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#The Shape of Your Name is just such a fucking perfect album.
y3ager · 5 months
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STORYTIME I (26 F) FUCKED MY SUPERSTAR CLIENT (24 M) AFTER MONTHS OF SEXUAL TENSION!
— ‘i’m a manager for a pretty big music label and my client is the biggest dickhead in the world but i fear i fucked him after one of our usual arguments.. 😵‍💫’
eren y. x black!fem!reader
tags: modern au, smut, porn not much plot, hate(?)sex, cunnilingus, cowgirl, reader gets called ‘mama’ and ‘boss’, unprotected sex, mild choking, musician!eren, manager!reader. minors do not interact.
my first collab entry MAKE SOME NOISE YALL WTF!!! but no seriously thanks so much to @k9nto for letting me join your event i had a blast writing this! hope you all enjoy! 🤭
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YOU’VE ENCOUNTERED SOME annoying people in your life. in kindergarten, a boy taunted you by picking up one your fallen hot pink knocker-balls and refusing to give it back to you. in high school, some chick named tiffany ripped down all of your junior class president posters that you spent weeks designing and printing out on the highest quality paper. your college advisor had been completely useless, you’d still be dragging yourself through your bachelor’s degree if you didn’t stay on your toes and realize the classes you were dropped in were a waste of time. but all of these people, and many more that have slipped your mind, shaped and molded you into the woman you were today. strong, tenacious, independent, a go-getter who never gave up and thus was able to reap her hard work, in the form of three nice crisp degrees and a never pitiful bank account.
but eren yeager, grammy award winning singer, songwriter and musician, with multiple weeks spent at the top of the billboard hot 100 and 200 charts, millions of units sold worldwide, and stadiums packed to the brim, took the fucking cake.
you were warned he’d be difficult. every manager he’s assigned quits before one of them ends up in a body bag. none of them have a single nice thing to say about him, and he finds that hilarious.
for better or for worse, you took the challenge because you’re a sucker for them. nothing in life comes easy, and you figured that the managers before just didn’t come hard enough. maybe eren’s fame and status made them falter, but such a fate wouldn’t befall you.
you dragged him to his magazine shoots, you kept his mouth in line during interviews, you kept his socials clean. he was never a second late to rehearsals and recordings. he was a reflection of you, and if you were perfect goddammit he was going to be too.
until today.
“i’m not putting in another extension, eren. the label is starting to get really irritable. we need to go to the studio now.” you furiously swiping along your ipad, pacing around the singer’s deluxe hotel room. while you’re dressed for the day in clean crisp clothes, sharp stilettos, and jet black lace front expertly melted and laid, eren’s still in the bed. the covers are everywhere, his shirt is next to a couple pillows on the floor, and he’s laying on his back eating a croissant from room service, paying you absolutely no mind. it takes everything in you to not chuck your device at his big head. “i’m serious. get. up.”
“and i said i’m not,” he mocks your assertive tone, voice oozing in sarcasm. “going.” he coughs, obviously faking. “my voice hurts. can’t make those greedy bastards money if my vocal chords ache. they’ll live.”
“you are on a strict deadline this era. if you want to catch award season, this album needs to be finished and dropped in the next month. amidst the press tour, your window of recording time is dwindling fast.” dates in your digital calendar glare at you, red and angry. every time you check something off your to do, ten new things pop up. you feel your jaw clenching, teeth gritting together uncomfortably.
“i’ve won enough awards. i don’t care. i’m not getting up.” eren finally raises up from the bed, narrowed green eyes meeting yours. it’s fire against fire, an unstoppable force that is a manager determined to do her job versus an immovable object, a musician who’s not budging from his spot. “it’s my album. it’s my music. i finish it when the fuck i get ready. that label will burn before they drop me.”
“if you don’t follow contract, they will drop you. they put a lot of money into you-”
“money i made back for those dumbasses-!”
“they are your bosses, without them-”
“they need me way more than i need them-!”
“get,” you toss your ipad over to a small couch, storming over to the bed. you snatch the edge of the covers and yank hard. enough is enough. if he won’t get up, you’ll make him get up. “the fuck out of this bed, eren, now!”
“you need,” the cover is yanked back, tugging you forward along with it. you lurch momentarily before righting yourself upwards, leaning back to give yourself more leverage in this childish tug of war you find yourself in. “to calm the fuck down, ___. i’m not going and that’s fucking it.” eren may be lean, but he’s toned like a MMA fighter, muscles rippling under tan skin when he calls upon them. another tug and you topple onto the california king bed, one expensive heel sliding off your foot and falling across the room.
your heads snaps up from the covers, brow furrowed deep in anger. “stop being so fucking difficult, you moron!” emotions welling, you grab one of his arms, preparing to drag him out of this bed. your to do list is a nagging itch on your brain that by the grace of god you are going to scratch. you’re not about to let this bad-with-authority dickhead best you when all he has to do is record a fucking vocal.
“oh, we’re doing this?” easily, too easily, so easily that you register your back hitting the soft bed before you realized he even grabbed you back. he pins you down easily, slightly calloused hands grip your upper arms firmly, pushing them down. he places his legs other either side of your hips so yours are forced in between them, but doesn’t keep you from writhing to free yourself. “whatever fucking—stop doing that—chip you have on your shoulder, you need to fucking solve it because shit’s not going your way today. i’m not going and that is final.”
the tussle leaves you two of you panting, eyes boring into each other’s. eren’s long chocolate brown hair is disheveled not only from a night’s sleep but from this impromptu wrestle. small beads up sweat trickle down his naked chest. your writhe again, and he presses down against you, a synonymous hiss sliding through both of your mouths.
“i hate you, eren.”
“whatever helps you sleep at night, ___. looks like you wanted an excuse to feel up on me.”
“oh, like you wanted an excuse to hump me like a mutt?”
there’s another beat of silence as you two watch each other. eren’s hands tighten their hold just a tad before he presses his hardening length hard against your clothed cunt. against your better judgement, your head tilts back and a small moan fights against your bitten bottom lip.
eren hums lowly, his dick bulging against the constraint of his boxers. “hate me too much to actually fuck me, huh? i’m only worth a dry hump.”
oh how eren frustrates you. how he makes even the simplest things in life painstakingly difficult. how he makes you want to smoke ten packs of cigarettes after a day of dealing with him. but oh, how handsome he looks under the lights at photo shoots. how his deep, smooth voice reverbs in your ears. how his fingers move so deftly on his guitar, as if it’s merely an extension of his body. who wouldn’t fantasize about that late at night, him bending you over and snatching down your pants to fuck the stress out of you, or yourself knocking him down a peg and making him beg to let you cum inside.
“shut-” another roll of his hips makes you gasp. “up..”
“i want you, ___,” eren confesses. his hips don’t falter, his cock becoming hungry for release. “i want that pussy. i wanna fuck that little attitude out of you, can i? i see how you look at me and i stare right back.”
you shiver, hand rushing to undo your dress pants and feel more of eren’s dick against your dampening cunt. his hands work with your perfectly, yanking your pants down. it’s a whirlwind of clothes, your sweater, bra, your other shoe.
eren reaches up to grab your breasts, rolling them in his palms, squeezing the supple flesh, pushing them together. “oh, pretty girl. pretty fuckin’ tits.” leaning down, he kisses down your sternum, stomach, inching closer and closer to your center. he wastes no time grabbing your thighs and licking a nice, long stripe against your drooling cunt and sucking on your clit.
your back immediately arches up and your hands fly to grip eren’s hair, tugging at the locks and pulling him in closer so you can feel everything. “oh my god, eren.” the singer’s not shy at all, audibly sucking at you and reaching up to twist and pinch your pebbled nipples.
with another languid lick eren pulls himself away. he pulls his boxers down on and off, freeing his dick from the constraint. he rubs the thick, weeping tip up and down your slit, staring hungrily at the juices leaking out. the feeling of it makes you shiver in anticipation.
“mmm, mm-mm.” you push yourself up. “let me get ‘n top..” there’s a greedy look in your low eyes as you place your hand on eren’s solid chest and lay him down on the bed.
“take charge here too, huh?” your forwardness makes him chuckle as he watches you straddle his waist. “okay then. ride me.”
you brace yourself on your toes as his hand and yours grasp his shaft, directing it to your pulsing hole. you slide down gingerly onto him, his size quickly stretching you out. “ahh, fuck, eren. fuck…��
“you got it,” he assures you, one hand on your thigh as you sink lower and lower, taking him in inch by inch. he bites his lip at the wet tightness of your walls, squeezing and sucking him in. it makes him throw his head back, a couple of small pants escaping his mouth. “mmhm, fuck that pussy feels so good. take that dick, boss.” his hand raises only to land on your ass check with a sharp slap.
you start out slow at first, letting yourself adjust to the wideness of his dick but that quickly gets old. you’re soon addicted to the feeling of him fitting inside so perfectly. gripping his free hand in yours, you swivel and raise your hips faster and faster, effortlessly, desperate for that feeling of him pounding that oh so sweet spot. your juices slide down his length, the slap slap slap of your ass against his muscled thighs filling the room. “‘s so big, feels so good,” your voice slurs.
eren hisses from his spot under you, eyes trained on where you two connect. mouth slightly agape, he watches your cunt swallow him up and the fluid that leaks out. “yes, mama. keep fucking me just like that. feels.. f-fuckin’ amazin’…” his hands grab your plump ass cheeks, fingers digging in hard as he thrusts his hips up, driving the tip of his cock even deeper inside you and pulling a loud moan from you. “keep goin, mama, ‘m almost there, don’t stop, please..”
his pleading make you clench even tighter around him, and that feeling deep inside your tummy aches for release. you place a hand around his throat to better balance yourself, relishing in his low groan. your thighs quake and tremble, your hips meeting his eager thrust perfectly. “oh, my god; oh my god. i’m— shit!” you throw your head back in ecstasy, cumming hard enough on your client’s dick to leave you numb.
“aw, fuck, boss.” eren thrusts up to push his cum deep inside, holding you against himself to ensure a single drop doesn’t leak. “take it, take it..”
the two of you are left panting hard, bodies sweaty and gleaming with the afterglow of sex. you gingerly pull away, cunt left sore and spent from a round of sex months in the making. eren reaches over to caress your ebon lips, admiring the smooth, wet feeling once you roll onto your back. “no more attitude from you, yeah?”
“no more attitude from the man reduced to calling me ‘mama’ and begging to cum either, i’d assume.” your teasing laughter is cut off by him purposefully sinking three fingers deep inside you. “mmh…”
“mhm, sure.” roles reversed, eren climbs on top of you and stares down with green eyes aflame with lust through his tousled brown hair. “now i want to see what i can make you call me.”
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velvetstreets · 2 years
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I have suuuch a specific request after Urban’s 🗼🚂 post. Could you maybe write something where Jack wants some pictures/ videos of him and his girl before going on tour so he asks Urban to help and maybe he gets more involved (or stays behind the camera, writers choice)?
JACKMAN & BIG WHOREEEE lmao
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“Baby-“ Jack turned to look at you. The two of you were laying in his bed, both on your phones with Jack’s left hand rubbing up and down your exposed thighs.
“Yeah?”
“We need to take some new pics soon, before tour starts again.” He said scrolling through his photo album.
“Mmm, you’re right, it has been a while.” You said looking at him, reaching a hand out to caress his jaw. He leaned into your touch and kissed your palm. He set his phone down and took your hand, slowly kissing up your arm and onto your neck and chest. You closed your eyes and let out an sigh of relief.
Jack shifted so he leaned on his forearm while leaning over you a little, his other hand going to the waistband of your shorts. He slipped his hand through and palmed your pussy through your panties.
“Jack-“ you groaned, your head feeling fuzzy, rational thinking out the window as a primal feeling came over you - you’d do anything to get Jack to continue his movements.
“Would you be okay if Urban took pictures and a few videos for us?” He murmured in your ear, continuing to rub you through your panties, your arousal seeping through the fabric.
“Y-you want Urban to film us?” You asked, eyes still shut in ecstasy.
“You’ve seen his work, better than any iPhone. Plus I’ve seen the way you look at him, he looks at you the same.” Jack continued to kiss you and finally he slipped his fingers under your panties, rubbing at your clit a little before slipping two fingers in you.
You moaned loudly as Jack pulled your cami down, making your tits spill out. He attached his mouth to one of them as you groaned out.
“I- I didn’t know you saw t-that.” You said feeling guilty.
“Don’t feel bad baby, I think it’s hot.” He said, the pads his fingers rubbing against your walls.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. My perfect ‘lil slut, squirming and writhing around on camera for us. How would you feel about that?” Jack said kissing up along your neck and jaw.
“C-could be fun. You’re okay with it?” You let a deep shaky breath out through your nostrils.
“You being spread out for me and Urban? Hell yeah. Plus he knows you’re mine anyways, it won’t be weird - but I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to, this is just a suggestion.” Jack said as one of his thumbs massaged circles into your hips. You let out a moan of relief, your legs and hips always aching at least a little bit.
“Fuck yes, Jack, right there-“ you moaned.
He ceased his movements except for kissing along your chest.
“Need an answer before you cum babe.” He said nonchalantly, like he wasn’t holding onto the edge of your orgasm.
“Yes, let Urban film us, I don’t care- it’s all for you anyways.” You said letting out a frustrated sigh.
“Yeah? You sure? I don’t want you saying yes just because you’re about to cum y/n.” Jack said using your name; you knew he was serious and wanted your consent, or your objection to know where you stood on the situation.
“Yes, Jack. I’m okay with him filming us, promise. Now make me cum.” You told him, and he kissed your face a bunch making you giggle before he went back to the task at hand. His fingers worked at a face pace as they slipped in and out of you, his thumb harassing your clit with the hard pressure he was rubbing it at. Soon enough your orgasm crashed, your legs twitched around Jack’s hand, your jaw falling open into an “oh” shape, as your eyes were screwed shut - taking in your ecstasy.
“I’ll never get tired of seeing you cum.” Jack chuckled before sucking his fingers clean of your essence.
4 days later..
Jack had invited Urban over for the night to hang out, already laying out the details and specifics for him beforehand. You were a little nervous to say the least, but both Jack and Urban reassured you that you had nothing to be worried or insecure about. Urban was adamant about that especially since he was the third wheel here. You warmed up to him a little more; usually you and Urban were besties, but you crawled a little back in your shell subconsciously when his eyes bulged out his head when he saw you in your lilac lingerie set.
“Chill man.” Jack said smacking him upside the head.
“Sorry. You look great y/n.” Urban said with a friendly smile.
“Thanks, Urb. So.. how do we do this?” You asked shyly.
“Y’all just do your thing, and I’ll give directions where they’re needed.” Urban said setting up his video camera and his vintage camera.
“I figure we’d take pictures first, and then videos?” He asked the two of you.
“Sounds good.” Jack said, making his way towards you, tilting your chin up and smiling down at you. “Y’okay baby?” He said quietly, only for you to hear. “Mmhmm.” You nodded your head - still in his palm - and smiled back at him, the dimples he loved so much peeking out.
You got on the middle of the bed, perched on your knees as you faced the boys. Jack put on some music to set the mood, with Urban starting to snap pictures as you posed. After a few shots, Jack placed his Kentucky state chain around you.
“A few with this chain too. Looks good on you sweetheart.” He said winking. Urban kept taking pictures as you continued to pose - tits, ass, thighs, pussy - all up in Urban’s camera lens, as well as his own face. He really tried to keep his professional brain on, but part of him couldn’t doubt the arousal he was feeling from seeing you like this. You saw his tongue peek out and swipe his lips when you sat on your knees spread, pulling your bra down enough for your tits to squeeze out, biting your lip.
“Okay lie on your back for me.” Urban asked you.
You did as he instructed, laying down on the bed and he straddled your waist to get a good birds eye shot.
Jack replaced his Kentucky state chain for the KY one now, his favorite chain to see you in. It was basically yours now, he wore it every once in a while, but he loved seeing it on you more than on him.
“So pretty for us, baby.” Jack praised you, boosting your confidence and smiling at him. Urban sat perched on top of you, careful not to make any certain moves; when all he really wanted to do was grind into your hips right now. You looked up at him so innocently, long lashes batting at him, soft thick pink lips that were coated in lip gloss, shining up at him. Urban continued to take a few pictures before you took your bra off. You laid back pushing your boobs together as your heard the shutter of his camera.
Urban asked Jack to exchange his camera for his video camera, deciding he had gotten enough pictures for now. It was when you reached a hand down to your panties and started to rub your clit under the fabric, letting out a soft moan, that Urban’s dick got hard. You felt and noticed this, looking up at him, grinning. Glancing at Jack, you gave him a knowing look, and he nodded, signaling he gave his permission. Looking back at Urban, you put your hand on his bulge, rubbing up and down his length, adding some pressure. Urban was caught off guard, lowering the gadget in his hand, looking at you with confusion and relief.
“It’s okay Urb. Keep going.” You assured him.
He craned his neck to look at Jack. “All good man.” He promised him. Urban turned back to you and got off the bed. Before you thought you had scared him off, he put the camera down and pulled down his jeans and T-shirt, so he was left in his boxers and undershirt. Jack did the same and walked over to the edge of the bed while Urban picked the video camera back up.
“C’mere, princess.” Jack said, pulling at your legs so you slid closer to him. He turned you over so you were on your stomach, and then he put his hands on your hips, lifting them so you were on your knees - ass in the air. Jack spanked you a few times, causing you to squeal and whine out in pleasure; Urban’s dick occasionally twitching at your moans within his boxers. Jack slid your panties down your legs, rubbing his hand over you ass again before spanking it one more time.
“Fuck!” You moaned into the sheets.
“Y’see what I mean about the sounds she makes for me Urb? So hot.” Jack chuckled as Urban hummed in agreement.
“Turn around again, sweetheart. We wanna see you.” Jack said rubbing his hand on your lower back, giving a kiss to your spine. You flipped over, and Jack took your ankles, spreading your legs open. He swiped his thumb through your folds, your left leg twitching at his action.
“So fucking wet, baby. You gotta come see this Urb.” Jack said. Urban bent down on his knees, and rested an arm over your leg to get a good angle of your pussy with his camera. Jack spread your folds with two fingers, and continued to rub at your clit with his thumb. He finally inserted two fingers, slowly pumping in and out of you. You couldn’t contain your moans, hands now removed from your tits, currents grasping at the sheets beneath you. Urban was practically drooling at how your pussy glistened on camera. He looked up at you and you met his stare, eyes hooded and smiling that sweet smile of yours at him, he could cum right now at sight before him to be honest.
Jack kissed your clit before removing his fingers, causing you to let out a frustrated whine. He slapped your clit, making you cry out before chuckling and removing his briefs.
“See how bratty she gets when she’s needy man? Dick is the only way to shut her up. Show us how needy you can get, sweet face.” He said turning his attention back to you. Jack stroked his dick a few times before positioning himself at your entrance. He slowly thrusted into you, letting out a grunt of relief, while you moaned out at the fullness.
“Oh god, Jack.” You cried out, as he sped his pace up, the slapping of his thighs against your ass echoing the room. Urban filmed Jack fucking you, watching as his dick slid in an out of your pretty pussy. He angled the camera back up you body, getting your chest and your face in the frame. You smiled up at him, and reached a hand out for him to take, which he did. You brought his hand to your breast, squeezing his hand over the flesh, making your moan out a borderline pornographic moan, to which Urban shivered at.
“Urbannnn-“ you whined out.
“She wants you in her throat Urb. Make her be quiet for a little.” Jack grunted.
You tugged Urban’s grey sweats down, his erect cock slapping up against his lower abdomen. He got closer to your face and you leaned your neck to swallow him whole.
“Jesus, fuck-“ Urban said inhaling a sharp breath as you bobbed your head up and down on his dick.
Jack took your right left and lifted it over his shoulder, causing him to hit a new position with in you. You felt your stomach start to tighten as Jack fucked you at the intense speed and harshness he thrusted at, his tip constantly nudging your cervix. You moaned around Urban’s cock, which was now slathered in your saliva and his precum, the blowjob becoming messy - a favorite of yours.
“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum-“ Urban groaned out, as the hand that had snuck into your hair tugged at your locks. Urban pulled away from your mouth and jerked his cock, cumming in your mouth and on your tits, groaning deeply.
The action made your head fuzzy with arousal, making you clench around Jack’s dick as your toes curled and your grasp on the sheets inbetween you fingers were so hard you thought you had ripped them. You came with a loud moan, tears spilling from your eyes, your mascara running down the sides of your face. Jack finally reached his peak, pulling out and cumming all over your pussy and lower stomach.
“Fuck.” He breathed out, setting your leg down and leaning against your knees. You couldn’t speak. You were a floating mess, covered in cum and unable to form any words, much less use your voice to even squeak out a single sound.
“God damn. You weren’t lying about her mouth.” Urban groaned in disbelief. He also couldn’t believe he managed to keep filming the entire thing, he was everything went out of frame once you put your mouth on him, but he managed to capture everything - much to his surprise.
Jack laughed at his comment, and looking at you, expecting you to have a comeback or yell at Jack for discussing your sex life so freely with others. But nothing came, your brows furrowed and eyes still shut, riding out your orgasm and the intense wave this one was.
“Looks like the dick finally shut her up.” Jack joked and fist bumped Urban before the two boys put their boxers back on and went to clean you up and take care of you.
Jack came over with a warm wet cloth, cleaning the cum off of you before kissing your forehead.
“Footage is gonna come out great baby, you were our own personal pornstar. So pretty…” he murmured.
You gave him a lazy smile, eyes still very much hooded in exhaustion. The boys smiled at you, taking in the angelic sight that was you. You hair fanned out, drunk smile on your face, the smell of cum still on your skin, relishing in the attention and praise you received from the two men before you. The three of you felt beyond satisfied, and excited to rewatch the events that just played out again once it was all edited.
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Tag list: @hoodharlow @moody4world @lenaskyler02 @lcandothisallday @harlowthot @triplexdoublex @thinkingaboutjharlow @bbyharlow @jackharlows-world
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sinsandsuccubus · 9 months
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SUNDAY NIGHT - Jack Harlow
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Context: “Somethin tell me that a relapse comin.”
Genre: angst
Word Count: 2.2k+
Pairings: Jack Harlow X Ex!Fem!Reader
Warnings: n/a
a/n: Okay, so this concept was based on a story post written by the wonderful @lcandothisallday , called “Promises”, which I have linked at the bottom of this post. Thank you so much for allowing me to recreate your story, I greatly appreciate it.
Also, sorry for any spelling or grammar errors, I kept disassociating when I was reading this back over.
Masterlist ☽☾
                                          ☽ ☾
Please don't let nothing get back to me
I've been trying to detach from you
Deep down though, I wanna know about what the fuck you been up to
Old him could have seen that coming
Fuck you I don't need nothing from ya
I was doing pretty good without you
But something tells me that a relapse coming
It was like high-school all over again. Seeing the school in similar shape as it was when you left brought back nostalgic memories. They had painted the lockers and had given the cafeteria and auditorium, as well as the gym, new looks. Of course, new desks were due, and better spirit and decor were all over the place, but overall? The place was a mirror image of memories. You traced the painted gaps of the brick walls with your finger, getting that same smooth feeling on the tip of your finger. Just as you were rounding the corner to the main hallway, you ran directly into a friend.
“Y/N?” You heard a voice speak, their hands landing on your shoulders to steady you. You looked up at the individual only to see someone you hadn’t seen in a long time.
Well, you’d seen, but not actually seen.
“Urban?” You exclaimed, almost jumping into his arms when he nodded his head.
“Holy shit! It’s so good to see you! You look gorgeous, as always.” He spoke, embracing your body in a tight hug. The black, thin-strapped dress that adorned your body as well as the matching black Louis Vuitton pumps and small diamond necklace. A beautiful tennis bracelet sat on your wrist, your hair styled to perfection, almost looking like you walked fresh off the runway.
You had made a name for yourself in your career field, which had put you in a pretty stable financial bracket.
Besides, it was always best to one-up the hoes of your old high-school at your reunion.
Especially since the Jack Harlow was in attendance.
You reflected back on those days when you both were smitten with each other, two teenagers in love. You, actually, often reflect back on it every time he posts on Instagram.
Not that you follow him on Instagram or anything.
No, you totally only see him through Urban’s account, which tags his account in things.
Right.
You and Jack had broken up shortly before his debut album, That’s What They All Say, Jack allowing the fame to take over his personal life and relationships. At least, that’s how you see things.
“Y/N, I swear it means nothing. You know that you’re everything to me, it’s all a part of the game baby. I’ve gotta remain a heartthrob for all the fans.”
“But you had to say you were single during that interview?! You couldn’t have diverted the question? Gave a different answer?”
“Like what Y/N?!”
“Oh, I don’t know Jack. Maybe ‘That’s for me to know and for you to never find out.’ Or, or! ‘I’ll leave it up to y’all to think and decide the answer.’ Anything that didn’t scream “Hey, I’m totally single and out for grabs.”
“You know that’s not it works baby. I have to follow a script.”
“Yeah, and I have to follow my gut.”
“What are you saying?”
“I want to break up.”
Sure, you had broken it off, but if Jack hadn’t played the part, you’d still be together.
Maybe.
“Yeah, and you still smell like weed Urban.”
“Seriously, it’s that bad? I thought that cologne I bought would hide the smell good enough.” He pulled up the collar of his shirt to smell himself, looking around the hallway you two were standing lone in. You laughed at his jester, slapping his shoulder.
“I swear you don’t change.”
“And neither do you Y/N.” He looked around again. “I swear Jack was just around here, he’ll be happy to see you.”
“Mm, I don’t think so.”
“Come on Y/N, don’t think like that.”
“Urban, how can I not? I broke up with him when he needed me.”
“Y/N, you and I both know that wasn’t the case. You got out before the fame got to him, which I don’t blame you for. It’s a little too much for me sometimes if you really wanna ask.” He put a hand on your shoulder, sliding it down to rest on your bicep.
“Look, 2fo and the rest of the guys are throwing an after-party after the reunion and I want you to come.”
“Urban, I don’t-“
“Don’t worry about Jack, don’t come for him. Come for me.” He looked you in the eyes, firm in his word.
“Fine. Only for you Urby.”
“I love it when you call me that.”
It was a house party. Urban had let you know before he gave you the address, and you thought it was a good idea to make a pit stop home to change the look.
Designer heels at a house party? In the backyard? Not a good idea.
Urban greeted you at the door and handed you a wine cooler, guiding you to the backyard where everyone surrounded the fire pit.
“Are there marshmallows?” You asked Urban, whispering in his ear.
“Yup. Some of the chocolate is infused though.”
“Of course it is.” You and Urban laughed before catching the eyes of a few of some other people.
“Y/N! Whatcha doin here?!” 2fo ran up and gave you a hug, squeezing you in his embrace.
“Urban invited me, figured I’d stop in.”
“Stop in? You’re staying. Come sit with us by the fire.” 2fo practically dragged you towards the pit, plopping you down in one of the free seats.
“Yo Y/N, how’s it going? How’s life?” Copelean spoke, giving you a fist bump as you set next to him. Sunni tipped his hat, proceeding to continue roasting his marshmallows.
“Pretty damn good. I made a name for myself after I graduated uni, I flew in just for the reunion.”
“How long are you here for?” 2fo asked, taking a hit off the blunt Urban passed.
“Another two days. I’m catching up with a couple of my girlfriends before heading back out.”
“And you weren’t gonna stop by?”
“I didn’t think Jack would like that.”
The area got silent, tension slowly filling the area. Before Sunni cut it with a knife.
“Y/N, I don’t think it was your fault at all. Yeah, you broke up with him, but you wanted out before the fame.” He spoke, taking a long sip of his beer.
“Yeah, and I can respect that. You never seemed like the type to be attracted to the spotlight. I remember when you got published for an article and you wanted to be published as “anonymous”. Cope spoke, laughing as he passed the blunt back to Urban.
“Listen, I was embarrassed-“
“It was good work.”
“Never said it wasn’t. I just didn’t want everyone to know it was me who wrote that long-ass paper.”
“Yeah yeah. Whatever. Either way, I don’t blame you. We all don’t. We just wish you would have stayed in touch with us at least.”
You nodded your head at all of them, them smiling in return.
“Well. Enough of that! Pass me a s’more, without the special chocolate.” Everyone laughed, Urban passing you the unopened bar of Hersey chocolate. An hour passed as you caught up with them all, sharing stories.
“Yeah, so then he thinks it’s a great idea to race with no shoes on in the dorm lobby. So then, as he rounds the corner, he slips and slides smack into the pole. That’s when I learned he was a lightweight.” Everyone laughed at your story, Urban turning his head as a figure appeared.
“Hey, every- Y/N? What are you doing here?” Jack spoke, his voice changing from happy to annoyed. You stood up, turning to face your ex.
“Nice to see you too Jack.” You folded your arms over your chest, Urban placing an arm over your shoulder as he stood.
“I invited her. It’s been a while since we’ve all seen her, I thought it would be good to catch up.”
“Yeah, without telling me. I greatly appreciate it.”
“Not everything is about you Jack.”
“No, it’s not. But I would have appreciated it if someone had told me my ex was coming.” Once again, it was silent.
“I texted you.” Urban spoke, eyeing Jack with narrow eyes.
“Yeah well, I obviously didn’t see it.”
“Yeah, and I obviously shouldn’t be here. If you’re gonna act like that.” You spoke, grabbing a napkin to wipe your hands of the remaining s’more.
“Y/N, don’t go.” Sunni spoke, now sitting up in his lawn chair.
“Actually, I think it’s a good idea.” Jack spoke, making your eyes widen.
“Okay, I get it, you’re hurt by me breaking up with you, but I’d expect you to be more mature than to hold grudges Jack.”
“Yeah, well, you thought wrong. How did you think I would react after you left me?”
“And how did you think I felt when you went on that interview?”
“You’re still on that?” Jack sighed.
“Yes, Jack! I am because that’s the main reason we broke up! I couldn’t live like that knowing I was your dirty little secret.”
“Yeah, well maybe I should have stayed single. Wouldn’t have to deal with you bitchin'.”
You stared at Jack in silence, tension higher than before. You clenched your fist, close to slapping him across the face.
“Say that one more time, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
“I said, maybe I should have stay-“
“That’s enough Jack.” Urban spoke sternly, dropping his arm from your shoulders to look at him.
“What? Y’all act like she didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Because she didn’t. We all saw how you acted during that interview, and we all can see how your fans are with you now. Y/N’s not cut out for that, and you know it.” Copelean stood up, moving to stand next to you.
“Damn, so y’all really gonna do me like that?” Jack spoke, glaring at his friends.
“Don’t worry about it guys. I’ll take my leave.” You spoke firmly, spinning around and heading for the patio doors.
“Y/N, wait!” You threw your hand up in response, grabbing the keys to your car off the counter, all the while Urban took to Jack.
“Are you fucking serious dude? You couldn’t have been more of an ass?”
“What? Y’all seriously thought I’d be okay with my ex at my party? Especially that ex.”
“Look, we get it, she broke your heart, but think about it Jack. How would you feel if she went on an interview claiming she was single for the world to see?” Sunni questioned, now folding his arms now his chest.
“I would say it’s for the business.”
“Bullshit. You were furious when Jason Rudolph asked her to prom. And she rejected him right in front of you.” 2fo spoke, raising an eyebrow.
“Face it Jack, you’re upset because you let a good one get away.” Urban spoke, angrily.
“You don’t get.”
“Oh no, I think I do get it. But what you don’t see is the other side. Y/N is my friend too. I was there when she cried after she broke it off. I was there when she felt guilty about it. I was there those nights she texted you and you never responded. And I was there when she decided to move so she wouldn’t have the reminder of you constantly there. You don’t know how bad she felt. She did it to protect herself. You can’t blame her for that.”
Jack was silent. He was taking in all of the opinions of his friends. And truthfully, he believed it. He knew he was in the wrong. He truly hadn’t looked at the other side. And truthfully, he would have done the same.
You had began to start your driving playlist before Jack appeared at your window, scaring you before you chose to roll it down.
“Yes Jack?”
“Look, I’m sorry for what I said out there. I was out of line.” He moved as you stepped out of your car, looking him dead in his face as he spoke.
“I get what you did, why you did it. I understand why you broke up with me. You were only protecting yourself, putting yourself first, and I honestly don’t blame you for it. Now that I see it, I would have done the same.”
You looked at your ex, his curls shining in the, now, moonlight of the night. His crystal blue eyes stared into yours, sending shivers down your spine. Yet you stood firm in your word.
“I’m not stupid Jack. I know you probably listened to what the guys said and brought yourself out here to apologize.” You making air quotes around the apologize.
“Y/N..”
“I get it. I get it why you’re upset. I broke your heart. Trust me, I understand. But what you don’t understand is that I broke my own as well. I wanted to be with you, I wanted to see you succeed. I wanted to be there when you made it big, don’t you get that? But that interview was just a preview of what our lives could look like if we stayed together. And I wasn’t ready for that. I didn’t want to put myself in that position. Can you seriously hate me that much because I needed to put myself first?” You paused as you looked at him, waiting for him to say anything, anything at all.
But it was silent.
“Exactly what I thought.” You opened your car door, lowering yourself into the vehicle.
“I hope everything goes well for you Jack. And good luck with your new album.” And with that, you sped off into the night, tears in your eyes.
Please don't let nothing get back to me
I've been trying to detach from you
Deep down though, I wanna know about what the fuck you been up to
Old him could have seen that coming
Fuck you I don't need nothing from ya
I was doing pretty good without you
But something tells me that a relapse coming
-
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adainesfroggieboggy · 2 months
Text
said i may rant ab emily axford and i will. it could just be the people i'm following, but i haven't seen as much love for doomsday diaries as her naddpod music! and i'm obsessed with doomsday diaries! it honestly might be my desert island album. it's so fucking good. i cannot say how much i love it.
not only are the songs so fucking good, they tell a story! It's got plot! she wrote a cute-sounding apocalypse album with a whole ass storyline and i love it. just. listen to doomsday diaries for me.
below the cut, i will be ranting about specific songs because i can't not. i need to. in conclusion, emily fucking axford.
evacuation?? are you kidding me with the "wear comfortable shoes" being the last line of the first verse and of the whole song? AND AND "and don't bring the memories, delete and erase, they'll only hold you back, you haven't got the space" i want to scream that part. i want to scream the whole chorus. "there's too many ways, to protest and fight for, the better days" and then the lull of "but they're gone, you should be too" the contrast brings me pure joy. glee.
and one of my favorite songs ever. is this love or mass extinction. could quote whole verses. "the flirting and the phone calls, and that cataclysm" and "my heart is a kingdom, that's been pillaged and razed" and the "serendipity or global calamity?" come. on. i love this song. it's a song about having love so world-shattering and loving someone who has burned the world down. i can't express. it was the top song on my spotify wrapped with something like 125 listens. hours i have spend listening to this song.
i love love love love the beginning of grey goo. "2023 and a biotech named steve, fueled by good intentions and a curiosity" i want to type out all of these songs in their entirety, but this is a highlights reel ok. "i look at all your freckles and your dimples and and your scars, the colors and the shapes that made you who you are, let the robots turn our every cell into their skin, but i will never forget the landscape of your skin" an entire verse because. "but i will never forget the landscape of your skin." again, could give the whole song. so good.
robot rebellion. the dancey lil dance i do to this song. upbeat and pretty to have lines like "'cause i am not afraid to die, long as you're here by my side" and "so go ahead and do your worst, 'cause i ain't givin' in without a fight" and the last verse! "we can run we can run we can run, and we can make our home amongst the trees, and i'd be happy there just you and me" pls i love it
bangers all around. i can do more of this. i can do this for almost every song. i'm stopping because god that's a lot of words but look at me. look at me and listen. this album? cannot get enough love. pls. and the cover is my favorite thing in the whole world. a selfie from a low angle of a poorly-lit emily, with sunglasses on, completely neutral, with beautiful tree branches and a blue sky above her and a comet photoshopped above her head and the words "Doomsday diaries" in the top right corner, and the loop of the y in doomsday is also the d in diaries. it's perfect, no notes. album cover of all time.
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shpadoinkle-day · 2 years
Text
Ween v. South Park in Mean Magazine
06/06/00
From the new issue of Mean Magaizne (http://www.meanmag.com):
Mean: There’s the obvious similarities between Ween and South Park...
Matt: (mocking) Two bands of gay friends. Yes, um, the obvious similarities: "You’re all gay."
When did you guys meet?
Matt: When we did the Orgazmo record, and they did a little number for
Trey’s master work, and we sent them a scene where Orgazmo goes out and
tests the Orgazmo ray. We gave them very little direction, and we said
make it sound super gay, and they came back with this thing that was
just the most perfect fucking thing and the best part of the movie.
That’s when we met.
You guys are in a band called DVDA. Will you ever collaborate with Ween?
Trey: We really suck.
Matt: Yeah, we shouldn’t really talk about that.
You have to let the people know about “Fuck That Guy From Bush” and “I
am Chewbacca.”
Trey: Shut up!
Matt: Trey and I are trying to get the rights to this movie called
Megaforce, which is this shitty movie from the 80’s, and we were going
to talk to Ween about doing the soundtrack.
Gene: Are you going to remake it?
Matt: No, we want to do Megaforce II, like 20 years later. Have you guys
ever seen that movie?
Gene: No, what’s it about?
Matt: It’s the super lamest movie ever made.
Trey: It’s about motorcycles that can fly.
Matt: The big line in the ending is, “Good guys always win...even in the
80’s”.
Trey and Matt, what was your first Ween album?
Trey: My first one was Chocolate and Cheese, the one with the chocolate
titties on the cover.
Whose idea was that?
Gene: It was actually a bastardization. We were trying to get a gay
sailor to wear that championship belt. This is a true story. I think we
even got to the part of casting the guy, then Elektra got cold feet.  We
had already had the belt made by this guy who makes heavyweight prize
title fight belts. So, we just ended up getting the next best thing,
which was a large-breasted model.
Dean: It was actually us. We weren’t man enough to do it.
Matt: Yeah, only someone truly gay would do that.
Gene: Totally.
What do you think about the Smurfs?
Matt: Fuck the Smurfs.
Trey: It’s not cool to talk about the Smurfs anymore. I think there’s an
indie movie that analyzes the Smurfs that you should check out. What’s
up with “Ice Castles”, the instrumental on the new album?
Gene: It’s was called “The Baroque Jam”, but it looked so stupid written
down. None of us would listen to a song called “The Baroque Jam.” It was
named that all the way to the mastering sessions, then it was called
“The Anal Plump Fairies,” then we changed it again to “Ice Castles,”
which was a movie. It’s a pretty bad title.
Trey: I heard a couple of these songs when you last played out here.
Dean: We started playing a lot of the new album on our last tour, so
basically we have nothing to look forward to on the tour.
Matt: Do you guys have to get in shape before you go touring?
Trey: Matt just saw Perry Farrell on a bike at an athletic center
because he’s going to go on tour.
Matt: It was 8:15 in the morning at Bodies In Motion, or one of those
types of places and there’s Perry with his little headphones on riding a
stationary bike.
Gene: We’re exactly the opposite.
Trey: Perry’s old now. You guys aren’t that old though. You’re the same
age as us, aren’t you?
Gene: I’m 29.
Dean: I’m about to turn 30.
Matt: Perry’s like almost 40, so he has to like you know...
Gene: My pre-tour routine is finding all the Valium and Xanax that I can
find...Percadan.
Matt: Mickey’s turning 30?
Dean: No, I am.
Trey: Are you bummed about it?
Dean: No, I’m not. It’s fine. I’m going to Jamaica, so I’m going to be
wasted.
Trey: I was in Hawaii for mine, and everyone’s like, “You know, it’ll
suck, but then you’ll be psyched to be 30,” and it’s been like three
months, and I’m really not psyched to be 30. Maybe you have to wait until you’re 40, and then you’re like, “You know I was psyched when I
was 30.”
Gene: I’m curious about DVDA. Is there going to be a proper release?
Trey: We had a sweet gig actually at Sundance, and we played for like
2,000 people. We played a song called, “Robert Redford Fucks Babies,”
cause you know that’s his thing.
Dean: How did that go over?
Trey: It went over really well. We played with Les Claypool’s Holy
Mackerel, and it was really fun. We would love to just be a band and not
do this fucking cartoon shit anymore, but we’re just sort of locked in
and we can’t get out of it.
Matt: When we get some stuff on tape I’ll send it to you guys. Some of
the stuff will definitely remind you of you guys, but not as good. Like
you guys when you were like 14. You guys when you were in 8th grade.
Trey: Was this the longest you guys took on an album?
Gene: This record’s been done for a while, but we actually intentionally
pushed it back because we didn’t have our shit together.
What were you guys doing in your hiatus?
Gene: Having babies.
Dean: Yeah, I have a kid. A little 14-month-old.
Matt: What do you think about Steely Dan coming out with a new record.
How much does that piss you off?
Gene: No, I bough it actually! It’s not very good. I’m pretty down with
Steely Dan though. When I was a kid, they were the measuring stick for
everything that sucked. I hated them more than anything, and now I thing
I’m getting old.
Dean: Same with me, it’s scary.
Matt: Yeah, I’m where you were when you were little.
What do you guys think about Night Ranger?
Matt: I don’t really think a lot about Night Ranger.
Gene: They’re right up there with the Smurfs.
I’m going to step back into the corner now.
Matt: (laughing) Yeah, it’s like early 80’s guy keeps stepping in and
asking fucked up questions. "What do you think about Jan Hammer?"
Trey: The question Matt and I always get is, “Are you guys starting to
hate each other now?” Do they ask you if you fight, and shit like that?
Dean: No, people are afraid to ask us that question.
Gene: That’s cause they want you to fight and hate each other.
Matt: Trey and I have never really gotten in a fight.
Trey: You guys have known each other since junior high, right?
Gene: Yeah, 8th grade.
Matt: So, do you guys ever get into fights?
Dean: No, we’re in psychotherapy.
Trey: It’s bullshit. Everyone asks us if we hate each other, and if we
say no, then they think we’re gay. Then they’re sure we’re gay because
we’ve been friends since we were 18 or 19.
Have any of you ever seriously sought group counseling?
Dean: No, Gene and I are just gay. There’s a lot of cocksucking.
Gene: The whole key to long relationships is communication. Well, we’re
exactly the opposite—we don’t talk about any of the problem areas and
nothing gets done. That’s kind of how we do it.
Matt: That sounds familiar actually.
Gene: It just builds and builds.
Matt: If you don’t start the communication it doesn’t need to go there.
It just builds and builds and it shapes you both into bitter, horrible
people. I think once Trey and I fuck, we’ll be much better friends. We
just gotta all start fucking. That’s what we should tell those guys who ask if we fight.
Trey: “Yeah, we fucked. You know, it was empty but since we’ve done it,
we’ve become a lot better and closer friends."
Gene: "Well, one night I was drunk, and..."
43 notes · View notes
proxima-writes · 11 months
Text
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**All fics are “x female reader” unless otherwise noted. Tags and warnings are available on the individual posts**
MULTI-CHAPTER/PART
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the satanic rites of eddie munson | au | explicit | chapters: 4/6 
Eddie was just trying to have a normal Thursday when some band from out of town decides he’d make an excellent virgin sacrifice for their get-famous-quick plan. Except he’s not a virgin, and the ritual unleashes something much more sinister that lives in him now, hungry for flesh and possessive of you, the pretty cheerleader he’s always been drawn to. Which means anyone that touches you? Needs to die. Inspired by the movie Jennifer’s Body. ON HIATUS.
↳AO3 | Tumblr: chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4
something perfect | au | explicit | chapters: 9/9
While your mom heads out on her grand honeymoon with her new husband, you find yourself spending your summer before senior year in the sleepy town of Hawkins, working at your dad's comic book shop. It's shaping up to be a pretty monotonous time until Eddie Munson enters your life. 
↳AO3
bat out of hell | vampire au | explicit | chapters: 6/6
Convinced Eddie might still be alive, you travel to the Upside Down to find him.
You weren’t expecting the monster that finds you instead.
↳AO3
CONNECTED WORKS
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nothing else matters | rockstar au | connected work
PART 1 of the “nothing else matters” series
It’s been a few months since Corroded Coffin has played at The Hideout. Ever since recording an actual album and having one of their songs picked up on the radio, they’ve been securing actual shows, with actual crowds.
But whenever they’re within fifty miles of good ol’ Hawkins, they drop into the grimy dive and put on a show. The crowds are bigger, with fans coming in from surrounding towns and cities, but there’s one constant he looks forward to every time.
The new bar owner. As of two years ago, crotchety old Hank finally sold the bar to the hottest woman he’s ever seen.
↳AO3 | Tumblr
change your mind | rockstar au | explicit | connected work
PART 2 of the “nothing else matters” series
Five times Eddie Munson asks you to marry him, and the one time you say yes.
↳AO3 | Tumblr
'til the sun burns out | rockstar au | explicit | connected work
PART 3 of the “nothing else matters” series
Your wedding night to one Eddie Munson.
↳AO3 | Tumblr
we are the dreamers, you are the dream | rockstar au | explicit | connected work
PART 4 of the “nothing else matters” series
You pee on the stick as instructed and set it on the counter, staring at it as you bite your nails.
“This is insane. There’s no way. There’s absolutely no—“
Two pink lines.
Well, fuck.
↳AO3
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the mark you saw on my collarbone | vampire au | explicit | connected work
A oneshot in the bat out of hell series
A snippet of life with your human and your monster.
↳AO3
secret’s out | vampire au | PG-13 | connected work
A oneshot in the bat out of hell series
Dustin and Steve meet Kas.
It goes about as well as you’d expect.
↳AO3
ONE-SHOTS
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this is for real (this time i mean it) | au | explicit | one-shot
Five times your best friend Eddie Munson kissed you, plus the one time it meant more.
↳AO3
your name like a prayer | au | explicit | one-shot
The list of mistakes Eddie Munson has made in his life is not short, but he’s pretty sure “calling out your best friends name while fucking your girlfriend” has jumped straight to the top of the list.
↳AO3 | Tumblr
spilling our guts | au | explicit | one-shot
Eddie Munson has been your best friend for years, and your secret crush for longer than you care to admit. When Chrissy Cunningham shows up at his house one day, you’re thrown for a loop, thinking they’re together.
Eddie proves to you just how wrong your assumption is.
↳AO3 
EDDIE MUNSON/STEVE HARRINGTON
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blue jeans and leather (even better on the floor) | au | explicit | one-shot
It’s Friday night, and some band is playing at the bar, a punk group with loud guitar and even louder vocals that make his eyelid twitch slightly in annoyance. Work sucked today and he’s not in the mood to deal with belligerent bar patrons, especially when most of the crowd is sporting spiked leather clothing that make getting them to physically comply way more painful than Steve ever signed up for.
He’s waving through one such dressed group when he hears the shatter of glass. The distinct sound of crunching bone reaches his ears, followed by a cheer.
“Son of a bitch,” Steve groans, leaving his rickety barstool and fighting his way through the gathered crowd.
Tony, the bar owner that Steve is pretty sure was once part of the mob, holds back one large leather clad man who’s got blood dripping from his nose. There’s another guy getting up from the floor and Steve catches a glimpse of curly brown hair and bright brown eyes that he hasn’t seen in years.
“Munson?”
↳AO3
EDDIE MUNSON/STEVE HARRINGTON/FEMALE READER
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demon’s are a girl’s best friend | incubus au | explicit | one-shot
Since returning from the Upside Down, something dark exists in Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson. Something that is satisfied by only one thing - sex.
And they've set their sights on you.
↳AO3 | Tumblr
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aesthetic-bastard · 1 year
Text
Media Interaction 2022
Part 5: May
Shin Megami Tensei IV - After picking up Persona 4 Golden in April and scrambling to purchase as many titles as possible before the Nintendo 3DS eShop shuts down I bought Shin Megami Tensei IV. Like Persona 4 Golden, this is my first Shin Megami Tensei Game. I knew SMT is a little darker and more advanced compared to its spin-off series, Persona. Unlike P4G where my hand was held extremely tightly for the first 3 hours of the game, SMT IV dropped me right into the first dungeon and grabbed me by my nut sack.
I died probably five times in the tutorial. I got my ass handed to me so much that probably by the 5th time I got to the game over negotiation sequence this game mocked me for having such an emaciated wallet from constantly being shaken up and down for in-game currency each time I died and paid the fee for being resurrected. But going through such a brutal first dungeon feels so worth it just to hear this battle theme. SMT IV has probably one of the most splendid official soundtracks I have ever heard in any videogame I have ever played and this is an OST composed for a game on the fucking Nintendo 3DS. Besides Battle A1 I think my other favorite tracks are Battle B1, Battle B2, Aboveground Urban Area A, The Huner Association, Challange Quest A, and Shinjuku Underground District but that's just to name a few I can literally keep going. I think what makes SMT IVs soundtrack so perfect is that it actually does an incredible job of capturing that 1980s synth that a majority of video game soundtracks fail horribly at grasping when trying to compose music inspired by that era. An aspect of the SMT series I like better than Persona is the lack of Social links. You are isolated in the world of SMT. Your party is composed of demons you sacrificed an arm and leg for to recruit, there are no light-hearted aspirational friends you've met along the way. The world has ended it's over now suffer. You can either accept the world as it is and try and fix it by shaping a new society with law and justice across this demon-infested landscape or you can bring chaos and destruction and choose to wipe out all life instantly ending the world. Like any game out of the Persona or SMT series, there are a lot of hours you have to sink into these games, and even as I am writing this I still have yet to complete SMT IV. I strongly feel that out of either series Persona 4 will be my favorite Persona game and Shin Megami Tensei IV will be my favorite SMT game despite each game being my first in the series. After spending at least 46 hours with SMT IV I feel like I am more interested in mainline MegaTen games than any other games in the Persona series.
The Beatles: Get Back - Jesus Christ I completely forgot this was something I watched in 2022. My memory of this Disney+ exclusive documentary is extremely fuzzy and I feel like the main reason I have such a terrible recollection of sitting through it is that each episode is a whole fucking hour long. There is so much to take in when watching this precious raw footage from the recording sessions of Let It Be that sitting through 60 minutes of it is hard to process. I feel like there was enough footage to work with that it could be cut down into maybe 30-minute episodes so it's easier to digest every moment during the recording sessions of what would be the final album The Beatles ever produced. The moments that I recalled the most from Get Back were any instances where you can feel the tension between Paul and George or the rest of The Beatles as they are reaching the breaking point of their professional relationship that would ultimately lead to their permanent break up. There are so many excellent things shoved into this documentary but I wish it wasn't fed to me all in one sitting with each episode maybe someday I will revisit this documentary and expand my thoughts.
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darudedogestorm · 2 years
Note
what’s up bestie. music asks. answer em. 5, 6, 14, 22, & 29 <3
hi bestie!! sorry for answering this so late my fucking internet went out RIGHT when i was abt to post it 😭
5. name an album you feel is perfect
tbh i dont usually sit down and listen to a full album all at once except for a few times so i dont usually immediately notice any faults but out of the ones ive listened to i cant really find any issues in Kimya Dawson’s “Remember That I Love You” or AJJ’s “Knifeman” and hmm Johnny Hobo and the Freight Trains’s side of “Love Songs for the Apocalypse” (ik ik i’m cheating by listing more than one album shhh)
6. from the album you feel is perfect, what three songs would you choose to eliminate if you absolutely had to?
From Remember That I Love You: “France”, “I Miss You”, and “12/26” purely bc i’ve only listened to them like. once. i dont remember anything about them 😔
EDIT 4/1/2023 FUCK PAST ME FRANCE GOES SO FUCKING HARD. SHEER WONDER BABY
From Knifeman: oh god this is hard but “Back Pack”, “Fucc the Devil”, and uhhh “If You Have Love in Your Heart” for the same reasons as above… i simply don’t listen to them as often as other songs on the album 😔 nothing wrong with them i just like other songs more
From Love Songs for the Apocalypse: genuinely i can’t pick i actually like all these songs equally sob (not counting mantit’s side of the album here cos i haven’t listened to it) maybe “Election Song”? since i don’t generally go back to it as much as other songs on the album
14. is there any band/musician who you really strongly dislike? if so, why?
Oh god so many, mostly cos theyre overplayed
ed sheeran bc my mom likes his songs so i get to hear “Shape of You” every car ride ever :( i listen anyway cos it makes her happy but it’s so so painful. idk anything about him as a person but his music gives off very annoying vibes i simply do not care for him
taylor swift for obvious reasons but also because i used to pretend to like her in grade school so my friend would like me (her music wasn’t necessarily terrible i just didnt care LMAO) but now i hate her bc she’s annoying and it’s so so enraging hearing people be like “omg she’s so gay!!” ohhh my god shut up she is the straightest women alive on this earth…
girl in red mostly cos ppl hyped up her music so much but when i actually listened to it, it was really disappointing… go girl give us nothing
(^also the annoying terminally online “do u listen to girl in red = are you a lesbian” simply bc as a lesbian i simply think she’s kinda lame)
more i can’t think of rn i think cos i’m not currently in the hater mindset but also cos for the longest time i never really paid much attention to the musicians behind the music (with some exceptions i still dont know most of the names of the members of my favorite bands lmao)
22. name a song that reminds you of one of your best memories
tbh most of the older vocaloid songs :( they remind me of being a child on the internet (the good parts not weird parts which i thankfully mostly avoided) specific examples include “World is Mine” by Supercell, “Electric Angel” by YasuoP, and “Tokyo Teddy Bear” by Neru <—the big one that got me into vocaloid!!
as for specific memories… hmm… i never really related songs to my personal life cos i’d be too busy imagining Epic Warrior Cats/Vocaloid AMVs (childhood thru present day) but ig the closest would be “Becky” by Be Your Own Pet cos it reminds me of my ex friend who i hate and how i stopped talking to her 😁 best decision of my life for real
29. is there any song that you mostly like, but there’s one specific part of it that you don’t like as much? if so, what is it?
can’t think of any rn! but i’ll probably think of smth later and add it here
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Text
All I ever wanted was you, like the time we got groceries by Astor. You, with a basket with chicken and yoghurt dumped in it, and I trailed behind you and wanted.
There wasn't a clean way to end things. There couldn't have been. I wouldn't follow you to Texas, not with a half-broken heart and all of it, so unrequited. You'd only jokingly asked.
But I'm not sure you understood me. It was the evenings sitting on your radiator, with the radio on, watching movies on my couch, the errands, the time after church, those were the moments I wanted.
I loved you like a book that I'd reread. The kind of thoughts I'd only realized much later were different.
#June 12 2021#Garbage.#I'm thinking of a Charlotte Cornfield song a bit.#She's fantastic btw.#The Shape of Your Name is just such a fucking perfect album.#Man.#I saw her a few years back at Rockwood Music Hall where she was opening for Royal Wood.#(Who is also fantastic and I've seen a bunch of times at Club Passim and the Living Room and Rockwood.)#(Which should date me a bit. Because I keep saying it but I fucking miss the Living Room.)#(Best shows there were the third or so time I got to see Royal Wood live and I got him to play the Oompa Loompa song.)#(And the one time I got to see Django Haskins when he was playing a solo show.)#(And the audience kept requesting things from his pre-The Old Ceremony days. And I got him to play 'Beautiful'.)#(He seemed very humbled to take us back through his song catalogue. It was a really great intimate show.)#(Folding Stars has some great stuff on it. I still have a physical copy of it somewhere I think.)#(I got it when I was in high school. I think I discovered him because a webcomic I liked mentioned his old band International Orange.)#(His version of 'Prince Charming' is just kind of heartbreaking.)#(Any I'm not sure why I requested 'Beautiful' that night. The song I've listened to most on that album is definitely 'Geronimo'.)#(And my favorite songs of his are probably 'State Road Valentine' and 'Blood and Oil' and 'Holiday in Elsinore'.)#(The latter two are The Old Ceremony songs.)#(But I don't know. I guess I was feeling kind of raw that night and figured if he was entertaining left field requests let's go for it.)#(I miss the Living Room.)#(I've seen Royal Wood a bunch at Rockwood. Including the times he played with Charlotte Cornfield and Diana Chittester.)#(And yes I bought both the ladies' albums because they're great.)#(I was supposed to see Charlotte Cornfield at littlefield last year. But that obviously got canceled because PLAGUE.)#(So the last concert I actually went to was Sloan at the Bowery.)#(And like can I just say? Chris Murphy is such a total sweetheart.)#(I mean I knew this already because I had met him briefly many many years ago when I saw Sloan at T.T. the Bear's.)#(But nicest most genuine musician/famous person I've ever met? Without a doubt Chris Murphy from Sloan.)#(I'm sure I probably raved about this last year some time around that concert happening.)#(I just miss live music a lot right now. There's some stuff coming up I want to see but don't particularly want to go alone to.)
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sugar-petals · 3 years
Text
SuperM Fluff & NSFW Notes
↳ 🌹aka some of their romantic antics plus random 18+ imagines 👋
warnings ⚠️ rated (super) m, boyfriends hc, porn mentions, partial fem!reader, sex toys
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FLUFF
since baekhyun knows how to make scented candles, he creates one for you as a birthday present with your favorite fragrances.
every entry in mark’s diary involves fond thoughts about you.
taemin kisses you more than his cat kkoongie on a daily basis so let that sink in. his smooch obsession is getting out of hand.
lucas, having giant fingers after all, learns how to knit in order to make you a warm scarf. he’s still a bit clumsy with it and had to call kun for advice, but the result is surprisingly proper and quickly becomes your favorite item. it’s a little huge but well, he thinks in his dimensions. lucas’ next project is a beanie.
ten overwhelms you with pet names. in fact, he seemingly seems to come up with a new one each day.
kai is a candlelight dinner, rose petals and music kinda guy. he does every old-school thing in the book.
taeyong can cuddle endlessly in bed. he just doesn’t wanna leave.
lucas gladly shares his sweaters. they’re ginormous so, perfect cuddle material.
baekhyun is already a fool. so — when he falls in love, he becomes an even bigger fool. or, the contrary happens: he becomes dead silent around his partner because he’s so enthralled. he can take this more seriously than you think.
mark likes to write little cards and many many texts to express his love.
lucas is the type who can help you put on your jeans when they were shrinking a bit too much in the dryer. he’s pretty sexy like that and things can get really touchy.
cheesy fucking kai, and there’s only one guy who would do this, has actually lowered himself over a puddle once so you would have a bridge. brushed it off like a daily workout rep.
not one shower missed without baekhyun joining you. yes, it’s not always sexy time, he likes it when you shampoo his hair and whisper sweet nothings. and obviously: it’ll all devolve to a laughing fit.
taeyong is the type who wants to be proposed to.
taemin will get a motorcycle license and take you for a frequent ride. he loves getting those kind of back hugs.
both ten and lucas are great at making bracelets. wayv’s dorm is fully equipped with charms, strings, and pearls, so expect matching ones for you.
we’ve seen it, that one’s his favorite move. kai wraps his hand around your shoulder when you walk together.
mark will ALWAYS share his melon.
making you swoon on a DVD evening is lucas’ favorite hobby. he will buy you the most sugary-sweet romance movies. he will often browse streaming sites to select the latest sentimental plots. all these dramas seem to have a male lead who is suspiciously tall and lanky.
if you allow him, taeyong customizes your white tees with his cute drawings.
since taemin swims in money thanks to his profession as the god of kpop (yes, this is a registered job name because i say so), he can fulfill you any wish. he’s stingy and pouty when the shinee hyungs can pay, and the motherfucker baekhyun is even richer since his albums have been taking off so he opens his mochi wallet when superm is gathered, but you... are a different case. taemin will humbly empty his entire pockets when he overhears you gushing over something. there’s a voice in his mind going: must splurge!!
mark loves christmas, you establish an annual tradition to stage a whole couple evening.
baekhyun likes to play charades and especially do karaoke with you. he’s always cutely wiggling his butt and dances like a drunk uncle. he hits the high notes anyway and makes sure you score 100 points.
taeyong can make out with you while at the same time making sure that the milk doesn’t get burned on the stove. kiss’n’stirr multitask tyong alert. gotta make sure the cocoa is served in time, you know.
all the members enjoy playing board games. yep, imagine the fun and sheer chaos.
lucas has the funniest laugh ever indeed. he’ll react to all your jokes, no matter how lame they might be. intensely reassuring.
taemin’s hand is basically glued to yours.
taeyong and mark are the kinds of boyfriends that spoil their partner with skincare. fancy a nice face massage with a nice fragrant oil?
baekhyun has been baking heart-shaped pizzas ever since you started dating. he just can’t make them round anymore.
mark will join you on anything you’re currently bingewatching. 
kai sometimes — only half-jokingly — goes down on both knees bowing forward with his hands on the ground just to show how much he wants to thank you. in case you didn’t notice: this guy treats you like a deity.
ten usually gets confused glances from the other members whenever he gets the current date wrong: he simply loses track of time with you.
lucas makes a habit of buying you flowers every other week. but on unpredictable occasions, and he arranges them in places you’d never expect.
taemin will build you a weird-looking snowman to make you laugh, and give it an even stranger name. ten will build one that looks like you. kai doesn’t build snowmen, he just stands there challenging you to throw snow balls at him.
mark will hang out with you at the beach constantly bringing his guitar. he’ll serenade you all the time.
returning from three months of touring, baekhyun has once climbed your balcony when your parents were in the other room. yep, he was that desperate to see you. somebody give this man a rope and helmet.
taeyong writes down heartfelt confessions on 365 folded slips of paper so you can open one every day. your reactions will range from ‘awwh!’ to straight-up tears.
ten does regular couple yoga with you. a mildly challenging form, not the circus acrobat version. he’ll do the difficult parts anyway. you can pretzel this guy up, he’ll do anything to make you laugh.
when it rains you hook your arm around his, and lucas always holds the umbrella. even the wildest gush of wind can’t make it turn inside out. you arrive home entirely dry. xuxi is so cute, he’s also a great source of cooling shadow in the summer without even trying.
taemin’s skinship overdrive doesn’t stop with endless hand-holding, back hugs and kisses. he wants to lay down in your lap whenever he can. he looks damn pretty with his hair splaying there. if you work on your laptop, you can pretty much count to ten and he’s already nestled there.
kai does pushups with you on his back. it’s a staple. each time he does one, he says ‘i love you’. he increases his count every day.
NSFW
it’s no secret that taeyong is great at acting or pulling off any outfit and costume. expect roleplay of the finest kind — literally. he looks good in a firefighter uniform. you’ll be burning up pretty much automatically.
taemin can’t keep his tongue in. it’s terrible. he’s always in the mood for head. his sloppy noises are the absolute worst, it turns you on way too fast.
lucas had some major problems finding condoms that fit him.
ten and taemin are so switchy, they have an unresolved power struggle going on. begs for a dominant third party to help them out.
kai owns expensive latex gear.
baekhyun may be the king of vocals and breath technique, but if you push him far enough he does get hoarse.
taemin often jokes how kai will one day break his dick from fucking too hard.
meanwhile, mark’s dick is already falling off – from fucking too often. this guy has some major hormones going for him. no surprise, a guy who can promote in four kpop groups at the same time is a stamina king.
taeyong likes eating pussy with another party involved. three’s a crowd my friend. sometimes it’s taemin who unleashes his spit waterfall power, sometimes it’s baekhyun who preoccupies himself with nibbling at the inner thigh while taeyong digs in.
taemin owns the most underwear.
mark takes valerian drops because he is so nervous in bed. it never really goes away, it’s his nature.
taeyong keeps a lube collection. a different flavor for all occasions. he likes associating certain scents with specific body parts.
kai has a heels kink. he literally goes wild over it.
taemin likes to have sex with favorite glasses on.
taeyong and kai are the most likely to cry during sex. baekhyun as well if you rough him up enough. 
mark gets rock hard the fastest, followed by kai. he’s a grower.
taeyong gets the best inspiration for a song when he gets a casual dick riding.
taemin watches extremely x-rated erotic thrillers and bdsm flicks that are heavy on the plot. he gets more invested in the characters and actors than you think. since his japanese is amazing? of course he also owns a giant 90s hentai collection. 
when he’s jerking off, baekhyun chokes himself. a) because he’d make too much noise otherwise and b) because asphyxiation is his favorite thing.
kai feels pleasure in his every cell. he cums the hardest. and, as you can expect, his body expresses it the most extremely, accurately, passionately. if you’ve seen it even once, you’ll never look at him the same again.
taemin has less experience than his discography claims, but more than you’d think. he researches sexual techniques as well. you can brace yourself.
mark has not just a tiger inside, but a freak inside, waiting to be unleashed.
sex while gaming is a go-to activity for baekhyun.
lucas has the best stamina when it comes to getting head.
taemin throws his head back during sex. and no, he doesn’t T-pose. i’m kidding — of course he does. but only when he’s on his back.
taeyong tends to grip a pillow when he cums.
or he humps one when he’s by himself.
ten has the best taste in sexy time playlists.
baekhyun has the best taste in singing his own playlist along.
oh, the things kai has bought at a gas station at 3AM.
baekhyun sucks strap the best. he can open his mouth the widest, drools a lot, and makes the best noises unsurprisingly.
how to turn on lee taemin? he likes getting slapped.
since he’s the most avid and most diverse eater, lucas’ sperm tastes the best. he’s shove 50 fruits into his system just to give you a sweet experience.
mark is absolutely a starfish. 
kai wears fishnet tops if you fancy it.
curiously, baekhyun out of all people doesn’t announce when he’s cumming. you’ll hear it, though.
taeyong’s dildo collection is one for the books.
taemin has visited a pro dominatrix a couple times. needless to say, he was the #1 favorite client at the dungeon. having fully submerged into a fantasy world, taemin was one whip crack away from falling in love with the mistress. but then covid happened and the venue closed.
mark’s dick looks really pretty.
taemin can grind on the strap at every humanly possible angle. he’s almost always ready to take it. he carries a prep kit.
kai — that fucker — knows how to make you wet the most with his bare hands. prepare for the thigh ride of your life, too.
taeyong, baekhyun, and taemin have the best arches. kai is coming for the top three as well. ten’s arch is so good, it can’t be considered one anymore.
baekhyun knows every adult movie out there. theoretically, nothing can shock him. in reality, he melts in your hands.
taeyong is so sexually active with you, he has quit eating garlic.
kai will exploit your muscle kink in any way he can.
taemin, being a devil, has that one button on his phone that he can press when you go out for dinner. he’s OBSESSED with getting you off. once you head home, it’s basically running down your thighs.
ten has once opened a condom with scissors to scare away a date that grew weird on him by the time it got to the do.
lucas is too tall for doing missionary normally.
this will surprise nobody: mark is great at constantly keeping up the dirty talk.
baekhyun’s car is sort of like a brothel on wheels. he can’t count how many times he got down and dirty in there. he cleans it all up by himself.
kai can technically grip you the hardest but he’s the gentlest and great at caressing the whole body.
taemin has the easiest time saying what precisely he wants. he is also the best people reader — most your wishes he can pretty intuit. taemin observes your interests well.
ten likes his hair pulled and makes angelic noises when you do so.
baekhyun likes camgirls and erotic chats with strangers online. he spends a lot of money for nsfw internet encounters.
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vukovich · 3 years
Note
peculiar prompt: soulmate au where your dick is the same exact length as your soulmate’s (i guess everyone has a dick in this universe idk 😂) anyways drarry discovering they are soulmates in whatever convoluted way you would like!
Nine and Three Quarters
Summer weddings were an unlikely tradition for a family that ran high to freckles and sunburns, but Harry didn't mind. Usually.
This wedding, though, he'd have just as soon not attended. It wasn't that he harbored any romantic intentions toward Charlie, but seeing him so bloody happy made Harry keenly aware of his own solitude.
Charlie and Constantin fed each other forkfuls of cake and grinned. They were perfectly-matched. Identical white short sleeve dress shirts and gold waistcoats, sparkling blue eyes and mirrored grins as they threatened each other with blobs of icing, much to Molly's horror.
Their matching gold rings felt like an extension of the tattoos on the underside of their left forearms. Charlie's was a dragon, of course. Constantin's was a crouched hippogriff. They were exactly the same size, but different designs and colors.
Forearm tattoos abounded among gay wizards, but it had taken seeing Charlie and Constantin together for him to notice the pattern. A plate of cake floated to his table and set itself down in front of him. He picked it apart with his fork, separating the layers of frosting out from the the cake, then mashed the fluffy cake down into a pellet.
A breathless Charlie flopped into an empty chair next to him and surveyed the wreckage on his plate.
"Got a grudge against that cake?"
"Huh? Oh. No. Sorry."
Charlie slid Harry's cake away, probably for its own good. Constantin and Fleur fox-trotted past, and one of them reached out to ruffle Charlie's hair.
"No date?"
"Nah." Harry licked his fork clean, rolled the bits of cake around in his mouth, and wished he'd have eaten the slice.
"Still doing the playboy thing, eh?"
Harry shrugged. "I guess."
Charlie huffed a laugh. "You guess? What else would you be doing at clubs?"
Harry shrugged again.
"Well, if you get tired of it and want the name of a really good soulmate tattoo artist, let me know." Charlie wiped up a dab of frosting off Harry's plate and popped his finger in his mouth. "Until then, enjoy hunting in the dark."
Charlie rose to leave, but Harry reached out and grabbed him by the buckle on the back of his waistcoat.
"Soulmate tattoos?"
--
--
"But I thought the tattoo went on my arm."
Harry kept his hands in his jeans pockets, just in case the man decided to help him disrobe.
"It does..."
Bushy grey eyebrows rose in speculation, and the man's brown eyes squinted at Harry, unsure of whether Harry was playing a prank, playing dumb, or playing at nothing.
"So why would I take my trousers off?"
"Riiiggght," he said slowly, gently spinning back and forth on his stool. "Why don't you tell me what you do know about soulmate tattoos."
Harry hooked his thumbs in his pockets and looked around the tattoo parlour for clues, but there was nothing but drawings on the walls. Pictures of forearms, too, all with differing sizes of beasts and creatures on them.
"Uhm," Harry started, "they go on forearms." The man nodded and motioned for him to continue. "And... they're... magic?"
The man shook his head and sighed. "The death of gay wizard culture, I swear. I blame that app."
"Wait, there's an app for-"
"Soulmate tattoos are the size of the wearer's dick."
Every tattoo Harry had ever seen ran through his head at once, and he stood slack-jawed for what felt like hours.
The man continued. "And so part of getting one is getting your dick measured. Professionally."
"I... Uh..."
"Men lie on the app. That's why all these boys are running around thinking they don't have soulmates, but older men know better. Back in the day, we'd just walk up to a bloke, line our arms up, and pair off."
Harry looked at the ceiling and tried to imagine a scenario in which that didn't sound both terrifying and oddly comforting.
"Why would you line them up?"
The man stared at him for a long. fucking. time.
"Soulmate dicks match, kid." He grumbled something about the Internet. "Now do you want the tattoo or not?"
"I... Uhm... Maybe later?"
"Suit yourself."
--
There had to be a better way to do this.
Harry balanced on tip-toe, focused on his dick with one eye, and dipped his quill. His tongue peeked out a corner of his lips as he concentrated on tracing around his shaft.
Was the quill angled accurately? Was the nib too far from his skin to be accurate? Was width even relevant?
He let out a held breath and dropped down to his heels. The paper on his desk was an embarrassment.
"Looks like a fucking caterpillar," he grumbled to himself.
Maybe they made enchanted quills for this.
--
The nook of art supplies at Flourish and Blotts was overwhelming, but it smelled good. Needle-sharp enchanted nibs sounded like a terrible idea. Image-grabbing paper sounded equally dangerous. What if he got his dick stabbed or absorbed into a piece of paper?
Someone cleared their throat behind him.
"Can I help you?"
Draco Malfoy met his eyes with a hesitant smile. He looked strangely at home surrounded by paper and ink. He wore a rumpled black t-shirt that advertised in bold white letters "Truth Quills: The Reign of Error Ends Here".
"Uhm... maybe?"
"What kind of project are you working on?"
"I'm... just... tracing something?"
Draco nodded and reached up to grab a pack of nibs just above Harry's head. The Dark Mark on his forearm caught Harry's eye. It wasn't a Dark Mark anymore. The skull wore a crown of red roses, and the snake had been filled in with vibrant yellow and blue markings. Harry decided it looked a bit like a Grateful Dead album cover. But prettier.
"These are good for most projects if you're just starting out."
Draco handed him a plastic box with more thingamajigs than he had any idea what to do with.
"Uhm, okay. Thanks."
"No problem." Draco's eyes wandered down to Harry's forearm and his smile faltered. "Anything else?"
"No, I think I'm good."
--
He wasn't good. He was nowhere near good, and he had black ink all over his dick. Also on his hands, and the table, and the floor, but those were less important.
"Looks like a goddamn Holstein dong."
--
"Alright," Draco said, and his smile was bordering on a smirk. "But what's the reference? What are you trying to trace?"
A dozen dick-shaped things came to mind, and Harry blurted, "A banana."
Draco did not laugh. Not with his mouth. Just with his eyes. His t-shirt today said "Blink Ink: Drier than your ex" in jagged black script.
"Mm hm," Draco squeaked through his nose. "Is accuracy important?"
Harry let out a relieved sigh. "Yes."
Draco cleared his throat and schooled his face. "Here."
He handed Harry a Truth Quill. "That ought to give you an accurate outline of your... banana."
--
"Hot damn!"
Harry held the outline of his cock up to the light. Damned if it wasn't perfect. He laid it face-down on his forearm and frowned. How was he supposed to get it onto his skin?
--
Draco faked a cough and covered his mouth and nose with his hand. "Pardon?"
"I need to transfer it."
"But a backlight won't work because..."
"Uhm... it can't... light can't go through the... other... thing."
Draco's t-shirt today had a frilly, looping font that said, "Nearotica: Almost There."
"Dare I ask what material you're transferring this banana onto?"
Harry focused on Draco's forearm, and the curve of the roses, and the sinewy body of the snake.
"Uhm... leather?"
Draco shot him a challenging look Harry didn't understand. "I suppose you'd want a cautery tool for that."
"Uhm... okay."
--
He wasn't okay. He had two burned dots on his forearm, and a hole in his paper at the base and tip of the outline.
Over a hundred galleons spent, and all he had to show for it were what looked like two mosquito bites that were exactly one penis-length apart.
The hell with all of it.
--
Harry dropped bags of barely-used art supplies on the store counter, and Draco's chin snapped up. He cocked his head and looked at the bags while Harry read his t-shirt: "Thrill Your Darlings: Tropes and Nopes."
"Didn't work out?" Draco asked.
Harry bent down, rested his elbows on the counter, and shook his head. "Can I return it?"
Draco shrugged. "Store credit, since it's all been opened."
Harry buried his face in his hands. "I'll take it in coloring books."
"I'll throw in some markers."
Draco shot him a pitying smile and stood to collect the bags. His eyes caught on the two burn marks on Harry's forearm. He set his elbow next to Harry's and pressed their wrists together.
"Huh," Draco exhaled. He rolled his tattoo against Harry's forearm. The peak of the rose crown touched the mark nearest Harry's wrist, and the snake's tail met the other.
Harry stared at their arms, wide-eyed and panicked in the best way.
"Is it-" Harry started. "Do they, uhm..."
"I... do believe so. If your banana outline was accurate."
Harry gulped. "It was."
"Huh," Draco repeated. "Well, in that case, there's a giant mandala coloring poster I've had my eye on, but it's a bit much for one person."
Harry let a grin spread across his face. "Consider it sold."
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bitsandbobsandstuff · 4 years
Text
Ink on his heart
Summary: Here’s how Bucky Barnes got a haircut and then decided it was about damn time he controlled his own destiny - starting with a bit of ink. 
Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”
Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader
Words: 7,400 Warnings: Tattoo experiences, a couple stories about war. Some swearing. Mostly lots of feels and fluff.
A/N: This one has been in my head a long time, I love tattoos and I love the idea of Bucky getting them! While I desperately wish I could draw the designs in my head, hopefully you get enough of a word picture to imagine. And yes, it is kinda long (I know, I know), but I couldn’t stop myself! 
Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!
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*****
Not that Bucky’s counting, but it’s been three days, 18 hours and 26 minutes and he can’t get over it.
In the damp, chilly hours before dawn, he sits on the floor of the tower living room, watching the marshmallows in his hot chocolate melt in white swirls. Now and then, he lifts his eyes to the windows, finds the faint edges of his reflection in the dark glass, and tilts his head. Tentative fingers scratch through close cropped hair and a slow smile appears. Even now, he expects long strands trailing through his fingers. Believes he can feel the phantom tug of a snarl.
It was just a haircut. What a simple, ordinary thing.  
But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.
That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.
The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.
And then? Then there was after.
After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.
He despised those haircuts.
But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.
Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.
When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.
But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.
“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”
Such a simple thing, a haircut.
It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.      
Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.
“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”
He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.
*****
Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.
“Hey, man. Everything okay?”
Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.
“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”
Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.
“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”
Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.
“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”
Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.  
“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”
“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”  
“Hey, I stand by that statement!”
“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”
“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”
“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.
Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.
“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”
Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.
Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.
“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”
Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.
“So listen, I was thinking -”
*****
For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.
The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.
“So, I guess, uh - here.”
Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.
“Give it back asshole!”
“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”
“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”
Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.
Steve had cried when Bucky told him.
Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.
Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.    
There are no words.
His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.
“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.
“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”
Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.
*****
One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.
BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973
“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.
Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.
Wow.
Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.  
The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.  
Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.
“Are you James?”
The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.
“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”
Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.
Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.
“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”
Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.  
“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”
“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.
“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”
“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”
This is the tricky part.
“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”
With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.
“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.
“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.
Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.
“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”
Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.  
Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.
“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”
“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”
He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.
“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”
“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”  
“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”
“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”
Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”
She looks again, examining the intricate design.
“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”
Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.
“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”
Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.
“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”
There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.
“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”
“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”
“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”
She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.
The third picture appears.
And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.
But nothing happens.
She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.
“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”
He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.
*****
TATTOO 1: FOREARM
“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London
*****
Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.
The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.
“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.
“Evening,” he says shyly.  
“You ready to do this?”
“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.
Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.  
“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”
He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.
It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.
“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”
“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”
Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.
“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”
There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.
“Got it,” he whispers.
And with that, they begin.
Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.
The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.
When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -
And then - oh.
Huh.
Interesting.
Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.
It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.
But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.
Holy shit.
How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.
And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.
Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.    
“All okay?”
Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.
“Sorry?”
She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.
“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.
“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”
Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.
“So I guess we’ll keep going?”
“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”
Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.
Born from ash. Alive again.
Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.
“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”
At that comment, he fidgets.
“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”
“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”
Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.
“Okay, that works,” he says.
She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.
“You did great,” she tells him.
Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.
*****
When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.  
“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”
“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.
After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.
“Is it okay to talk while you work?”
“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”  
Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.
“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.
“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”
Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.
So he begins to talk.
He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.    
He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.
“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”
A favorite? No question.
“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”
At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.
“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”
Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.  
The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.
“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”
Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.
“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.
“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.
Bucky always was a sucker for fate.
“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.
*****
A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.
“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.
“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”
Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.
Like the scene in front of him.
Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.
“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.
“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”
At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.
“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”
He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.    
*****
“Well, I think that’s it.”
It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.
He feels his heart lurch.
It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.  
It leaves him breathless.
“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”
Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.
But this?
This.
This.
This is all his.
*****
TATTOO 2: BACK
“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath
*****
“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”
Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.
“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”
Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.  
“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”
“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.
He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.
“Are you able to - work with it?“    
“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.
This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.
It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.
Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.
When she speaks, it startles him.
“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”
He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.
“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”
“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.
“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”
“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”
Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself. 
“The whole process, it feels sort of  - intimate, doesn’t it?”
He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.
“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”
Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.
What a gift. He holds on tight.
*****
It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.
It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.
So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.
The one inside and out.
Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.
“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.
“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.
“Take all the time you need. No rush.”
Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.
“You’re okay. You’re okay.”
He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.
When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.
“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.
“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.  
“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.
He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.
She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.  
“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”
Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.
For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.
The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.    
Bucky sinks into her arms.
That morning, the sun begins to shine.
*****
Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.
“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”
She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.
“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”
When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.
“Sounds like a good man,” he says.
“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”
The story hits home like a kick in the face.
Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.  
“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”
Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.
“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”
A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.
“Thank you Bucky.”
*****
Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.
“All done.”
Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.
“There, have a look.”
Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.  
All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.
After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.
But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.
*****
TATTOO 3: SHOULDER
“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami
*****
“So our last session.”
“Our last session,” he murmurs.
Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.
“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”
Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.
“Will it hurt?”
“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”
“Okay,” he whispers.
Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.
“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”
“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.
Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.  
“Does it still hurt?”
She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.
“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”
Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”
“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.
Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.
“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”
Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?
Hell yes he likes it.
Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?
“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.
“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”
This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.
As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.
Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.
And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.
His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.
“Okay?”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”
When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.
But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.
And there it is.
Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.
For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.
“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”
*****
And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.
Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.
“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.
“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”
“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”
Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.
Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.
*****
When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.
Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.
-
“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.
But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.
Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.
So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?  
I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.  
Yours,
Bucky”
-
At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.
Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.
A new beginning.
She says yes.
*****
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dropsofletters · 3 years
Text
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.
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— 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.
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emotions-ew · 3 years
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A Collection of Queer Country Artists and Songs for anyone who doesn’t feel like there’s country music they can relate to...
There is this idea that country music is like just Republican men singing about beer, and trucks and also Jesus,  and that is kind of fair because loads of it is but there are some cool as hell queer/lgbtq+ country artists. Finding those and finding that representation in a genre of music I was literally raised on kind of changed my life in a tiny way and I wanted to share that.
(This is by no means a comprehensive list and also I’m basing the “Country” part of this sometimes on my subjective opinion/limited music knowledge so yuh please don’t hate me if I get some wrong)
Also link below for a Spotify playlist of my favourite gay/gayish country music, some mentioned in this post some not, (with a title that isn’t obviously gay for anyone who can’t openly listen to gay stuff on their public accounts for whatever reason) so feel free to skip the massive essay and just jump straight to that. And pretty please repost if I missed anyone/ any songs you love.
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7KB6PmUxnpkU7lih8Bysvw
Artists To Follow:
Chely Wright
- Right off the bat, Chely Wright is a legend and I’m in love with her. So, in the 90′s Chely Wright was kind of a huge deal. She started her career as a singer/songwriter and released her first album in ‘94, which was critically acclaimed although never reached the commercial success of her later works. By ‘97 she was really hitting her stride, dropping her breakout hit “Shut up and Drive” (a personal favourite of mine) followed two years later by the biggest hit of her career “Single White Female”. Throughout all that Chely Wright was, to the world, a good old fashioned, heterosexual southern gal. Privately it was a bit of a different story. She had public relationships with male country artists, all while pursuing a secret decade long relationship with a woman. 
I hadn’t ever really heard a Chely Wright song until a few years ago so I never knew about her music or career pre-coming out but I do know that even though by the time she came out in 2010 she was by no means at the height of her fame Chely Wright is kind of one of the biggest names in country music to be out and proud (in my opinion) and I love her like an insane amount. I literally play her music in my car when I have passengers just so I can be like “fun fact this singer is actually gay-” and then subject them to a lengthy explanation of her entire career. She came out with an album and a memoir and the album is my favourite of her work because it’s so fucking raw and because I relate to most of it immensely. Anyways Chely Wright went fucking through it in her journey to being her authentic self and now she’s out and proud and married to a woman and they have a family together and I’m a fucking sucker for a happy ending and y’all should add her to every playlist you have. And on top of that her music is genuinely good. Coming out undoubtedly damaged her career but I think that
Brandi Carlile 
- As far as I can tell Brandi Carlile has been out her whole career. I feel like this list is just going to be me saying “I’m in love with her” about a bunch of women old enough to be my mother but in my defence, I am honestly in love with her. She’s been making music since she was like, seventeen, and has had a bunch of massive hits, as a singer, songwriter, and producer. If you want to cry kind of happy tears listen to her performance of “Bring my Flowers Now” with Tanya Tucker. She’s won Grammy’s and CMT awards and she’s done it all as an out Queer woman. She’s also a founding member of The Highwomen, an all-female country music group who released their first album in 2019, comprised of Carlile, Marren Morris, Natalie Hemby and Amanda Shires. I really love this band because they’re four artists who are immensely successfully in their own right collabing, much like the Highwaymen, and their music is phenomenal while also being a fuck you to mainstream country music and their inability to properly represent women in country music spaces. 
She’s been married to a woman (smoking hot and also brilliant) since 2012 and they have two kids together and if you want to cry (again) then you have to listen to her song “Mother” about her eldest daughter. A queer country artist absolutely worth adding to all your playlists. 
Brooke Eden
- As I understand it Eden came out publicly in January of this year. She’s engaged to Hilary Hoover, who she’s been dating since 2015 apparently. I can’t even imagine the pressure that must be on a person and how stressful it would be to keep a relationship secret from the whole world for years and personally I think they’re a cute as hell couple and I wish them literally all the happiness in the world. 
Brooke Eden has a few older songs that I think are really good, my favourite being “Act Like You Don’t”, and while her new stuff isn’t my usual country vibe I am a sucker for literally anything gay and it is legally my gay duty to stream any song that she releases to support my fellow queer. It’s quite different to anything Wright or Carlile sing but I actually kind of love that because it shows that country music of all different shapes and sizes and styles can be sung by queer artists. 
Amythyst Kiah
- Okay so I am a very new listener to Amythyst Kiah, but her music is literally so beautiful it would be a straight up sin to not include her on this list. Her music is country-blues-roots esq (more roots than country, I think?) and her voice is so unique. She grew up in Chattanooga and has been playing music since childhood. She recently made her Opry debut which is fucking awesome. She also belongs to a band called Our Native Daughters, described as “A supergroup of Black women in traditional music”. Their debut album “Songs of Our Native Daughters” did numbers and I haven’t listened to the whole thing but my favourite so far are “Black Myself” and “I Knew I Could Fly” so y’all add that to your playlists along with “Wild Turkey” by Amythyst Kiah because holy hell her voice on that will blow your mind.
Steve Grand
-        The first man to make this list, he should frankly be honoured. Grand has been an out and proud gay man making country music since like 2013, and I have so much respect for an artist who chose to simply never be in, choosing instead to simply write gay ass songs about being in love with men and letting the chips fall where they man. His music is always going to have a special place in my heart and, he’s cute so if you’re into men and music by men give him a google. add him to your playlists, his All-American Boy album is literally just a dozen songs that are perfect to yell-sing along to.
Katie Pruitt
-        Not hugely knowledgeable on Katie Pruitt but her music makes me feel crazy intense emotions and is absolutely gay
 Honorable Mention Artists I haven’t Really Listened to But Who I Know to be gay thanks to google and might be your thing so totally check them out:
Brandy Clark
Ty Herndon
Shelly Fairchild
Lavendar Country
Trixie Mattel
Cameron Hawthorn
Drop any other names of artists or songs you know of 
 Specific Songs That Make Me Fucking Cry or (in good and bad ways (but always in a gay way)) or basically are just gay as hell:
If She Ever Leaves Me; The Highwomen
- So, this album came out about a week before my first (and only) girlfriend broke up with me. The general gist of the song is a woman singing about how her loved isn’t ever going to leave her but if she does it sure as hell won’t be for a creepy man in a bar. A little ironic that I felt I related to it so intensely, considering she did in fact leave me. There’s this one lyric that goes “I’ve loved her in secret/I’ve lover here out loud/the sky hasn’t always been blue” and my girlfriend and I were crazy deep in the closet so I drew her a cute little picture of a grey cloud and on the back I wrote that lyric and I gave it to her and to me it was kind of a promise that one day I’d get a chance to love her out loud and even though I never actually did this song is forever going to make me cry because of the little bit of hope that lyric gave me and the way it’s inclusion on this overwhelmingly mainstream country album made me feel like acceptance was just that little bit closer. 
 All American Boy; Steve Grand
- Definitely one of the first gay country songs I ever heard, and Steve Grand didn’t once sacrifice a scrap of country for the gay. It’s beautiful, it’s a little sad, it’s hopeful. It’s forever going to hold a special place in my heart and the music videos is kind of one of my favourites ever. I found this song before I found myself and the way it made my heart warm should have been a stronger sign than I took it to be. 
Like Me; Chely Wright
- When you love someone you kind of make it your mission to know them in a way that no one else can. This song by Chely Wright is sort of an ode to that, and how even once you lost someone, you’re still going to know every little thing about them. On top of that it sort of speaks to the idea that all these things Wright learned about this woman, she learned in secret and she knew her and loved her in secret and now that they’re gone from each other she’s left with all of this knowledge and all of these questions and no one to answer them. I love the way it’s so slow and the melody and her voice, the way it’s low and a little raspy, make this one of my favourite Chely Wright songs.
The Mother; Brandi Carlile
-        Sorry but a song about being a mother by a queer woman is going to make me cry every time and actually I’m not that sorry. It’s quite a simple song, if any song written by Brandi Carlile can ever be described as ‘simple’, it’s an ode to her daughter. My favourite line is “you are not an accident/where no one thought it through” because it speaks to the fact that in order for queer women to have a kid together they have to want it so damn bad and also I just like the way her voice sounds on that line. This song is also the perfect thing to listen to if you ever for a second feel like being gay/queer is going to stand in the way of you having a family because it absolutely doesn’t have to and if that’s something you want, you can have it. Don’t let people try and convince you otherwise.
Loving Her; Katie Pruitt
-        Unapologetic gay love. Opening a song with “If loving hers a sin, I don’t wanna go to heaven” is a fucking baller move and she went there. The lyrics are beautiful, and her voice is phenomenal. It could be a sad song, about confronting religious repression and grappling with what that means for your love, but instead its triumphant. Katie Pruitt doesn’t give a fuck if you have a problem because she’s going to write songs for her lover.
Jesus From Texas; Semler
-        Not actually totally sure this is a country song, but it has the words ‘Jesus’ and ‘Texas’ in the title so I feel safe including it in this list. Honestly, I don’t really know why I relate so hard to this song. Like, I wasn’t really raised with religion, so I don’t know what it is about this funky little tune that makes me want to sob but there’s something about this tune that makes me want to do whatever the opposite of get up and dance is, but like, in a good way.
Lovin’ Again; Steve Grand
-        Breakup song that ends kind of positively? So good to sing along to at high, high volumes. The idea that losing someone doesn’t have to mean losing yourself and just because you can’t love them doesn’t mean you’re not ever going to love again. But also kind of about how it’s hard to get over someone, I don’t know it’s just good.
Cryin’ These Cocksucking Tears; Lavender Country
-        Jesus christ if this isn’t the coolest shit I’ve ever heard in my life. Sorry but a gay country group formed in 1972 who dropped possibly the first gay themed country album, and this was the title of one of the songs. God I am in love.
 Songs that (to me) are a little fruity or that I just relate to in a gay way:
Picket Fences; Chely Wright
-          Chely Wright is gay but this song came out long before she did and when she wrote it, it wasn’t supposed to be gay which is why it’s in this section and not the previous. The reason it’s included at all is because frankly ma’am, Mrs Wright, it’s a little fruity. And I feel a little bad for joking because honestly to me, the way I hear this song and knowing the context (that Wright was deeply closeted at the time she wrote and released it), it’s kind of just sad. The general gist of the song is Wright asking what’s so great about a traditional lifestyle anyways. It could be read as a woman genuinely questioning why we push that expectation that she’ll have two kids and a husband and a picket fence lifestyle, or even could be read as a woman who’s trying to deflect how much she does in fact want that, you have to listen and form your own opinion. But to me, it feels like a woman who’s desperately trying to justify why she doesn’t want that life not because she can’t have it, but she knows it will never be right for her. I don’t know it’s hard to explain I just feel like this song is a little bit gay even though I’m sure she didn’t intend that.
Sinning with You; Sam Hunt
-          Sorry but this song is gay. Sorry but you can’t write the lines “I never felt like I was sinning with you/Always felt like I could talk to God in the morning” and “if it’s so wrong why did it feel so right” and “But I never felt shame, never felt sorry/Never felt guilty touching your body” and not to mention the opening line of “raised in the first pew/praises for yeshua/case of a small town repression”, and expect to not sit in my car sobbing as I realised that while I never felt like what we did was a sin she absolutely did, and wishing I could have told her that I was sorry for making her carry the weight of both our souls but also that it wasn’t a sin and nothing in the world could feel that good and be that bad and it isn’t right that she had to be so ashamed of something that was just so good. Sam Hunt actually said after he wrote the song that while it was reflection on his own relationship with faith he genuinely hopes that people in the lgbtq community can like find comfort or whatever in his words and like go off king, we stan an ally.
  How do I Get There; Deana Carter
-          This ones easy, it’s about falling in love with your best friend and suddenly realising you want more than just friendship with them. Sorry Deana, that’s gay. In my Deana Carter of like Year 10 I played this song on repeat and screamed along to the lyrics as though singing it hard enough would make her like me back.
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lochsides · 3 years
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If I Can't Have Love, I Want Power Review
Where do I even begin with 'If I Can't Have Love, I Want Power'? It is such a good album, it's almost criminal. If I had to pick the best album to be released this year, IICHLIWP would be it. Halsey has always been an excellent songwriter, that was never even in question, but it has been proved once again, in case anyone wasn't paying attention. IICHLIWP is an album that covers so much depth in sound and in lyric. The dichotomy of the Madonna and the Whore, as they said in their announcement of the album, is an overarching theme of IICHLIWP and it is articulated so consummately. The references to pregnancies and childbirth are more subtle than I expected but that's what makes them so genius. This is an album where every lyric is intentional.
My favourite songs are ‘The Tradition’, 'Bells in Santa Fe', '1121' and 'Ya'aburnee'. More detailed thoughts on each track are below the cut. Trigger warnings for sexual assault and miscarriages.
The Tradition — This is the first song on the album and Halsey had already fucked me up so there's that. I got full-body chills listening to 'The Tradition'. The production is masterful. There is this darkness that settles in early and ebbs and flows beautifully, not only throughout the song but the album as a whole. 'The Tradition' already sets up so many of themes of this album, but what a way to talk about sexual assault. I am in love with the entire chorus line but I think my favourite lyric is ‘she got the life she wanted but now all she does is cry.’
Bells in Santa Fe — The transition from 'The Tradition' into 'Bells in Santa Fe' was so smooth I didn't even notice that the songs had changed until I looked at my screen. I don't think I could actually describe how much I adore this song if I took up the rest of my life doing so. The production is absolutely God-tier. Everything from the way it keeps building throughout the song to the percussion to the piano on the second chorus and the distortion towards the end is so perfectly done. You will never hear me rave about production this much. What a fucking song! On top of all that, you have the lyrics that are so powerful. When they said 'cause who the fuck would chose this?' it reminded me of my favourite Manicsong, 'Forever... is a long' where they sing 'how could somebody ever love me?' so that stood out to me. I love the cadence on 'secondhand thread in a secondhand bed with a second man's head' but the lyric 'better off dead so I reckon I'm headed to Hell instead' is probably the one that hits the hardest. My escapist, runaway tendencies felt very exposed by the entirety of the pre-chorus.
Easier than Lying — The way she emotes on ‘you lair, you don’t love me’ is fucking everything. I needed to start with that. It’s my favourite aspect of the whole song. And then there is that obvious callback in the bridge. ‘Easier than Lying’ is the punk sound we were promised of IICHLIWP and they delivered. The Grungy electric guitar, the bass, the production!!! This one goes hard and it makes no apologies of it’s anger.
Lilith — ‘I’m disruptive, I’ve been corrupted, and by now I don’t need a fucking introduction.’ I mean what could I possibly say after that??! Honestly, I love the duality of how this line could be about Halsey but it could also be about Lilith, herself. There is a selfishness to 'Lilith' that I love. When you connect that to the mythology of Lilith preying on pregnant women and the context of this album — it's just got so many layers. Halsey's mind!! I love the sound of this song. The production has a classic rock flare to it. Those drums are so clean and the bass accompanies it perfectly. The smoothness of their vocal on this track is very pleasing to listen to.
Girl is a Gun — I'm not going to lie, this song isn't for me. I get it. The message is right up my street but the overall sound of it just isn't what I personally like. I do love their little laugh at the start! The lyric 'it's a shot in the dark, I'm not a walk in the park, I come loaded with the safety switched off' is my favourite.
You asked for this — This song is really interesting because they gave us a pop punk sound, pushed it to the back of the track, really grungey guitar riffs and all, but their voice is so light and delicate almost, very airy in a way that stands apart from the backing track. I really like it. To me, it's like an emphasis of the message of 'You asked for this'. Young women are oftentimes forced to grow up too soon and 'be a big girl.' Society forgets, I would even say purposely overlooks, that they are 'still somebody's daughter,' one of the few things that is used to give value to a woman. We've all heard people throw the phrase "but what if it was your daughter/sister?" into the conversation when discussing women that have somehow been abused by the patriarchy. 'You asked for this' also calls attention to how when we're younger, all we want is to be grown up but how unaware we can be of what it means to be a woman in this world, the trauma that comes with it.
Darling — The guitar in this song and it’s almost-country sound are what sets this song apart from the rest of the album. ‘Darling’ is a lullaby for their child, but it tells a story of their struggles. It is honest in a way that feels private. Motherhood sounds so good on them!! This song is just a collection of things I love in music. 'Darling' is soothing and it sounds like comfort, in both melody and lyric. 'Foolish men have tried but only you have shown me how to love being alive' is perhaps the softest lyric on the whole album.
1121 — I expelled a heavy sigh when I heard ‘1121’ it absolutely took my breath away*.* This song is a truly moving ode to an unborn child. So many people talk about how they had never known what unconditional love really meant until they had a child. Halsey tells it as such: ‘you could have my heart and I would break it for you.’ I love their vocal styling on this song so much, going between their lower register and those beautiful falsettos in the chorus. The overlapping on the bridge of ‘please don’t leave, don’t leave me in the shape you left me’ and ‘I’m running out of time to tell you, I’m running out of things that I regret’ and ‘you’d never, you told me’ really capture all the wide array of emotions felt by pregnant person upon finding out they are pregnant when they’ve dealt with miscarriage. Her voice emotes the fear of losing another child, the regret of the ones she's already lost, the promise, almost desperate, of the opportunity they have right now. All of these feelings are brought to life further by the production of the song. There is so much depth in '1121'.
honey — Pop punk wlw anthem check. Halsey suits this sound so much. This track, the production, the instrumentation, all of it catered to their voice so perfectly. The sound is so refreshing and yet so classic. I adore the melody. It’s unsuspectingly catchy. I wonder if there are links to ‘Lilith’ with ‘she’s mean and she’s mine’ or if I’m just reaching. Either way, a song about a love that is a little chaotic and wild, sign me up!
Whispers — Whispering on a song called 'Whispers' might be obvious but I'm a basic bitch so leave me alone, I loved it. Lyrically, 'Whispers' was the song that I saw myself in the most. When she said 'camouflage so I can feed the lie that I'm composed,' I just felt far too exposed for comfort. Same thing with 'I do not know me.' And that's what art is supposed to do. The instrumental is haunting and dark. The way they create tension by adding in one instrument at a time. The production is amazing. Top 5 shit right here!
I am not a woman, I'm a god — Not only does this song have the catchiest hook, it’s literally ‘I am not a woman, I’m a god. I am not a martyr, I’m a problem. I am not a legend, I’m a fraud so keep your heart ‘cause I already got one.’ That hook right there tells you everything you need to know about this song. ‘I am not a woman, I’m a god’ acknowledges that one needs not be a woman to create life. They are claiming power to their gender identity through relation to Godliness. Even in the other lyrics, they talk about being ‘a different human in a new place’ or ‘a better human with a new name’ (this line in particular draws direct parallels to trans experiences). Both times, they specifically use ‘human.’ The production of this song is designed to be a single. It’s got the signature darkness of this album, tells the listener where Halsey is at sonically, and it’s a total banger.
The Lighthouse — The way this song just comes in swinging right away with the distortion and the heavy guitars is exactly what I expected from this album going into it for the first time. Very modern punk rock. And the lyric doesn't pull any punches either. 'From a tender age I was cursed with rage,' like c'mon!! I love the melody and her vocal inflations throughout the song. This is the longest song on the album but it doesn't drag. The change up right before the outro really helps with that. I find that outro so interesting. The contrast between the instrumental constantly building but their voices staying so far in the back on the track creates so much tension that is relieved in the best way possible with 'Ya'aburnee'.
Ya'aburnee — ‘Ya’aburnee’ is the perfect conclusion to this album. Halsey said in their Apple Music interview that IICHLIWP is about the power to choose and by the end of the album you realise that they choose love. This song perfectly embodies that. It’s familial. The entire chorus talks of seeing yourself in your kin and the circle of life. The second verse is a clear love letter to their partner and it makes me emotional, knowing their romantic history as we do, to hear them sing ‘wrap me in a wedding ring.’ I love how the lyric ‘you will bury me before I bury you’ is not only a statement of their hopes that they don’t have to live in a world without their loved ones, a statement of how parents should never have to bury their children, but it almost sounds like a protective promise that they will do anything to ensure their loved ones are kept from harm so as not to need burial. The softness of the instrumental on ‘Ya’aburnee’ is feels like unwinding from the rest of the record. It’s such a beautiful song.
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talkfastromance4 · 3 years
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something part 3--calum hood
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A/N: This is it! The final piece! Thank you for bearing with me while I took you on this rollercoaster of emotions and for being so kind while I took my break. Much love💕
Word count: 5.2k
Warnings: drinking, mentions of smoking weed, dealing with heartbreak, sexual situations
Part one || Part two
***
Five months have gone by and Calum tried to push the idea to publicly date Missy away as best he could. The guys even tried to help, but inevitably he was forced to say yes. Calum’s reading over the itinerary he and Missy have to follow over his morning coffee. He takes a sip remembering when she was brought in to discuss the arrangements. It was the Monday following the best and worst weekend of his life with Y/N.
Calum’s body language is screaming ‘leave me the fuck alone I’m pissed’ as he sits slouched in the chair, arms folded against his chest and his hands in fists. His facial expression mirrors a rock, hard and unforgiving as Missy walks in with her manager and the band’s PR liaison. He watches her with hard eyes take a seat next to him, Calum purposely shifts his chair far away from her. She frowns slightly then smiles politely to the rest.
Calum listens as the team discusses the arrangement. How it will benefit both the band and up the ante on her modeling career.
“To be tied with one of the most desirable bachelors will increase magazines wanting to feature you,” Christina the liaison explains excitedly. Calum can’t help but snort.
“Pair her with Styles’ then, he’s more notorious than I am,” Calum grumbles.
“We couldn’t get in contact,” Missy’s manager says, her voice clipped as she narrows her eyes at Calum. “It will boost record sales for your music—”
“And we want the first single to be the love song, ‘Through the Dark.’”
Ashton, Michael, and Luke’s heads whip to Calum who has become even more outraged. It can’t be that song; he wrote that about Y/N.
“With the new romance rumors and the song, it will be a hit in no time, probably surpassing the charts of Ariana Grande and Styles combined.”
“No, we’re not having that be the single,” Ashton tries to dissuade the agreement that neither member of the band was a part of.
“Why not?”
“Because it wasn’t written about Missy,” Calum says. His voice is as monotonous as his face. From the corner of his eye, he sees Missy look at him with a quizzical look.
“So what? No one will know except the people in this room. The relationship will last about eight months, until the album is officially released, and touring starts. You’ll inevitably break up because Missy will be too busy modeling around the world and you gentleman will also be touring. Everybody wins.”
There’s grumbles amongst the band, Calum’s jaw clicks in anger. He turns his gaze to the window, sees the clouds rolling in as his private life is being scheduled like he’s some sort of robot. He closes his eyes thinking of Y/N, and how she looked in that flower crown and then how she looked with the petals scattered in her hair like she was some type of goddess. Then he sees her with tears in her eyes.
“Calum?”
He opens his eyes and turns at the sound of his name. It’s just him and Missy in the conference room. He’s getting really tired of hearing his name if it’s not from Y/N’s lips. She moves a little closer to him in her chair, an apologetic look on her face.
“Kind of surprised ‘fake dating’ actually happens. I’ve heard rumors and look, they’re true.”
“Imagine that.” He rolls his eyes.
Missy feels the iciness in his tone, and she tries again.
“Look, this is weird for me, too. It was all my manager’s idea which is insulting because if I need a fake boyfriend to get more modeling gigs then her faith in me isn’t all that great. I don’t think of you that way—”
“Your kiss at my party said otherwise.”
“I was drunk, I’ll kiss anyone. And…all right, maybe I did have a crush on but when that girl—”
“Y/N?”
“Right, her. When Y/N showed up and I saw the way you looked at her…I couldn’t compete with that. I don’t want to come between you two.”
“Too late.”
“What happened? Maybe I could talk to her—”
“I don’t really feel like talking about it, Missy, all right? She’s not even talking to me, so I highly doubt she’d talk to you. The woman of my dreams ended things before they even began, and I couldn’t even tell her I love her.”
Missy’s quiet for a moment then offers a kind smile.
“Sounds like you want to talk about it a little….”
He pushes away from the table in a huff then stops with his hand on the doorknob.
“I’ll play this act if it helps you in some weird, twisted way but it means nothing to me. We’ll do all the proper pap shots and appearances but no physical contact whatsoever. Those are my limits.”
He storms out as he hears a quiet ‘okay’ and the guys are waiting for him down the hall. They try to reach out for him, but Calum continues walking.
Calum looks down at his notebook, sketches and doodles of flowers are scattered about the page. Their stems and vines looping through the words that are constantly running through his head. He takes a long drink of his coffee, letting the bitterness warm his insides.
After the meeting with management and Missy, Calum called Y/N. He texted her. He knocked on her door. It wasn’t until Crystal told him to give her space did he really back off. He knows Y/N didn’t mean what she said. That night they shared was something special. From how she was so perfect with his untimely manner to how she took care of him while he had allergies from the flowers he picked. And finally, to the way they connected.
The radio in his car is still broken, but he doesn’t listen to music anymore, he can’t because it reminds him of Y/N. Everything reminds him of her.
It’s not like Missy is a bad person. She’s actually become a good friend to Calum and respected his boundaries he set up for their ‘relationship.’ The only touching that happens is by her with her hand holding onto his arm, and even that is just for pictures. No hand holding, no hugs, no kisses.
She’s gaining the hype her manager wanted and Calum has remained off social media as soon as it started. When he’s not rehearsing with the guys or doing PR with Missy, Calum’s secluded himself to his home and music room all while being viewed like a goldfish in a bowl.
So, he writes. He writes about flowers in hair, flowers pressed between bodies and flowers held together by a chain. He also writes about strawberries. He hasn’t eaten one since he kissed her last.
**
Y/N’s been keeping herself busy, well, as much as she can. Everywhere she goes she’s reminded of Calum. Especially when she opens her closet and sees the small wooden box she placed his bouquet of flowers and flower crown in. She couldn’t find it in herself to throw them away.
That first week after what happened with Calum she spent it crying and listening to sad music. Her heartbreak had her rethink of past moments with Calum. All of the ‘what if’s’ are now ‘will nots.’ Which is way too close to ‘he loves me, he loves me not’ for her liking hidden in the petals of the flowers.
She ignored his calls and texts.
The first time she saw them together was a month after the whole ordeal. She thought she was in a good place and as she was scrolling through Instagram on her lunch break she saw the first picture. Calum and Missy were walking along the pier going in and out of shops. They were wearing sunglasses and Calum didn’t really show much emotion but if he knew paps were around, he never did.
What Y/N zeroed in on was Missy’s hand on Calum’s arm.
Her heart fell into her stomach and she closed the app without even reading the caption. She deleted her Instagram and Twitter apps that day.
When she got home she opened the box of flowers, their scent mixed in with the cedar wood twisted her heart. Very delicately, she lifted the bouquet from the box. Calum’s chain was still wrapped around the now dry, frail stems.
She should throw them out. She almost did. She couldn’t. The dried flowers were the only reminder that what happened between her and Calum was real. That it actually happened. How could she let that go? Even if he was the one that got away and kept getting away?
“You did this Y/N,” she muttered to herself placing the flowers back in the box. “You made him leave before you could get attached.”
The next day there was a knock at her door. Not expecting anyone she peeked through the curtains and saw it was Ashton with a pizza box and a plastic bag.
“Ashton…what are you doing here?” she asks upon opening the door.
“I come bearing gifts of the heartbreak kind,” he grins sheepishly holding up the box and bag.
“Is that a champagne bottle I see in that bag?” she asks seeing the slender neck and gold foiling.
“It is. And caramel ice cream.”
“All right. You can come in,” she allows stepping aside so he can enter.
“So,” he sighs falling heavily against the couch. The pizza box is open on her coffee table, he has a glass of water while Y/N is holding onto the bottle of champagne. His hazel eyes take her in, “how are you?”
“That’s a loaded question,” she scoffs pressing play on the Marvel movie. She decided on Infinity War. “It’s been a month, so you think I’d be okay. I was told that however long you were with someone, that’s how long it takes to get over them divided in half. So, if you’re with someone for a year, you should be over them in six months. Calum and I were…’together’ for a day so it should have been twelve hours, right? But nope.”
She takes a long chug of the champagne until it makes her eyes water from the bubbles. The sweet nectar bites at her tongue and teeth.
“Who told you that math?”
“An old boss of mine,” she shrugs.
“Well, it’s stupid as shit. There’s no time limit for how you fall for someone just as there’s no time limit for you to lose feelings. You have feelings when you have them.”
“We went on one date, Ashton. I shouldn’t be this bent out of shape over that.”
“Hey,” he pinches her shoulder affectionately until she looks at him. His face softens. “You and Calum always had something between you. From an outside perspective, I get why you both danced on that line between friends and something more. You’ve both been hurt and there was always something in the way.”
“Or someone,” her eyes drop at the thought of Missy. Then she thinks of the photo she saw of them and rubs at her eyes, so the tears won’t come.
“My point is,” he stresses grabbing hold of her hand, “you’re allowed to feel hurt and sad and angry.”
“I’m trying so hard to not feel that way all the time, but it…it’s so consuming sometimes.”
“I know. Before you drink the whole bottle, eat some pizza, we’ll watch the movie and we can talk some more, okay?”
About halfway through the movie Y/N’s hugging the ¾ full bottle against her chest as a comfort object. She never drinks her sadness away, she knows how dangerous that is, but it feels nice to have her head not feel so full because all her thoughts are tumbling out to Ashton. His arm is around her shoulders in comfort as she leans into him.
“You always thought there was something between us?” she asks.
“I didn’t think, I knew.”
“What’s the difference?” she stares at him quizzically; the bubbly made his words confusing. Ashton smiled at her response.
“He’d always tell me how he wanted to ask you out. He’d ask if you were coming to any dinner or party we had. But he was scared to ruin your friendship and in my opinion, I think it scared him how close you two got so fast.”
“Hmph,” she slumps against the inside of his arm.
“Your song played while we were driving that night, you know.”
“Yeah? Which one?”
“Drive,” she giggles at the comedy of it all. “He gave me wildflowers with his chain around it and bought me a flower crown.”
“It sounds like a great night.”
“It was! But then he got sleepy cause he was allergic to the flowers, then he passed out on me. But I liked it…” she takes the last sip of her champagne then pouts that it’s empty.
“One is enough for you,” Ashton chuckles placing the bottle next to the pizza box. He settles back next to her and they watch the movie for a moment.
“I saw their picture today,” she says somberly. “I know it’s fake. But they’re both a catch…so it’ll be no surprise that it’ll become real.”
“Y/N—”
“It happens all the time Ash,” she shrugs. “I’m the person before everyone’s happy ending.”
“That’s not true. Look at all you and Calum have been through together. This damn arrangement is a roadblock for sure, but you two are the final drive.”
“That…kind of makes sense. I can’t tell,” she shakes her head.
“It’d make sense a full champagne bottle ago,” he mutters but she hears him.
She nudges him in the ribs playfully until they’re both laughing.
“I’m going to use the bathroom,” she says and moves down the hall.
Ashton checks his phone to see Luke is trying to console Calum, too. It was hard for him to act with Missy today. Luke reports that Calum has had only one drink but is smoking a lot of weed to help clear his head and wants to drive to Y/N’s house.
When Ashton has finished replying to keep an eye on him, Y/N is standing next to the couch. He looks up at her to see she has her arms wrapped around herself, her lower lip caught between her teeth, but he hears the quick gasps of her sobs.
“I really hate this, Ashton.”
“C’mere,” he opens his arms to her and hugs her tightly.
“It’s really hard being lonely.”
She cries into his shirt, finding comfort in his embrace and friendship.
**
Y/N’s found a good friendship with Max from work. Nothing romantic at all, but he makes sure they do a lot of fun things together. It’s been almost five months since that night with Calum and when Y/N comes across a photo of him and Missy together, Max is there to take her to the beach or a movie to distract her mind.
Now when she sees photos of them it doesn’t make her go in her closet to look at the wilted flowers. It’s still a sting in the thorn of her heart but it’s more bearable. The first single off their new album was ‘Through the Dark’ and it made her cry. Max found her laying on the floor of her room with it playing on a loop, the box of flowers unopened but lying next to her. He laid next to her and held her hand as tears rolled down her cheeks.
She’s meeting up with Max at his place for lunch and she was craving the chicken Caesar sandwich from the bistro on the pier. It wasn’t until she saw her that Y/N remembered this is a favored spot for Calum and Missy to be spotted and there she was. Standing off the side of the counter looking gorgeous in a spring dress.
Y/N tried to keep her head down as she ordered.
“And what’s the name?” the cashier asks.
“Y/N.”
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“Y/N? Oh, it is you!” Missy says suddenly next to her.
“Got it this time, thanks. We’ll call you when your food’s ready.”
“Thanks,” Y/N mutters. She takes a deep breath and turns to Missy. “Hi.” She looks around the shop expecting to see Calum and trying to prepare herself to come face to face with him.
“He’s not here,” Missy says quietly glancing around the shop as well then grabs Y/N’s wrist pulling her to the far end of the sandwich showcase. “He’d actually hate me for even talking about this…and to you but…I’m so sorry. For everything. My manager came up with this PR stunt.”
“You don’t have to explain, I get it’s for publicity,” Y/N tries to get away from this situation as quickly as possible while also keeping herself together. Her neck is warm, and her breathing has accelerated in a slight panic.
Missy grabs her wrist again but pulls her into the women’s bathroom. Y/N’s affronted at the boldness of Missy’s actions.
“It is all publicity, I swear! I don’t know exactly what happened between you and Calum but he’s miserable. We’re friends now and all he talks about is you. How funny you are and kind you are. He really misses you,” Missy continues with a frown.
Y/N sighs. She really does seem nice but she’s still keeping her guard up. How could she not?
“He really cares about you, Y/N.” Missy stresses squeezing Y/N’s hand for emphasis.
“Missy, look. I appreciate you telling me all this. You… you actually seem really nice and genuine which makes it that much harder for me to dislike you.”
“I get that,” Missy nods her head, “but he really, really cares about you.” Her eyes grow bigger each time she said really, and Y/N gives her a confused look.
“Yeah…you um…you said that?”
“No, he…ugh he’s going to hate me, but he loves you. ‘Through the Dark is about you. He told me you’re the girl of his dreams when we met the Monday after his party. I’ve felt horrible all this time.”
Y/N stares at Missy while she processes what she just heard.
“When did he tell you that again?”
“His party was Friday, and we met that Monday to discuss the logistics of this stupid ploy. Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry for kissing him in front of you! I was drunk, I’ll kiss anyone, and I told him I did have a small crush on him but when I saw the way he looked at you it went away. I swear!”
“He really said he loves me?”
“Yes! When we’re not out getting photographed he’s always writing in his notebook and drawing flowers in it. Not that I’ve read anything,” Missy adds in a rush. “It’s just over his shoulder I saw it a couple times before he closed it.”
“Yeah but that was months ago, I’m sure he’s already caught feelings for you.”
“No, he hasn’t. Trust me. He’s become more like a brother to me, honest. I’ve been trying to force him to talk to you and our ‘contract’ is up in a few months anyway for the album release. I want to break if off early publicly so you can finally be together but he’s so stubborn he won’t.”
Y/N laughs lightly at how fast Missy talks. She’s not sure if it’s out of keeping this all to herself for so long or if that’s really how she is, talking a mile a minute.
“Thank you for telling me this, Missy. I…I can’t believe I’m telling you this since we don’t really know each other but I love him, too. I’ve loved him for so long but I’m the one who pushed him away. I’m the one who told him to do this deal with you because he and I only had one night together,” Y/N explains.
Missy’s eyes widen and she squeals in joy. “You love him too?! Oh, this is great. I’ll arrange for you two to meet up and—”
“Missy, Missy! No, no don’t do that. It’s been too long,” Y/N shrugs. “I doubt he’d want to see me.”
Missy plants her feet on the ground firmly, her face turning very serious very fast. Y/N’s a little taken aback at the fierceness in her gaze.
“Do you want to be with him?” she asks.
“Um..yes.”
“And you love him?”
“Yeah…”
“Then let me help you fix this, please. It’s the least I can do for coming between you when it wasn’t my plan to do so in the first place.”
Y/N takes a deep breath. She’s really starting to like Missy; she has a good heart.
“Okay. How can you help?”
“They’re all planning to go to the Invisible House for a week. I can’t go because I have a shoot to do in New York, but Ashton told me that Calum will be there a couple days before they all arrive.”
Y/N mulls it over, her mind thinking of ways to make it up to him. To apologize. To make him realize how sorry she is and how special he is to her. That despite all the hurdles and messes they’ve been through, that something they have is meaningful.
Then, she gets the perfect idea.
“Do you know when he’s going to be there?” Y/N asks and Missy smiles.
“I know all the details, Y/N.”
**
The drive to the Invisible House is pretty boring without his radio working so he hums to himself as he drives. Calum’s glad he decided to head there a few days before the rest of the group shows up. The pictures are immaculate and he’s excited to try out the hundred-foot pool.
He texted Missy when he was leaving, and she responded with an encouraging text in return.
‘Have fun! Let me know how everything goes 😉’
He’s confused by the winky face but appreciates it all the same. He’s glad to have her as a friend.
When he arrives at the building it’s dusk, the stars are just dusting the sky and the house is a glowing violet in the desert air. He stares at it for a moment, taking in the beauty of the panes of glass, breathing in the cool desert night. If they were all here a year ago maybe Red Desert would have been Purple Desert.
He shakes his head in disbelief. He’s starting to sound like Luke.
He grabs his belongings, two suitcases and a duffel bag and makes his way to the entrance. Ashton and Michael will be bringing the instruments for a jam session, so he didn’t pack his bass.
Once the door is unlocked, he’s mesmerized by the space before he hears music playing. Was that supposed to be playing? He sets his things by the counter and walks further in. The pool is lit up in a light blue and purple with glowing white lotus flowers floating on the water.
There’s flower petals beneath his feet as he walks the length of the pool. It’s a sweet aroma that fills his nose. Then he panics and thinks Michael has this set up for Crystal. He does not want to walk in on them having a private moment, but that’s hard to do in a glass house.
When he’s at the halfway point of the pool, the soft music becomes a bit louder and he recognizes the drum and guitar chords of Something by The Beatles. His mouth goes dry as he comes to the living area at the end of the pool to where Y/N is standing.
There’s petals on the carpet and she’s holding a white flower in her palm with a flower crown on her head. He’s at a loss for words.
“Hi,” she welcomes quietly.
“Hi…what are you doing here?” he wishes he didn’t ask such a dumb question.
“I should have rehearsed this beforehand what I wanted to say but I had to make sure this was all perfect before you got here. Um, I’m here for you. I know it’s been so long, and this is all my fault in the first place. Pushing you away and I thought I was protecting myself.”
She takes a step forward.
“I’ve been a mess without you, Cal. I miss you, so much it hurts. I think of you all the time, and that night we spent together. Your necklace is still wrapped around the flowers you gave me and that’s what made me think of doing this,” she gestures to her flowers on display all around. She takes another step forward. Closer to the step of the living area, closer to Calum.
“We’ve had our fair share of messes with each other. And it’s my fault for the last one so it’s my responsibility to rectify it. I wanted to show you how much you mean to me, how much that night meant to me.”
Another step forward and Calum is reminded of that night in his room. How he came to her, now he’s the one on the receiving end. He watches her with bated breath, and he knows she’s nervous (like he is) by the way she’s playing with the white flower in her hand.
“And the more I thought about the messes we’ve been through it made me think of the Lotus flower. It grows through the mud but when it breaks through, it’s this vibrant and full flower,” she takes two steps and is right at the edge of the step. She holds up the flower.
“And it’s like we’re the flower. We’re growing through the mud and I called it quits before we really bloomed. And…” she takes a shaky breath then laughs nervously, “this sounded romantic in my head but now it sounds super cheesy. But when I heard you were drawing flowers it made me feel like we were still connected.”
She doesn’t say anything more and neither does Calum. Then, when she looks up at him it all makes sense. What they’ve been through these last several months, that was their mud.
“Can you say something?” she whispers, “I’m starting to feel like an idiot and that this was a really stupid idea—”
He lifts her up to his level connecting their lips together. He brings her against him, and she wraps her arms around his neck, their lips getting reacquainted with each other. She tastes like strawberries and smells of flowers and he’s filled with bliss. He feels whole again.
“I love you,” he gasps when they pause to catch their breath. “I should have said it months ago, but I was scared. I thought it was too soon.”
“I love you, too. I’m so sorry for what I said that day. I wish I didn’t—”
He silences her with another kiss.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay. I understand why you did it, sweetheart,” he cups her cheek and gazes into her eyes. “I shouldn’t have walked away like I did.”
“We really are a mess,” she laughs brushing his curls from his face.
“A beautiful mess,” he corrects sucking a kiss from her lips then holds her against him in a tight hug. He never wants to let go.
“Was this too much?” she asks moments later.
“No, it was perfect, thank you for doing all of this for me. I’ll be honest,” he stands up straight to look at her, “I thought I was walking in on Michael and Crystal.”
Y/N laughs and continues laughing until Calum kisses her and she’s left gasping.
“How about we try out the pool?” he mumbles.
They spend a good forty-five minutes in the pool. Soft touches and kisses are exchanged until they reconnect as one. They’re surrounded by the glowing flowers and the ripples they create from their movements. Words of love are spoken and moaned, echoing throughout the space.
They transition to the bed that is also covered in flower petals. Calum kisses down the length of her body, his lips ghosting over her core. Their eyes lock as he attaches his mouth between her folds, his tongue swirling around her bud.
Her legs squeeze around his head on their own accord as she’s vibrating with pleasure. The moans are continuous as he works her over into her second orgasm of the night. When it surpasses, she’s giggling quietly as Calum peppers kisses to her thighs.
“Wow…”
“That good, huh?” he remarks, his lips smacking against her skin bounce off the walls.
“Yeah but…” she rises up on her elbows to look down at him. “Is that all you got? You told me you’d make me cum eight times when we were in your bathroom. Or was that just talk?”
“Oh, you want to be a little sass, huh?” he bites down on the fleshy part of her thigh. “You really shouldn’t have said that.”
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” she smirks.
“Because now I’m going to make you cum ten times.”
“Okay, Cal, I was just jo—OH!” She falls back against the bed as she’s already filled with intense pleasure.
Suffice it to say, Calum did make her cum nine more times. The overstimulation and her noises got him riled up and he had to be close to her again. He made love to her slowly and tenderly. He gave her gentle kisses and she molded to him.
Before she fell asleep he was stroking her face after she drank some water, he really exhausted her.
“How did you know I was going to be here?”
“I ran into Missy at the bistro I love. She explained everything,” she replies sleepily. She’s struggling to keep her eyes open. “I like her, she’s nice.”
“Yeah, she is.”
“I think she and Max would get along,” she yawns snuggling closer to him.
“I’ll take your word for it. You can go to sleep you know.”
“I want to keep talking to you,” she squeezes his lower back.
“We can talk all day tomorrow. And tomorrow night. And the next day, and the next…”
“Mmm, that sounds nice,” she smiles closing her eyes. “I love you, Cal.”
“I love you, too, sweetheart.”
**
Two days later the rest of the group arrived, and it was a happy albeit awkward reunion because Calum and Y/N were still naked in bed. They spent their time eating, watching movies, and having sex as much as they wanted. It was perfect but also took a lot out of them.
They were both fast asleep until their names were shouted, and Calum scrambled to cover Y/N up.
“I’m glad to see you, Y/N but I’ll hold off on the hug until you aren’t naked with Cal,” Luke laughs.
“We’ll go bring in the rest of the stuff,” Ashton giggles then winks at Y/N.
“Please tell me this was the only place you had sex,” Michael asks peering at them both with narrow eyes.
“Umm…”
“Ugh!” Michael throws his hands in the air. “You guys better not have left messes anywhere!” he complains walking back towards the main kitchen area.
Calum looks over the wall separating their ‘room’ from the rest of the house and turns to her.
“We’re done with messes, yeah?” Calum grins down at her and she nods bringing his face closer to hers.
“Something great came from the mess,” she agrees and slots her lips with his. They’ll have to be super quiet now. 
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