#Backstage Pass Magazine

[lily3k]

B-PASS 2022年12月号

[littlelamy]

rockstar!rafe x model!reader

rafe cameron, rockstar and absolute menace, has the whole world wrapped around his finger, but he only has eyes for you, his “star.” a sex-symbol bombshell on every magazine, you’re the only one who can keep up with his reckless, no-limits lifestyle. the two of you are pure chaos, a match made in tabloid hell—whiskey-soaked nights, trashed hotel suites, and scandalous photos the whole world loves to hate. you’re the untouchable couple people whisper about, practically blowing kisses to the cameras as you leave a trail of destruction behind you. every second is messy, filthy, and oh-so-fun—just how you like it.

mini masterlist (discontinued bc i ran out ideas and motivation)

how you met

his personal star 18+

backstage pass 18+

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Stars Align

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as age gap, manipulation, power imbalance, dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Steve Rogers was one of the biggest stars of Hollywood’s Golden Era. For years, his disappearance from the spotlight has been a mystery, that is until he walks right into your life. (Old Hollywood AU/1960s AU)

Characters: silverfox!Steve Rogers, reader is named 'Satyr' for clarity

Note: I enjoy older music and musicals. I tend to drift into this idea whenever I'm enjoying some and I finally said fuck it.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

1965 

Satyr 

"Oh, Margie, can I get some of that lipstick?" The blonde with crystal blue eyes nudges the scarlet-headed vixen tracing her lips with a deep shade of crimson in the mirror crowded with women in sticking and short skirts. 

"You should've thought ahead, Carla," the redhead pops her lips. "We're friends up until that curtain opens." 

"Oh, boo. It's lipstick." 

"It's mine," the other woman retorts and slides the lid on the tube with a smug smirk. 

You overhear from the corner where you move your feet and try to recall the choreography. It's made more difficult with the cacophony of voices and the crush of bodies fogging the backstage with heat. Most are more concerned with the beading in their bodices or the curls across their brows. 

You didn't think of any of that. You spent your scarce savings on the bus ticket and kept the change to eat for the day. You look down at yourself, wondering if you've missed something important. The advert said 'dancers needed' for an open audition. It didn't say anything about sequins or eyeliner. 

The more you look around, the more it feels like a mistake. Your mother is right. It’s a pipe dream. You’ve spent all your money on coming to New York to embarrass yourself. 

But no! This is your one chance at Broadway! Broadway! You still can’t believe it. All your life you dreamt of being on a stage, and somewhere deep down, a screen. Even if the very idea makes your stomach bubble. The singing, the dancing, the stories... you wanted to bring that same fantasy to girls like you. 

There’s not much room on the silver screen for musicals anymore but the city is thriving. Or so you read in the magazines your mother calls rages. 

“One minute, ladies,” the stage manager calls from the edge of the curtain, “shoes.” 

The other women clamour, clicking and tapping around in their heels. You peek down and wiggle your toes in your soft-toed flats. They’re farm shoes. Scuffed from you dancing on the swept barn floor. 

You line up in order of the numbers pasted to your chests. The paper curls at the corner from your previous stomping and the crinkle is slightly agitating. You are made even shorter as you’re the only auditioner without at least a few extra inches under her heels. 

The stage manager blows a whistle and orders the first girl out, swirling his finger to herd you out like sheep. “Out, out, out. Line up. Don’t waste time.” 

As you go to pass the dour man and his tin whistle, he stretches his arm out and you bounce off of it. You step back into the woman behind you. She grunts in surprise. 

“You, where are your shoes?” 

“Sir? I have shoes--” 

“Heels,” he snaps his fingers in frustration, “those are not going on my stage. Take them off. Dance on your toes!” 

You blink and your lip trembles. You’re mortified. He grabs your arms and yanks you of the way. “You got ten seconds to get those off and get in line.” He lets you go and points the other woman out, once more barking the same sentiment. 

You don’t think. You just do. You tear off your flats and leave them forgotten on the floor. You slip in your stockings and stop again. You roll them down and kick them away, swiftly running out to find your place in line. 

The woman next to you with the flaxen blonde hair with straight-cut bangs mutters something and laughs. You don’t pay her any mind as you dig down to recall the choreography. You got this. If you can remember Ginger Rogers famous Swing Time masterpiece, you can get this. 

Judith, the black-haired, prim-lipped instructor who previously took you through the steps a grand total of once, comes to the front of the stage. The tin whistle blows and the chatter hushes. You peer between the bodies and see the panel of six sat along the front row. One of them must be the director, the rest you’re unsure. 

As Judith raises her hand in a silent count down from five, you remember to get on your toes. Your bare feet are frozen in the airy theatre. This is it. You’re about to dance for your life. 

As she closes her fist and the music begins to play from an old victrola, you fall into action. You elude the dancer next to you that goes to the left rather than the right and you focus on your posture. As you meld into the music, you disappear from the room and into your imaginary spotlight. You are back among the cattle and the sheep, watching you flail around in the moonlight. 

You are only brought back by the squeal of another. Further ahead, a dancer is on the floor. The stage manager blows the whistle and promptly orders her away. She gets up, limping as her shoe dangles from her ankle, and scurries with her face covered. 

You don’t stop. If you can ignore your father’s hammering and your mother’s hollering, you can get through this. Your eyes flick up as your body follows the recital in your head. There are two figures higher up, shrouded in shadow. You can’t make out more than their silhouettes. There sharp shoulders suggest two men, but why would they be sitting in on this? 

More are picked away from the crowd for missteps and trips and some every break into tears and run off of their own volition. The chaos adds to the beating of your heart but you can’t stop. Every penny you have depends on this. Your pride, not that it’s very much, is hanging from this fraying thread. 

As you continue along the progressions, one of the men in the back stands and his voice rolls through the music. The other remains and sits forward in his chair. The song plays on and your feet don’t stop. The steps feel more natural as the rows thin out around you. 

The victrola quiets as you hit the final step. You’re breathless but enlivened. The man in the back stands and follows the other’s departure at a calmer pace.

Judith begins her countdown and the manager shouts, “again!” 

Steve 

Steve Rogers follows the pin-striped tails of his companion down the back hall. It’s been a while since he’s been in a theatre. Yet, it isn’t his last visit that plays in his head. It’s those early days, when he was a spindly little stagehand, brushing wigs, fluffing capes, and moving scenery. Before simplicity was so damned depressing. 

Sam leads him along the back row as the stage stands empty ahead of them. His agent sits first before he can bring himself to do the same. It’s not just that creak in his knee, it’s the way it all feels so familiar but strange. It’s like going home and seeing a new family living in the same house you were raised in. 

“Looks like we missed the preliminaries,” Sam mutters. 

Steve puts his hands on his thighs as he pushes his shoulders wide. He squints. He can see the figures along the front row. Six of them; the usual, a director, the co-director, and the backers. He rubs his eyes as he tries to clear them and sighs. 

“Don’t say a word,” Steve grumbles as he feels around his jacket and dips his hand beneath. He slips the hard leather-bound case from his pocket and opens it on its tight hinges. He unfolds the glasses he only wears at the typewriter. 

Sam abides but not without a lingering look that makes him squirm. He’s already agitated. He’s not used to this yet. It should be like riding a bike, shouldn’t it? Ugh, this is a bad idea. 

“Relax,” Sam says, sensing his uneasiness. “This is day one, alright? No pressure. We don’t have to find nobody today. This is just... putting our toes in the pond. See what’s out there. This doesn’t work out, we can see how well Frank’s kid can dance. She’s cute.” 

“Sinatra? No way,” Steve growls. “I don’t want anyone famous. It’s the whole reason...” He trails off and shakes his head. 

“Well, keep in mind, these are amateurs. You’re not gonna find Hayworth here. Or anywhere, these days.” 

Steve glances over at his agent and sighs, “I was having dinner with Rita when you were still in diapers, kid,” he warns. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam waves him off as voices rise behind the curtain. “Looks like things are about to get interesting.” 

Steve plants his elbow on the narrow armrest and shifts in the seat. He doesn’t remember them being so uncomfortable. He remembers sitting in them for hours; for premiers, for awards shows, just for the hell of it. 

His chest flickers. He hasn’t felt that since the first time he faced a camera. It was different then. Things were still black and white. If Fred’s still got it, he must too. 

Why is he doing this? Why couldn’t he just stay in that house and be, not happy, but alone. Unbothered. Why now? Why did the itch start until his skin felt ready to split? He’s gotta try. He’s Steve Damn Rogers and he always gets back, it just took a little longer this time. 

A whistle blows and he crinkles his face. Ugh, the noise. That will be the hardest to get used to. When did he get so boring? Maybe when fun turned out to be so painful. 

Women flow out in rows. They arrange themselves along the stage as a woman stands at the front with a black blunt haircut. She watches them fan over the space. There’s a pause before another follows the third line back. Then another skitters out with no shoes and inserts herself into the empty space left between the previous dancers. 

He rests his chin on his fist curiously. He doesn’t miss the disarray that much. He remembers being behind those curtains and watching the hopefuls run off in tears. Sometimes, they took his handkerchief, other times they ran right past him. 

Why are those times easier to remember? Why do the shining ones, the ones in bright Hollywood lights, not excite him? No, no, don’t think of that. It’s not gonna be that way this time. This time, it’s his rules. His script, his movie. 

The music begins and his focus on the dozens of dancers. There’s almost too many to keep track of. Yet his eyes come back to that third row. The girl dancing on her toes in bare feat. She moves like silk or satin in the wind. So effortless. Yet everything else about her doesn’t belong. The way she moves is how one should onstage, but her beige dress and plain hair do nothing to make her stand out. 

A woman near the front trips and lands on her knees. She cries out as she’s ushered off. His eyes flit back to that girl with no shoes. She doesn’t even wince. 

“Ah, this is a wash,” Sam grumbles. “Look at them, a bunch of nobodies. Can’t even stay on tempo.” 

“How would you know?” Steve mutters back. 

“I got an eye for this stuff, don’t I? I represent the greatest actor in the world.” 

“Funny,” Steve drawls dryly. 

“I need a smoke. Let me know if anything interesting happens.” Sam stands and struts out. 

Steve remains. He pushes his glasses closer to his eyes as he leans forward. The women fade, all but one, that one. The one in the bare feet. It’s like she’s in another world. As he watches her, he feels liek he is too. 

The music stops. Her final pose is perfect. On beat, posture good, sharp. He rolls his tongue around. This could work. It could. He doesn’t need another... well, don’t worry about her. He needs someone to mold but not without substance. She can dance, that’s all he needs. The rest can be learned. 

He stands with one last look and leaves, his feet weighed down as the music begins again. He stops in the hallway behind the theatre and faces the door. He could sit and watch her for hours. No, he needs to get Sam. They’re not doing this again. He knows it’s her. It has to be. He doesn’t feel so... itchy. 

[blackynsupremacy]

THE GLAMOROUS

LIFE

boys with small talk and small minds

really don't impress me in bed

she said, "i need a man's man, baby"

diamonds and furs

love would only conquer my head

pairing: nicholas chavez x black!fem!reader

also starring: cooper koch and normani as valerie

read: part two

summary: it’s the year 1987. you and your best friend, valerie, are rising college graduates and are part of one of the most affluent african american families of the decade. yachts, designer fashion, handsome yuppies, diamonds, and grand soirées all sound like a ball, but to you, it’s so predictable. especially when it comes to dating. your not-so-friendly personality underneath all of that designer tends to be men repellent, until this one double date valerie sets up with a renowned tennis player and promising law student shifts your entire perspective.

inspo: fresh prince of bel-air, 1x19. cred to @fear-is-truth for the idea of an 80s au.

contains: lots of words, eighties au, reader is a bit toxic, yuppie culture, swearing, rudeness, alcohol consumption, arguing, nicholas gets reader together, enemies to lovers, fluff.

tags: @sabrinasopposite @supaprettyg @camiesully @zombigrlll @ellethespaceunicorn @rosiestalez @afrogirl3005 @afrowrites @elitesanjisimp @jkr820 @simply-the-best23 @gxuxhdjdu @tryingtograspctrl

“valerie, for the love of god, don’t make me go on this date. i swear on daddy’s credit card that i can get you backstage passes for the bad tour. hell, i’ll even let you get with michael if it would change your mind. just please don’t make go on this double date.”

you groan and plead while watching your best friend since birth, valerie hill, primp herself at her pristine, white vanity for a night on the town. she had a date with this tennis player named, cooper koch. apparently he was so talented in the sport, that he was well on his way to the olympics within the next year. valerie mentioned that he was bringing his friend, nicholas. she didn’t really ask about him, what he did, nor if you were down for the double date, so you were practically forced into this. you both were the heiresses of the richest black families in the nation, so going out on dates to the most exclusive and expensive restaurants with the richest bachelors were the norm for you both. for you, the norm was getting so damn predictable. all of the guys you’ve dated in the past only care about two things: getting paid and getting laid. it was enjoyable at first, but as you grew older, you realized that life shouldn’t just be about drugs, money, and sex. it should have some sort of substance, some depth, some purpose. these guys never challenged you. they talk a big game with their cars and lavish spending, but it’s all a load of materialistic bullshit. each time you give them a chance, it’s like you want to put a combination lock on your pussy and forget the numbers. that’s the energy you give out: cold, distant, snarky, rude, anything to get these yuppie ass wannabe’s out of your face.

but here you were, already showered and clad in a cream satin robe with curlers in your hair. valerie was the popular one out of you both. besides studying to take over the family business, she was a model. her face would be on commercials, billboards, and magazines. it’s no wonder why she had a line of men begging to breathe the same oxygen as her. you were studying business as well and in your free time, you would compose new masterpieces on the grand piano you were gifted when you were fifteen after perfecting the instrument since kindergarten. even with the pressure of performances, recitals, and competitions, you grew to love writing a new piece in different styles. your idols consisted of stevie wonder and quincy jones. your parents never really knew, but you were so lucky to have valerie be a support system for your passion.

your inner turmoil was interrupted at the ring of valerie’s telephone to which she picked up and answered with the customary “hello”. your brown eyes peer at her figure as your ears tune into the conversation she’s having.

“hello?… oh, hey, cooper!…uh-huh. yeah, i can’t wait either…oh, is he? well, she’s definitely looking forward to meeting him.” valerie pauses to cut her eyes at you, in which you respond with the rolling of your own.

“okay…yes, three eighty five willard lane is correct. i’ve already told the guard at the gate your names, so just give it to him and you should be good to go. thirty minutes? okay…see you then! ciao for now!” valerie blows a kiss to the receiver with a smile on her made up face and hangs the phone up. she turns to you with those alluring deep, brown eyes that’s captivated so many hearts. with a huff of her breath, she stands up from the vanity stool and saunters over to you, donning a long hot pink sleeveless evening dress that hugged her body just right. it was cut low with diamond straps paired with matching pink opera gloves and an assortment of genuine diamond jewelry that was adorned on her ears, fingers, neck, and wrists. you feel her palms on your shoulders and she gives you a knowing glance.

“i know that you’ve been burned before, but for some odd reason, i got a feeling down in my gut that this guy is exactly what you’ve been looking for. if he’s not what you expect within an hour, we can go home.”

“no bullshit?” you questioned with an arched brow.

“no bullshit, but please try not to have that stank ass attitude at dinner tonight, y/n!”

“i might bullshit on that, valerie. you know when i hear something stupid, my attitude can’t help it. i’ll try for you though! not my best, but i’ll try.”

you retort with a smirk and release yourself from a giggling valerie. you take the last thirty minutes to get ready. you don your white, shimmery strapless evening dress with matching fingerless opera gloves. you perfect your hair and makeup to your liking. to say you looked beautiful tonight was an understatement. you bashfully receive the encouraging compliments from valerie in which you reciprocate the kindness. there’s a knock on the bedroom door and valerie opens it to reveal one of the maids, letting you know that there are two gentlemen in the foyer waiting. your stomach starts to rumble with dread, but then it serves to your memory that you only have to give this man an hour of your time if he’s not up to par, so fuck it, just get it over with.

“ah, shit. is it too late to take back what i said about michael jackson?” you curse under your breath, rolling your eyes slightly.

valerie nudges you playfully, her excitement buzzing in the air, but still some annoyance towards your irritability. “girl, don’t start. they just got here, damn! you’ll never know, you might end up diggin’ on him when the night is over. now haul ass!”

you suck your teeth and quietly retort, “diggin’ my ass.”

you grab your fur boas and designer clutch handbags. valerie takes the lead and you exit her bedroom to descend down the marble staircase of the hill manor. you keep your head down to watch your step, but then you hear a male voice circulating in the room.

“wow, you guys look absolutely stunning. the talk around town certainly don’t do you ladies any justice. pardon my language, but i’d tell those shit-heads to eat every word.”

“oh, my. why, thank you, cooper! you didn’t have to get the flowers, you know.” valerie responds with an elated smile.

you look up to see two handsome, strapping young men in finely tailored suits with one of their hands casually stuffed in the pocket and each with a bouquet of red roses in the other. they were caucasian and stood tall in the six foot one range with dark brown hair. one had curly hair, the other straight. one had brown eyes, the other had green. as valerie scurries down the rest of the stairs to greet the curly haired green eyed suitor with an embrace and peck to his cheeks to graciously receive her roses, you were still a bit reluctant to move any further down the staircase. you swallowed and you slowly follow her path, your sweaty palm smooths your dress down your waist before approaching the man with the scrutinizing, yet amicable brown gaze. you’ve been all too familiar with this look before. that’s how they ease you in. to keep your end of the bargain, you simply flash your award winning smile when he guides the bouquet in your direction with a casual grin on his lips.

“i’m nicholas. nicholas chavez. you must be valerie’s friend—uh, y/n l/n, right? i have to say i agree with cooper here. you look absolutely gorgeous and it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. these are for you. may i?” he greets with such an air of politeness. well, all of the guys have to with their background before they show their true colors.

“roses? cute. original. sure.” you somewhat dryly respond. you thanked him and took the bouquet in one hand and gave your free hand to his for him to place his lips on the back, your stomach fluttered and your cheeks heated when his eyes nor lips didn’t pull away from you for a second. you pull your hand back before things got too awkward. after valerie calls the maid to put the flowers in a vase of water, she’s already walking out the door on cooper’s arm, leaving you and nicholas standing alone in the foyer. he turns his large frame to yours and juts his elbow out towards you,

“shall we? we don’t want to lose the reservation.” he quips with a smirk. so insufferable! typical yuppie. with a tight lipped grin, you nod and your hand circles around his—bulging bicep. well, fuck! nicholas was indeed jacked. you don’t let the tingles of your lower region let your guard down though.

“mm-hmm. i guess we shouldn’t keep them waiting.” you and him step out into the starlit evening and you stop noticing two cars, one red ferrari f40 and a black chevrolet corvette. wait a fucking minute. why the hell are there two cars? you could’ve sworn that valerie said that all four of you were taking a limousine. nicholas led you to the ferrari, while cooper led valerie to the corvette. before they could go any further, you took your hand from nicholas’ arm and called out valerie’s name in a faux friendly tone and smile.

“i apologize, fellas, but valerie, a word?” you hastily ask cutting your eyes to your best friend that protested by standing closer to cooper.

“but, y/n, we’re gonna be la—” you cut her short by taking her hand and scurrying a few feet from your dates, so they couldn’t hear your griping.

“valerie, you sneaky ass skank! you told me we were taking a limo. you ain’t said nothing about going in two separate cars! what the fuck are you trying to do!?” you hiss in a whispered tone, you were hotter than a firecracker. dumbfounded, your best friend responds with a shrug and glanced over to the confused men, sending them a wave with an embarrassed smile before shifting her focus back to you.

“girl, i didn’t know either. i guess cooper changed his mind about it before he left! i’m not mad about it though. this is our chance to get to know them one on one. i might even get lucky tonight, honey! besides, i don’t need you to scare off your and my date. ride with nicholas and don’t be fucking rude. just give him an hour. you promised.”

“not exactly.” you deadpanned.

“y/n!” she hissed in the lowest, yet sharpest warning tone.

“ugh. fine, i’ll ride with him. i’ll be—civil.”

“perfect. now let’s get our fine asses wined and dined.”

you both hurriedly walked back nicholas and cooper. like the gentlemen they were, they opened the passenger doors for you and valerie to enter their respective vehicles and buckle up. cooper and nicholas agreed to having cooper lead the way to the restaurant while nicholas followed behind. once they entered the driver’s seats, you four made your journey. you and nicholas didn’t ride in complete silence. the radio was filling the car with phil collins’ “in the air tonight” faintly in the background. nicholas eyes glanced over to your figure briefly. you sat in the passenger seat, one hand in your lap, the other propped up on the door as you looked out at the glistening city lights through the window, not uttering a single word. you seemed so cold. was it something he did? something he said? what he said earlier wasn’t really bullshit though. nicholas has encountered his share of women who were forgettable after a night of passion, but he honest to god thought that you were a breathtakingly beautiful woman with the world at her fingertips. he’d think you’d share the same sentiment as he did, but given your bored expression, perhaps not. he took the opportunity to turn the volume knob to the left to make room for small talk. nicholas clears his throat as he slightly grips the steering wheel, his eyes focusing on the road as he trails behind cooper.

“so, uh, tell me, y/n. cooper has told me that you and valerie are studying business. i assume that’s going well.”

you sigh at hearing the “b” word. it felt like such a curse. your head hurts at the very mention. you muster up an answer that’s right to the point.

“yeah, i better be or i’ll bring the greatest shame to the l/n family, so i suggest you shouldn’t assume, nicholas.” you retort dryly, gazing at your rose red manicured nails. nicholas felt a twinge of a tingling pain in his stomach. it’s almost eighty degrees out, but it just got to thirty in here. talk about a cold shoulder.

“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to pry or make you uncomfortable. i was just trying to make conversation considering it’s a da—” you cut him short.

“i know how a date works, man. what are you? a prosecutor trying to present to me the evidence of exhibit obvious?”

“matter of fact, i am, well— studying to be. i’m in the pre-law and criminology program at my university. just like you, it’s in my bloodline.”

“oh, well. i guess it’s a change from all the guys i’ve met. they’re always waiting for their folks to kick the bucket or step down, so they could inherit a position of power that’s worth twenty years of work, but get it because they were born. they’ll spend a shit load of money and the body’s not even cold yet.”

“woah—wow. i’ve never seen it in that perspective, especially not from an heiress like yourself.” nicholas’ brows furrowed and he exasperatedly whistled.

“wow indeed, nicholas. it’s a goddamn shame. what the hell does me being an heiress got to do with it, huh?” you quiz defensively, cutting your eyes to the male. nicholas takes a deep breath and combats with a firm and calm voice,

“hey, there’s no need to get defensive, y/n. i’m just saying most people from families like ours don’t typically share the same thought as you nor care—i believe it’s an interesting perspective, not a bad one, so i don’t blame you for believing that money could easily sway someone’s morals.”

“hm.” that’s all you could respond with and you returned your gaze to the window sitting in deep thought. who the hell did nicholas chavez think he was? why isn’t he combating you with the benefits of all that luxury? did this man just—sympathize with you? something was definitely up with nicholas and not to mention, you were being a bit of a bitch towards him and he was still holding a civil conversation with you. there had to be a narcissistic, egotistical bratty yuppie prick underneath that calm and collected gentleman-like demeanor. you had a scheme: you were gonna push that limit to make sure that asshole makes an appearance at that restaurant.

the guys smoothly pull up to the entrance where the security and valet are standing. they get out of their cars to open the doors for you and valerie before handing their keys and a handsome tip to the valet to get their cars parked. you gazed up at the illuminating skyscraper of the restaurant before you. THE OPULENT HAVEN flashed itself so vibrantly in the city that even the stars had some competition. it was hypnotic to say the least. you stop your gawking when you feel a large palm rest itself on the small of your spine. your brown eyes lean up to see the familiar pair of nicholas��, a grin playing across his chiseled face.

“i take it by the way you’re staring that this is your first time here. breathtaking, isn’t it?” he softly whispers in awe with a matching expression towards the structure. you inwardly groan as your stomach does that thing again. here he goes with this fake prince charming, nice guy act. who was he to assume that you haven’t been here? you’re y/n fucking l/n for god’s sake! oh, who the hell were you kidding? this was your first time at this place and it looked like a palace. you didn’t want to let him know that though. he’s probably been here a thousand times with a myriad of women. you never forgot your scheme to release the animal within him, so you smirk with a quirked brow in his direction before you shot back in the same whispered voice,

“and who are you to assume that i haven’t been here? it just looks very elegant, nothing more. you’re acting as if i’m a damn tourist to these kinds of establishments.”

“it’s not my intention to assume, y/n. i’ve just noticed that you could see and appreciate the beauty in this building like i do. if it makes you feel any better, this is just my second time around. you don’t have to be so guarded, you know? now, let’s get inside before our party leaves us behind. after you.” he gives you a once over to the see through revolving doors where cooper and valerie are standing at the hostess’ station awaiting your arrival.

“whatever.” you grumble under your breath, rolling your eyes.

“i beg your pardon?”

“nothing—let’s just get inside.”

with a silent nod and his hand still on your back, he takes the lead for you to meet with the other two. the hostess guides you all to your table and it wasn’t long before a waiter arrived. cooper takes the initiative to request the restaurant’s finest merlot, water, shrimp cocktails, and pâté as the starting course of the evening. when the server returns again, you all agree to settle on the main course of the beef wellington and lobster thermidor, and topping it off with the crème brûlée. cooper and valerie start to break the ice with everyone at the table. you sat with your eyes down at your purse and courtly spoke whenever spoken to without getting caught peering at the ticking clock every once in a while. who knew that a fucking hour would take a lifetime? it also didn’t help that when valerie was in her own world with her precious koch boy, nicholas tried every way possible to get you to open up and with every attempt, you respond to him with such a snarky and dismissive attitude. valerie tries her best to paint you as a decent human being to the best of her ability because she really likes cooper and the last thing she needed is you scaring him off because you’re pissed at her.

“so, nicholas! do you like music? y/n sure does. i bet you didn’t know that she’s very talented at the grand piano and has been doing performances and competitions when we coming up! she even dabbles in a bit of composing.” valerie chimed, gesturing her gloved hand in your direction like you were an exhibit on display.

“yeah, i love music and that’s actually really cool, y/n. how long have you been playing for?”

“since i was five. you’re about to be a top shit lawyer, right? you do the math and get the facts.” you retort as you take a sip of wine. valerie rolls her eyes and hisses your name as cooper places a hand on hers. his forest eyes giving her the reassuring look of “let it go”. cooper knew exactly what you were doing and as his best friend, he knew that nicholas’ politeness could only be pushed so far, they all just had to wait and see it all come to a head. after your response, you noticed how nicholas clenched his jaw, cleared his throat, and his composed expression returns with a tight lipped smile. what is this guy’s deal? where’s his backbone? he’s just like the rest of these sorry ass yuppie motherfuckers.

“shot in the dark, here. seventeen years?”

“ding, ding, ding! we got a winner!” you sarcastically cheered with a toast of your wine glass.

“that’s impressive. you must be really passionate about it. what type of styles do you typically play? classical? baroque? romantic? maybe jazz?” he leans back casually in his seat awaiting your answer. you were quite surprised that a pre-law student had such a knowledge in that area.

“anything that sounds good to my ears.” you announce with an air of confidence and shrug your shoulders. there was no utterance of a thank you, not nothing. you were gonna make sure this plan to expose him for who he truly is doesn’t all go to hell. it was pissing you off that with every brash comment you made, he would kill you with cordiality.

it was pissing you off so much that even the server was catching stray bullets from you.

“excuse me, would you tell whoever the hell prepared this dish to please remake this? there’s no way this was right because i’ve had better at a fucking cheesecake factory.” the server stood with such timidity and tried plead their case on behalf of the chef.

“ma’am, we understand your concern, but i assure that the head chef has made it—“

“wait a minute, you’re telling me this is the work of your head chef? well, i guess it’s time for him to head back to culinary school because this is fucking terrible. this is ALL terrible!” your voice rose with frustration as you throw your lap cloth down on the table like a child having a tantrum and stood from your chair with your arms firmly crossed. all you could think was fuck this restaurant, fuck this date, fuck valerie, and fuck nicholas for foiling your plan. before you could bitch and berate any further, nicholas also stood up from his chair. “wait, nicholas, don’t—”, valerie tried to open her mouth to protest and deescalate the situation, but cooper gently grabbed her wrist, shaking his head to let valerie know that nicholas had this. she just needed to watch. he was composed, but he held a perfect posture with his chest was puffed up, he kept his hands flat at his side, and he looked at you with such contempt, such disappointment, before his baritone voice dominated the room.

“no, valerie, this is not okay. i’m sorry, but i’ve got to get this off my chest.” he paused. his serious, deep gaze not pulling from your curious eyes before he resumes speaking, “y/n, your behavior this whole night was completely inappropriate and unacceptable. i’m not exactly sure what your problem is with me, but i’ve done nothing, but try to be civil. i don’t know what type of guy you may think i am, but where i come from, manners and decorum count a lot wherever and to whoever, so i can’t just sit back and let your nasty, smart-ass attitude continue. you owe every single one of us an apology, especially to that poor server. now, if you refuse, we’ll take you back home and continue the night without you. do i make myself clear?”

you stood there silently, still trying to keep your guard up, but the muscles of your crossed arms loosened. the furrow of your perfectly arched brows softened and a small smile crept on your painted lips while you listen to nicholas chavez set you, y/n l/n, in her rightful place. he was respectfully getting you all the way together and boy, did you get such a titillating rush from how he was so assertive yet, still had that integrity. he was exactly the type of man you’ve been craving for in your circle. the type of man that wasn’t afraid to stand up for what’s right no matter how many times he’s given the benefit of the doubt. he’d make one hell of a lawyer. it was like you were seeing stars when his eyes bore into yours, awaiting an answer. you were so stuck in staring at him, his colossal frame stepped forward to be in closer proximity to yours. the warm chocolate hue of his pupils turn darker as they continue to stare down into your own. nicholas takes the opportunity to repeat his question with an added firmness, considering he didn’t get an answer the first time.

“y/n, do i make myself clear?”

you swallow.

“yes, nicholas.”

you were so entrapped in his softening gaze when you gave in. valerie sat in awe and confusion as she witnessed you humbly apologize to everyone for your behavior, including the server and the night went on pleasantly. plus, you decided to give nicholas more than an hour, you decided to give him a chance. there was something about him that had some potential you craved to see more of. you weren’t always the one to get second dates, but as you attentively indulge in amicable conversation with him, you’d hope you were redeemed enough to get that chance to see nicholas again. alone. although you hated him less, he was still a fine specimen of a man. he gave you a sense of warmth. that warm feeling didn’t leave when he drove you home after dinner. it didn’t leave when he walked you to the door. it sure as hell didn’t leave when he bid you a sweet goodnight with another lingering kiss to your hand. the image of his beautifully sculpted countenance burned deep within your brain. nicholas was even the type of guy that made sure you entered your home first before disappearing into the night. a regular yuppie asshole would speed off as soon as you closed his car door. your heart pounded within your chest as you stared at the ceiling while immersed in your satin rose duvet. every single shitty word you’ve ever said and every judgmental thought you’ve had towards nicholas alexander chavez was immediately transformed into immense respect and burning desire.

[rylem33]

His Mistake

Lily stood backstage, her heart thumping in time with the music vibrating through the walls of the club. She stared at her reflection in the mirror: her blonde hair, her glossed lips, her body draped in a skimpy outfit she would’ve never dared to wear.

She glanced at the door that separated her from the stage. Just beyond it, the customers waited—men, eager and hungry, their eyes ready to devour her the moment she stepped out. She should feel ashamed, horrified, furious. But all she felt was a needy desire that tightened low in her belly.

This is wrong… right?

It had all started with a mistake—his mistake.

But the moment passed as the stage manager whispered her name. “You’re up next, Lily. Get ready.”

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

Landon had it all, or at least he thought he did. A great job, a loving fiancée, and a wedding just weeks away. But then came the bachelor party. His buddies had insisted on taking him to a strip club—harmless fun, they’d said.

It started with drinks.  Too many.  Then, it was all just a blur of lights, music, and alcohol. Somewhere along the way, she walked over, the blonde stripper who locked eyes with him, her body glistening under the club lights. One thing led to another, and before he knew it, he had made the worst decision of his life, cheating on his fiancée just days before their wedding.

The next morning, everything changed. He woke up with a pounding headache and a body that felt wrong. Groggily, he stumbled to the bathroom, thinking he’d splash some water on his face. But when he looked in the mirror, Landon wasn’t there.

Instead, a stunning blonde woman stared back at him with wide panicked blue eyes. “What the hell?” he had gasped, backing away from the mirror. He grabbed at his chest, at the curves that shouldn’t be there. His hands ran over his waist, hips, and down to his legs—long, slender, and unmistakably feminine. The reflection followed his every move, and that’s when it hit him.

I’m a woman.

“Landon!” His fiancée’s voice jolted him from the shock. She stood in the doorway, bags in hand, and a smug, satisfied smile spread across her face. “I hope you like your new look,” she said coldly. “Consider it payback for last night. It’s really too bad.  I loved you, you know. Then you had to cheat on me with a stripper. A fucking stripper.  This is what you deserve…Lily.”

“What did you do?” Landon—no, Lily, as she called him now—stammered. His voice was softer, higher, unfamiliar.

“You broke my heart,” she replied.  “So I took your penis.  It’s only fair.”  She tossed the engagement ring at him before turning on her heel and leaving, the door slamming behind her.

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

The days that followed were a nightmare. Lily hid herself away, terrified to leave the house, she ignored the calls of friends and family, desperately trying to reverse whatever curse or spell had been cast on her. 

But there was no going back. The changes weren’t just physical—they were mental, too. And that’s when the urges began.

At first, they were subtle—flashes of heat that rushed over her skin, leaving her feeling uncomfortable. Then the dreams started, vivid, erotic dreams about men, their hands on her body, their lips on her neck. She’d wake up in a sweat, her new body aching with need.

Lily tried to fight it. I’m not like this, she told herself. I’m a man, I have to be. This can’t be happening. But every day, the feelings grew stronger, her thoughts wandering to men in ways that made her blush with shame. She started craving attention, lingering too long on the images of men in magazines, imagining how it would feel to be looked at, to be desired.

It wasn’t long before she ventured out, just to feel the eyes on her. The first time, it was at a bar, dressed in a tee shirt and jeans.  The outfit wasn’t even sexy, but she remembered the rush of excitement when the bartender’s eyes had traveled up and down her body, the way his smile had made her feel wanted. That night, for the first time, she didn’t resist. She couldn’t resist. She let herself flirt back, feeling a strange thrill when his hand brushed hers.

The more she indulged these new desires, the more natural they became. Lily started dressing to be noticed, loving the way men looked at her, the power she felt in their stares. The heat inside her grew, fed by their attention, until it consumed her thoughts. She began to fantasize about more than just being looked at—she wanted to be touched, adored, taken.

Eventually, she found herself standing outside a strip club. It hadn’t been a conscious decision; her feet had simply taken her there. This is crazy, she thought, staring at the flashing neon lights. But the hot ache between her legs was undeniable, urging her forward. She entered, the pounding music vibrating through her, her body already alive with the thought of being on that stage.

“I’m here for a job,” she’d said, her voice shaky but determined. The manager barely looked up from his desk, giving her a once-over before nodding. “You start tomorrow.”

And now here she was, about to take the stage. The urge to perform was stronger than anything she’d ever felt before. She should have been horrified.

I’m not Landon anymore, she reminded herself. The old version of her was gone, buried beneath layers of blonde hair, curves, and lust.

As the music swelled and the stage lights turned on, Lily’s hips began to sway, her body moving to the rhythm with ease. The crowd cheered, and Lily felt their eyes drinking her in, feeding the burning desire inside her.

She smiled, licking her lips. She ripped her top off, exposing herself to the crowd and fueling a thrill within her. 

No, she wasn’t Landon anymore.

She was Lily, and this was where she belonged.

[nausicaamusiclover20]

Hello I hope you are doing well))

I saw this gif of James from 2010s when he talks about having a crush on his teacher in high school and says “I always had a thing for blondes”. And reader has dark hair so she’s very sad to hear that; she was always insecure about not being a a typical rockstar wife - tall, blonde, hot - she starts to avoid being intimate with him, going to events, etc as she feels that he married her only cause she she helped him after rehab in early 2000s, like he felt obliged to her?

James doesn’t notice until he says the exact same thing in the other interview, so she finally snaps? And tells him that if he likes blondes do much she can give him a divorce first thing tomorrow? They argue but next day James makes breakfast and he understood that he messed up and they make up?

Hello, I wish you're fine too. I hope you like it!❤

Not what you think

 The static hum of the TV filled the room as I sat curled up on the couch, flipping absently through channels. James was in the studio today, working on another project. The house felt too quiet without him, and my thoughts had been anything but. I stopped on a talk show, a familiar host grinning as he introduced his guest. The screen lit up with James’ face, that easy smile of his pulling a laugh from the audience. I couldn’t help but smile a little too.

Then it happened.

The host asked about high school crushes, and James, always quick with a candid answer, laughed as he said, “Oh, I had the biggest crush on my history teacher. She was blonde, of course. I always had a thing for blondes.”

The audience laughed along, but the words hit me like a gut punch.

Blondes. Of course.

I turned off the TV, throwing the remote onto the couch with more force than necessary. My heart sank as I sat there, staring blankly at the dark screen. I felt a hot lump rise in my throat, and my chest tightened with that familiar ache I hated so much. It was stupid, wasn’t it? Just an offhand comment, a joke. It didn’t mean anything. But no matter how much I tried to rationalize it, I couldn’t stop the spiral.

I glanced at my reflection in the glass of the fireplace. Dark hair, average height, not much of anything special. Certainly not the statuesque, sun-kissed women James seemed to joke about—women I’d seen backstage at shows, in the magazines, or walking down the street with their effortless beauty. The kind of women who looked like they belonged next to someone like him.

I’d never been that. Never would be.

James didn’t marry me for that, I reminded myself, and for a moment, the thought brought me some comfort. But then another thought crept in, colder and harsher: Did he marry me because he felt like he owed me? I had been there for him,  during one of the darkest periods of his life. I’d helped him through rehab, held him together when he was falling apart. Maybe…maybe he stayed with me out of gratitude, not love.

The ache in my chest deepened. What if I was just…safe? Reliable? The sensible choice?

I didn’t go to the studio that night like I usually would. I didn’t call him either. Instead, I busied myself with mindless tasks around the house, hoping that by the time James came home, I’d be able to act like everything was fine.

Weeks passed, but the weight of that comment lingered. It wasn’t just the comment itself—it was everything it brought to the surface. I started avoiding events, skipping out on dinners and parties where I knew I’d feel like an outsider among the blonde, model-perfect wives and girlfriends. I stopped initiating intimacy, pulling away whenever James tried to get close.

“You okay?” he asked one night, his voice soft with concern as he reached for my hand. I pulled it away before I could think better of it.

“Just tired,” I lied, forcing a weak smile. “Long day.”

He frowned but didn’t push. That was James: patient, understanding. It made me feel worse.

The breaking point came during another interview. I’d been flipping through channels again, my curiosity getting the better of me. There he was, laughing and charming the audience. It was almost the exact same question as before, and as if on cue, he said it again.

“Blondes. Yeah, I always had a thing for blondes.”

The remote slipped from my hand, clattering to the floor. I stared at the screen, my stomach twisting in knots. I couldn’t do this anymore.

When James got home that evening, I was waiting for him in the living room. My heart was pounding in my chest, my hands trembling as I clenched them tightly in my lap. He walked in with his usual easy smile, but it faltered when he saw the look on my face.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, concerned about coloring his voice.

I stood up, crossing my arms tightly over my chest as if that could hold me together.

“If you like blondes so much, maybe I should give you the chance to be with one,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “We can call a lawyer first thing tomorrow.”

James froze, his brows furrowed in confusion. “What? What are you talking about?”

I laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “I’m talking about how I’ll never be what you really want. You’ve made it pretty clear, haven’t you? I see the way you look at those women, James. I hear what you say about blondes. And then there’s me. The charity case.”

“Charity case?” he repeated, his voice rising in disbelief. “Y/N, this is stupid. It was just a joke, alright? Blondes don’t mean anything.”

“Don’t you dare!” I snapped, my voice cracking. “You don’t think it matters? Do you have any idea how insecure that makes me feel? I’m supposed to be okay with that? Do you know what it’s like to feel like I’m just not good enough because I’m not blonde, or tall, or anything like those women you always joke about?”

James stepped forward, frustration flashing in his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that, okay? I was just being stupid on TV. But you're acting like I’ve been telling you I don’t love you or something.”

“Isn’t that what it feels like?” I shot back, feeling the tears burn in my eyes. “You always joke about them, about the ‘perfect’ women, and I’m here—trying to make this work with someone who doesn’t even seem to notice what he’s doing to me.”

He looked like he was about to say something, but I held up a hand, cutting him off. “I don’t want to talk anymore, James. I just can’t right now.”

Without another word, I turned and stormed off, locking myself in our bedroom. I collapsed onto the bed, the sobs wracking through me as everything I’d kept inside for so long spilled out. I could hear James’ voice faintly on the other side of the door, but I couldn’t face him. Not yet.

The next morning, I woke to the smell of coffee and something sweet wafting through the air. I sniffed the air, a faint sense of warmth and comfort tugging at me. When I walked into the kitchen, James was standing at the stove, his hair messy, wearing his usual sleep shirt and sweatpants. The table was set with a plate of pancakes, freshly cut fruit, and a steaming cup of coffee.

He turned when he heard me, and his face softened. “Morning,” he said quietly, though his voice was a little raw. “I, uh… made us breakfast.”

I stared at him for a long moment, still feeling the weight of last night’s argument, but the gesture caught me off guard. He set the pan down and walked over to me, taking my hands gently in his. “I’m sorry, Y/N. For what I said. I was being an idiot. I never meant to make you feel like that. I never wanted you to feel less than. You are everything to me, and I know I messed up. I know I’ve hurt you.”

Tears pricked at my eyes again as he continued. “You are so special to me. You’re the one I chose. And I was stupid for not realizing how deeply it was affecting you. Please, forgive me.”

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “I was just scared, James. Scared that maybe you wanted someone else… someone who fits better.”

He cupped my face gently, brushing away the tears. “You fit me perfectly, Y/N. You always have. I don’t need anyone else. Only you.”

I leaned into his touch, my breath shaky. The ache in my chest started to fade as I allowed myself to believe him. When he pulled me into a hug, I melted into his arms, letting myself feel the warmth of his love, the strength of his sincerity.

“Let’s eat,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “Together.”

[witchwrestler]

'THE PUNK SINGER' (PART I)

wc: 1k

warnings: drinking, eddie gets mean, but just for the plot, cops, swear words

summary: You're in a punk band. He's a metalhead. Famously, the two clash. Yet, he was still infatuated. After a messy breakup and two years of no contact, a reconnection begins when you find yourself in a difficult position.

a/n: the product of a different idea I had...that spiraled into this! very excited to continue the story. Reblogs are greatly appreciated, hope you enjoy! (sorry for the cliffhanger btw it had to be done)

● ● ●

You hadn't forgotten about him, it was hard to with all the magazine and news paper articles. But boy did you try. You were the lead singer in a grimy and small punk band, jumping from hole in the wall bar to hole in the wall bar. He was the frontman of americas second largest metal group, and he never stopped thinking about you. It never crossed his mind he shouldn't.

Out one night with your band, a guy offers to buy you a drink, you decline. He calls you a bitch, tries to grab you, then you bust his car window. Now, just your luck, you get the police called on you and end up in jail for the night. However, with you trying to fight your way out of the police officers grasp, giving him a bloody nose in the process--there was a huge possibility that one night would turn into a year. They posted bail, but you had no one to call. Your family lived states away and weren't exactly fond of your current lifestyle. You hated asking people for help. To be specific, you hated asking people for money. It felt greedy, and you could get by on your own.

You bit your lip and picked up the plastic phone the officer had set on the desk in front of you. Even though it'd been two years, his number still stuck in your brain ever-so clearly. You knew he was still on tour, and you weren't religious but you hoped to god he would pick up.

● ● ●

"get out of my green room" were eddies last words to you, if you remembered correctly .

It was late, after a show. He got an opportunity he couldn't pass up, and you were stubborn and hurt. Eddie had run off stage excitedly, saying Corroded coffin had the chance at a record deal, bringing this record executive backstage, a woman in a pantsuit and heels. Her name was Allison or something. You did not like the way she acted toward him, she was touchy, too touchy. She was sitting on the couch with him, the rest of the band surrounding them, everyone was drinking, including you. But she seemed to be very insistent that eddie specifically drink. She posed the idea when she was brought backstage with a "shall we have a drink and talk out the details?" the guys all nodded in agreement, telling the assistant to go get a round. They talked and she giggled for a little bit and She had looked at you in the middle of a clearly false fit of laughter "is she a groupie or something?" she whispered, thinking you couldn't hear, to a completely wasted eddie next to her.

You laughed at the assumption, looking up from the song you had been tweaking in your notebook. "fuck no." She looked confused, and the guys just kept nursing their beers. "so then what are you?" She asked, like that was the only reason you'd be backstage with them. "I'm a musician..." You never defined yourself as eddies girlfriend, you loved him but you were many more things than eddies girl. "oh." an awakward pause until she started again, "So, eddie, if you guys can finish an album in the next month, my boss wants to do a Corroded Coffin world tour" She seemed to ambitious you thought, too many bands fell apart because of tour and writing conflicts. "We can make Corroded Coffin the biggest name in metal if you take this deal" she added, quickly, one last resort to convince them. Eddie looked at her, and then the band, and said, "hell yeah. let's do this"

The band broke out into a symphony of cheering, beer bottles clinking against eachother as they hugged and laughed.

You smiled as a courtesy, but pulled eddie to the side. "Eddie you can't do this" His brows furrowed, "What, why? It's the biggest opportunity we've had in months?"

"Eddie you know what's gonna happen. With that kind of pressure over all of you, you're gonna be at eachothers throats in no time" You said, crossing your arms. You knew it was a good opportunity, but you weren't going to watch them get torn apart. "Look, I know it sounds like alot but we can do it" He said, trying to be rational but an annoyance was clear in his voice, he just wanted you to be happy for him. "Eddie, they're gonna ruin you! You're gonna choose quantity over quality just for a fucking paycheck, since when have you ever wanted that for your band?" You said, desperate to make it clear what a terrible decision he just made. "Can't you just be fucking happy for me and the guys? once? she wants the best for the band, she knows what she's doing!" He's getting angrier at this point, which only made you want to argue back. "She doesn't know what the fuck she's doing. She got you guys DRUNK to get you to agree! and clearly thought I shouldn't be backstage if I'm not blowing one of you"

"oh, like you know anything about a record opportunity? it's not exactly like your band is drowning in deal offers is it?" He winced at his own words and ran a hand through his sweat soaked hair. You just stood there. You never cried, but the muscles that usually fought off your tear ducts seemed to have given up right now. "fuck. you." He just stared at you, his eyes big, and then looked at the door. "get out of my green room." You stormed out, wiping the tears from your face, smearing eyeliner in the process.

Eddie called you eight times that night. You ignored every one.

● ● ●

Standing still in the cold police station, you listened to the phone line ring. once. twice. Your heart was beating so fast you almost just hung up. But it rang a third time. Then you heard a click, and a familiar deep voice that sent a faint chill down your spine,

"hello?"

.....to be continued

[theunderestimator-2]

Lux Interior & Chopper Franklin, last ever bass player to record with The Cramps, backstage at The Paradiso, Amsterdam, where they performed on Sept. 18th, 2003, about a week after Johnny Cash had passed away (here in a photo captured by Arjan van den Berg and published in 'Oor' Magazine issue Nov. 2003).

Scott "Chopper' Franklin had started out as a Black Flag teen roadie, learning guitar & bass and jamming with anybody that he could. In Hollywood he crossed paths with the infamous Rick Wilder and began playing bass for the notorious punk rock outfit The Mau-Maus, then later joined the trash rock outlaws The Joneses. He relocated to New York and after having met Lux Interior and Poison Ivy, he eventually joined the Cramps in 2002. He did several tours and recorded the final Cramps studio album “Fiends of Dope Island”. After performing with various bands, he has been playing with the goth americana band Heathen Apostles for the past decade.

(via)

[metallicaislife]

The Photographer and the Guitarist

Requested by: Anon

Genre: 18+ smut, fluff with smut minors dni

Word Count: 1,515

Warnings: oral(f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex

The Photographer and the Guitarist pt 2

When I landed the gig of Metallica’s concert photographer I was over the moon. Not only would I get to see them perform, I got to travel with them too. 

I was pleasantly surprised with how welcoming they were. Having been in the industry long enough, I lowered my expectations so as to not be let down when someone who’s music I admire ends up being a total asshole. 

“How did you even get into concert photography?” Kirk asked, we were at a restaurant with the whole crew. I was surprised when he sat next to me. I’d had a few conversations in passing with him as I got to know all of the members of Metallica better. 

“I grew up going to concerts, music has always been a central part of who I am. As I got older I fell in love with photography and have been immensely lucky to have been able to combine the two.” I responded. 

“That is so cool. I don’t think it’s luck though, I’ve seen your photographs in the magazines. You’re talented and you’ve worked extremely hard to get to where you’re at.” Kirk said and munched on his food. 

“That is very kind of you to say, thank you.” I smiled. Kirk smiled back at me. 

It was really easy talking to Kirk. We got to know each other pretty well. 

That was just the beginning though. I found myself talking to Kirk pretty much all the time. In between soundchecks, on the road, whenever he had a spare moment. 

They had a show tonight, I was wandering backstage before it started. That’s when my eyes landed on Kirk, who had his shirt off. I didn’t mean to ogle, but I couldn’t help it. Distracted, my foot caught a wire and I nearly ate shit, the only thing stopping was an hand that came out of nowhere grabbing my elbow. Kirk looked up, and I looked back to see Cliff. 

“Thank you.” I said, feeling embarrassed. 

“Are you okay?” Kirk asked, I looked back over to him, my cheeks heating up. 

“Yeah, I’m good.” I replied. Cliff released my elbow as Kirk went back to getting dressed. 

“I think you already know, you need to be careful backstage. Even when there is a guitarist to fawn over.” Cliff said quietly. My eyes widened.

“Not a word to anyone.” I hissed. Cliff chuckled as he walked away. 

The rest of the night went without incident. Which I was grateful for.

We were halfway finished with the tour now, I was exhausted but at the same time wished this tour would never end. 

We got to the hotel to rest for the night. I was minding my own business as the tour manager dealt with the room situation. 

“Does it look like they’re plotting something?” A voice whispered to me, making me jump. I turned to see Kirk. “Sorry.” He chuckled. 

“Who looks like they’re what now?” I asked, feeling a little flustered at the closeness. Kirk didn’t say anything, he just pointed in a direction. I looked to see James, Lars and Cliff in a mini circle around the tour manager. They looked up to see Kirk and I staring at them, then turned, continuing their hushed huddle. 

“You’re a part of the band, why don’t you go find out.” I suggested. 

“Nah, they’ll say something soon enough.” Kirk said and rested his chin on my shoulder. 

This wasn’t the first time, but for some reason the butterflies in my tummy were flapping away. 

“Okay, room assignments.” The tour manager announced to the crew. He started listing off two people and giving them a room key. I listened intently, I would probably be with one of the roadies like normal.

“Kirk, and Y/N.” He said. 

My eyes were the size of the moon. I was frozen in place. Kirk went and grabbed our key. 

“Are you okay sharing a room with me?” He asked. 

“Yeah, but like that must be a mistake, you always share with one of the guys, the rest of the crew share amongst each other. Are you okay sharing a room with me?” I couldn’t stop the word vomit. Kirk chuckled. 

“I am completely fine sharing a room. It’ll be fun.” He gave a small wink, “Come on let's go.” He said and grabbed his luggage. I grabbed mine and followed him.

I accepted the fact I would be sharing a room with Kirk. I could live with that, we’d be on separate beds so it would be fine. When we entered the room my eyes widened seeing only one queen sized bed. You’ve gotta be kidding me. My heart was hammering quite hard. 

“You can take the bed, I'll sleep on the couch.” I offered, setting my stuff by the couch. 

“Why?” Kirk asked, setting his things down as well. 

“Because you’re a rockstar and I’m the photographer.” I answered with a shrug. 

“What kind of logic is that?” Kirk asked with a laugh. 

“You need a good restful sleep. Your body needs a nice comfy bed. I don’t.” I replied. 

“I don’t know, I've seen you in some precarious positions in your line of work.” He said, folding his arms. 

“Anything for the perfect shot.” I grinned. 

“We can share the bed, I promise I won't bite.” He said, “unless you want me to then I definitely can.” He added with a wink. My cheeks flared. 

“Okay, we can share.” I replied and began rummaging through my things. 

Kirk laid on the bed while I found my things to take a shower. There was tension in the room. The same one that had been growing throughout this tour. 

“Do you need to use the restroom? I’m gonna shower.” I asked Kirk. He looked up from his comic. 

“Nah. Might join you though.” He added with a wink. 

“You’re welcome to.” The words fell from my lips before I could process what I had said. Kirk’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. 

“Erm or not, up to you.” I practically squealed as I entered the bathroom and shut it. My heart hammered in my chest. Shaking it off I stripped and got into the shower turning it on steaming hot. I stood under the stream reflecting on what I had said. I probably crossed a line. I should see if I can switch rooms with someone so Kirk doesn’t feel uncomfortable. 

My thoughts were interrupted as the bathroom door opened and shut softly. I could hear the rustle of clothes as Kirk stripped. He parted the shower curtain stepping in behind me. 

“If you want me to leave, say so.” Kirk whispered huskily. 

“I want you to say.” I whispered, releasing the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Kirk’s hands came to rest on my shoulder and began trailing down my body. He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on my shoulder, then bit down. I moaned as his hands found their way to the front of my body bringing me flush against him. He squeezed a breast in one as he found my clit with the other. He pulled away and turned me around, he kissed me hard. I kissed him back, wrapping my arms around him. He leaned me against the wall then pulled away. He trailed sloppy kisses down my body until he knelt before me. 

“Spread your legs, baby.” He said tapping my legs. I spread them. He kissed my pussy before he started eating me like it was his last meal. I gasped and fisted his hair. 

“Oh god. Kirk.” I moaned, “Feels s’good.” He hummed against me before sliding two fingers inside of me. I came with a cry, it felt so damn good. He turned the shower off and helped me out. He took a towel and dried me off a little before drying himself off. He led me to the bed and laid me down. He pinned me to the bed as he kissed me deeply. I let my hands wander until I found his cock giving it a firm squeeze.

“Oh fuck.” Kirk groaned against my lips. He spread my legs and entered me. “What a perfect pussy, squeezing me so tight.” He groaned as he pushed in until bottomed out. He slowly pulled his hips back and began fucking me hard. I screamed as I clung to him. My nails are digging into his back. He bit down on my shoulder, then licked the imprints his teeth had left. He used one of his hands to rub my clit.

“Are you gonna come for me again?” He asked as he continued to rut into me mercilessly. 

“Yes, oh, fuck, Kirk. Yes!” I screamed, coming soon after. 

“Good girl.” He praised me. He pulled out and came on my stomach. He laid next to me as we caught our breaths. 

“Let’s shower, this time we’ll actually wash up.” Kirk said with a goofy smile. 

“Sounds good to me.” I smiled back. 

I’m grateful the other’s conspired to get Kirk and I together.

Thank you for reading! Feel free to request or chat :)

-Isa

[steddiewithachance]

Will You Still Need Me?

Summary: Steve Harrington is avoiding telling his professional-musician-boyfriend, Eddie, that he's going deaf because he's worried about what will happen when he does.

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - or Read on AO3

May 12, 1992: Today.

Hold yourself together, hold yourself together, hold yourself together.

It's an old familiar chant. Steve was practically raised on the mantra. He repeats it in his head as he leaves the exam room and passes through the doctor’s office lobby full of older folks reading outdated magazines. He chants it as he takes off running through the parking lot and throws himself into the driver's seat of his bimmer.

He holds himself together until he can't anymore. He bursts into tears in the safety of his car. It's explosive when Steve finally cries, he lets everything build up for far too long which tends to result in a snotty, messy display.

It's not fair, the news he was given. He'll never outrun his violent teenage years. It's getting harder and harder to find value in himself with the extensive list of health issues he's accumulating.

The voice in his head – the one that sounds like all the people who've ever hated Steve – is chastising him. 

Your life's not over, you're being pathetic. 

But he just wants to feel sorry for himself in peace.

What Steve needs is to talk to someone. But he can't even hear Robin when they talk on the phone anymore, which pulls another desperate sob out of him. He just wants his best friend. 

He's dreading telling his professional-musician-boyfriend the news, there’s no way that’s gonna go well. Part of Steve’s appeal to Eddie is that Steve has always gone to all of his shows. Even before they started dating, he’d show up to their Hideout gigs and compliment Eddie on little moments of each performance that he enjoyed. Steve’s pretty sure it’s what won Eddie over in the end.

So what’s gonna happen when the very foundation of their relationship is pulled out from under them? Will Eddie go looking for someone else to listen to music alongside? Lord knows there are plenty of men who would die to be in Steve’s shoes.

Unsure of where else to go for reassurance, he decides that when he stops crying maybe he'll drive to Jeff's. 

____________________________________

When Steve tried to remember the first time he noticed things getting bad, he pictured a concert. It was a warm summer night, a few years back. 

August 1990: Two years ago.

The final chord of the concert rang out across the stadium and vibrated through Steve. The drummer smashed a conclusion to the encore, sweat falling from his hairline. It was loud, so loud. Steve was flinching and wincing all night.

He and Eddie were pushed up snugly against the barricade in front of the stage; warm bodies caging them in. Really, Eddie was at the point in his music career where he needed to have security with him in a crowd like this, but he thought donning sunglasses and wearing his hair twisted up into a bun cut it as a "sufficient disguise." Steve was only slightly annoyed to admit that it was, in fact, sufficient because no fans had approached them. Eddie sacrificed his comfort for the evening to wear a long-sleeved shirt that covered all of his demobat scars. They were one of the defining features of his on-stage persona. Those and his tattoos, probably.

And despite the fact that Eddie definitely could have pulled backstage access for them to watch the concert more comfortably, he always insisted on watching it like an audience member. "The experience is completely different," Eddie had argued, and yeah, Steve wasn’t disputing that.

The crowd roared as the band bid everyone a good night, and the stage lights went out conclusively. Sweaty bodies started pushing their way out of the stadium, away from Steve. He finally felt like he could breathe again, but boy were his ears ringing. He blinked at the crowd moving towards the exits when he felt clammy fingers wrap around his bicep and squeeze excitedly.

He looked over, and Eddie was beaming, practically bouncing with the adrenaline of seeing one of his favorite bands live. He looked like the zealous, music-obsessed kid that Steve fell in love with a handful of years ago and not the well-adjusted musician who had met or performed with nearly all of his role models by then. He had been so excited for the show, and by the looks of it, it was everything Eddie hoped it would be and more. Eddie pulled him towards the exit, keeping his head down so they could get home quickly.

"My ears are ringing really bad," Steve complained.

"Mine too," Eddie giggled and pumped his fist. He was celebrating as if ringing ears were an accomplishment. "That speaker setup was on another level." Steve nodded; his ears would be fine... probably.

"You had a good time?" Steve just wanted to hear about how much Eddie loved it because then the headache he’d probably get later wouldn't hurt so bad.

"Amazing time! Best concert yet, I think. So glad you were there with me." Eddie pushed down his sunglasses and blinked at Steve with big, shiny eyes. The headache would be worth it.

When they got home, Eddie ushered them both into the bathroom, pushed the shower knob on, and started stripping. He threw his clothes messily onto the counter. Steve followed, much less enthusiastically.

Eddie’s a big, fiery ball of energy; his social battery gets charged when he’s pushed around in big crowds and surrounded by loud music. Steve is the opposite; he’s always drained down to nothing by the end of a concert because he worries about Eddie's safety the whole time. He makes an effort to wear a smile, though, so Eddie doesn’t have to worry about whether or not Steve is having a good time.

Eddie pulled him into the satisfyingly warm water and immediately wrapped his tattooed arms around Steve’s waist. Steve fell back against the cold tiled wall, which made him hiss and arch away from it. Eddie leaned down to press heated kisses down his jaw and neck. When he got to the meat of Steve's shoulder, Eddie bit down softly.

His hands slowly migrated from the dimples of Steve's back down to his ass. With a cheek in either palm, Eddie squeezed greedily and pulled their bodies together. He moaned into Steve's shoulder. Steve didn’t hear the moan; he only felt it, vibrating against him. His ears were still ringing.

"Eddie?" Steve asked softly. Eddie hummed in acknowledgment. "I don't think I want to have sex tonight. Can we take a normal shower, maybe? Please?"

Eddie pulled back with a startled expression. His hands retreated to rest on the wall on either side of Steve.

"Oh fuck, Steve. I'm sorry." Eddie searched Steve's eyes. "I should have asked; I'm sorry."

Steve felt guilty about making Eddie feel guilty, but honestly, he was worried about himself. He’s got health-related anxiety now, after years of living with his worrywart best friend, Robin, and consistently uncovering new side effects of upside-down related injuries. So the fact that his ears were ringing more intensely than they ever had before, made him nervous.

"It's okay," Steve assured him, but he felt small and kind of fragile. Steve just wanted to go to sleep.

"Want me to get out and give you some space?" Eddie asked with his hand already pushing back the curtain, ready to step out.

Steve shook his head and reached for the shampoo bottle. He grabbed Eddie's wrist and squeezed a dollop into his palm. Eddie always used more shampoo than him, had much more hair after all. Steve did the same to his own palm and started massaging it in. He could feel Eddie watching his back, probably with sad puppy dog eyes.

Steve made his shower a short one instead of going through his whole five-step process. He just shampooed his hair and stepped out, leaving Eddie alone under the hot spray of water.

He dressed himself in oversized baggy sweats, which made him feel like he was in control of himself again, for some reason. He cozied up on his side of the bed and nuzzled his face into his pillow for comfort.

It wasn't long until Steve felt the bed sink next to him. He turned his head to face Eddie and squinted against the lamplight coming from the bedside table. His man was still wrapped up in a towel, hair dripping onto his own pillow. Eddie brought a hand up to gently pet Steve's arm with the back of his index finger in a little windshield-wiping motion.

"Are you okay? I'm really sorry for pushing and not asking. I feel bad."

Steve shook his head. "You're fine, don't even worry 'bout it. I just have a lot on my mind. Wasn't feeling it."

"Did you not like the concert?" Eddie sounds crestfallen as he reaches down to wrap the towel more snugly around himself.

"Always have so much fun with you, baby. I'm just tired is all. 'Kay?" Steve knew that the concert would be ruined in Eddie's mind if he found out Steve didn't really like it. So Steve always kept those thoughts locked away deep in the caverns of his mind. He would do just about anything to make Eddie happy anyway.

Eddie nodded and stood up to put on a pair of boxers.

"Alright," he responded, and Steve resolutely ignored the panic of how little of Eddie's voice he could hear. He tried to assure himself it would be better in the morning.

The ringing in his ears was gone when he woke up, which calmed him enough to ignore his hearing-related issues for a while. He's good at ignoring his problems.

_____________________________________

April 1991 - A year ago.

Steve was studying, believe it or not. 

When the band first moved out to California, Steve took up a job waiting tables at a chain restaurant that he never wanted to think about again. It was well and truly traumatic. 

Tired of being yelled at for minimum wage pay, Steve finally sat down and listened to Eddie list off some career options he reckoned his boyfriend might enjoy. Steve hated when people told him what he should do with his life. Eddie wasn't telling or demanding, Steve had to remind himself, he was just suggesting.

Steve was still deciding what he wanted to do. Eddie assured him there was no rush, but he feels useless if he’s not making strides toward some sort of focused career. He was speeding his way towards an undergraduate degree at a state school on Eddie's dime and flirting with the idea of becoming a physical therapist. He didn't know if he could handle that much education, though.

That afternoon, Steve had been thumbing through a stack of notecards for an anatomy exam he had the next morning. It was a Nancy Wheeler-approved study method. 

He paused when the phone rang. Steve rushed into the kitchen and answered with his signature, "Munson Residence, this is Steve." It made him smile every time. He liked to pretend that he was a Munson too.

He heard a garbled voice on the other end, but he was pretty sure it was Eddie calling from JFK airport. 

"I'm so sorry, I can't hear you. Could you talk a tad louder, please?" Steve asked politely just in case it was someone calling Eddie on business.

 "Hi baby," he could subtly make out. 

"Hi Teddy, what's up with you?" Steve responded, curling the phone cord around his finger. 

"I have bad news; my flight got delayed, so we'll actually be in at one... not eleven. And I know you have class in the morning-" 

"I'll be there, it's no problem," Steve confirmed. 

"Are you sure? We can-" Eddie cut off, and Steve pushed his ear impossibly closer to the phone. "Oops, Grant says I'm talking too loud..." and Eddie got quieter. Steve couldn't hear what he said next, but he guessed it was something about finding another way to get home. 

"I'll be there. Okay? Don't worry about me. I’ll see you soon, baby. I love you." 

"Okay, love you. See you soon." Eddie chirped back.

Steve mounted the phone onto the receiver and trudged back over to the couch. He wondered if it would be a better use of his time to continue studying for his test tomorrow or nap so that he wouldn't be completely exhausted in the morning. High school Steve would have chosen to sleep, so he decided to study.

Steve pulled the van up and parked it right in front of the American Airlines door a little before 1 am. He waited and waited and motherfucking waited. He should have brought his flashcards, dammit. He did, however, buy one of those bouquets of black-dyed roses that Eddie loves. It was set carefully on the passenger seat next to him, waiting for Eddie.

Steve had to drive a few loops around the airport because it wasn't until around 1:45 am that the band exploded out through the airport doors with luggage in tow. Steve got out to help them pack it all into the back. There were a few teenage boys standing near the street, staring at the band with wide eyes. 

Please, Steve begged the universe, do not approach or ask for something silly like an autograph.

"Hi, Sweetness," Eddie crooned. He gave Steve a friendly-looking, publicly acceptable hug to tide them both over until they got home. "Missed you so much." Eddie stepped back and threw his suitcase into the trunk, slamming the back door shut as the other guys squeezed into their seats. 

Eddie lit up when he opened the passenger-side door and saw the bouquet. He grabbed his roses and held them up to his face to hide his smile. Gareth and Grant teased him in the backseat. Jeff stared on wistfully.

"Baggage claim take a while?" Steve asked while pulling away from the curb.

 "No, not really. We kinda sped out of there," Eddie confirmed. How can that be right? They were forty minutes late. 

"You said you were gonna get in at 1," Steve argued. 

"1:30, I said 1:30," Eddie responded as he turned back to confirm it with his friends. "I said 1:30, right?" Steve looked in the rearview mirror to see Grant's curly hair bob up and down with an over-the-top nod. 

Oh, well, fuck. 

"Must have misheard, my bad," Steve dismissed as he made his way through airport traffic. He felt Eddie's eyes on him. He was being watched with a concerned expression. He shrugged it off.

_____________________________________

May 9, 1992 - three days ago

Thank God it was Saturday, Steve thought contentedly, wiggling in the warmth of the bed. He threaded his fingers through Eddie's, which were splayed across his stomach possessively, even while asleep. Steve luxuriated in the simplicity of having no pressing or immediate responsibilities. He was surprised when Eddie squeezed his tummy. He turned over to see Eddie wide awake and watching him.

"Oh hi, didn't know you were awake yet," Steve rolled onto Eddie's chest and pressed gentle kisses to the tattoos inked across Eddie’s collarbone and shoulder. Eddie grabbed Steve's chin and lifted his face so that they were both looking at each other. He looked upset.

"I've been talking to you." Uh oh. This might be the tipping point. Eds might finally bring up the thing they'd both been blissfully ignoring. "I'm worried about you, Sweetness. About your hearing."

Yep. Steve sighed and flopped backward onto the sheets. He wished he could sink into them. There went his relaxing morning. Eddie chased him. He sat up and leaned over, placing a warm palm on Steve's cheek and tugging on Steve's earlobe.

"Maybe we should make a doctor's appointment." Which Eddie should have known was absolutely going to be met with one of Steve's dramatic eye-rolls.

"It's gonna cost a million dollars for them to tell me I have a little hearing loss. I'm not gonna do that." Steve didn’t have health insurance, much to everyone's chagrin.

"There could be things to prevent it from getting worse," Eddie suggested softly because he knew Steve was tender about perceived weaknesses. And then Steve realized that his hearing issues had probably become inconvenient to everyone around him, but they'd been too nice to say anything until now.

If Eddie didn't want to drag this out, then fine. Steve could suck it up and go see a doctor.

"Okay," Steve agreed, and Eddie gave him a relieved smile and a kiss on the forehead.

"Thought that would take a lot more convincing. Let's get you in sometime this week, that sound good?" Eddie asked and scooted down the bed to pad off to the bathroom.

It did not sound good. The whole reason he had been pushing off the diagnosis he knew was coming was because it would probably send Eddie running. He was trying to savor his limited time left in this bed.

[lily3k]

B-PASS 2022年12月号

[asordinaryppl]

A3! Backstage Story Translation - Chikage Utsuki SSR: BE.MINE ver.CHIKAGE - Part 1

requested by taruchikas, who also provided the raws for the story! thank you!

Reporter: “… Next, let's talk about the new service area that opened last week.”

Reporter: “It was packed with varying groups of people. From families and couples to friends this weekend.”

TV entertainer: “I heard the line of cars to get into the service area was rather long as well.”

Reporter: “There’s word that 10,000 melon breads were sold to celebrate the opening!”

Kumon: 10,000!?

Taichi: That’s crazy! I wanna try one!

Kazunari: It’ll go viral if we upload it on Inste~!

Izumi: Since it’s an opening ceremony, does that mean this is a limited time event?

Chikage: If it’s as crowded as they say, wouldn’t you end up spending a long time in the car?

Banri: I bet.

Kazunari: Don’t be such a buzzkill, Chikachon~

Itaru: Mornin’~...

Banri: Woah… You’re a mess, Itaru-san.

Itaru: The ranking in my game was closer than I thought it’d be, so I ended up pulling an all-nighter, oversleeping in the morning, and you can see how it turned out…

Yuki: You barely pass for a professional with this suit, and if someone were to look closely, they’d see that bedhead of yours. To top it off, your face’s not awake at all.

Itaru: That’s because I woke up exactly 5 minutes ago.

Banri: Are you gonna be okay at work like that?

Yuki: He’s keeping up appearances at work anyway.

Itaru: Don’t worry, I’ll make my final adjustments in the car. I’ll eat breakfast in the car too.

Chikage: … Thanks for the meal. I’ll be going now.

Itaru: … Senpai, you’re going straight to work this morning, yes? I guess I could keep you company.

Chikage: I’ll have to pass. I’m leaving, so take your time, Chigasaki.

Itaru: Oh, come on. That reminds me, you haven’t gotten your situation prompt yet, have you?

Chikage: Situation prompt… Oh, for that magazine.

Itaru: It might end up being a drive date. Let’s do this as practice, just in case.

Chikage: I appreciate your offer, but no thanks.

Chikage: It’d be one thing if you were sleeping, but a salaryman who plays video games and makes weird noises isn’t exactly my idea of a dating practice partner.

Chikage: Okay then, I’ll be going now.

[Door closing] 

Itaru: … Senpai gets to laugh and I don’t even get to chuckle.

Kazunari: Chikachon’s Logic Punch was super effective~!

Yuki: Same old, same old.

Izumi: Ahaha…

Izumi: Here’s some coffee for now.

Itaru: Thanks…

Izumi: (I do think there’s a big chance Chikage-san’s situation prompt will be a drive date, though.)

-

Chikage: Good work today.

Colleague: Good work~

Izumi: Good work Izumi: We have received your situation prompt, please look it over Chikage: Got it.

Chikage: Let’s see. I sure hope it’s not a troubling assignment…

[Notification blip]

Chikage: … Jinxed it.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

[moonleeai]

Journey Back to You

·𖥸·Fashion Photographer! Jin x Fashion Model! Reader  ·𖥸·AU: Childhood friends to lovers | FLUFF ·𖥸·Rating: PG ·𖥸·WC: 5460

Story written for Sara - Heathfritillary - as part of the BangtanWHQ Exchange Event “Sweet Tricks & Wicked Treats”

Summary: Bound by an inseparable childhood bond and a shared adoration for fashion, you and an old friend find your lives diverging across continents. Years later, fate intervenes as your paths unexpectedly reconnect at a high-profile fashion show. The dazzling lights of the runway become a backdrop for your reunion, igniting a nostalgic journey through shared dreams and forgotten memories. What will become of this rekindled connection?

Thank you Lucy @lo1k-diamonds and Jasz @downbad4yoongi for beta reading! 

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·​​· ·

Strolling along the River Seine, the water shimmers under the moon’s glow; you can’t help but sigh in awe, “What a perfect night in beautiful Paris!” The Eiffel Tower stands tall, adorned with twinkling lights, captivating your gaze—beautiful structures of Gothic architecture line the street with elegance and uniformity, illuminated by soft moonbeams.

A cool breeze carries the scent of garlic and aged wine as you feel the uneven cobblestone under your feet. The towering, half-timbered buildings on either side seem to lean in, creating an intimate, almost secretive atmosphere. Gas lamps cast an ethereal glow, painting the street in soft, golden hues. Tonight’s fashion show theme–Beneath the Eiffel's Glow–showcases the magic of Paris under the moon’s tender embrace at the foot of the Iron Lady.

You confidently approach the check-in area, where the production team organizes models, designers, and staff. Velvet ropes line the entrance, and security personnel stand guard checking credentials. The assistant recognizes you and checks off your name, greeting you warmly and handing you a pass for backstage access. 

Backstage, crew members hurry by with headsets on, and stylists rush to prepare for the show. The models move with practiced ease through the chaos, making their way toward the dressing room. You’re met by the designer’s team, who usher you to your fitting area. Garments hang meticulously on racks, shimmering under the soft lights.

You inspect the outfit you’ll be wearing—a dress with a plunging neckline cascading in bold, voluminous layers of black tulle, its dramatic silhouette broken by vibrant splashes of magenta and teal. The colors clash yet harmonize with unapologetic flair. 

As you get dressed, you admire how the outfit commands attention, a statement of daring elegance and rebellion against the ordinary. Then you take a moment to prepare mentally– calm and collected– ready to transform the moment when all eyes will be on you.

With your chestnut hair cascading down your back, you adjust the diamond-studded choker resting on your neck and strut down the sidewalk-turned runway for the latest luxury fashion brand. Striking a pose at the end for the photographers, a face sticks out, and as your eyes lock, your heart jumps. 

Kim Seokjin, tall and brooding, stands with his camera pulled away from his face. His obsidian eyes held a hint of surprise as he recognized you. Childhood summers spent chasing fireflies in a small French village flooded back. Countless trips to this same Eiffel Tower, where you played while parents had meetings and business lunches. Jin has become a renowned photographer, capturing beauty through his lens, and you, a sought-after model, gracing magazine covers and billboards.

You regain your composure and finish the show, keeping an eye on Kim Seokjin. When everything is over, you don’t even bother to change, running off with the last outfit you modeled. Weaving through the masses of people, you hear a distinct laugh and let it pull you toward him. You stand just a few inches from Seokjin with a soft smile on your lips, eyes shimmering like the diamonds around your neck.

Jin whispers your name, his voice a velvet caress that sends shivers down your spine. “It really is you.” In his memory, you were an adolescent with hair like a wildflower meadow, always returning from your adventures with nature's offerings caught in its tangles. 

Your laughter fills the air, tinkling like wind chimes. “Shut up!?” Your laughter echoes through the air as you embrace Jin. His arms wrap around you tightly, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart against your chest. Laughter and chatter slowly die down, and the once-noisy crowd falls silent as you pull away and focus on him. “Jinnie!? What are you doing here?” 

He gestures to his camera bag. “I chose the photographer path. I travel the world capturing moments, but I never expected to find you here. Modeling at that.”

“Ah, I know, right. I was just doing it to make some money while interning, but,” you shrug your shoulders, “here I am! It’s been so long. I really can’t believe it!” You reach out and touch his arm, gently squeezing as if you’re making sure it’s not a dream. You take in his features, noting how they've matured yet still hold remnants of the boy you used to know. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good, busy with fashion week.” He smiles at you warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Wow… seeing you brings back so many memories. You look stunning, as always.” The way he looks at you makes your heart flutter, and for a moment, it feels like no time has passed since the last time you saw each other. 

“Thank you. And you, you haven’t changed a bit. Still the same Jinnie I remember.”

“What about you?” A fluttering sensation spreads through your stomach as his voice lingers on your name. You can't help but smile and shift on your feet as he waits for your answer.

“I can’t complain. I live here full-time now and love every minute.”

“I guess some things never change. Do you remember those summers we spent exploring every corner of that village? Gosh, what was the name?”

“Chevreuse. How could I forget? Those were some of the best days of my life. I’ve missed you, Jinnie.”

“I missed you too,” your name falls from his lips gracefully. “Life took us in different directions, but it seems the universe had other plans for us tonight.”

A booming voice from a distance snaps you into the present with stylists and security guards rushing toward you. 

“We should catch up properly. Dinner and drinks…twenty minutes? I just need to change.”

“Still as demanding as I remember, too.” Jin smiles, “I’d love that. Dinner under the moonlight in Paris sounds perfect.” 

“Don’t leave! Let me change, and I’ll be right back out to walk with you.” You turn just as the guards reach you, and you raise your hands in surrender. Smiling and apologizing, you hurry to the dressing room to return the collection pieces, changing back into the dress you showed up in.

You step back from the vanity mirror to look at your outfit from multiple angles. A sophisticated yet playful olive green short dress with a tailored bodice accentuating your curves, while the flowing skirt adds a touch of elegance. The neckline is a delicate V-neck, showcasing your bare neck and delicate collarbones. 

To upgrade your look, you pair it with gifts from tonight’s designer—strappy black heels and honey-gold butterfly earrings. The wings are adorned in a cascade of nude and chocolate diamonds, creating a stunning contrast. 

You leave the dressing room and head back to where you left Jin. Your heart pounds in your chest as you scan the crowd. You spot him immediately, standing by the edge of the bridge railing. His tailored suit fits him like a second skin. The lights from the tower catch the rich fabric, highlighting its intricate weave. As your eyes meet his, time seems to stand still. His gaze is warm and inviting, and a surge of electricity courses through you. It’s as if the world around you fades away, leaving only you and him. You feel a sense of peace and belonging that you haven’t felt since those summers in Chevreuse.

You watch his eyes roam your figure as you walk closer to each other. He offers his arm before asking, “Where to, beautiful?”

You grin and turn away before he can see your cheeks flush, then point, “There’s a nice place that way.” 

The cobblestone streets beneath your feet seem to pulse with anticipation. You can smell the intoxicating aroma of buttery garlic, roasted meat, and the distant strains of accordion music. With each step, excitement grew as you approached your destination.

An elegant restaurant awaits you. Intricate wrought-iron railings and ornate windows adorned its facade, offering glimpses of the luxurious interior. As you enter, the soft glow of chandeliers, the clinking of crystal glasses, and the murmur of hushed conversations greet you. 

You request an outdoor table and follow the hostess through the restaurant. The anticipation is palpable, and you can't wait to catch up with Seokjin. As you sit across from each other at the intimate candlelit table, the inviting aroma of sizzling steak and bubbling wine fills the air. Your conversation flows effortlessly, pausing only when a delectable bite or sip interrupts you. It’s as if time slowed down, allowing you to savor every moment together.

Your brows crease as you tilt your head. “So you did follow the music path but ended up in photography?”

Jin smiles and looks down. “Yeah, something like that.” He looks around before locking eyes and lowers his voice. “Well, sometimes I do voice-acting gigs. Did corporate life get too boring?” 

“Something like that…” you grin as you repeat his words and reach for your cocktail glass. “I just–being in an office all day was…” You pause to find the right word.

“Not you,” Jin mutters as he raises his wineglass to his lips, eyes remaining on you. 

“Exactly.” You smile, feeling some way that he knows you. Your belly flutters with nerves and excitement as his lips curve into a familiar smirk. Despite the years that passed, he still knew how to make you feel special.

The conversation continues to flow easily, as if no time has passed between you. You share stories—of heartbreaks, missed chances, and dreams deferred.

“I never forgot you,” Jin confesses. “Even when the world pulled us apart. I still have this.” Jin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a simple pearl-like bracelet with a tiny charm, both of your first initials etched into the metal. 

As you recognize the bracelet—the one you designed so many moons ago—you gasp. You may have lost touch, but the bracelet remained a cherished memory—a symbol of an unbreakable bond. Opening your clutch, you pull out a small jewelry bag. Inside is the same bracelet.

Jin’s smile lights up the evening around you. His eyes soften as he takes the small bag from your hand, removes the bracelet, and gently slides it onto your wrist. The cool metal feels familiar, a comforting touch against your skin, but not as comfortable as Jin’s soft fingers sliding against yours.

"I knew you’d still have it,” Jin says, his voice filled with a mixture of relief and joy. “It was always a symbol of our connection, no matter how far apart we were."

A wave of emotion washes over you. The bracelet, a simple object, had become a powerful testament to the enduring nature of your relationship. As you look into Jin's eyes, you realize that the bond you share is far stronger than any distance or time can separate.

You felt a tightness in your chest. “This night can’t end. We can’t stop here. I’m supposed to leave tomorrow… to go back to New York, but I have an open schedule for a few days. Do you?” You patiently wait for Jin’s response, hoping he can hear the desperation in your voice.

Jin pauses, his eyes scanning yours for a moment before he speaks. "My schedule is open for a few days too... let's stay. We have so much catching up to do." 

Relief floods through you as you agree, grateful that your time together can extend for a little while longer.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·​​· ·

The following morning, the soft glow of sunlight filters through the sheer curtains of your bedroom, casting a warm embrace on the room. You wake to the gentle symphony of car horns and birdsong. As you stretch, the aroma of coffee fills your nostrils. You breathe it in deeply before getting out of bed. 

Walking out of the bedroom, you notice Jin has already folded the blankets from his stay on the sofa.

“You’re awake,” Jin murmurs and his lips curl up. “I was going to bring this to you.” His hand swipes above a mug of coffee and some pain au chocolat in a tray on the marble countertop.

“You went out to–”

“To get what I hope is still your favorite pastry.”

You feel your cheeks flush. “I could never get sick of them! Let’s enjoy them at the table.” You walk over, carry the tray to the dining table, pause, and stare out the courtyard window, where the sun casts a warm glow on the lush green garden outside. “Isn’t this garden beautiful?”

You feel Jin beside you and look over at him, his coffee mug at his lips. You watch his throat coax the liquid down, and then your eyes meet his. His mug makes a clink as he places it on the table. Jin’s lips part as if he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. You raise your eyebrows as if asking what he wants to say.

Jin raises his hand to tuck a few strands of your hair behind your ear. “Yes, quite beautiful.” 

Heat is radiating from your body. You clear your throat to steady your unexpected, elevated heart rate. "I can't believe we're back in Paris."

Jin hums in agreement, his gaze lingering on your face. There is a softness to his eyes that makes your heart flutter again. He'd always been handsome, but now, there is an added depth, an allure that is undeniably captivating.

After a leisurely breakfast, you explore the city, wandering through the Louvre and marveling at the art. Strolling along the streets window shopping and soaking in the Parisian atmosphere, hands brushing occasionally, sending a spark of excitement coursing through your body.

As the day wore on, a comfortable intimacy began to develop. Picking up where you left off so many years ago, peeling back layers of the people you had grown into. Laughing at memories and finishing each other's sentences, conversations flow seamlessly from one topic to another.

As the sun descends, casting the city in a golden hue, you find yourselves on a bench in front of the Eiffel Tower. The exact spot where you shared your childhood dreams. Only this time, the atmosphere is different.

"Remember when we used to pretend this was our castle?" you ask softly.

Jin smiles, his eyes twinkling. "And you were the princess, waiting for your knight in shining armor."

"You were a terrible knight," you tease, though your heart is pounding.

"Hey!" Jin protests playfully. "I was the best knight a princess could ask for."

You share a laugh, the sound echoing in the still evening air. As the sun dips below the horizon, the Eiffel Tower lit up, a dazzling spectacle against the twilight sky.

You turn to Jin, eyes sparkling. "It's still magical, isn't it?"

Jin nods, his gaze fixated on you. "It's perfect."

A moment passes, filled with a charged tension. Your heart races as you feel a magnetic pull toward him. Taking a deep breath, you step closer.

"Jin..." your voice, barely a whisper.

Before you could finish, Jin's lips were on yours. It’s a soft, gentle kiss filled with a lifetime of longing and a promise of what could be.

The world seems to fade away as you lose yourselves in the moment. The Eiffel Tower, the city lights, everything else is irrelevant. There were only the two of you.

When you pull apart, your foreheads rest against each other. You were both breathless, hearts pounding in unison.

"I wanted to do that our last summer together," Jin admits, his voice husky.

You smile with a heart overflowing with happiness. "Me too."

You found yourself drawn to Jin in a way you hadn't anticipated. His intelligence and sense of humor were intoxicating. He was more than just a childhood friend.

Jin, too, was experiencing a profound shift in his feelings. You had blossomed into a stunningly beautiful woman, but it was your essence and spirit that truly captivated him. He was falling, and with every passing moment, his feelings grew stronger.

As you nestle into Jin's embrace, the city seems to sigh contentedly around you. "I can't believe this is happening," you murmur, your voice muffled against Jin's shoulder. "It feels like a dream."

Jin's arm tightens around you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. "If it is a dream, I don't want to wake up," he replies, his voice low and warm.

You lift your head to meet his gaze, finding yourself lost in the depths of his dark eyes. There is so much to say, so many years to catch up on, but at that moment, words seem inadequate. Instead, you lean in, brushing your lips against his. 

The touch sends electricity coursing through your body, awakening long-dormant feelings. His breath catches as you pull back slightly, your faces still mere inches apart. Time stands still as you search each other's eyes, volumes of unspoken history passing between you.

Slowly, hesitantly, he raises a hand to cup your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheekbone. You lean into his touch, closing your eyes and savoring the warmth of his skin against yours. When you open them again, you find his gaze has softened, a mixture of tenderness and longing replacing the initial shock of seeing you after so many years.

You both sit in comfortable silence for a while, basking in the warmth of newfound love and the magic of Paris at night. The city lights twinkle with possibility as if celebrating your reunion.

"You know," Jin said softly, breaking the silence, "I always wondered what would have happened if we had stayed in touch after those summers."

You lift your head from his shoulder, meeting his gaze. "Me too. But maybe... maybe this is how it was meant to be. Us finding each other again when we were ready."

Jin nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "You might be right. We've both grown, experienced life. And now..."

"And now we're here," you finish for him, squeezing his hand.

As the night deepens, a cool breeze sweeps across the Seine, causing you to shiver slightly. Jin immediately shrugs off his jacket and drapes it around your shoulders, his hands lingering for a moment on your arms. The gesture was so tender, so reminiscent of the boy you once knew, that it made your heart ache with affection.

"Thank you," you whisper, pulling the jacket tighter around you. It smells of his cologne—a warm, spicy scent that you find instantly comforting.

Jin smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Always looking out for you, just like old times."

You laugh softly, remembering how he used to fuss over you during your childhood adventures. A prince protecting his princess. "Some things never change, do they?"

"And some things do," Jin replies, his tone becoming more serious. He took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers. "I never want to lose touch with you again. Whatever happens, whatever challenges we face, I want us to face them together."

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After a beautiful few days together, weeks turn into months as you learn how to balance your new relationship with your separate lives. Your career flourishes, becoming the face of several high-profile brands. Jin's photography is in high demand as his work is featured in prestigious fashion magazines.

Your relationship became the talk of the fashion world, a fairytale romance that captures the hearts of millions. But for you and Jin, it was simply about two people who had found a way back to each other, a story as timeless and beautiful as the city of Paris itself.

Whispers and murmurs followed your every move as you stole precious moments from your chaotic lives, meeting in different corners of the world. Brussels–where fingers intertwined like vines while exploring an elegant art gallery. California–with a romantic late-night stroll on the beach, walking hand in hand as the warm ocean breeze mingled with the scent of salty sea air. 

After the bustling energy of the Met Gala, surrounded by fans seeking autographs and well-wishes, you found a peaceful sanctuary in the middle of Central Park, sharing a private picnic, basking in each other's company and the beauty of nature around you.

The initial euphoria of your reunion began to wane as the harsh reality of distance set in. Jin's career demands his presence in New York, while your commitments keep you grounded in Paris. The city of love, once a haven of intimacy, now felt like a gilded cage of loneliness.

Your days are filled with endless video calls, faces illuminated by the cold glow of the screen.

Chuckling, Jin says, “Remember when we got lost in the Louvre and ended up in the Egyptian exhibit?”

You laugh, “Oh, that was hilarious! We were so confused. And then we saw that giant sphinx and thought we were in a movie!”

“And then we found the Mona Lisa and got all excited, only to realize a crowd of tourists surrounded it.”

“We were so disappointed. But it was still fun,” you giggle through your words.

Jin leans closer to the screen. “I miss your laugh.”

You push out your bottom lip and blink rapidly, trying to ward off the tears that threaten to spill over.

Softly, Jin speaks again, “I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have you. You know that?”

You bring the screen closer and pucker your lips, sending an air kiss. “And I'm the luckiest girl in the world to have you.”

Jin sighs, “I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too. More than words can say.” 

“I'll visit as soon as I can, I promise.”

Every night ends the same, going over mundane details of your days and pouring your hearts out to each other. Yet, the physical distance was a constant ache, a void that no amount of virtual connection could fill.

The emotional toll of long distance was undeniable. You miss the simple pleasures of being together: holding hands, sharing a meal, falling asleep in each other's arms. The distance felt like a constant reminder of your separation, a painful reminder of what you were missing.

For now, you were two halves of a whole, separated by an ocean, your love a beacon of hope in the vast expanse of your lives.

But the strain of long distance began to wear on you both. A gnawing sense of longing and frustration slowly replaces the initial excitement of new love. Your schedules became increasingly difficult to align, with fashion weeks and photo shoots pulling you in opposite directions.

One particularly grueling day, after a 14-hour shoot, you collapse onto your hotel bed, fumbling for your phone. Jin's face appears on the screen, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

"Hey, beautiful," he said, his voice tinged with exhaustion. "How was your day?"

You sigh. "Endless. I'm so tired, Jin. I miss you."

His expression softens. "I miss you too. More than you know."

A heavy silence fell between you, filled with unspoken longings and fears. You both knew this conversation was coming, but neither wanted to be the first to broach the subject. Finally, you took a deep breath and spoke.

"Jin, I... I don't know how much longer I can do this. The distance… it's killing me."

Jin's face fell, his eyes clouding with worry. "I know. It's been hard on me too. But we're making it work, aren't we?"

You bit your lip, fighting back tears. "Are we? Sometimes, it feels like we're just going through the motions. I want more than just video calls and text messages. I want you here, with me."

Jin ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his gesture. "I want that too. You know I do. But our careers... they're important too. We've worked so hard to get where we are."

"I know," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "But at what cost? We're living separate lives, Jin. I feel like I'm losing you, even though I just found you again."

Jin's expression softens, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You're not losing me. I'm right here, always. But you're right, this isn't enough. We need to figure something out."

You nod, wiping away a stray tear. "What do we do? How do we make this work?"

Jin was quiet for a moment, his brow furrows in thought. Then, his face lit up with determination. "I have an idea. It's crazy, but hear me out."

You lean closer to the screen, intrigued. "I'm listening."

Jin's words tumble out in a rush. "What if I move to Paris? It would be a big change, but... I think it could work."

Your heart skips a beat, hope blooming in your chest. "Jin, are you serious? That's... that's a huge decision. What about your career in New York?"

He smiles, a determined glint in his eye. "My career is important, yes. But you're more important. We're more important. I can build my career anywhere, but I can't find another you."

Tears well up in your eyes, a mixture of joy and disbelief. "But... are you sure? I don't want you to resent me if things don't work out."

Jin's gaze softens. "I could never resent you. Look, I'm not saying it'll be easy. There will be challenges and adjustments to make. But I'm willing to face them all if it means being with you."

Your heart swells with emotion. "Jin, I... I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll have me," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. "Say you'll let me come home to you."

A tear slips down your cheek as you nod. "Yes! Yes, of course! I want nothing more than to have you here with me."

Jin's face breaks into a radiant smile, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "Then it's settled. I'll start making arrangements right away."

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After months of planning and preparation, the day is finally here. Jin secures a transfer to Paris and is finally coming to the other side of the world to be with you permanently. The day he broke the news was met with overwhelming joy and relief. He finally found a way to bridge the physical distance between you.

Jin eagerly packed his belongings and said goodbye to New York, the city he could no longer call home. He was giddy at the thought that you were now his home. As he boards the plane, his heart is full with a mix of excitement and anticipation. He is finally on his way to be reunited with the love of his life.

You were waiting for Jin impatiently at the airport. Your flowy white dress swooshes with every turn you make, pacing back and forth in front of the terminal exit, holding a bouquet with soft shades of purple, ranging from pale lavender to a deeper violet. Their sweet, intoxicating scent fills the air, settling you briefly. You look at the small, delicate petals resembling tiny hearts–perfect for expressing love and affection.

The moment you see Jin, your heart wavers. Wearing a casual outfit of jeans and a button-down shirt, he offers a warm smile, and his eyes sparkle with joy. He’s pulling his luggage behind him, and in his arms, a breathtaking bouquet of lush, vibrant flowers. The arrangement is a symphony of pinks and whites. Dahlias dominate the center with their ruffled petals, surrounded by delicate sweet peas and smaller, more compact flowers. The overall effect is elegance, which is precisely the type of man Jin is. 

You both brim from ear to ear and laugh that you are on the same page. You rush into each other's arms, sweet tears mingling with your embrace. The airport may be full of the hustle and bustle of travelers, but your love shines brightly, creating a moment of peace and happiness amidst the chaos.  

Simultaneously, you both speak, “These are for you.” Giggles erupt again as you exchange bouquets. 

Jin raises them to his face and exaggerates, smelling them. “They're beautiful, just like you.” He winks and thanks you.

You press the back of your hand to your cheek, which flushes with color, “You're too much.”

Jin pulls you into another hug, his lips grazing your neck. “I'm so happy to be with you again.” 

With one hand, you lace your fingers with Jin’s, and the other weaves through the nape of his hair. “Let's go home,” you whisper.

Smiling, he replies, “I am home.”

Jin grabs his bag, and you walk toward the exit; sounds of announcements in multiple languages and murmurs of conversations all fade into the background, replaced by a palpable sense of euphoria. 

As you leave the airport, a wave of warm air hits you. Jin's hand slips into yours, a comforting gesture that sends a shiver of excitement down your spine. Jin settles into the driver’s seat of your car, and the city turns into a blur of colorful tapestry as you weave through the streets.

When arriving at your new apartment, which you picked together through a video call, Jin is welcomed by a charming atmosphere. Golden rays of sunlight pour through the wide windows, flooding the living room with a warm glow. The air is alive with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, its rich scent beckoning from the kitchen where you had set the timer before leaving. Jin sets down his bags and turns to you, an adoring glint in his eye.

"Shall you show me our new home?" he asks.

You nod eagerly, your heart filling with anticipation. As you walk through the apartment, you can't help but feel a sense of belonging. This is where your new life together will unfold.

You end the brief tour by stepping out onto a private terrace, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. Jin hugs you from behind and places his hands over yours on the railing, caging your body between his arms. 

Before you, the iconic silhouette of the Eiffel Tower stretches upward, a graceful masterpiece of iron latticework. The tower's every intricate detail is visible from your vantage point.

You twist around to face Jin, placing your hands on his shoulders, gently gliding them until your fingers interlock behind his neck. "I'm so glad you decided to take this leap," you say softly. "I couldn't imagine my life without you."

The corners of Jin’s mouth turn up in a gentle, playful arc, creating a soft, heart-like shape, causing your heart to flutter. "Me neither." 

"I have something for you," he said, pulling out a small velvet box.

Your heart races as he opens the box, revealing a delicate gold necklace with a pendant shaped like the Eiffel Tower. Embedded in the tower was a tiny diamond that caught the fading sunlight.

"Jin, it's beautiful," you gasp, touching the pendant gently.

"Turn it over," he urges softly.

With trembling fingers, you flip the pendant over. Engraved on the back are the words "our love story”.

As Jin carefully fastens the necklace around your neck, tears well up in your eyes. The cool metal settles against your skin, a tangible reminder of your journey together.

"I wanted to give you something to always remember this time, this place," Jin explains, his eyes shining. "No matter where our careers take us, we'll always have Paris."

You lean in, capturing his lips in a tender kiss. "It's perfect," you whisper against his mouth. "Thank you."

As the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, you and Jin sit entwined, watching the city come alive with twinkling lights. The Eiffel Tower stood proudly in the distance.

You stand there, nestled in Jin's arms. You couldn't help but reflect on the journey that had led you to this moment. From childhood summers filled with laughter and adventure to years apart, pursuing your dreams, and finally reuniting in the city of love. It feels as if every step, every decision, led you back to each other.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask.

His breath warm against your ear, he replies, "This is just the beginning."

[shukufuyu]

[A3! Backstage Translation] Tasuku Takato SSR — BE.MINE Ver.Tasuku (1/3)

Tasuku: If it’s that kind of setting, enjoyin’ it with a drink on hand sounds fun.

click below to read more

next

Citron: Eat this! Citron Hyper Lightning Shoot!!

Tsuzuru: Ah, wait, that's a little too…! Where are you kicking that ball, Citron-san??

Citron: Oops, Sorry! I just kicked it without thinking.

Tasuku: It’s fine, I’ll just catch up––!

Azami: Ooh, nice, Tasuku-san!

Omi: You really catched up to that ball.

Tasuku: Well, if you can’t stop an assist’s ball, you won't stand a chance in the Neighbors’ Association football tournament.

Citron: Tasuku stopping the ball feels frustrating…

Tsuzuru: Wait, that was basically a pass, if anything you should be happy Takato-san received your pass.

Tasuku: Also, Citron’s pass somewhat became a shot stoppin’ practice.

Omi: Well, this kind of unpredictable play might become its own advantage when used in a game.

Azami: Even though we're his teammates, we weren't even able to read Citron-san’s moves…

Omi: Why don’t we stop the practice for today, looks like it’s the perfect time.

Tasuku: Yeah.

Citron: I’m soo tired~!

Azami: I’m breaking out in sweat like crazy.

Tasuku: Once you finish a protein drink, you’ll always break a sweat like crazy.

Citron: The long-awaited bathhouse! I’ve been looking forward to this. That’s why I became the insistent!

Tsuzuru: That’s true… also, it’s “assistant”.

Omi: Haha, be careful don’t get too carried away alright?

Azami: That’s refreshing…

Citron: Going to the bathhouse after practice is definitely the best!

Tsuzuru: Are you measuring your weight, Takato-san?

Tasuku: Yeah, it’s a routine.

…Alright, doesn't look like it increased, looks good.

Azami: What “looks good”?

Tasuku: It’s my turn for the boyfriend material shoot comin’ up, so for that I gotta make sure I don’t gain weight.

Honestly, the next tournament is coming up, so I wish I can gain just a bit…

Omi: Ooh, that women’s magazine special feature article. Has your setting been decided yet?

Tasuku: Nah, not yet.

Tsuzuru: Whatever the setting it’ll be I’ll look forward to it.

Citron: something like playing sports with a girlfriend suits him! And of course utilize the muscles he’s proud of~!

Omi: Whether it be an inhouse or watching a sports game kind of date it’ll definitely suit Tasuku.

Tasuku: If it’s that kind of setting, enjoyin’ it with a drink on hand sounds fun.

Tsuzuru: Right, Takato-san suits the kind of date that gives off mature vibes.

Azami: …. (flustered)

Citron: Ooh, Azami got flustered and turned red.

Azami: I–I’m not!

This bath is just hot is all…

Tasuku: But anyways, Director might just tell me soon enough, so let’s just end this conversation over here.

Izumi: Welcome back. You guys’ faces look refreshed, did you just got back from the bathhouse?

Tasuku: Yeah, we wanted to wash off the sweat from soccer practice.

Izumi: Fufu, thank you for your hard work. Also, I have something to talk to you about…

Tasuku: Somethin’ to tell me?

next

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Interview with the Vampire - A Vampire!Niklas Kvarforth/Reader One Shot Story.

Okay, besties! The first fic for my Vampire Soirée is here. And yeah, couldn't help myself with the title. Had to. Haha! Enjoy!

Words - 4,293

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

“I really, really don’t want to do this.” 

Your editor views you from across his desk with a mildly terse smirk. “I don’t care. You’re into the more extreme music, so therefore you get to interview him. You’re the natural choice, so go out there and get the job done.” 

You know his word is final, nodding and moving from the small room that reeks of cheap coffee and your boss’s pungent body odour, returning to the main floor of the offices for the rock magazine you work for, slumping back down at your desk.  

“Why me?” Indeed, why you. Likely, if you weren’t quite as revelling in acrimony, you’d see that your boss gave you the task of interviewing Niklas Kvarforth because he thinks you are nothing short of capable. You’d see the compliment in there, being trusted to secure something with the musician who is famed for either being extremely engaging with his interviewer – that is, if he likes them - or an absolute fucking nightmare if he doesn’t. It’s also very much dependent upon his mood, the amount of alcohol and drugs, or the lack of medication in his system, so you’ve garnered.  

You decree right there and then not to meet him backstage, while he’d likely be revelling in the merriment of after show excess.  

A few days pass, your flights booked, and an email received from Shining’s management, giving you a list of criteria you must meet in order for Niklas to be willing to meet with you. At least it won’t be after a show, which makes your insides relax a little. But it will be in a bar. Eeep.  

Niklas will only meet the interviewer at night. 

The interviewer is requested to come alone. 

The interviewer is requested not to wear any strong perfume. 

The interviewer is requested not to wear any items comprising of silver.  

“Is he for real?” You mutter, thinking his demands to border on slightly diva-like. No silver or strong perfume? You wonder why, but then remember who you’re interviewing. He isn’t a run of the mill kind of person by any stretch of the imagination. A return email is sent confirming you will adhere to these requests, receiving the information on the exact time and location a short while later.  

‘Tell the bar staff who you are there to see, and you will be shown to a private room.’ 

It feels ominous, but at 9pm on the date of the interview, feeling fresh from napping after your flight, you enter the bar and indeed tell the young man who greets you who you have a meeting with.  

“Come with me, he’s waiting for you.”  

You are escorted through the throngs of people, the bar itself not of modern build, everything carved wood, the smell earthy and rich. The noise begins to fade as you are led through two doorways out into a long, narrow room, bench seating flanking each wall, and a very tall man seated at a table in the far corner.  

There sits Niklas Kvarforth, expectant, but unmoved by your arrival. 

The energy of the room seems to radiate something you cannot quite put your finger on, but it emanates from him. It feels like both luminosity and a darkened abyss all at once, his eyes sharply focused upon you, your heart beginning to thunder rapidly. You’re unsure why, when he hasn’t even made a move, nor uttered a single word.  

“Niklas,” you begin, recovering yourself, the bartender leaving. “Pleased to meet you, I’m...” 

“I know who you are.” Extending a large hand, he gestures across the table. “Sit.” That voice. It’s a rumble of thunder, the growl of a bear, yet no matter how deep in baritone, he uses little in the way of volume to enunciate. 

Taking a seat, you retrieve your phone from your bag and set it to record, placing it down upon the table. His eyes still haven’t left you, a burning blue stare, unblinking, unflinching, twinkling in the very low light of the room. He then reaches for the wine bottle at the side of the table, pouring out a glass and sliding it across the smooth wood.  

“A two thousand and eighteen Merlot,” he begins, nodding at the glass. “I’m told it is a good year.” 

Picking it up, you take a sip. It very much is. “A good guess, too. I like a nice, smooth red.” 

The corner of his mouth twitches a fraction. “It wasn’t a guess. Social media provides a plethora of information to those wishing to seek it.” So, he found your Instagram, then. You should have known he’d probably research you prior to your meet. “But even if I had not, I would know you drank a glass not so long ago. Perhaps not of the same quality as this, but you did imbibe.” 

You cock your head curiously. “How could you know that?” 

“I can smell it on you.”  

Your eyebrows pinch in slight frown. “That’s one hell of a keen sense of smell.” Taking another sip, the velvety liquid slides down your through, Niklas still studying you intently. “Are you not joining me in a glass?” 

“It is, and no,” he begins, lacing his fingers together upon the table. “I don’t drink... wine, any longer.” 

A curious response from a man who seems very much to enjoy a drop of anything alcoholic. More than a drop, in fact. “What’s your poison now?” 

His eyes flit to the side of your neck momentarily, the rest of him remaining so still, it’s a little unnerving. “I have but one vice, driven out of necessity. It cannot be said I do not enjoy that necessity, though.” So, he’s choosing to be cryptic tonight. “Yes, I am being evasive on purpose, but you knew that I would be, didn’t you?” 

A slightly sinister grin begins to widen his mouth, while you sit there and wonder how on earth he can seemingly read your thoughts so well. “The human face tells of exactly what ticks through the mind. In case you wondered.”  

You know what he’s doing, attempting to unnerve you a little and likely use that to his advantage. Studying his interviews of the past, you’ve witnessed him do it before. He gets inside someone’s head through either unsettling or charming them. You would be lying if you said you did not wish for him to perhaps use a little of the latter, just for fun. Video footage and photographs do not do justice to how attractive the man is in the flesh.  

A professional you may be, but who doesn’t enjoy being charmed a little by a fascinating, attractive musician? Still, you opt to at least attempt in playing your cards close to your chest. 

“I didn’t,” you speak, and he laughs, a small burst of sound through his nose. He sees the hand you hold. Of course, he does. 

“Yes, you did. Do not lie to me. I will see it.” Leaning forward slowly, his eyes fix upon yours again, pupils widening just a touch, your throat feeling tight. “Ask me your first question.”  

Swallowing, you match his unblinking stare, drawing yourself up a little taller. “If you were one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse, who would you be?” 

He studies you intently, almost like he didn’t hear you for a moment. “She seats herself at my table and actually asks me something interesting.” His lips curl into a small smile, his index finger tracing over a knot in the wood upon the table. “A rarity these days, to not be questioned over the same mundane things I have given answers to a hundred times before.”  

You made sure not to while compiling your questions, each of which you have memorised well in advance of this night. He looks to ponder it for a few seconds, glancing away from you momentarily before his eyes snap back. “Who do you think I embody the most?” 

Your reply is immediate, without hesitation. “All of them.” 

“Why?” 

“Your music could be constituted as a war cry, famine you’d likely thrive upon from your well-documented enjoyment of human suffering, plague is perhaps akin to how Shining’s music has spread, and death is what fascinates you.”  

He cocks his head a little, his smile growing. “I like you.” 

Much better than being disliked by the man, you suppose. “Any specific reason?” 

“You see me,” he begins, laughing a little darkly, “or at least, as much as I allow you to.” He contemplates his next words, his eyes not leaving yours. God, the intensity of his gaze. It's about as thrilling as it is genuinely terrifying and yet, you aren't at all sure why he scares you. There is something so very inexplicable about him, his aura, the way he sits in such eerie, almost unflinching stillness. He hasn’t even blinked yet. “I get the sense you shall not bore me. I would say to death, but I am there already.”  

“Your fascination, yes?” 

Another rumble of laughter sounds. “A certain curiosity, you could say.” Again, he leans a fraction close across the table. “Next question. Make it good.” 

“If Shining’s music began in any other era, do you think it would have had the same impact, or do you feel it transcends the zeitgeist no matter what?” 

Once more, he smiles. “I definitely like you.” Picking up the bottle, he tops up your glass. “Drink your wine, and I will talk.”  

Oh, and talk he does, the interview feeling less like something of structure, and more like an in-depth conversation about everything. Life, death, music, art, triumph, suffering; you cover all bases together. He fascinates you even more than you first assumed he would, too, yet there is still something about him that you cannot put your finger on, and it’s bugging you.  

“You still have questions you seek an answer for.”  

There he is again, seemingly peering right into your mind. “I do, yeah. It feels like something that doesn’t have a definitive question, though. Does that make sense?” 

Lifting his chin, he shrugs, ever so slightly. “If you’d been paying attention, you would probably have your answer by now. I have dropped some subtle hints, here and there.”  

He playing with you, but you cannot pull yourself out of the fascination, of the thirst to know what it is about him exactly that makes him so different. Yet still, you struggle to form the actual question itself.  

“If I’ve missed them, why don’t you just come out and tell me?” you ask, Niklas humming amusedly, reaching out to run a fingertip down your cheek. The room might be warm, yet his skin is stone cold. 

“Where would the fun be in that?” Yep. He’s definitely playing with you for his own levity. It annoys you too, that you actually enjoy it. “Would you like for me to show you, the answer to the question you are yet to ask?”  

You nod, swallowing hard, wondering what it is you’ll be shown. “How?”  

“Meet me at the front of the bar.”  

It’s close to closing time anyway, so with your curiosity piqued, you finish your wine and pick up your phone, turning the recording off. Placing it in your bag, you smile, turning to leave the room, moving back through the bar. Struggling to get past the group of people milling around the entrance, you finally push through, swinging the door open and there on the other side, seeing Niklas waiting for you.  

How did he...  

“Hello, again.”  

“How on earth did you get past me?” you frown. Even if he’d left via a back exit to the bar, you would have noticed him walking the length of the building, with its floor to ceiling windows bordering it, in order to reach the front before you. 

“I move very quickly.”  

You raise an eyebrow. “It’s... it isn’t possible, for you to have reached the front before I did. I would have noticed you. You’d need to move within the blink of an eye!”  

He chuckles at your shrill tone. “Indeed, I would.”  

You’re caught in his gaze again, shaking your head, your heart starting to hammer. Blinking rapidly, you gasp when suddenly, he’s vanished right before your eyes. A finger taps your shoulder. 

“Hello, again.” 

Spinning, you almost die of fright to see him behind you, your throat constricting. “Wh-what the fuck did you put in-in my dr-drink?” you stammer, perplexed to know what drug he’s obviously laced the wine with, making you hallucinate to this magnitude. 

His eyes narrow, lifting his chin. “Nothing. You can trust what you see.” 

“But, but,” you begin, pointing at him. “People cannot move that quickly.” 

“Correct. Humans cannot, but I ceased being human a while ago.” He waits, watching as you try and piece it all together.  

He requested you meet him at night only. 

No silver jewellery. 

Sharp sense of smell, hence now why you realise he insisted you not wear strong perfume. 

He didn’t drink. Anything.  

“I have but one vice, driven out of necessity.” 

“I get the sense you shall not bore me. I would say to death, but I am there already.” 

And he moves faster than your eye can detect. He cannot be, though! What your brain is suggesting, it isn’t feasible. It isn’t possible! It’s folklore, mere stories, because you cannot, you just can’t be standing right there in front of a vampire.  

“I see the pieces have clicked into place. Finally,” he drawls, smirking a little. “Or do I need to give you exactly what you want to see?” 

“I... I...” you breathe, your mouth dropping open.  

He rolls his eyes, a little twitch of his top lip preceding two long, sharp fangs to pop out from his gums, a sight that makes you squeak as you clasp your hand over your mouth. “There. Convinced now?” 

“Oh my... oh... fuck.” You should be terrified, and truly there is a slither of fear slicing right through your insides, but it’s overrode by a wash of curiosity, of wonder. There you are, standing in front of a real-life creature of the night.  

You did wonder why Shining ceased playing at festivals in the daytime suddenly a few years before. Now you have your answer.  

“I...” you begin, reaching towards his mouth. “Can I touch them? How sharp are they?” 

It isn’t the reaction he was expecting, but your sheer wonder does amuse him on some level. “Feel for yourself.”  

Your index finger prods against one of those pointed teeth, your skin broken immediately. It didn’t hurt, but it took you by enough surprise to pull your hand away, Niklas grasping your wrist and sucking your finger into his mouth.  

“That Merlot tastes very good in your blood,” he speaks, finally releasing your finger from between his lips, eyeing you with radiating intent as you feel your body prickle with goosepimples, your nipples standing hard. All from having your fingertip in his mouth. Wow. “It’s making me hungry.” keeping hold of your hand, he moves his mouth to your wrist, tongue circling, pressing a kiss against where your pulse flutters madly. “May I?”  

“You don’t strike me as the type to ask,” you quip, your body beginning to tremble, especially when he places a second kiss to your inner wrist. 

“Although I love hunting down humans, scared blood tastes bitter. A willing donor is much more palatable.” 

Nodding dumbly, the consent falls from your mouth before you’ve even processed it properly. “Okay, yes you can.”  

Keeping hold of your hand, his other arm slides around you. “Not here.” His grip tightens and before you know it, he’s moved you within the blink of an eye to the alleyway that borders two buildings opposite the bar. Once again, he lifts your wrist to his mouth, the glint of his eyes like pale sapphires shining at you through the dark, another kiss placed before the burn of fangs pierces your flesh. It hurts, but god, the glimmers it drives through you, his mouth locked onto the wound strongly, sucking back your blood with a groan of pleasure.  

Your insides virtually turn themselves inside out, hearing that. 

Biting onto his own lip, he presses a bloodied kiss against the two puncture wounds in your wrist, the miraculous feeling of the wound closing making you feel completely spellbound as his blood heals you, his tongue working languidly over your flesh to lick it clean.  

He licks his crimson lips, leaning down to you. “Thank you.”  

You blink, and he’s gone, leaving you there breathless, perhaps even a touch deflated. He abandons you to the night, heart hammering, feeling awestruck, and that’s it? He’s just gone into the dark? He truly owes you nothing more, though. No explanation, no goodbye. Your interview was concluded, everything needed for your article to be written, leaving you only to steady yourself and call an Uber to return to your hotel.  

It bothers you every single moment of the ride back there, all the questions you could have asked him, like when exactly he was made vampire, why he chose that, whether or not anybody else knows, and so, so much more. It also incenses you because of the burning ache deep within that his feeding on you left, yet to abate. 

Do vampires still even have sex? Can they? They’re dead, so is desire still even a driving force within them, beyond that to feed?  

All these questions and no big, handsome vampire there to answer them. Damn him.  

Back at your hotel, you strip to your underwear, removing your makeup and cleaning your teeth before crawling beneath the covers. The bed linen is soft and crisply laundered, welcoming your body as you lie down and check your messages before turning off the bedside lamp. Sleep, as you soon discover, is a futile wish in light of what you now know, your brain buzzing, your body still humming from it all.  

From him. 

God, the way you felt as he fed upon you. It makes your nipples tighten just to remember it, your hands beginning to wander, knowing that unless you do something to sate the desire he stirred within you, you shall remain restless for the remainder of the night. With each sweeping caress, you imagine it is his cool hands exploring you, your arousal amping sharply, closing your eyes and seeing him there, imagining what it is to be pinned beneath him.  

One hand clamps at your breast, the other wandering between your legs, slick anticipation waiting as you begin to stroke the petals of your sex with a soft moan, knowing the thoughts of him there with you in the bed will act as a suitably torrid fantasy for a time to come. Oh, if only... if only.  

Tap, tap, tap.  

Mildly annoyed by the disturbance, you frown towards the door, wondering why the hell you’re being disturbed at gone midnight, ignoring it at first. Your fingers continue their rhythmic stroking, your arousal once again blooming, sighing into the dark as you hope whoever is on the other side of the door simply has the wrong room. 

Tap, tap, tap. This time louder than before.  

Flinging the covers back, you huff, striding towards the door with a frown pinching your brows, looking through the small spy hole. Your heart almost crashes out of your chest, opening the door immediately, the tall form of the vampire who left you burning in your frustration looming over you as he steps inside the room. 

“What are you doing here?” 

He leans to you, two fingers running along either side of your jaw, tilting your head back. “Answering your call.” 

“But I didn’t call you?” you speak, feeling like his presence is sucking the air from your lungs, the energy coming from him radiating with dark, swirling lust.  

“No, you didn’t.” He leans to you, lips pressing a kiss against your neck, setting your blood to burn with the need for him, his hands grasping your bra to tear it open. “But your body did.” He lifts you with ease, and you wrap your legs around him, clutching his face in your hands as you lean, offering your mouth to his. 

And fuck. The way he kisses you? He might be dead, but you feel like you’ve just been smacked in the chest with a live wire. 

His mouth rains cold heat over you, placed upon the bed, Niklas looking down at you for a moment while his hands smooth over your skin. A sudden flurry of rapid movement renders him naked, your underwear torn from you, his hands parting your thighs to settle himself between them. You shiver at the feel of cold skin pressing against your warmth, your hands trailing over the dark blonde hair smattered over his wide, tattooed chest, his hand grasping your jaw to tip your head back, mouth closing in a kiss that evokes nothing but heat.  

The sound he makes while delighting your throat with such attention is all beast, a primal, rattling growl, eerie and inhuman. You know you should be unsettled, fear the fact that you have what you now understand to be the greatest apex predator on earth between your legs, but oh, no. Fear is the furthest thing you experience beneath him, desire cording through you as his mouth scatters kisses steeped in blinding sensuality over every inch of your body, descending, tongue running up your thigh as he stares up at you. 

His eyes close, long, dark blonde lashes concealing the blue fire within, mouth reaching your aching slit finally, his tongue diving in with hunger. The flush of pleasure is immediate, evoked by long, dragging licks, his groans still gravelled in predatory grit. The tip of his tongue seeks your clit, flicking gently to begin, sucking, taking the contact away to make you keen, returning it with a driving beat that sends embers skittering up your spine.  

He consumes you carnivorously, nothing gentle about the way his mouth rains utter ruin upon you, your back arched like the bend in a riverbank as you gasp and cry out. The way he moves his tongue against your bud is unlike anything you’ve ever felt, quickening, until it moves at an unnatural speed; for a human, at least. He isn’t one, though.  

“Oh shit, oh!” you wail, clutching his head, your nails digging in. “Fuck, that’s incredible! How the fuck can you move your tongue so fucking quickly?” 

He rumbles an amused chuckle, sucking on you again. “You’ve seen how fast I move. That extends to all of me.” More rapid flickers follow, speedy, wet heat driving you to the place of complete nirvana, coming hard as the dew of your orgasm floods his tongue.  

You’re suddenly moved, faster than you can comprehend, finding yourself astride him, Niklas steering his cock to your streaming cunt, a hand clutching your neck as he pulls you down onto it, every last inch slipping in with ease. “And if you think the way I ate you was quick, just wait until you see the speed I’m going to bounce you on my cock.” 

One hand remains upon your neck, the other splayed on your back as he clasps you to him tightly, moving steadily to begin with, staring at you with burning desire, his fangs shooting out as he groans, all hellfire and sin. “Fuck, you feel good, little human.” 

He kisses you, your lips and tongue scratched by the sharp of his teeth, kisses all burning sanguine and dark lust, his growl making your skin prickle with goosepimples. The rolling rhythm of it sends lightning darting up your spine, his mouth moving to your throat, kisses pressed, the accompanying graze of fangs making your nipples furl tight, the pain of him suddenly biting into your neck sending a neon blaze to glimmer through the very blood he drinks upon thirstily.  

Oh, how scintillating the pleasure, to be fucked and fed upon by the predator between your legs at the same time, his body beginning to move up beneath you rapidly, both arms clasping around you, the grip strong, his mouth licking the blood trails left behind as you cry out at every deep, quick punch of his thick cock.  

He literally throws you around the room thereafter, holding you by your throat to the bed, fucking you so quickly, you feel he’s about to go through you, moving you in a blink until you’re backed against a wall, clutching around him as he drives into you like a piston.  

How it is to fuck a creature who doesn’t get tired.  

It’s an inferno of celestial bonfire each time he makes you come for him, your body sweaty, blood streaked and exhausted by the time he finally forces his cock into your mouth, a cold jet of cum trickling down your throat.  

You’re still floating far from yourself when you see him move rapidly, dressed once more in a blink, Niklas winking before in the next second, he’s vanished.  

At least he left you nothing short of satisfied this time.  

Upon checking out the following morning, the woman at the front desk hands an envelope to you, once which you wait until you’re in the Uber heading to the airport to read. 

It should go without saying that you do not breathe a word over what I am to anyone. If you do, the next time I fuck you, you shan’t survive it. 

I’d like you to survive it.  

N. 

Yes. That part of your night with him definitely won’t be going to print, lest you never experience it again. 

A/N - Did you enjoy it? Please be sure to let me know what you thought and give me a reblog. It goes a long way, guys!

[musicandoldmovies]

For @loveherallican-blog

I was at the festival and got a backstage pass from a friend that worked for the co-organizing magazine. I had the chance to exchange a few words with Steve, who was over the moon with the audience and the other bands performing at the festival. He said to me: "Wow, have you seen Minke DeVille? What a performance, what a sound, did you know he was this good because I've never seen him live. I can't understand why he is not one of the big stars in the US"