaning his forehead against yours, gazing at you longingly. The stars in his eyes have become a full blown galaxy, and you can’t look away. Still recovering from the kiss, Jungkook breathily laughs.

“You make me want to write all the love songs in the world.”

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

Margot is tugging insistently on your arm. “Hello? HELLO? Is there anyone in there?” she taps the side of your head. When you don’t respond, she grabs you by both shoulders and gives you a shake.

The room comes back into focus and you look over at your best friend with eyes still lightly glazed over. “Huh?”

“I said, it’s intermission...are you enjoying the show? You certainly seemed distracted by Jungkook-I saw him smile at you,” she grins. “Jin made eye contact with me a couple of times, he even winked!” she gushes, continuing to talk about how hot she thinks he is.

Your stomach feels like it’s dropped completely out of your body, and your throat has gone dry.

“Hey...you okay?” Margot notices that you still seem slightly out of it.

“Yeah, yeah...I just...need another drink, that’s all,” you manage to choke out, turning on your heel and heading straight to the bar. While the bartender works on your drink, you run through everything in your head. The texts...the dinner at the boys’ apartment...the beach. The kiss. None of it was real, was it? What was wrong with you?

You take the drink that’s slid across to you and head outside to a side alley beside the bar. No one’s there, everyone has gone to the bathroom or to refill their drinks while waiting on the band to return. You let out a deep sigh, leaning against the brick wall and running your hands through your hair, making it even frizzier than when the night started. At least it isn’t raining anymore, you think to yourself.

You return to the question Margot had asked you-are you okay? You’re not sure. You’d apparently made eye contact with Jungkook, a man you had never spoken to, and imagined a whole entire relationship with him in the span of half the band’s setlist. Are you that desperate for a man? Apparently. You let out a deep sigh, replaying the scenarios you had created in your head. Once your brain reaches the kiss again, you find yourself getting teary-eyed at how sweet Jungkook had been...in your head. You feel a tear escape, and you quickly swipe it away.

Taking a steadying breath, you push yourself off the wall and move towards the door to head back into the bar. As you reach for the handle, the door swings open and hits you in the shoulder, turning you slightly to the side and spilling your drink on your shirt and the cobblestones of the alley.

“...again?!” you mutter, looking down at your ruined shirt.

“Um...are you okay? I can go get you a new shirt to change into-wait here!” you hear a male’s voice, but as you look up, the bar door is already closing again as he’s gone inside.

A minute later, the door is swinging open again to reveal none other than Jungkook-hair in a half bun, eyeliner smudged, and in a white undershirt and ripped jeans. Just like in your imagination.

He reaches out to you with a black t-shirt in his hand. “Yoongi’s pissed because these aren’t even ready to be sold, but whatever. Just think of it as an exclusive sneak peek or something,” he parrots your imagined scenario you had played in your head moments ago.

“Thanks,” you say as you take the shirt, unfolding it to see the familiar graffiti design.

“It’s the least I could do for a pretty girl whose Eagles tee I ruined, don’t worry about it. Yoongi will get over it.” Jungkook smiles at you the same way he did during the first half of the show. One thing your brain got right are the stars in his eyes sparkling at you, which makes you smile back at him.

“Hey, I need to get back to make sure we’re ready for the second half of the show, but it was nice to meet you. You should hang back after the show-Jin thinks your friend is cute, and he was talking about inviting her to come grab food with us when we’re done. Yoongi can’t come and I don’t want to be a third wheel. Come hang out with us and save me from dying of awkwardness?” he looks at you shyly, his rock star persona melting away completely.

“I’ll think about it,” you tease, turning away and heading back into The Dynasty. Jungkook is left wide eyed in your wake, smiling as he turns to head towards the backstage door.

You meet up with Margot again after changing into your new shirt. The crowd has started to gather in anticipation of the second half of the show. “Hey Mar, let’s move all the way up,” you motion at the space in front of the stage.

“Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?” Margot gapes at you in disbelief, but follows your lead as you weave through the crowd to get to front stage center. You shrug goodnaturedly and just smile as an answer.

A moment later, Jin, Yoongi and Jungkook come from backstage to get in place for the second half of their set. You can see Jungkook scanning the crowd, brows slightly furrowed. You give a small wave, which catches his attention, and his nose scrunches in a smile as he sends an enthusiastic wave back. ‘I like your shirt’ he mouths at you as he settles behind his drum kit, winking as he does so. You can feel the heat creeping onto your cheeks as a bar employee strides across the stage to the mic and the crowd starts cheering.

“Give it up again for Gold Rush!”

#jungkook x reader #jk x reader #jk x y/n #jungkook x y/n #jin x oc #seokjin x oc #bts fluff #bts angst #bts one shot #bts rock band au #jungkook oneshot

[natromanxoff]

Mercury Roadrunner's Interview about Freddie Mercury with Peter Freestone – Part II

Thanks very much to Mercury Roadrunner (Pavel Strashnyy) for letting me share his amazing interviews! Originally shared here.

Check the tag "MR interview with Phoebe" to see the other parts. Here are the 3 main topics of this interview, beginning of each topic is written in bold:

1. Language skills

2. Music videos, Garden Lodge

3. Celebrity friends, leg damage story, Joe Fanelli, relationship between band members, Freddie's last days

PS: So here is our second part and the first topic is about Freddie’s language skills:

Did he actually know only the English language or did he also know the Gujarati language or any other languages?

PF: When his parents were in Garden Lodge or if he called his mother on the telephone, he only spoke English. I suppose, he must have understood Gujarati, because, okay, in the school he was taught English, but before the school, when he was in Zanzibar and he would have been with is parents, so I would have thought they would have been speaking in Gujarati.

He had about twenty words of German after living in Munich for so many years. He couldn’t speak German, but I think he understood the language, if he was paying attention, because most of the people around him were talking English, so he never really had the need to learn German. Although, saying that, one of his partners, Winnie, was German and did not speak a lot of English, but then he had Barbara to do the translating.

PS: The second topic is about a very special song “Mad The Swine”, which was recorded in 1972, but was released only in 1991 as a B side of “Headlong” single. Why, after so many years, Freddie decided to come back to it and release it?

PF: Freddie knew that “Innuendo” was going to be his last complete album and I think that this song had a special place in his heart, there were something about it, and as far as he was concerned, it never got an airing he felt it deserved and the rest of the band was happy to put it on.

PS: I mentioned the “Headlong” song and you can be seen in some archival footage of making of the “Headlong” video, you help to lay the Queen members on the shelves. What are your memories about that day?

PF: I was just there to help them. When they are making a video, they don’t need someone to take care of costumes, because there is a costume person, there is a makeup person, everybody is there to do something. And so I was there for Freddie, looking after him, and it just seemed natural to help out. And the band would feel more comfortable if that was someone that they know who would help to put them on the shelves rather than some technician turning up and trying to do it. And this moment with selves wasn’t’ planned. That wasn’t in the storyboard, it’s just that they saw it, there were four shelves so they just thought “Well, why not? Let’s do something crazy”. And the idea must have come from the band member, because Rudi would have seen all the possibilities when he was checking out where they were going to be doing the filming, and if he had thought of using the shelves, that would be one of the ideas put in the beginning.

PS: There are also some parts where we can see you in “The Great Pretender Extended Version” video - can you remember anything about it?

PF: It was just a big long laugh. There is not one part of the making of the actual scenes that they are not laughing and smiling. Roger, Peter and Freddie – they just clicked, it all worked. Nobody had to be bigger than the next one, nobody had to take the spotlight, and they just were there, having a good time.

PS: What is your personal favourite memory from that day?

PF: Personally, for me it is watching the recording of the six girls –you know, both of the backing group were girls, they were wearing two different outfits – and watching the recordings, when they were recording the one group of three and then the other group of three, the costumes they got in to and what they did – you couldn’t help but feel really-really happy. They were actually standing on the same platform when they were recorded. And then, of course, they used computer graphics to put two different groups on the screen at the same time. Just watching three of them there on the platform, waving their hands goodbye, it brings back the memories of those groups of backing singers in the sixties.

PS: What are your memories of making of the “Breakthru” video?

PF: I remember that it was probably the hottest night of the year, no sleep, because it was just so hot and humid. They had a huge problem with the opening scene, and they shot that last in fact. But they had a huge problem because when the engine went into the tunnel it caused air pressure so that that polystyrene wall burst out a long time before the engine arrived. So they tried it earlier on and that’s when they found that that’s what happened, and then they had to do playing around with it during the day, there was people doing that while the rest of the filming was going on, and then they had to sort of re-do it and it was the last shot. And the engine was actually already in the tunnel before it started getting up a bit of speed. And it wasn’t going as fast as people think it does, so that it looked right. It was a fun day. Only the band and the actual film crew were allowed on the flatbed, where the band were performing, because of the way it was being filmed, you could easily be in shot, so the less people that were there – the better. John was having a ball, I remember him laughing a lot, he was enjoying himself. And there was a normal carriage, like a dining car, but old, 1930-1940s, and that was where we would have food and drink. And it was wonderful. It’s a working old train line, it’s a tourist thing, but it’s great, it’s really-really nice and it’s not that far away from London. And Freddie was enjoying the shooting. I was surprised when I saw what he was doing on that flatbed, he was leaning over the edge as the train was going along, but again, it looks faster than it was. It really was only going at about 25-30 kilometers an hour. But it’s made to look as though they are speeding along.

PS: And what was the very first Queen video you were presented on?

PF: The very first video that I was involved with was “Save Me”, because it was shot during two shows of the “Crazy Tour”, I think it was at “The Rainbow” and it was shot at “Alexandra Palace”. Because it was the mix of the live action, the cartoon girl, the bird – and that was the hardest thing – to get Freddie to almost catch the bird, the pigeon. They had to re-film it for about 15 times. And it was where David Mallet, the director, fell of the stage into the orchestra pit. Everybody panicked for a few minutes, but then he stuck his head up “Oh, I’m alright”. It was about 2-3 meters he felled. And then followed all the post-production with the girl, with the cartoon, and how they blended the live pigeon to become the cartoon one and all that sort of work – all of it was done afterwards and it was done before Christmas 1979.

PS: And what was the very last Queen video you were presented on?

PF: “I’m Going Slightly Mad” video. I remember the penguin on the couch moment. Actually most of all I remember the way Diana was with Freddie, because she just took such a good care of him, she had special thermal underwear made for Freddie, because right from my meeting with Freddie in 1979 I remember the easiest thing for Freddie was to feel cold. And it only got worse the more sick he got. And she had special thermal underwear made for him that went underneath the shirt and the suit. She just was there for him all the time and it was just wonderful to see.

PS: And did Freddie usually have cold hands or he had normal temperature of hands?

PF: He could have normal warm hands, but often they would be cold. So maybe he could have a blood circulation problem.

PS: Can you remember something about the shooting of “I Want It All” video?

PF: I don’t think I was at that one, because that would have been Joe, Joe Fanelli would have been there, because we sort of took in turns – he would go to one, I would not, I’ll do all the stuff at home, then I would go to one and he would stay at home.

PS: And it was also the same for you take the turns in concerts?

PF: No, I was on tours with Freddie from 1979 till 1985 and then Joe took over from the last part of 1985 and 1986.

PS: And why you stopped going on tours and Joe took that part?

PF: Because Garden Lodge had been completed and to keep the insurance cover someone had to be living there, so I got to live there. I moved in six months before Freddie did. And Freddie moved in in the middle-end 1985. Because what we did was – Freddie was at Mary’s home and Terry and I took Oscar and Tiffany away from Stafford Terrace. Because Freddie was supposed to move in and he kept putting it off again and again, he said “I’ll do it tomorrow”, “I’ll do it at the weekend”, there was always a reason, an excuse, so what Terry and I did – we went and kidnapped Oscar and Tiffany and took them to Garden Lodge. And then, when Freddie went home and he was looking for the cats, Terry said: “No, they are not here, they are at your other home” – and Freddie moved within two days.

PS: And what was it like living with Freddie in Garden Lodge? What are your first memories of start of living there?

PF: At that point I was living above the kitchen. Joe and I had rooms that were above the kitchen, just up those stairs. And it just felt strange just to be living in that house. The thing is, I’ve been living with Freddie for years, because whenever we were in hotels it was always a two bedroom suit, so I knew how he was, what he would do, what he needed in the morning, how the moods could change, that was all standard, that was all normal. The difference was being in the luxury of Garden Lodge, knowing that it was a house, not the hotel, and the fact that he had made us promise, both Joe and myself, that we would treat this place as our home. It wasn’t just work and somewhere to stay because of work – it was our home.

Some houses have energy, they have a feeling, and while Freddie was in Garden Lodge it was a really warm, friendly house.

PS: And the atmosphere in the house changed almost at the moment Freddie passed away, right?

PF: Literally. For me, while he was still alive, even in those last minutes, it was still the same house, but literally within minutes, while we were waiting for the doctor, it just became bricks and mortar, it just became somewhere to sleep, somewhere to live.

PS: You mentioned living together with Freddie in hotels, but do you remember living with Freddie in some flats or houses before Garden Lodge?

PF: We were living in his apartment in New York. The way it was set up there were two bedrooms, sitting room, dining room, kitchen, a maid’s room and a sort of TV room.

And later we lived together for six months in Los Angeles. Recording “The Works”. They rented the big house for Freddie. A nice house, big-big house. It belonged to a doctor, who just constantly rented it out to stars, who needed somewhere to stay while they were filming. Elizabeth Taylor apparently stayed there, George Hamilton was there, lots of different film stars used it. It was a big house in nice big gardens, it had a swimming pool, had a tennis court, you know, it all the things you need.

PS: And it was actually two of you living there together?

PF: Yeah, Freddie and me. And Terry was there too, to drive.

PS: And speaking of Freddie’s New York Times, can you actually remember what was his the most favourite part of the city?

PF: Most evenings he would end up down on Christopher street, which is down near Greenwich Village. Because there were bars around there, clubs around there, restaurants around there, everything was there in that area, in the West Village.

PS: Our next topic is about Freddie Mercury and George Michael; we can see them together at “Barcelona” album launch party and Queen 20th anniversary party – do you remember the interaction between them?

PF: They actually met up at Live Aid, after it finished. We had to stay in the bar, because there were absolutely no way any cars were going to get out of the stadium area, because of the traffic and everything. And that was the very first time that they actually met. Freddie admired him, he thought George had a great talent both in writing and in singing, but there was no special friendship, because Freddie didn’t create big friendships with other musicians. He preferred, so to say, normal people. And also he enjoyed actors and actresses, their company, more than other musicians, because the way he felt, most musicians just wanted to talk about music and he had many more interests. So, yes, if Freddie and George were in the same place, then yes, they would meet up and they would chat about what was going on in their lives, but most of it was always about work. Their conversations would always be like “what was the tour like” and they would laugh, because they would make jokes about what they had been doing. Freddie could make a joke out of any situation. He didn’t tell anecdotes as such, but he could see something and he could make a joke out of it.

PS: As you mentioned Freddie having friends among actors and actresses, could you remember some of them?

PF: Anita Dobson, Debby Bishop, Carol Wood, Pam Ferris, Susannah York. One he would like to have met and she lived literally just across the road, but it never came, was Diana Rigg. And he was incredibly happy when I gave him an autograph from Honor Blackman. I met her and I said “Could I have an autograph, please”, she says “yes, of course, who’s it for?” and I said “it’s just for my friend, Freddie”. And he was overjoyed with it and he kept it in his bedside drawer.

PS: And who was his favourite actors?

PF: Franco Nero, James Mason, Laurence Olivier. And he got to meet him, so that was another of Freddie’s absolute joys. Dave Clark took Freddie to dinner at Laurence Olivier’s house. It was when they were working on “The Time” musical.

PS: And it was actually very last Freddie’s live performance, can you remember something special about it?

PF: Yes, April 1988. I just thought how amazing it sounded. We all heard “In my defence” before, but when he did “it’s in every one of us” as a duet with Cliff that was absolutely amazing. We had goose bumps. And then after the performance we went to Cliff Richard’s dressing room, sitting and talking there.

PS: And you said that Freddie didn’t have many friends amongst musicians, but could you remember something special about Freddie and Elton John’s friendship?

PF: They first met back in 74/75, when Queen were managed by John Reid and in those days both of them were constantly touring so they could rarely meet up. But every now and then Queen would have just done the show and Elton would be performing the next day, so he was already in the hotel and we would meet up and go round, sitting in Elton’s room talking. And then for about a couple of years after Freddie’s diagnosis they didn’t see each other, but then Freddie told Elton about his status and for the last year and a half Elton would regularly come to Garden Lodge. And in Freddie’s last two weeks Elton would ring us, say what time he would arrive, so that he wouldn’t be seen arriving, he wouldn’t come through the front door, and we would let him in through the Mews in his mini, so nobody knew he was there. He had to go to Paris to record, so he gave me all of the numbers: hotel number, the studio number, his mobile number, his assistance’s mobile number, all the numbers, just to let him know when it happen, because he knew it was going to happen. And at the very last time he came to Garden Lodge, he drove in one of his Bentleys and parked it right outside the front door and the press were running over to him asking “why are you here?” and Elton just turned around and said “I’ve come to see my friend”. And that was it, he just came in and they sat and talked. And when Elton came, it was really just Freddie and him in the room, just talking.

PS: And what was the story about Freddie getting his leg damaged in Munich?

PF: Freddie, when he had a few drinks, he would pick people up, just lift them off the floor, to show how strong he was. So Freddie had picked someone up and then someone next to him bumped into his knee and the ligaments tore, because instead of the way it was supposed to bend the knee bend the other way. Freddie then dropped the person he was carrying, he was screaming in pain and we had to go and get it set. When Queen filmed “It’s A Hard Life” in the end of the video, you can see him favouring the leg.

PS: And as you mention “It’s A Hard Life” video, Freddie’s friend Barbara Valentin stars in this video and she was a star in films of Rainer Werner Fassbinder – did Freddie ever discuss his films with her?

PF: Yeah, because she had videos of them. Freddie did meet Fassbinder once. They were in the “Deutsche Eiche”, which was Fassbinder’s favourite restaurant, he was always in it in Munich. And Barbara would take Freddie there every now and then. So Barbara introduced them to each other, they talked a bit, but they were there for lunch, it wasn’t a planned meeting or anything like this.

PS: And what film directors Freddie admired?

PF: Vincente Minnelli, George Cukor, the directors of the 40’s-50’s.

PS: What are your memories of Joe Fanelli?

PF: He was American. The first time I met him his relationship with Freddie was just finishing, this was in 1979. But he stayed in London and worked a lot in London. He was working in different restaurants. He was an amazing chef. And they kept in touch over the years and that’s why when Garden Lodge was finished and someone had to be there, that’s when Freddie thought to bring Joe back. And it worked, because Joe used to go to the gym all the time and he was taking care of himself, which he didn’t do so much when he was with Freddie. He was great. He was amazing on the computer. Computers were just starting, but Joe could write programs and things. Freddie’s favourite programme on television was “Countdown”, which is where they pick out seven letters and you have to make the longest word you possibly can out of those seven letters and then there’s also the numbers thing as well – and Joe created that on the computer for Freddie so that he didn’t wait for it just on the TV. He was fun, and he was good; it was good working with him and most of the time we just got on so well. Garden Lodge would not have been the same without him.

PS: And you mentioned Joe programming “Countdown” for Freddie so Freddie could actually play this game on computer?

PF: Well, no, he couldn’t, but he could sit there and Joe would do the computer. The computer was bought by Freddie for Garden Lodge and it was set upstairs on the musician’s gallery in the big sitting room.

PS: How would you describe the relationship between Freddie and other Queen members?

PF: They were all close to each other, but in a different ways.

Freddie was close with John. John was the new boy, he was the last one to join, he was the youngest, and Freddie just felt protective. He wanted to protect him a little bit for the dangers of rock’n’roll. But then John got married, had Veronica, so he had the security of home, and John was not around Freddie as much, but it didn’t stop the friendship because of what happened at the end. John just decided to finish because Freddie wasn’t there anymore.

With Roger it was a different friendship. And a very good friendship, because both of them had similar personality trait, they both enjoyed a good drink; they both enjoyed a good party.

And with Brian, of course, they were friends, but Brian was much more serious and Freddie was much more of a laughing person than Brian. Brian thought about things so much. But Freddie knew that he would never find anyone better than Brian to help him with the music.

PS: We know that Brian and Roger visited Freddie in his last days, but we never heard of John visiting Freddie.

PF: I don’t think John was prepared to see Freddie looking like he did in the last days, but John came and visited Freddie before those last two weeks. I know that he did come to the house, but I don’t think he could accept seeing Freddie the way he was in those last weeks.

PS: Freddie started to get a lot worse in those last two weeks?

PF: For the last two weeks Freddie hardly ate, he hardly drank. He was taking no drugs that were keeping him alive anymore, he was taking painkillers, and that was it.

PS: What was the reason of Freddie’s last visit to Montreux?

PF: He just wanted to get away from London. He wanted to have a little bit of peace and quiet away from all the press. He had that apartment in Montreux, so he went there.

For the last two-three years of his life he would be there every other month for a couple of weeks. There was no feeling of “this is the last time I’m going to Montreux”, that wasn’t part of his mentality, he only decided that this was the last visit when I called him, because I wasn’t with him, Jim, Joe and Terry were with him at that time, I was in Garden Lodge and I rang him and I said: “Look, just so that you are aware when you come home, that there are press outside the house 24 hours a day. In the nighttime it’s down to about four or five and in the daytime it’s up to about twenty”.

And that’s when he decided that when he went into Garden Lodge, coming back from Switzerland, it would be the last time, because he knew that he would never be able to get out again.

PS: And how long was he there for the last time?

PF: For about two weeks.

PS: And how do you remember him when he came back?

PF: He was sort of happy, but he was a bit withdrawn, because he had made the decision that when he came into Garden Lodge, it would be the last time, that he would never leave it again. He already had decided that, so, of course, he was a little bit more thoughtful, more inward thinking rather than being laughing and all that. But still, even in those two last two weeks there were still times when he would laugh, because he never wanted sad people around him.

PS: What are your last memories of Freddie?

PF: Since he got back from Switzerland on the 10th, he basically stopped eating and drinking. He would have a little bit, but that’s it. So, of course, he was tired, he had no energy. Most of the time he had short sleeps, short sleep –wake up, short sleep – wake up.

In those last two weeks, except for his needs, the only other time Freddie left his room, was when Terry carried him downstairs, on the Wednesday, 20th of November, because he just wanted to look around the main room, he just wanted to have a last look at paintings, at the crystal. He just wanted to spend some more time in that huge room where he felt most comfortable.

The last week of Freddie’s life he was actually never alone, because between Joe, Jim and myself, we would spend twelve hours with him and there was always one of us with him. We did the shifts from eight in the evening till eight in the morning. The last time that I was with him was on the Friday night. And on that Friday night I got there just before eight o’clock. And, you have to remember, that at eight o’clock the statement was released to the world that Freddie had AIDS. The thing is, those hours I was with him, he was the most relaxed I had seen him in years, because there was no secret anymore, the whole world knew. And he would just talk about anything, he would be in bed, I would be sitting on the bed next to him and I would be just holding his hand. The television was on, just for some noise, he would talk and he would go to sleep and talk and go to sleep. And we talked about silly little things, nothing really serious, and nothing like “we knew everything was coming to an end”, there was none of that. He could still talk fine, his mind was together, he just was very-very tired.

But, I think, because the statement had been done, I think Freddie felt that it was time for him to go. Because it was coming up for eight o’clock and I think it was Joe coming in at that point, Joe was coming at eight, and I said to Freddie something like “Look, okay, I’m going now, Joe is going to be here, but, of course, I’ll see you, I’ll see you soon”, he said something like “uhum, yeah, yeah”.

And then he just took my hand, looked me straight in the eye and just said “Thank you”.

And I will never know, whether he already decided that we would never meet again and was thanking me for the last twelve years, or if he was just thanking me for the last twelve hours.

But I have a feeling that he already knew that we would not see each other again.

PS: Do you remember when you for the very first time understood that you are not just working with Freddie, but you are becoming friends?

PF: That really started from the very-very beginning, because we didn’t have to always talk to each other to know what he wanted. I understood him. Because of our similar upbringing in boarding school in India I knew why he reacted in some ways, why he did things, I knew it, it was just instinctive and it made everything very-very easy for him and for me. Maybe it became more intense when Freddie started the time out of Britain, because we were going to be together 24 hours a day, so you have to be friends. And for me, it was the easiest thing on earth to be friends with Freddie. I never thought about Freddie, The Superstar. I was thinking about Freddie, my friend.

SPECIAL THANKS TO VALUREX FOR CONTRIBUTION AND ASSISTENCE

#MR interview with Phoebe #queen #queen band #freddie mercury #roger taylor #brian may #john deacon #peter freestone #joe fanelli

[dinosaurtsukki]

[ to dedicate a song ]

pairing: tsukishima kei x gn!reader

word count: 2.6k words

contains: bassist!tsukishima, violinist!reader, slight angst, fluff, if you really like fingers and people who play stringed instruments this is for you

summary: tsukishima’s love for music has always been apparent ever since you saw him play at the store you worked at. little do you know that helping him out would result in some changes for you

a/n: after months of fantasizing i finally got around to writing a bassist!tsukishima fic. also special thanks to my awesome myuts who helped me come up with ideas for this fic ! aka @scorpiosanssexy​ for the bassist!tsukki aesthetic, @ah-kaashi​ for making reader a fellow musician, and @alto-march-of-death​ for the classical music recommendations <3

(music pegs at the end of the fic)

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the first time you met tsukishima kei was at the music store you worked part-time at. he was hard to miss, especially with his height and light blonde hair, and even though he didn’t seem to want to attract attention, your gaze couldn’t help but be pulled in his direction. 

immediately, he headed to the store section with the instruments that are free to play. it wasn’t uncommon for customers to take advantage of that area to play some music so seeing tsukishima take out the bass guitar and plug it into an amplifier didn’t concern you. but it did make you lean against the counter and keep watching as he placed his fingers along the fretboard and plucked at the strings. 

‘electric guitar music’ wasn’t really your thing and that applied to their four-stringed cousins. customers who came in rarely touched the bass guitar and when they did, it was out of sheer curiosity. tsukishima fit your image, built on stereotypes, of a bass guitarist: quiet, withdrawn, stand-offish even. but when he played, it was as if the whole world was falling quiet around him. it was as if he wasn’t right smack in the middle of a music store with a lone employee behind the counter watching him. 

the thing about being the only music store in a relatively small town is that everyone who comes in is a regular customer. you were pretty sure you’ve seen tsukishima come in a few times before to buy albums. but after that day he tried out the bass, he kept coming back at least once every few days to do the same thing again. neither of you really paid any mind to the other, but you were both aware of each other’s presence, especially on days when you were the only two people in the entire store.

the tall, blonde guy seemed to have quite the singular objective, so of course, it was up to you to initiate conversation.

“you’ve probably worn down those strings by now,” you said, watching him with your head on the chin as tsukishima removed the strap and placed the bass back on its stand. 

“it’s not against the rules,” he muttered.

“no, but you are taking good advantage of them,” you smiled, leaning back in your seat. “relax, i’m not telling you off or anything.” 

“then, what are you doing?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. the question did sound defensive, but judging by how he was holding himself, he was mostly curious.

you shrugged. “you’re probably the most exciting customer who ever comes here, aside from the guy who buys madonna albums looking like he’s buying drugs.” 

“oh, that guy,” tsukishima nodded with a knowing smirk on his face.

“anyway, when are you finally going to buy one?” you asked. 

“you want me out that bad, huh?” 

“terribly.” 

“well, if you can somehow get my boss at the car wash to actually pay me for working overtime, that would be great,” tsukishima rolled his eyes.

“ah, figured,” you snorted. you followed his gaze to the row of bass guitars on display and felt a pang in your chest. you knew that look. 

“hey,” you called out to him just before he left for the door. “sometimes the boss has a sale on the instruments, usually towards the end of the month.” 

“really?” tsukishima asked, eyes wide.

“i could, maybe, suggest something during a staff meeting,” you shrugged. “not making any promises though but, i’ll try.” 

tsukishima looked back at the guitars and then at you, looking unsure of what to say, before muttering a “thank you.�� 

“you can write a song about me as thanks“, you decided to tease. you imagined that he was the kind of person who would get flustered easily and for a second, you enjoyed seeing the caught off-guard look on his face. except, tsukishima recovered his composure completely and used the opportunity to launch his own attack.

“i’m afraid i’d have to know your name first,” he smirked. 

in that moment, you were sure of two things: that tsukishima was an annoying prick and that someday, you were going to fall for him.

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for someone who dresses in some variation of the standard jeans and t-shirt combination, tsukishima had surprisingly colorful socks. you knew this because he still kept his socks on when he was hanging out in your room, playing the bass on your bed. he was hanging out in your room because somehow, you had invited him here a few weeks ago and you two had been doing this since. you had invited him because having tsukishima in your room was the opposite of the Worst Thing in the World, especially since he laughed at your jokes about the music store customers and knew how to fry chicken nuggets until they were perfectly crispy.

plus, he was nice to look at with his blonde hair falling over his forehead while he leaned forward to practice the same riff again and again on the bass guitar that he was eventually able to buy. seeing that guitar in his hands gave you a sense of pride. you helped make this happen and now, you get to listen to tsukishima play.

“your timing was off again,” you said, turning around with your arm resting on the back of your chair. 

“tch,” tsukishima clicked his tongue, brushing his bangs back from his face. “i was pretty sure i had it just now.” you smiled sympathetically and stood up from your chair before walking across the room. tsukishima’s eyes followed where you went until you placed an object in front of him.

“what’s this?” 

“it’s called a metronome,” you said, pulling the needle in the center just so and letting it tick freely to a steady beat. “it will help you stay on time.” 

“it sounds annoying,” tsukishima quirked an eyebrow.

“it is annoying,” you smiled broadly. “now get on with it.” 

you had never seen tsukishima look more stressed the way he did now while practicing with the metronome. he even practiced standing up at the corner of your room. frustration was written on his face and yet, he persisted. 

for a minute, you saw yourself standing there, eyes concentrated at your sheet music while you played your violin. years ago, you used to play without a single care in the world, just like tsukishima. now, all you were left with was an ache in your fingertips and a violin in its case, gathering dust on a top shelf.

“how was that?” tsukishima asked. you smiled a little, realizing that he trusted your opinion.

“much better,” you nodded approvingly.

“really?” he raised his eyebrows in slight surprise. you giggled at the look on his face.

“really, really.” 

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tsukishima knew you were keeping a secret. not in a sense that you were deliberately hiding something from him, more like you were deliberately not telling him about something. it started when he caught the longing expression on your face while you watched him play. 

“do you, wanna try it out?” tsukishima asked, gesturing at his bass and thinking that maybe you wanted to try playing it.

“what? what makes you think that?” you frowned.

“just... forget it,” tsukishima shook his head hurriedly and going back to working on the riff he was practicing. this time, he let himself be distracted by taking in the details of your bedroom that he was now so familiar with. you had your laptop and other bits of notebooks and stationery on your desk. your small collection of plush animals on a shelf above your bed. some pictures in frames of you with family members and friends on top of your bookshelves. there was a vanity in the corner of the room with different beauty products that tsukishima could now name.

but he couldn’t help but feel as if there was something missing, that there was a part of yourself you had deliberately removed from your room. sometimes, tsukishima felt the same way about you too. sure, your head was chock-full of semi-useless facts and you had the best barbecue sauce recipe for chicken nuggets but, tsukishima still couldn’t put a finger on who you were.

tsukishima’s gaze traveled to the movie posters on your wall until they reached one of the upper shelves. right beside a couple of books was what unmistakably looked like an instrument case. 

after that, he started to notice other things too: the fact that you had a metronome that even had a sticker of your name on the bottom, how you could easily tell when he was on or off-beat, even the indifferent look on your face whenever tsukishima recommended a band for you to listen to.

“you’re a musician too, aren’t you?” he decided to finally ask. the two of you were sitting on the floor, your backs leaning against your bed. tsukishima’s knees were pulled up to his chest because of how little floor space there was.

you tensed up at the question before sighing. “well, you were going to find out soon enough.” 

“you weren’t exactly hiding it either,” tsukishima muttered. and, acting on impulse, he reached out to your left hand that was resting on top of your knee. they were noticeably smaller than his own hands, but tsukishima couldn’t help but notice how your nails were always neatly cut short. then, he ran his index lightly over your fingertips. it was barely detectable, but tsukishima was familiar enough with the callouses from playing string instruments to know that you once had those too.

all this time, tsukishima couldn’t tell if you were breathing. heck, he couldn’t tell if he was breathing either. the moment felt fragile and at the same time the tiniest bit unbreakable. gently, he set your hand back down on your knee.

“what made you stop?” he ventured to ask.

“when you’re young you don’t care about whether you’re a genius or not, when you get a bit older you strive for that perfection and greatness,” you said, staring down at a spot on the floor. “then, when you get much older than that, you realize that you’re just a normal person.” 

“but did you stop enjoying it? playing?” tsukishima asked.

“when i realized that i wasn’t really good enough to listen to, i just... stopped,” you said. tsukishima knew he’d never be able to describe the sadness written on your face. he glanced at his bass, propped upright on the pillows on your bed, and wondered how much longer he would have spent visiting the music store just to be able to play.

“i’ll listen to you,” he said.

“tsuki--”

before you could respond, tsukishima stood up and crossed your room in a few short strides before carefully picking up the instrument case on your shelf and making his way back to you. carefully, he placed the case on your bed. instantly, tsukishima recognized it as a violin case. he smiled softly at the stickers decorated along its sides and carefully wiped away the dust before finally unclasping it.

tsukishima didn’t even need to look at you to know that you had that same, longing expression on your face at the sight of your violin. he picked up the instrument, carefully and with both hands, before giving it to you. you didn’t say anything. it was only when he was about to get your bow that he heard your voice.

“stop,” you sat up with a start. tsukishima panicked, thinking that he had maybe pushed you too far, when you said “hold it by the far end,” gesturing with your chin. “don’t... you’re not supposed to touch the hair.” 

tsukishima obeyed, picking up the bow carefully by its small handle before giving it to you. for a while, you just held your violin in your hands and tsukishima sat back down, letting you take it all in. he remembered the first time he bought his bass and took it home, how he laid it gently on the bed and just looked at it, occasionally running his fingers down the shiny fretboard and brand new strings.

“i haven’t played in a long time,” you said. “to say that i’m pretty rusty is an understatement.” 

“do you think i’d be able to tell if you were playing well or not?” tsukishima snorted.

“i guess not,” you chuckled slightly before standing up. tsukishima watched as you straightened your back, eyes facing forward, before positioning the violin in place under your chin, your left fingers on the fretboard, and your right hand holding the very end of your bow.

tsukishima had never seen you look more alive than when you were playing your violin again. your brow was knit slightly in concentration, your eyes closed and tsukishima could tell you were purely focused on the sound you were producing. it wasn’t just your fingers and wrist at work but your whole body, leaning back when you hit the high notes and bending forward when transitioning to the lower notes. he wasn’t much of a classical music fan, tsukishima couldn’t tell if you were playing ‘correctly’ or if you were making any mistakes, but he thought you played beautifully.

nothing could distract tsukishima from seeing the shine in your eyes and that brought a smile to his face. and all he could think was ‘i’m going to write a song for them one day.’ 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

band concerts were way different from the classical music concerts you were used to. even if it was a fairly small one at a local bar, you still weren’t used to the feeling of other people’s bodies pressing against yours. “you don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” tsukishima had said. no way were you missing any of his and his band’s gigs.

“thank you all so much for coming,” kuroo, their lead vocalist greeted everyone. you clapped and cheered with the rest of them. he was undeniably the fan favorite and you could easily see why. however, you could never tear your gaze away from the bass guitarist who just stood a little off to the side. you remembered when tsukishima was still a little shy about playing onstage and how he’d often keep his head down, even when they weren’t playing. but slowly, he had grown a bit more comfortable. you couldn’t help but notice the small smirk on his face when someone screamed his name.

‘cocky bastard,’ you thought with a smile on your face. 

“now, we have a little, surprise ending number,” kuroo grinned into the microphone at the wave of cheers. “unfortunately, it won’t be performed by me. but, i think some of you will especially like this.” with a sly wink, kuroo stepped away from the microphone and to yours and everyone’s surprise, tsukishima walked up to replace him.

“hello,” he spoke into the mic, earning more than a few screams from the audience. you couldn’t speak, admiring the way the stage lights made the sweat on his arms glisten. he had grown his hair out over the past few months and often styled it to look messy for shows. biting your lip, you remembered the first time you met tsukishima back at the music store. 

“so, i’m not much of a songwriter,” tsukishima admitted. “and, this is my first time writing a song and performing it. and it’s... dedicated to someone.” you were pretty sure that that confession earned more than a few cheers from the audience, but you couldn’t hear anything with your gaze focused on tsukishima’s. his amber eyes found yours easily amongst the crowd and the corner of his mouth lifted up in a smile. 

you were right in thinking that tsukishima was an annoying bastard and that you were going to fall for him. but never in your wildest dreams did you think that he was actually going to dedicate a song.

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

music pegs (aka the music pieces i had in mind for some of the scenes):

y/n’s violin piece: chopin nocturne op. 9 no. 2

tsukishima’s song at the end: slow dance with you (ok i know it’s a wlw song but i just love the idea of anyone singing it for me and real-person bassists)

taglist (check out my post for details on being part of my taglist): @montys-chaos​ @miyumtwins​ @strawberriimilkshake​ @pocubo​ @sugawara-sweetheart @akaashisbabydoll @laure-chan​ @therainroguefanfiction​ @atetiffdoesart @stephdaninja @oikaw-ugh​ @charliefredb​ @dramaqueenweeb1469 @tremblinghearts @applepienation @doodleniella @haikyuu-my-love @waitforitillwritemywayout @kattykurr @atsumu-brainrot @goodfoodxoxoxo​ @ah-kaashi​ @guardianangelswings​

#haikyuu!! #hq x reader #tsukishima kei #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima #hq!! #haikyuu!! x reader #hq!! x reader #haikyuu!! fanfic #hq!! fanfic #hq fanfic #haikyuu!! fluff #hq!! fluff #hq fluff #haikyuu!! one-shot #hq!! one-shot #hq one-shot #haikyuu!! writing #hq!! writing #hq writing

[idiotic-genius]

How to make characters fall in love

🍦 Requested by @ bishstopit

There are several things you should think about when you want two characters to fall in love with each other.

1. What kind of romance do you want them to have?

This seems unnatural to think about but it’s important: Do you want them to fall in love because they’re alike? Because they’re complete opposites? Is it a Romeo-and-Julia kind of romance or an unhealthy relationship they have, even before they fall in love in the first place? Here are some examples:

Rey Palpatine and Kylo Ren/Ben Solo: Unhealthy. You don’t just forgive a mass murderer and have a healthy relationship with one (Weird, I know). Yes, Ben tried to redeem himself, but the main point in a relationship isn’t “fixing” the other person.

Magnus Chase and Alex Fierro: Healthy. They are actually in love and it’s not because they want to change the other person significantly.

Severus Snape and Lily Potter: Unhealthy. He had a crush on her and it made him a horrible person, but he made it seem like it was other peoples’ fault (James, Harry etc.)

2. What do the characters want?

Next, you should try to sort out what the characters individually are looking for in a partner. Romantic attraction is something that can be very different from person to person and has lots to do with how they were raised and what their experiences are. If you already know who you want to be together, at least try to make it fit. Here are some examples:

A person with “daddy issues” is more likely to be attracted to people that are older than them. That is because they are subconsciously looking for someone to replace their father figure. This doesn’t have to mean they only get with people that are way too old for them, it is just a preference that can be observed.

A person with [!TW!] abusive parents, relatives or teachers, or someone who has been bullied, is more likely to be attracted to “bad” people because they have learned a different defintion of love when they were young. That doesn’t have to mean they only get into unhealthy relationships, it just means that they have a different perceiving of love.

Also, usually a person is attracted to someone who reminds them of “first lovers” like their parents. However, it can also be the complete opposite, if e.g. someone hates their parents.

3. How to hint romance

Even before the characters directly realize they are in love, there are ways to hint that they’re fancying each other to the reader before it’s explicitly stated. That’s, however, a tricky process, as we wouldn’t want the reader to know too much, right? Here are some ways to hint romance before the characters even know themselves:

Being protective of each other. For example, if the characters get in danger, A would subconsciously make sure B is okay first, or if A gets insulted, B would be the first one to get angry.

Noticing appareance more. For example, with a first-person narrator/3rd-person selective narrator from A’s perspective, A would spend more time describing what B is wearing without using the “oh no I’m staring”-clichée (or use it if you want, it’s just not as subtle). That way, they also notice little changes in the other’s appareance.

Subconsiously testing limits. That means teasing, joking around and subtle flirting, even if you’re not aware that you’re doing it. People do that to find out how far they can go with the other and how they react.

Remembering tiny details. For example, remembering each others’ favorite sort of ice cream or knowing what the others’ favorite color is.

Here’s a little example on how to do that, with A(sh) fancying B(ay) and B having a crush on A, written from A’s perspective:

When I arrived at the coffee shop on 5th Avenue, barely with my shoe laces bound because I got in such a hurry, Bay, Cora and Daniel were already waiting for me, sitting outside under one of the yellow umbrellas. Slightly panting, I let myself fall on the empty chair at their table.

“Who said you could sit with us?”, Bay asked, teasingly taking a judging sip from their coffee. Two sugars, as always, I guessed.

“You want me to go?”, I replied, raising my eyebrows.

Bay chuckled. “Here’s the menu”, they said, handing it over.

When I reached out for it, I noticed they had painted their nails... red? That was something else, usually they were black.

“So, why did I have to get here so fast?”, I asked, remembering the message Daniel sent me.

“Oh, well”, he said, “We just thought you’d like to hang with us. Also, check this out!”

He took off his jacket and revealed a shirt of his favorite band. I nodded appreciatively. At least he switched his shirt every once in a while. If I wasn’t mistaken, he was even wearing the same jeans. I never understood how he could just live like that- and how Cora was able to put up with it. Love, I guess.

“At least you switched your shirt this week”, Bay said while scrunching their nose in overdramatic disgust, an echo of my thoughts. Of course, their outfit was well picked out, black skinny jeans, a red flannel and the usual hairstyle. Something else I would never understand: How could someone look so elegant while also looking so chill?!

“So, Ash”, Cora said, pointing to the menu I was still holding, “Picked something?”

“Don’t bother.” Daniel rolled his eyes. “She’s going to pick the same cupcake she eats all the time.”

“Nothing better than a good cupcake”, Bay said, “What will you pick, the same pie you eat all the time?”

“Nothing better than a good pie”, Cora repeated what they had just said, but she winked at me as she said it.

Notice how Bay was teasing Ash, yet defended her when Daniel commented on her order, and how Ash immediately noticed that Bay had painted their nails a different color? I tried to not make it obvious that they like each other, even though it wasn’t hard to tell because I put so much into that little of text.

4. How do the characters find out?

There are, as I like to put it, two ways to make the characters “click”: The boom way, and the soft way. Which one of those you use is your decision, even though you should make sure it fits the plot of the book.

The boom way: In a nutshell, something grave happens that makes the characters realize how important they are to each other. That can be a ton of things, e.g. one of them almost dying, them having a fight, them having to split up in a dangerous situation or even someone else telling them how obvious it is.

The soft way: When there is no actual event that has the characters like “oh no I love them”, this is how it could go instead. Usually, A would realize that they love B when B does nothing “special” at all, maybe just singing along to their favorite song in the car, and A would just think “Yep, call it love I guess”. This way is much more calm and gentle than the other (and, in my opinion, a little harder to write, but thus also rarer in literature, which makes it interesting).

I’m terribly sorry this took me so long, I had a few problems researching for this post because romance isn’t really my strongest side :)

#writing #writing tips #writing prompts #prompts #tips #romance #how to write #hinting romance #character #character help #character inspiration

[zillennial97]

Friends to Lovers | Larry Fanfic Recs

Hiding Place by alivingfire | 365k | Explicit

Louis never wanted a soulmate, didn’t really care for the whole Bonding thing at all, really. Enter Harry Styles, who’s wanted to be Bonded for as long as he could remember. With one fateful meeting in an X Factor bathroom, Louis gets a dagger on his arm and the realization that just because Harry is his soulmate doesn’t mean it’s mutual.

From the X Factor house to Madison Square Garden, from the Fountain Studios stage to stadiums across the world, Louis has to learn to love without losing himself completely, because someday his best friend will Bond to someone and replace Louis as the center of his universe. Meanwhile, Harry begins to think that maybe fate doesn’t actually know what it’s doing after all, because his other half has clearly been right in front of him the whole time. All he has to do now is convince Louis to give them a chance.

Or, the canon compliant Harry and Louis love story from the very beginning, where the only difference is that the love between them is literally written on their skin, and there’s only so much they can hide.

And Then a Bit by infinitelymint | 158k | Explicit

“We’d like to give the fans what they want.” Magee states, placing his hand on the table in front of him and leaning forward. “We want to give them Larry Stylinson.”

Or, take a parallel universe where Louis and Harry were never together, mix in a two year hiatus and an impending comeback, pour in a dash of lost fans, two tablespoons of strong friendship and a Modest! employee with a good idea. Add a squeeze of pretending to be a couple, lots of kisses and a tattoo or two. Stir. Serve: the mother of all publicity stunts.

(aka Harry and Louis fake a relationship for publicity. Eventually it becomes a lot less fake and a lot more real.)

Wild Love by purpledaisy | 130k | Explicit

“Good,” Julia says, clearly pleased to have them both uncomfortable and unable to look at each other. “Now, I only have one more question before you can go. What are you planning to do when this experiment ruins your friendship?”

“We said we’d stay friends no matter what,” Harry says smoothly, his chin lifting in defense.

“That was our one thing going into it,” Louis agrees. “Stay friends no matter what.”

Julia raises a perfectly manicured brow, “That’s all fine and good. But I hope you realize your emotions aren’t going to realize this is an experiment in the end. If one of you falls for the other and finds out those feelings are not reciprocated, you’re not going to be able to laugh it off as a social experiment. I’m not saying you shouldn’t do this, I’m just hoping you’ve considered all of the possible outcomes.”

- AU: Two best friends try to date each other for forty days. It's supposed to be fun until emotions make it complicated.

California Sold by isthatyoularry | 123k | Mature

Notoriously closeted boyband member Harry Styles is famous on a global scale, meanwhile Louis, as his best friend, is back home in Manchester, living the typical life of a 24 year old. When Harry needs Louis with him in LA, a publicity stunt gone wrong changes their friendship forever.

A fake-relationship AU between two lifelong best friends.

Tired Tired Sea by MediaWhore | 113k | Mature

As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

Like a Bullet in the Dark by Vurdoc | 99k | Explicit

Prince Harold Edward Styles Lancaster is second in line to the throne of Great Britain. He is also your average Uni student- or he tries to be, anyway.

With a promise from the press (and his father) that they'll leave him alone for four years, he sets out to be a student at Cambridge, when he meets his very normal, very working class, very handsome suite-mate, Louis Tomlinson.

Louis makes Harry feel more like a person than he ever has before, which might cause some issues later on- 'cause Harry has a secret that he's only told his sister Gemma about.

Little does he know though, that Louis has some secrets of his own.

A Will & Kate Au- with a twist.

Christmas-ing With You by dolce_piccante | 65k | Mature

Two writers from Loving Heart Television, the premiere network for holiday romance films, find that, sometimes, love is not only in their works of fiction.

Faking It by TheCellarDoor | 46k | Mature

A uni AU in which Louis has been Harry’s best friend since he offered him cubed fruit on the playground, and they spend more time cuddling in their dorm beds than they do apart, but it’s not like that. Or is it?

Aka Harry pretends to date his best friend to escape unwanted attention from a too insistent classmate and hopes it won’t blow up in his face. Featuring embarrassing dildo accidents, awkward boners, longing, first times, late night conversations, emotional discoveries and Niall as the exasperated friend with bad advice.

if the sun don't shine by falsegoodnight | 36k | Explicit

Louis finds himself struck frozen, fingers stuck in place where he’s flattened them against the cold railing. It takes every bit of his remaining strength to pull them away, sliding them under his shirt and pressing them to his stomach to leech some of the warmth. He hardly pays attention to the bite of the wind and air on his shivering body. He can only pay attention to the music.

The music that is undoubtedly new to Louis’ ears, yet listening to it is the most familiar thing Louis has ever experienced. An inexplicable rush of emotions flood his mind and body, rendering him speechless and hollow. It’s a call of loneliness. It rings of everything Louis’ been feeling.

And the pure yearning - the intense longing for something and someone - tears through straight to Louis’ heart. The desperation feels all too intimate, all too real. It makes Louis think of what he yearns for more than anything. It makes him think of his soulmate.

-

In a world where you meet your soulmates in dreams, Louis has spent the last three years going to bed hoping to finally meet his, only to end up disappointed time and time again. It all changes with a violin.

From the Start by allwaswell16 | 32k | Explicit

Louis has no idea that one act of kindness will cause his life to spiral out of control. But that's what happens when his new friend fake proposes to him and a video of it goes viral.

Barefoot in Blue Jeans by indiaalphawhiskey | 24k | Explicit

AU. Louis Tomlinson is trying desperately hard not to fall for his son’s au pair, but he can’t, for the life of him, remember why.

475. The hope that this fear is unfounded.

In Dreams by dolce_piccante | 23k | Mature

AU. When Harry moves to a new city, his new flat come with a number of sweet, anonymous gifts and surprises that brighten his days. Could it be a friendly ghost? Another friendly presence in his new building is his tattooed neighbor, Louis, who seems determined to put a smile back on his face.

You're Writing Verses About Me by Rearviewdreamer | 23k | Teen And Up Audiences

Everybody knows that Louis has never been one for serious boyfriends. His reputation around campus precedes him, which is why he doesn't think twice before proudly telling his mother about his new and completely fabricated relationship with his oddly quiet and completely

And I Will Hold On To You by darkmarkburning, staybeautiful | 23k | Mature

“I can’t believe my best friend is about to be Prime Minister of Canada,” Harry whispered in his ear, his arms tight around Louis’ shoulders. “Who decided it was a good idea to let some brash kid from Doncaster run a country?”

“I don’t know,” Louis laughed into his shoulder, “but if you promise not to tell them they’ve made a mistake I’ll give you a posh office.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Tomlinson.” Harry pulled away and smacked a kiss onto Louis’ cheek. “I’m proud of you, Lou, I can’t fucking believe it, but I’m proud of you.”

or Louis has just been elected Prime Minister of Canada and Harry is his best friend since childhood.

the way the storms blow by rbbsbb | 21k | Explicit

Louis doesn’t have a habit of thinking about Harry’s dick.

That would be weird, seeing as they’re best mates, and they share a flat, and they’ve spent holidays at each other’s family homes. Their friendship hasn’t ever risen to a point where Louis should want to see his mate’s dick, and he’s happy to keep it that way.

Except, all that Louis can think about is exactly that. The size of it. The shape. The amount of people it’s been in.

Maybe it’s the tequila talking, or the fact that Louis’ just recently walked in to an eyeful of Harry taking turns on some slags that he’s never seen before, but. Louis’ mind can’t stop obsessing over the idea.

Autumn At My Window by TheCellarDoor | 20k | Mature

A canon-compliant AU, in which Harry and Louis are both in the band and have been sharing flats and hotel rooms for nearly five years, but never made the leap past 'friends who are too close for comfort'.

Featuring a lot of pining, Louis' addiction to Harry's scent, and a whole lot of sexual tension that might just snap loose when they decide to spend some time together all on their own.

The Sex Methods by Alice_Novelland | 19k | Explicit

Harry and Louis explore alternative methods aka sex methods to help each other out.

once bitten and twice shy by pinkcords | 19k | Mature

This time as his stomach rolls, there’s no doubt about it. He’s going to vomit. And if he does, it’ll be on Louis’ shoes, a nice little parting gift to go with the embarrassment he’s caused the both of them. “I’m gonna throw up,” he says just as Louis turns to look at him, blue eyes swimming with shock and confusion, and asks, “Is that true?”

Or, in a rush of bravery only senior year can bring, Harry confesses his feelings in a letter to his neighbor and best friend, Louis, only for the entire school to hear it and laugh him out of their small town in Wisconsin. Ten years later, Harry's a successful lawyer at Columbia Records, coming home for Christmas for the first time since he departed for college. He plans to work his way through the trip, eat his mom's cooking, and avoid everyone from his past for as long as possible. The only problem is best laid plans hardly ever go as intended.

Oblivious by Speechless | 19k | Explicit

"You say it's nothing serious after you've been obsessing over it for months," Liam observes, pausing their videogame. "But now you barely talk about it-" "You guys fucking ignore me whenever I try!" Louis shouts, bumping his shoulder against Liam's and hurting himself in the process. "You're postponing sex, when it's obvious that Luke's up for it at this point." Liam ignores him. "For some reason you've left Harry in the dark about it-" "What?!" Louis snaps, banging his controller against the coffee table. "I have not!" "And no matter how blatant it is, no matter how fucking ridiculous you both get when it comes to it-" "Shut your hole." Louis urges, pinching his thigh, as soon as Harry enters the room. "Shush."

* Where Louis gets a little crush on Luke and for some reason Harry starts acting weird *

searching for a sweet surrender (but this is not the end) by feelslikehxme | 18k | Teen And Up Audiences

Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles, the two most loved coaches on The Voice UK known for their banter on the show and best friendship off. Louis’s determined to win and finally end Harry’s winning streak with Zayn Malik on his team, but Harry’s flirting and Liam Payne have different plans.

— Or an AU based off the Voice where Louis’s Adam, Harry’s Blake, Niall’s Shakira, Zayn and Liam have a cliche Romeo/Juliet love story and Louis’s too old for pathetic pining.

Can I bother you for a sex? by perfectdagger (sincerelyste) | 16k | Explicit

Reason #40 – Called/texted the wrong person, but he was into it anyway

“So, this isn’t really an invite for a sex, I see,” Louis spoke, not missing the chance. There was a teasing smile on his lips as he turned around to face Harry again after he had just closed the door.

Harry let out a laugh as he closed his eyes and shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh for fuck's sake, Louis,” he looked back at Louis, “this will haunt me forever now, won’t it?”

Louis shrugged. “Not my fault some people manage to mistext and sext others at the same time.”

When Harry mistexts Louis, Louis realises that he wouldn't mind Harry bothering him with anything, especially not with sex.

You'll Be Home For Christmas by 2tiedships2 | 15k | Not Rated

“Honesty, Lou, just ask Harry for help.”

Louis remained silent as he continued to scowl at the Christmas calendar Niall had hung on their refrigerator.

“And be nice to my calendar filled with holiday cheer,” Niall instructed. “You’re going to burn a fucking hole in it from the way you’re glaring at the innocent thing. It’s not the calendar’s fault that your heat is starting so close to Christmas.”

You're The One That I Want by spacecakesandmilkshakes | 15k | Explicit

Harry had always been Louis' best friend and...well...his baby, until one day he realized that his baby was all grown up.

show you the stars in the daylight by bruisedhoney | 13k | Explicit

Louis laughed, the sound loud and borderline obnoxious. Harry winced. “Are you kidding, Haz? I wouldn’t even look twice at someone that couldn’t pick me up.”

And, well. That was new information to Harry. It’s not like Louis had ever mentioned to him that he was his type in any way, shape, or form. Harry shifted closer into the space between Louis’s legs, even more intrigued than before. “Why not?” he asked curiously, all pink lips and big curls. Louis smiled.

“Tiny, innocent, little Harold. Need someone that can pick me up, don’t I? I like being tossed around a little. You know, pinned down and made to take it. Lifted up like I’m nothing,” Louis said it all with a confident smile, his sharp little teeth tugging at his bottom lip as he locked eyes with the jock across the kitchen. “Think he might come over here. Move over. I don’t want him to think we’re together.”

Or, the one where Louis has a type and at sixteen and scrawy, it's definitely not his best friend's little brother Harry...ten years later, he changes his mind.

when everybody wants you by nightwideopen | 11k | Mature

Harry nearly faints on the spot. He got the job. He’s going to be on Saturday Night Live.

Three of Harry's dreams come true, then one of them falls apart.

or

the SNL au that no one asked for

Shape of You by Only_angel_28 | 11k | Explicit

“Seriously?” Surely, Harry must be joking. Louis arches a skeptical brow and snaps the waistband of Harry’s joggers playfully. “What exactly do you have down there, Styles? I know you’ve got four nipples, d’ya have a couple extra bollocks as well or summat?”

“No!” Harry shrieks, his voice bordering on shrill. “No,” He repeats a little quieter, calmer, “I just—I’m, er, kinda…big, I guess.”

Louis rolls his eyes in fond exasperation. “That’s hardly a problem, curly.”

*Or Harry is insecure about a certain rather large part of his anatomy that is apparently intimidating to the point where it has actually scared off potential shags. When he ends up confessing this to his best friend and roommate, Louis takes it upon himself to prove that Harry’s size doesn't have to be a curse, and decides to help show him just how perfect he is.

Waiting by allwaswell16 for LadyLondonderry | 10k | Explicit

Louis Tomlinson was Harry’s omega, of this Harry had always been sure. Unfortunately for Harry, Louis seemed to think they were just best friends. The six weeks that Harry has to live with Louis were going to be rough.

You Give Me Fever (What A Lovely Way To Burn) by my_fandom_OTPs | 10k | Explicit

Louis walks in on Harry jerking off in the shower. What happens after is just… Impulsive and spontaneous.

the value of this moment lives in metaphor by clicheanna for hattalove | 10k | Teen And Up Audiences

Louis and Harry are best friends and absolutely nothing more. It’s a bit strange that, suddenly, everyone thinks they’re dating.

Or the one where they’re all teachers at a high school and students are more invested in their lives than normally expected.

trusting things beyond mistake by sarcasticfluentry | 9k | Explicit

"Is that even possible?" asks Harry.

All of them stare at him for several seconds, and then Louis says, "What, coming untouched?"

"Christ," Zayn mutters, throwing his hands up. “This fucking band, I swear.”

...or, Harry wants to see if he can come without touching his cock and ends up getting more than he bargained for.

And I Will Steady Your Hand by kiwikero | 9k | Explicit

All first year university students who had not yet presented were strongly advised to join the Fire Away meetings, a support group for so-called 'late bloomers.'

They were not, however, advised to fall in love with someone else at the meetings without knowing what they might eventually present as.

A Christmas Wish by Snowy38 | 8k | Mature

"So when are you going to tell him?"

Louis pursed his lips at his sister, his Skype video call relaying his thoughts on that subject perfectly.

"Next question," he mused.

Lottie rolled her eyes.

"It's your birthday in four days, Louis."

"What difference does that make?" He scoffed.

She shrugged.

"You can get drunk and confess how you feel and take it back afterwards if he doesn't feel the same."

That might work if Louis wasn't in love with Harry. But Lottie didn't know that and she didn't need to find out.

"Thanks Lots," he said anyway.

"Seriously Lou what's stopping you?"

Louis sighed.

"Fear mostly."

Under that Damn Mistletoe by hickeystyles | 7k | Mature

Louis' heart froze when he looked over and saw Liam whispering in Harry’s ear and nodding towards the mistletoe. Louis’ eyes widened comically before he dove out of sight so Harry couldn’t see him standing under the mistletoe like an idiot, or worse, like he was part of Liam’s plan to have Harry kiss him.

Or a Christmas Party AU where Louis is in love with his best friend Harry and everyone else is trying to force the two of them under the mistletoe together

We Could Be A Dream by Bearandleonardwrite | 7k | Explicit

“So, I’ve never seen you at one of these parties before,” Harry says as he hands Louis his drink. “Who’re you here for?”

Well, shit. Louis was definitely not expecting that. He sips on his drink to give him a few moments to think of an answer and then, “Oh, y’know. I’m dating the host’s brother. What about you?” He’s quite pleased with himself. Great answer. He takes another drink as a reward.

Harry grins at him, eyes bright, and shrugs. “Gemma’s my sister.” Louis hums around the rim of his cup waiting for him to elaborate. “She’s the host,” he tacks on, smug smile on his face. Louis chokes on his drink and tries his best to glare at Harry while he coughs. Harry rubs at his back until he can breathe properly again, which is actually really not that helpful. “Didn’t realize we were dating, Lou. I’m flattered.”

(Basically; Louis meets Harry at a party that he wasn't invited to. He ends up asking Harry to tutor him so he can keep seeing him. Featuring a bit of pining and a tea party.)

Mission Fucking Impossible by orphan_account | 7k | Mature

“Are you and Louis fucking?”

Harry nearly spits out his drink as he tries to communicate a "what the ever living fuck" to Niall with his eyes.

Niall takes another casual sip of his beer “Not like I’m the only one thinking it mate, I’m just the only one saying it out loud.”

- Harry is in love with Louis, and he is almost positive Louis is in love with him too. Naturally, Harry deals with this by trying to get Louis horny and hope for the best.

Things don't exactly work out how he plans.

One day to believe in you by mediaville | 7k | Explicit

A mysterious force compels Louis to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Even when it's really inconvenient.

Harry blinks and has the nerve to look surprised. "You think about me when you get off?"

"Yes," Louis says. He wonders how hard he'd need to punch himself in the face to knock himself out.

"Often?"

"Yes, Christ, Harry," Louis groans. "Probably eight times a week for going on six years now. On average, you know. More when we were touring, less when I've been visiting family. Anything else you'd like to know?"

Fake It Till We Make It by whileatwiltshire | 7k | General Audiences

#33- Keeping up with the Neighbors

“We can fake it.”

What?

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“No I did not. Say it again.”

“I said” Harry started slowly, “We can fake having sex to teach them a lesson.”

It was clear to say that Louis's mouth went a little dry at the suggestion.

Or ,

Their neighbours were a bit too loud during their bedroom activities and Harry comes up with the worst plan to shut them up. Louis agrees anyways.

Web Me Harder by iwillpaintasongforlou | 6k | Explicit

Louis Tomlinson, otherwise known as London's masked hero Spiderman, finds himself crashing through the window of Harry Styles one night after a particularly nasty fight with a villain. Luckily Harry is a nursing student with a soft spot for caped crusaders who's more than happy to tend to all of Louis' wounds, no matter how many times he swings by.

candy in your mouth (i know you love me) by embodied | 6k | Explicit

“You’re wrong,” Harry says, jaw clenched tight. “Because if all I wanted was a fuck, I’ve got at least three willing parties a phone call and a five minute drive away. What I want is you. I want us, I want it to be normal again -”

“What the fuck is normal?” Louis yells, much too loudly, and has to pause to consciously lower his voice before he speaks again. “Because a year ago, normal was eating too much takeaway and watching B-movies on Netflix in your room, and then normal was me choking on your cock at half past two in the morning, and I don’t know about you, but as of the past few weeks, normal is not seeing or talking to you at all, because I’ve all but admitted that I’m fucking crazy for you and you don’t know what to say to that.” Louis’ chest heaves, his breath coming out short. He hears his own throat stick when he swallows, and his voice is decidedly weaker when he asks, “So which one is it, Harry?”

AU. Things have shifted since last Christmas.

Running Through a Cloud of Steam by allwaswell16 | 5k | Mature

As Harry’s long anticipated twenty-first birthday approaches, he anxiously awaits the moment when he finally meets his soulmate. He’s not even sure he believes in soulmates, but at the very least, he hopes to prove to his best friend that nothing can come between their friendship--not even a soulmate.

You Can't Blame Me For Tryin' by lululawrence | 5k | Mature

Reason # 38 - Because He Is From One of the Countries You Haven't Had Sex With a Person From Yet.

Louis had been accepted into the study abroad program through his uni back home and therefore got to spend a year in rural Minnesota, of all places, but he wasn’t going to complain. It was still a pretty cool experience, even if it was far different from what he had been expecting. And besides, if he’d been sent to literally any other university, he’d never have met Harry.

If It's Meant To Be (It'll Be, It'll Be) by lululawrence | 4k | Not Rated

“So, anyway. I’m done here and on my way to the airport. I think I’m expected to be there in the morning, around ten. I’ll let you know when I’m getting close.”

“Sounds good.” Harry pulled back from the window and threw himself onto one of the beds. Once he got comfortable, he steeled himself and then went for it. “It’s been too long this time, Lou,” he finally whispered. He watched as Louis bit his lip and nodded slowly.

“I know,” Louis agreed, just as quiet in return. “We have to swear to never go this long without seeing each other again. Two months is just...unacceptable. I’m gonna go now, but I’ll see you soon. ‘Kay?”

“Yeah. See you. Be safe,” Harry said, far too fondly for his best friend. He couldn’t help it though. It was how he always had been and probably always would be.

They hung up and Harry threw his arm over his face.

“I am so in love with him,” he whined to himself. “Fuck.”

Satisfaction by iwillpaintasongforlou | 2k | Teen And Up Audiences

Louis and Harry have known each other since before they could remember and been in love with one another for about as long, even though both steadfastly refuse to admit it. When Louis starts dating other people, it is only to help himself move on and not at all to make Harry jealous. And the sulking sort of anger Harry feels when he watches Louis kiss other people is completely irrelevant anyways.

#larry fanfiction recommendations #larry fanfic rec #larry fic #larry fanfiction #larry stylinson #louis tomlinson #harry styles #one direction fanfiction #one direction fanfic recs #larry fanfiction masterpost #friends to lovers

[earthfire-75]

Kashmir

Chapter One, Part Two: Kashmir (The Trick is to Keep Breathing)

Author’s notes: co-written with @nature-and-music , beta-ed by @lady-jane-revisited

A lopsided smile tugged at his lips, “I’ll get them for you.”

“No thank you Robert, Grant gave me the money and I’ll pay for it.”

“Oh please, just one of them then?”

I shook my head, “No it’s fine. Besides, we need to head back.”

He pursed his lips and huffed, “Alright, if you say so.”

The purchase was completed and it was time to head out, however Robert was speaking to the woman behind the counter; or flirting no less. She nodded her head and wrote something down on a note by the dresses that he brought to her.

“Thank you darlin’, have a pleasant rest of your day.”

I chuckled, “Giving her the number to your hotel room?”

“Not exactly, Anjelika. Come on we better hurry, the party’s going to start soon and you still need to do your hair and makeup,” he informed.

Somewhere along the line, we lost the other three band members. Robert took me to the hotel they were staying at, figuring they would all meet up there anyway. He let me borrow his bathroom to change and do my hair and makeup.

“What kind of party is it? Formal or informal?”

“Well, I’m wearing a suit, if that helps?”

I rolled my eyes. “Ok.” I picked out the longer dress and started getting ready. I could hear Robert rummaging around in the other room and assumed he was doing the same. I just finished when Robert knocked on the door.

“I need the mirror, love. Gotta comb out my hair and beard.”

I flung the door open, grabbing the comb from the counter. “Don’t you dare take a comb to those curls! Tell me you have a pick.”

He swallowed. “Technically? I left it at home?”

I didn’t say anything else, but grabbed his hand and pulled him out to the common room and to the couch. I then sat, pulling him down next to me. It was then I noticed what suit he was wearing, and still with his beard. Fuck! He wasn’t yet wearing the jacket, but he had the vest on and the top two or three bottoms of his shirt were left undone. Now it was my turn to swallow hard as I leaned in with the comb to fix his beard. Then I started to run my fingers through his hair carefully.

“If you forget your pick again, use your fingers, not a comb or brush. You could ruin your curls otherwise.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Good. Now, we should probably get going.”

We both stood and, as Robert grabbed his jacket from the arm of the couch, we left the hotel room and headed downstairs. “The party is being held in the hotel restaurant,” Robert informed me.

At first, the party seemed more like a meet and greet with the other roadies and their tour manager, who seemed unimpressed that I was “some bird” Jimmy picked up off the street. But none of the boys were having it. Robert happily reassured the crew that I was indeed more than “some bird,” that in fact I was assigned to be a part of the touring as well. To be equipped with the behind the scene matters and the roadies would simply need to learn to live with this sudden change. Being the new kid in town was never easy, and I was feeling beyond self conscious about this, however I had to keep my intrusive thoughts at bay. New learning opportunities would be coming up and it was all a matter of learning the ropes. Even if a fair amount of the crew thought of me as another to be shared among the members of the band, especially with Robert since he had locked arms with me.

The party started off fairly quiet at first as we all sat down at our tables to listen to a congratulatory speech from Grant. He had nothing but high expectations for everyone involved and that this tour would be bigger and heavier than the previous one. I felt a hand touch my lap and I followed the arm to see Robert’s concerned expression. I gave him a little smile to reassure him that I was alright. The last thing that I needed to do was interrupt Peter in the middle of his talk, and right before my first day no less.

A line was formed as everyone made their way to be serviced by the chefs. All manner of succulent cuts of meat, freshly cooked fish, bubbling champagne, and assorted hors d'oeuvres were ready to be served. Everything looked so delicious and oh so appetizing, I just simply couldn’t believe my eyes. As we stood in line, I overheard Jonesy and Jimmy mention something, although it was hard to hear amongst the chatter of Robert talking to Bonzo.

“How do you suppose they’ll feel about touring?” Jimmy asked.

Jonesy shrugged, “Well, hopefully their antics won’t take away from the show. And your guitars won’t get demolished as well.”

Jimmy scowled, “If he even thinks about touching any of my guitars, I’ll bash his head in!”

“If you do, she’ll end up giving you a black eye. You know that she has a bit of a ‘short’ temper,” the bassist chuckled. “Besides, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Well you're the bass guitar player, none of your things will be obliterated,” Jimmy whined.

Bonzo joined in, “Not unless a certain someone decides to shove a cherry bomb in the strings.”

Jonesy smiled and rolled his eyes, “Well I suppose I’ll just need to stand close to Thunderfingers won’t I?”

Guitars being destroyed? Cherry bombs? My curiosity peaked, however I didn’t want to interrupt their conversation. At least not until I knew a little more of what or who they were referring to. We made our way to the table and enjoyed our delicious food and sparkling drinks. The champagne flowed like rain down our throats as the appetizing meals made our mouths water. A few questions were directed to me regarding how I was feeling about the new job and I answered honestly.

I smiled meekly, “Well I’m very excited about this. This is going to be something different for me for sure, but I’ll do my best.”

“You will darlin’, you will,” Robert smirked as he patted my hand. “So how long have you been playing and singing?”

“Well, for a while actually. I just picked up a few lessons from my dad and just… learned a bit on my own.”

Jimmy noted, “I did a bit of session work when I was a lad. Learned a few things myself along the way.”

Robert butted in, “Well I hope we can hear more of your singing and playing while on tour. I think you’ll sound wonderful, and the audience will love it.”

I felt myself clam up a bit at the prospect of playing before a live audience, even though it was a touching notion on Robert’s part. I didn’t think it was necessary to get myself even more involved than necessary, especially since a fair amount of the road crew weren't exactly pleased with me being here. I gave Robert a little smile and a shrug and let him know that we could put that idea on the back burner.

“I’m curious though…who were the three of you talking about earlier? You mentioned something about guitars being destroyed?” I asked. I had hoped they would have said more by now, but since they hadn’t and my curiosity was getting the better of me…I had to ask.

Jonesy laughed a little. “Interesting wording. We were talking about another band who will be touring with us. Interestingly enough, they are called The Who. They’ve got a habit of destroying their equipment. Jimmy was concerned it might spill over to ours as well.”

I know of them, of course and of that particular habit, though I had thought they had stepped doing so by this time. Then again, it's a different universe, likely also a different timeline. “I see,” I said instead. Looking at Bonzo, I got his attention. It was as good a time as any to talk to him, but I didn’t know what the other boys knew.

“Bonzo? Can we talk? Alone?”

“Uh, sure. Looks like there’s a spot at the bar surprisingly clear of people.”

We got up from the table and walked over to the bar, ordering ourselves a drink before I started the conversation, but Bonzo beat me to it.

“So…yer a Nightbane too?” He asked with such nonchalance.

“Yeah, I am. So are you. Do they know?”

“Yeah, they do. Rob found out first. He was there during my Becoming. Scared the daylights out of ‘im, but it was like he still knew it was me. Jimmy found it ‘fascinating’. Jonesy took it the worst, almost left the band when he first found out. But he came around.”

I nodded in acknowledgment and downed my drink. How did the fact that they all knew Bonzo was a Nightbane make it both a relief and up my anxiety about them finding out I was one too? Would they be able to accept the creature beneath as easily as they had with Bonzo? Granted my other form wasn’t monstrous in the traditional sense, yet, I still worried it would scare them off at best.

Bonzo smiles a little. “Don’t worry, Jonesy might freak out a little, but I really don’t think you need to worry about Rob and Jimmy at all.”

“Thanks, Bonzo.”

Someone cleared their throat behind us and we turned to see Robert. “Sorry to interrupt your conversation, but the other bands just showed up. I thought you might like to meet them, Anjelika.”

He stepped to the side and I found the members of The Who standing there, looking at me. I knew each of them by name and face, even as they introduced themselves, though I did a double take as my eyes landed on the shortest member. There, with the same blue eyes I had seen so many times before, was a very feminine looking Roger Daltrey. Now I know I’m not in my own universe…

“Rogina Daltrey,” she introduced herself to me, her blue eyes never leaving mine.

“Anjelika,” I responded back with a smile and she in return gave me a smirk.

“Bonzo!” Keith uttered, a drink in one hand as he hugged his fellow drummer, “You gained a few stones since last I saw you.”

Bonzo rolled his eyes as he chortled, holding his head in a strong arm grip. Keith complained that his champagne would fall out, but that didn’t stop Bonzo from treating him like a sibling. “Moonie, why don’t you and the lads say hello to our new friend here, yeah?”

John and Pete made their acquaintances, Keith was able to give her a little wave of his hand until Bonzo finally let him go and gave him a good slap on the back.

“You’ll have to excuse Keith, he’s a bit loonie as you can see,” Pete explained. “So what brings you here?”

“Well I’ll be going on tour with the band, and it looks like I’ll be seeing you four as well.”

Rogina interjected, “Is that right? What will you be doing?”

“A roadie, so I’ll be around helping with getting everything ready,” I mentioned.

“She might even do a bit of performing as well,” Robert mentioned proudly.

I was silent as The Who stared at me, my throat becoming dry. I tried to play off his comment as a joke, “Good one Robert. He’s just kidding-”

Rogina tilted her head as she looked at me, “Are you sure? Because if you can sing, we’d love to hear you.”

My heart was pounding, all I could give her was an unsure shrug, “Um, another time… maybe. Say why do you all go get something to eat, the food is very delicious here.”

Keith was already off to find himself a plate, with John closing in behind him. Pete kept himself occupied with discussing business matters with Jimmy and Grant. Rogina on the other hand decided to stay and talk a bit more. Everything about this Roger was pretty much the same: The height, the golden corkscrew curls, ocean blue eyes, toothy grin, muscular arms, and stylish clothing. Still it was odd speaking with her, considering the obvious factors such as a slightly higher register in her voice and the presence of breasts that protruded from her suit.

“So how did you manage to work with Zeppelin?” Rogina asked.

I tried to answer as best as I could, “Oh well… you see Jimmy let me know that a spot was available actually.” I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t tell her that Jimmy had found me like an abandoned cat in an alleyway that he felt sorry for. A little of me to say, but still I couldn’t seem to add that in.

“Is it true what Robert said about you performing? I mean you seemed awfully quiet when he brought it up.”

I sighed at the question, barely keeping myself from pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m quickly learning that Robert's a little like a puppy…very excitable. I played a little bit for them to prove that I know what I’m doing with the guitars. Something came over me and I sang a little bit too. I never agreed to playing in front of anyone else. Let alone in front of a huge audience.”

Rogina’s smile softened at that. “He really is, though I’m sorry to hear you won’t be playing. The offer is always open and I meant what I said, I'd love to hear from you. if you change your mind.”

I returned her smile and I knew I was going to love this version of Roger too. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

G made his way over with a couple other people, one looked vaguely familiar, the other I didn’t recognize. “Anjelika! I want to introduce you to Ahmet Ertegun, owner of Atlantic Records. He’s here to support the boys. And this is Alice Cooper, joining us on the American leg of the tour.”

Both men stuck a hand out for me to shake. I took Ahmet’s first who placed his other hand over mine gently. “I must thank you for joining the road crew, dear. Though, I must admit, I was shocked to hear you were a woman. Forgive me, I mean no offense, it’s just never been done before.”

I smiled at Ahmet, trying not to take offense. It may be a different universe, but apparently the ‘70’s were still the ‘70’s. Turning to Alice, I shook his hand next, barely recognizing him without the makeup.

“I don’t know if shocked is the word I would have used, but I guess I am a little surprised. Didn’t figure I’d see a female roadie for another decade at least. Don’t get me wrong, I love that women are getting more and more involved in rock. And if anyone gives you any shit, just say the word.”

My smile grew wider at Alice’s genuine words. “Thank you, I appreciate that. Though, I assure you, I can handle myself.”

“I’m certain you can, but the offer is still on the table. I would like to stay and get to know you a little more, but I need to get back to my girlfriend. It was nice meeting you, Anjelika.”

“I’m sure there will be time to get to know each other more on the road and it was nice to meet you too.”

“Fair enough. See you tomorrow, then.” And with that he was off. G and Ahmet soon excused themselves to go talk to the boys and I was left at the bar once more with Rogina next to me.

Rogina sighed, “I know this must be all new to you. Believe me that being a woman involved in rock and roll seems to weird people out, especially guys.”

I gave her a reassuring grin, “Yeah, I’m sure you probably have gone through a lot.”

Rogina took a sip of her flute, “I may have a few stories. One of them involves Keith actually.”

I leaned in, “What happened?”

“Well let’s just say he thought that he could get away with copping a feel. He lost a couple of teeth that night,” Rogina chuckled. “The bastard will never live that moment down.”

I wasn’t sure if I could share a laugh with Rogina, even though she was able to find humor in such a terrible situation. All I could muster was a nervous smile and a nod.

Rogina took another sip of her champagne, rested her head on her palm, and pondered, “So is this your first time working with Zeppelin?”

“Yes actually. And I hope that I’ll do alright while on tour,” I admitted.

“I think you will,” Rogina claimed with a warm smile. “So what would you like to drink? The champagne is alright, but I think I’ll get a whiskey instead.”

I was taken aback, “Oh well… a beer sounds good.”

Truthfully, a Nightbane could easily drink any of these mortals under the table. As to how I would do against Bonzo, a fellow Nightbane, well that would be a matter for another day. Still I was grateful knowing that Bonzo could understand, and hopefully the remainder of Zeppelin, Who, and Cooper would as well. However it was too early to let the rest of them know. In time I would say something, only when the moment felt right.

As we waited for our drinks, I felt a strange looming presence behind me. My throat went dry the moment I turned around to see John Entiwistle, the Ox himself, towering over the two of us. Rogina on the other hand casually remarked, “I thought you were supposed to be babysitting our dear boy.”

“Well quite frankly I need a break from him,” John mentioned with a deep chortle. “I think as long as nothing blows up tonight, he’ll tire himself out eventually.” He gestured to the bartender and asked for a glass of cognac.

Rogina nodded and asked him, “Where did Pete go?”

“Probably talking some poor bastard’s ear off about Lifehouse,” he laughed.

“Oh come on John, the man just wants to share his work to the world,” Rogina noted.

John leaned in towards me, “She says that, but even she gets tired of his songs about teenage angst.”

Rogina scowled at him, “I do not.”

John raised his eyebrows, “Keep telling yourself that Rog. It was Anjelika right?”

I nodded, “Yes John.”

He responded with a handshake, “Pleasure to meet you.”

“And you as well”, I responded with a return of his handshake. “I take Keith's handful?”

Rogina and John laughed. “That’s putting it mildly some days.” John admitted.

“I swear the man can’t not cause trouble in some fashion or another for even a few hours.” Rogina adds.

“I think there’s some unspoken rule that drummers are all crazy,” I chuckled.

“That explains everything, actually.” John said with a chuckle of his own. Rogina just shook her head.

I looked up to see the time on a clock on the wall. Midnight. Where had the time gone? “I should head up to get some sleep, I want to be up early to grab a few things I forgot earlier today from the drug store across the way. Besides, I’m assuming the roadies will be up earlier than the bands to pack up the buses.” Downing the last of my beer, I shook John’s hand again. “It was nice meeting you.” I set the empty bottle on the bar and left a few bills before turning to Rogina. “Thank you for the beer.”

She surprised me by pulling me into a hug instead of giving me a handshake. “Any time. And I’ll add to what Alice said earlier. Anyone gives you any trouble, let me know, I’ll kick their ass.”

“Thank you. But I really need to go.” With that I went to find G to figure out where I would sleep tonight. I found him still with the boys, though it appeared that Ahmet had left. I explained to G that I wanted to get to bed and why, but it was Robert who interjected.

“You can stay in my room for tonight,” Robert offered. “The rest of your things are still there from earlier.”

I had forgotten about that. Hesitantly I nodded in agreement, even if I was worried about what the other roadies, especially Cole, might say. “Alright, as long as this doesn’t become a habit. Just for tonight.”

I could see the disappointment behind Robert’s eyes, but he agreed. “Here, take my key, just leave the door unlocked so I can get in later.”

Nodding, I took the key and thanked him before heading upstairs to the room, getting as comfortable on the couch as I could.

@brownskinsugarplum76 @m-faithfull @jimmys-zeppelin @lady-jane-revisited @firethatgrewsolow @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 @callmethehunter @tremble-and-shake @tophats-n-lespauls @princesspagey @tangerine-page

#led zeppelin fanfics #robert plant fanfiction #the who fanfiction #roger daltrey fanfiction #fem!roger daltrey #alice cooper fanfic #robert plant x reader x roger daltrey #no smut #yet

[penguinwithitsarseonfire]

Everyone Secretly Wants You

Pairing: 13th Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 3,528

Warnings: None

Summary: The Doctor takes her fam to an art gallery, showcasing the work of Ava Centuria, her favourite artist of the 42nd century. However, she gets more than she bargained for when said artist takes a keen liking to you.

A/N: I know today has been... a lot. So here's something short and fluffy I wrote to take my mind off of things. Keep yourselves safe and surrounded by love my friends. All the best everyone and lots of love ❤️

“Well then,” Graham said. “Art galleries have certainly changed.”

You had to agree. It didn’t really look like any sort of art gallery you had ever seen before. There were people performing on stages, gallery goers were dressed in multi coloured neon robes, and food that changed shape on on the trays the waiters carried around. It looked like some sort of fancy festival, and you felt like any second you would see Billie Eilish casually stroll around beside you.

You loved it.

“It’s the 42nd century Graham!” The Doctor cried. She was hard to miss, she had replaced her coat with one that was a bright neon blue. “No one cares about stuffy rich people etiquette at these sort of things, it’s why Ava Centuria is so amazing! She completely reshaped societal norms, she made kooky mainstream.”

“Sounds like fun,” Yaz said encouragingly, and she was giving the Doctor a pair of thumbs up. It looked comical, her finger nails were each a different neon colour, and she wore a black suit with neon coloured stripes, reminding you of the kind of thing a school principal would wear to a carnival, except, well, neon.

As the five of you entered, you passed a towering banner that had a woman’s face plastered across and the word ‘Welcome’ written beside her. She was quite beautiful, with sharp cheekbones, long curly black hair, and painted red lips.

“Woah,” Ryan said, as the whole lot of you craned your heads so you could see it more clearly. Ryan had gone all out for the gallery, and had neon green wings painted under his eyes, which matched the neon green blazer he was wearing over a white shirt. “Is that her? This Ava chick.”

“Yup,” The Doctor said proudly. “Oh I can’t wait to meet her, I bet she’s a riot.”

Then a pair of bells rang and you jumped, clutching onto the Doctor with a yelp. Your heart sat in your throat and the Doctor placed her hand onto yours. You soon found your gaze met with hers, and your heart continued beating rapidly, but this time, for an entirely different reason. In this light her eyes almost looked like they were bright green. They sparkled under the light, and for a moment, you were mesmerised.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

“Yeah,” you breathed out, tearing yourself off of her. “Just startled.”

A small marching band began walking past, wearing bright red uniforms. One of them blew something that looked like a kazoo, and it let out the shrilling bell sound that had just startled you. The Doctor gasped, her eyes shining in delight. “Oh I am following that,” and without another word, she had zoomed off.

The rest of you looked at each other, exasperated. After one moment, then another Yaz rolled her eyes. “Alright, okay, I’ll follow her. If we get into trouble I’ll ring.”

“Not too loud I hope,” Ryan said with a smirk. “Wouldn’t want to startle Y/N.”

You gave him a glare, that was only half fake.

“Oh nah,” Yaz said, and met Ryan’s smirk. “Without the Doc around, there’s no one for Y/N to cling on to!”

You began to splutter out a protest but the other’s laughed, and before you knew it, Yaz jogged off with a wave.

You sighed dejectedly. “I really was freaked out.”

“We know,” Graham said. “Just teasin’ is all.”

You, Ryan, and Graham began exploring the art gallery. Ryan nudged you on the shoulder. “When’re you gonna tell her anyway?”

“Tell who what?”

“You can play confused around her,” Graham said, by your other side. “But we know better.”

You rolled your eyes, and a waitress appeared in front of you, offering you a platter. You watched for a moment as the collection of little cakes changed from neon orange to neon cyan, and they looked almost as if they were glowing. It was so cool. You plucked one off the tray and shoved it into your mouth, nodded your thanks and then grinned ruefully at your friends as you sidestepped away from them.

The cake was nice. it wasn’t a flavour you could identify, but it was sweet and fluffy, like a cloud.

Graham took three.

“C’mon Y/N,” Ryan said, skirting around the waitress so he could catch up to you. “You know she likes you back.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” you lied. “I just want to eat some cake and look at some funky art.”

Also a lie.

Graham held out one of the cakes to Ryan, and, in doing so, essentially barred you in between them. Ryan took off a chunk and popped it into his mouth. “What’s got you so worked up about it anyway, it’s not as if you’re as emotionally awkward as she is,” he sounded like he was speaking from experience.”

“You too,” you said. “Are the worst wingmen in the history of wingmen ever. Now I’m going to go over…” You glanced around the room, trying to find an area that was relatively crowded. “There,” you said, pointing at a crowd of people gathered around a stage where a man was eating… was that fire? Wow. “So,” you continued. “If you’re going to butt your noses into my love life, I suggest you keep up.”

You dove under Graham’s arm and ran. Look, it wasn’t as though you didn’t like them – of course you did, they were some of your best friends. But it was awkward talking about the Doctor. It was so confusing, she, was so confusing, and you didn’t have the energy to think about it right now.

You slipped into the crowd and scurried to the front, dogding and weaving through neon coloured bodies. When you made it you ducked, turning around so you could try and find Graham and Ryan through the gaps in the people.

There, in the back, towards the right. They were standing around like lost puppies. Good, you had definitely lost them.

Slowly, you navigated your way through the crowd until you were by the other side. This area was far quieter, and you ducked into a narrow hallway.

You’d lost them, and with it, you had lost those annoying questions.

You’d find them soon enough, you just needed ten minutes where a ‘will they, won’t they’ conversation wasn’t the focal point of anything and everything your friends wanted to talk about. Ten minutes without knowing smiles and staring at each other like they were in on some secret, or like they were characters on The Office.  

You found yourself in a relatively empty room, save a few individuals. There was clothing propped up everywhere, and you quickly realised it was on display like a stagnate fashion show. Slowly, you began walking around the room, taking it all in.

And then you saw it.

Completely and utterly confused, you stood in front of a dress. You caught snatches of conversation from the people next to you, who were praising the piece for its creativity and out-of-the-box presentation, but to you... well, it was ugly.

It held a clattering of different patterns; the skirt was made with stripes of cheetah print, rainbow polka dots, red gingham, and acid washed denim. The top clashed even more, and was made of a sequinned fabric, one that, when you moved it, you assumed would change colour.

You weren't sure if it was supposed to be an open smock or a cape, but a sheer, neon orange fabric was drapped around behind the dress and over the arms of the mannequin. It ended in huge black ruffled lace, lining the mannequins wrists and the kissing the floor.

Now, this wouldn't be too bad if there were any structure to the dress, but it was cut into a t-shirt shape, so there wasn't any reason, practically or otherwise, to separate the skirt from the top.

Not to mention the Edwardian style ruff collar that sat around the neck, was made out of, of all things, CD’s – which apparently still existed. You wondered if it was a commentary on something, though you couldn't think of what.

You screwed your face up, concentrating, trying to find something, just a single element about the dress that you liked. It was just... awful, you were sure you could even argue that as an objective fact. Surely the thing broke some sort of laws about fashion and style.

"It's a social experiment," a warm voice said beside you, and you jumped. You hadn't heard anyone coming.

You turned to face the person who owned the voice, and assessed her thoughtfully. You recognised her, but you weren't sure from where.

"I thought I would explain it to you," she continued. "Since you were quite obvious on your distaste for the piece."

The realisation dawned on you like a wave of ice water, running through your mind and down into your bones. Her high cheekbones, her wry cherry red smirk,  her unruly, uncontrolled black curls dancing under the light as she cocked her head to the side, it couldn't be.

But it was. Standing beside you was Ava Centuria, the artist whose work was on display.

The artist who had designed this dress.

The artist who had just called you out on not liking her dress.

Your realisation must have shown on your face, because she broke out in a pearly laugh. "I do appreciate constructive criticism though. So, tell me, what don't you like about it?"

You gauged her thoughtful. Part of you was about to splutter out an apology, tell her that you actually really did like her work. But that would be a lie, and somehow, under Ava Centuria's warm gaze, lying to her just didn’t feel right.

You looked back to the dress, then to her. “Honestly. I… I just think it’s ugly.”

She let out a delighted laugh again, and you realised it was actually quite a lovely sound. “You’re the first to say that.

”“Is that a bad thing?” You asked, because really, you had just insulted her work, and she seemed happy about it.

“It’s refreshing,” she said, and she regarded the dress. “And you’re right. It is ugly. I made it so on purpose.”

This just made you more confused. “I’m sorry? Why would you do that?”

She gave you a kind smile, and you felt yourself warm in response. Ava Centuria really was striking, it looked like she had been moulded by the gods. She was the kind of beautiful that poets wrote about. “Like I said, it’s a social experiment.”

You smiled at that, thinking of the Doctor. You would have to show her this, she loves a good experiment. “What are you experimenting?”

“People,” she said, and she brushed her arm over your elbow, guiding you with her to look around the room. Her touch was warm, and you found that you didn’t mind her touching you at all.

“I find it terribly interesting,” she said, her voice low and soft in your ear. She was so completely close – you could smell her perfume, which was sweet, like a warm Spring breeze. “That something could be completely mundane, or even downright awful, but, if you give it prestige, suddenly everyone completely and utterly adores it,” when she turned to look at you again, her eyes sparkled. “It is why I appreciate you, you are honest. It is not something I am accustomed to.”

It was a sobering statement. “That seems like a lonely way to live.”

Her expression faltered, her wry grin falling into a small, sad, smile. “It can be” she gave you a knowing look. “Sometimes, though, I am lucky enough to find someone who can make the days just a little bit brighter.”

You thought about the Doctor, who lied so often, and kept so many secrets. Was she lonely too? Even with the fam, even with you with her? Did you help make her days brighter?

“I’m terribly sorry,” she said after a moment, recatching your attention.  “But I didn’t seem to catch your name.”

You noticed she had still not let go of your arm, and was caressing you slightly with her thumb.

You chuckled. “I never gave it.”

“Surely then you must share it.”

You told her your name and she smiled. “Ah. Y/N. It is fitting. It is a beautiful name for an equally beautiful person.”

You felt your eyes widen and your ears tense. Had she just-

“I am an artist,” she continued. “I know these things.”

You felt your cheeks grow hot. It wasn’t often people as gorgeous as Ava Centuria just casually flirted with you.

She stuck out her other hand. “I am Ava, by the way.”

It was such a bizarre turn of events that it startled a laugh out of you. You took her hand. “I know who you are, Ms Centuria.”

“Ava,” she repeated. “And, I know. But I felt it was important for a formal introduction, especially when one considers what I am about to ask you.”

You paused at that. Ask what?

“I would like to give you a tour,” she said. “A personal one, just for you. I would very much like to hear your thoughts on my collection and…” her movement on your arm faltered. “I would very much like to get to know you better, if you would let me.”

Under the lighting, Ava’s hair seemed to glow, like a halo of light was wrapped around it. She looked ethereal, and you couldn’t believ that she had just –

Oh gosh, Ava Centuria had just asked you on a date. Now. As in, immediately.

“Oh Y/N,” a familiar voice called out. “There you are, I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

You turned to see the Doctor strolling up, her neon blue coat billowing behind her. She… there was no other word for it, she looked awkward. Her hands were balled into fists, and she was giving you a strained smile. Behind her, across the other side of the room, stood Yaz and Ryan. Yaz was giving you an incredulous look, as if you had just taken the last cake from a tray, and Ryan, Ryan looked like he was about to whoop into the air, or shake you.

You had no idea how to interpret either of those looks.

“Doctor,’ you said and her smile softened as she met your gaze.

You turned back to Ava, sure that you had flushed, and untangled yourself from her grasp. The Doctor was beside you - and when had she appeared? She wrapped her arm around your frame, pulling you in to your side. "You must be Ava Centuri?" She said, but her smile seemed too wide, too forced. "Oh I'm a big fan!"

Ava stiffened. “Well,” she said, and her voice was distant. “It appears I am at  a disadvantage, Y/N has not told me about you.”

“Oh! Well that’s surprising, I’m Y/N’s number one. We’re very, very close, Y/N and I,” her other hand fell across your arm, the spot where Ava had just been holding you. “We’re two peas in a pod, birds of a feather, made from the same cloth, you could say. Oh, a match made in heaven! Like Bonnie and Clyde,” she scrunched up her face. “No wait, not them, They died.”

“They also killed a lot of people,” you added. “Which wasn’t great.”

“That to,” The Doctor said, nodding to you like it was the most serious conversation you had ever had. She turned back towards Ava. “I’m the Doctor.”

“Well met Doctor,” Ava said, and she seemed to genuinely mean it. “I’m quite sorry though, you see, Y/N and I were-”

“Oh yeah!” The Doctor said. “I’m terribly sorry,” She squeezed your shoulder again, and it looked like the Doctor wasn’t sorry at all. “But we have to be off. We’ve got loads of things to meet, people to see, and places to do,” she scrunched up her face again. “No, wait, that’s the wrong order.”

“Things to do, people to meet, and places to see,” you supplied.

The Doctor grinned at you, utterly delighted. You felt a swell of pride in your stomach, you loved that you were the cause of that smile.

“Ah,” something seemed to dawn on Ava, and she looked in between you and The Doctor. Her eyes lingered on the Doctor’s arm, which was still securely wrapped around your waist. That small, sad smile from earlier returned. “I, I do believe I understand,” she turned to the Doctor. “You have found an angel among mortals, be sure you remember that.”

The Doctor audibly swallowed, and her grip on you faltered, for a moment. “I – uh, yeah. You’re right. Completely right, actually. Always knew you were clever.”

She nodded. “Good,” she turned to you. “And dear Y/N, if you ever find yourself wanting to entertain the whims of a lonely artist, I really would consider myself so very lucky.”

You didn’t know what to say.

She took your hand, and placed a delicate kiss on your knuckles, a part of you felt your arm tingle at the contact. “I best not keep you then. It was a pleasure meeting you, Y/N. Doctor.” She gave the Doctor a consolatory nod, and left.

“Huh,” The Doctor said. “She was… I’m not sure I liked her as much as I thought I would.”

You hummed, not necessarily agreeing, but not really knowing what to say. You watched Ava walk away with a small frown. You hoped she was okay, she had been kind. She deserved kindness.

She wasn’t someone who your heart could belong to.

You turned to the Doctor. “So, what’s up? Is everything okay?”

The Doctor paused, her face falling. It was almost as if you could see the cogs turning in her brain, but you couldn’t work out why she was thinking so hard. “I think Graham’s gotten lost,” The Doctor said suddenly. “So I think it’s high time we find him and get out of here, what’d you say?”

You nodded, and, still holding you, The Doctor and you began walking out the room. You found your friends gathered outside the TARDIS, in fact, neither you or the Doctor had even paused to find Graham. You assumed Yaz and Ryan had done so, when you and the Doctor were talking to Ava.

On the way in, you noticed how the neon everyone was wearing glowed under the crystals. The Doctor was gorgeous in a way you couldn’t describe. She was here, present, by your side. It was so tangible, suddenly.

You had never noticed before, the way her hair softly fell around her face. She had bright neon stripes of green in it, and you wondered, absentmindedly, when she had had them done. The chain from her earring glinted in the soft light, the stars along the chain glittering.

In a soft voice, you asked. “Why the neon, do you think?”

“I dunno,” she said, and she shut the door behind Ryan, the last to enter the TARDIS. He was giving you a funny look, and you chose to ignore him. You chose to ignore Graham and Yaz too, for good measure. You would get embarrassed and fluder, you could already feel it.

“Sometimes,” the Doctor said, after a moment, and she looked around the room. “When you can’t find any brightness, you wonderful humans chose to create it instead. Even in the darkest of times.”

“Us humans?” You smiled, and you took a chance, maybe this time, just once, the Doctor could be honest. “What do you do then, Doc?”

“I don’t need to create it,” she said, her gaze wholly focused on you. “I’ve found it.”

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. That… The Doctor couldn’t possibly mean what you thought she meant. But she looked at you so intently, as if you were her entire universe. Her gaze flickered across your face, across the neon yellow flowers Yaz had painted on your cheeks, across your nose, and on your lips.

She leaned in, or maybe it was you, and she as so close now.

The sound of a loud cheer shattered the spell. You jumped back in shock.

“Finally!” Ryan cried, all the way from across the console.

You looked up to see Ryan, Graham, and Yaz standing off to the side, watching you like a collection of hawks. Graham and Yaz turned to Ryan in astonishment. Yaz elbowed Ryan and he doubled over. She tugged on his ear and whispered harshly.

The Doctor grinned when she spoke. “I can hear you, y’know.”

You, however, could not.

“Is it true?” She asked them, and you desperately wished you could have heard.

Graham gave you both a look, one which said ‘sort it out yourselves’.

The Doctor turned back to you. “I think you and I need to have a talk, later, when there’s no one else around?”

She looked vulnerable, her eyes wide and pleading, as if you hadn’t been just about to kiss her.

You nodded, giving her a small, warm smile. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.”

#the doctor x reader #thirteenth doctor imagine #13th doctor x reader #thirteenth doctor x reader #13th doctor #Doctor Who #DW #not edited because I wrote and posted this on the exact same day #I even wrote this during a meetting #and instead of doing an assignment due two days away #lots of love xoxoxo