#next: sorry if you do not like pop music. if that is the case just do not listen. you are entitled to your own opinion but it is fucked

[astridianmayfly]

this is, perhaps, my most controversial take of all time,,,,but I don’t think Brendon Urie deserves to be treated like the antichrist for saying offensive shit 6+ years ago he apologized for and allegations that were entirely made up? Wish we could have a nuanced discussion about the privilege white-passing men have in the music industry while also allowing people space to improve themselves (to be clear--SA is always unforgivable). I just find it a little fucked that the celebrity y’all had to chase off of the internet was the one who’d dedicated their entire online presence to philanthropy and human rights activism. like lmao was that really worth it

#the tags are where I come to point out the illogical nature of this entire discussion #number one: when you make this conversation about band drama that is literally 13 years old at this point you detract from what we should #actually be talking about which is white people should NEVER say the n-word under any circumstances! you cannot reclaim a slur for a group #you are not part of and this is what we need to be talking about here. #he did not SA a band member. you are taking quotes out of context about a cheoreographed sequence he did with ryro during their debut #in which he played a character that was supposed to make unwanted advances on his bandmates. for years at panic shows various band members #come up to one another and do suggestive things #all band members joke about it and do it in good fun #including ryro who also nonconsensually did the same #things to brendon #next: sorry if you do not like pop music. if that is the case just do not listen. you are entitled to your own opinion but it is fucked #to perpetuate lies simply because you do not like the direction the sound that the band has gone in. #this is already getting too long but I am willing to have a civil discussion about these things simply because I feel like it is incredibly #weird to talk about parasocial relationships and celebrity culture while not realizing that simply assuming someone is evil who you don't #even know in real life is just as bad as any other parasocial relationship. #this is also not to convince you to like him. I do believe personally that the sheer amount of death threats I have seen just in a casual #corner of the internet is disturbing and unwarranted. And I think that in a broader context #if you identify as left-wing or progressive in any sense you must be more open to the idea that people can correct their behavior #and if you do not believe this you are supporting ideas that would be impossible without many individuals simultaneously changing their #behavior. I think that is a fair argument to make and I think that this conversation is important. #p!atd #panic at the disco #panic! at the disco #patd #ryan ross #dallon weekes #idkhow #anti brendon urie #viva las vengeance #brendon urie

[signedkoko]

Could I get a Mammon, Vox and Husk with a S/O who gets harassed on the street and their reaction? You can have full creative control over what type of harassment!

I love your fics- if this isn’t getting the creative juices flowing just let me know and I’ll request something different <3

🦷 anon

Husk | Mammon | Vox [Romantic]

In which some loathsome idiot thinks they'll get away with harassing their beloved s/o.

One of your favourite date nights is spent bar hopping

Pop a drink or two in each one, sometimes sharing one cocktail, his wing draped around you, your head leant on his shoulder, humming to the music surrounding you

Both of you had a preference for the less popular spots, the kinds of places you got the weirdest combinations, where he could be inspired and you could give him thoughts

The plus side of the smaller joints was that the music was never too loud, drinks were cheaper, and there was always a few spots free at the bar

Downside was that most places had their regulars, the kind of people who couldn't get in anywhere else

The kind of desperation that builds and spreads like mold in the corner of a dark room next to a leaky pipe

On a few occasions, someone would harmlessly ask to buy you a drink and would turn tail when Husk gave them his usually 'fuck off' look

But this time, the guy would just not get the hint

" What? Already claimed dibs on the bitch? "

Yeah- no, that attitude towards you is not going to fly

Not even three seconds and there's a bottle smashed on the drunk demons head, and three cards flying back into Husk's hand

That's when the bleeding starts

You slap a 20 down for your bill and jump straight up, already being dragged by Husk out the door

Insists if he stayed there you would have both gotten banned anyways, and he likes that spot

You guys don't really go out so casually without a good reason, or just for old times sake

A sin and his spouse on a city street in greed was just asking for bad things to happen

But still, if you asked and he had nothing that day, Mammon would always rather get quality time with you and people watch

Thats most of your conversation, pointing out demons and joking about what you think they are like, what the do, how they speak

It's always a fun game, until some newcomer saw you laughing at him and marched right up, clearly on something and clearly ready to have a go at someone

The moment he reaches for your wrist, his thumb falls to the floor, a messy and jagged cut the only sign of attack besides one of Mammons spider legs now revealed

Before he can even realize the pain or what's happened, Mammon lets out a menacing laugh

" Every extra inch towards my broad is another finger. "

That demon was already screaming and running away, most the crowd on the street that was watching now hurrying in any direction opposite of you and Mammon

" I'm only worth one finger? "

" Nah. Just being generous for once. "

Not really a street guy, but unfortunately some press conferences and events require mingling and interacting with others, which he never liked

Thankfully, with you he has an excuse to stay away from others, or show you off

He usually goes for the latter

He's all 'Have you met my wife?' 'My wife loves x and y!' 'Isn't my wife absolutely gorgeous?'

You are the first topic he speaks of after his company; you'd be the first if he didn't have to waste so much time being a salesman, but that is how the cookie crumbles

Sometimes when there's specific press releases, he has to send you off for a moment, where you usually go and mingle with some of the others in his industry you befriended

During one such interview, he couldn't help but spot out the corner of his eye, some lousy business woman drape her arm around your waist and grab at your hip

" Sorry yeah, this interview is over. "

Literally shoves his way over, sparks and electricity flying, to rip you out of her arms

" Baaabe, is this a friend? Whatever the case, we really gotta get going! "

Jealousy 3000

He's glad he stepped in after he overhears that lady had a habit of harassing other attendees

New clause in every interview; they have to include you or provide security over you while he is busy

Author's Note - Tooth anon comes in for another PIPIN HOT request!! I actually feel so bad because every time I take a break form writing is on yoru request and that really makes it look bad I am so sorry 😩

#koko writez #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #hazbin hotel x reader #helluva boss x reader #reader insert #x reader #mammon #mammon x reader #vox #vox x reader #husk #husk x reader

[lwwife]

Helloo, hope your well! In celebration of Leah’s comeback can we get a smut fic 😁

I was thinking the context could be based on Leah’s girlfriend treating her to a massage that maybe turns sexual bcs Leah gets intensely turned on. Could the fic be mainly Leah receiving but not necessarily being overly submissive (maybe just in the middle idk). Could u include tribbing, Leah receiving from a vibrator maybe? Plus whatever else you’d like to include.

And in terms of the context of it being after her comeback game, you can explain and include that however you’d like :)

Louder than the crowd

Pure smut pretty much - long build up - tiny bit of fluff?

Word Count: 1,433

-

“I’m so fucking proud of you” you whisper to Leah, your hands holding both sides of her face. Your body stretched over the barricade on the side of the pitch. You both give each other small kisses, eyes glossed over, before engulfing each other in the tightest hug, risking popping her shoulder next. “I’m going to make you scream a lot louder than that crowd did tonight”. You both smirk at each other before leaning in again.

-

Leah’s family and you decided to take Leah out for a celebratory dinner after the game at a local pub. By the time you both arrived home, you could tell Leah was exhausted. Her body was slumping, and she moved slowly.

She sat on the couch, feet on the coffee table, you looked over at her and sighed. You began to walk over to her and straddled her lap. “Well, hello there” she smiles.

“Hi,” you smile back. You lean in and exchange a few slow kisses before you pull back. “What do you think of some wine and a massage?” you smirk and play with the baby hairs on the back of her neck.

“Oh baby, I’m sorry but I’m far too tired to give you a massage tonight, maybe tomorrow?” she sighs.

“No, you idiot, for you” You laugh at her absurdity.

“Oh! Well in that case, yes fucking please”.

“Off you go upstairs then, take your clothes off, I’ll meet you up there”.

“You sure this is just a massage babe?” she raises an eyebrow, you wink at her, tapping her bum to signal her to go.

-

You’ve set the room up, lights off, multiple candles lit, oil on the go, a playlist of slow sensual music playing through the speaker, and an almost naked Leah laid stomach down on your bed. You walk over towards the bed and trace your fingers over your girlfriend's toned back. She twists her neck to look back at you and smiles. You move your fingertips to trace the laced red underwear she wears and continue to slowly guide along her hip bone. You make eye contact with her and smile before slowly straddling her ass.

You’re dressed in short but loose bed shorts, and an oversized t-shirt belonging to the blonde underneath you. You lean forward, placing your hands on the bed, either side of Leah’s shoulders and move your face down to softly kiss her left shoulder. You continue on, extremely slow to her right, then move to the middle and up the back of her neck. You hear Leah’s breath turn shaky and you smile against her skin. You lift yourself back upright and begin to turn over the bottle of oil you’ve had lying next to you. “I heated this up a little bit so it shouldn’t be too cold”, you tell her before squeezing lines of oil over her back. You decide to get creative and squeeze it into a love heart, softly smiling before placing the bottle down.

You start to smooth the oil over Leah’s still summer-tanned skin. The oil is warm and so is Leah. The sight of your hands gliding over her muscled back cause you to roll your hips on her ass ever so slightly.

As you begin to apply pressure to her shoulders you feel Leah let out a sigh. You continue on her back for about ten minutes before you decide to move to her legs. Before you do, you run your hands along her sides, grazing the side of her boobs before meeting her waist and eventually her hips. Leah lets out a muffled moan and wiggles around a little. You slide your hands down her ass, then all the way to her ankles.

You begin her leg massage at the bottom of her calves, moving up and increasing pressure, you feel Leah relax into your touch, and you can tell how much it is helping. You are soft around the back of her knees and then move towards her thighs.

Before beginning you spread her legs a little wider, to allow you more access to her thighs. You see Leah’s groin push itself subtly into the mattress and you giggle to yourself. You once again squeeze strands of oil onto the back of her thighs and rub it in with pressure. Leah seemed to be relaxed until you eventually moved to her inner thighs. She began to squirm, a lot. “Baby, stay still,” you tell her.

“Mmhh” she grunts back.

“Do you want me to do here as well?” you whisper in her ear, cupping her ass, leaning on her back. Her breath almost stops.

“Oh fuck” she mumbles.

“Is that yes, my love?

“Y/n, I think you know the answer to that”, you smirk at her words and grab the laced red covering her ass, pulling it down till it is discarded on the floor. You immediately notice her incredibly wet pussy and watch as it begins to drip onto the sheets. You bite your lip hard and return to the massage, kneading your hands into her ass. After about 20 seconds of slow kneading and lots of grunts from the blond's mouth she reaches her hand behind her back to meet yours and directs it to feel how wet she is. You move your fingers around slowly, spreading it all over until you suddenly slap one of her cheeks and flip her over to her back. 

She looks up at you, now straddling her crotch. You keep eye contact and slowly lick your fingers, tasting her. She bites her lip and reaches her hands out to touch the bottom of your (her) shirt. She tilts her head up signalling you to take it off. You follow her command and lift the shirt over your head. You lean down once again and slowly hover your chest over her face. She places one hand on your waist and the other on your left boob. She licks across your breast slowly before softly biting your nipple. She runs her left hand down your back while she begins to suck, before moving to your right and repeating the same action. You move your face to hover over hers and attach your lips. You both begin to get more passionate, Leah’s tongue inserting itself into your mouth. She moves around your mouth, as you do hers, both of you grinding into each other. She pulls back, “take these off” she whispers, pulling at your shorts. Which you do immediately, removing yourself off the bed and slowly dragging your shorts and underwear to the floor.

As you move back onto the mattress you position yourself on your knees in between Leah’s legs. You smile at her and look down at the beautiful woman beneath you. Running your hands from her collarbone to her hipbone you let out a shocked sigh at just how sexy she is. You lock eyes with her again, before lifting her right leg up over your shoulder, shifting yourself further towards her. You then slowly begin to lift your right leg over her left, holding eye contact with her, as her breaths quicken.

As soon as you lower yourself, you’re met with the wet centre of your girlfriend. The contact makes you gasp, and you immediately need more. You begin to roll your hips slowly into her, both of you incredibly wet, filling the room with the sound of you two against one another. You feel Leah begin to start grinding as well. As you both continue grinding into one another, your wetness spreading across both of your thighs, moans begin to fill the room. You tilt your head back and Leah places her hand on your hip, forcing you to move faster. You move one of your hands to her tit and squeeze hard. “Good girl baby, keep going, fuck”, you grunt. You keep grinding, harder and harder, and so does she.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” she screams. “Keep going, yes, fuck!”

“I’m gonna cum baby, cum with me, please, come on” she speaks through moans.

You both speed up, your sheets almost as wet as you are now.

“I’m cumming, fuck! Ugh! Yes! Fuck…God…oh fuck” She moans, along with you as you both cum against each other, both of you so wet its slipping into each other. “God you’re so fucking good” she pants. You smile at her before moving up to peck her lips.

“I told you I’d make you scream louder than the crowd”, you smile against her.

“Shhhh” she whispers, leaning into you once again.

-

A/n: I know this is wayyy past her comeback but lets pretend -

I’m sorry I didn’t include the vibrator I thought it was getting a little long, but if you'd like to send in another request for a different circumstance where you want the vibrator, I’m more than happy to write it! Hope you all enjoyed!

As always, kind feedback along with any questions or discussion points are always welcome in my inbox :)

#leah williamson #awfc #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #wlw #woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso one shot #lionesses

[mysteriesmuse]

It all started with Katsuki being dead-asleep and sprawled out and snoring in a way that most people would deem horrendously uncomfortable, and obnoxiously pleasant. Like an overgrown cat.

He was dead to the world until his phone rang. Biceps twitching and flinging awake in the dark Katsuki’s dark red eyes cut across the grey light of his room to catch into the stark blue phone light that was buzzing like crazy. Hands accidentally fumbling as he grabbed it he squinted with a surprised, “fuck.” Why were you calling him? You were 2 years his senior and the resident babysitter/tutor of his neighborhood back in Musutafu. A smart student and pretty girl: one of the only babysitters his parents ever agreed to come watch him. Mostly because your death glare was one that could really rival his own mothers, but also bc Katsuki harbored a little bit of admiration and a crush on you for some time making him actually behave for you.

And as your name flashes across the screen pressed against his cheek he can only remember sitting at the kitchen counters and sharing orange slices as you quiz him for his practical exams. He hasn’t seen you in years. Your voice flits through same as ever, “Hey Katsuki!” He shuffles and sits up closer. His eyebrows peaked — you sound breathy and stressed. “Hey to you too,” he growls. Another whisky giggle, “I know it’s late. I’m really sorry about that! It’s just — well your mother always tells me to call you if I was ever alone at night and I couldn’t think of who else I trust to call. . .” His damn mother did have a habit of telling resident kids to call him in case they were in dangerous situations. A habit she always kept up since he was a kid; always making him walk with you and the other girls when school clubs let out. And now here he was a fledgling hero and Mitsuki was still telling extras to call him — I guess some things never change. Katsuki could hear the faint music of karaoke bars over the phone. Already getting out of bed and rummaging through his drawers for a pair of sweats and hoodie. “S’ okay. Where’re you at right now?” You huff a little sigh, “I’m out at the bar strip on the west side of the city . . . it’s a little chilly.” Katsuki already has his feet in his slides and is heading out his dorm room, “I can hear your teeth chattering from here.” He huffs, “Now what’s the problem?” “I’m just a little nervous . . .” You admonish finally, “Could you just stay on the phone with me, please Katsuki? It’s really kinda sketchy out here.” He grunts, already stepping out the dormitory door and hitting the streets. “I can do that. How’ve ya been? It’s been awhile.” You huff a little laugh, “College is fine pretty mundane to what you’ve been doing. I’ve seen you on the tv and in the news a lot recently. I’m real proud of you Kit-Kat. Your folks are too.” Katsuki can feel his stupid heart leap at that nickname you gave him.

It’s because he used to give you kit-kats every year on white day — which wasn’t really out of the ordinary since you gave him chocolate on valentines, but you gave chocolates to all the neighborhood kids anyways. And despite his parents teasing and his agony you never seemed to think much of it, ruffled his hair and gave him a cute nickname.

He chest swells with pride nonetheless. A particular school event was coming up and he finds himself mentioning it as he spots your form sitting under the bus stop and shouts into the night instead of the phone. “I’ve got my year-three performance showcase coming up next week. If you wanna come watch I can definitely get you tickets next to my folks.” Your eyes go wide and flit over to his figure in the darkness. And the first thing Katsuki can’t help but think is that you look pretty.

Your arms are crossed over your chest and the black corset top you’re wearing. It makes your waist and broad shoulders pop. And as he gets closers he can see that it’s got the lace closures down the sides with cute little bows that you’ve tied. A pair of cream colored trousers and tall peep-toe heels underneath as you rise to greet him. Phone slack in your hand as you stare at him. The black straps of your top dangling over your smooth collarbone as you inhale, “Kats what are you doing here?” Your head of curled hair — he’s never seen you with curled hair before — tilts like a puppy dog. He shrugs hands in his pockets, “Coulda asked you the same.” He says pointedly, you curl in and flush with embarrassment, “How much have you had?” “Only a few. I’m still sober.” You reply with a shiver as you fall into step beside him, “Not as fun as I thought it was gonna be. My friends are still inside.” At this Katsuki feels himself relax he didn’t think this was really your seen anyway. Especially with those friends he knows you’re referring to: the older kids of the neighborhood. “Yeah the rest of them are real pieces of work, babe.” Babe. Did he just call you babe? Dunce face is rubbing off on him. You notice, glancing to look up at him, but he watches you shake your head a little and dismiss it as quickly. “So what’s this showcase that you mentioned Kit-Kat?” He huffs, taking the side closest to the street, “It’s a promotional showcase for 3rd years. Show the pros what we can do, explain our personal philosophy, our ambitions. It’s like a really big resume preview. It’s real important for getting yourself out there to the agencies although I already have good ties to some.” You nod, bumping elbows with him as you dodge a streetlight, “seems really important,” you muse. “I’d love to come if it’s no trouble?” Katsuki’s eyes are glued into your glossy lips while you say that, turning away with the tips of his ears pink as he grunts, “S’ no problem at all. I can get ya’ one tomorrow.” You hum thoughtfully, “it’ll be nice to see you in action up close. I’ve watched your sports festival showings before — it makes me want s’mores.” at this you giggle and lock eyes with him, “I let you do that one time.” Katsuki groans rolling his eyes. “Still the best ones I ever had!” He chuckles nudging you with his shoulder. You beam ear-to-ear and his heart pitters as you loop an arm through his to steady yourself, “I can’t believe we’re both so grown-up now.” And here you go turning sappy on him.

“You know Suki’ I know you’re gonna be a great hero because you’ve always done stuff like this for me. No matter how often others tell you different, you send them to me okay?” And you’re sniffling now, still shivering against his side as you prepare to fight off all the haters he has. He’s matured a lot since his debut, but they don’t say make a good-first impression for nothing. He glances at you intelligent, well-educated, passionate as you are you weren’t gonna put up much of a fight — he still appreciates the sentiment. He grumbles a “thank you” into your hair as he walks you home in the dead of night.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou drabble #bakugou fluff #bakugou headcanons #mha fanfiction #reader insert #mysteriesmusing #Totally random one today y’all I got off work sooo early this morning and wrote this #just a little blurb #I wouldn’t expect anymore of this idea

[lis-likes-fics]

Drivin' Me Crazy

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 3.2k Kink: Daddy Kink/Spanking Warnings: NSFW, daddy kink, spanking, fingering, blowjob, p in v, car sex, unprotected sex... A/N: I managed to write this in a few hours (it's almost two in the morning). I'm still behind but at least I can try to catch a little bit now. Thank you for your patience!

You closed your door as you set the beer case you were holding in the backseat of the Impala. Dean’s door closed after, doing the same with his own case before starting the ignition and pulling out of the gas station. You both sat in relative silence for a while, the only exception being the normally blaring music playing softly in the background.

You glanced over at Dean, the side of his face turned to you as he stared harshly at the dark road illuminated by Baby’s headlights. You sighed gently, reaching over and setting a hand on his knee to ease his attention toward you.

“What’s wrong? You seem tense,” you wondered quietly, casting him your gentle concern.

He glanced at you and sighed. “Nothing.” His deep, gruff voice proved otherwise as he continued to glare out the windshield, the dark night passing by him on the way back to the motel where Sam was waiting for the both of you.

“Baby, talk to me,” you urged gently. “I know when something’s up, and something is up. What’s wrong?”

He shrugged, clenching and unclenching his jaw. He ran a hand down his face quickly, sighing. “Just tired.”

“And?” You raised a brow.

He turned to you a little more. “Why?”

You straightened up, turning your body to face him with a slight warning in your tone. “Don’t you dare. I’ll kick your ass, Dean Winchester. You know I’m only asking because I care about you.”

He simmered down, knowing better than to challenge you like that as he nodded and glanced away. “I’m sorry. Just frustrated.”

“About?”

“All these damn hunts,” he huffed. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s just how it is. The family business, but damn it.”

You nodded, understanding his issue. You, Sam, and Dean had been on the road for well over three months on constant hunts, going from one state to another as more and more issues kept popping up out of nowhere. It was a call from a hunter one moment and suspicious activity in a newspaper the next. He was getting tired, so were you and Sam, but Dean was so much more pent up—especially when the two of you couldn’t let out that steam with Sam so close all the time.

“Is there any way I can help?” you asked gently.

He looked at you, switching his hands on the steering wheel and humming as he set his own hand on your knee. “You’re always helping.” He smiled a little, moving to grab your hand and bringing it to his lips to kiss the back of your palm. “You do enough.”

You smiled a little, moving your hand from his as you placed it in his lap, easing it a little closer to his crotch. “Can I do a little more?” He looked at you knowingly, a little smirk teasing his lips. “Sam isn’t here, and when is the next time we’ll have the opportunity, hm?”

He sighed. “You’re right,” he lifted a brow. “I love it when you’re right.”

“I know you do,” you muttered as you pulled your seatbelt off so you could move closer to him. “We’ll have to ask Baby’s forgiveness later.” You slid your hand over his crotch as you moved to undo his belt. Dean gripped the steering wheel as you undid his pants with too much expertise and pulled him from his jeans.

He was half hard already as you looked up at him. “Been needing this for a while, huh?” you asked.

He licked his lips and shrugged, “You think you can help me out? My hands are a little full…”

You shook your head lightly, chuckling. Taking his cock in your hand, you stroked it slowly with special attention to his tip. He clenched his jaw, forcing his eyes to stay open to watch the road.

You adjusted in your seat as you shifted to lay across it and his lap. Dean was going to lose his mind as he glanced at you out of the corner of his eyes, sighing when you took the head of his cock into your mouth, your tongue laving over it. You continued to pump the length of him in your hand, feeling his cock stiffen as you suckled gently around him.

One of his hands found the top of your head, tangling his fingers in your hand as his thumb stroked your head. You sunk a little deeper onto him, taking him farther into your mouth as you enveloped his cock in your warmth. You hummed lightly, the vibrations rushing through his spine. You could taste the precum seeping from his tip and onto your tongue.

“Shit, just like that, baby,” he grunted.

You swirled your tongue around him, suckling gently some more as you pumped the rest of him. After a while, your jaw began to ache, but you kept going until he was hard and thick and stiff. You pulled off of him, licking at his tip and using your saliva to keep stroking him.

“Pull over,” you breathed.

He didn’t argue with you, pulling off to the side of the vacant road and turning off the engine. He was on you in a moment, his lips crashing down on yours and his hands roaming every inch of your body, dipping underneath your shirt to pull it over your head.

“Been driving me crazy all day,” he grunted, attacking your lips again before heading down to your neck. “You and these tight fucking shorts.”

His hands reached down to grab a handful of your ass, gripping at the shorts in question that just barely covered your ass. “I was wondering when you’d get the hint.” You sighed deeply, moaning lightly when his teeth grazed your flesh.

He pulled away from you, his eyes, usually candy apple green, were a deep forest. “You little brat,” he shook his head, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you in again as you shifted yourself to sit in his lap. You straddled him, tangling your fingers in his hair as you let him devour your lips.

You ground your hips into his lap, his hard cock pressing against your clit through your pants as you sighed. He dipped his hands underneath your shorts to grab handfuls of your ass, kneading the flesh in his palms. “Fuck. Dean, I need you,” you moaned.

His lips grazed the skin of your neck, sucking on the flesh there in a desperate quest to mark you up. He hadn’t done it in forever, and it was well past time for it. “Yeah?” he mumbled in between kisses. “You need Daddy to fuck you nice and deep?”

You ground your hips down on him again. “Yes.”

He pulled his hand out of your shorts to smack the side of your thigh. “Say it again,” he ordered sternly.

“Yes, sir,” you corrected. “Need you to fuck me nice and deep, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” he said. “You know what isn’t good?” You moaned your reply. “The fact that you’re not wearing any fuckin’ panties.” His rough voice made you shiver.

“Like I said,” you breathed. “I was wondering when you’d get the hint.” He smacked your thigh again, harder this time. You whined.

He pulled at your shorts, undoing the button and helping you get them off your body. You kissed the side of his neck, dipping into his shoulder as his hand cupped your pussy. He dipped his finger into you, and you moaned as he massaged it inside of you. He curled his finger, adding a second when you were wet enough for it. You ground your hips into his hand, wanting so badly to feel more friction as he pleasured you.

But he just smacked you a third time, this time landing a heavy blow on your ass. “Be still,” he reprimanded.

You mewled. “But I need you.”

He grabbed your face, puckering your lips to make you look at him. “I think it’s been too long since we’ve done this. Someone needs to remind you of the rules, huh?”

You whimpered, nodding lightly. “Yes, sir.”

Dean eased you out of his lap to lay you over it instead, your ass on full display as he smoothed his palm over it. “Rule number one.”

You bit your lip, letting out a heavy sigh as you squirmed in his lap. His hand came down on you and you winced at the blooming pain. “Stop moving,” he grunted. “First rule.”

“Speak when spoken to,” you whimper.

He spanked you again. “Again.”

“Speak when spoken to, sir.”

“Good girl,” he rasped, smoothing his palm over your ass again. “Rule number two.”

“Always address you as Daddy or sir unless you say otherwise, sir,” you answered as quickly as possible.

“Good girl. Number three.”

“Do as Daddy tells me–” His hand came down on you again, gripping your cheek roughly before smacking it a second time, just because he could. You cursed under your breath.

“That’s number four. What is number three?”

You could feel his cock pressing into your side, turned on by this and you. “Tell Daddy when it’s too much,” you moaned. “He doesn’t wanna hurt me.”

“No, he doesn’t,” he nodded. He stroked your ass as he leaned forward to press a kiss to the side of your head. “Number four.”

Your head was swarming with lust. It had been too long. “Do as Daddy tells me to do.” He rewarded you with a light pat to your side, stroking you again.

“Number five.”

“Brat’s get punished, sir,” you huffed. “Don’t be surprised when Daddy takes advantage of that.”

“Good girl,” he groaned, thrusting two fingers inside of you and spreading you apart with a little squelch. You moaned deeply, your eyes fluttering as you felt the pleasure spread. He pulled them out of you. “But I’m gonna have to punish you anyway. Count to ten for me, baby.”

You dropped your head into your arms, nodding as you spoke, “Yes, Daddy.”

Dean gripped your ass in his hand before raising it up and delivering a harsh smack to it. You yelped at the feeling, squirming in his lap and trying not to as you spoke quickly. “One, sir,” you moaned. He did it again. “Two, sir.” And again, faster this time as he enjoyed the way you responded. “Three, sir.”

And he just kept going like that, one blow after another until a couple of tears bubbled out of your eyes and you were sure your ass would be sore after. When you reached ten, he smoothed his hands over your ass and smiled, dipping his fingers back inside of you as reward for behaving so well.

“Good girl. Doin’ so good for me. You love it when I punish you, don’t you?” he spoke.

You whimpered. “Yes, Daddy.” He just shook his head and chuckled, pulling you up to sit in his lap again. You winced at the feeling of your ass against his lap, especially after he’d just smacked it so much that you were sure it had changed colors.

“You want me to fuck you now, baby?” he asked, his hands caressing your sides.

You nodded quickly. “Yes, Daddy. Please, Daddy. Please fuck me.”

He pushed his pants down his legs the rest of the way, leaving him in his shirt as his jeans pooled around his feet. “Daddy’s gonna give you what you want, sweetheart.”

He took his cock into his hand, pumping up and down the length of it with a deep groan before he positioned himself at your pussy. “I wanna hear you beg one more time.”

You whined, grinding your hips against him as you obeyed. “Daddy, please, fuck me. Please, sir, I need you to fuck me so bad. Needa feel you inside me.”

He gripped your waist tightly as he listened to you, his cock bouncing a little at the high praise. “Such a good fucking girl,” he mumbled before pulling your hips down as he thrust himself inside of you to the hilt in one go. You moaned loudly, settling in his lap with a slight swivel of your hips as you clenched around him to get used to how thick he was.

“Fuck, Daddy,” you moaned. “Feels so good.” “Yeah?” he hummed. “You’re dripping all over me, and we haven’t even started yet.” If he hadn’t already started, you were in for a good fuck.

He held you tight as he started moving your hips to grind against his, grunting roughly as he slowly built up a speed. He lifted you off his lap just until you were left with the tip of his cock inside of you before slamming you back down onto his lap.

“Fuck, I’ve been thinking about this all day. Hell, all week,” he groaned as he began to bring you down on his cock hard and fast. You threw your head back, moaning as he fucked up into you. You helped, lifting yourself up and falling back into his lap with his rhythm as you let his thick cock fill you up until you were nice and full.

“Just like this,” he continued, grunting in your ear. “All desperate for me. Taking Daddy’s cock as fuckin’ hard as I give it to you. He fucked into you a little faster, his kiss-swollen lips falling open as he stared up at you. Your chest rose and fell quickly with heavy breaths that stuttered out of you with the pace of his cock.

He smacked your ass again, making your yelp fade into a moan as you took it in stride. He felt so good inside of you. You thought you were going to lose your mind as he fucked you hard and deep, the sound of your skin smacking against his amplified by the arousal dripping all over his lap.

His fist tangled in your hair as he pulled gently, tilting your head back so he could devour your throat. “You’re clenching around me so tight, baby. Drivin’ me crazy.”

“More,” you gasped. “Daddy, I need more.”

“You need more of me, baby?” He leaned back a little, shifting just enough to be able to thrust some more into you. “I’ll give you some more.” His hips smacked into yours with the desperation of a starved man. You clenched around him, moaning and whimpering his name as he fucked you.

You held onto his shoulders tight, moving your hips to meet his insistent thrusts and crying out when the head of his cock pounded into the deepest spot inside of you. His thumb came to rub circles into your clit, tight and fast ones that built you up as he continued to thrust into you.

“Ahh, Daddy, I’m gonna cum,” you mewled, seeing stars. You whined when he hit you again.

“No, you’re fucking not. You gotta wait for me.” He said, his deep voice deeper and rougher, his heavy command filling you up as he did what he wanted with you. “Gotta wait for Daddy to tell you, you can cum. You understand?”

A couple of tears streaked down your cheeks. It had been too long since he fucked you like this, hard and desperate. You were gonna blow soon. “I can’t,” you moaned weakly. “I can’t hold it.”

“You’re gonna have to, or I’ll have to punish you again,” he grabbed your face and turned your head to look at him. “Do you want me to punish you again, baby?”

“No, sir.”

“Then wait for me to tell you when you can cum for me. You understand?” he asked.

You nodded, “Yes, sir.”

His thumb picked up the pace again, purposefully building you up closer and closer to your release to torture you into having to hold off on it. He grunted and groaned and growled as he fucked you, needing so badly to fill you with his cum.

“Gonna have you fuckin’ screaming for me, my little slut,” he muttered. “Been so good for me.” You kept grinding down on him, accepting each and every thrust with a moan. As you swiveled your hips, his sounds shifted slightly. “I’m gonna cum, gonna fill you up nice and deep, baby.”

“Please, Daddy,” you begged. “Please fill me up.”

His head fell back a little at your pleas, addicted to the way you sound all fucked out on his cock. He cursed again, the word falling from his lips insistently. You could feel his cock twitching inside of you as he got closer to his release.

“You ready, baby? Daddy’s gonna fill you up now,” he said.

You nodded again, desperate. “Fuck, yes. Please, let me cum.”

His thrusts became sloppy, his hips faltering but slamming into you just as hard. He grunted lowly, “Fuck, cum. Cum for me, baby. Fuckin’ squeeze my cock and cum for me.”

The coil snapped, and you cried out as you followed his orders. You clenched tightly, gushing around his cock as you came with the shout of his name. “Oh, Daddy, yes!” you exclaimed. “Fuck, Daddy.”

He rolled his hips into you as he followed after, you squeezing around his cock so hard shoving him over the edge as he came with a shout. He growled in your ear, pulling you down on him as deep as he’d go as he spilled inside of you.

You could feel him begin to relax, his hips bucking into you a couple more times before he calmed with a long grunt. “There’s my good girl,” he sighed. “Fuck, so good for me, aren’t you?”

You leaned forward, resting your head against his shoulder as catching your breath as he continued to hold your waist. His thumbs brushed circles into your sides, soothing you as you both came down from your highs. One of his hands traveled up the length of your back as the other buried into your hair. He groaned when you ground your hips against his a little, trying to bury him deeper.

“Fuck,” he whispered. He pulled you back to brush his thumbs over your cheeks. Your eyes drooped, a lazy grin finding your lips as he watched you.

“I love you, Dean,” you muttered, a secret between the two of you as he held you close.

“Yeah.” He smiled, wondering how he got so lucky. “I love you, too.” His hands fell to your waist, and you whimpered when he pulled out of you with a grunt. He opened the glove department and pulled out some tissues to wipe you down with. You were messy, and the mixture of your cum was beginning to drip onto his lap.

He helped you redress before he set you back in your seat, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck and pulling you in for another kiss. He rested his forehead against yours, kissing you quickly once more before starting the engine once more. You settled back against the seat with a sigh, closing your eyes for a moment and resting as Dean reached a hand over and squeezed your thigh.

When you both finally made it back to the motel, you grabbed the beer from the backseat and made your way to your room. You pushed it open, waving at Sam on your way to put the beer in the fridge. He cast the both of you an annoyed, almost disgusted look.

“Those seats better be disinfected before I step foot in that car again.”

You flipped him off, and Dean rolled his eyes. “Shut the fuck up, Sammy.”

He scoffed. “Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Tag yourself here...

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #female reader #kinktober

[wavesmp3]

[csc] ode to you

inspired by 'daisy jones & the six'

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pour yourself a glass of whiskey. 

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

“How many glasses is that?”

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

He hums, flicking the square paper in his hand. 

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

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

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

“Who’s it by?”

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

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

“Have you heard of the Numbers?”

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

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

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

He walks into the recording booth hesitantly. 

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

Seungcheol just shakes his head. 

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

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

Seungcheol is speechless. 

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

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

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

— 

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

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

Your face drops immediately. “Are you serious?” 

Seungcheol raises a brow–a challenge.

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

“That’s not what this song is about.”

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

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

“That’s too easy.”

“How is that too easy?”

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

Choi Seungcheol is an asshole. 

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

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

You nearly drop the four plates of burgers.

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

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

“Holy shit.”

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

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

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

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

The crowd roars as the previous artist says his goodbye. 

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

“Nope.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t even remember the song ending. 

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

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

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

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

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

You pivot. “Excuse me?” 

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

The bartender slides over three drinks. 

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

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

You and Jihoon make your way over to a booth. 

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

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

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

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

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

“No, we haven’t asked him yet–”

“I can’t believe this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today is already off to a bad start. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He whips his head around. “What?”

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

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

You shrug. “They’re cheesy.”

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

“I’ve read enough.”

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

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

He slips a curse between a breath. 

“Okay?”

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

—

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

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

“You like this song?” You ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— 

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

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

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

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

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

“Absolutely not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you–”

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

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

You inhale slowly. “The latter.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I never said that.”

“But you showed me.”

“When?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But what if they do?”

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

His eyes finally land on you.

“I think I found our melody.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I know that you never trusted me. 

He joins you for the chorus, singing back.

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

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

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

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

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

You smile at Seungcheol. He smiles back. 

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

(We don’t always have it perfect.)

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

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

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

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

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

(Boy, do we fight.)

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

“I disagree.” 

He scoffs. “All that for–”

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

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

“It’s supposed to feel like peace.”

(Sometimes you win.) 

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

Only Soonyoung (the drummer), does.

(Sometimes you lose.)

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

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

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

“Jihoon, you haven’t even heard my–”

“This song doesn’t need your voice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look at him sincerely. “Yes.”

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

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

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

He turns to you. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was that song about?”

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

“Which is?”

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

It feels like a shot of sunlight through his veins. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s it about?” Joshua asks.

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Same. Junhui started doing karaoke again.” 

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

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

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

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

You don’t hide the surprise on your face. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about ‘Can You See Me’?” 

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Call it ‘Silver Lies’.” He says. 

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

“Vote on it?” Seungcheol proposes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jihoon is fuming at us!” 

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

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

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

“You wasted an entire day of recording!”

What kind of songs were we making? 

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

Were they all lies?

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

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

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

He splashes water in your face on his way out. 

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

“Hello.” He says cautiously to the group.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

He only wants you singing it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Take two.”

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

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

“Excuse me?” You nearly scream at him.

“I’m talking about the song.”

Jihoon shakes his head. “Take 3.”

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

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

“Pour me a drink for all the fools–”

“Cut.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Even looser. Take 5.”

“Pour me a drink f–”

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

“Pour me–”

“Cut!”

— 

(Wonwoo’s interview with Seungcheol)

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

Seungcheol: Sometimes all it takes is a little push

—

(Wonwoo’s interview with you)

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

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

Wonwoo: And what does he do?

You: He inspires. 

—

The red light flashes again. “Take 32.”

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

The track starts. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paper. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Wonwoo’s interview with you)

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

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

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

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

Wonwoo: Hm

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

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

Wonwoo: Why not?

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

Wonwoo: What’d you learn?

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

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

You: What do you mean?

Wonwoo: Friends, lovers, enemies, etc.

You: We have chemistry, but

You:

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

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

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

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

You: Yes.

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

You: 

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

You: It–

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

—

(Wonwoo’s interview with Seungcheol)

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

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

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

Seungcheol: Who said that?

Wonwoo: –do you agree with that?

Seungcheol:

Seungcheol: It’s not what you think.

Wonwoo:

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

Wonwoo: Are you saying it’s all fake? 

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

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

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

Wonwoo: Which is what?

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

Wonwoo: Not even a little bit?

Seungcheol: Not even once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Congratulations, Jeonghan.” You feel him grin. 

“Please come.” He requests. 

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

(Wonwoo’s interview with you)

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

You: I did.

Wonwoo: When?

You: Right after the album cover shoot. 

Wonwoo: What inspired it?

You: Well

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

—

(Wonwoo’s interview with Seungcheol)

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

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

(Wonwoo’s interview with Jeonghan)

Wonwoo: It’s nice to finally meet you.

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

Wonwoo: Oh

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

Jeonghan: Okay.

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

Jeonghan: Oh yeah of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeonghan: 

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

Jeonghan:

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

Wonwoo: Was it weird at all?

Jeonghan: How so?

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

(Wonwoo’s interview with Jihoon)

Wonwoo: So does the album have a name?

Jihoon: Yeah. Of course.

Jihoon: Aurora

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

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

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

Jihoon: Hmm

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

Wonwoo: No, I did not.

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

Wonwoo: Which is?

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

(Wonwoo’s interview with you)

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

You: Yeah, they are.

Wonwoo: Do you plan on joining them?

You: No.

You: I don’t think I will.

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

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

Wonwoo: So, traveling.

You: Yeah, I guess. 

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

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

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

You:

You: Who’s to say I will?

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

[mggsv]

The Window Seat

dancer!gn reader x mgg (18+)

summary: reader has an 7 hour flight next to a familiar face they just can’t stop eyeing every minute or so..

Warnings : smut, somnophilia, reader is afab

It was 6:45 am, your flight was an early one- you’d be asleep right now, but it was time to go. New York had been fun, you’d been there on a dancer exchange with your dance company. You surely left an impact on them as well, dancing for Julliard was a task off your bucket list. It was amazing, but London was your home. However, being able to go see Harry Styles live in concert the very next day made your week even better. You got to your room very late that night and barely had time for a shower the very morning- this morning. Not only that, your shirt got caught up in your labret piercing which cause a slight set back into your morning. You were upset, and refused to eat something until you made it to the airport.

As your stomach growled slightly, you loaded the flight with your one suit case, still suited in your pajama shorts and Def Leopard tshirt. Your curly fiery red colored hair was tucked into a ponytail with the acception of a few strands fanning along your face like bangs. You grabbed a cozy blanket you brought along , as well as your headphones (with your offline music ready to play) and your laptop. You had the window seat, your favorite. Being by the window was comforting since you hated being close to the isle, people touching you every so often was not something you liked. As more people boarded the flight you eyed the group ever so often, you were a very cautious person, your anxiety spiked at random times.

Convincing yourself it’ll be alright, you settled in comfortably. It was now 6:55, the flight was leaving in a bit. The seat next to you dipped in slightly, letting you know that your buddy for the next 7 hours had arrived. You glanced over slightly, pausing from searching your netflix downloads for Supernatural. You were positive it was a guy- judging by the veiny hands. You took your headphones off as the door to the plane finally shut, and with a sighing breath you listened to the captain speak.

“Nervous?” A voice spoke lowly. You glance over to the man- very gorgeous man- who stared at you with a slight look of concern all the while sporting a smile.

“ mm..no not really. I’d just like to get this over with so i can get back to my bed.” your honey colored eyes stared at the man intently. he looked vaguely familiar- too familiar, but you couldn’t put your finger on the matter at all. What you said had made him chuckle out a laugh. His disheveled hair shook just slightly, perfectly, your brain screamed. “I’m guessing you’re from London? I noticed your accent- it’s quite thick.”

“Yes.” you hummed, reaching down in between your lap to pull out the vending machine pack of fruit snacks you’d brought. Your stomach growled hungrily at the bag as it opened. You popped one into your mouth before turning back to the man- who was watching you with amusement. You could see the way his eyes moved around your face, possibly on your septum and labest piercings. They fit your face almost perfectly.

“I was on a dancer exchange trip for Julliard. I do ballet and other forms of dance in london”

“Ahh..” he nodded.

“I’m sorry- have we met somewhere perhaps? You look extremely familiar and it’s bothering me.” You grown up at him, and that only made him laugh.

“Possibly.”

“I’m quite serious, we’ve met haven’t we? Are you an investor by chance?”

“No- this is my first time seeing you-

“but it’s not my first time seeing you. I’m sorry I cut you off that was very rude of me.” you were stuffing your mouth with the strawberry flavored gummies by now. You had a knack for doing so when you were nervous.

“It’s okay! Don’t worry. I’m an actor, Matthew Gray Gubler? Does that ring a bell?”

“Not at all.”

“Really? You’ve never seen Criminal Minds?”

that made you smile a bit. You’ve heard of the show but you never got around for it.

“I’m more of an SVU kind of person.” Matthew nodded as he popped out another smile. The plane began taking off, and the book- which you’ve just realized he held- opened to a page he supposedly stopped on. You guessed it was the end of your conversation.

Turning away from him you glanced at the city on water getting smaller and smaller. You put your headphones back on and began scrolling back on your laptop for the unwatched episodes of Supernatural.

——————————————

an hour and a half into your flight had been comfortable. with your snacks and your headphones you were able to have an easy going ride so far. not knowing where you’d seen matthew still bothered you however. You snuck a glance ever so often.

He read, he listened to music, and he slept. right now he was in a somewhat deep sleep from your view. He had a neck pillow and headphones in his ears. You snorted softly, admiring how cute he looked when he slept. How his hands relaxed yet the veins were still noticeable. You but your lips slightly..he was attractive, and on top of that- apparently famous. You’d have to look him up when you land.

You couldn’t stop staring. He looked so perfect. and he was quiet and still, you could get a perfect look at him. And his hair..you swallowed a moan. pausing the episode on your laptop, you take off your headphones and stand up, suddenly you had to use the bathroom. As you scooted pass Matthew, it didn’t help that your mind was screaming at you to ride him. Your bodies were close, he was warm..sleeping softly. Your shorts felt warm against your sex.

The trip to the bathroom helped however. It made you come to reality: you didn’t know this guy, you think, and the trip wasn’t some wattpad story plot. When you were done, the curtain that covered your seats were down. You move it to the side cautiously to see Matthew wide awake and reading. He looks up and you and smiles,

“Hi there.”

“Hello..” you blink, turning your body at an angle so you could walk back through. “excuse me..” you had muttered, but you were so nervous your legs got a weak feeling in them. You tripped just a bit onto him, your ass landing right in his lap. Gasping you quickly try to move, and also be quiet considering the people on the plane.

“I’m so sorry Matthew- I’m sorry” you whisper out harshly as you scoot over to the window seat. your hands were shaking as you stared down at them nervously. “I’m sorry-

“It’s okay- really. I do have fairly long legs” he patted your shoulder. You felt hot in the face. His hand didn’t move. It rubbed circles and onward to your back in an attempt to soothe you. You breathed shakily. “Is..this okay? Is this working for you?” his hand stopped and you wish it hadn’t. You liked the feeling of his hands on you.

“It’s..alright.” you look over at him only to be met with a slightly red face. He cleared his throat and turned away to go back to his book, his hand still on your back. You couldn’t look away. You’ve seen him somewhere…and now you’ve feel into his lap. His legs..he was so pretty.

——————————————

4 hours in drove you mad. You decided to nap, your head lying on the window. You weren’t asleep entirely, just dozing. You and Matthew had a few word exchanges here and there- his hand moving to new spots ever so often. “That feels good.” you had told him when it moved from your back to your thigh. Your position shifted, it made you sleepy, yet the thick pool of arousal never left from between your legs.

As you drifted off into sleep, you felt his hand stop abruptly. “It was 5 years ago..you were just starting out at the dance academy. Fresh out of college.” he spoke, lowly. What..you had thought. His hand trailed higher and your breath quickened. He played with the hem of your shorts. “We were shooting an episode, it never made the cut- scrapped. And you..well, you were just perfect. You moved so beautifully i knew that the next time I’d see you, you’d be a star. I was right.” his hand slipped underneath. You reacted with movement, adjusting your position..spreading your leg just a little.

“I remember saying to myself, “Man, they’re so gorgeous.” and these legs..” He breathed slowly, fingers treading up the side of your underwear, teasing at the hem. “I wanted you- badly. But you were already fucking the director for that solo.” You gasped loudly, feeling his fingers dip into your sex.

“M..Matthew-

his hand came up to cover your mouth.

“Shh..sleep darling.” he whispered, his index finger rubbing your sensitive bud. You wanted to moan, you throbbed for him, and yet you still couldn’t place him there that day- 5 years ago. “It was truly an amazing dance, i know you practiced hard on it. You’d just had surgery too..i know you were in pain, and yet you still pushed.” He spoke in a whisper, his fingers sinking deeper into your heat, your slick pooling around his long fingers. You moaned softly into your blanket, hips beginning to rock slowly with the rhythm he produced. “F..Fuck..Oh-God” you babbled quietly behind his hand, whimpering softly when the fingers sunk deeper into you. You felt him press and prod at places you’ve never reached before. “I wonder if the director felt that way about you? Did he really want you as badly as I?” he huffed. “Truly, everyone there was red to fuck the next best thing walking through the door- but who was I? Just an actor there on business.” He scoffed.

he worked slow. fingers toying with you, you were panting heavily. You could feel that oh so familiar pool warming in your stomach, and with an aching moan your hips twitched. So close…“please-

your voice called out to him, draped in sleep.

“Please what?” you could hear the smirk on his face. “You still don’t remember..” he mutters. the heat between your legs suddenly cooled, Matthew withdrew his fingers. You could hear a slight sucking noise as he leaned in closer to your neck. his breath fanned over your ear as he bit down gently. “My little ballerina.”

#spencer reid x reader smut #matthew grey gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler x reader #gn reader #mgg x you #mgg x reader #mgg smut #mile high club #gender neutral reader #mgg

[hollytoshaw]

noisy neighbour part two | harry lewis

✩ ✩ ✩

summary: in which y/n owns a coffee shop and harry is her noisy neighbour

word count : 5.7k

part one here

a/n: this is part two of my noisy neighbour series!!! read part one before this <3 there will be more parts to this as its a proper slow burnerrr. sorry for the slow updates i haven't forgotten about this series lol xxx

masterlist <3333

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✩ ✩ ✩

Y/N had come to the conclusion that life was much better when she didn’t let silly lies get in her way. It had been a week since she had come clean to her noisy neighbour, or Harry, as she now knew him, and life couldn’t get any better. 

After the pair had laughed about her moment of foolishness and how they were both a little too loud for their own good, they were able to move past it all and properly get to know the person they were living next door to. 

Y/N found out more about Harry’s whole ‘Youtuber’ lifestyle. He was part of a group of seven boys that made videos that came out every Sunday, but he also had other channels in which he’d play computer games and do funny reaction videos—the source of all that playful shouting she had heard through the walls. He told her that he’d gotten bored of his old apartment and wanted a change of scenery, so he chose the small-scale but nonetheless nice flat next door to hers. He lived alone and was 27; his favourite colour was blue, and his favourite cake was chocolate. He liked coffee,cycling, surfing, and the occasional beer, and he loved travelling anywhere in the world, near or far; he just loved exploring places. He had two younger siblings, a brother and a sister, and was from a little channel island named Guernsey. Y/N had never been.

She told him all the little details she could think of about herself in return. She was always sort of bad at introductions, cringing when they used to say ‘’Tell us three facts about you’’ in school, never knowing what to say. But she managed nonetheless. She told him all about her dream of having a cafe of her own and how she came to do so. She loved old music, mainly Abba, to which he laughed and told her he knew already, making a playful jab at the singing he had heard from next door. She too lived alone but was 26; her favourite colour was green, and her favourite cake was lemon. She also liked coffee, not so much cycling or surfing, and opted for cider whenever she went to the pub. While she hadn’t been travelling much herself due to paying off her university debts and then starting up her coffee shop, she still shared the desire to travel anywhere in the world—far away from London. 

It was such a breath of fresh air for Y/N. Owning a cafe all on her own meant early mornings and late nights, and her weekends were either spent visiting her parents or nestled away in her flat watching episodes of Vanderpump Rules or trying new recipes for baked goods that she was thinking about selling in the cafe. Because of this, she had found it hard to find time to make friends, and while she had her fair share, she barely saw them; they either had big city jobs or were living outside of London and starting a family. It just felt nice for Y/N to just sit and chat with someone a similar age to her and talk about nonsense for a while. 

While the conversation the pair shared was cut short by Harry needing to get to work and record a podcast, they shared numbers (only in case one of them got a parcel for the other, of course), and Harry said he’d pop back in soon to finish where they left off. 

So that was it. It had been a week, and she hadn’t seen him since, but that was all she could think about. It wasn’t even like Y/N had a crush, or so she convinced herself, but she longed to talk to him again; it just felt nice. While the occasional old lady that came into the cafe was great to chat with, asking away about how her day was going or what their plans were for the day, she still preferred the little chat she had with Harry; it just felt different, and she couldn’t put her finger on why. 

But then she got all in her own head. Maybe he didn’t come back in because he realised she was a bit weird, having lied about living next door and that he was only being friendly and entertaining the conversation, but in reality, he didn’t want to be talking to her at all. Y/N knew she was probably getting a bit ahead of herself, but she couldn’t help but think the worst. She had always been a bit of a pessimist. 

It was now Monday again, and the cafe had just begun to die down after the lunch rush. After cleaning tables and putting cups and saucers back in place, Y/N finally felt like she had it all under control. There was no one in the shop, and looking at the time, the clock read 1:00 p.m., a perfect chance for Y/N to have her lunch break. She had scoffed a croissant earlier that morning and topped herself up with flat whites throughout the day, but now she was starving. She walked over to the door, flipping the ‘open’ sign to ‘close’ and walked back behind the counter to prepare herself something nice to eat. 

She wasn’t long into making a ham and cheese toastie when she heard three loud knocks on the glass door. Usually she’d shout ‘’We’re closed’’ and continue what she was doing, but another three knocks followed, and she thought she’d just let them in and eat her sandwich another time. 

As she turned around, she saw a hooded figure standing outside the door—it was lashing rain in London today (shocker) —but she could barely make their face out through the raindrops on the door. Nearing closer, she realised it was Harry. After a week, he’d returned. Maybe her pessimism wasn’t always right.  

Letting him in, she moved back as he took his coat off, the black puffer soaked from the awful weather. 

''Hello, you,’’ he smiled, lifting the hood of his jumper from his head. ‘’Didn’t realise you closed this early.’’

‘’Hiya,’’ she smiled back. ‘’Just closed for lunch, that’s all.’’

Furrowing his brows, he replied, ''U-Oh, right, I can come back later if you’re busy.’’

She laughed, taking his coat from him to hang it up on the coat stand next to the door. ‘’Don’t be silly. I’m only having a toastie, nothing special.’’

‘’Lovely stuff,’’ he said, clapping his hands together and following her towards the counter.

‘’How’ve you been?’’ she asked. ‘’Horrible weather today, isn’t it?’’ Classic brit filling empty silence with talks of the weather.

‘’I know, proper pain in the arse,’’ he laughed. ‘’Been good, though. Just back from a holiday with the boys, but so typical, I’ve come back to the shittest weather possible.’’

''Ooh, lucky you,’’ Y/N smiled as she resumed the making of her lunch. ‘’Go anywhere nice?’’

‘’Went to the Maldives for two days for a video,’’ he said nonchalantly, ‘’was a good laugh though.’’

‘’Wow, that must've been unreal.’’ she gasped, placing her sandwich on a small green plate before looking back at him. ‘’Can I get you anything to eat? I feel like a knob if I’m sat scoffing my face and I’ve not made you anything.’’

Harry smiled, watching as the girl moved her plaited hair so that it was out of her face. He thought she was quite pretty with her hair tied back, freckled cheeks, and a peach-coloured blusher on her face. She was wearing her same old green apron, but instead of the jumper she had on the last time he saw her, she had a striped long-sleeve top paired with black jeans. Yeah, she was really quite pretty, he thought. 

‘’No, I’m fine, thanks. I got a meal deal in the airport earlier,’’ he paused. ‘’And I’m trying to keep off the cakes, but they do look bloody brilliant today.’’

Y/N laughed, ''Well, you’re in the wrong place if you’re trying to keep off the sweet stuff. I got cakes coming out of my ears in this place.’’

The conversation felt easy for Y/N. It was almost weird to think about their first few conversations, stiff and awkward, thinking the other was a bit rude and not really interested in making small talk. But now, it felt like they could talk for ages; the initial uneasiness was now a distant memory. 

‘’So what brings you here?’’ she started. ‘’Surprised you’re not straight to bed after that long flight.’’

They sat down at a little table in front of the counter, Y/N enjoying her lunch and Harry watching, fumbling with his fingers. 

''Oh, trust me, I’m knackered.’’ he laughed. ‘’But I thought I’d pop in. Remember, I said I would last time, finish where we left off, and all.’’

Course Y/N was remembered. It had been all she thought about for the last seven days. 

‘’Oh right, yeah’’ she said between mouthfuls of her sandwich. ‘’Well,tell me all about this Maldives trip then.’’

✩ ✩ ✩

A few days had passed since Y/N and Harry’s last encounter. And that was all she could think about.

After leaving her cafe to go back to his flat, the pair shared a few jokey text messages: Harry sending her random pictures he’d taken on his holiday and Y/N sharing snaps of new baked goods that she’d made, with him responding with a classic ‘Save me one.’ It was nothing serious, but it was nice to have playful conversations away from her busy working day and Harry’s video shoots. 

Despite only a small proximity separating the pair, Y/N longed for the next time she might bump into him, almost hoping that a parcel would get delivered to the wrong address to give her some reason to knock on his door or that he’d finally succumb to his sweet tooth and trod down the stairs to try whatever fresh baked treats she had to offer. 

It made her laugh that only a few weeks ago she’d dreaded the thought of seeing him and hated the thought of having to make small talk with him, but now it was all she’d thought of. And don’t get her wrong, she was no romanticist or anything of that sort but when she found something she liked or in this case, a person she liked talking to, it was hard for her to take her mind away from them. 

Another day had come to an end for Y/N. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air as she wiped down the last table in her cosy little shop. It had been a long day for her, filled with the hustle and bustle of customers coming in and out. She felt swept off her feet trying to make sure everything ran smoothly and made a mental note that maybe it was time to hire some help.

Now, as the clock struck closing time, Y/N couldn’t wait to retreat to the comfort of her upstairs flat. Locking up the cafe, she made her way up the narrow staircase and into her home. The familiar creak of the stairs under her feet echoed in the empty hallway—a comforting sound that signalled the end of another day’s work. 

As she reached the door, she let out a contented sigh—peace at last. Turning the key in the lock, she pushed open the door and stepped into her sanctuary.

The soft glow of string lights greeted her, casting a warm and inviting atmosphere through the room. She’d forgotten to turn them off the night before and was surprised the batteries had lasted the day. Kicking off her shoes, she padded across the hardwood floor to her living area, where a plush green sofa beckoned her to sink into its comforting embrace.

Her days always went the same after work. She’d come upstairs, sit down on the sofa, and stick some random television show on for some background noise, needing to just sit for a moment after being on her feet all day. The stress of the day always melted away as she allowed herself to just be in the moment, relishing the peace and quiet of her own space. 

Next to the sofa, a stack of books awaited her attention. She had been reading some Dolly Alderton novel that a friend had recommended, and so far she was loving it. There was nothing quite like getting lost in the pages of a good book; all she needed now was a nice cup of tea, and she’d be in heaven. 

It’d felt like hours had passed as Y/N finally got to the end of another chapter. The gentle hum of the TV in the background continued as Y/N settled down the book and turned her attention to her phone, wondering if she had any new messages from a certain someone. And lo and behold, she did. 

Clicking the message open, she saw a picture that Harry had taken from what she assumed to be his living room. Her view was similar, just at a different angle—the Shoreditch’s streets looking equally as ‘London’-esque from both their windows. He had added a little message to the bottom of it: ‘This weather is mental. Think it calls for tea and some cake.’ Y/N hadn’t seen the message with her phone on ‘Do not disturb’ and her eyes well focused on the piece of fiction she was reading, and he had sent it over twenty minutes ago, but she assumed he was still next door, not wanting to dare step out in the treacherous rain. 

She wondered if he was hinting at her to send him a text and offer some cakes from downstairs. Or maybe even invite him over to try the pastries she’d sent him a picture of only a few days ago. Of course, Y/N didn’t really know if he was hinting at anything, but she really hoped he was. The time on her phone showed it was just past 7:00 p.m., and having eaten a small lunch earlier in the day, she too was in the mood for some cake and tea, not really bothered by the thought of cooking dinner and having to wash up loads of pots and pans in the kitchen.

She lifted herself up from the comfy sofa and into her kitchen space, opening the fridge to see if she had any nice delights to cure her craving. There sat a small blue tupperware, inside two vanilla cupcakes, left over from the day, perfect. Two. Perfect. 

Whether he had been hinting or not, Y/N took the tupperware in hand and stuffed her feet into her fluffy slippers. Unlocking her door and making her way down the stairs towards his door, she felt giddy. She thought it was a nice gesture to turn up with a little treat that he had longed for, and she hoped maybe the two could share a nice chat over a cup of tea as they looked out on the London rain. It’d be nice.

As she got to the door, she lifted her hand up, ready to press the buzzer to his blue door, but as she did, she heard the faint strains of music drifting through the air, accompanied by a girl’s laughter. Her hand froze, and a wave of disappointment washed over her. Doubt crept into Y/N’s mind, and she couldn’t bring herself to interrupt whatever moment Harry was sharing with another.

With a heavy sigh, Y/N turned on her heel and retreated back up the stairs to her flat. She knew she was being silly, but she felt a sting in her heart, and she couldn’t shake the image of Harry’s front door from her mind. 

Back in her kitchen. Y/N set the cupcakes on the counter; her appetite for something sweet was now long gone. She wondered if she had misinterpreted Harry’s kindness and their conversations as something more. Sure, the two had shared a few playful texts, updates throughout the day, and random pictures, but that was the extent of it so far. Y/N felt like an idiot. 

She never did respond to Harry’s text that night.

✩ ✩ ✩

Another few days passed, and Y/N had finally gotten over her little strop. Well…sort of. She didn’t have much to go on other than the fact that she’d heard a woman’s voice and lots of laughter, which she knew didn’t necessarily mean Harry had a girlfriend, but she'd rather nip her feelings in the bud than wonder about the what-ifs that could of been had he opened the door. Plus, Y/N felt a bit silly. He’d never given an indication that their chats were anything more than friendly, and the texts they shared weren’t suggestive in any way—I mean, you could probably send your mother the same things. So she knew it was better to cut her little strop short before she got herself all tangled up in her feelings.

She’d had another long week in the cafe, busy with big orders and endless amounts of coffee, and she knew it was definitely time she put out an advertisement for a job vacancy. But that was a job for another day as she was currently getting ready to go out with a few friends in a pub just near Old Street. It had been a while since she’d found the time to meet up with people (with their big city jobs and her never ending hustle in the cafe) and considering she’d given Harry radio silence for the past few days, this was the most socialising she’d done outside of the occasional old lady in the cafe. So, Y/N was buzzing. She reached for her favourite pair of Adidas Sambas, their sleek black design accentuating her style. The leather was very worn despite carrying many stories of past adventures. Y/N made a mental note that she’d get a new pair out of her next paycheck. Her outfit was bold yet chic, a lot different from her usual jeans, t-shirt, and green apron combo. A leopard print midi skirt is paired with a black fitted crop top and a leather jacket over her shoulders to give the outfit unmistakable flair. She always enjoyed dressing up, even if it was just for a quick pint—it just gave her something to do and was a nice change from her usual get-up. 

With a flick of her wrist, she grabbed her essentials—a phone, cardholder, and keys—and headed out the door. It wasn’t raining in London for once, with spring slowly creeping in, so Y/N didn’t bother with an umbrella, deciding her jacket was enough protection from whatever the weather had in mind. It felt nice as she walked along the busy Shoreditch streets with the city lights beckoning, couples holding hands, groups of friends laughing—it made her heart squeeze, and she felt like the night was promising her excitement and all sorts of possibilities.

/

The pub night was everything Y/N had hoped it would be. It had been a welcome contrast of warmth and laughter, and seeing her friends, who usually worked nine to five, was a breath of fresh air. With flushed cheeks from all the lively conversations and talks of fond memories, not to mention the five pints of fruity cider she had drank, Y/N left the pub with the cheesiest grin on her face. A few kisses to the cheek and warm hugs later, Y/N waved goodbye to her group of mates and headed back towards the Old Street roundabout. 

The city seemed quieter now; most of its energy was subdued despite it only being 10:00 p.m. Walking around familiar streets, she felt a sense of comfort in solitude but wished she hadn’t forgotten her airpods because there’d be nothing better than a peaceful stroll accompanied by her favourite indie music playlist in the back. 

The pub was only about a ten-minute walk from her flat, so it didn’t take too long, and Y/N felt herself subconsciously speed walking as the cold London air got to her, now regretting her choice of jacket. As she neared closer to her doorstep, she could see a hooded figure placed on it, a backpack in front of them, and a phone in their hand as they scrolled aimlessly. Her eyes felt a bit hazy from the cider, and she approached apprehensively, her mind wandering to the possibilities of it being a crazy ex-boyfriend or a drunken friend hoping to rest their heads for the night. But as she moved closer, her anxiousness eased. It was only her neighbour. Harry. Harry, who she’d given the cold shoulder to for the past few days.

His friendly face looked up at the sound of her approaching footsteps. A slightly flustered expression on his face. 

‘’Hi Harry,’’ she smiled. ‘’You alright?’’

Getting up from his crouched position, he moved aside, letting her stand in front of her own door. ''Oh, you life saver, been waiting ages.’’

She looked up at him, a glow on her face, not too sure if it was caused by the pints or his general presence. ‘’What for?’’

‘’I’ve been a right numpty and locked myself out.’’ he laughed. 

‘’Oh shit,’’ she laughed back, buzzing from alcohol. Y/N was a lightweight by definition; the smell of alcohol could probably get her drunk, and at this moment she felt buzzed.

‘’I know, pain the arse,’’ Harry said, pinching in between his eyes. ‘’Can’t even try to get a key cut because everywhere’s shut.’’

‘’You got any friends that’ll let you crash for the night?’’ Y/N asked, feeling genuine concern for the poor boy sitting outside their doors. She hadn’t even asked how long he’d been there—it could have been hours. 

‘’Tried a few but got no response,’’ Harry sighed, "I guess no one wants a rogue sleepover at 10 at night.’’

‘’Good friends you’ve got,’’ she teased, confidence of drink taking over her. 

‘’Oh shush you,’’ he playfully said back. 

A small silence fell over the toy as Y/N fumbled around in her bag to find her keys, the street light giving her enough of a torch to be able to find them. Every time she drank, she’d experience a small panic that she’d managed to lose all of her belongings, but luckily for her, everything seemed intact. 

‘’So what are you going to do?’’ Y/N said as she went to put her key in the lock.

Harry paused for a moment. While the two had shared the occasional message and nice chat over coffee, he felt a bit bold with what he was about to ask. Not being the most social person, he had weighed out the options of whether or not it would be awkward if she'd say yes to his question—he'd more than likely have to sit chatting for a while and then maybe have an uncomfortable sleep on whatever sofa or bed she’d have to offer—but at the same time, he reminded himself that it was only Y/N and whatever awkwardness could have come between them had well and truly been dissolved by their initial meeting. And truthfully, Harry was all for saying outlandish things and asking rogue questions, so if she did say no, he’d just take it on the chin and find somewhere else to go. 

‘’I hate to ask,’’ he paused sheepishly. ‘’I really do. But by any chance, I could come in for a bit, or at least till one of my friends picks up their phone and lets me stay around theirs.’’

‘’You hate to ask?’’ Y/N smirked, cocking her head to one side. ‘’Am I really that insufferable?’’

Harry’s eyes widened at her words. ''N-no, no, not at all. It’s just that I thought, ’’

‘’Stop your blubbering for a moment,’’ she laughed. ‘’It’s fine, really.’’

‘’You sure?’’ he smiled. ‘’Don’t have to say yes, 'coz you feel sorry for me.’’

And yes, Y/N did feel a bit sorry for the blubbering boy sitting in front of their adjacent doors. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than being locked out of her own flat and left out in the cold in London with nowhere else to go—it was a frustrating inconvenience to say the least. Plus, Y/N was always a bit of a generous soul, never really able to say no to people, always biting her tongue when she felt awkward, and with a few pints combined, she was feeling especially generous. 

‘’Honestly, no bother.’’ she replied, unlocking her door. ‘’I’ll probably be awake for the next few hours anyway, so companies are good.’’ An absolute lie on Y/N’s part. Any drink would usually send Y/N into a tired haze, and she couldn’t think of anything better than sticking on her pyjamas and curling up in bed, but it’d have to be put on hold for the night. 

Following her up the stairs and into her living area, Harry let his eyes analyse the room. Fairy lights adorned nearly every wall, blankets crowded on the sofa, a few plants dotted around the room, and an endless amount of cookbooks—while Harry didn’t know too much about Y/N, he could still recognise that her little flat was an exact replica of her as a person. 

‘’Nice place,’’ he said, placing his backpack down on the wooden floor. 

‘’Cheers,’’ she smiled, ‘’similar to yours?’’

‘’Similar size, but mines full of cardboard boxes at the moment,’’ he laughed, ‘’yours has a lot more life to it.’’

‘’Took a good few IKEA trips to get it this perfect, I won’t lie.’’ Since walking in, Y/N had dropped her bag by the door, walking into the kitchen space to find some snacks or atleast a drink to give to her unexpected guest. 

‘’You want a cider?’’ she asked, rummaging through the fridge to find a can of Strawberry Old Mout that she had left over from the last time she had a guest in her flat. She couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous as she looked around the brightly lit fridge - it felt weird having Harry in her flat. Different somehow, more intimate than their casual chats down in the cafe or over text. But especially after her little moment of weakness the other day and the fact that he more than likely had a girlfriend, she pushed those thoughts aside and focused on being the good host she was. 

"You know what- I’ll take one," he replied,thinking nothing sounded better than a cold cider after his shambles of an evening. ‘’Only if you’re drinking too - don’t wanna start getting leathered on my own,’’

‘’As if you’d get leathered off of one cider,’’ Y/N laughed, passing him a can and cracking open her own, ‘’Plus I’m 5 ciders deep already so think it’ll be me getting leathered, not you.’’

Harry shared a laugh with her, holding his hands up in defeat, ‘’Alright, you piss head. You just been necking ciders on London streets then or what?’’

‘’Oh shut up,’’ if she had been closer to him, Y/N probably would of swatted him on the arm for the absolute nonsense that left his mouth but the kitchen counter separated the two, so she kept her arms to her side, ‘’I was just out in the pub.’’

‘’So that’s what the mysterious Y/N gets up to when she’s not running a cafe,’’ he said, raising his eyebrows as if he’d uncovered some maddening truth about her.

‘’Mysterious?’’ she snorted back regrettably but she couldn’t help it and plus after a few drinks, her snorted laugh always seemed to appear.

‘’Well ye-yeah, mysterious.’’ he paused, taking another big gulp of his drink and Y/N wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d managed to finish it by now. ‘’Haven’t heard from you in a few days and then you come swanning in after a few pints, I’d say that’s pretty mysterious.’’

‘’God, you talk some shit,’’ she said, laughing at his use of words. 

‘’S’true though, haven’t heard from you.’’ 

‘’I haven’t heard from you either?’’ 

‘’You liar! I texted you the other night and got no reply,’’ Harry said, clutching at his heart in a playful manner, ‘’really hurt my feelings.’’

‘’You’re such a windup,’’ she grinned, ‘’Didn’t take you as the type to be hung up over no replies,’’

‘’Broke my heart really. I was waiting for you to reply and say you had a cake and a chat waiting for me but got nothing.’

So maybe Y/N hadn’t taken his hints wrongly. 

‘’And then my sister turned up and I couldn’t even come round and pester you for a slice of lemon cake,’’ he continued, ‘’my plan went out the window,’’ His sister! Y/N mentally scolded herself in her head for being so silly that night and thinking the worst.

‘’Your plan?’’ she challenged.

‘’Yeah, my plan to butter you up and then steal every last slice of cake you had going for you.’’ he joked. 

What an idiot, Y/N thought. But a funny idiot, nonetheless. ‘Ah, well, you should have told me your sister was round and I would have been more than happy to share something with her - sure, she would have been better company than you anyways,’’ she joked, in return. She couldn’t tell if it was the ciders making her head feel dizzy or nonchalant playfulness, but she felt giddy and confident. 

‘’No one likes a liar, Y/N.’’ he beamed, ‘’We both know that’s a massive lie.’’

‘’Hmm maybe.’’ 

‘’So, pub, did you say?’’ he questioned, ‘’W-was it a date or?’’

‘’Think I go to the pub on a first date?’’ she said, raising her brow in amusement. 

‘’Nothing wrong with a pint and a bag of crisps for the first date.’’ he defended.

‘’It’s that where you take all your unlucky ladies then?’’

‘’Ha! Unlucky. It’d be the luckiest night of their lives,’’

‘’Oh I bet,’’ Y/N laughed, ‘’But no, just a few drinks with some of my friends. Nothing mad.’’

‘’Very cool.’’ Harry grinned. 

‘’Shut-up,’’ Y/N grinned back in return.

The two fell into a silence, each other not really knowing what to say. Y/N could feel the lull of the alcohol weaning off and she knew she’d be drifting off if she stayed up any longer. She didn’t want to come across rude, enjoying his company but her bed was calling her name and she needed to call it a night knowing she had to be up in  the morning to sort out admin for the cafe. 

‘’I think I might head to bed, I’m feeling knackered.’’ Y/N sighed.

‘’Leaving me all alone, one cider deep?’’ Harry laughed.

‘’Sorry but I don’t think I can keep my eyes open for any longer,’’ A giggle uttering from her lips, ‘’You’re more than welcome to stay on the sofa thought until you get your keys sorted and all.’’

‘’You’re a star, Y/N.’’ Harry smiled in return as he made his way to the couch to make himself comfortable for the night. He couldn’t have been more grateful for her in the moment, thinking back to not so long ago when he was out in the cold, locked outside of his flat. Course, they’d made familiar with each other the past few weeks but he couldn’t get over the kindness of the girl - or pity that she had for him - but either way he was thankful nonetheless. 

‘’There’s a few blankets on the side and some cushions so it shouldn’t be too uncomfortable,’’ Y/N paused, walking over the basket of random throws and cushions she had by the corner of her living room, signalling him to choose his pickings. ‘’Right, I’ll see you in the morning. Night Harry.’’

‘’Night, Y/N. Thanks again.’’ And that was the last thing he saw, her gleaming smile, cheeks red from alcohol as she walked down the hall to the last room that he knew now was her bedroom and headed to bed. 

/

Y/N woke up with a pounding headache the next morning followed by a dry mouth and a queasy stomach. She hadn’t even drank much but in her defense she rarely ever did so any alcoholic beverage would always send her sideways the next day. Blinking against the harsh sunlight streaming through her window, she groaned, regretting the cheap ciders of the previous night. Her memory was a bit hazy, blurred by the fog of alcohol but she did remember one thing. There was a Harry on her sofa. 

Dragging herself out of bed, she quickly sorted herself out, combing through her hair and fixing her pyjamas, not wanting to look an absolute state in front of the boy. She stumbled to the kitchen, head throbbing with every step, desperate for a glass of water. But as she walked into her living space, he was nowhere to be found. Surely she hadn’t been so drunk she had imagined the whole night. 

She could remember everything from the loud music of the pub, the dancing and laughs she shared with her friends. And she most definitely remembered the blue eyed boy that was sat outside her front door, locked out from his home.  

She did a quick check of her phone to see if she had any texts from Harry but the only notifications were a few Instagram tags from her mates and a text from her mum asking what she thought of the banana loaf she had made. Nothing from Harry. 

Walking around the kitchen to grab a glass for her water, she noticed out of the corner of her eye the little notepad she had on her kitchen counter was opened, a few words scribbled on it and a black biro pen next to it. 

On the note read ‘Thank you for letting me stay last night, you’re an angel. I had to leave early this morning to meet the landlord for a spare key but I really do owe you. Let me know when you’re free, I’m thinking of dinner on me? Thank you again, Harry x’ 

With a little smile on her lips as he fingers traced over his messy handwriting, she felt a sigh of relief. Dinner on him, it was and she couldn’t wait.

-

a/n: thank you for reading. sorry for the wait!!! there defo won't be a long wait for part three. this is such a slow burn but promise it gets more cutesy in part three <333

#w2s #wroetoshaw #w2s x reader #harry wroetoshaw #harry lewis #harry w2s #sidemen #w2s fic #w2s imagine #wroetoshaw imagine #wroetoshaw oneshot #hollytoshaw #chris md #arthurtv #sidemen x reader

[crow-n-tell]

I had a lot of trouble with this lil guy. Weird lil music men aren't easy to shift over when their body's are so... Weird. Still, here! Hermit Crab Music Men!

If you wanna see what went on in my mind for this come right this way...

So a lil info about these boys! These lil music men have adapted to live in the safe shallows, as well as some undersea areas if need be - having two different palettes which match... you've probably guessed by the additions of orange in the music mans usual pastels

Acid mushrooms! I realized as I was trying to get it all sorted that they are a nearly identical color scheme so it worked out that their colors are a little wacky. Not that real life crabs aren't a bit audacious in their colorings too. Actually the deep sea version of this guy is based off a purple crab called the Palawan Purple Crab who comes from the Philippines.

Their colors are more so for other crabs of their species to recognize them, or so I've read, but in this particular scenario it suits our lil music man as a sort of camouflage too.

Aside from it being a sort of camouflage, it also gives you insight into these lil guys diet. Most of what (I really need to come up with a name for these guys, but all I keep thinking of is crab rangboom. like crab rangoon? but a sound pun.) they eat are poisonous, which has directly affected how predators view them. Yea see, there are certain families of crabs which are toxic only because they are eating things that should not be eaten.

So music men don't have a lot of predators, other than those who have natural immunities to things like that... ahem, moon.

I imagine that the crabs closer to the surface tend to a little smaller than knee high for an average height human, where as deeper sea versions of them are a lot bigger... Like... I DONT KNOW, Leviathan big? After all these are just lil guys, lets not forget about the big music man!

Next topic is... oh yeah!

Seismic communication is basically communication through vibrations. Not just through the water, actually it's used by spiders which we can all sort of agree is what the OG music boys are. Spiders use seismic communication when it comes to their webs in particular, able to sense through vibrations in their web if they've captured prey.

Similarly a lot of sea creatures use vibrations as means of communication. Not only in the way spiders do, but sensing out prey; but by avoiding predators or talking to each other. Crabs in particular use all three, but in terms of communication to one another its been noted they will rub their legs together like crickets to talk to other crabs.

For our lil crabby boys, their claws are fashioned sort of like the the original music man has. Hollowed out in the center, they are able to click their lil crab claws together to make sounds and vibrations which distress and confuse their prey long enough to snatch em up and eat em.

Of course they also have the very on brand to SB behavior of just being a literal face hugger if they come out of the shell.

m...mmmmm..... no... noo....ooo.......

I guess the only thing left to mention is his lil

Barnacles!

I struggled with how i'd give this lil guy a top hat. Then. I remember how WEIRD barnacles are. You see a lot of barnacles that look a lil something like this:

But they come in many variations!

And I hate all of them! they are great for designs, helpful in this case, but I get nauseous when looking at them and I can't even begin to understand why.

Sorry if my adhd really popped out on this one, I am actually holding back some of the mostly irrelevant information about colors and uh, other stuff.

#my art #fnaf sb #hermit crab music man #kracken!moon #tiding over #honestly this one is easy but I keep imagining #for like the other animatronics #I could see Freddy as something like a selkie #Monty is just a gator #chica… #sea bird………….? #roxy #oh god I don’t even #… I #uh #pi #p… piranha????????? #I DONT KNOW

[lovelybrooke]

Hey, can you do romantic yandere sally face headcanons especially when they realize they're in love with the reader?

Yandere Sally Face Concept

There aren't any good Sally Face gifs so no gif for this one. This is going to be based on this act I got a while ago, you don't have to read it to understand it but just in case.

I've been watching Invincible so that's what's been taking up all my time, sorry.

Tw: for general talks of death and hints to murder (including child murder). Please don't read if that makes you uncomfortable.

masterlist

---

Life was always hard for you. From a young age you started to see things. Shapes of things that weren't there, people that would disappear a second after you saw them. When you were little you thought you were special, that this--thing--made you different. But as you got older, you started to regret that feeling. 

You were ten years old when you realized that the people you were seeing were dead people. A little girl appeared in your room, her hair nappy and long. Her skin was pale white, covered in bruises, and there was a large red mark on her head. You were scared, terrified even, but the only thing that kept you from calling out for your parents were her cries. She cries for her mom, for her dad, and for help. They were so loud, so overwhelming, that eventually you couldn't take it. You cried and cried until your voice went raw, your parent's couldn't even console you. 

The next few years were filled with doctor visit after doctor visit, all which didn't help. You kept seeing the same things, hearing the desperate cries of people from beyond. Your parent's tried to help, but there was only so much they could do. Eventually, you got used to it, you even made some friends out of these ghosts, the ones that weren't as mean. Your parents, however, remained concerned. They were scared of what was happening to their child, of the things they were seeing. They didn't know what to do, so they thought a fresh start would be the best option. 

Nockfell was a small town, and you were just about to start a new year of school. Maybe you would make some new friends, maybe you'd forget about all these silly little things you were seeing. Moving was relatively easy, it was a distraction to everything, something else to focus on. Your parents encouraged you to make friends when you first moved to Addison, but it was hard. You were always shy, couldn't relate to other kids for...obvious reasons. Your parent's never pressured you but it worried them. 

All good things come to an end, however, and eventually, you started seeing them again. It didn't help that you moved in during a murder investigation, it felt as though everywhere you turned spirits were popping up left and right. It got to the point where they were your only friends, meeting a little girl named Megan who reminded you of the one you met all those years ago. That's how you met Sally. 

It was awkward at first, it's hard meeting someone while talking to a ghost in a bathroom, but eventually you two bonded. You both knew what it was like, to feel ostracized. You never asked about his prosthetic, you just...accepted him for who he was, he liked that. One day, Sally introduced you to Larry, his other friend. Larry was more open than Sal, in nearly every way. But you understood why they got along so well. It wasn't just the music or the hobbies, they both understood each other in a deep way, in a unique way. 

Explaining to the both of them that you saw dead people was definitely...not fun. It was when Larry took you to his treehouse for the first time. Sal came with, and at first, it was fun. It was the first time you laughed in--years. But then, it was like a chill ran up your spine and suddenly you couldn't breathe. The treehouse felt small as you struggled to catch your breath. For a second, it felt like there was someone else with you three, and it terrified you. You spend the next hour explaining everything to them, and honestly, if they were anyone else, you probably would be out two friends. 

You spend the few weeks before school helping them with their goal to figure out what happened to Mrs. Sanderson. It was weird, spending your days searching for a murder, just to go home and pretend like nothing weird was happening. Your parent's thought you were getting better, which you were. Sal and Larry eventually introduced you to their other fiends, Todd and Ashley. Todd was more quiet than the others, and you related a lot to him on that part, while Ashley and you tended to draw together. For the first time in your life, you had actual friends and a community. 

Growing up with them, your dynamics changed slowly. High school was difficult, it always was, but it was nice having people there to keep you safe. Larry never let anyone make fun of you, and Sal was always there to comfort you. Ashley was always the one you went to when times got tough mentally. She'd sit and talk to you for hours, and she'd listen. You and Todd would study a lot together, and he'd rant to you about whatever new thing he's making. 

But things got weird, around the time Sal showed you his face for the first time. It was a random night when you were hanging out in your room when he told you he wanted to show you his face. He was obviously really nervous, stuttering and talking quietly. You accepted and told him to do whatever he was comfortable with, and a few moments later, he took off his mask. It definitely was awkward, but you thanked him for feeling comfortable enough around you to share this with you, you couldn't even finish before he hugged you. You should've known something about your relationship would change after that. 

You think Sal told Larry what happened that night, because you talked about it the next day at school. He thanked you for being so kind to him, that Sal was building up the courage for weeks to share that with you. After that, you were almost always with the two, and if you were alone, Sal never had his Mask on. He told you he felt comfortable around you and Larry. You slept over at both of their apartments all the time, spending all night listening to music, catching the two staring at you for a little two long. 

As you got older, you and your friends only got closer. You moved in with Todd and Sal after graduation, and while you were sad to see Ash go, it was nice knowing she was following her dreams. Even while away, she talked with you all the time over the phone, and would even sometimes send letters detailing how school was going. Even though you were older, you still occasionally dealt with seeing ghosts. Someone was always there for you, but it was still always a shock when you saw them. It was better though, now that you were out of the apartments, but it still lingered. It didn't help that you could tell something changed between you, Sal, and Larry. They whispered to each other when you were around, shared looks. They were touchy even, and it confused you. Somedays you wanted to go back to how things were when you were children, but some days, you liked the change.

---

A/n: I didn't add stuff from the later acts (the cult stuff) since it would be too much and I don't want another Hazbin Hotel situation.

#yandere x reader #soft yandere #platonic yanderel #yandere sally face #sally face x reader #sally face

[viviennevermillion]

Sharing a tent with him ♡

author's notes: set during vargas camp. unfortunately i never found a full translation of the second one so if anything here contradicts canon, just roll with it. spontaneously writing this at 10pm after vowing i'm gonna go to bed early today so i can go to work earlier. oops. also picsart gold is making me go off with the headers so I'm making these for literally every character because i have no life. contains: malleus draconia x gn!fae!reader, cuddling warnings: none

Malleus, as always, is happy to go on a trip outside of Night Raven College; especially if he gets to share the experience with you and in this case Lilia as well. To be honest, you weren't exactly excited about spending your days in the woods near the creepy dwarf mine, engaging in sports and camping activities; but the presence of a certain fae prince made you look forward to it at least a little.

That feeling only multiplied when Vargas announced the students would be sharing tents in groups of 2-3 people and Kalim and Cater excitedly asked Lilia to have a Pop Music Club sleepover. "I'm sorry you two, but I think I'll have to decline. I'm sure Malleus-" "I'll share a tent with Malleus", you blurted out and the dragon fairy raised an eyebrow at you but immediately shot you an amused grin. "You seem quite eager", Malleus put his hands on his hips and smiled at you, "very well. I'll allow it. Just be sure you won't be frightened halfway through." You could tell he was joking and Lilia chuckled at Malleus's obvious excitement about the matter.

Malleus absolutely adored the fact that you wanted to be close to him and spend time with him; that you even felt comfortable enough to fall asleep around him. He sucked up every piece of evidence for that like a sponge, already craving the next instance of you expressing how much you valued him as a companion.

You let out a long sigh after Malleus broke the tent pole for the third time by hitting it too hard with the hammer. "Here let me be so courteous as to help you", you teased and put the pole into the ground, firmly hitting it with the hammer a few times until you felt that it was firmly stuck in the ground. "So, what do we do now?", Malleus seemed at a loss, trying to inspect the instructions on the information sheet Vargas had given you, "why do they explain these things in pictures? Why not put words too? I have no idea what this means." You could see him pouting and took the sheet from him with a laugh. "Be glad you'll never have to put furniture together yourself because that's just like this but worse", you sighed and inspected the pieces for the tent, "okay so....uh....I think this big thingy goes onto the pole and then we....uh-" You tried building the tent and helplessly watched the pole tip over and your "tent" sink to the ground. "You know, on second thought, maybe we should just sit down and wait until Vargas does it himself", you gestured awkwardly and sat down on a tree trunk.

"Oh but we are supposed to do it ourselves. After all we won't be able to understand the feelings of humans once they experience the joys of camping after all the hard work it takes to prepare it", Malleus smiled. "You're too eager for your own good", you took a deep breath. "You were the one who wanted to share a tent with me so badly", he grinned and it was clear he was relishing in the fact that you hadn't hesitated even a second to suggest pairing up with him for this trip. "You're making me sound desperate", you shook your head in disappointment and Malleus chuckled, reaching out his hand to you.

"I'm sure this is going to turn out to be quite pleasant if we commit to it. Once we're finished with our work we can be proud of the result. It might not be perfect but it'll be ours and we can share it for the next few days like a temporary home for just the two of us-" His words made your heart flutter and you took his hand and got up. "How could I say no when you put it like that?", you sighed and continued trying to build the tent.

You enjoyed a nice evening with Malleus and the other students; grilling marshmallows over the campfire and listening to the others talking about experiences they had with camping so far. There were fireflies surrounding you, nothing too unusual for being around Malleus, and the atmosphere was a peaceful one that made both of you feel happy and content.

The two of you were the last ones at the campfire, watching the embers as well as the stars above. You rested your head on Malleus's shoulder as a shooting star passed the night sky. Malleus leaned his head against yours and closed his eyes, a peaceful smile on his face as well. Malleus put out the fire and the two of you went to bed, turned to each other in your sleeping bags.

You watched curiously as Malleus pulled out something from his backpack. It was an enchanted lamp, shaped like a rose. Small, soft lights were dancing across the petals, bouncing off the ceiling of the tent. "These are quite popular in Briar Valley. I thought you might like it, so I brought it along", he smiled and put it somewhere where both of you could look at it. The conversation about the lamp evolved into a quiet talk about Briar Valley; Malleus telling you all sorts of stories about his homeland and mentioning a variety of places he was going to show you if you wanted to visit. He spoke with fondness until both of your words had turned to mere whispers.

If you don't pull the good old "I'm so cold" trick to try and be closer to him, he definitely will.

Malleus was amused at how almost dramatic you were about it. "It's so icy in this tent... I'm going to freeze to death....whatever shall I do?", you sighed with a sorrowful expression on your face and Malleus looked at you seriously. "I could make a fire to warm-" "GOD NO", you gestured wildly as you felt Malleus's fire magic manifesting within the tent. He put the flame out just as fast as it had appeared. He seemed to ponder the predicament further, then smirking at you. "Of course...you could always come closer if you dare", he teased, "I won't mind." "You don't have to tell me that", you smirked back.

That was how you ended up snuggled against Malleus in his sleeping bag, your own sleeping bag long discarded to the side. You had your head rested on his chest and your arms wrapped tightly around him. "This is a strange feeling....but not unpleasant. I like it", Malleus mused and absentmindedly started drawing circles on your shoulders, "although something tells me you had intended for this all along." He smiled as you confirmed his suspicion, a little flustered from the fact that he had seen through you. "There's no need to shy away from me", he clarified, "you need only ask. I don't mind being close to you." He breathed out and closed his eyes, leaning his cheek against your forehead.

The two of you remained silent for a while, until you weren't even sure if he was still awake. "Malleus?", you whispered; a quiet "hmm?" signaling that he wasn't asleep. You hesitated for a moment, your fingertips running up and down his arm. "I just wanted to say...", you took a deep breath, "I've really grown to treasure your presence in my life... You've become very important to me and being around you....well....makes me happy. I'm glad to have met you. I hope you know that." You could hear Malleus's heart beating faster against your ear and you felt him trying to pull you even closer.

"That means quite a lot to me", he whispered back, his lips grazing your forehead as he spoke, making you wish he'd just press a kiss to your skin already, "I feel the same about you. Thank you for being part of my life." You squeezed him gently in your embrace, making him smile.

You remained silent for a few moments, thinking about what you should say next. "You know.... I've spent all my life going from place to place; meeting all kinds of people and experiencing the brief but meaningful moments that life among humans had to offer, but I never really stuck around anywhere. There was nothing that I felt could capture my interest forever; just a century even. The people I met were just as fleeting as my time spent with them. I never had any reason to settle down", you whispered and took his hand into yours, running your thumb across his soft skin, "but now that I've met Lilia, Silver, Sebek and especially you, for the first time I'm certain I want to stay. Do you think there might be place for me in Briar Valley?"

Malleus was awestruck, his eyes widening with every word you spoke. Surprise made him incapable of even replying for a minute. His heart fluttered and there was a feeling of warmth and love in his chest that he didn't even know he craved this much but that henever wanted to miss out on again. You really wanted to stay...with him...as if it was the most self-evident thing possible.

Malleus's expression turned into a soft smile eventually and he squeezed your hand back. "I'm sure that could be arranged", he whispered with an adoration in his voice that was hard not to pick up on, "got anything in mind already?" You closed your eyes, focusing on his chest rising and falling and the soft sound of his breathing. You knew what you wanted. But you didn't dare say it yet. "We'll see." Malleus nodded. Perhaps you could be a guard. Or an attendant. Or an advisor. Or perhaps...the idea he undoubtedly liked the most: You could stand at his side, watching over the country alongside him; forever united in the love you felt for one another.

"Yes. We'll see", he confirmed and wrapped his arms tighter around you; the dreams you two shared remaining unspoken for now. But Malleus knew just as well as you did where he wanted to take the bond you had. Just say the word and I'm yours, he thought, falling asleep with you in his arms and a peaceful smile on his face.

#twisted wonderland #malleus draconia x you #malleus x reader #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x y/n #malleus x you #malleus draconia headcanons #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader

[buckychristwrites]

Could This Be | Chap. Eight | j.t.

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x F!Reader

Summary: One minute, you're single and working for AFC Richmond as the team's medic. The next minute, you're in a fake relationship with the team's handsome striker who you know next to nothing about.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Discussions of Previous Emotional & Physical Domestic Violence. Cussing. Fake Dating

A/N: This chapter was brought to you by Only Love Can Hurt Like This by Paloma Faith & Fine Line by Harry Styles. Take that as you will! :)

Masterlist | Could This Be Masterlist | Main Blog

“Are you avoidin’ me?”

You screamed, the voice from behind startling you so much that you dropped the jump bag you had been trying to load into your car. When you turned, you found Jamie, who’s face let you know that he didn’t mean to scare you, though that didn’t stop him from finding it incredibly amusing.

“Can you please stop doing that?” You said through uneven breaths. He shook his head as he took a step forward to pick up the bag you had just dropped. 

“Sorry.” Though, he didn’t sound very apologetic.

As he set the bag in the backseat of your car, you kept your eyes trained on the ground. Because the answer was yes, you absolutely had been avoiding him. Ever since the night of the premiere, you had been making yourself scarce around the club as much as possible. It had been pure luck that all injuries had remained at the bare minimum, but you also had been doing your charting away from the med room as well as away from the pitch. This was, truly, the first time you had spoken to Jamie in days.

“Are you not comin’ to the match?” He asked, glancing over at his teammates, who were all piling into the coach while laughing and hyping each other up. It took you a second to register what he meant.

“Of course I am,” You told him, finally looking up. “I always take my own car.” He glanced at the car, then over at the coach again before looking back at you.

“Why?” 

You shrugged. “I like the quiet. Helps me get my mind ready.” 

He seemed to consider this before suddenly he was taking off towards the bus. You watched him pop his head in through the door. Though you couldn’t hear what he was saying, you could hear the team cheering and whooping very loudly before he came running back towards you. His smile was shit eating.

“Guess I’m ridin’ with ya.” 

A weird mix of anxiety and amusement rose in your chest.

“I don’t recall inviting you to ride with me.” His eyes rolled upwards.

“I don’t recall carin’.” 

Before you could come up with a proper response, he was climbing into the passenger seat of your car. The door slammed and your mouth fell open. The audacity of Jamie was loud as he looked out at you, still grinning. The team made no effort to hide that they were watching you and him. You gave them a quick wave before turning your back on them, a heavy sigh tumbling out.

This was the worst case scenario for you. You had wanted this time to yourself, but not to prepare for the game.

Slipping into the driver’s seat, you slid the belt over your torso and turned the car on. Jamie kicked his feet onto the dashboard in clear triumph. If it had been anyone else, this would’ve annoyed you to no end. But, unfortunately, it was Jamie, so you let it go.

As you pulled out of the car park, following behind the coach with the rest of the team, your heart was beating a hundred kilometres a minute. The quiet music from the radio was not enough to distract you from the huge elephant sitting between the two of you, taking up all the air and making it hard to breathe. 

“So,” Jamie said, bringing his feet back to the floor while sitting upright. The sound of his voice caused a sharp pain to ripple through your chest. “Askin’ again. Are you-”

“I need to talk to you,” You blurted out without an ounce of thought behind it. He stared at you for a moment before nodding. As he turned his body so you had his full attention, you felt like you were going to throw up. 

“What’s wrong?” It’s like you were a book written in a language only he could understand. Peaking over at him, his face was filled with concern. Your brain was rejecting the words you wanted to say next, causing you to fight for your life to get them out of your mouth. 

“I think…” You said slowly, taking a deep breath. Deciding to start over, you glanced at him again. “I think that, after Beard’s wedding…” Your eyes forced themselves back on the road in resignation. “... that we should stop this.”

The words were in the air, and there was nothing you could do to put them back in your head, as much as you wanted to. The silence that filled the car was deafening. Though you weren’t looking at him, the chill that shot up your spine let you know that he turned away from you. 

“Oh, yeah. That makes sense,” Was all he said after a lifetime of not saying a word. When you allowed yourself to look at him, you found his eyes were cast downwards, his eyebrows tightly furrowed together. Carefully folding his hands in his lap, he looked up, but only to stare out of the windscreen. The tension in his jaw was remarkably obvious. 

“Jamie…”

“Did say about a month, we did,” He said as if you hadn’t spoken, nodding stiffly. 

“I didn’t want to do this right now,” You told him, knuckles tight against the steering wheel. “I’m sorry.” 

“Ya didn’t want to do this just before the match against Tottenham?” He snapped, his eyes on you once again. Beyond the anger they exhibited, you could see the hurt, too.  “Then why did ya?”

“I wasn’t planning on it. You got in my car!” You exclaimed, the tears starting to well in your eyes but you blinked them away.

“Because I wanted to hang out with ya!” He shouted back. “I fuckin’... I fuckin’ missed ya.” He shook his head angrily. “We fuck one time and now I’m fuckin’ nothin’ to you?”

You huffed, frustrated. The fact that he could say something like that to you, about what you and him had shared together, was devastating in more ways than you could ever understand. “Of course not, Jamie…” He ran both of his hands over his head, his fingers tearing through his hair. You wanted to rewind time, to start this whole conversation over. Why did your chest hurt so badly? Why did it feel like a real breakup? 

Because to you, it was. Your feelings for Jamie had gotten too intense. He was the only thing you thought about before you went to sleep at night, and the first thing you thought of when you woke up in the morning. After the night of the premiere, he had left your house that morning, leaving you with a kiss to the side of your head as you pretended to still be asleep. You had spent the rest of that morning crying nonstop, the realisation that this was no longer fake for you being too much to bear.

The fact of the matter was, either way, you were losing. If Jamie didn’t feel the same, then it made sense to you, because why would he? But if he did, then it was only a matter of time that he would see you for what you really are: A broken girl, with more baggage than an entire airline hanger, who didn’t know how to allow someone to love her without the fear consuming her. 

“It don’t matter,” He said, his voice strangely distant. You looked over at him. “This ain’t real, right? It was always meant to end.” 

Each word felt like a knife.

The rest of the drive went by without another word. By the time you pulled into Tottenham Spur’s Stadium, you were a thread away from a total breakdown. As soon as you put the car in park, Jamie was out and storming down the car park, meeting back up with the team. You held back to give yourself a moment to breathe. The tears spilled over as you set your forehead against the steering wheel. 

“You’re fine,” You whispered in a pathetic attempt to stop the crying. “It’s all going to be fine. This is how it was always going to happen.”

Taking a deep breath and wiping off your face, you climbed out of the car, grabbing your jump bag and making your way to the player entrance. Most of the team had already gone inside, but Coach Beard was leaning against the coach, yelling into his phone, assumedly to his bride-to-be. As you let yourself inside, you tried to internalise that. Maybe that’s what all love is: yelling, and pain, and hurting each other over and over and over again. It was all you had ever known from past experiences. Why allow yourself to feel all that again? This was all for the best. It had to be.

The cheering and yelling from the changing room echoed down the hallway as you walked by, but you decided to skip the pre-game rituals this time. Instead, you made your way to the stadium med room, which was thankfully empty, and sifted through the materials to make it look like you were stocking. You just wanted to pass the time so the game would start sooner, meaning it would end sooner, and then you could go home.

The staging area for the medics on the pitch was a small box area, as it was just you and the paramedic for the other team. The Team Doctor was somewhere in the stadium, as well as physiotherapists, but you were the first in the line of care when it came down to injuries. Placing your jump bag on the grass, you sat cross legged and waited patiently. That’s all it was at this point. A lot of waiting. 

As you bided your time until the players made their entrance, you thought about Jamie, and you thought about his pain. The last thing you had ever wanted was to hurt him. Maybe he had grown used to the routine of pretending to date you as much as you had with him. If only you were capable of separating your feelings from the whole thing like he could.

Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of the story.

You repeated the quote over and over in your head. It had to be you. For the sake of yourself, it had to be you.

Because you knew you wouldn’t be able to handle it if you allowed this to go on, and then it would inevitably be him.

The crowd went crazy when the players began to file out of the tunnel, each team in its own single file line. Though you applauded along with them, your eyes were trained on the bright green grass. 

A tap on your shoulder made you jump. When you turned, the Tottenham medic was holding his phone out to you.

“S’this you?” 

Hesitantly, you took a look. Twitter was open, and when you took the phone from him, you were looking at a picture of Jamie and yourself. Neither of you were looking at the camera, instead your eyes were fixed on each other, both of you smiling. The look in Jamie’s eyes was the type of look that a woman would die to have thrown their way. You wondered how it was so easy for him to look at you like that. To convince everyone else it was real for him.

“It is,” You said weakly, handing him back the phone.

“Thought so.” He shoved the phone back into his pocket. “What’s it like, dating The Jamie Tartt?”

You watched him from across the field. He was staring straight in front of him, his hands behind his back. The tension was so severe that he looked like someone pointed a remote at him and hit the pause button. You found yourself wishing that he was closer, that you could hold his hand and apologise. For the harm you caused. For breaking the rule of not falling for him. For allowing this to happen at all. For everything.

“It’s definitely something else.”

The conversation stopped there with the start of the game, thankfully. Getting the best seat in the house for the matches would be a lot better in any other moment,  but right now, the only place you wanted to be was anywhere else. 

The longer the game went on, the harder it was to focus. Jamie was playing incredibly well, clearly fueled by the argument prior. He was being more selfish with the ball than he had been in a while, and scored two goals within the first fifteen minutes of the match starting. Despite being sat right on the edge of the field, he never once looked in your direction. 

“Seems we’re getting some of the old Jamie Tartt today,” The Tottenham medic remarked. If you were a ruder person, you would’ve told him exactly where he could stick his commentary, but you weren’t a ruder person, so you kept your comments to yourself. Instead, you internally hoped that he wouldn’t talk to you like this the entire match. 

“Maybe with Lasso gone, he remembered his old ways,” He continued. Your eyes rolled upwards to the sky. 

This day really couldn’t possibly get any worse.

The ball was soaring through the air, clearing the heads of numerous players who attempted to reach it. Jamie jumped up to bounce it off his head. It felt like time was going in slow motion. The ball hit Jamie’s head at the same time as a Tottenham player, who clearly didn’t see him coming, jumped to kick it, and instead kicked him, hard, in the back of the head. 

As Jamie collapsed to the ground, you rose to your feet. 

“He’ll get up,” You said out loud, mostly to yourself. Sam, Isaac, and Dani raced to Jamie’s side as you waited with a pounding heart. They all stared down at him, Sam kneeling down and placing his hands on either shoulder.. You tried to stay optimistic. He would get up, and you wouldn’t be needed. It would be okay. It would be-

Sam turned to look at you, eyes wide in horror.

Grabbing the jump bag, you took off down the field as fast as your unathletic legs would take you. The rest of the team started to gather around as you pushed your way through. Jamie was completely unconscious when you dropped to your knees next to him.

“Jamie?” You shouted, putting your hands to his face and giving him a slight shake. He didn’t say anything, his eyes still shut and slightly fluttering. With one hand to his carotid artery, you put the knuckles of your other to his sternum and dug deep into his chest before running them up and down his skin. No response. His pulse was rapid. It was then that you realised he wasn’t breathing.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

“I need a gurney right now!” You shouted at no one in particular as you grabbed a BVM mask from the bag and attached it to the oxygen tank. In the back of your head, you thought of the head injury he’d just had not that long ago. The one you had released him back to training from. Your mind was being completely irrational as it spiralled downward. Was he not ready? Should you have given him more time to heal? He had seemed fine, showing no symptoms of concussion or any major brain injury. Was this your fault? How could you have stopped this?

Throwing the blood pressure cuff on him and hitting start, you threw your hair out of your face.

“Can I get another fucking set of hands here?” You shouted, furious by the lack of help from the Tottenham medic. 

“What do you need me to do?” Sam asked with a shaky voice. A hard sigh forced its way out of your mouth. It wasn’t exactly what you had meant, but it was all you had. You thrusted the BVM bag at him. 

“Put this over his mouth like this,” You instructed, guiding his hands so his thumb and index fingers were around the mask and the rest were on Jamie’s jawline. Teaching him was the only distraction you had. The only thing keeping you level headed. “Push these fingers upwards so that his jaw stays open.” You looked up. “Isaac!” Your voice was sharp, causing the team captain to immediately scramble to your side. “I need you to hold this and count to five. Every time you say five, give it a light squeeze. Okay? Show me.”

“One… two… three… four… five.” At the number five, he lightly squeezed the bag, causing Jamie’s chest to rise. Turning to the oxygen tank, you spun the dial to the 25 mark, the sound of the oxygen whooshing through the tubing and out of the mask filling your ears. You felt like you were on autopilot as you pulled a cervical collar from the bag and slid it under Jamie’s neck. Maybe this was all just a crazy dream, and you would wake up in your bed, the morning of the match, and none of this would’ve happened at all.

As you continued to work, you could still hear Isaac counting out loud. One, two, three, four, breath. One, two, three, four, breath. 

It was the only sound. The stadium had gone entirely silent.

“Fuck you, Jamie, wake the fuck up.” A drop of water fell onto his bare chest as you placed the pads of the AED. Is it raining? No. You’re crying. The machine went through the prompts as you finally looked up. A gurney was making its way down the field, two medics pushing it through the grass with an ambulance waiting behind them. You wanted to scream at them for not being any faster. 

The last thing he said to you was in anger. The last conversation you had with him was filled with miscommunication and hurt.

No shock advised, the AED told you. Fingers to his neck again, you confirmed Jamie still had a pulse.

“What we got?” One of the medics asked as they placed a backboard next to Jamie.

“27 year old male, unresponsive after a head injury.” Stop fucking shaking. Stop fucking sounding like you care so much. “GCS of 3. Hypertensive at 162/108. Pulse present and rapid at 124. P-Patient was not breathing, he’s now on 25 litres of oxygen at 12 breaths a minute. C-spine secured.” 

Isaac was still counting. One, two, three, four, breath. 

As the other medics began to switch Jamie to their equipment, you took the opportunity to wipe your cheeks on your sleeves. Almost immediately after, you scrambled to sit near his head, where Sam and Isaac still took up a lot of space. It seemed that the medics were going to ask you to move, but then wordlessly decided to allow you to help. Which was good for them, considering you weren’t planning on letting either of them guide his head. Placing a hand on either side of the cervical collar, the other medics counted before rolling him in order to place the board underneath him. Once he was laid back down, and they were strapping him down, you still had your hands on either side of his head, running your thumbs up and down his cheeks.

He looked unreal, with the mask on his face and his chest rising and falling so mechanically. You had gone through scenarios like this one dozens and dozens of times before, yet somehow, at this moment, you felt like this was the first time in your whole life that you had ever encountered it.

“You’ll be fine,” You whispered to him, leaning down and planting a kiss on his forehead. 

Jamie was hoisted into the air before being moved to the gurney, where he was secured with even more straps, It was weird to watch, but only because it was him. Trying to be helpful, while also not ready to part from him yet, you grabbed the heart monitor and walked alongside, the weight making you waddle slightly to keep up. Sam and Isaac were still following at the head and doing the jobs you had assigned them, as the two medics pushed the gurney towards the ambulance. The cot was secured to the loader before Jamie was lifted in the air seamlessly at the press of a button. One of the medics took over for Sam and Isaac, the two of the stepping to the side while anxiously continuing to watch. The other medic took the heart monitor from you and set it inside the back of the ambulance before shutting the doors. 

Go.

Go with them.

But you can’t. 

Because one hurt player doesn’t absolve your responsibility to the rest.

As the ambulance pulled out of the garage off the side of the pitch, lights immediately turned on, a hand gripped your shoulder and gave a light squeeze. Even as the doors closed, you could still hear the scream of the sirens echoing off the walls as the ambulance pulled out of the stadium and carried him away.

“Alright,” Roy said, to you as well as to Sam and Isaac. “Let’s go.”

You looked back a few times as Roy led you back down the pitch. Somewhere in your heart, you believed that maybe it was a mistake, and the doors would open and Jamie would run out with a big smile, laughing as he explained it was all one big joke.

No such thing happened though, as you resumed your place at the staging area, a bowling ball in your stomach, and stabbing pain in your chest.

~

TAGS

@daffieapple, @my-left-sock, @buckybarnex, @jelleeyfish, @ricciardhoe3, @picked-off-by-barzal, @lilweirdgal, @hotdoglamp, @loveslide, @rosea-h, @13-7-19-67-71. @wickedheartz, @xxenia14, @zazima, @alainabooks143, @geek-and-proud, @imagines-reblogged, @fuckifuckedup, @booklovingduck, @loveforaugust, @f1maverick, @jamieroyjamieroy, @meisterdani, @hanybunch, @batsy-bats1, @brianandthemays, @heletsmelovehim, @breepboopbap, @jellycolors

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt fanfiction #tedlassosource #ted lasso fanfiction

[natti-ice]

Dream Invader- Castiel.

Pairing: Castiel x fem!reader

Summary: Castiel takes a trip into Y/N’s dream and finds some interesting information

Warnings: written in third person (she/her pronouns) (1.6k words)

Author’s note: this is a reupload, I wrote this a while ago!

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated<3

The Impala drove down a dark road, no other cars for miles. They had just got a case two states over. They had just finished a hunt so they didn't have any time to rest. Dean is in the driver's seat, Sam in the passenger, Y/N in the back passed out. She wasn't new to the game, but it always wore her out like a newbie.

Dean went through all the channels on the radio, either they were static or they were playing some new top 40 song. He wasn't a fan of this new generation's music. He was getting annoyed, he settled on silence.

"All this new technology and they can't get better signal out here" Dean grumbled, mostly to himself.

"People don't listen to the radio anymore, Dean" Sam mumbled, fighting his sleep. He was exhausted, he got four hours of sleep in the past two days. He was always on edge, afraid something would happen when he slept.

"Shh, Y/N's sleeping"

"Must be nice" Dean said looking up at the rearview mirror. "Jesus!" He said startled.

Sam jumped, the tired leaving his body. His hand immediately reaching for his handgun, snapping his back to look in the back seat.

"Cas, you have to stop popping up out of nowhere" Dean sighed

"Sorry, I figured this was better than showing up in the middle of the road."

"I wanted to come with you guys on this hunt, I had nothing better to do" Castiel explained.

"Why didn't you just call?" Sam asked

"I uh- I lost my cellphone" He replied, he had no idea where it was. Probably some country in Europe, he's been to too many places this week.

"Whatever just give us a warning next time" Dean said

-

The four of them drove in silence for another thirty minutes. Y/N is still sound asleep. As much as Dean loved to drive, looking at a bunch of nothing is boring. He was trying to think of a game to keep him occupied, maybe like 'count how many trees you see' he probably couldn't count that high.

Checking the mirror once more, he saw a faint smile on Y/N's sleeping face. She was always a peaceful sleeper, he wondered how after all the things they had seen. How could anyone sleep after that? He was happy she could sleep, he never wanted her to know the feeling of running off adrenaline and bad coffee.

He got an idea, not his best work but he had to deal with what he had.

"Hey Cas" The angel looked up, he didn't know road trips were this boring.

"Yeah?" He answered

"Why don't you hop into Y/N's dream, see why she's got that smile on her face"

"Dean-" Sam started

"C'mon it's harmless Sammy. Just a little bit of fun" Dean said before his brother could tell him how that it was an invasion of privacy blah blah.

"I don't think that's a good Idea, Dean" Castiel didn't understand how this would be "fun" But he knew humans found entertainment in weird ways.

"Don't be a buzzkill. Just use your little angel powers and see what she's doing."

"She's probably running through a field of flowers or something"

"Fine. I'll do it, but don't ask me to do anything weird for at least a week"

"Deal, now go" Dean said, he could feel his brother's disappointed glare as Cass disappeared.

"What?" he asked

"Boundaries Dean, boundaries." Sam sighed

"Oh please it's not like Cas doesn't show up in our dreams three times a week"

Silence.

"No, he doesn't" Sam said confused

"Whatever, you know what I mean" Dean nervously squeezed the steering wheel. Oh god, do I dream about Cas? he thought.

"Right.." Sam replied giving Dean a skeptical look

-

Castiel landed on some unstable surface. Looking down at his feet, his black shoes were sinking in sand with every step. He looked around at his surrounding, he was on a beach. The sun was starting to set, the sound of waves crashing filled the air. It was so picturesque.

He could hear faint music coming from his right. Off into the distance, he could see two people standing. He figured it was Y/N, but he didn't know who the other person was. He walks closer to the pair, he noticed small candles lit around the two.

They were swaying to the tune playing from the small radio on the ground. It was one of those old love songs. It seemed whoever she was with, they were romantically involved. When he got about 6 feet away from them, he could see who the mystery person was.

It was him.

Well, his vessel.

They seemed so happy, in love with the moment. Y/N had her arms wrapped around his torso resting her head on his chest. While dream Castiel's hands were on her waist. He didn't know she felt that way about him, maybe it was just the dream.

He watched them for what felt like forever, as he took in the sight. He had a strong love for Y/N, he had trouble figuring out what kind of love. She was one of the most beautiful humans he'd ever met. She's smart, funny, caring, in his eyes she was perfect.

Though, he wasn't sure how relationships between humans and angels would be seen by the man upstairs. Honestly, he didn't care.

He guessed he had been standing there so long Y/N felt his presence. She looked over and saw him. "Castiel?" her eyes went wide.

He freaked out and didn't know what to say, he vanished out of the dream landing back in the Impala.

Shortly after, Y/N woke up from her sleep. She looked over and saw Castiel. Her hope of that meeting being a part of her dream went out the window. He saw what she was doing. She prayed to anyone who was listening that he didn't think anything of it.

"Morning sunshine" Dean said when he saw she was awake.

"How'd you sleep?" He asked, he could see she was disheveled.

"Fine" She replied, trying to keep it together

"Did you see anything in there, Cas?"

"Nope. Just like you said, fields." He came up with the lie on the spot, he didn't want to embarrass Y/N anymore.

"That's boring-"

"Hang on, you told him to go into my dream?" Annoyance in her voice

"It was just for fun Y/N, plus like he said, he didn't see anything" He said in defense.

"You son of a bitch" she said flicking his ear

"Ough!"

-

The rest of the drive was mainly silent. Y/N didn't talk to Dean much and didn't say a word to Castiel. She was so embarrassed, out of all the dreams he could've walked in on it was that one.

It had been reoccurring for months, she and Cass on a beach in each other's arms. Not one problem in the world, it was just them. Her crush grew stronger as the dream progressed. She had done so well hiding her feelings for the angel. Now all of that is gone because Dean is nosy.

They finally made it to their next case, pulling up to a motel parking lot. Sam and Dean went inside the office to get a room, leaving Cass and Y/N alone.

They stood outside the car waiting for them to get back. Needless to say, it was pretty damn awkward. The silence was killing Y/N, she spoke up.

"Thank you" she said

"What?" Castiel was confused

"Thanks for not telling them what you saw." she kept her head down

"Oh, you're welcome... I didn't think it was my place to tell them about your dream."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to invade your privacy" he felt so bad about this.

"It's alright. At least now you know." she sighed

"Know what?"

"You're gonna make me say it?" she looked up at him. He looked very confused

"That I like you, Castiel."

"Oh," he swallowed "I didn't want to assume anything, I had no idea about this"

"No one knew, I didn't want it getting in the way of the job. Plus I know there's no chance you feel the same way-"

"You're wrong" he cut her off

"Huh?"

"About how I feel, I do feel the same. I guess I've been keeping a secret too." He looked deep into her eyes to make sure she knew he was telling the truth. " There hasn't been a day that's gone by where I haven't thought about you, how kind and sweet you are. Not to mention how stunning you are."

Y/N thought she was still dreaming. She couldn't believe what he was saying, her heart started to race. She couldn't find any words, so she used her actions.

Her eyes flickered down to his lips back to his eyes, leaning in slow in case he wanted to back out. He matched her actions, leaning in connecting their lips. She runs her hand through his hair deepening the kiss.

"What the hell did we miss?" Dean's voice pulled them out of their daze, pulling apart from each other.

"Hey guys" she nervously smiled

"Hey" Dean mocked "Should we get you two lovebirds your own room?" he laughed

"Leave them alone" Sam said "c'mon rooms this way" he led the group towards the motel room

Dean walked in between Castiel and Y/N one arm on each of them pulling them in for an awkward hug.

"Isn't this great, my two best pals together. I can hear the wedding bells already!"

Join a tag list!

#castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel x y/n #castiel supernatural #castiel fluff #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fluff

[project-sekai-facts]

It’s Q&A Friday with your host R.Q anon. This weeks question is…

Anything that you wish was more realistic in terms of how the characters perform/make music?

(Personal example in case question makes no sense: I wish Honomi had a card where she wore wristbands and a headband. When you play the drums you sweat a lot and minimizing it vital areas is important when drumming for long periods of time.)

That’s all for this week’s question. See you next week for another Q&A Friday!

Hi rq anon I’m sorry I’m so late to answering this week orz

I’m not that knowledgeable in music performance unfortunately (i played violin for 6 years but the game doesn’t touch a whole lot on Toya’s experience with it compared to piano and also he was. Significantly better than me so) but I have. Something kinda related?

^ This is an unrealistic depiction of student filmmaking

I will admit, I have not had a chance to read this event yet with how busy I’ve been with college, so don’t take this seriously at all, but from what I’ve gathered, and also just this card, this is the least chaotic student film I have ever seen.

Like, I go to film school. I’ve had to make a few short films. At best we just mess around a bit (a lot) while filming, and at worst some of our team dips and the remaining crew just start playing smash bros instead. And this is with small 3-6 person groups. How the hell are they making this big production with the proper equipment and organisation at a general school and a class of like 30 students akajshs?? Maybe that’s just my own experience but still. Whole class activities are a mess always.

The concept of their film though does seem like the kinda shit you get in a student short film though so I’ll give them that.

Also this popped into my head while writing but something closer to the first point would be that wandasho create the scripts/sets/costumes/etc for their plays very quickly a lot of the time. I appreciate Curtain Call for actually acknowledging that that play specifically took multiple months to produce, because sometimes they do these things in much shorter timeframes and god I wish I could work that fast

#asks #mod talks

[obsessive-ego]

Slumber party panic

Reader x musical Beetlejuice

Nsft

Reader has a vagina

Fic where a bunch of teens summon beetlejuice moments before the two of you are intimate

This has been in my drafts forever

...

It's been a long hard week, coworkers have been calling in sick back to back to back, leaving you to cover, so that ment longer shifts, and rougher days but such was retail, you tried not to let it get to you, and kept telling yourself the you'll treat yourself on payday.

Mentally you were fine, but it DID take a toll on you physically, you'd stumble home after a nine hour shift, being the only competent employee on that day, drop your bag, sit on the couch and just stare into space exhausted, leaving your coat on, for about an hour before you'd force yourself up and put something together to eat, at least that was how you'd spend time after work on the days you were alone.

On days beetlejuice 'graced you with his presence', the moment you stumble exhausted into your home the ghoul was already on you, with a summoned clone or two to help take away your coat and bag, and eagerly bringing you to the kitchen where a hot and ready meal was waiting for you, it was so sweet, and honestly the first time he did this for you, you cried, for a demon he was such a sweet boyfriend.

Which brings us to today, another week in the books, you had the next day off and were really looking forward to resting

"Ya know babes, it's been awhile since we made the sheets sing" beetlejuice pulled into his side as the two of you sat together on the couch ignoring the gameshow that had been providing background noise

"I know" you yawn

"So how bout I remind ya why you're with me to begin with?" He snorts out a laugh, pink hues beginning to pop in his hair

You chuckle "I'm not just dating you for your dick beej-"

"I know toots, you're hear for my rear too♡" he pushes nuzzling into you neck, a hand moving to your upper thigh, you give a soft laugh feeling the bubble of excitement begin to start up, but then you yawn again

"Am I boring you?" Beetlejuice chuckles, knowing damn well the week you've just survived

"Sorry Bee-" you start

"Forgetta bout it, why don't you let ol' mister beebleboose do all the work tonight? You deserve a treat for being such a big strong working breather, and come on babes, I gotta fulfill my end of the bargain, since I'm your trophy husband♡"

You give the ghoul a playful push, moving him off you "we're not married beej-"

Beetlejuice crawls up onto your lap, trapping you between him and the couch "not yet♡"

The idea of getting married to beetlejuice always gave you butterflies, you knew the drill with him, the dead marrying the living gave them another, or in Beetlejuice's case, his first shot at life.

"Well?" The demon snaps you out of your thoughts

"Well what?"

"Do you wanna be my pillow princess tonight?♡" he snickered knowing how you weren't too keen on the nickname

"I don't know beej, being called 'princess' isn't really a turn on-"

"Alright my pillow prince♡" he coos, pinching your cheek

You swat his hand away "I do miss being intimate with you-"

"Then its settled!" Beetlejuice scoops you up, his hair now magneta, buzzing with excitement "call me old fashioned toots, but as much as I love railing ya on the couch, I'd rather tonight we take it to the boudoir♡" The ghoul quickly carried you over his shoulder to your room, making sure to give your bum a pinch before dropping you on the bed.

"God slash satan I've been waiting all week for this" beetlejuice purrs, crawling up on the bed and leaning over you, his magenta hair buzzing and giving the room a romantic glow

"Me too" you sigh leaning up giving the demon a soft kiss, it's been a rough week, and to be honest you've been feeling guilty saying no to him every night, you wanted to as well, you just wanted sleep more.

Beetlejuice pushes you back down on the bed, breaking the kiss, not like him, normally you'd have to remind him you need air to live, but whatever

"You're wearing too much clothes, here, allow me♡" he chuckles before snapping his fingers, your clothes vanishing in thin air, aside from a simple pair of black panties.

The ghoul leans back taking a good look at your mostly naked form, even though he's seen you like this so many times, his lecherous stare always made you a tad shy.

"It's been too long" he groans loosing his tie

"It's only been a week" you try to sit up only to have the ghoul push you back down

"Time works different when you're dead, now close your eyes and give daddy some sugar" beetlejuice purrs leaning forward, his long striped tongue leading the way

You do as instructed, having no desire to be what some would call a brat, you close your eyes and lightly part your lips ready to start a much desired night of passion.

You waited for a second or two, yet nothing, you knew beetlejuice as an inpatient guy, especially when it came to being intimate, so you peak.

He was gone

"Beetlejuice?"

Nothing

"Beetlejuice?"

Still nothing

"Beetle-?" You stop half way, knowing he'd normally stop you before you got all three B words out, but he didn't come

Oh, he was messing with you

"Okay" you start breaking the B word chain, then it hits you, maybe he's gonna try that thing the two of you were talking about, awhile ago you mentioned to beetlejuice you thought the idea of being 'railed' or 'taken advantage of' by an invisible entity is incredibly hot and if he was up to it, you'd very much like to try it with him, and by God, the demon was foaming at the mouth, and practically vibrating with excitement when you asked him that.

As that thought crossed your mind you eagerly lay back down against the pillows, sliding your panties downs leaving them hanging on your ankle, and spreading your legs. You lay there beaming with excitement waiting for the shoe to drop, but as 5 minutes pass your feelings fade to disappointment

Maybe this is beej's way if telling you he didn't really want to have sex with you tonight, maybe when he asked you earlier he was hoping you'd turn him down again, your heart squeezed at the thought and the humiliation you put yourself through, laying there like an idiot, was he getting back at you for turning him down ever night this week?

"If you didn't want to have sex you should have said something you ass" you cry getting off the bed and beginning to find something more comfortable and cozy to go to sleep in.

"You can forget sharing the bed tonight too" You couldnt help but tear up, he made you look like a fool, waiting for him laying there naked for almost an hour, he's probably in this room laughing at you, enjoying his shitty revenge game.

You plug your phone in and crawl under the covers of your bed, already warm from you laying there like a dumbass, you wanted to cry until you couldnt breath, this had to be the meanest thing ANYONE, let alone your partner, have ever done to you, just as you turn over ready to cry yourself to sleep, your phone rings.

You grab your phone off the night stand, wipe your eyes and awnser a shaky "hello?" Assuming it was a coworker calling last minute to ruin your day off tomorrow.

"Hey, babes? Call me back asap!"

"Beetlejuice?" What did he mean call him back? Wasn't he here?

"Two more doll, hurry up!"

He sounded alittle upset

"Where are you?"

He groans "just call me back and I'll explain" you could hear young girls crying in the background "I'll just be a minute" he shouts away from the phone, but still is herd by you

"Beetlejuice, beetlejuice, beetlejuice" you get it over with tired of this back and forth, you hear the clunk of the phone he was holding hit the floor then the disconnect tone.

In a puff of green smoke he was back, the magneta in his hair now gone, replaced with an awful mix of purple and red, the pink that graced his suit moments before his disappearance? Now the same awful mix as his hair, though the colours quickly fade back to pink when he sees you

"BABES!" He lunges at you, the bed creaks when he makes contact with the mattress, the demon was quick to wrap his arms around you and nuzzle in, to which you push away

"What happened?" Your voice was stern and demanding, you wanted answers and wanted them now.

"Aw babes" beetlejuice starts rubbing the back of his neck "it was rough, apparently some kids at Lydia's school herd her summon me, so they did it too, ya know, a bloody Mary party game situation"

He was pulled away, he was pulled away against his will, he didn't snub you, god this made your gut turn, you were upset for nothing.

"Thank whoever I was still fully clothed when it happened huh babes?" The ghoul gives you a nudge "let me set the scene for ya toots" Beetlejuice crawls up against the headboard with you, slinging an arm over your shoulder and pulling you in

...

"Give daddy some sugar♡" was the last thing he said to you before being pulled from your bed.

Lips still puckered leaning forward, an unfamiliar scream breaks the mood

Opening his eyes, before him sat 3 teenage girls

The room was dimly light by a hand full of led candles

It took the ghoul merely a moment to adjust to the situation, adjusting his tie, and smoothing his hair back, no longer magneta, but now red, these little brats ruining the night he's been craving all week.

"I cant believe it worked"

"A real live ghost"

"This is so cool"

"What have we done?! He's totally gonna kill us"

The chatter amongst themselves as of this was all a silly game

Beetlejuice clears his throat to stop noise and gain the kids attention

"Alright-" he starts

"Okay mister ghost, we summoned you so you have to do as we say, just like you did for that creepy lydia girl" what beetlejuice could only assume was the ringleader in this pack of teens, stood up straight poking him in the chest, the ghoul cringes at the mention of Lydia, guess Babs was right, maybe the two of em should be more careful in public spaces, but he sure as hell wasn't gonna to spread it around he got caught and summoned. Beetlejuice pushes the thought of a lecture out of his mind, he had bigger fish to fry, meaning to get home and rail you, you must be worried sick, you poor vagina drying up in his absence.

"First off we want you to-" the kid's voice snapped him from his musing back to the current problem

"Alright kid, I'm gonna stop ya right there, this isn't a 3 wishes genie situation, I'm a demon, ya know, from hell, and you 3 pulled me away from some serious demon business, I should eat the lot of you for it"

As Beetlejuice ranted his form changed, becoming more monstrous, his teeth shapper, his claws more prominent, his eyes more snake like, all around more intimidating.

The teens huddle together in fear pleading for their safety and passing around the blame of who's idea to summon him was.

"But I won't" at those words the demon features fade and he returns to his default look, although still red "if you kids do something for me"

At this point the girls were sobbing, noses running, babbling unintelligible sounds, and clinging together for dear life

"Can I use your phone?"

...

"Wow" was all you could say

"I know, I know, I've been through alot tonight, I could really use some comfort, so how bout we~" he leans into you nuzzling his beard into you neck, you gasp at the sensation, feeling his tongue lick the stripe up your neck.

"Oh Bj♡" You let out a soft moan

"I know toots♡" he groans guiding you back to laying beneath him "now where were we?♡"

...

.....

Bonus

Lydia: hey so that girl who's been being mean to me hasn't done anything to me in awhile

Beej: ....haha weird....

Y/n: ...yeah weird

#beetlejuice x reader #rambling #muscial beetlejuice x reader #nsft

[wavesmp3]

[ksw] ode to you

inspired by 'daisy jones and the six'

kim sunwoo x reader (gn) wc: 10k warnings: cursing, heavy alcohol usage and often in an unhealthy way, one mention of blood (a terrible case of largely irrelevant side characters, an attempt at writing song lyrics, switching pov’s without any real indication, story existing in a vacuum of time and space loosely based off of 70s usa)

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

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

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

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

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

You pour yourself a glass of whiskey. 

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

“How many glasses is that?”

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

He hums, flicking the square paper in his hand. 

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

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

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

“Who’s it by?”

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

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

“Have you heard of the Numbers?”

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

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

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

He walks into the recording booth hesitantly. 

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

Sunwoo just shakes his head. 

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

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

Sunwoo is speechless. 

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

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

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

— 

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

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

Your face drops immediately. “Are you serious?” 

Sunwoo raises a brow–a challenge.

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

“That’s not what this song is about.”

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

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

“That’s too easy.”

“How is that too easy?”

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

Kim Sunwoo is an asshole. 

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

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

You nearly drop the four plates of burgers.

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

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

“Holy shit.”

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

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

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

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

The crowd roars as the previous artist says his goodbye. 

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

“Nope.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t even remember the song ending. 

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

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

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

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

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

You pivot. “Excuse me?” 

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

The bartender slides over three drinks. 

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

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

You and Chanhee make your way over to a booth. 

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

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

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

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

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

“No, we haven’t asked him yet–”

“I can’t believe this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today is already off to a bad start. 

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

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

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

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

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

“We were talking about the album’s direction.” Juyeon says from behind Sunwoo. 

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

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

Everyone takes a moment to read. Sunwoo watches the room carefully. Jacob clears his throat. Kevin plays a loose note. 

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

He whips his head around. “What?”

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

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

You shrug. “They’re cheesy.”

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

“I’ve read enough.”

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

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

He slips a curse between a breath. 

“Okay?”

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

—

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

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

“You like this song?” You ask. 

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

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

“Oh, really?” Sunwoo replies with a chuckle. “You worked with Kim Younghoon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— 

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

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

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

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

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

“Absolutely not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you–”

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

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

You inhale slowly. “The latter.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I never said that.”

“But you showed me.”

“When?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But what if they do?”

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

His eyes finally land on you.

“I think I found our melody.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I know that you never trusted me. 

He joins you for the chorus, singing back.

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

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

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

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

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

You smile at Sunwoo. He smiles back. 

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

(We don’t always have it perfect.)

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

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

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

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

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

(Boy, do we fight.)

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

“I disagree.” 

He scoffs. “All that for–”

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

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

“It’s supposed to feel like peace.”

(Sometimes you win.) 

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

Only Changmin (the drummer), does.

(Sometimes you lose.)

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

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

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

“Chanhee, you haven’t even heard my–”

“This song doesn’t need your voice.”

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

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

Jacob, Kevin, Changmin, and Juyeon just stare at you blankly.

“Less cymbals, Changmin.” Sunwoo says over the speaker from the control room. “And Juyeon, ride out the low tones more.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look at him sincerely. “Yes.”

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

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

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

He turns to you. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was that song about?”

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

“Which is?”

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

It feels like a shot of sunlight through his veins. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s it about?” Jacob asks.

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

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

—

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

You really wish you hated Luca, but you don’t. They’re actually quite nice and get along with the whole band so easily. They even make friends with Chanhee. You thought they might be a distraction to Sunwoo while writing and recording, but Sunwoo is more focused and productive and creative than ever. The song he wrote right after meeting Luca is good, like stupidly good. There isn’t a single word in it that needs changing. 

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

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

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

Sunwoo turns back to the control room. Sunwoo wrote this song for Luca, but he wasn’t the only writer on this song, and so, for the rest of the song, you wonder who the hell you wrote this song for?

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Same. Kevin started doing karaoke again.” 

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

They nod with a laugh. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen all of them.” 

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

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

You don’t hide the surprise on your face. 

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

They leave that part blank. But based on what you heard from Sunwoo about that first tour, you can piece together what might’ve happened. You question whether Luca left that empty to spare Sunwoo or to spare themself. Then you question how they knew you knew about it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sunwool showed me a couple of the songs from the album.” Luca mentions, and it instantly and heartbreakingly reminds you who you’re talking to. “They’re amazing. They’re so good and real and raw that it almost makes me wonder…” their voice tapers off, losing the sound to a small exhale that appears as if it was meant to be a laugh, “Nevermind.” 

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

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

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

They nod. “Yeah, I mean the lyrics in ‘Begin Again’—“ 

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

“What about ‘Can You See Me’?” 

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

—

When you get home that night, you finish the song you started writing about Sunwoo and Luca. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Call it ‘Silver Lies’.” He says. 

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

“Vote on it?” Sunwoo proposes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chanhee is fuming at us!” 

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

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

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

“You wasted an entire day of recording!”

What kind of songs were we making? 

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

Were they all lies?

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

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

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

He splashes water in your face on his way out. 

a/n: originally posted as a svt fic, but lowk feels like it fits sunwoo even better. not proof read very thoroughly so pls lemme know if you noticed any mistakes lol

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