#Backstage Pass Magazine

[lily3k]

B-PASS 2022年12月号

[kinjo-sukai]

BACKSTAGE PASS (B-PASS), April 2020 Issue (200222)

[mononijikayu]

guess!? — geto suguru x reader x gojo satoru.

Satoru couldn’t help but blink, glancing down, then grinned. "Well, aren’t you a little minx." Suguru took a sip of his drink, amused. "That better not be a fake number, doll." You simply gave them a look, one that promised nothing and everything all at once. "Guess you'll just have to find out." The white haired model laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, I like you." The dark haired singer could only smirk, something unreadable flickering behind his dark lilac  eyes. “Intriguing, doll.”

GENRE: alternate universe - celebrity!au;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, nsfw, r-18, sexual content, poly relationship, threesome, double penetration, explicit smut, consensual sex, sexual intercourse, making out, bodily fluids, nipple play, kissing(fm+mm), rough sex, p-i-v sex, anal sex, creampie, fingering, fingerfucking (female receiving, vaginal/anal), sexual overstimulation, asphyxiation, biting, scratching, pet names (sweetheart, doll, good girl, etc....), flirting, friendship, gender themes, falling in love, secret relationship, fluff, getting together, idiots in love, drama, happy ending, use of she/her pronouns, crack, humour, profanity, lgbtqia themes, depiction of sexual content, depiction of sexual intercourse, depiction of sexual positions, depiction of body parts, mention of sexual themes, depiction of alcohol, mention of body parts, mention of sexual acts, mention of alcohol, soloist! geto suguru, model! gojo satoru, actress! reader;

WORD COUNT: 12k words

NOTE: it took a while to write this and i swear, i will not take much more stuff like this until i have more time. but the idea was too good to pass on. i couldn't help myself. also the first time i've written a poly relationship and a threesome. like, this is really a new thing for me. so if its not up to the same standards as what i usually write or its too much for you, then its fine not read it. i am thankful anyway. in any case, if there are people who will enjoy it, thank you. and im glad you enjoy it with it. i love you all so much <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip!

kayu's playlist, side 2500;

USUALLY THE APPLAUSE ENDS WHEN YOU GET OFF THE STAGE. But somehow, it does not stop even as you get down the steps of the stage. Your name had just echoed through the speakers, immortalized in the annals of cinematic history. You will forever be someone, something. You will always have this. 

You have to admit that the applause was deafening, a symphony of claps and cheers that reverberated through the grand hall. Yaga Masamichi was right when he told you all about the magic of winning. You will never forget that high, it was almost like a drug. You get addicted to the feeling. And you probably always will.

As you made your way down backstage, you could still feel the warmth of the stage lights against your skin, your pulse pounding as you clutched the golden statuette in your hands.

Everything about this moment, you knew that it was real—this moment, this win. You had never expected it. Not because you weren’t good, not because you didn’t believe in yourself. But because it just felt out of this world. 

Yet, now it was not out of this world anymore. If anything, it was as it was. It was real. It was your moment. It was now well lived. Your name on this statuette, with the title Best Actress on it. It was all you had ever wanted. It was all you had ever worked for.

And yet, you think that wasn’t the most life-altering thing that has happened to you. If anything, what made the moment even more surreal was the man standing beside you, the one who had presented you with the award just moments earlier. You just didn’t know it yet.

Gojo Satoru.

A name that carried its own weight, synonymous with an ethereal kind of beauty that was almost otherworldly. The super model who graced the covers of international magazines, whose sharp yet delicate features seemed sculpted by the gods themselves.

His white hair gleamed under the lights, his signature tinted glasses pushed up just enough to reveal strikingly blue eyes. You think that it was so vibrant they almost seemed to glow.

You had always known he was beautiful. 

Anyone with working eyesight would agree. 

But it wasn’t just his looks that held your attention.

It was the way the charisma blew into magic when he spoke.

Even amidst the deafening applause, his dazzling voice had a way of cutting through the noise, a melodic timbre that was both smooth and deliberate. Each word was laced with that one of a kind subtle charm, effortlessly poetic in a way that made people want to listen.

He was almost like a siren, capturing people’s  And when he turned to you, flashing that lazy, lopsided grin, his congratulations had felt far more intimate than the formalities exchanged on stage.

Backstage, you barely had time to process what had just happened to you. You were just stunned into silence. You absentmindedly accepted the congratulations from the staff and thanked them.

You were on cloud nine with this win. It wasn’t until you felt a hand brush against your shoulders did you find yourself turning around and meeting those dashing blue eyes of his.

"Congratulations." he murmured, standing close enough that you could catch the faintest hint of his cologne. It was something clean, fresh, and just a little bit sweet. "You deserved that win. Though, between us, I already knew you’d take it."

His sweetened voice was lighter now, teasing, yet beneath it lay something that felt sincere. You found yourself truly turning to him, meeting his gaze fully, and for a moment, it felt as if the chaos of the evening had melted away. Your chaos lay now with him, in this face to face.

"You’re awfully confident in me, Mr. Gojo." you mused, still catching your breath.

"Shouldn’t I be?" His lips curved slightly, a knowing look in his eyes. "I’ve seen your work. You don’t just act in that. I think you truly became her, that spanky witful comedian. It was never a question of if you’d win, only when."

A rush of warmth spread through you, different from the exhilaration of winning, softer in a way that made your heart stutter. Gojo Satoru had just complimented your craft. You knew that it was genuine, real. It was not words echoed out of politeness, not as part of some scripted pleasantry, but as someone who had truly seen you.

And somehow, in the midst of all the flashing cameras and roaring applause from before, that felt like the biggest victory of the night. Because if you were being honest, you were much too certain that not a lot of people understood your craft, how you took it so seriously.

How you lived and breathed it. He understands. You could see that look in his eyes. He breathed his work as much as you did. Your fingers tightened around the trophy in your hands, its cool weight grounding you amid the dizzying realization that Gojo Satoru had just seen you in a way so few ever had.

You turned to him, studying the way his signature blindfold had been abandoned for the night, allowing you to meet his gaze fully. Those striking blue eyes filled with mischief, but something else too. Something that felt dangerously close to admiration.

“You… really think so, huh?” Your voice came out quieter than you expected, almost uncertain.

Gojo’s lips quivered into that signature grin of his, but there was no teasing in it this time. Only sincerity remained. “Would I lie to you?”

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “Yes. You absolutely would.”

He placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “Ouch. And here I was, being all nice and supportive. Maybe I should just take it back—”

“Don’t you dare now, Mr. Gojo.” you cut in, pointing a finger at him.

His grin widened, but then, as if something shifted in him, he tilted his head slightly. “But I do mean it, sweetheart.” he said, softer this time. “You didn’t just play the part—you embodied it. That’s rare.”

The rush of warmth in your chest deepened, turning into something else entirely, something you weren’t ready to name. You swallowed, gripping your trophy tighter. “Thank you, Mr. Gojo. Really.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, and it was unsettling how quiet he became, how he almost seemed to be considering something. Then, his lips twitched again. “Don’t thank me yet, sweetheart.” he said, stepping closer. “You do know this means I’m expecting even greater things from you next time, right?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “So you’re saying I just won an award, and you’re already raising the bar on me?”

Gojo clicked his tongue. “Come on, you wouldn’t want me to go easy on you, would you?”

And just like that, the weight of the night, the exhaustion, the pressure. Somehow, all of it felt lighter. Because if Gojo Satoru, of all people, saw your passion, then maybe, just maybe—you were exactly where you were meant to be. You were meant for this. Your obsession with your work will pay off.

“Oh, by the way, sweetheart?”

“Hm?”

“You don’t have to call me Mr. Gojo all the damn time.” He says to you, a sly smile on his lips. “You can just call me Satoru.”

You raised a curious brow, a small snicker leaves your lips. “While you call me sweetheart?”

“Precisely that, sweetheart. You’re so good at keeping up with me.”

You laugh. “Well, I do try.”

The after-party of the awards ceremony was in full swing by the time you arrived. You would have arrived sooner had you decided to go directly to the party. But you didn’t pay thousands on a custom dress for it not to be used.

So, you went back to your hotel and got ready again in order to get dressed. And you had to say, it was worth it. This dress was more comfortable than the one you wore on stage.

You walked in rather carefully, letting your ears jam through the outgoing echoes of music playing in the background. The entire venue was just exorbitantly bathed in the afterglow of warm, golden light with glasses clinking and laughter humming through the air like a soft melody. 

This was a lovely little celebration from the management team, which was usually an invite only event. This was only for the best and brightest in the industry, where directors, actors, and producers mingled effortlessly, champagne in hand. And now you can only suppose you were one of them.

You had barely taken a sip from your own glass when you felt a familiar presence approaching. You immediately found yourself looking up as you heard the footsteps grow louder towards you. You couldn’t help but find yourself paying attention to it more than ever, more than the music in the background. 

“Enjoying your victory, superstar?”

You turned, already knowing who it was before you even laid eyes on him. 

Once again, standing there in all his wonder and might, dazzling.

It was a bright and beautiful Gojo Satoru standing before you.

He looked just as effortlessly stunning as he had on stage earlier, only now he had shed the formal pretense. His tie was loosened, the top buttons of his crisp white shirt undone, revealing a sliver of collarbone. His dark rimmed glasses were nowhere to be seen, leaving his piercing blue eyes completely unobscured—unfairly bright under the party lights.

“I was genuinely enjoying it.” you said smoothly, lifting your glass to your lips. “But I think it just got a little more interesting.”

His grin widened at that. “Oh? I do have that effect on people.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him. Yet, you couldn’t deny the way his presence filled the space around you. His grin widened as he leaned in just slightly, just enough to make you aware of how close he was without crossing the line.

“So, tell me, sweetheart.” he mused, swirling the drink in his hand. “What’s it like? You can be honest now, right? How was winning Best Actress? Holding that little golden trophy and knowing you’re officially the best in the business?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Mmm… I suppose it feels a little surreal. Like I’m in a dream.”

“A dream, huh?” He smirked. “Guess that makes me your charming co-star then.”

You arched a brow. “What makes you think you’re part of my dream?”

“Because, sweetheart,” he said smoothly, his voice dipping just enough to send a shiver down your spine, “I think a dream means looking up. And you haven’t stopped looking at me all night.”

You scoffed, but he wasn’t entirely wrong. 

Satoru was hard not to look at, after all.

He was a very, very pretty being to you.

“Big words for a man who’s been following me since I stepped off that stage, isn’t it?”

His laughter was rich, genuine. “Can you blame me? I have excellent taste.”

“You mean you like collecting award winners?” you teased, taking another sip of your drink.

“Nah, not that.” he leaned in, voice lower now, more intimate. “Just the ones who can keep up with me, sweetheart.”

Your heart did something strange in your chest, but you refused to let him win so easily. “Is that so?”

“Yes, so, truly.” 

“Then I hope you don’t get tired too quickly.” you murmured, stepping just a little closer. “Because I don’t plan on making it easy for you.”

His gaze darkened just slightly, intrigue flashing And just like that, the night had only just begun. Drink after drink was served to both you and him, the glasses never empty for long. The air was thick with laughter, the hum of conversation, and the clinking of glass against glass. The afterparty was in full swing, but somehow, it felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you.

Supermodel icon Gojo Satoru was an enigma. You had seen him on stage at fashion shows, commanding attention without so much as trying. He had that effortless allure, the kind that made people lean in, wanting to know more, yet never quite getting close enough to unravel the mystery of him.

Yet, you realized something. Drawing you in wasn’t the same as keeping you. Like the siren that he was, he lured you in with his charm, his easy smile, his teasing words. And just when you thought you had a grasp on him, he’d slip right through your fingers, leaving you yearning for more. It wasn’t just attraction; it was something else entirely. A hypnotic pull that made his presence almost intoxicating.

Satoru and you had quite a fair bit in common. The relentless passion for your work, the thrill of being on stage. Whether it was acting or modeling, the way you both lived for the art of performance.

You had spent years perfecting your craft, slipping into different roles with the ease of someone who had learned how to exist in multiple worlds at once. And him? He wore his confidence like a second skin, dazzling, untouchable.

But here, now, in the low light of the afterparty, with the remnants of celebration still hanging in the air, he felt different. Less like the untouchable figure everyone admired from afar, and more like someone real—someone sitting across from you with a half-finished drink, his eyes glinting with something unreadable.

“You’re thinking too much, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he mused, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking a slow sip.

You raised a brow. “And you can tell that how?”

Gojo smirked. “Because you always get this look when you’re analyzing something. It’s like you’re trying to pick it apart piece by piece.” He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering just enough to make your breath hitch. “So, tell me—what exactly are you trying to figure out?”

You hummed against your glass, looking at it studiously, before looking up back at him with an enticing smile. “Guess.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that. And that had made you feel something deep inside, something you were not sure how to describe. This was the first time you’ve ever experienced that. It was new, it was fast approaching. You don’t know how to dodge.

“Oh, sweetheart.” he chuckled, tilting his glass toward you in a mock toast. “I’m counting on figuring it out.”

You laughed. “Then I look forward to the challenge.”

For a moment, you watched him return that laugh. Before finding that his eyes were wandering elsewhere. You were curious, trying to follow where his beautiful eyes would land. Yet you could not tell how congested the crowd of celebrities were through the vestiges of the room. Before long, you found him getting closer to you.

Gojo Satoru leaned in with that playful smirk and said, “Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet, sweetheart.” 

You knew things were about to get even more interesting. You nodded at him before you followed him through the sea of guests, past industry elites and fellow actors basking in their victories, until he finally stopped near the stage where the evening’s performances were set to take place.

And that’s when you saw him.

You couldn’t help but let your mouth go agape.

It was him. It was truly him. It was Geto Suguru.

That name alone carried weight—one of the biggest soloists in the industry, a voice that had dominated the charts and hearts alike. Unlike Gojo Satoru, who was all radiant charm and untamed confidence, Geto Suguru simply exuded something deeper, something more rugged. Something rougher, less polished but just as mesmerizing.

His long, wavy dark hair was tied back loosely, a few strands falling over sharp features that looked carved with intention. Where Gojo Satoru’s presence was blinding, Geto Suguru’s existence was rather similar to smoldering. It was an ember that burned slowly but left its mark permanently for forever all the same.

“Suguru, meet our Best Actress.” Satoru introduced his tone light but edged with something you couldn’t quite place. “And lucky for her, she gets an exclusive front-row seat to your performance.”

Suguru couldn’t help but turn to you then, his gaze steady, dark lilac eyes deep and assessing in a way that sent an unexpected thrill down your spine. He gave you a slow, knowing smile. One you could not decipher as easily as Satoru's smile. Suguru’s smile was not as flashy as Satoru;s own but no less captivating. If anything, it was wrapped layers you could not understand.

“I saw your speech earlier.” he said, voice smooth, rich, and deep like a song before the first note hit. “You carry yourself well, don’t you? But I get the feeling you’re even more interesting when you’re not under the spotlight.”

You arched a brow, matching his energy. “Funny. I was just thinking the same about you.”

Satoru couldn’t help but let out an exaggerated groan beside you. “You two are already doing the mysterious, brooding thing, aren’t you?”

Suguru shot him a look, amused. “And you’re not?”

Satoru dramatically placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “I am the light of this party, thank you very much.”

You laughed, and a mysterious gaze flickered to you again. It lasted more than just a second longer. Yet, that was all that was necessary. It was just enough to make you feel it hit home hard. Then the stage lights shifted, and the room quieted as the host took the mic. 

“And now, we have a special treat tonight. Performing his newest song, please welcome the one and only—Geto Suguru!”

The applause swelled, and Suguru gave you one last glance, something unreadable in his expression. Then he stepped forward, took the stage, and the moment he started singing. It was sultry, it was smooth, It was all the while suave and low, and all the same honest and raw, and most of all, devastatingly beautiful.

In that moment, you like to think you finally understood. If Gojo Satoru was the kind of man who captured attention like a supernova, then Geto Suguru was the kind that pulled you in slowly with an unshakable gravity, steady and impossible to ignore.

And right now, you were falling for the charm of both.

Right now you were captured by both of the siren calls.

Yet you were not running the other direction for help.

If anything, you were letting them drown you to the tune of their voices.

You could tell that the more Geto Suguru’s voice filled the venue with milk and honey, the air shifted in a way that would change the world forever. The once lively chatter quieted, replaced by the hypnotic pull of his music. Everything about what he was echoing through that voice, you could tell that there was something that crawled under your skin and settled there, leaving a slow burn in its wake. And he knew it, the moment your eyes met.

You had heard his songs before, of course. You weren’t living under a rock. But it was just so different hearing it live. It was different when you find yourself under his beck and call.  His voice was a magic that drags you back in, it was a very heavy feeling. It was the kind that lingered even after the music stopped. You barely registered Satoru watching you, his grin turning knowing.

He leaned down and murmured, “Careful, sweetheart. He has that effect on people.”

You scoffed but didn’t look away from the stage. “And you don’t?”

The white haired man couldn’t help but chuckle. “Oh, I definitely do. But Suguru? He’s got that slow-burn kind of charm. The kind that sneaks up on you slowly but surely.”

You could see what he meant. If Gojo Satoru was a flash of lightning—brilliant, impossible to ignore. Then  you were certain that Geto Suguru was his opposite. Suguru was the slow, rolling thunder that followed. Something deep, resonant, that stayed long after the strike.

As the final notes of the song faded, the applause erupted. Suguru’s gaze flickered over the crowd before landing on you. He held it for just a moment longer than necessary, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips before he dipped his head in thanks and left the stage.

A moment later, he was back, stepping up beside you as if he hadn’t just held the entire room captive. As if he didn’t hold you captive. You swallowed the bile down back into your throat, gathering yourself. He looks quite amused. 

“So?” he asked, his voice still carrying the remnants of his performance. “Did I live up to the hype?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “Hmm. You were alright.”

Satoru snorted, nearly choking on his drink. Suguru just couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his dark velvet eyes. You looked at him almost like you were quite the proud cat.

“Just alright?” he mused, voice smooth as silk. “That’s a shame. I was hoping to impress the Best Actress of the night.”

You met his gaze, feeling the way his words coiled around you, slow and deliberate. But you weren’t going to let him win that easily.

“You’ll have to try harder than that, then.”

Something in Suguru’s eager smirk deepened, like he enjoyed the challenge. Beside you, Gojo Satoru let out a dramatic sigh. You raised a brow at him, as though trying to ascertain why he had even looked at you.

“Great. Now there are two of you.” he lamented, shaking his head. “I swear, it’s like watching a slow-burning movie where the main characters refuse to admit they’re into each other.”

You rolled your eyes. “And what does that make you?”

Satoru had grinned, throwing an arm around both you and Suguru, pulling you in effortlessly. “Oh, I’m the fan-favorite all day everyday pretty man that everyone secretly loves. Obviously.I thought we already had this in the bag, hm?”

You blinked at him and then started laughing. All the sudden, it was three of you laughing, the tension breaking just enough to feel effortless joy about it. But as the night stretched on into the dark flutterings under the moon-light. Everything was filled with drinks, laughter, and glances that lasted a little too long. You knew one thing for certain.

Between Gojo Satoru’’s playful, magnetic pull and Geto Suguru’s slow, smoldering intensity, you were caught somewhere in between. And you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to be freed. If anything, you wanted for this to go on.

The night surely and happily pressed on, glittering and intoxicating, the kind of night that felt like it belonged in a movie, it felt ever so much like the classics. Like the one where the lighting was just right, the music was just loud enough, and the energy in the air made everything feel a little too good to be real.

The two of them seemed to be happy to be striking close, even more so orbiting around you like the world had narrowed down to a world where you were the sun and they were the planets that danced all about you. It was like a universe made for three. The blundering conversations blended together, champagne glasses clinked, but their attention never really strayed.

Then, sometime between the second drink and the third, Gojo Satoru slowly leaned in, a lazy, knowing smirk curling on his lips. "So, are we just going to let you disappear after tonight? Or are you going to give us your number?"

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Oh? Are you asking for my number, Satoru? Or my agent’s number? You gotta be certain if you wanna hear the ring, hm?"

He clicked his tongue. "Obviously. I need a way to annoy you outside of events like these. Of course you know who’s number I want.”

Suguru, standing just behind him, chuckled, the sound low and amused. "What he means to say is—it'd be a shame if this was the last time we talked." His gaze flickered down to you, warm but unreadable. "Don't you think? Of course, without the heap of professional lines ringing."

You could feel the weight of their attention, the way Gojo Satoru’s was playful but insistent, while Geto Suguru’s was steady, deliberate. But if they thought you were going to make it easy? No, you weren’t born to be easy. They were just simply mistaken.

You smiled, tilting your head. "Hmm. My number, huh? You boys must not be used to working for things."

Satoru let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, sweetheart, it’s not that. If anything, it’s just the fact that I love a challenge."

Suguru laughed and then let his lips settle into a mere smirk. "And you must not be used to people willing to chase you down too, don’t you think?"

Oh. You think to yourself absent-mindedly. I’ve been caught.

Your languid fingers curled around the stem of your glass, hiding the way their words sent a slow, creeping heat up your spine. You could feel the heat permeate through your skin as you purse your lips into a rather tight line.

Satoru leaned in even closer, his voice dipping lower, just for you. "So? Are you going to make us work for it? Or make it even more….fun?"

You let yourself hum about, pretending to think. But you were sure to settle with the world you were already willing to live in. You know it yourself even with this sly attitude you were portraying before them. 

Then, with a slow smile, you reached for a napkin, plucked a pen for that prop pen in Suguru’s pocket. He didn’t even flinch, just watched you with lazy interest and scribbled something down. Then, just as smoothly, you tucked it into Satoru’s pocket instead of handing it over.

Satoru couldn’t help but blink, glancing down, then grinned. "Well, aren’t you a little minx."

Suguru took a sip of his drink, amused. "That better not be a fake number, doll."

You simply gave them a look, one that promised nothing and everything all at once. "Guess you'll just have to find out."

The white haired model laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, I like you."

The dark haired singer could only smirk, something unreadable flickering behind his dark lilac  eyes. “Intriguing, doll.”

The night had already stretched long and far by then, the energy still thrumming through the air, but exhaustion was beginning to creep in. You were surely in need of the rest now, you were sure. The weight of the evening, of winning, of celebrating, of whatever game you were playing with the two most dangerously charismatic men in the room. It was all finally settling over you.

You stifled a yawn behind your hand, the warmth of the drinks making your limbs pleasantly heavy. The music pulsed in the background, the chatter of the party still alive and buzzing, but your focus had narrowed to just the two of them. Gojo Satoru, with his sharp, knowing grin, and Geto Suguru, watching you with that quiet, unreadable amusement.

The blue eyed model leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms behind his head. “Tapping out already? That’s a shame,isn’t it?” he drawled, tilting his head at you. “I was just starting to have fun with you, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself up from your seat. “Some of us have limits, Satoru.”

Suguru chuckled, setting his drink down with a soft clink. “Smart girl, isn’t she, Satoru? We can’t have her play with hyenas for too long.” His gaze flickered over you, thoughtful. “Wouldn’t want you pushing yourself too hard, doll. Big night and all.”

You hummed noncommittally, grabbing your phone off the table. “And yet, somehow, I get the feeling you two are going to keep going until sunrise.”

Satoru gasped dramatically. “You wound me. What kind of degenerates do you take us for?”

Suguru gave him a side-eye. “Don’t answer that.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. There was something so easy about this, about them. It wasn’t lost on you that they were both dangerous in their own way. It was one that was dazzling and reckless, the other being composed and calculating. And yet, here you were, caught between the two worlds, happy to want to see more.

“Well, it’s been fun, distinguished gentlemen, but your lady needs beauty rest.” you announced, stepping back. “Can’t have this Best Actress haggard on the screens.”

Suguru raised a brow. “Need someone to walk you back?”

You smirked. “What, you think I can’t handle myself?”

Satoru grinned, his tone teasing. “Oh, we know you can handle yourself. But I’d feel bad if someone else tried to steal our star of the night before the morning came.”

You shook your head at them, amused. “I think I’ll manage. Try not to get into too much trouble without me.”

Suguru lifted his glass in a silent toast, and Satoru shot you a wink. You snickered at their partings.

“No promises, sweetheart.”

YOU WERE SURE THAT EVERYONE DIDN’T LIKE YOU AT THIS MOMENT. But you think it got worse when everything was announced. Needless to say, it was something that came with fame. Now more so with the interweb. People like to go crazy with everything and anything they see, like a flock of crows pestering for that new shiny thing.

The internet absolutely had a meltdown. Not because you were a bad person or that you were a bad actress. To be honest, not because of anything you did. But because of something you had to do (and particularly, wanted to do for yourself). They just could not help themselves. How could they?

The announcement alone in bright big bold letters—GETO SUGURU CASTING BEST ACTRESS AS HIS ONE AND ONLY LOVER IN HIS UPCOMING MUSIC VIDEO DROP—was truly enough to send fans into a wild frenzy. But then came the real bombshell.

There were intimacy scenes.

The teaser dropped with a single frame: you and Suguru, standing very close under the vibrant echo of those dim hitting neon lights as they glowed for you somberly, tenderly.

His muscular hand resting at the small of your back, your tender fingers curled into the front of his shirt. His face was mere inches from yours, his dark lilac eyes locked onto your plump lips like he was moments away from closing the distance. From doing what was forbidden. 

As you can tell, the internet imploded.

“WE WON. I REPEAT, WE WON.”

“This isn’t even a rumor anymore. It’s evidence.”

“Nah cause all the men in this world have  to be somewhere LOSING THEIR MINDS.”

“Geto Suguru’s so smooth with it. This is insane behavior.” 

“Nah, cause at this point, how can any other fanboy survive this?”

But of course, nothing sent people spiraling harder than the behind-the-scenes clips that started surfacing a few days later.

Behind the Scenes Footage – Interview Clip

The camera carefully pans to you, as you seated comfortably into your own cast chair, the set glowing in the background. You were still dressed in your costume after all this time. It was hours and hours into the set filming and yet your makeup remained blinding, your outfit continued to be carefully styled to match the aesthetic of the video. You were just drop–dead gorgeous.

"So, how does it feel working on a music video with Geto Suguru?" the interviewer asked. “Is it different from all your other works before?”

You smiled. "Oh, it's been great. Suguru's an incredible artist, and getting to bring his vision to life has been such a cool experience. In some ways, yes, it is different. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a fun, exciting vibe on set before."

From off-camera, a voice interrupted—smooth, teasing. "Suguru? You only call me that when you're being professional, don’t you?"

The camera turned just in time to catch Geto Suguru walking over, his usual lazy smirk in place, a cup of hot coffee in one hand. He carefully extended it to you wordlessly, like this was routine. You took it without hesitation, muttering a quiet thanks.

"We are on set, aren't we?" you shot back playfully.

Suguru chuckled, shaking his head. "She’s acting like we haven’t been friends. I am wounded, you guys. Really!"

The interviewer jumped on that. "So you’d say you’re just good friends?"

"Absolutely." you replied smoothly, giving the camera an easy smile.

Suguru grinned at the camera. “One hundred percent.”

That would’ve been enough to cool down the firestorm. 

Behind the Scenes Footage – Scene Rehearsal

The video opened with you and Suguru standing in the middle of the set, the director adjusting the lighting. You were supposed to be blocking a moment from the music video—a near-kiss scene, the tension at its peak. The director gave his cue.

You took a step forward, Suguru’s hand instinctively finding your waist. Your breath hitched just slightly at his action, though you were not from nerves. It just felt natural. You just know it was because he was good at this. The way he looked at you, the way his fingers barely pressed against your skin, the way his head tilted just enough to make it look too real.

Then—"CUT!"

The director reset the scene, and the moment was broken. But before the cameras stopped rolling, Geto Suguru leaned down, voice low but very much caught on the mic. "You good?"

You nodded, stepping back with a teasing grin. "What, you nervous? Didn’t take you for a rookie now."

He huffed a laugh. "Not even a little. Just making sure you don’t fall for me on set."

You rolled your eyes. "Please. You wish."

And just like that, the internet broke again.

"Just good friends BUT YOU SEE HOW HE LOOKS AT HER???"

"I know acting when I see it, and THAT was NOT acting."

"I bet her significant is somewhere watching this like 👁️👄👁️."

"WHY is there more chemistry in this behind-the-scenes clip than in some actual romance films???"

"They are making me insane. Just date already."

But despite the theories, the conspiracies, the undeniable fire in every interaction, you never said anything else. You were too good at that. You were too good at hiding away and never revealing more than what you wanted anyone and everyone to know.

After all, you were an actress. And you wouldn’t be good at your job if you weren’t this good at keeping things underwraps. When asked in another interview about the rumors?

You just smiled. "Spoilers."

And when Geto Suguru was asked later on?

He just smirked. "She said it best."

The mystery continues on and on.

THIS WAS NOT AN EXPECTED ROUTE. People thought that things would remain as they were after you broke the world. But the moment the casting announcement dropped, the internet lost once again its mind. You just couldn’t help it. You just liked making the headlines once and a little while. You wanted to make the mundane a little bit more interesting. Well, in the right times.

SUPER MODEL GOJO SATORU TO DEBUT IN ACTING—ROM COM FILM WITH OSCAR WINNING ACTRESS [YOUR NAME] THIS UPCOMING FALL!

Your name and his were plastered across every headline, every social media platform buzzing with excitement and speculation. It was damn crazy, perhaps just as crazy as what happened with Suguru. You were already a household name, but Gojo Satoru? Satoru was on a whole other level. He was more than a phenomenon. He was a lifestyle. He was a life. 

The runway darling, the face of every luxury campaign, the man who could sell out a designer collection just by breathing near it. And now? He was stepping into your world. And he was doing it right beside you. He knew you were the one who called the shots here. 

After all, you were the mystique of the world. You were the wonder that kept on dazzling. It’s not likely for you to stop. If anything, he wanted to help you with that. You just had to lead the way. He’s going to follow you, happily so.

Behind the Scenes – Press Conference

The first time you and Gojo Satoru appeared together for promotions, the energy in the room was undeniable. It was addicting. It was almost palpable, almost too unbearably dazzling. Satoru was dressed in an effortlessly tailored suit, leaned lazily into his mic, smirking like he already knew what was coming.

The moderator smiled. "So, Mr. Gojo, this is your first film. What was it like acting alongside Oscar winning actress [Your Name], who’s already such an established star?"

Satoru turned to you immediately, tilting his head with a teasing grin. "Honestly? Kinda unfair."

You raised an intrigued eyebrow. "Unfair? Do tell why so, Mr. Gojo. Your senpai would like to know more about it."

He nodded, sighing dramatically. "Yeah. Like, here I am, my first time on a film set, and I’m acting with someone who already has awards and critical acclaim. Obviously, people are going to compare us. It’s like trying to learn how to swim next to an Olympic gold medalist."

The audience laughed. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. "You do realize people have been calling you the cinematic face of the decade right?"

Satoru gasped, placing a hand over his heart. "Aww, were you keeping up with my press, sweetheart? That’s absolutely making my heart jump right now."

You scoffed. "It was kind of hard to avoid."

The reporters were eating up your chemistry. Cameras continued to flash brightly, fingers typed furiously on keyboards, trying to get every bit of your words in for this hot headliner. Then, of course, someone asked the question everyone had been waiting for.

"You two seem really comfortable together. There have been a lot of rumors about your closeness. Can you comment on that?"

Gojo Satoru didn't even hesitate. He turned to you, grinning. "Well, if I say we’re just good friends, will you tell me I have to try harder?"

You blinked, thrown off for exactly half a second before regaining your composure. Then, with a slow, knowing smile, you responded. "I think you already know the answer to that. You’re well too aware of what I have to say. In depth too, kouhai."

The white haired man couldn’t help but light up, throwing his head back with a laugh brightly at your words. Almost as though he was just lost into the world of your comebacks. It was like each word you breathed was something he giggled for, like it was worth losing composure for.  The audience went insane.

The headlines that followed? Even worse.

"Oh, this movie promo tour is about to be SO unserious."

"We’re never getting a straight answer out of them, are we?"

"Not Gojo openly flirting in front of an entire press panel HELP."

"Geto is 100% watching this like 👁️👄👁️."

"This is Geto's villain origin story."

“Bro is literally kicking his feet and giggling so bad like hes down BADDDDDD”

On Set

The chemistry was even worse when the cameras started rolling. It didn’t matter if it was a simple dialogue scene or a moment dripping with tension. Gojo Satoru was just quite natural in front of the camera, and the way he played off you? It was magic. One they had never seen before. One that was just too good to deny.

One particular scene had the entire crew buzzing, though.

The lighting was soft, intimate. You were standing close, your character meant to be arguing with him, but somehow, the space between you kept shrinking and shrinking. Little by little, nothing was left but the flesh was nearly touching. Like you were just longing to be close. Like you were longing to blend into one.

You could feel your breath hitching as you looked at him. The dialogue called for intense tension, but the way Satoru’s own voice dropped just slightly, the way his fingers brushed the bare skin of your wrist like it was an accident—it felt real. Way too real.

"Cut!"

The director sounded thrilled. His vision was coming to life. He patted Satoru’s back before smiling down at you. He moved away, walking towards the camera director to check the footage. You stepped back, shaking off the lingering heat, but Satoru? He couldn’t help but just smirk.

Leaning down, he murmured. "Careful, sweetheart. People might think you actually like me."

You scoffed with amusement, shoving his shoulder. "I should be saying that to you."

Satoru chuckled, the sound low and teasing as he straightened up. “Oh, but I do like you.” he said smoothly, tilting his head. “I think that’s the problem.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you. It wasn’t your fault. The way he played his roles, the way he blurred the line between acting and reality. The way everything was just as it was.

It was real, it was so tangible, so within the reach of your hands. You just couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by him. He had a presence that was impossible to ignore, and the worst part? He knew it.

“Lucky for you, I’m a professional.” you shot back, crossing your arms. “I don’t fall for co-stars.”

His smirk widened, bright blue eyes glinting with mischief. “Mm, that so, sweetheart?” He took a step closer, just enough to toe the line between playful and dangerous. “Because I gotta say, you looked pretty into it just now.”

You scoffed, brushing past him, ignoring the way your pulse skipped slightly. “That’s called acting, Satoru. Maybe try it sometime.”

His laughter brightly followed you as you walked off, but you didn’t have to turn around to know he was still watching. From the corner of the set, a familiar voice cut in. You could tell the tenor was smooth and dangerously amused. 

"Funny. I was just about to say the same thing."

You turned around, your ears almost perking. 

Standing there, arms crossed, expression unreadable—Geto Suguru.

The internet?

It was going crazy.

Your breath hitched for just a second before you masked it with a slow blink, shifting your gaze from Satoru to Suguru. He stood there, arms crossed, his dark lilac eyes sharp, unreadable. You were in quite the predicament.

"Didn't realize you were watching." you said smoothly, though the sudden shift in energy between the three of you was impossible to ignore.

Suguru tilted his head slightly, his expression giving nothing away. "Didn't realize I had to announce myself, doll.

Satoru let out a low whistle, stepping back just slightly, as if enjoying the scene from the sidelines. "Ooooh, this just got interesting."

OF COURSE, THIS OPENED THE WORLD TO SOMETHING NEW WHEN IT CAME TO YOU. It was just a fun little thing, trying to play a guessing game when it came to you, Geto Suguru and Gojo Satoru. And it didn’t help that you were all helping play the games by fanning the flames to the rumors that came one after the other.

Not when you were spotted at that Paris fashion show sitting between Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru, whispering things that made them laugh while cameras flashed like crazy. Not when some mysterious hand appeared in your Instagram stories. Those fingers being decked out in rings that fans quickly identified as Suguru’s own.

Not even when Satoru posted a very blurry photo of you and Suguru sitting in a hotel room, the caption reading: “Multi Oscar winner, chart-topping Grammy winner, and me, a humble model. What a trio.”

Every year, the internet collects all the evidence about the three of you. And every year, you three gave them more and more to have fun with.

The Timeline of Chaos

1. The Infamous Concert Incident

The world lost it when you and Satoru randomly showed up at Suguru’s sold-out stadium concert, in one of those VIP boxes. The fans were certain that Suguru made sure you had a spot just for the two of you, and quite close to him too. It was really obvious. 

It wasn’t the fact that you attended. It was the fact that, mid-performance, Geto Suguru went ahead and walked straight to where you two were sitting, smirked, and sang directly to you. And Satoru? Instead of looking jealous, he just threw an arm around you, grinning like he had front-row seats to the greatest show on earth.

"No, because what are we supposed to DO with this information?"

"Is Satoru just watching Suguru serenade [Your Name] like he's a proud husband???"

"I fear we are witnessing a love story unfold in real time."

2. The Vacation Photos That Weren’t Meant to Be Seen

One summer, paparazzi caught the three of you on vacation. It was not out of the ordinary for you. You always went on various trips everywhere with your friends, whether celebrity or not. But there was something different when you were with Suguru and Satoru. This particularly was a different trip from the rest.

You, Suguru, and Satoru, were on a private beach. Satoru eagerly grinned in the morning sunrise in sunglasses and swim trunks, carrying you over his shoulder while you screamed in protest, dressed in your bikini. Suguru was in the background, laughing, sipping a drink like this was an everyday occurrence. The photos hit the tabloids immediately.

"HOLLYWOOD’S FRIENDLIEST TRIO OR IS IT SOMETHING MORE?"

You? You just posted a blurry selfie of the three of you later that night, captioned: “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Satoru, sulking, commented: “They’re bullying me.”

Suguru smugly replied: “You deserve it.”

3. The Red Carpet Moment That Ended Everyone

The biggest nail in the coffin to the public however was that one awards show in England. You were presenting an award, Satoru was invited as a guest and Suguru was nominated. The camera panned to you on the red carpet, glowing, stunning, an absolute vision. And then—Enter Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru.

Satoru was striding up behind you with the confidence of someone who knew he was about to make headlines. Suguru was walking just a step behind, looking way too pleased with himself. And the way they flanked you? Like it was meant to be.

The interviewer looked at you, and then the boys. "You three are always spotted together. Should we be expecting a project soon?"

You smiled slyly. "Spoilers."

Satoru grinned. "You should know by now we don’t just give answers that easily."

Suguru just chuckled, shaking his head. "It’s more fun watching you all guess, after all."

And just like that, the internet once again erupted.

"THEY KNOW WHAT THEY’RE DOING."

"I CANNOT handle this trio anymore."

"Are they dating? Are they best friends? Are they just trying to send us into cardiac arrest???"

But no matter how many times people asked, no matter how much speculation spread—the only answer any of you ever gave was a smirk. And your boys on the leash? They were just as willing to play the game with you. The night ended with that infamous maddening vague tweet from you.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

THIS WAS THE WORLD ONLY THE THREE OF YOU KNOW. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with anticipation. You, Geto Suguru, and Gojo Satoru stood in a triangle, passionate eyes locked onto each other. Suguru’s smirk was devilish and excited, his lilac eyes gleaming with mischief. Satoru’s blue gaze was intense, a silent challenge passing between the three of you. The tension was palpable, electricity crackling in the air. 

Suddenly, Suguru seamlessly reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek. Satoru’s hand found your waist, pulling you closer to him.Their touches sent shivers down your spine, your heart racing with excitement and nerves. Even after so many times, it keeps bringing you the fire you wanted to burn in.

Suguru’s touch was gentle yet firm, his fingers tracing the contours of your face. Satoru’s grip on your waist tightened, his thumb brushing against the small of your back. The contrast between their touches was intoxicating, sending conflicting signals to your brain. Geto leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. 

"You look delicious, doll." he whispered, his voice low and husky. The white haired man’s lips curled into a smirk, his blue eyes never leaving yours.

"Let's see how much you can handle tonight, though. You’ve been overworked, haven’t you, our poor baby?" Satoru cooes, his hand slowly sliding up your side. The air grew thicker, the tension almost unbearable

“Yes….” You mewled as you drew your body closer to his. “Need something good right now, ‘toru. Please.”

The blue eyed man smirk widened as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. His lips were firm yet soft, moving against yours with expert precision. His tongue danced with yours, exploring every inch of your mouth. Meanwhile, Suguru’s lips tenderly found your neck, his kisses starting at your collarbone and trailing up. 

His teeth grazed your skin, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. Satoru’s soft hands tangled in your brazen hair, deepening the kiss. Meanwhile, you could feel Suguru’s fingers dug into your hips, pulling you flush against him. 

The sensations you were feeling were just overwhelming, when you three are in need of relief like this. Everything from start to finish finds your mind fogging with desire. There was nothing that could stop you when you’ve begun. 

You pulled away from Satoru’s searing kiss, your breath coming in short gasps. Suguru’s dark lilac eyes darkened even more with desire as you turned to him, pressing your lips against his and leaned in eagerly for a deep wanton kiss. 

His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer as his tongue tangled with yours. You could feel the tickle of Satoru’s lips trailed down your neck, his peppering kisses becoming more fervent as he reached your chest.

Satoru expertly unhooked your bra with ease. He looked at your breasts for a moment, basking in the wonder of such marvel before him. He smiles to himself as he leans forward, his bruising lips wrapping around one of your nipples.

You moan as his tongue circled the hardened peak, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Suguru’s hands roamed your back, his fingers digging into your skin as you both kissed over and over. 

Suguru’s hands roamed your body, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake.You could only groan in pleasure as Satoru’s lips continued their assault on your chest, his tongue teasing your nipples even further as he passionately moved deeper and deeper into the depths of you. 

The sensations were overwhelming, your mind fogging with desire. Suguru’s calloused fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, slowly pulling them down. Satoru’s hands followed suit, his touch grazing your thighs. Soon enough, you too needed air and parted from your lover. You looked at him with lust-ridden eyes.

They worked in sync, almost too well as they continued removing your clothing piece by piece until you stood bare before them. Suguru’s eyes raked over your body, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Satoru’s gaze was equally intense, his pupils dilated with arousal. You whimper as Satoru releases your nipple. You looked at it, finding it quite the little red thing as he smiles at you. 

“Lovely little red.” He whispers to you, pressing a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll be a good boy tonight. Saved the other one for ‘guru.”

Suguru snickered. “Only right for me to have some claim, don’t I?”

“It’s time for you two to kiss like good boys then.” You whispered to your lovers, slowly laying down upon the bed. Your elbows are still propping you up. “You would do it, won’t you?”

They looked at each other, before snickering as they got closer. You stepped back, watching as Geto and Gojo's lips met in a fierce kiss. Their tongues clashed, hands gripping each other tightly, passionately, eagerly. The bed creaked slightly as you lowered down onto the pillow and enjoyed their desire for one another.

The sight was incredibly arousing, their lust for one another was too obvious and palpable. You were sure to get it going too as you kept your legs together, your arousal echoing down below. You bit your lip as Satoru’s hands slid down to Suguru’s chest, his tender fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt. Suguru then broke the kiss, panting heavily. He grabbed Satoru’s wrist, stopping his movements.

"Not yet, Satoru." The dark haired man said, his voice husky with desire. He turned to you, his eyes burning with lust. “Need to do something first, don’t you think?”

Satoru looked at him and then to you. He slyly grinned. “Of course. Lady’s first.”

"Come here, doll." he commanded, pulling you back into the circle. Satoru’s lips quickly found your neck again, his kisses trailing down to your chest. “Need to love you first.”

Suguru’s hands roamed your body, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Satoru’s tender lips continued their assault on your chest, his tongue teasing his claimed nipple. The sensations were overwhelming, your mind fogging with desire. 

You could feel Suguru’s hands gripping your hips, lifting you effortlessly closer to his side of the bed. Satoru crawled in after you, his body pressing against your side. Suguru carefully climbed on top, his knees on either side of your hips. He leaned down, his lips hovering over yours. 

"Tell us what you want, doll." he whispered, his breath ghosting over your lips.

Satoru’s hand slid up your thigh, his fingers brushing against your core. "We'll give you anything you want. Just ask with your words, sweetheart." he murmured, his lips trailing kisses along your neck. 

The air was thick with never ending tension, the anticipation to get closer and rougher was almost unbearable. You felt Suguru’s lips crash against yours once again, his kiss brutally demanding another passionate liaison with your bruising lips. 

Satoru’s fingers parted your folds, his touch gentle yet firm. You groan against Suguru’s lips as Satoru slowly circled your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you gasp over and over again. Suguru’s warm hands roamed your body, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. 

He broke the kiss, his bruising lips trailing down your neck and chest. Satoru’s fingers slipped inside you rather easily, pumping slowly, in and out, watching your face pleasured with his touch. Suguru’s mouth then closed around his claimed nipple, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak. The sensations were overwhelming, your body arching off the bed.

"Fuck, you're so wet, sweetheart." Gojo groaned, his fingers curling inside you. 

Suguru’s lips popped off your nipple, a string of saliva connecting his mouth to your skin. "You like that, don't you?" he murmured, his breath hot against your chest.

“Uh, uh—” You mewled as you tried to push your hips closer, deep into their fingers. “Please….”

"You like having both of us touch you like this, huh?" His own hand slid down, his fingers eagerly joining Satoru’s in pleasuring you. 

“She’s so wet, ‘guru. It’s making me hard, what the fuck…..”

"Tell us what you want, doll. Use your words." Suguru demanded, his lilac eyes locked onto yours.

"Tell us how you want us to fuck you, sweetheart." You felt the pressure of Satoru’s thumb pressed against your clit, his fingers pumping faster. 

“I….I… I want….”

"We'll do anything you ask." he promised, his voice husky with desire.

"Please." you gasped, your hips bucking against their hands. "I want you both inside me. I want to feel you stretching me, filling me completely." 

Suguru’s eyes darkened at your words, a feral grin spreading across his face. “But be patient first, doll. Need to make sure you cum first.”

You suddenly felt Suguru’s calloused fingers pick up speed, rubbing your clit in tight circles. Satoru’s fingers pumped in and out of you alongside Suguru’s, his touch firm and steady.

Their movements synchronized, pushing you closer to the edge with each passing second. Suguru leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. You groaned hard, feeling the pressure mount down below. 

"Come on, doll." he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "Show us how much you want it."

Satoru pressed against your clit, his fingers curling inside you. The double stimulation was overwhelming, your body tensing as your orgasm approached. You incoherently mewl against their arms, feeling your body move against their touch to continue the friction.

 "That's it, good job." Satoru encouraged, his voice husky." Let go for us."

Their fingers moved faster, pushing you over the precipice. Your body soon convulsed, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Suguru’s massive fingers continued their relentless pace, drawing out your pleasure. Satoru’s own fingers pumped slowly, his touch gentler now. You could feel pleasure build and built within you, like a dam ready to burst.

“I…I–I’m…. c–coming, ‘guru, ‘toru!”

“You’re doing a good job, doll. Come for us, come for us.”

Suguru’s fingers moved faster, his touch relentless. Satoru’s fingers pumped slowly, his touch gentler. Your body tensed, pleasure building to an overwhelming crescendo. Your sounds harmonized so beautifully to the sound of that slick that draws from within your crevices.

"That's it, doll." Suguru encouraged, his voice low and husky. "Come for us."

Satoru’sthumb pressed against your clit, his fingers curling inside you. The added stimulation pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing with the force of it.

"Fuck, yes!" Suguru growled, his fingers continuing their relentless pace. 

Satoru’s fingers continued to pump slowly and then soon enough getting in the pace the dark haired man was, drawing out your pleasure until it hit the crescendo.

It goes on and on until you find yourself breaking into overstimulation and growing limp in their touch, the mess of your pleasure soaking you and their fingers. 

"You're so beautiful when you come." he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. As your orgasm subsided, you felt their fingers withdraw slowly. “So so beautiful.”

Satoru withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his mouth to suck clean. "Delicious." he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours. “Just delicious.”

"Beautiful." Suguru whispers as he too cleans your slick from his fingertips. Suguru’s free hand then slid up your body, his fingers tracing your collarbone. "You're so responsive, aren’t you, doll? Good job." he praised, his voice low and satisfied. 

“So good….” You all but say. “I’m…I need…”

“You need what, sweetheart?”

“I….I need more.” You finally catch yourself saying. “Need…need you, need you so badly. Please.”

Suguru’s eyes darkened at your words, a smirk playing on his lips. "More, huh?" he murmured, his hand sliding up your thigh. 

Satoru’s gaze was equally intense, his pupils dilated with desire. "What do you need more of, exactly?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

Their touches were gentle yet firm, igniting your skin wherever they landed. Suguru’s lips brushed against your ear. You could feel your sweat fall as he moved closer, his breath bellowing hotly against you.

Then your lover bit the side of your ear affectionately, whispering sweet nothings to you, before pressing a kiss. You cry in pleasure as he proceeds to nibble on the side of your neck, readily leaving hickeys to the side. 

Satoru watches on the side, letting his hand touch the growing imprint of his member in front of him. He could feel it hurt as he watched you combust in the touch of your other lover. He mewls as he lets his palm brush against the cloth which separates the pleasure and pain growing inside of him.

"Tell us what you want." Satoru whispered, moving closer as his breath hot against your skin. "We'll give you anything."

You felt the white haired man’s hand slide up your stomach, his delicate fingers tracing your ribs and then your sides. It was as if he was memorizing them, to let them burn into his memory for until the next time. He lets the perfectness of your body pleasure his eyes as he wallows in the thought of wanting to be inside of you.

"Everything, sweetheart." he added, his voice dripping with promise. "Just say the word." 

The anticipation was palpable, the air thick with tension. You felt your eyes turn to the growing members against their clothes, wanting to be free. You don’t think you’ve ever been this hungry in your entire life. You don’t think you’ve wanted anything more than to be fucked into a doozy.

You then turned to meet their gaze. "I want you both so bad. Want you both inside me."

Your dark haired lover couldn’t help but feel his smirk widen his hand gripping your hip possessively. "Is that so?" he murmured, his thumb tracing circles on your skin. 

Satoru’s blue eyes flashed with desire, his hand sliding down to palm his own length through his pants. "We can tell, sweetheart." he said, his voice low and husky. "The way you're looking at us, like you want to devour us whole into your cunny, into your backhole."

“Want you….want you to use me.” You whimper, almost pathetically. “Want you both inside….”

Suguru felt his eyes darkened at your words, a wicked grin blossoming on his lips. "Use you, huh?" he repeated, his voice low and amused. 

Satoru’s gaze was equally intense, his pupils dilated with desire."In what way, exactly?" he asked, his tone dripping with promise. Suguru’s hand slid down your stomach, his fingers tracing your hips 

"Want us to fuck you senseless?" he suggested, his touch firm. Satoru’s warm hand gripped your thigh, his nails digging into the skin.

"Or maybe you want us to mark you, claim you as ours?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck.

“Everything.” You cried out. “Everything and more. Please. Just….”

Suguru’s massive length pressed against your entrance, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. He gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh.

Satoru’s hands spread your legs wider, his own hips positioning himself at your backside. You could feel the heat radiating off their bodies, the anticipation building to an unbearable level. 

Your dark haired lover’s voice was strained as he asked. "Are you sure about this, doll? We're not exactly in the mood to be... gentle."

Satoru’s fingers teased your back entrance with his fingers, earning moans from you as he was applying gentle pressure with each and every push. "Last chance to back out." he murmured, his breath hot against your neck. 

Their gazes were intense, filled with lust and dominance. It mirrored your own too well as you wrapped your arms around Suguru’s neck, as you leaned closer to Satoru from behind. You mewl as you feel your behind slowly loosen up.

“I want it.” You whisper to them eagerly. “Please, just go inside of me….I want to feel full of you.”

"As you wish, doll." he growled, shifting his position. He gripped your hips, positioning himself at your entrance. "Ready?" he asked, his voice strained with anticipation. 

Satoru smiles slyly, his hands spreading your legs wider to give himself room. Adding his own fingers aligns with the tender slope of your backside, pushing in with the ones he had already slicked and kept inside. “Already been here, ‘guru.”

Suguru pushed into you slowly little by little, his thickness stretching you deliciously. A low guttural moan escaped your lips, your back arching off the bed. You whimper as you adjust to being full front and back. 

"Fuck, you're so tight, doll." he groaned, his hips settling against yours. 

"Relax." Satoru murmured, his other hand caressing your side as he goes deeper in your back. "We'll go slow like we always do."

He pushed a finger inside you, moving it in tandem with Suguru’s thrusts. You could feel everything and anything. It was like they were on your throat. The sensation of being filled in both holes was overwhelming, your mind spinning with pleasure. Suguru began to move, his pace finally steady and deep. Satoru carefully added another finger, stretching you further.

"You're doing so well, sweetheart." he praised, his breath hot against your ear. "Taking us both like this."

You keen as you felt the depth of Suguru’s hips slammed against yours one after the other, his thick angry cock plunging deep into your soaked pussy deeper than the last.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your moans and gasps. Satoru’s fingers continued pumping in and out  relentlessly of your ass, the stretch burning pleasantly. 

"Look at you." Satoru growled, his lips brushing against your ear. "Taking us up like a good little sweetheart, just for me. Just for us.”

Suguru’s hand snaked around, his fingers finding your clit. He rubbed it roughly, his touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Your back arches once again, your body shaking against the hit of wave after wave of pleasure. The push of his cock, his fingers 

"Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me, doll. So, so much. God." he choked, the movements of his thrusts becoming erratic. “Your pussy is divine. It's a church down here. I’m being….blessed. Oh fuck, fuck…. So good, so so—”

Satoru’s fingers curled inside you, pressing against your prostate. "Come for us." he demanded, his voice low and commanding. "Come all over us like the good girl you are.”

Your body tensed, your orgasm building rapidly. The sweat on your body blending against Suguru’s in a symphonic harmony. You could feel like you were on another planet.

Suguru’s cock inside you and his fingers on your clit and Satoru’s fingers your ass pushed you over the edge. Your tears poured down your face as you felt the bed creak against the wall, in the same pace along with your movements. 

"Fuck! Fuck! Goddddddd…… I'm coming!" you screamed, your pussy clamping down on Suguru’s cock. Your asshole tightened around Satoru’s fingers, pulsing with each wave of pleasure. You choked on your spit. “Oh my godddddd—”

Suguru groaned loudly, his hips stuttering as he spilled his hot seed deep inside you."Shit, fuck! Fuck! Yes, yeesssssss! Take it all, doll. Take it alllllll……" he panted, his cock twitching with each spurt. 

Satoru’s fingers kept moving, drawing out your orgasm. "That's it, milk me with these fingers." he murmured, his breath hot against your neck. “Yesssssss…..”

As your orgasm subsided, Suguru refused to leave from within your crevices, small thrusts bringing in his cum inside of you. Soon enough, you felt Satoru remove his fingers from inside of you and started to lick himself clean once again. He smiled at you as you watched him clean himself of you once again as you took your breath.

A little while later, Suguru moves slightly in order to accommodate your other lover. You felt Satoru’s hard length pressing against your stretched backhole. You purse your dry lips into a line as you collect yourself. 

"Ready for more?" he asked, his voice dripping with desire.

“Need you, ‘toru. Bring it on me….” 

He smiles at you. Just as you asked, Satoru pushes his thick cock pushed into your sensitive asshole, stretching you even further. The feeling of being filled in both holes was overwhelming, the pleasure bordering on pain. 

"Too much, too…..tooo full…." you gasped, your body trembling. Suguru hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing gently. “Fuck….can feel you….can feel you on my throat. Both of you….fuckkkkkk….”

"Never too much, doll." he growled, his hips starting to move again. 

His cock slid easily through your dripping pussy once again, coated in his own cum and your juices. Satoru from behind began to thrust, his pace slow but deep, bottoming little by little as he too gained his own speed.

"You can take it, sweetheart. You always have." he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck."You can take us both."

Their movements synchronized, one pushing in as the other pulled out. The sensation of being used, of being a toy for their pleasure, sent your mind spinning. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, the overstimulation too intense.

Suguru’s grip on your throat only tightened as he pushed deeper into you, cutting off your air supply. Black spots danced in your vision, the lack of oxygen heightening every sensation.

Gojo Satoru’s thrusts became faster and faster, harshly brushing against you as his cock continued to mercilessly piston in and out of your ass. 

"Look at you, doll." he panted, his voice strained by pleasure. "Taking us so well, even like this. I knew you could. You always do good.”

Suguru’s free hand gripped your hip, his fingers digging into your flesh. He leaned down, his teeth sinking into the junction of your neck and shoulder. The pain mixed with the overwhelming pleasure, brushing into sweet moans and pulsing sweat, flesh against flesh, juices dancing through the crevices of your pleasures.

You knew everything was pushing you closer to the edge. Satoru’s hand snaked around, his fingers finding your clit once more, causing you to tear up from the overwhelming feeling. He pushed deeper into you, groaning as he rubbed just as roughly, his touch demanding your release.

"Come for us, sweet doll." Geto commanded, his voice muffled against your skin. "Come one last time like the good girl you are." 

Your body grew limp as you convulsed, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You scream and scream in pleasure as you felt everything come crashing down on you, burying you in the endless echo in this pandemonium of pleasure.

As your orgasm peaked and pushed, Satoru and Suguru’s movements inside of you became even more erratic. They were so close, so damn close. It just felt good. Too good to be deep in the heat of you. You held tightly onto Suguru, who pushed you closer to Satoru’s back, the echo of Satoru’s thrust pushing you forward to Suguru. And vice versa.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck….I’m going to cum again, doll. Fuckkkkkkkk—” Suguru choked on his words as he let his cock push hard one last time before coming inside of you once again. His new burst of hot piping cum pushed out the first one. “Fuck, fuck….so good, so good….”

Satoru soon followed suit, his fingers digging into your hips as he buried himself deep in your ass. "Fuck! shit, shitttttt, you’re too tight. I can’t hold on anymore, sweetheart. Fuckkk, shittttttttt—" 

Your lover roared, his hot seed filling your back up endlessly. Their combined releases painted your skin with afterglow permeating under the sweat of the pressing skin, dirty little secrets, scratching and clawing and marks and blood whispering to the world that you are theirs. 

You go limp in the middle of them, heaving and shaking from the pleasure. Soon enough, Suguru came down from his high and realized he was about to crush you. Suguru pulled out, earning a groan from you. Your dark haired lover carefully collapsed onto the bed beside you, his chest heaving. 

Satoru pulled out slowly, a stream of his cum dripping from your well-used back hole. He heaved and shook as he tried to still his body. He lets his fingers push the dripping cum back onto your hole, making you mewl against him. 

“Shhhh, don’t wanna see it to waste, don’t you?”

"Beautiful. You are so so beautiful, doll." Suguru murmured,looking at your fucked out expression as he laid beside you, his fingers tracing the mess on your skin. “Everything we love and more. 

The room was silent except for your ragged breathing and the sound of your hearts pounding. Soon enough, exhaustion becomes of you. You first fell asleep, then Suguru and then Satoru. All three are enveloped into the confines of the love that only belongs to you. And in the whispers of the dark morrow, you would do it again and again, until nothing is left of you to give.

epilogue 

Late Afternoon, the next day;

The world was burning with speculation with everything and anything that is happening over the past few hours. But you? This was not your concern. It never was, not when you had such a fun time last night. After all, you were waking up in a tangle of limbs, warm sheets, and the scent of expensive cologne mixed with the remnants of last night.

Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting golden lines across the bed. Your body still very much ached in a way that made heat curl in your stomach at the memories. And when you stretched, a low chuckle sounded beside you.

“Well, well….” Satoru’s voice was still husky from sleep, his lips curling against your shoulder. “Sleeping Beauty awakens.”

Before you could roll your eyes, a lazy, calloused hand trailed down your back—Geto Suguru. His touch was deliberate, teasing. “You caused quite the scene last night, doll.” he murmured, voice like silk.

Your brows furrowed for a split second. Until you saw the phone on the bedside table, the screen was still open to the post. The post that had the world on its knees. Your notifications were on fire. Your phone was on Do Not Disturb, but even then, you could see the flood of missed calls, text messages, and thousands—no, millions—of reactions online.

Your name. Their names. Trending in every possible country.

And then there was your Instagram story.

That one, simple sweet dreams had single handedly ended people’s sanity.

You bit back a laugh, running a hand through your hair. 

“Oh?” you mused, “And what exactly did I do?”

Satoru turned you on your back with obscene ease, his blue eyes glinting mischievously. “Sweetheart, you knew what you were doing when you reposted that before passing out for the actual time.”

Suguru hummed in agreement, brushing his fingers over your collarbone. “It’s cute how they think they’ll ever get an answer.”

You smirked, stretching out between them. “Well, they’re the ones who keep looking for one.”

"They are EVIL. Absolute MENACES."

 "No bc they’re just playing with us at this point."

 "Why did she repost it like that? WHY."

"‘Sweet dreams’ WHERE ARE WE SUPPOSED TO GO FROM HERE???"

"No bc this is Gojo, Geto, and [Your Name]’s world and we are merely struggling to exist in it."

"I fear the love triangle trope is not a love triangle but a polycule and that’s so real and it’s happening in front of us."

Fan edits? Immediate.

Discourse? Relentless.

Your names? Trending for 48 HOURS STRAIGHT.

People scrambled for theories. Some swore it was a joke. Some were convinced it was confirmation of the slowest-burning relationship reveal of the decade. And when you, Satoru, and Suguru resurfaced at an event later that week? Dressed to kill, standing way too close, sharing way too many inside jokes?

You all just smiled all together in front of everyone.

The interviewer tried again. "So, can we talk about that photo?"

Satoru leaned into the mic first, grinning like the devil. "What photo?"

Suguru smirked, tipping his glass in silent mockery. "You’re going to have to be more specific."

And you? 

You just sighed, tilting your head with a teasing smile before repeating the words that had haunted everyone and everyone and their mothers and fathers and anyone else they had known for many more years, just like before.

You slyly smiled. “Guess.”

[valeisaslut]

⭒࿐COLLIDE - c. four

credits for the fanart: nramvv - edited by me

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

𝐒𝐇𝐄.

← 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝘩𝑟𝑒𝑒 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑟 →

listen to the song linked for a better and more realistic experience, hope you like it and think it fits them as much as i did <3

⚢ pairing: Rockstar!Ellie Williams x Popstar!Reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ synopsis: Trapped in a carefully crafted illusion, you and Ellie have spent the past month playing the perfect couple for the world to believe. But in the quiet of a hotel room, away from the world’s gaze, a song takes shape between you. A melody that feels too raw, too real, like something neither of you meant to reveal. And as the music flows, so does the unspoken truth—this isn’t just an act anymore. 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ word count: 7k 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ content: fluff, LOTS of tension, nothing big acc happens but is SUPER important for the story and plot, shows my undying love for music, fake dating, cursing, modern au, mention of cigarettes, alcohol and drugs, afab!reader, multiple part series, MEN AND MINORS DNI, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖

The past month had been nothing short of chaos—an intoxicating, inescapable kind of madness. A whirlwind of flashing cameras, endless headlines, and a public that simply couldn’t get enough of you and Ellie. 

The entire world crowned both of you as Hollywood’s latest and most interesting It Couple. Your names trended daily, your faces plastered across billboards, magazine covers, and endless Twitter threads dedicated to analyzing the tiniest details of your interactions. Every stolen glance, every accidental brush of fingers, even a single shared breath in the same frame was magnified, dissected, and spun into theories. 

You expected the attention. The speculation. But what you hadn’t expected was for it to stick. To grow. To spiral into something much bigger than the both of you, something neither of you had full control over.

But Rachel was right—relationships, real or not, fueled careers. Publicity was a currency, and right now, you and Ellie were cashing in.

Overnight, you had become a rockstar’s girlfriend, an effortlessly cool counterpart to her reckless charm. Your name carried a new kind of weight—more intrigue, more edge. Meanwhile, Ellie’s past scandals and messy headlines were wiped clean, replaced with a precisely curated narrative of stability, of mistery wrapped in romance. 

Both of you had the press wrapped around your fingers, feeding the public’s insatiable hunger, heightening the anticipation for your upcoming albums.

Everything was working perfectly.

Well, almost.

This romance was an act, a carefully crafted illusion designed to sell a story. But as more fake dates passed, as more carefully orchestrated appearances blurred into late nights, it stopped feeling like fiction. The teasing, the banter, the way she’d lean in just a little too close when she whispered in your ear, the way her fingers would slip under your clothes when no one was looking—it wasn’t just for the cameras anymore. 

And the way she looked at you… that was the worst part. Because when the flashes faded and the crowds disappeared, when it was just the two of you slipping into the quiet of a hotel room, a dimly lit backstage greenroom, a late-night car ride with the city stretching out endlessly beyond the tinted windows, the lines blurred.

And the “rules”?

They weren’t just bending anymore. 

They were begging to be broken.

Now, another morning. Another hotel room. The remnants of last night lay scattered like evidence—a familiar, beautiful kind of mess.

Whiskey glasses half-empty, a bottle of wine tipped over on the nightstand, clothes draped over furniture, carelessly discarded in the haze of lust. The air was heavy, thick with the remnants of cigarettes and the musk of sweat and sex that clung to the skin and the sheets.

Sunlight spilled through the massive windows, casting lazy golden streaks across the tangle of limbs and the mess of unruly hair. It traced the curve of bare shoulders, the rise and fall of slow, steady breaths—turning the remnants of the night into something almost soft, almost tender.

In the hush of the morning, it was easy to forget.

Easy to sink into the illusion that outside these four walls, the world wasn’t waiting with cameras and microphones, ready to twist something as simple as a glance into another headline.

Here, time moved slower, suspended in a half-conscious state between dreams and reality.

Just her. 

Just you.

And whatever the hell this had become.

You stirred against the pillows, consciousness creeping in at the edges, reluctant to pull you from the weightless comfort of sleep. The bed was warm, the space beside you still faintly imprinted with Ellie’s shape, but empty.

A few feet away, perched at the edge of the mattress, she sat with one leg drawn up, the other resting on the floor, hoodie slung lazily over her shoulders, sleeves pushed up to her elbows. The loose fabric did nothing to conceal the way her tattooed back muscles flexed with each movement, her fingers untangling the mess of wires at her feet.

She hadn’t noticed you were awake yet.

Her auburn locks were an absolute mess, sticking up in odd places, and for just a fleeting moment, she looked younger, softer. There was something achingly familiar in the slope of her shoulders, in the easy way she just existed in the quiet.

As if this wasn’t a hotel room in some foreign city. As if you hadn’t spent the past month pretending this thing between you was just an act.

You watched her through heavy-lidded eyes, letting yourself look at her—really look at her. Before the world demanded smirks in place of softness, sharp words instead of silence, half-truths masked as teasing. Before the world could steal this version of her away from you.

And then, as if drawn by some unspoken force, she turned.

Her gaze found yours, soft with sleep, yet sharp in its awareness. Something flickered in those green eyes, quiet and unreadable. She didn’t smirk, didn’t tease. She just looked at you, studying your face like she was trying to etch every detail into memory.

Slowly, carefully, her fingers reached out. The backs of her knuckles ghosted over your cheek, featherlight, tracing the curve of your jaw before tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was barely there, but it sent a shiver down your spine, a warm sensation you tried—and failed—to ignore.

Her thumb lingered at your temple, just for a second. A hesitation. A silent question neither of you dared to voice.

And then, as quickly as she had touched you, she was gone.

She turned her attention back to the wires, fingers deft and practiced as she untangled them, as if the touch had never happened. As if she hadn’t just traced the shape of you like you were fragile, something worth remembering.

The spell broke. The world righted itself. 

But your skin still burned where she had touched you.

The gentle clink of a guitar cable against the amp, the soft click of knobs turning. A second later, the first note filled the room—unhurried, each strum rolling into the next.

You groaned, cracking an eye open fully. "Really? First thing in the morning?"

Ellie barely spared you a glance, her fingers drifting into a slow, steady rhythm.

"Sorry babe…" she muttered, exhaling as if she had been holding her breath too long. "I just… have this fucking melody in my head. I don’t wanna lose it."

You made a noise of protest, throwing an arm over your face. "You’re insufferable."

She smirked at that, plucking another note, her voice dipping into something lower, amused. 

"And yet…" she murmured, "you keep ending up in my bed."

Your lips parted for a retort, but you swallowed it down, pressing your arm further into your face instead. There was no point in denying it.

Because she was right.

You always did.

A few seconds later, you eased your arm to peek. Her head was tilted down, watching her hands move over the fretboard with effortless ease, like the chords were something she was pulling out of the air itself. 

There was something intoxicating about watching her like this—completely lost in it, focused, unaware of how fucking good she looked in the lazy light of morning. The sound lingered, like the kind of melody that only existed somewhere between a dream and a memory, slow and hypnotic. Almost intimate.

Your brows pulled together. 

"That’s… actually really good."

Ellie finally looked up, an eyebrow raised. "You think?"

You pushed yourself up on your elbows, hair falling into your face as you listened, really listened. The way the chords lingered, how she let the last note stretch a second longer than expected, the slight hesitation in how she moved between them—it felt intentional.

Words and lyrics began to swirl in your mind, floating effortlessly like they were born from the melody Ellie was playing. They felt right, like they belonged perfectly to the rhythm she’d found without even trying.  

"Keep going." you murmured.

Reaching blindly for the notepad on the nightstand, your fingers brushed across the edge of the pages before curling around the pen Ellie stealed from god-knows-where.

Without thinking, the words spilled out, falling from your lips as if they had been waiting for this moment.

"She… she lives in daydreams with me…"

It was barely above a whisper, unpolished, something that shouldn’t have meant anything. But it did.

The moment it left your mouth, it did.

Ellie’s head snapped up, fingers pausing on the strings.

"She’s the first one that I see…" you continued, voice steadying, gaining weight. "And I don’t know why… I don’t know who she is…"

A slow grin spread across her face. Not her usual cocky smirk, not the teasing half-smile she threw when she was trying to get a rise out of you—something softer, something real.

"The fuck was that?"

You shrugged, heartbeat a little too fast, face warming up. 

"I don’t know. It just… came."

Ellie nodded towards the notepad. 

"Write it down."

Your stomach flipped. You bit your lip, then did exactly that.

Ellie’s eyes never left yours as she continued to play, her body moving instinctively with each chord. The muscles in her forearms flexed and relaxed as she adjusted the pressure on the fretboard, focusing entirely on the music.

You tapped the pen against your thigh, your gaze on her fingers, watching the way they moved. More lyrics began to unravel in your mind, slipping past your thoughts.

“Nine in the morning, the man drops his kids off at school...” you hummed, voice soft, testing the air around you as if searching for the right words. 

Ellie snorted, fingers momentarily slipping on the strings. “What man?”

You blinked at her, confused.

She looked at you, brow raised, guitar still going. “The guy in the song. The fuck are you talking about?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep the irritation from your voice. “Just a random guy I saw across the street yesterday. But imagine this—this song isn’t about him. It’s about someone else entirely. A girl from a fantasy.”

Ellie paused for a second, considering your words, her expression softening with a thoughtful nod. “Huh. Alright. Go on, Shakespeare.”

You shot her a playful look before continuing to scribble words down, humming and trying to find the perfect ones to describe the concept you just found.

“And he’s thinking of you...”

“Like all of us do…” 

Your last words were a whisper, barely audible, almost too honest. Like a confession.

"Sends his assistant for coffee in the afternoon," you murmured, scribbling the line down, "around one-thirty-two. He knows what to do"

Ellie groaned dramatically, shaking her head. “Fucking hell. You’re fast with those lyrics.”

You glanced up at her, raising an eyebrow. “What? It’s just how I work. Now keep playing.”

Ellie exhaled, a small, impressed grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Fine, ma’am,"

You let the words tumble out, the melody weaving itself around the lyrics in perfect harmony. Everything around you seemed to disappear, as if nothing else mattered but this—the music, the words, and the space you shared.

"She… she… she lives in daydreams with me…" The first line left your lips again, now fitting perfectly against Ellie’s steady melody.

You didn’t miss the way her gaze lingered, her fingers tightening around the neck of her guitar.

"She… she’s the first one that I see… and I don’t know why… I don’t know who she is…”

Ellie let the last note hang in the air for a moment, the room thick with the sound.

She hummed in approval, her gaze steady on you.

“That’s really sick”

Then, she tilted her head, her eyes narrowing playfully as she caught your gaze. 

“But it’s kinda lesbophobic of you to write this about a man” 

You groaned, covering your face with one hand in mock embarrassment. “Oh, shut up, it slaps. And i already told you, it’s about a girl.”

Ellie chuckled, setting the guitar down just long enough to stretch, her muscles shifting beneath the ink that covered her arms. The sight of it made your breath catch, just for a second. She glanced over at you, her voice a little lower now, as if the air between you had thickened.

“Gotta admit…” she murmured, her eyes dark with something unreadable “your raw singing voice is amazing.”

You swallowed, heart thudding against your ribs as you forced out a casual, "Yeah, well… don't get used to it."

Ellie huffed a quiet laugh, but there was something else there now, heavier. Her fingers flexed against the body of the guitar, like she wasn’t sure whether to pick it back up or let the silence settle in.

You looked down at the lyrics scribbled across the notepad, the ink slightly smudged from where your palm had rested against the page. The song was unfinished, hanging in the air between you, waiting.

Waiting for who?

Waiting for what?

Ellie broke the silence first.

"This fantasy girl… who is she?"

Your hand stilled over the notepad.

Ellie tilted her head, something sharp—knowing—lurking behind her curiosity.

You swallowed. "I don't know."

A lie.

Ellie didn’t know what the hell was happening to her.

She’d looked at you a thousand times before—across dimly lit restaurants, over the neck of her guitar, through the haze of cigarette smoke and exhaustion after a long night in the studio.

But this? This was different.

The weight of her gaze settled in your chest, thick and pressing, making it hard to breathe. You weren’t used to her looking at you like this—open, unguarded, as if she was actually seeing you.

Not just the version of you she joked with, not just the version of you that the world saw, but the real you. The one who wrote in hotel rooms at ungodly hours. The one who overthought everything. The one who kept getting tangled in something she didn’t have the words for.

And maybe that was what scared her the most. That you—this raw, unfiltered version of you—had somehow become the thing she kept chasing. The thing that was lingering in every corner of her mind, bleeding into every song she played, every lyric she wrote, every melody that lived rent-free in her head.

You shifted slightly, the fabric of her shirt slipping further down your shoulder, exposing warm skin to the low light. And for some reason, that was the thing that made her stomach twist. Not in the way she was used to. Not in the way that ended in tangled sheets and careless goodbyes.

No, this was something else.

Something quieter. Something that had been building, slow and unrelenting, creeping in through the cracks she hadn’t even realized you’d left in her.

And then Ellie moved again, fingers finding the guitar with effortless familiarity. The melody resounded again, but now softer, like she was testing the waters.

She could feel it in her hands before she even processed the thought—fingers moving, plucking at the strings without hesitation, as if the melody had been there all along, waiting to be carved out.

It came effortlessly this morning, guided by something unspoken, something just out of reach. The way you looked at her, the way you bit your lip absentmindedly, the way the light caught on your cheekbone. It was music. You were music.

And before she could stop herself, before she could even think, it was spilling out of her again.

"She… she… she lives in daydreams with me…"

Her voice humming your lyrics—low, raspy, barely more than a whisper—wrapped around the words like a confession, rough yet impossibly gentle. It sent something sharp curling low in your stomach, dangerously close to longing.

"She… she’s the first one that I see… and I don’t know why… I don’t know who she is."

The song lingered in the space between you, settling into the quiet like a secret neither of you were ready to confess.

But in that moment, you didn’t have to.

Mid-strum, she let out a slow breath and rolled her shoulders.

Then, almost out of nowhere, she said, "I told you that I learned to play guitar from Joel, right?"

You nodded, surprised by the shift in topic and feeling the weight of the legendary name. "...Yeah, you did"

She nodded, her fingers still idly plucking at the strings, like she needed something to anchor herself.

“He never cared about playing things the ‘right’ way. Wasn’t about that for him.” She exhaled, gaze distant, like she was somewhere else. “He always said music wasn’t just about the notes—it was about feeling it. Living it. That if you played it right, it could make sense of things that didn’t.”

You watched Ellie carefully, seeing a side of her you hadn’t expected. The way she spoke of Joel, the way her fingers tightened on the guitar like it was a lifeline.

“You ever miss it?” you asked softly, not even sure what it meant—Joel, music, or something else entirely.

Ellie let out a breath, tilting her head to the ceiling before shrugging. But it wasn’t casual—it was heavy.

"...Yeah" she admitted, voice quieter than before. "I’ve been kind of a dick to him, honestly."

You didn’t say anything, just let her talk.

"He made everything feel easier. Even the shit that wasn’t." She huffed out a small laugh, shaking her head. "When we played together, it was like... I don’t know, like none of the bullshit mattered for a little while."

Her fingers stilled on the strings.

"He used to tell me, ‘There’s no wrong way to play a song, Ellie. Just how you feel about it.’" She smirked, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Guess that’s why I never cared about music theory or technique or whatever. Just wanted to feel it."

You nodded, understanding more than you expected to. 

The weight of the moment settled between you, pressing into the space where words didn’t need to be. For a second, it wasn’t about the song you were working on—it was about the simplicity of what music meant to both of you.

“Guess that’s how this song came out, huh?” you said, your voice almost teasing but with a note of sincerity. “No wrong way. Just… feeling it.”

“Yeah, exactly. You just... you just let it happen.” Ellie caught your eye and grinned, a mischievous glint in her gaze. “Pretty deep for a song we wrote in a hotel room, huh?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting this to turn into some big existential moment, but here we are.” You chuckled, shifting on the bed to get a more comfortable spot. “Maybe it's the afterglow”

Ellie let out a short laugh, shaking her head. "Oh yeah? That what we’re calling it now?"

"I mean, think about it—" You gestured vaguely, a teasing edge to your voice. "The post-song haze, the melody and lyrics basically coming out of nowhere. It’s the artistic equivalent of afterglow."

Ellie hummed in consideration, tapping her fingers against the body of her guitar. "Okay, fine, I’ll give you that one. But music’s kinda like that, y'know? It creeps up on you. You think you’re just messing around, and then suddenly—bam—you’re confronting shit you didn’t even realize was still in your head."

You felt the weight of her words settle, the vulnerability that was so rare for her, but so real in that moment.

“Yeah, it does. Like, maybe this song wasn’t meant for me to write by myself. Sometimes, it’s just... the right person at the right time that makes it all click.”

Your words resounded in her head.

The right person at the right time that makes it all click.

You were that person.

Ellie tilted her head, murmuring low as her fingers never stopped their movement on the guitar.

“Maybe it was meant to be something we did together.”

A silence fell between you again, but it wasn’t awkward—it was comfortable, filled with the understanding of something bigger than both of you. Something beyond. 

Like it had a life of its own.

Ellie broke the silence, her voice light but knowing. “You know, I never thought I’d be sitting here, writing a song like this with anyone.”

“Why’s that?” you asked, genuinely curious.

She shrugged again, her gaze flickering to you, then back down to her guitar. “I don’t know. I guess I thought I’d just write songs with Jesse, Dina, and nobody else. But it’s... it’s amazing, doing this. With you.”

You reached for the notepad again, feeling the weight of the next line coming to you. “Then let’s make it count. Let’s finish it.”

Ellie smiled, the familiar spark returning to her eyes. “You got it.”

And with that, the room once again filled with the sounds of the song, both of you lost in the music, pushing and pulling at the notes, the chords, and each other—creating something new.

The next hour, the room was still filled with the soft hum of Ellie’s guitar strings, each note careful as she played the song you two had crafted over and over. It was still raw, still finding its final form, but with every repetition, it felt more real. More polished. And it was really good. 

You sat cross-legged on the bed as Ellie played, her fingers moving over the strings with more confidence each time. But you couldn’t help but watch her and wonder what the hell was going through that unreadable mind of hers.

She shifted, sitting back slightly, guitar still resting on her lap, letting out a long, almost frustrated sigh. 

“Alright, so we make this entire song in the span of an hour, and now what? Do we just let it die here?” She nudged the notepad towards you with her foot, the corner of her mouth pulling up in that mischievous grin you’d come to know far too well.

“We don’t have to record it,” you said, your voice a little too steady. “I mean, we didn’t even plan to write it, right? It was just… something that happened.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Something that happened?”

She leaned forward, eyes narrowing slightly, still holding that knowing look. “Come on. You’re telling me you’re not at least a little curious about how this sounds with some actual production? Not just… us in a hotel room?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just better left as a thing we did for ourselves,” you said, attempting to sound casual. "Not everything needs to be recorded."

Ellie clicked her tongue, clearly not impressed. She tapped the neck of her guitar rhythmically, glancing over at you. “That’s a nice idea, but you and I both know you’re lying to yourself right now.”

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. You're not the first person to get all deep and philosophical about a song only to end up recording it.”

You stared at her, then laughed despite yourself. “You really think I can’t just not record it?”

“Please,” she scoffed. “You’re itching for this to be out there. You wanna hear how it sounds with a full band behind it, don’t you?”

You shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether you were more frustrated with her or with the fact that she was right.

“Maybe…” You trailed off, giving her a small smile. “But it’s not like it has to be something big.”

“Big, small, whatever. The point is—" She paused, leaning in just a little closer, the air between you crackling with tension. "We’re making something that feels real, something that’s ours, and it deserves to be heard.”

“I don’t know…” You exhaled slowly, looking away for a moment. “This is very different from my music. I’m not sure how it’ll translate.”

“It’s very different from my music too, but it’s just that fucking good.” She was almost daring you to argue, like she was waiting for you to backpedal.

“I’m not arguing that it’s really good. But it’s… soft. You know?”

Ellie chuckled, crossing her arms. “Soft, huh? That’s how you’re gonna describe it?” She shook her head, almost in disbelief. 

You crossed your arms, matching her defiance. “It’s just not what I’m used to. I don’t usually write this kind of stuff.”

Ellie tilted forward, her gaze steady. “Look, I get it. You’re afraid of doing something different. It’s not a big, loud anthem. It’s a quiet, real song that means something.”

You couldn’t argue with that. Not completely.

You fell silent, feeling a mix of dread and anticipation building in your chest. This was it. It wasn’t just the song anymore—it was you, stepping into something new.

“So what, we just go into the studio and see what happens?”

“I mean, yeah. Why not? What’s the worst that could happen? We both make a hit? Break the internet with your beautiful voice and my amazing solo?” She said, grinning like she’d already won. “Or maybe we just have fun. Either way, I’m in.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “God, you’re relentless.”

“Yeah,” she said, eyes glinting with something you couldn’t quite place. A challenge? A plea? Or maybe deeper, but you weren’t ready to name it.

“We’ve been through a hell of a month—don’t you think it’s time to do something that actually has meaning? Something that’s actually real?”

The words hit harder than you expected.

Because she was right.

Nothing in your life was real. Your smile, your image, your carefully curated personality that just existed for the cameras. Every interview rehearsed, every appearance staged. Even this so-called relationship was nothing more than another performance. 

But music?

Music was the only thing that had ever been real. The one unshakable, non-negotiable truth of your existence. The thing that kept you tethered when everything else felt hollow. The one part of yourself that hadn’t been twisted, edited, and repackaged for consumption.

And Ellie knew it.

She saw through all of it. Past the script, past the headlines, past the bullshit. And maybe that was what scared you the most.

Your breath hitched, something inside you shifting, clicking into place like a puzzle piece you hadn’t realized was missing. It was time to stop caring about how the world wanted to frame you.

Because if nothing else, at least this—whatever the hell this thing between you was—could create something real. Something honest. Something that actually mattered.

“Alright. Fine. Let’s do it,” you muttered, exhaling like you were about to regret it. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when it turns out all weird and experimental.”

Ellie let out a sharp, triumphant laugh, her fingers already tapping an impatient rhythm against her knee. “Hell yeah. That’s the spirit.”

You shot her a look. “And don’t get any ideas—I’m not doing this for you.”

“Oh, please.” Ellie’s grin was all teeth, smug and satisfied. “You totally are.”

You rolled your eyes, but the truth was, it didn’t really matter anymore. Because the second the words left your mouth, you knew it was already done.

And as much as you told yourself you should be careful—as much as you tried to ignore the feeling curling low in your stomach—something inside you, quiet and reckless, was already looking forward to whatever came next.

The studio was alive with a hum of anticipation, the faint buzz of equipment and the subtle echo of footsteps as you adjusted the mic stand, your fingers brushing the cool metal. The engineers had already set everything up, the recording equipment primed and ready. 

It was just you and Ellie now, standing on the edge of something that felt too personal yet impossible to keep hidden.

You took a steadying breath, rolling your shoulders as you positioned yourself in front of the mic. Ellie sat off to the side, her guitar resting against her knee.

She had already laid down the instrumentals, the soft hum of her melody wrapping around the space like a thread holding it all together.

Now, it was your turn.

You inhaled slowly, eyes closing as you began to sing. The words of the song slipped past your lips effortlessly. It was the kind of moment where it felt like the music was taking control of you, and everything else melted away. 

Your voice stretched into the space, the words slipping into the quiet between notes. There was something raw in it, something that cracked through your usual performance.

You could feel Ellie’s gaze on you, her focus unwavering, but her usual teasing smile was nowhere to be found. She was listening—absorbing the emotion you were putting into the song.

You held the notes a little longer, the emotion building as you sang. It was simple, something you had done a million times, but in this moment, it felt different. 

You kept singing, the lyrics still scrawled messily across the notepad in handwriting so illegible only you and a pharmacist could decipher it. As the final note hung in the air, fading into the quiet of the room, you exhaled, fingers loosening on the mic. 

Almost instinctively, you turned to Ellie, searching her face for something—anything—that would tell you what she was thinking.

Her eyes were wide, mouth slightly open, her expression unreadable. For a moment, she didn’t speak. Didn’t move. It was like she was trapped somewhere else, still feeling the weight of it.

And then, without a word, she reached for her guitar.

The familiar chords rang out softly at first, her fingers moving over the strings like a whisper, hesitant yet sure. She played softly at first, almost as if testing the waters, letting the sound of her guitar blend with the tail end of your last note. The rhythm was soothing, a gentle echo.

But then, just as you thought she was going to ease into it, Ellie’s fingers shifted, and the solo erupted into the room. Like she just got a divine inspiration.

It wasn’t just music. It was something alive, untamed, filled with unspoken emotions. Her hands flew across the fretboard with the kind of precision that only came from knowing exactly how to make an instrument sing.

Knowing exactly how to make an instrument say something she couldn't.

The sound built around you, sharp and electric, filling every inch of the space like a storm breaking loose.

The engineers behind the glass exchanged glances, nodding along, clearly impressed. But you couldn’t look away from her. She was just so lost in it, eyes half-closed, completely in sync with the music, her body moving with each note.

The final note rang out, vibrating in the air before fading into silence. Ellie exhaled, letting her hands drop from the strings, her chest rising and falling from the energy of it. The studio was still, the only sound the distant hum of equipment and your own uneven breath.

You stilled there for a moment, breathless, still processing what had just happened. Ellie looked at you, a small, satisfied grin tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Well…" Ellie murmured, voice still slightly hushed, as if she didn’t want to break whatever was left of the moment, "that felt pretty damn good."

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. "You weren’t kidding about that solo."

"Told you. Guitar’s like a second language."

The night had settled in by the time you and Ellie finally sat back, the last echoes of the song still lingering in the quiet of the studio. The rest of the team had packed up and gone home hours ago, leaving just the two of you in the dimly lit space, surrounded by empty coffee cups, the lingering scent of guitar polish, and the faint hum of the amplifiers still cooling down.

Ellie stretched her arms over her head before slumping back into the couch with a groan. “Jesus, I think I just aged ten years.”

She let her head tip back against the cushions, exhaling loudly. “If this shit doesn’t at least get us a Grammy nom, I’m gonna start throwing hands. Nominations drop in a month—let’s just drop it next week and shake things up.”

You smirked, rubbing your tired eyes. “Oh yeah, because that’s why we did this. For the awards. Not for, you know, the love of music or whatever.”

Ellie scoffed, lifting her head just enough to shoot you a look. “Hey, I love music. I also love validation. Sue me.”

You smirked, stretching your arms over your head. “So we just randomly drop this track like we’re Beyoncé?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, because you and my band are exactly like Beyoncé.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I’m just saying, the timing is perfect. This song hits, it gets people talking, then—boom—albums drop next month, and we ride the wave.”

You hummed, pretending to consider it. “Or we just look like we’re trying too hard.”

Ellie scoffed, sitting up straighter. “Okay, first of all? Rude. Second? That’s the game, babe. Build hype, get streams, make money, and do it all over again.”

She smirked. “You know, the thing we’re really fucking good at.”

You couldn’t argue with that. “Guess we’re really doing this, huh?”

“We always were. We just finally caught up to it.”

Your gaze flickered to her, but she wasn’t looking at you. Instead, she reached for the remote, pointing it at the soundboard. “Anyway. Let’s hear it again.”

With a lazy press of a button, the track began to play through the speakers. The first soft notes filled the room, wrapping around you like a familiar embrace, yet somehow new. You exhaled slowly, sinking into the sound.

Your voice wove through the melody, steady yet raw, laced with something unspoken. Then came Ellie’s guitar—rich, electric, sharp in all the right places. The solo hit, wild and untamed, yet perfectly in sync with everything else.

But Ellie suddenly frowned.

“Nope. No, no, no. I need to fix that part.” she muttered, already reaching for her guitar. “That transition into the bridge? It’s good, but it could be better.”

“Ellie, we’ve been at this for hours. It sounds perfect.” you protested, but she was already plugging back in, tuning absentmindedly as she muttered to herself.

“Just one more take,” she insisted, brushing her fingers over the strings, testing the sound. “I swear, just one. Then I’ll be done.”

You sighed, shaking your head with a tired smile. “Fine.”

She started playing again, her fingers moving effortlessly over the fretboard, chasing perfection. The solo filled the space between you, between the rise and fall of your breath, between the erratic thrum of your heartbeat and the tightening in your chest.

But the music wasn’t what had you frozen in place.

It was her.

Ellie played like she always did, because she didn’t just know the guitar—she was a part of it. Every note came effortlessly, pouring from her like something inevitable, a feeling too strong to hold back.

And you watched her, not just in passing, not just because she was there, but because you couldn’t not look. Because something about this moment, about her, held you captive.

The way her eyes fluttered shut as she let herself get lost in the music, the soft crease in her brow when she leaned into the heavier notes, the way her fingers moved—confident, sure.

The way the muscles in her forearms flexed with each shift, veins peeking through the skin as she held down the chords, calloused fingertips plucking the strings like she was pulling something straight out of your ribs.

Like this whole song was about you.

Like she had done this for you.

Something inside you twisted, sharp and breathless. A flicker of recognition sparked at the edges of your mind, something old and undeniable, that had always been there but had never made itself known.

Your throat went dry. Your heart stuttered. Your hands felt too still, too heavy in your lap. And you panicked.

Because this wasn’t new. This wasn’t sudden.

This had been there all along.

It had been buried under layers of denial, tucked beneath every sarcastic remark, hidden behind every casual touch and lustful night, sitting between the lines of late-night high conversations. It had been lurking in every stolen glance, every fleeting moment where the world felt just a little too small when she was near.

You had fallen for her.

And really fucking hard.

From the very beginning, and you hadn’t even realized it. From the first time you saw her, slouched in that goddamn booth, whiskey glass hanging lazily between her fingers, looking at you like she already knew something you didn’t.

From the first time she whispered in your ear, voice low and teasing, meant to make you squirm—and it did. From the first time her fingers grazed your skin, casual but charged, a warning and a promise all at once.

From the first time you went to that damn hotel room with her.

You had told yourself it was just sex. That it was nothing. A transaction between two people who found temporary relief in the heat of a moment and then walked away unscathed.

But that was a lie.

Because that first night? That first night ruined you.

You still remembered the way she kissed you, rough and desperate, like she was trying to drink you all at once. The way she had stripped you down, piece by piece, until there was nothing left between you but the raw, undeniable truth of it all.

You pretended it didn't mean anything. You got up. You got dressed—in her clothes—and then walked out of that hotel room like you hadn’t just left a piece of yourself behind. Like you weren’t already unraveling at the seams.

And you didn’t know, couldn’t have known, that decision would alter everything. That it would pull you into something much bigger than the both of you—a whirlwind of blurred camera flashes and endless headlines, of fake emotions that didn’t feel so fake, of rehearsed appearances that started to feel too real.

That morning, you thought you were walking away.

But really, you were stepping straight into something you’d never be able to escape.

Straight into her.

Because it was just that easy to get lost in her. In the way she moved, the way she touched you, the way she made you feel like the only thing that mattered in the world for just a little while. And the more you gave in, the harder it became to pretend you weren’t already gone.

But that wasn’t supposed to happen.

Not with her.

Ellie was untouchable. A heartbreaker. A groupie-fucker. She burned through people like cheap lighters, flicked them open, used them until they ran out, and tossed them aside without a second thought.

She didn’t do love. She barely did attachment. You’d heard about it. Hell, you’d even seen it.

She was reckless and shameless and easy with her affections—until she wasn’t. Until she got bored. Until she found someone else to light up and burn out just as fast.

And somehow, without even trying, she had done the same to you.

And now, sitting across from her, watching her get lost in the music, feeling the weight of everything that had led you here, it all slammed into you so hard it made your head spin.

Ellie struck the final note and let it ring out, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Okay,” she breathed. “Now it’s perfect.”

She turned to you, eyes shining with that stupid, infuriating confidence of hers, and it made your stomach drop. Because she had no idea what she’d just done to you. No idea that in fixing one tiny flaw in the song, she had broken something irreparable in you.

With a casual press of the button, she played the song again. And this time, it was different.

Not because the notes had changed. Not because the mix was better. But because you knew. Because there was no turning back from this. Because suddenly, every lyric felt heavier, every chord sharper, every second more fragile.

She leaned back, kicking her boots onto the table, stretching like a lazy cat. “Alright, verdict?”

You forced yourself to speak, to pretend like your entire world hadn’t just tilted on its axis. “Eh. Could be worse.”

She gasped, scandalized. “Excuse me? Could be worse?”

“I mean, I dunno. Feels like the guitar is a little… show-offy.”

Ellie looked genuinely offended. “Show-offy?”

You shrugged. “Just saying, it’s a lot of wailing.”

“Babe, that was one of my best solos. That was—you know what, you don’t deserve to hear my genius ever again.”

You kicked her lightly with your foot. “I’m kidding, relax. Your little wailing session was nice.”

“Nice?” Ellie clutched her chest like you had physically wounded her. “Unbelievable. I pour my heart and soul into this song, and all I get is ‘nice’?”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, okay, fine. It was—what's the word? Transcendent?”

She narrowed her eyes at you suspiciously. “Damn right it was.”

Then she smirked, reaching for her drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass. And you let yourself laugh—let yourself sink into the moment, into the ease of it. Let yourself pretend, just for a little longer, that everything was exactly as it should be.

Pretend you weren’t drowning in something you were never supposed to feel.

But there was no escaping it now. No undoing the realization that had cracked through you like lightning splitting the sky. No unknowing the way your heart beat differently when she looked at you, no taking back the way her presence had rewired something fundamental in you.

This was the point of no return. A moment so sharp, so irreversible, that it changed everything in its wake.

Because from the very start, you and Ellie had been heading straight for impact—drawn together by something neither of you could fight, totally inevitable.

And It had all begun the moment you collided.

← 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝘩𝑟𝑒𝑒 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑟 →

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࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ OMFG GUYS. THIS DUMBASSES FINALLY FUCKING REALIZED WHAT WE AAAALLLL KNEW SINCE THE BEGINNING!!! GOD SAKE NOT EVEN MYSELF CAN WAIT FOR CHAPTER FIVE. I did like 30 proofreads, but there might still be a few grammar mistakes here and there—sorry in advance, english isn't my first language and I will be happy to receive constructive criticism!.

Please leave a comment if you’re interested in being on the permanent taglist for this series!

see ya'll soon, stay tuned ;)

[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. 

[queenshelby]

The Peaky Role (Part 34)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Best Friend's Dad, Pregnancy

After Cillian had ended it, you buried yourself in work and taking care of Nina. Days turned into blur after blur, and before you knew it, two weeks had passed, and you had not even tried to address your internal turmoil in any meaningful way.

Each day, for those past two weeks, had been busy and it all started with your first magazine interview, a nerve-wracking experience that left you feeling exposed and exhilarated.

You answered questions about your background, aspirations, and the challenges of breaking into the industry. You also answered questions about your experiences working with Cillian who the interviewer knew was your best friend's father, yet they probed beyond that.

"What's it like working alongside someone so established?" the interviewer asked, and you shrugged.

"It's intense but also very rewarding. Cillian pushes everyone, including himself and I actually enjoyed the challenge," you stammered, trying not to think too hard about your relations with him, forcing a smile through your anxiety.

"Did you learn anything important from working with him?" the interviewer leaned in, eyes sparkling.

You thought for a moment. "Patience, mainly. There's a rhythm to acting—finding that heartbeat in each scene and using your instinct more than your script," you tried to explain to the interviewer, who scribbled notes eagerly.

"Now, I do have to ask this Y/N, but from what I understand, you have had some quite intimate scenes with Cillian," the interviewer prompts, leaning in as if this revelation might spark something juicy. "And given your strong friendship with one of his daughters, how did you navigate those scenes?"

You shifted in your seat, feeling the heat rise. "Well, scenes like that are just part of the job," you replied, a nervous smile flickering across your lips. "You become your character and you forget everything around you. It's as simple as that," you tried to explain, but the interviewer picked up on your nervous shift.

"But wasn't it a little awkward, maybe?" she pressed, raising an eyebrow.

You chuckled, shaking your head.

"Not really. It's all about professionalism. The script guides you, and in the moment, everything else fades. Besides, I approach it like any other scene," you replied, feeling the tension ease just a little. "And I can guarantee you it's the same for Cillian," you told her, the words hanging in the air before the interview continued, flowing into rapid-fire questions, each one sharper than the last.

You locked eyes with the interviewer, determined to maintain your composure as the nerves danced under your skin and, luckily for you, within the next five minutes, it was all over.

***

After your first magazine interview came the audition for the play in Galway. You'd prepared for this moment, rehearsing your lines until they became second nature.

You were nervous, but you were also prepared for anything and had your best friend with you, helping you to calm down.

"Remember, just breath and transform," Nina encouraged, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she adjusted her brown curls in the mirror of your dressing room backstage.

"I'll be alright," you replied, taking a deep breath, steeling your nerves.

"Good, because you've got this."

With a determined nod, you stepped towards the stage door.

The stage manager gave you a thumbs-up, his face serious yet encouraging.

"Break a leg!" he called, his voice echoing off the walls.

You inhaled deeply, heart pounding, and crossed the threshold into the spotlight, ready to own this moment.

The stage lights blazed, illuminating the empty space before you.

"Y/N, what's your first line?" Nina whispered, her eyes sparkling with anticipation from behind the curtains, peaking through.

Your breath steadied. "Here it goes," you murmured, taking another step forward as the audience's murmurs faded into silence.

The first line rolled off your tongue, vibrant and alive, and the audience's gaze locked onto you, wide-eyed, hanging on every word.

Nina leaned closer, a proud grin splitting her face.

"You're nailing it, Y/N!" she whispered to herself, excitement bubbling underneath her words.

With each line, you felt the character wake up, breathing life into the story and, after as little as ten minutes of performance, the casting director called cut.

"Perfect," he said with a nod, his eyes flickering with approval before taking a moment to discuss your performance the two of his acquaintances who were sitting next to him.

"Love the energy. You really brought it to life," he praised, and you felt warmth spread through you.

"Thanks," you replied, heart racing with excitement.

"You've got the role," the director announced, his smile wide and genuine while Nina audibly squealed, jumping up and down behind the curtains.

"Really?" you gasped, eyes widening.

"Absolutely," the director confirmed, a grin splitting his face and you couldn't believe it. Your first big stage role, a dream realised.

***

And then, finally, admits these professional milestones, you found solace in Nina's company.

Her pregnancy had thrown her world into chaos, but she was determined to face it head-on. You spent countless hours with her, listening to her fears, sharing your thoughts, and providing the support she needed.

You accompanied her to doctor's appointments, held her hand through the nausea and exhaustion, and helped her pack as she prepared to move in with her father.

The day Nina picked up the keys to Cillian's newly renovated house was particularly memorable in this regard as you couldn't help but enquire about her mother's recent antics.

Two weeks ago, she had a meltdown when you were there, with Nina, announcing the pregnancy and just two days ago, when you loaded some boxes into your old SUV, Danielle had kicked you out without explanation.

"How come your mother has been acting so strange lately?" you asked, requiring insight from Nina, who snapped her head around.

"Honestly? I think it's just the stress of everything," Nina muttered, her brow furrowing.

"It's like I have done something to offend her though," you countered as Nina sat next to you in the car, holding the keys and documents in her hands.

"No, I don't think so. I think it's just her emotions going crazy since dad filed for divorce," Nina mumbled, her grip tightening on the keys.

"Yeah, but she kicked me out twice so surely, it must be me messing up somehow," you pointed out, twisting in the driver's seat to meet her gaze.

"You're just her scapegoat, Y/N. Don't worry about it too much," Nina replied, scoffing lightly. "She's overwhelmed and looking for someone to blame. Just keep being you," she told you, not wanting to reveal to you that her mother believed you were somehow sleeping with Cillian which, to Nina, was the most absurd thing she had ever heard.

"Is it because I defended your dad when it came to telling him about the pregnancy?" you pressed and Nina's gaze darted to the window, her fingers fiddling with the keys.

"Maybe," Nina lied, knowing that her revealing the truth behind her mother's recent actions would make you uncomfortable and possibly even quite upset.

"Look, if she's upset with me about that, I can handle it," you eventually said, gripping the steering wheel tighter, determination flooding your voice.

"Yeah, that's probably what it is," Nina murmured, glancing out at the passing streets until, eventually, you pulled up in front of Cillian's new house, which neither one of you had been to before.

"Are you sure this is it?" Nina asked, looking at the large terrace building in front of her.

"Well, the Nav says this is the place," you replied, your gaze scanning the façade. "Number 9, McCabe Street," you murmured, tapping the steering wheel lightly.

Nina peered at the house, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. "It's huge," she whispered, admiration slipping into her voice.

"Yeah, it is," you replied, your fingers tapping against the steering wheel still as you surveyed the tall windows and neatly trimmed bushes lining the path. "Shall we go in?" you asked and Nina hesitated, biting her lip.

"Yeah, let's do it," she finally murmured, her resolve solidifying.

Both of you stepped out of the car, nerves buzzing as you approached the front door while Nina fumbled with the keys and, after she finally found the right one, the door clicked open, revealing a spacious foyer flooded with natural light.

"Wow," Nina breathed, stepping inside, eyes wide.

"It's furnished," you said with a hint of surprise before taking in the sleek furniture and soft lighting.

"Yeah, he let mum keep everything except his stuff, like his books and records," Nina said as she wandered further into the living room, her fingers brushing against the plush sofa.

"It looks nice. Very retro," you commented, eyeing the vintage furniture that juxtaposed sleek, modern lines.

"Yeah he is so old school," Nina murmured, twirling around to face you, excitement sparkling in her eyes.

"It's kind of charming," you replied, stepping deeper into the house.

Nina nodded, brushing her fingers over a retro lamp. "I bet that's from some kind of thrift shop."

"Knowing your dad, probably," you chuckled before you surveyed the room, taking in the eclectic mix of styles and, whilst you knew that Cillian had this place professionally styled while he was away, you also knew that he would have given clear directions when it came to mixing personal touches with a modern flair.

Nina wandered into the kitchen, her eyes lighting up at the polished countertops and gleaming appliances.

"Look at this place! It's massive," she called out as you wandered around on the first floor and into what seemed to be the master bedroom with its soft, neutral tones and bright, airy windows before quickly closing the door again, not wanting to intrude.

It somehow felt wrong for you to linger in such personal space and suggested to get some boxes inside before you lost your nerve.

"Let's grab those boxes from the car," you called out, feeling a strange urgency to keep busy as you walked back down the stairs and, as soon as you carried all of Nina's stuff inside, you told her that you had to head back home to pick up on some things yourself.

"I will be around tomorrow to help unpack, okay?" you offered, glancing over at Nina, who stood there already with an armful of clothes.

"Please do. I need all the help I can get," she replied, a half-smile breaking through her earlier uncertainty.

"Three o'clock then?" you confirmed, and she nodded vigorously.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @smailaway @sophiaaguirred @blondie-22 @meadows5 @randomcreator-09 @hagarsays @kikimurphys @strangeobsessed

[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.

[kaz-dekadent]

star boy, oh mine 1

[PRAGUE 1993] [COMING SOON] [COMING SOON] | [masterlist]

viktor x gn!rockstar reader

tw // smoking, alcohol, subtextual mentions of sa, cussing

cw: they/them pronouns for reader, viktor-centric, czech viktor, vik has a last name, jayce, vi and jinx are here too, 90s au, reader is cocky, flirty and a bit of a rube, caitvi in the subtext, author is attempting to be funny, power dynamics (fan x idol), unplanned angst, i wrote songs for this [smut: sub top!vik, darcyphilia, hickeys, praise, anal, aftercare, reader is drunk]

summary: after a concert to celebrate getting a degree, viktor dvořák catches the attention of his idol and makes an irresponsible decision that will forever reposition the constellations in his heart.

note: it has some funny lines so don't read it just for smut. (i choked on water writing one of these lines.)

5.9k words

PRAGUE, 1993

„These standing rooms were a mistake,” Viktor grumbled, shifting from his weaker leg. He could feel the music in his bones, but everything, everything was stopping him from enjoying the concert.

He just got his doctorate in astronomy, was about to make a scientific breakthrough and right now you, his idol and the vocalist of the independent rock band – Y/N & The Sisters of Discordance – were performing on a scene just before him.

He should be on cloud nine. But in reality he was in pain and annoyed at people covering his view, having nowhere to sit, while his leg was giving him a bad time, and the smell of other people’s sweat tortured his nose. At least Jayce was shielding him from being crushed.

“Really?” Jayce looked down at him. “We can see everything!”

“You can, Jayce. Only thing I see is the back of this guy in front of me.” He complained. “And my leg hurts.”

“I can help it.”

Viktor felt Jayce’s hands lifting him up and suddenly he was the highest of all people in these standing rooms. As high as the moon itself, maybe. His friend carried him piggyback. And he could see everything. He laid his eyes on you, singing with your whole throat, as your fingers pulled the strings of your guitar.

At the back, Vi was hitting the drums, and Jinx was pulling the strings of her bass. But his enraptured vision made him see you and only you.

As you did a riff, Viktor’s heart stopped. You were mesmerizing, your voice, piercing through the speakers, was awakening the audience, making them cheer, put their hands up and sing along with their intoxicated voices. You blinded him like the sun. And he could feel everyone’s attention pointing onto the small, quiet scientist risen above everyone else’s heads.

Your eyes converged with his and he gripped his cane tighter. You smiled at him and he thought he was about to fall.

***

After you and your band left the stage, the fans started dispersing from the club. Their drunken shouts and screams so loud he just wanted to gag all these people. When there was finally some space, Viktor got back on the ground. But fuck… He was still able to feel the hot air filing him inside. Still able to feel your gazes merging like a lunar eclipse.

“Thank you, Jayce.” He breathed. “Y/N looked me in the eyes.”

“You think they will remember you?”

“Don’t be delusional. They won’t.” He put his cane forward, heading to the exit from the club.

“They will. You know, mom got me a backstage pass.” Jayce smiled.

Viktor didn’t know what to say. He just went with Jayce to the backstage, through the corridors painted with unevenly spread paint, with one colour for upper half and other for the lower. He peeked through the door.  You were giving an interview to a journalist from a local newspaper, with a camera before your face.

The rock magazines would soon sprout out all these headlines: Y/N L/N, the unknown lyrical genius?, or Y/N & The Sisters of Discordance – new rising star or a total failure?

“Tell us, Y/N, how do you see the future of your band?” the journalist asked.

“Do I have to be honest? If yes, then without me.”

Viktor pulled onto Jayce’s flannel shirt. He felt his eyes opening, and saw his knuckles whitening, while gripping the material.

“Listen.” He told him.

You continued what you were saying.

“Or just with another songwriter. I’m losing inspiration. Guess I just have to find a muse.” You said with a chuckle.

Your eyes laid on Viktor. Again, now harder. As you were saying the word muse. His body lit up, about to implode or explode, turn him into a supernova.

“Okay, end the interviews.” You ordered. “Everyone, please go.”

“I haven’t finished mine yet!” Jinx shouted.

“Y/N, you can’t just…” Vi mumbled with concern in her voice. She gave the journalist a compassionate look. “Whatever…”

"Okay, you two can stay, but hurry up," you said.

What an audacity.

And everyone simply started leaving. Viktor headed to the exit, too. Even if he wanted to stay for a minute. This rocker’s voice contains something, he was certain. The chance of this silly idea coming true evaporated. He sighed.

“Not you, cane boy!”

He curled up.

You must be talking about him. Yes, this insolent rocker mesmerises people with their voice. He wanted to go. He wanted to stay. He wanted to leave. He wanted you to say a word to him. He wanted- He…

Fuck.

“Me?” He asked. No, he squeaked. His voice was annoyingly high, so high it drowned out his intelligence, the thing he mesmerised you by in his stupid dreams. He sounded so pathetic in front of his musical deity.

“Who else here has a cane?” You asked with a confident smile, leaning on the chair you were sitting on.

Viktor bit his lip. Journalists walked past him and Jayce, who then shoved him into the room. He held onto his cane till his knuckles became even whiter. He wanted to hit his friend with it so, so bad it was ridiculous. You stood up from your chair, smiling, and he felt his cheeks, and especially his nose and his ears turning red.

You reached your hand to him. Viktor was shaking. You were real. Persona, he saw only on posters, rock magazines, once on MTV at Jayce’s house when they were playing more niche bands in the middle of the night, and just a minute ago, on stage. Made of flesh and bone, breathing air, looking at him. He shook your hand back. And you were real. Real, with hands that warmed his cold skin and a smile that narcotised his star-filled brain.

“You must have a backstage pass.”

And he couldn’t respond. How do you say it in English? He couldn’t even in his native Czech. He just squeaked.

“He knows English!” Jayce shouted and Viktor wanted to slap him. “He’s just shy!”

“Jayce…”

“Don’t be shy, I don’t bite.” You smirked. “Tell, me, what’s your name?”

“It’s Viktor. Viktor Dvořák.”

“Viktor Dvořák… What a pretty name.”

“Doctor Viktor Dvořák!” Jayce walked into the room, then hugged him over his shoulder with his big bicep. “He recently got a doctorate!”

“Oh really? In what?”

“In astronomy.” He said quietly, hoping you won’t pay attention to his thick accent. “I am… looking at pulsars and…” He stopped, trying to find words in the foreign language.

“You know, you can tell me about your research in the hotel room.” You joked, looking at him. It seemed to him like your eyes contained unspoken indecency, that gave him shivers. Your vision suddenly purified. “Do you guys want an autograph?”

“Indeed.” Viktor mumbled. This risqué idea seemed weirdly alluring.

Now, he wanted to slap himself.

“Sure!” Jayce took off his flannel, exposing his back and broad shoulders to you. You took out an indelible marker and painted your autograph on the white material of his shirt.

“I talk… I was talking um… hotel rooms.” A quiet voice escaped Viktor’s lips.

You laughed and stroked his shoulder. He trembled at your touch, still unable to believe he was meeting his idol in person. He couldn’t stop monitoring himself: the way he held his free hand and his cane, the way he smiled, the way words went out of his mouth. And he couldn’t hide that accent.

“And I was joking.” You replied, then smirked. “Unless...”

Viktor knew he was all red. Knew that if he opens his mouth, nothing coherent will come out. Jayce yanked him to the corner of the room and gripped his shoulders.

“Vik! This is hella irresponsible!” He shouted, whispering. “You will…”

“I know what I’m doing, Jayce.”

“So?” You asked.

“I’m going.”

“Viktor, for God’s sake!”

That’s exactly what he wanted to yell at himself.

You grabbed the material of his shirt, like you wanted to take him somewhere. Please, be it this fucking hotel room.

Jayce pouted.

“Viktor! You are going to a hotel with them while I have nowhere to stay!” He exclaimed. “We were supposed to get back to Ostrava right after the concert!”

You looked at Jayce, then at the bassist.

“Hey, Vi! Will you find him a place to stay?” You asked her and she looked up from the guitar she was tuning. “Unless you two have to necessarily be in Ostrava tomorrow…” You said to them.

“Why me?” She asked.

“Please, you’re good at these things.”

“Well… okay. Come with me, big boy.”

“I’ll get you back at 10 o’clock from the Jan Hus monument, okay, Vik?”

“Just get me tomorrow.” He muttered under his breath.

Ten minutes after Jayce and Vi left, Viktor was sitting beside you in the dressing room, as you held him close by his hip. Jinx focused her attention on the vocalist and the nervous wreck of a boy they picked up from the backstage.

Viktor leaned closer, sitting so close to you, almost on your lap. And you were holding his skinny, uninvitingly small and stiff thigh. And you somehow held it like he was a supermodel. And he hated how he melted under your touch.

“Have you heard of planets outside the solar system?” He stuttered, sitting huddled beside you, as you manspreaded across the seat, sipping a coctail. You have already changed into a loose undershirt.

“No.” Jinx said, unbraiding her blue hair.

“I did… but not much.” You said, smiling at him.

“Do you want me to talk about them?” Viktor looked you in the eyes, and he felt how his were widening like the ones of anything other than the brilliant astronomer he wanted you to see him as.

“No.” Jinx answered with a voice that screamed she didn’t care about the sciences. Then, she hid behind the curtain to change, throwing out her top from behind it.

The top landed on Viktor. “It is clear you didn’t.” He said, folding the piece of clothing. “A mind too closed to know that it should not throw clothes.”

You laughed, covering your face. Somehow, you melted him so much he now was bantering with the drummer.

“Please, tell me about them, professor Dvořák.” You looked into his eyes, holding his chin, making him explode inside. The way you called him professor Dvořák... Not doctor, professor. And how soft and attentive was your gaze. Your warm hand patted his hip. “I can’t wait till we’re alone in the hotel room.”

***

“Finally, just the two of us.” You said. Jinx and Vi, who recently got back with you to the hotel room, went to a bar to celebrate. You have ordered pizza for you and Viktor.

Now, he was standing in the centre of the hotel room. He wanted to sit, since his leg was tormenting him. But the air didn’t let him sit down before you do. He hissed in pain.

“Do you want to sit down?” You looked at his cane. Viktor nodded. He was certain you were some kind of mind reader.

A minute later, pizza arrived.

“Vi will kill us for this.” You said, taking a piece of pizza out of the box that lied on the bed. Like you weren’t his idol, but his friend, like Jayce. Whatever he was doing now.

You both were sitting on the white sheets in the white room, with Viktor’s cane lying beside him on the mattress. You bit of a piece of cheese-covered batch, steaming into the air. Viktor poked the pizza with his finger. The thought of eating, of biting, chewing and swallowing in front of you was hitting him with embarrassment that tangled his guts in a knot.

“Hey, Vik, why aren’t you eating?” You tilted your head in a caring manner, then smiled. “Tell me, at least there will be more pizza for me.”

“It’s… nothing.”

“Are you starving yourself like some fashion model? You’re already super skinny, I mean…”

“It’s a chronic illness. You know that the first exoplanets were speculated to exist in ninetieth century?” Viktor changed the subject, then took a triangle of pizza, covering his face with his hand. How comfortable he was becoming with you.

You looked at him, again with this weird concern in your eyes. Whatever you were thinking, Viktor knew one thing. You got attached. So quickly, he was pitying you for only being able to spend one night alongside him.

He took another bite, with his face covered, trying not to chew too loud, praying not to stain his face with tomato sauce.  And you looked at him like at the prettiest of flowers.

“You know, the guy that speculated it saw anomalies in 70 Ophiuchi double star and thought some planet might exist there,” Viktor continued.

“Oh yeah? How did the research go later?”

“In the 1890s they abandoned it, they thought a third body in between the stars would make it unstable.”

“That was a hundred years ago, isn’t it crazy?”

“A lot happened a hundred years ago,” Viktor said. He noticed how your pupils widen at the face he made.

“You’re so pretty, Viktor. Your accent is too, and your brain…” You smiled at him weirdly, like you were expecting something. He knew what and it made him redder than the sauce on the pizza. You took the box into your hand and put it on the floor. “Fuckable, I would say.” You tilted up his chin so he couldn’t cover his face.

You cleaned his cheek of tomato sauce with your fingers. So unsexy.

“You want an… intercourse with me?” He felt how his cheeks become hotter than the sun itself and more red than the planet of Mars.

“You know, I’m too lazy today.”

“I can top.”

You lied on the mattress, then took out a pack of cigs and a lighter. You lit up your cigarette.  

“So, take your dick out, pretty boy.” You said, inhaling the nicotine.

Viktor hugged the pillow. “Shouldn’t we kiss first?” He gripped the sheet closer to his chest.

Without saying anything, you pulled him onto your lap by his hips, like he weighted nothing. Your breath hit his face, smelling of nicotine, etanol and pizza. You took out the cigarette out of your mouth and put it in between his lips, gently holding the lower lip with your two fingers, getting them wet from his spit. Did it already count as a kiss?

His thighs were split by your knee, and his crotch was touching your thigh. You took his black Nirvana shirt off him, making him expose his hairy armpits, bones protruding from his ridiculously small and hairy torso, and his back brace. Then you kissed, no, you bit his neck and Viktor let out a moan of his lips, as his fingers grabbed the cigarette.

He didn’t have a scarf or a turtleneck and probably neither had anyone in the band.

“Don’t drop the cig, star boy, you will burn the bed.” You said with lust in your eyes, then started kissing his collarbone.

Viktor squeaked.

Then he felt as you unbuckled his jeans. You quickly flipped him on his back like he was as light as a ragdoll, then put up his legs, sliding the pants down. You threw them onto the floor.

But you were still clothed. You were still fully clothed, while he was wearing just his boxers and leg and back brace, feeling like a prostitute.

“So pretty.” Your eyes examined him from head to toe. “Better than a supermodel.”

Viktor took out the cigarette. Now it smoked in his fingers. You lowered yourself to his flat, hairy stomach and kissed it, biting his skin and hairs on his happy trail it like he was a snack. Viktor whimpered, covering his face with a pillow. Your lips travelled onto his hips, then on his legs and his inner thighs. As you nibbled the skin in between the brace on his weaker leg, he whined with a high pitch, trying to muffle it by pressing his face into the pillow. Your fingers gripped his hips like hawk claws. You put his leg over your shoulder.

He whimpered.

“What’s wrong, little star?”

“Other leg…” he mewled.

“I’ll kiss it if you won’t hide your pretty face anymore.”

Your mouth kissed the neglected, healthy leg of his gently. Then, your lips sucked onto it and he knew the next day all of his body will be red from hickeys. Your lips felt like heaven on his skin. Soft, wet, warm, hiding sharp teeth. As much as he wanted to hide himself in sheets, he stopped himself in the name of your mouth. And as you watched him, he repeated to himself, that you probably find his awkward face adorable.

Then the sensation stopped and he whimpered for more, feeling as his genius brain gets turned into something between a mush and a nebula. He gripped the bedsheet tighter.

“Undress me now.”

He opened his eyes wide, hearing these words from your mouth. Viktor’s hands were shaking. You laid before him as you put your hands under your head like shameless lazybones, and your legs spread between him. He took the white material of your undershirt between his fingers. The same thing with the other hand. He slid up your undershirt.

Your naked torso, the nude skin of his idol he imagined so many times, was even more beautiful in alive sight. Shaped better than he ever thought. You pulled his eyes onto his hypnotized self.

“Give me the cig, Viktor.”

His body shivered, as your voice said his name. It fondled every centimeter of his exposed skin. He gave you the cigarette, and you parted your mouth. As he put it between your teeth, his finger brushed your lips. He was almost naked, you were shirtless, but this, this little touch made him hard with no way to go back.

You inhaled some smoke. Viktor unbuckled your belt, then you stopped him to take out a condom and lube out of your pocket. He continued, unzipping your pants and sliding them down. He folded it into nice cubes, partially as a quiet mental revenge on Jinx for throwing her top at him.

Next, he touched your underwear. Underwear of his idol that would be sold for so much money he would never need sponsorship for his research. It smelled intoxicating. He slid it down, and you winked at him, exhaling cigarette smoke. Now, he was unsure how he will look at the posters of you in his bedroom, as he had seen your parts.

“You are…” He mumbled.

“Beautiful? Sexy? Stunning?” You prompted, then put the cigarette in his mouth and gripped his waist, just under his back brace. “Fuckable?”

He nodded.

“All of these? Then fuck me, show me how you do it. Just let me…”

You opened the condom with the teeth that have been just a minute ago biting his thighs. You touched his length and as you slithered the silicone material down on his sensitive skin, he whimpered, squeezing his eyes and hiding his face in his hands. And then, you put a massive amount of lube. He clenched his teeth, not to sound like a pathetic little cat.

You clasped his hips and shoved him inside you. You grunted and wiped sweat out of your forehead. Viktor cried. You, engulfing his length, were so tight he was shivering. And you took just the half of him.

He moved, and the friction made him tremble. You stroked his hip, like you were praising him. His whole body was covered in sweat, and he was breathing so hard his lungs hurt.

It was pathetic, how sensitive he was. He was barely inside you, but you having kissed his thighs had drove him so close.

Another thrust, he could take it better. He didn’t squeak like a cat, he only whimpered quietly, as three-quarters of his length were inside you. A drop of his sweat dripped onto your chest.

You slid him out by his hips, then slid inside again with a quiet moan. Viktor could barely stay up, even with a brace holding him. He was about to shatter.

“Have you done it before, little star?” You asked, exhaling smoke.

Viktor’s voice didn’t want to cooperate. Instead of yes, his mouth only said a squeal. He hid in a pillow.

“I can give your sweet mouth something to do, if you don’t feel like speaking.” You exposed his face from under a sheet. His length twitched and you hummed with a grin on your face, like you knew perfectly what you were doing.

Viktor knew his face was the shade of the Martian atmosphere and he regretted he ever learned English because of this.

He felt as your legs wrap around his waist, sliding him deeper. His brain was getting mushier with every millimeter. He trembled, gritting his teeth, knowing he was about to melt into a liquid state of matter and drip down inside you. His muscles were becoming soft like a pillow. He leaned on his hands between your head, leaning on his healthy leg. Every thrust of his was weaker, as his muscles were turning into plush.

“You’re so cute.” You chuckled, your hand brushing his damp hair. You were smirking, looking up at him with so much love in your glance. “Just a bit more.”

“I can’t… I’m cumming.”

“You can, sweetie. Just one more thrust.”

He obeyed, moving his hips into you. You pet his hair with a gentle smile, like he wasn’t milliseconds from turning into ashes. He felt as his eyes fill with tears. You hushed at him, stroking his back with your cold hand. He shivered from the touch.

His vision got blurry from tears. His whole body was shaking, as he shot an embarrassing amount of juices into you. His back arched, and his whole length got engulfed by your hole. He collapsed onto your chest, crying and sweating, his muscles weakening. He was certain he was seeing space, exoplanets perhaps.

“Ah, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re really good at these things.” You hissed and wiped the sweat of your forehead. “That’s my boy.”

You took him off your chest, then took off his condom and put it in the trash. That whole while, he spent lying on the bed, shaking and crying loads of tears into the pillow. He became so sensitive.

You put on your undershirt and underwear, then lied on the bed. He felt as you slip his boxers back onto him. You pulled him onto your chest with so much ease. The warmth of your body was slowly putting him to sleep. Tears gently dripped down his heated face. His hair was wet and probably smelly from sweat, just like the rest of his body. And you were brushing it with your loving hand. He purred.

You put a warm duvet on the both of you. Then you wiped off his tears with it. He closed his eyes. Your heart was beating inside your chest like a lullaby for him. He was listening to it now, alongside the sound of your breath and the blood flowing in your veins, but just some hours ago, he was not even truly conscious that you were corporeal.

His hand tied with yours. He was in a city three hundred and fifty kilometres from his Ostrava, in a hotel room he never stepped a foot in before, with a person he just until today thought of as superhuman. But now, your thumb was stroking his hand, making him feel so safe.

You left a warm kiss on his forehead just before he fell asleep.

…

“Seriously, Y/N?” The bassist’s voice woke him up.

You whined in your sleep and Viktor felt how you embrace him tighter, putting your leg over his. Vi moved her eyes from sleepy you to him.

“Seriously, Dvořák? You’re sleeping here, on my side of the bed? At least you're small enough not to take up much space.”

“Just to let you know, I don’t kick in my sleep or snore,” he mumbled with a voice hoarse from sleep.

“Unlike my sister,” she laughed and eyed at Jinx, sleeping with her mouth open on the extra bed. “Your friend has now a place to stay. I haven’t spent too much money on him, fortunately.”

***

Viktor woke up in his bedroom.

Again, he was dreaming of meeting his favourite rockstar and agreeing to what only the most stupid fans would agree to. And he was everything but stupid. But that dream was so… realistic. He’s going to tell Jayce about this dream as soon as they meet in the university.

He wondered if his friend dreamt of something too. Jayce’s dreams were always weird, like when they both visited a cemetery named China and mausoleum of Václav Havel by a rollercoaster, then having to evacuate because a war broke out in Czechoslovakia. Or when they were watching Disney characters beating each other up on a rooftop, while he was fixing an electrical outlet.

Wait a minute, this wasn’t his bedroom. This was a hotel room he fell asleep in his dream, with white sheets and white walls, and the morning sun peeking through beige curtains. And it was not a dream. On the bed at the other side of the room, Jinx was snoring, hugging her shark plushie from Jaws. On his right side, Vi was sleeping with messed up hair and her arm falling off the mattress . Floor was filled with empty and half-empty beer cans, a pizza box and pizza crumbs. The only familiar thing in the room was his cane.

He felt your arms wrapped around his waist and your face nuzzled into the back of his neck. You were so warm. And you both smelled of sweat and pizza you ate last night.

You hugged him tighter and groaned as you woke up. He felt you nuzzling your face into his back. Then, your hands freed him, and you stretched. Viktor rolled over to see if you were real. And you were. So real and human with a morning face and unbrushed hair.

You moved yourself up, to be at the height of his eyes. Then, you got up onto your arms, with him stuck between your hands. You smirked, being on top of him. Real.

“Hello, star boy. Have you slept well?,” you asked with your voice so soft.

Viktor wiped his eyes with his fist, whining. His brain was still waking up.

„I’m going to the shower. Wanna go with me?”

“Ehh… I would need a shower bench and I’m sure there is none of that in this hotel.” His morning voice was hoarse and grainy.

“You’re right. I’ll be right back.” You bent your arms like you were doing a push up, then kissed him on the forehead. He watched as you grab your clothes and lock yourself in the bathroom. As the sound of water started to drip down, he fell back asleep.

…

“Jinx! Wake up,” Vi’s voice woke up him instead.

“No.”

“Wake up.”

“No.”

“Oh my god, Jinx…” She sighed. “Help me, Dvořák....”

Viktor was forced to open his eyes.

“I have a name.”

“Oh my god. Help me… Viktor, right?”

He nodded, then stretched himself, hearing his joints cracking. His braces were digging into his skin. He regretted not taking them off for the night. When he was already standing on the ground, barely holding himself on his cane by sleepy muscles, he threw on his yesterday’s shirt. It was smelly and he had nothing else to wear, but it was worth the night he spent with you.

He leaned his hand on the wall and poked Jinx on the nose with his cane. She rolled to the other side. He poked her on the back. She grabbed the cane and he fell onto the bed.

Viktor tsked, rolling his eyes. “You know that you’re lucky that I am too weak to throw this bed upside down with you in it?”

“How did Y/N fucking you go?” Jinx asked as soon as she saw him, ignoring his threats.

“Is it really the first question you chose to ask me in the morning?”

“They topped, did they?”

“A mind so closed it jumps to conclusions…”

“Shut up, star boy.”

Half an hour later, Jinx finally woke up and Vi made breakfast for the whole band. When it was already a quarter after 10 o’clock, Viktor began to worry and get impatient. Jayce was never late, if anything, he was always too early. You went with him downstairs to look for a telephone. You found it at the front desk.

Jayce quickly answered. No wonder, after all, he had a mobile phone, that he remembered costed a fortune at Tuzex. He leaned on the desk.

“What is that music, Jayce?” he said into the headset, hearing Czech techno that disrupted his friend’s voice.

“Sorry, Vik! They’re being loud and you know…”

“I get it, can you pick me up from Y/N?” He asked, feeling as your hand wraps around his. He tried to ignore it. “If you haven’t gone back to Ostrava without me.”

“No problem, Vik! I’m here in an hour!”

“An hour? Where the fuck were you sleeping? Just don’t tell me you somehow got to Austria like last year.”

“I don’t know, but I'm rushing to you! Wait by the Jan Hus monument, okay?”

Viktor hung up the phone. You squeezed his hand and looked him in the eyes.

“One hour. We have an hour.” You sighed and pulled him to yourself, hugging him from behind with your hands on his waist. “I’ll miss you when it passes.”

He knew you won’t. Stars like you don’t miss random groupies they took for a one night stand to their hotel rooms. But the softness with which your hands wrapped around him said something different. He knew you shouldn’t.

Viktor closed his eyes and leaned on you, trying to remember and savor every detail of these few seconds. He knew he shouldn’t.

***

You spent the hour made to clean the hotel room, like the bassist asked you to. In this hour, Viktor explained the Austria incident with all its gory and criminal details, and the rest of the history of the research of exoplanets. Then you told him the entire story of how your band got the name Y/N & The Sisters Of Discordance, also giving him the knowledge of the alternative names the band almost got, most of them invented by Jinx.

He tried not to pay too much attention, knowing how much he would miss you otherwise. But he knew you were trying to imprint him in your mind like a tatoo on your skin.

Your finger traced along his skin like you were an artist tracing along the sketch to imprint the image of him in your mind. The exact shape of his nose, lips and cheekbones, the exact tint of gold in his eyes.

He felt so sorry for you. Seeing as you slowly put on your combat boots and your leather jacket, as if you wanted the both of you to stay in this hotel for one more while. Forever, perhaps.

You were focused on the beauty of him. He was focused on the beauty of the old town, so nostalgia will feel less painful.

He went to some corner shop to buy something to drink, choosing a bottle of Kofola. Two streets later he saw the Jan Hus monument and someone, probably Jayce leaning on its wall. Finally, he won’t have to feel your presence.

It wasn’t because he had enough of you. It was because he knew the light of the memory of you will forever contrast with the mundanity the rest of his life.

Viktor shivered.

“Are you cold, star boy?” You asked him, caressing his shoulder.

This petname that just last night felt like a hug, now gave him the awareness that for the rest of his life he will choke on it. And every next kiss he will experience will be hollow.

“A bit.”

“Do you want my jacket?” You started taking it off. Yeah, you will give it to him and he will be forced to remember your smell that he will never get to feel again.

“Please, no.”

“Please, you will be sick.”

He will be sick anyways.

“We’re almost there. I swear I can see Jayce from here.”

You kissed Viktor on the neck in a farewell. Jayce was reading something, probably some comic book, as he leaned on the monument’s wall. The Týn Church’s spiky towers poked the cold air and the gray sky.

Your tear fell onto his shoulder, as your lips left his. He walked towards Jayce, trying to focus on the unevenness of the street. He waved at him, then seeing his friend run towards him.

„Dang it, Vik!” He shouted with a dramatic gesture. “When you were spending your dream night with a rockstar I had to sleep in a hostel for truck drivers! I don’t know if I was still in Czechoslovakia but it definitely wasn’t in Prague anymore! Did you at least… have nothing against them? You know, there are a lot of fans who got impregnated by their idols, and stuff...”

“You were definitely not in Czechoslovakia because it stopped existing three months ago, Jayce.” Viktor sipped on his Kofola. “And I’m sure I won’t get pregnant with Y/N. Even if, I will force them to pay alimony.”

“Will you? What did you even do with Y/N?”

“I explained exoplanets to them and then they…” he sighed, not wanting to let the memories grow their roots. “I’m greatly surprised I can still walk.”

Viktor saw an old lady eavesdropping him and Jayce, looking, like she just saw Satan.

„And how was your night in that hostel for truck drivers?”

Jayce’s red Skoda was parked by the Legion Bridge.

Viktor sat on the passenger seat, as Jayce stepped on the pedal, and they headed back to Ostrava. Jayce put a cassette into the player. The car filled with sounds of Y/N & The Sisters Of Discordance’s latest album. He was now unable not to reminisce the night with the owner of the voice filling the car.  

Then, the song Girl With Diamonds In Her Blood started to play. Jayce started bopping his head to the fast melody of his favorite song on the album.

Your voice, that he heard both in it’s softest and the most indecent shape, the voice that called him professor Dvořák, your star boy and your little star. Both laughing as you found his entire existence adorable and saying stuff that turned him red. This voice was now singing the worst lyrics on the album in his opinion. At least, it was not you who wrote it, but Vi.

Finally, even if it was your voice, Jayce singing and torturing Viktor’s auditory nerves was more bearable than the memories of you he will never get to relive.

Jayce, as he was driving the car, was singing:

They said:

Girl with Violet in her name,

Why don’t you have any friends?

I said:

I had one friend in Britain

I know she’s either here or there

I wanted to drink some tea

And she wanted it with me

So she brought me to her home

That was palace of some sort

And what did i expect?

„Listen here, Jayce.” His friend ignored him, but he continued. "You’re lucky that you are the driver and my cane is in the backseat.”

But Viktor was forced to listen to his vocal performances, until he sang the last line, hitting the steering wheel:

It’s a year since I left and I coughed up all my blood.

“If you ever sing that song in my presence again, you will actually have coughed all your blood.”

When he saw the sign displaying the word Ostrava, his mind landed back on earth, leaving behind the comet of the last night.

[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.”

[eyeodyssey]

A photo spread of backstage stills from the original 1984 premiere of the Tokyo Grand Guignol’s Mercuro as it was printed in the rare subculture magazine ZOAR. Out of all the materials I’d come across in my TGG research, ZOAR is easily the closest publication I found to a fanzine, with the contents being rendered in classic xerox print. The magazine was released around the same time as Mercuro’s original run and features an interview with Ameya and Maruo, one of the few occasions the two crossed paths in text form despite their collaborative history. In the interview, Maruo does much of the talking while Ameya interjects with short comments, such as Ameya’s interest in science fiction around childlike characters when Maruo mentions his intentions to incorporate science fiction in his manga work. Maruo’s work would indeed see a distinct stylistic shift by 1985 with stories like Fake Electric Ant and Electric Ant (the latter of which was included in both Paranoia Star and the 1985 magazine Suehiro Maruo: Only You, which features a similar science fiction slant with its concluding section being a digest version of the script to the Tokyo Grand Guignol’s Galatia Teito Monogatari). It's to note that during this time, despite being a sort of former protégé of Juro Kara who was just gaining independence with the founding of the TGG, in publications Ameya seemed to more or less be an addition to Maruo's already established underground stardom. Mercuro is only given a passing mention at the start of the interview as an off branch Maruo was taking on. Between this and the heated defense Ameya would write for Maruo's work in the short essay "Maruo's Caligraphy Pen", Ameya was essentially depicted as a lackey of Maruo's until the Tokyo Grand Guignol gained its own distinction sometime after Galatia. In relation to the Tokyo Grand Guignol as well, they briefly discuss how the casting of the plays reflects the aesthetics of Maruo’s manga before Maruo goes into a tangent about his open regret in choosing to act, citing both the TGG and his prior collaborative work with the Golden Theater. It’s a sentiment he seems to still hold to this day, expressing a clear embarrassment with his connection to the Golden Theater. He openly dismisses his own acting as being unintentionally comedic, describing himself as being “caged off” from the rest of the cast. The interview concludes on the group discussing Maruo’s preference for soda water over alcohol before Maruo implies that he refuses to allow himself a means of relief from his stress or negative emotions for the sake of his art. The interviewer asks him something to the effect of “are you self-deprecating?” before they conclude somewhat abruptly. In a later 1985 interview in a joint publication of Peyotl Workshop’s Silver Star Club and Yaso, Maruo would elaborate further on his views of Ameya and the Tokyo Grand Guignol. In relation to Mercuro specifically, Maruo gave his shared sentiments with another actor from the troupe in how they both felt Ameya and Kikyo Tagane clashed in ideologies. While some audience members considered this clashing to be one of the integral traits of the troupe, Maruo saw it as a detriment. He liked Ameya’s rough sensibilities, praising the use of mercurochrome in the story and playback of Public Image LTD’s music in the opening. In regards to the script by Tagane however, he would refer to the subplot around Mikami’s search for his sister as being "worn out" in how it represented a sentimentalism that he disliked, wishing that the story focused more on the teacher’s mission to roboticize his students with mercurochrome. Ameya’s past affiliation with Juro Kara would go on to be discussed as well, Maruo praising Ameya again for his independence from Kara. He'd differentiate the two by stating how Kara would use the word “赤チン” (Akachin) to describe mercurochrome while Ameya instead uses “マーキュロ” (Mercuro).

[lily3k]

B-PASS 2022年12月号

[kinjo-sukai]

BACKSTAGE PASS (B-PASS), June 2021 Issue (210427)

[valeisaslut]

can we get some more background on collide’s ellie before the story started? lowkey curious about her groupie days hahaha

THANK YOU GORG NONNIE I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO WRITE THIS. TURN IT UPPPP

Rockstar!ellie williams’ life before you came crashing into it was already wild in its own right. the fireflies started as this messy little project in high school, just three angsty teenagers skipping class to rehearse in jesse’s garage and dream too big. but from the very beginning, ellie had that thing. that frontwoman energy. raw, magnetic, loud when she wanted to be and quiet in the moments that mattered.

of course, being joel miller’s daughter didn’t hurt either. the joel miller—rock legend, guitarist god, literal music royalty. she grew up with guitars in every corner of the house, got her first custom pedal at twelve, and was getting dropped off at school in a vintage mustang with the windows down and her dad blasting nirvana like he wasn’t a whole icon. people were paying attention before she even opened her mouth.

their debut album dropped when she was barely nineteen and it exploded. like, charts on fire, critics losing their minds, fans already tattooing lyrics on their ribs kind of explosion. it was rough and loud and painfully honest, and people ate it up. suddenly the fireflies were everywhere—magazine covers, award shows, late night interviews where ellie would always roll her eyes and let dina do the talking.

and ellie? ellie was living like a rockstar. full-speed. full-chaos. she had girls lined up at every venue, backstage passes tucked into her back pocket like candy. groupies every night, different cities, different names she couldn’t remember in the morning. she wasn’t cruel about it, just detached. like she knew how to give people a night they’d remember forever, while she forgot it the second it was over.

there were stories, obviously. ellie williams didn’t just flirt with the whole sex-drugs-rock-and-roll lifestyle—she practically rebranded it.

like the time in chicago, where she went MIA a few hours before the show and no one could find her. security was panicking, dina was pacing, and jesse was one call away from having a heart attack—until ellie strolled into the venue ten minutes before set time, lipstick smudged all over her jaw, reeking of tequila and weed, with three girls trailing behind her like she was the messiah of sex. she still performed like nothing happened, of course. even signed a bra on stage mid-song.

or berlin, when she stopped the show halfway through, locked eyes with a girl in the front row who looked like she’d been crying, and straight-up jumped off stage. mic still in hand, she kissed her so hard it made at least 20 headlines. she never got her name, but later admitted in an interview that it was one of the best kisses of her life.

and then there was that rooftop in LA—the infamous afterparty for some alt girlband’s tour finale. ellie was already drunk, half in her underwear, making out with the rival band’s lead singer against a glass wall while their drummer tried to politely look away. jesse swears he walked in on her mid-threesome in the guest bedroom later that night, but ellie still denies it to this day. kinda.

there was one show—vegas, obviously—where ellie walked off stage with nearly twenty bras and at least ten pairs of panties stuffed into her mic stand, draped over her guitar, even hanging off her boot somehow. halfway through the set, it basically turned into a lingerie rainstorm. she played through it like a pro, flashing that smug little grin every time another piece hit the stage, only pausing once to pick up a red lace thong, twirl it around her finger, and go, “if you want it back, you’re gonna have to come get it yourself.” the crowd lost it.

dina joked that they could open a lingerie store with all the stuff ellie got that night. ellie just shrugged, grinning, and said, “what can i say? i’m a woman of the people.”

it was a mess, but it was her mess. untouchable, unstoppable, with this cocky grin and a body count that would make most people faint. music was her religion and girls were her favorite sin.

but all of that changed when you showed up. not right away—ellie was too stubborn for that. but eventually, the chaos started to feel a little quieter. the noise started to mean something. and for the first time, ellie started thinking less about the next city, and more about who she wanted waiting for her when the lights went down.

[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.

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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.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Sanctuary - Chapter Two.

Guys, when I tell you I was elated at your response to this story! Thank you so much to everyone who read and offered such kind feedback. ILY <3

Summary - It was a crime that shook the metal community and beyond to its core, the Solna Satanic murder case blowing apart the lives of many. With Lucas and Nils - frontman and drummer of popular metal band The Hanged - trialed, found guilty and subsequently sentenced, few were inclined to believe either deserved any offerings of a second chance. Lucas, in particular, did not consider himself worthy until salvation came in the form of a letter.

Words - 3,271

Previous Chapters - One

Warnings - 18+ content, mentions of violence. Of course, it'll be smutty too, eventually! Minors DNI!

That voice. She’d once heard someone liken Lucas’s voice to a ripsaw shredding through a led pipe, that guttural, gravelled roar sending an illicit shiver down her spine every time she heard it. Listening to Warfare, the highly acclaimed debut album by The Hanged, Erika still couldn’t quite believe that he was just fourteen and fifteen years old when he wrote it, sixteen when he’d recorded it and seventeen when he’d toured with it.  

They’d been babies, still, just kids up there on the stage. She remembered well from going to see them live, just a kid herself of thirteen at the time after pleading with her parents to allow her to attend the gig. There he’d been up on stage, this tall, fresh-faced boy, but with a roar like something hell had spat out for being too hostile.  

Oh, how she’d wanted to try and get backstage to meet them, but couldn’t on account of her father looming like an albatross, Lasse parked up in his Land Rover to the side of the venue, waiting to take her and her friend's home. Now here she was seventeen years later, driving out to Södertälje in order to meet the man himself for the first time.  

To say she was nervous was an understatement.  

It was a typically cold February morning, yet to prevent her anxious sweats, Erika had the air conditioning on full pelt, her coat slung into the back seat of her car. She was tired, finishing late at work the previous evening, going home to sit at her laptop, eating her favourite girl dinner of various cheeses and sliced meats while indulging herself in a little time with Lucas. 

What that meant to her was watching old interviews with him and parts of the DVD from their last tour prior to his and Nils’s incarceration. God, he’d been so funny, such a live wire of a guy. One of her favourites was a scene she found herself backtracking a few times, him and their lead guitarist Alex meeting a female fan backstage who’d been quite overcome in their presence. 

“Oh, I think I’m going to faint! Hi!” 

“Breeze!” Lucas had shouted, looking around. “The woman needs breeze!” He’d then looked to Alex. “Pass me that. Here, I got you. Breeze via Terroriser magazine, there you go, we’ve got a draft going now!” he’d chirped, fanning the by then giggling woman with a rapid flourish of the publication in his hands. “You good now? Don’t faint on me, girl!” 

She’d told him how much the entire thing had made her cry laugh in a letter, Lucas revealing in his reply that he remembered that night well. Perhaps, though, his penned recollection wasn’t quite so humorous. To him, at least.  

So yeah, I ended up taking her to the tour bus and having sex with her. It was going great, until she suddenly got a wave of drunken nausea and threw up all over my chest while she was riding me. Thank fuck the venue had a shower, but shit, my bunk wasn’t salvageable at all! Had to sleep in the seats at the front until our management could get some mobile valet guys to come and deep clean it!! 

The second part of the video offerings that never failed to have her in fits was the scene cut from an interview, again of Lucas and Alex – a renowned double act if ever there was one – speaking to a journalist in Düsseldorf. 

“I like it here in Germany,” the latter had spoken enthusiastically, “you have great beer and even better women!” A small rumble of laughter had sounded from various people in the space, Alex continuing. “Not that any of them want my wiry ass, they all go for this motherfucking pretty boy right here!” 

The camera had then panned over to Lucas, who’d puckered his lips and pulled up his t shirt with a lascivious smirk. “Look at him! If he wore enough lipstick, I’d probably fuck him, too!” Alex had then exclaimed, everyone in hysterics as he’d grabbed Lucas’s head and promptly licked his cheek.  

“Give me enough of this good German beer, and man, I might let you.” He’d chimed, both of them in utter fits of booming laughter. 

Erika had sighed hard then, thinking that perhaps if he’d remained as close to Alex as he’d been at that point, he might have escaped the dark path he and Nils were fated to tread upon. How different things might have been for him, had he not fell headlong into Nils's ominous orbit.  

Alex was a good guy, she could tell that just from watching him on video, and of course from Lucas’s stories. Nils, she tended to agree with others over. There was something inherently dark about the man, but she could only hope that as Alex had revealed while visiting Lucas, the seeds of change had been firmly planted within the once deeply disturbed young man. 

Putting the thoughts of her viewing a time gone by to rest, she focused on the drive, moving from the highway to the narrower roads leading up to Anstalten prison. It was mind boggling to her, that she was just over half an hour away from meeting Lucas for the very first time, her heart beginning to race rapidly in her chest. 

Pulling up in the seemingly endless concrete of the car park, she cut the engine and climbed out, taking a few deep breaths before walking over to the visitor's entrance of the prison.  

“Oh my fuck, oh my fuck I’m actually here!” she whispered, reaching the door and being granted entrance after buzzing in. Upon her arrival inside, she had to check in with the warden on the desk, show her ID and stand aside, ready to be searched before being allowed further into the facility.  

Standing with her legs and arms spread, she was patted down, a second warden thoroughly examining the contents of her bag. It was a thorough search, her boots removed to check within, Erika also having to open her mouth wide and show beneath her tongue, too, her hair lifted and searched through as well.  

God, the numerous ways contraband could be smuggled in. She’d never even think to hide something in her hair, should she had been that way inclined.  

“Buttons.” 

She gaped a little at the warden’s statement. “Excuse me?” 

Nodding downwards, he didn’t miss a beat. “Your buttons. You’re about to walk into a room full of sex-starved inmates. Do them up.”  

Oh. Immediately, her cheeks flushed, hands moving quickly to fasten the buttons of her dress. She felt naive and out of place, having a few other visitors titter with laughter at her expense. The shame of it. There wasn’t much time for that shame to manifest itself further, though, she and the rest of the visitors called for, all filing through the heavily reinforced doors of the prison and into a long, white painted corridor. 

It looked very sterile within, and it was much quieter than she had been expecting, the warden gesturing to the wide double doors that lead to the visiting room. Her heart began to jackrabbit strongly then, walking in and immediately glancing around the room for him.  

Lucas was distinct enough to spot, being close to two metres tall, heavily tattooed and with a mane of waist length, dark blonde hair. With every man whose visage she scanned, though, she failed to match them to the mental picture of him.  

He would have changed, of course, being that he was just twenty-two when he was incarcerated and almost thirty-four now, but still, where on earth was he? Had she gotten the wrong day? No, she couldn’t have. They’d have told her when she checked in. Panic rapidly began to set in before suddenly... 

“Erika.”  

Stopping in her tracks, she turned to her right to see the form of a huge, shaven headed man with a neat, dark blonde beard rise to his feet. Good fucking lord. That was Lucas? 

Looking at him and trying hard not to begin salivating, she wagered he’d likely spent most of his sentence sequestered in the prison gym. To say he was stacked would be an understatement; the formerly rail thin young man had gained about thirty kilograms in thick, hulking muscle.  

“Hiya! Shit, I um, I didn’t... shit, you look different!” she floundered, his wide smile and rumbling chuckle somewhat setting her at ease, but doing little to slow down the accelerated thundering of her heart. He’d been stunningly handsome in his early twenties, but now? God alive. “Can I give you a hug? Am I allowed to?” 

He nodded, opening his arms. “You are. Only a little one, though.”  

Did little hugs truly exist with that much man?! 

Before she could feel her insides whittle themselves away into further nervous chaos, she was embraced, those two powerful arms wrapping her in a hug. As a tall girl, she rarely felt small, but there in Lucas’s strong, yet gentle embrace she felt truly tiny. To touch him, smell him, oh. It felt better than she was expecting. 

“How fucking dare you come here looking so hot, and I can’t even give you more than this.” His lips met her cheek in a briefly pressed kiss, Erika feeling herself spark. “Seriously, you’re even more of a knockout than your pictures showed. Why the hell are you here to see me?” 

He put her at ease instantly with his charming humour, yet she still found herself the victim to her own nervous floundering. Placing her bag down on the chair, she then sat on it, shooting back up to move it, making him snort with laughter.  

“Don’t be so nervous, I might be a fucking murderer but I’m not that scary anymore.” 

Oh, but it wasn’t because of that. 

“I’m not, it isn’t that,” she began, winding her hands around before lacing her fingers together to stop herself. God, she’d turned into Nina! “It’s just... meeting you for the first time. I know you’re my friend and I feel like I know you...” 

“Right, and you do know me, so calm down,” he kindly interjected with. 

“But you’re still one of my favourite musicians, and I confess, I had a bit of a fangirl moment!”  

From the way she was looking at him, he knew that wasn’t strictly all it was, but he was too nice to mention it. Besides, he had his own reaction to seeing her in the flesh for the first time to placate. He would be taking one hell of a cold shower, come the end of the visit. Wow.  

He could tell that her nerves were still jumping within, wishing he could reach for her hand in an effort to steady them. It might have the opposite effect, for both of them, though. Instead, he chose to steady her through his words. 

“Tell me about the tattoo convention, then. How’d it all go?” Engaging her in something she knew she exuded confidence over would surely do the trick, and it did, Lucas watching as her shoulders loosened a little. 

“It was so good!” she enthused, her eyes lighting up. “I felt like my hand was going to fall off after three full days of tattooing back-to-back. My feet hurt like hell with all the walking around and networking in the time between that, but it was great!” It was so surreal to her, Lucas Borgström in the flesh, sitting right across from her. Asking about her life!  

His smile widened, and she felt like sunshine was gilding her tummy. Oh, the man was knockout handsome. “I’m pleased for you! Did you get any good contacts? I know you told me in your last letter you wanted to maybe travel, so a few guest spots here and there?” he asked. “Oh, and how’s Nina’s foot now? She okay?” 

That touched her, that he’d remembered her mentioning Nina and her broken foot fiasco. “She’s in less pain, but pissed off about the big boot she has to wear. And yeah, I did. I managed to organise a three-week spot in Essex in the U.K two months from now, with an artist named Jason Butcher, who I love.” 

Ahhh, the common ground they had there, Lucas rolling up his t shirt sleeve and pointing to the large tattoo beneath. “Jason did my Odin for me, managed to get in with him towards the end of our first U.K tour. I wish he’d done a whole lot more, because look at all of this embarrassing crap I have on me.” He began to shake his head, pointing at various etchings on his two full sleeves. “Like that, and that! Oh, fuck, you have to cover that for me eventually, please!” 

What he pointed to was the large, black, inverted pentagram on his inner elbow, a sigil she knew well he no longer aligned himself with. While he had no issue with the branch of Satanism he’d once favoured, after what had happened, it was something he wanted to leave behind in its entirety. He was happy to commit to agnosticism nowadays. 

She couldn’t and wouldn’t blame him at all for such a stance. “Yeah, yeah I can cover that, no issue. Maybe completely black it out and then once healed, I can go over it with something in white ink?” 

He clicked his fingers, pointing at her. “That, yeah! Let’s do that, I trust you, just draw me something you think I’d like. You have roughly four months, so get on it.” He winked then, Erika’s eyes widening. “Remember how I said there was talk of me getting out earlier? They’re putting me up for early release come June, since I will have served two thirds of my original sentence. Apparently, I’ve been a model inmate, so fingers crossed I might be a free man come summer.” 

Clapping her hands together with joy, all she wanted in that moment was to reach across the table and hug him again. With the ever-watchful eye of the prison wardens, though, and only minimal physical contact allowed, she lamentably had to rein it in. “Lucas! This is huge, I’m so fucking happy for you!” 

He nodded, smiling, yet the smile didn’t reach his eyes fully. “Yeah, yeah I am, too. I just... fuck. Do I even deserve it? Twelve years doesn’t feel like enough time for taking a life, y’know?” 

She sighed, cocking her head. “Look how much you’ve changed in the time between,” she began, the light earnestness in her voice making his heart flutter for a moment. To be seen as anything but a murdering monster was something he’d worked very, very hard to accomplish.  

The fact that the woman he knew he was developing truly real feelings for saw it honestly elated him. Erika really was just as sweet as she’d seemed in her letters and on the telephone. “You did something horrific a very long time ago, but the man sitting in front of me now, he isn’t that guy, and he doesn’t want to be that guy ever again. I see that, I really do, and I think anyone truly important to you will see it, too.” 

He shrugged, the cold, spiny prickle of guilt coiling through him. “Pieter’s family will think very much otherwise. I wouldn’t blame them for a second either, regardless of what his dear father eventually said about us.” 

Indeed, the courage and grace of Anders Arneson had been surprising, when five years previously he had stated in an interview that in order to move on from the pain of losing his son, he forgave Pieter’s murderers. “They were still kids themselves, not much older than my son. Just like my Pieter, so wrapped up in the drug culture as well, and in this extreme darkness. I believe they lost their way, as youngsters often do. For that, I forgive them.” 

Lucas had confided in her that he’d cried, after reading those words, not convinced at all he deserved to ever be forgiven for his part in it at all.  

“Listen,” she began softly, looking around for warden eyes before reaching to gently and quickly cup his cheek. It was an action that acted like an immediate balm to him, her words even more so. “If Anders Arneson can forgive you, and legions of your fans still stand behind you, then trust me, you deserve forgiveness. You’ve atoned, you’ve taken full responsibility, and you’ve lost twelve years of your life paying that debt. You deserve your freedom.” 

He smiled, winking. “Having you especially tell me that means so much, really. Your letters and phone calls have kept me going. I don’t think you truly realise how important to me you’ve become, Erika. You see past the monster I used to be.” 

He appreciated her words more than she could ever realise, feeling the warmth and tenderness that he’d ached for, but had eluded him for so long. The world outside the prison walls seemed less daunting with Erika there to receive him as a free man, a beacon of hope in his otherwise darkened existence.  

She saw the good in him, the potential for redemption that he struggled to believe himself worthy of. As they sat together in the harshly lit visitation room, the future seemed less like a distant dream and more like an attainable reality.  

Her unwavering support and belief in his transformation filled the void that guilt and regret had carved into his soul. He could never thank her enough for that. Lamentably, though, the hour visit he had with her ticked by much too quickly, rising to his feet to give her another hug, one he struggled to part from.  

“Thank you so much for coming to see me,” he spoke, wishing he could meld himself to her, leave the prison with her. Four months; it wasn’t long, but at the same time it felt like an eternity. “I’d say come back next week, but Alex is visiting. I should cancel it, really, tell him he’s been replaced by a really sweet, pretty girl I’d much rather be in the company of.”  

She threw her head back, laughing softly. “I can visit the week after?”  

His thumbs skimmed the sides of her waist as he reluctantly pulled from their hug, nodding. “I’ll look forward to it.” He then glanced around, noticing a few warden’s eyes roving over him. “Ahh, fuck it.” Leaning to her, he pressed his lips to hers, beaming in the aftermath. 

“Lucas, dial it back.” one of them called. Erika was glad that he hadn’t, feeling her insides fizz.  

“Worth it,” he spoke, winking. “See you in two weeks, beautiful.”  

She walked out of that prison on a happy little cloud, although it did have somewhat of a grey lining to it. How she wished he was leaving it with her. With some inmates incarcerated in the prison system of their country, home release prior to their actual freedom was permitted, the prisoners allowed to return home for a few weekends in the run up to their release in order to integrate back into their lives.  

With Lucas, he’d been told that such was not permissible. Sixteen weeks until his freedom, though? Truly, it was little time at all. After such a long period of growing close to him via letters and phone calls, she would gladly take that.  

Whether her excitement would reach critical mass or not in the time between was entirely another story, though! 

A/N - Did you like what you just read? If so, please reward your author with a little comment or a reblog. Your support would mean so much to me!

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