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thetravelingtyper · 9 months ago

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Our Shattered Heart (Part 1) (GN! 'Heart' Reader x Taskforce 141)

After an injury and recovery, the men of the force find themselves acting a little differently towards you.

Inspired by the Smiths and Cage the Elephant.

Warnings: a building falls, use of song lyrics, protective 141

Part 2, Part 2.25, Part 2.50, Masterlist

SO I POPPED OFF at like 1 am with three shots of brandy lmao

The strings of a bass echoed into the open night. Electric steps, iron bridges, the river. Central town spinning away into the flurry of the night. You were running from phantoms, what had you done but cried into the night? Your phone long since turned off you were afraid to return to the safe house. Made up as a civilian you blend smoothly in, but the oppressive nature of their stares made your eyes water so you took your chance and bailed.

Even in your distress, you admired London proper. You wipe your tears and stop your swift walk. You could hear music? There was a well-lit area a dozen or so yards, (Metric Sergaent) You frown as your Lieutenant’s voice echos in your head naturally. You grit your teeth. Nothing you did was right. In training he’d catch every little mistake, poking out your weaknesses without telling you how to better your stance.

What of Soap and Gaz? Your fellow Sargents and supposed friends. One moment they had your back then after your injury they joined Ghost. Soap would pull you aside and scold you for using your ‘bad leg’ or your hits were too low or high. Gaz just commented after you healed up against you even serving. It took three weeks for you to have enough.

You turn on your phone to check the time, and it rings with a skull icon, you answer it as you can pick up the music.

“Fucking hell Sergeant where are you.”

“Doesn't matter Ghost, Fuck off”.

“Wait, Lo-”

You hang out and toss your phone into the river. You smirk, a sense of relief flooding your tense body. What had your valiant captain done about your concerns? Immediate relocation to a safe house for surveillance, with said team. Nothing of “I’ll talk with Simon” No you got the “You could be a liability so let us have three grown-ass men babysit you in the middle of the city.” You went to protest but he shushed you with a disappointed look that made you reel back.

You weren't British, maybe you didn't meet his standards. He's the one who requested an outside operative all those months ago. You performed top of your class and threw your body and heart into the job working your way into being the face of the team. It was you whom they sent to comfort those who lost loved ones as collateral. Everything changed when you broke orders to save a child.

“Heart, Ghost, Soap Clear Out Now! That is a direct order!”

The building rumbled and air support had’nt arrived. You had about a minute until the whole place collapsed.

“Affirmiative, Sergeants move out!”

Ghost ushered you in front of him and Soap was already running through the dust to get out. But as you turned to run you caught movement.

“Ghost there is someone in there!” You try to trace the movement but Ghosts gloved hand yanked you back as he started towards the entrance.

“No Heart-”

You gasped, there was a girl pinned under rumble! Your instincts take over and you shove out of his gasp with more strength then you ever though you could muster, Ghost stumbles and you book it back as he yells after you.

“GHOST, HEART OUT NOW THE BUILDING IS COMING DOWN!”

He had no choice but to leave you as you threw yourself over the girl. There was a loud rumble then black.

You huff, odviously you had survived and the little girl you pulled out from the rubble survived as well. After the dust cleared the next day, you had lugged a beam off her and you and hobbled her out to seek medical attention. Once the mission had finished Price and the others had rushed back to find empty rubble, it was a joyous mother who led the foreigners back to their Heart. And there you were, in some small village a hero treated to the best they could. All you could offer despite the pain of your leg was a small smile towards to girl who clung to you like a baby.

Soap had about given out before he rushed you with curses, poking and prodding like a mother hen. Gaz laughed, a wholehearted sound like melted caramel and quipped about surviving the sky falling. It was Price and Ghost who were not too keen, but you had a back up. The leaders of the village, who’s daughter and grandaughter you had saved, had what turned out to be excellent intel that you handed to Price with a smirk on your face.

“Fucking Hell.” Was all you gotten from Ghost and his head in his hands with a deep sigh.

What you didn't realize was how big of a deal it was to the Captain and Ghost. Once you got back to base and were put on a 3 month leave was when things soured. You were able to use connections in the village to work intel, something Laswell was grateful for, But Ghost took this personally, giving you almost a disapproving sneer when he would see you out of bed. Price was silent. No yelling, no scolding just silent. Some storm brewed and once you fully healed and went back to training it seemed Ghost tainted Soap. The Scot became overbearing, making less hurtful comments. A Gaz, once level headed, turned into Price’s little shadow, you could tell from their glances they were communicating.

After three weeks of being stationed with them, fully healed mind you, you had enough of walking on egg shells, being the subject of Ghost’s anger and Gaz’s twists and turns. You didn’t snap until Soap had risen his voice after your pacing.

“ENOUGH HEART.”

It caught Ghost and Gaz off guard in the small apartment as you turned wide-eyed. His eyes were stormy, set off by something you couldn’t identify.

“Johnny-”

“No LT. They need to learn their place”

Your hackles rose, you tried to calm the rage, how dare he?

“And whats that MacTavish? You four have been acting like I’ve been a virus since the day I came back! I worked my ass off to help you and this is how you asses repay me? Im not a fucking toddler you can drag around.”

Gaz went to speak but the glare you shoot him is venemous,

“No you don’t get say anything Kyle. You’ll just go running back to Price and prolong this little ‘vacation’ Im sick of being treated like a child.”

“Sergeant”

“Oh rich from you LT” You feel your nerves bristle as Ghost steps forward in challenge. Despite him towering over you, you bite back

“You can take your Sergeant and Stuff it. You have acted like an asshole through these past 4 months and I’m sick of it! You three are grown ass men acting like children. Run back to Price and bully someone else I'm sick of this shit.”

And with that you grabbed your bag and stormed off, disappearing into streets of London the three men stunned at your outburst.

---

You enter the lit area to find a band and civilians listening to, was that the Smith’s? You relax to the familiar music. The main singer is a handsome man, dark eyes raking the crown with a calm smile before you lock eyes and he winks. Unexpecting, you blush and turn into the crowd. He begins to sing with a voice of silver and honey.

Take me out tonight

Where there's music and there's people

And they're young and alive

Driving in your car

I never, never want to go home

Because I haven't got one

Anymore

There is a little irony as you take a seat at the bar. Over the past two years, before your four odd months the taskforce had become home to you. You settled in quite fine, either bickering along side Soap, joining with Ghost or helping Price and Gaz with their reports. Seeing your personal skills Laswell insisted on you staying.

She smiles when you enter in under the arms of Gaz and Soap.

“Hey kid, good to see you.

You nod at here before Price enters, he passes you three a look before ushering the three of you out of the office.

“Come on you two, the parents gotta meet now.”

You giggle as Price rolls his eye as you turn you catch a knowing look from Laswell to Price and as you head out the door, but being dragged to lunch, you miss the fond look he shoots you.

You order a bourbon neat, as you take a sip the chill of the night hits a little deeper and you frown behind your glass watching couples get up to dance. You remember that mission with a fond sigh, the bourbon reminding you of your tall and often mysterious Lieutenant.

Take me out tonight

Because I want to see people

And I want to see life

Driving in your car

Oh, please don't drop me home

Because it's not my home, it's their home

And I'm welcome no more

You tilt your head down, that mission oh. Something in your chest ached.

You entered the room in a shuffle, the trails of your outfit not what you were used to, but a mission like this called for finery. You stumble but pale hand’s catch your arm and tucks it in under his. You turn to the perpetrator but find dark eyes quietly regarding yours and you jump.

“Ghost!”

“Call me Simon at this point Heart”

You manage a quiet yes sir. He watches you with softer eyes before there is laughing down the hallway.

“He’s a lucky bastard is what he is, getting to take Heart all dolled up.”

Johnny’s voice has your eyes rolling. After a few months of your service the Scot had accepted you with open arms, and the flirting, my god the pick up lines. You sigh fondly into your drink.

“I mean you could just ask them-Lt! You’re early.”

Simon doesn’t offer more then a raised brow as he and Soap meet eyes and Soap turns away.

“Kyle please can you help me with this,” You lift the tails of your outfit in a huff.

The man chuckles and nods, it was his idea anyway. His dark eyes meet yours with soft smile that makes you swoon. He offer you a hand and you go to take it but find resistance.

“Simon?”

“Hurry Love. We ship out in 10.” And with that he lets you go. Kyle’s hand is warm and rough and he twirls you to adjust the back of your outfit. Soap turns to Simon,

“The mask?”

And to your surprise, Simon looks to you and nods before slowly removing the balaclava. Soap and Gaz seemed unfazed but you were surprised. A year in you had yet to see more then his lips from a smoke or a drink, but the soft blond hair and scars found you staring at him. He watches you but when you meet his eyes you give him a soft encouraging smile. And his lips quirk up as Soap fusses with his mic and collar. Simon just grumbles at him and you laugh, a chiming sound that has all the men smiling.

You peer back through the crowd, how long had it been since you’d been out? You tip back the the rest of your bourbon and set the glass down feeling the sting. Fuck it. You drop your back and relax into the seat, the singer’s eyes meeting your with a smile as he continues to sing. You sway in your seat to the music.

And if a double-decker bus

Crashes into us

To die by your side

Is such a heavenly way to die

And if a ten ton truck

Kills the both of us

To die by your side

Well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine

You and Soap tumble together, hitting the ground before rolling. The impact steals the breath from your lungs as you grasp at him making sure he was alive.

“Never though i’d get ye like this Heart.”

You sigh, he was fine, despite just saving his ass. He rolls over so his weight isn’t on you more then it needed to be. You are sitting almost on his hips, he grins at you cockily with a raised brow.

“Stuff it Johnny, I just saved your ass.”

“Aye and I gotta thank you for it.”

And in a sudden sweep he pulled himself up and presses a soft kiss to the side of your lips.

“Thank you Love.”

Your face lifts a little at the memory and your heart skips a beat. Your eyes close an you bask in the warmth of the crowd. Following that moment the taskforce changed.

Take me out tonight

Take me anywhere, I don't care

I don't care, I don't care

And in the darkened underpass

I thought, "Oh God, my chance has come at last"

But then a strange fear gripped me

And I just couldn't ask

You hop off the stool and head into the crowd, heart aching for comfort and the hands of others.

First it was soap, falling into your shadow, after the kiss your heightened senses saw his eyes on you everywhere. With other soldiers? One of the members of 141 was there, or he was, hands across his chest, standing guard.

You were training with members of KorTac. The largest fellow, König had taken a keen interest in you due to your language skills and you found a calming friend in the man. Masked like your Simon you felt more comfortable with him. So when he had you pinned you squirmed and broke free.

“Good”

His voice is soft, pale eyes meeting yours as you roll up onto your feet. You run at him before he can get up, but he shoots up and grabs you with a little yelp escaping from your mouth as you are then thrown a few feet onto the soft mat. You roll onto your back, the breath knocked out of you and the ceiling spinning slightly.

“That’s enough!”

Garrick’s sharp voice surprises you as his form appears in your settling vision. He’s quick to kneel down and check you out.

“I’m fine Kyle, just a bit of the rough and tumble.”

His soft lips frown disapprovingly,

“I don’t like you wrestling with him.”

He helps you up and you see König’s form looking out for you. You give him a small wave.

“Sorry Schatz” The nickname pauses you as you stand, Kyle’s arm around you guarding.

You blush a little and smile at the tall man before a gruff ‘Sergeant’ calls from the edge of the room. You find Ghost leaning against the wall, arms crossed, glaring at König before he calls you to him. You nod a little dumbfounded and before you can pull out of Kyle’s grasp the man presses a kiss to the side of your head. Then lets you stumble into the waiting grasp of the Lieutenant.

You shake off the memory and your heart murmurs, but you ignore the hurt. For one night you were free from the confusion and rejection from your team. The crowd, seemingly sensing this welcomed you into their sway. A few single ladies sidled up you with wide smiles and pulled you into their group. You knew how to dance, you learned young, this skill pulled you into some interesting missions. As you sway with the ladies you recollect as the singer watches you.

Take me out tonight

Oh, take me anywhere, I don't care

I don't care, I don't care

Driving in your car

I never, never want to go home

Because I haven't got one, la-di-dum

Oh, I haven't got one

Oh, oh

Simon’s arms were steady around you, Price’s voice in your ear letting you know about the target. You had gone undercover as a couple to infiltrate a drug smugging ring. The leader was hosting a gala at a large mansion in the mountains. And seeing as Kyle and Johnny were on a mission that left you three on your own. You nod silently to Price. Simon pulls you closer and then spins you out on your heels.

“Who knew you could dance?”

You quip up at him, but he only nods, umber eyes taking in your form. You looked breathtaking and it stole the words from his lips.

FIrst Johnny then Kyle. You wondered as you looked up at Simon, handsome as ever in a dark black suit.

“Are you ok Simon?”

He hums, the sound deep in his chest, then in a moment he pulls you flush against him.

“Target on the move lovebirds.”

Price’s voice sound in your ears in a chuckle.

“RIght Captain.”

You sigh but Simon pauses in his movement, and you look up at him in confusion, you call his name but he just stares at you.

“We need to move Lt.”

Nothing, but his hand raising from your side to your face as he leans down and kisses you. After a few seconds he pulls a way and finishes with a

“Affirmative.”

Before leading your frozen self away.

You lose yourself in the music for a moment, rotating partners in innocent sways, just treasuring being lost in the moment, But this song of course must end.

And if a double-decker bus

Crashes into us

To die by your side

Is such a heavenly way to die

And if a ten ton truck

Kills the both of us

To die by your side

Well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine

The voice is much closer and you soon find yourself face to face with the mysterious singer. He smiles as he sings and it reminds you of the final piece of the puzzle.

Price had fallen asleep at his desk, again. You sigh fondly and set a cup of warm lady earl grey aside. You move over to him as he mutters something in his sleep. You felt bad waking him but you knew you needed to before he slumped over.

“Captain”

Nothing, even as you call it 3 times. Finally desperate,

“Johnathan Price!”

He shoots awake, eyes darting around tensely before he finds you and softened immediately.

“You can’t be doing that to a man love.”

“You were falling asleep again, how many times do I need to get on you about that Cap? “

The man regards you and chuckles before he sees the tea. You notice this and turn to grab and hand it to him. When you you turn back around the man is standing regarding you. The moment then feels intimate and you flush a little, stepping back.

“Sorry I’ll just leav-”

“No love it's fine, and please if it's just us call me John.”

He reaches for the tea taking a sip while his ocean eyes watch you. There is something there and you can sense it. After nearly two years of serving under him you grew to know him pretty well, there was fondness in his gaze for all his soldiers. But this was something softer.

“John, I…”

He finishes the cup and sets it down, listening wholly to you and you find the attention has your heart stammering.

“The others have-”

“I know love.”

There it is again and you find yourself pausing as John leans forward, taking your hand in his, rubbing comforting circles into.

“What do I do?”

“Up to you love. I am here for you regardless. You need to get some sleep.”

With this he presses a soft kiss to the palm of your hand and lets you go.

The next day your deployed to the small village and the following four months are hell.

You shake off the feeling. After your injury they treated you like a child, like a burden to be kept locked away. You sigh, pausing, feeling alone in the middle of everybody again.

Oh, there is a light and it never goes out

There is a light and it never goes out

The singer finishes with a frown. The crowd cheers then standard music plays and the moment is broken. The singer passes the mic to his member then turns to your pondering self.

“Are you alright Love?”

His voice is soft and he stands a respectable distance away. One of the members of his band takes the mic and begins with Heaven knows I'm miserable now, continuing the Smiths theme. You almost want to laugh a smile lighting up your face at past (bad very bad) Karaoke attempts with Soap and Gaz.

“There’s a smile.” He smile down at you and offers a hand, you take it introducing yourself. He raises a hand to the crowd and your new girl friends cheer you on as you allow the stranger to pull you into a dance.

The next hour passes with another drink with your new friends and opening up about yourself. Nothing about missions nor sensitive information, but finding yourself in a strange position with the four men of the 141. A little looser you describe them all with a few giggles in response as you recount their crazy tactics. It was nice and you settled into the easy arm of the singer. His arm laid only on the back of your chair but under the watchful eyes of the girl group you got comfortable. At the end of the hour, approaching 3 in the morning the singer was called back on to stage.

A new base line and you swooned as something a bit more American played. The singer nodded his acceptance to the bassist and began to sing.

Sun went down, sun went down over Pompeii

On both sides, the vow was broken

Oh my my, I'm the one, tryin' to hide this damage done

One day, all our secrets will be spoken

He looked at you and gave a wink and the girls cheered as you threw back a beer. Fuck it. You allowed them to pull you into the ever thriving crowd. Your group drew into the heart of the crowd right up in front of the stage.

As we slow danced, I became your statue frozen

Times I wonder, are we just a puff of smoke? Yeah

Underneath this bed of ashes, still withholding everything

Like we were never close

The singer surprised you and under a breath he hopped down from the stage to join the crowd. He approached you with a sway and a open offered hand. You looked into his eyes with a twinkle in yours. The girls cheering you on, you took his hand and swung into the music.

Don't you worry, baby, no sense tryin' to change it

I'ma strike these matches, never had control

I'm ready to let go, no, was I foolin' myself?

I'ma spread these ashes, never had control

I'm ready, I'm ready

I'm ready to let go

Here you were free to experience life, a break from the bullets, free from the heated stares of the 141. Well, at least for a while. You would go back eventually, you bag had enough supplies for a few days. As you spun in the singers free arms flashes of green, blue and brown spun through your vision. You were a little under but still alert, but with the music you let it all go.

Sun went down, sun went down over Pompeii

On holy ground, our vows were broken

We met up, we broke bread, I was blue, your dress was red

Ain't it strange? We both knew this day was comin'

As we slow danced, I became your statue frozen

Times I wonder, are we just a puff of smoke? Yeah

Underneath this bed of ashes, still withholding everything

Like we were never close

He pulled you closer in then, even if for a fleeting moment you felt your heart skip a beat. His eyes were obsidian, reflecting the lights like stars and he sings until he’s breathless. You wondered for a moment what could happen.

Don't you worry, baby, no sense tryin' to change it

I'ma strike these matches, never had control

I'm ready to let go, no, was I foolin' myself?

I'ma spread these ashes, never had control

I'm ready, I'm ready

I'm ready to let go

But as you dance the more of alert of the ladies elbows another, her head tilting subtly towards the entrance of the outdoor bar, where a familiar new set of men appeared. The girl went towards getting you but her friend stopped her as four sets of eyes found you then split up. She sent the girls a look.

Let’s see what happens.

Meanwhile you know the song is finishing and you find yourself taking the hand of the singer and he pulled you into a light embrace and spun you out as he finished breathlessly

Don't you worry, baby, no sense tryin' to change it

I'ma strike these matches, never had control

I'm ready to let go, no, was I foolin' myself?

I'ma spread these ashes, never had control

I'm ready, I'm ready

I'm ready to let go

He stops with a hum as the music continues for a few paces then goes out with the cheering of the crowd. You spin on the pads of your feet with a whooping feeling light in your chest, but you then bump into someone. But before you can apologize you are turned around in their arms and your breath hitches as Simon is staring down at you with dark eyes. It is then you sense another presence behind you and between you and the singer (whose hands are up in surrender) is Johnny.

The sounds of the band drown out with the depths of Simon’s eyes. There is too much there for you to comprehend. His sudden appearance breaks up the alcohol burning in your system and you stand up straighter. Emotions swirl underneath his balaclava, that alone a straight giveaway to his identity. There is anger yes, that much is evident, but you see the stinging presence of worry and something much deeper you dare not name. You turn your head away, the weight of the emotion pulling your heart back from the sky.

The singer shifted looking a little concerned, but Soap was a wide wall of muscle and kept himself close enough to brush your back from within Simon’s arms. The girls however outnumbered the men and give you a knowing look, you nod and they pull the singer away as he nods. You see Soap loosen immediately before turning and forcing your eyes into his.

Stormy blue oceans, the depth of which scare you as he nods to Simon towards the empty bar. You sigh and force yourself to loosen in Simon’s arms. He passes you to Soap and the men pull you gently to the bar where you are especially ashamed to see not only Kyle with your stuff, but a in the corner of the venue, out of noting eyes was John. Gaz with your bag, drew towards you and the four of you reached the awaiting Captain.

Johnny stood at your right, Kyle moving to your left and Simon towering over you like a vengeful wraith, and Johnny still had not let you go. You move to pull your arm from his, but he gives you a stern look, something of a overprotective mastiff.

“MacTavish”

“Captain-”

“Johnny.”

Simon’s deep voice rumbles from behind. Johnny hands trace down yours slowly before he takes your hand with a sigh, the tension finally releasing as his pinky takes yours in a final embrace before he finally lets go of you. He huffs and turns away in a slight pout that warms your heart and you find yourself taking his pinky back with yours. It’s a small show but the way his eyes light up behind the worry makes your heart melt. The other men trace the action, Kyle’s eyes meeting Price’s in silent communication. You all stand for a moment longer, not daring to speak, but when the wind causes you to shiver, alcohol in your system reddening your cheeks, its the weight of Simon against your back that surprises you, his arms, minding Soap’s hand, come under yours and wrap around you, his warmth melting into yours.

“‘Were worried Dove.” He leans down over you until his chin rests in top of your head and you can feel the rumble of his voice in your soul. It’s Kyle that speaks next.

“That was one of the stupidest things you’ve ever done Love.” The man frowns, but his eyes move back to the singer and the group of girls, then he eyes you again sharply.

“What if something had happened?”

Its hard to move with Simon's weight on you but you shot Kyle a withering look.

“Nothing happened, I happened to be having fun.”

“But he had his arms-”

“Kyle”

John’s voice finally speaks up and the man turns away to glower at the crowd, then he reaches a hand for your free one and meets your eyes. There you see a storm of concern, a deep fondness and a bit of protectiveness.

“We need to talk Love, about the past months.” John takes command again, something deep in his soul calm again seeing his team together. But there was time in the morning to talk. He could see the exhaustion of the day creeping into as did the other men.

“In the morning, John” SImon’s voice rumbles feeling your form sway.

“Right Simon” he nods but before turning John steps forward and presses a kiss to your forehead. The action jolting your heart awake and leaving you flushed.

“John?”

“It’s ok sweetheart, sleep, we’ll get you home.”

With that he turns as Kyle and Johnny reluctantly release your hands. This leaves you and Simon as the men wait.

“Si-?” You are suddenly lifted, strong arms finding your back and under your knees to lift you bridal style. You look up at him with wide eyes and he chuckles,

“I think I like the sound of that Love.”

And with a final turn to the crowd you manage a wave to the girls and the singer who shoots you a wink that causes a huff from simon before the man turns to follow the others.

Time to go home and as they walk, joking amongst each other with Simon’s soft voice luring you to sleep, You feel the loving eyes of the four men on you as you fall asleep.

----

End Part One!

Taglist! @ghostlythots

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mywritingonlyfans · 3 months ago

Text

One For The Road. // Mentor!Alex Turner X FreshSinger!Reader (Smut) Part 1

Prompt: (Age Gap Fic;Fem!Reader) Alex is on an extended hiatus from the band and finds himself wanting to start a studio to recruit new talent. One day, he hears a voice on the radio that captivates him, so he jots down the name and, with that voice stuck in his head, searches for it on Google. When he finds you, you both decide to work together for your growth, setting off a journey filled with new melodies, issues with paparazzi and online exposure, and Alex being completely smitten with his latest discovery and love.

Words: 9,5K

A/N: The fic was planned in three chapters: before the recognition (fame), during the recognition (fame), and after the recognition (fame).

Alex felt fulfilled, both physically and emotionally; he didn’t need any additional elements to complete his sense of satisfaction. During the band's extended break, due to various factors like other members' children and James admitting that a break would be beneficial, Alex found himself contemplating new possibilities. Unable to step away from music entirely, he set up a studio and handled other bureaucratic aspects for future artists. This was his way of giving back to an industry that had been so rewarding for him.

He didn’t know much about the artist he was suddenly into, only that sabe was a young girl with a captivating presence. Alex had heard your voice in the car before visiting Miles. It had a numbing effect on him, in a good way, leaving him sitting in the parked car after arriving, gazing out the window and absorbing every word you sang as if they were drops of water in the desert. It was strange, but it was exactly what he needed.

Your voice was raw with potential but still unrefined—you were not bad, just clearly new. The lyrics were sweet and nostalgic, evoking feelings that seemed foreign yet familiar. Alex found your work mature in a way he hadn’t been when he first started making music. He couldn’t picture your face, hair, or preferred style, but your voice lingered in his mind; the breaths, pauses, sometimes resembling soft and failed sighs, were compelling.

After the song ended, he stared at the radio display, waiting for your name to be announced. He quickly grabbed a notebook to jot down before he could forget.

Alex briefly mentioned you during dinner with Miles, running his fingers through his hair absentmindedly. His friend could tell that you had affected him in some way. "Just a girl, huh? How many times have you listened to her songs, Al?" Alex was usually romantic in his descriptions, this time he swore he had been succinct—though he felt he had failed. As the visit was coming to an end, all he could think about was your voice; he had to share you with someone else.

"Not many," he admitted honestly, though it wasn’t very convincing. Miles laughed, indicating he would listen later. His friend's recommendations were always reliable.

…

Finding you on the internet wasn’t easy. Alex had written down the wrong surname, which delayed his search longer than anticipated. You had no professional recordings, and later Alex discovered that the radio segment he had heard was an exclusive broadcast for new artists. All he found were amateur videos on YouTube of you singing in some pubs, with poor audio quality that didn’t do you justice. He listened to them repeatedly over the next few days.

The videos with better resolution were watched more often, and although Alex feared it might be due to your angelic face, he tried to avoid focusing on the fact that you were younger than him–perhaps more than he could point out. Nevertheless, as he closed his eyes before sleeping, he often imagined you from the video of your channel, wearing that summer wine dress with the straps slightly falling off. He imagined gently adjusting them with his finger, smoothing your hair while your calm eyes followed him. Your head falling affectionately into the caress of his palm and a brief wet kiss to your temple as your eyelashes flutter; not that he thought he would have such an effect on you.

It was indescribable how your voice occupied his mind more than anything else. He found himself humming snippets of your lyrics in the shower, while cooking, every end of the day. When he called Miles the next weeknd, his friend knew exactly what to expect.

…

You were delicate, and the words flowed from your lips effortlessly. Indeed, the cameras, the analog look, and the audio from the YouTube recordings didn’t do justice to what it was like to experience you live. There were few people, mostly around your age, though some appeared older with their doubtful expressions. It was a pleasant environment.

He watched you from a distance, neither too far nor too close. Wearing a white collared shirt, jeans, and a brown jacket, he kept his sunglasses on even at night to avoid being easily recognized. Occasionally, he slid the glasses down his nose to get a clearer view of you without the lenses.

You held the microphone gently, as if it weighed nothing, intertwining the cord between your fingers and taking small steps across the makeshift, tiny stage. Most people were distracted, but many took a moment to watch and listen to your music. Sometimes your voice faltered, and he noticed your disappointment, but you were so endearing.

You wore white tights and a black dress with a Peter Pan collar; Alex thought it suited you perfectly. He adjusted the edges of his shirt peeking out from under his jacket, a reflex of how your fingers nervously fidgeted with the fabric of your dress on stage. He smiled sweetly, as if hoping you could see and feel encouraged by it. You were doing well.

At the end, which was marked by silence following your thanks, he began clapping, soon joined by everyone else. You tried not to look around too much, not expecting the applause, and Alex was pleased to see you so happy.

You held a glass in your hand, chatting with the guitarist. Alex could easily see himself playing guitar alongside you in that dimly lit place filled with long, whispered conversations that created an intimate atmosphere. The guitarist nudged you, indicating Alex standing in front of you. When you turned, Alex felt his palms sweating and had to hide them in his pockets. You were even more beautiful up close; your posture wasn’t perfectly straight, but he noticed your charming walk and had to avoid smiling.

Alex felt more awkward than a teenager talking to girls, and he wasn’t proud of it. You greeted him with a warm smile, and before he could say anything, he knew you were as warm as you looked. “I enjoyed your performance up there. You sing really well, and the original lyrics are great. You’re very talented.” The compliment came out smoothly because he had practiced it many times. He felt his face flush, knowing he was fully red.

You bit your lips, offering a shy smile and resting your fingers right around the edges of your dress. Alex found this to be an adorable habit of yours. If he could, he would have held your hand and provided some distraction from whatever you were thinking. You thanked him, unsure of what to do or say but sincere nonetheless. When Alex offered a drink, he noticed your hesitation, but there wasn’t anything better for you to do than share a drink with someone who, for reasons you couldn’t quite place, seemed familiar. He was being nice.

“I don’t think anyone has ever come to see me sing so well-dressed,” you said, your eyes sparkling. Alex felt that in a few hours, you’d be more comfortable around him.

Noticing your assessment of his outfit, you could tell it wasn’t cheap; the fabric of his button-up shirt was well-tailored, the collar had a unique design, and the jacket was definitely leather. Not that you knew much about such things, but you didn’t see many like that.

Alex saw you enveloping your hands and didn’t think twice before taking off his jacket and draping it over you. Fingers touched your icy skin and he wished he had noticed sooner. You didn’t resist, your expression showed that you needed it; you merely nodded in thanks. “Don’t you think you deserve it?” Alex hadn’t intended it to sound flirtatious, but he realized it as soon as the words left his mouth. You shook your head, giving a half-hearted laugh.

He considered apologizing, but you continued, “I think it’s nice to think that someone would dress up to see me here, you know? To know that you’d come to see me sing and then anticipate it throughout the day, even considering what outfit would be most suitable or comfortable. It’s kind.” You were much more eloquent than he was, your words flowed naturally.

You sighed in relief, snuggling into the leather and tucking your hands into the long sleeves. Alex felt his chest warm up. You gestured animatedly while speaking, clearly excited, and probably didn’t even notice when your knees brushed together and stayed there in a pleasant touch that made him not want to move. “Well, if it helps, I heard you on the radio the other day and wanted to see you in person.” He breathed between his words, his voice deepening with the pauses.

You nodded, brushing off the compliment, not because you disliked it but because you didn’t want to deal with it. “I like your accent; it makes you sound older than you are.” Your shoulders brushed together, casually but comfortably, a result of your restlessness. There was a brief silence as you both listened to each other’s calm breathing amidst the background noise of drinks.

Maybe the contact was what mattered; Alex hadn’t planned this poorly. Despite his struggle with succinct communication, he explained the record label project, detailing the steps and what could be done if you wanted to pursue something more professional. At some point, you stopped listening to him, your eyes wandering over his dark hair cascading in beautiful waves, the furrow between the eyebrows, his perfectly shaped mouth, and the stubble that was starting to grow. He gestured less than you did, but his large yet delicate hands made him seem like a Christmas ornament, like men in '80s movies or even a younger Al Pacino.

“I’m listening, but I wouldn’t have the money for it; I can’t even afford a guitar. I play in pubs because I can use their instruments; they don’t pay well, and sometimes it’s just beer and food.” You spoke honestly, without bitterness about how it limited your dreams. You had the purity of someone who believed it was for you. Someone bumped into your chair, causing Alex to steady it, which brought your bodies closer together. He could now distinguish the exact color of your eyes and the scent of your hair. His mouth went dry. “That’s my point; you get paid so I can help you get heard and recognized for your work.”

…

"Did you set up the record label for the girl?" Miles carried a hint of truth, though he knew it was initially Alex’s idea, and you were the final touch that made it happen.

"It’s not like that, she’s really good. You’ll meet her." Alex’s voice carried warmth and anticipation; in a few months, you’d be fully immersed in this with him.

"And does she know what’s going on in your head? Like, the reason for your soft tone and silly grin when you mention her name? I might be wrong, but it doesn’t seem like you’re just thinking of her as a musician, Alex."

He shook his head, as if Miles could see him. "It’s nothing. I just want to help her with this. Besides, I’m not at that stage; we don’t fit in the same place." The idea of putting all that into words hurt a little.

The conversation continued, as if that settled the matter, both on the call and in real life. But Miles’s final words were, "Alex, I’m sure this will hurt her more than it will hurt you; you don't deal well with reason, your feelings will get in the way.”

And though it stung, it might be true—something to consider with concern. But would it really be so bad to spend all that time with you?

…

You learned who he was and thought it might be a scam, but a simple Google search left you stunned. You clearly knew the band, just not his exact current appearance; it certainly wasn’t like in the “Cornerstone” video, but the more recent ones fit the style of a dad with a six-year-old daughter, which was pleasant. Your friends were happy for you, even if they were as incredulous as you.

“It’s quite big; will more people be coming here?” Your voice echoed through the studio, your fingertips freezing. You’d arrived a few weeks ago and had some singing lessons Alex had arranged with another professional, but from then on, you feared he would be your sole tutor.

“For now, yes, but later there’ll be more people.” You nodded, hands in the pockets of your dress. LA was hot, he was killing you with that air conditioning. He had shown you every corner, you felt quite comfortable; the place had guitars on the wall, basses, and a drum set from that inaccessible brand. You stood in front of him, looking like a lost child, genuinely waiting for what to do next. It took him a moment, but he understood.

“Okay, I didn’t plan this out too well,” he laughed softly. He mentioned having read the songs you sent, even though he had heard them before, now he knew the exact lyrics. “Is it okay if I use the equipment?” Your question was followed by the tips of your fingers touching one of the microphones and holding the headphones, waiting for his response.

“Feel free to use whatever you want, little one.” Your cheeks were warm, making you bite the bottom of them. You looked confused at the buttons; they were just buttons with no informative labels. Alex had forgotten that this was familiar only to him. “Sure, it’s a good idea to get you familiar with everything first, then we can see what to do.” It sounded like a good idea.

The time passed quickly; what took hours, with Alex, seemed like minutes. Sometimes silence would fall over you both, but it was so comfortable. He had a pleasant voice, explaining things as if they weren’t intuitive, and you could visualize them. You liked it. His hair was longer than the last time you saw him, falling into a cute fringe over his eyes, which shone brightly as he spoke and gestured. He wore a suit and a button-up shirt, making no sense given the amount of fabric he was wearing in the LA sun.

“It’s pretty heavy, Turner,” he had given you a red guitar with white detailing, the side bearing his last name. It had clearly been through some battles but was beautiful. Alex found your pronunciation of the “r” endearing, rolled on your tongue and lingering. No one called him that around; it could be your thing. The guitars you had played were lighter, less durable.

“You can play if you want. You can also make it your own; it’s a good idea to get used to a specific one for now.” You listened, wondering why you wanted him to call you “little one” again. You held the strap, looking at the floor. “I don’t know how to play,” your voice was weak, your fingers pressing the strings without making any sound. He nodded, understanding you.

“What don’t you know, little one?” His face was calm, as if it didn’t cross his mind that you might be a fraud. His body was positioned behind yours, and you felt your heart racing; you were sure he could hear it. He placed his hand on the neck of the guitar, adjusting some strings.

What happened was: you would hum melodies, your friends would map out the notes, next you had them with you.

“I only remember my songs, which are few. I memorized them with the help of some friends at the pub.” You didn’t like how that sounded. You stepped back without thinking, bumping into Alex’s firm chest. He held your waist, noticing your nervousness. You still smelled the same as before.

“There’s nothing wrong with that; no one is born knowing. I learned a lot from the first album ‘til now; we can work on that if you want.” You heard the guttural sound he made when speaking slowly in your ear, dangerously close. “Do you want to try something?” he asked, a little before plucking a small segment of one of your songs. Alex had heard it so much that he had memorized the chords. You found it strange but ignored it; controlling your breathing was more complicated.

“I don’t know, Turner,” he laughed, the pleasant nasal sound close, with his blazer rubbing against your bare arms. He took your hands in his, guiding your fingers as he wanted, explaining each string press and brief sound. It took some time, and due to your anxiety, it seemed to take longer than usual.

“It doesn’t seem to sound very good,” you impulsively turned your face to look at him. His eyes, which had been on your hands, moved to your face, and it was closer than you had experienced before. “But it will, you know?” He smiled, his slightly crooked lower teeth noticeable to you, as well as the light beard scars and age lines around his eyes. God, he was so beautiful.

“You’re doing well, lil’ one; you just need to relax and be more patient.” You felt your fingers ache, pulling your hands slightly away from Alex’s. “You trust me a lot.” He noticed the superficial cut, the tips of your fingers bruised a bit, pretty normal, and you seemed quite calm about it. “Shouldn’t you? Trust yourself? I haven’t seen anything in you so far that doesn’t show how good you are at what you do...” The sentence was lost, somewhat unformed, but you wished he would talk about you like that more often. He took your finger, drying it with the edge of his shirt, which had become slightly reddened, and pressed until it stopped. It was hard not to just look at him. Your cold hands made Alex make a mental note that you weren’t a big fan of the air conditioning or that maybe your clothes were too short and thin.

…

On the same night, before heading back to the hotel, Alex suggested you two could go out to eat together as a way to spend more time talking. Since you’d spent hours at the studio and he hadn’t thought to offer you food or water, he chose a more relaxed place, reminiscent of the pubs where he knew you performed—live music and cozy lighting.

Upon arrival, you felt the chill against your arms. Alex laughed. You hadn’t seen him take off his blazer, but you noticed his attentive gaze as he draped it over your shoulders. It was a comforting relief. “I can control the studio’s temperature, but most places ‘ere are air-conditioned; you’ll end up feeling cold,” he said. You didn’t respond, only pondering whether Alex would always have a jacket or blazer for you if you never wore one. You liked his scent on you and the respectful way he looked at you, you hated that your thoughts were not as innocent.

As you sat across from him, there was little distraction, and you knew it would be a challenging time—more accurately, a journey to be honest, regardless of what happened next. He had loosened more buttons due to the heat. The collar was pressed against his rosy skin, neck chain attached to his sweat, and his eyes were on you, making your stomach flutter. Your foot brushed against his calf under the table, you couldn’t look at him. He smiled pleasantly as usual, the distinctive nasal sound of his laugh remaining soothing, despite the feelings he stirred in you. Your foot found comfort there, resting against him; neither of you moved.

“It smells nice; what is it?” he asked before you put away your pink tube of moisturizer.

“It’s peach,” you replied, sounding a bit excited. You wanted to talk but felt that besides your music, you might not be interesting to him, even though you felt there was something desirable in that; even if you didn't see yourself that way.

“The scent is great; it makes me less tense, Turner,” you said. You took his hand in yours. They were larger and calloused—something your fingers should be. You applied a drop of cream, massaging his hand with focus on each callus and prominent vein.

The sensation was light for him (even for you); your nails brushed against his wrist with a pleasant tickle. Taking your time, you smoothed out the creases in his poorly folded shirt, rebuttoned it, and adjusted the fold to what Alex would consider the perfect height. Your touch was gentle, and there you were, right in front of him, with your shoulders covered by his blazer. He noticed the strap of your dress was a little crooked, but you were nestled in something warm. Alex cherished everything about that realistic snapshot.

When you finished, you noticed his attention was on your face. You smiled slightly, as did he. You were in complete silence, yet every minute counted.

The food arrived shortly, and you didn’t need to question it. He simply whispered a “thank you, little one” to you as you curled into his blazer a bit more. He was hoping it would carry your scent by the end of the night.

The atmosphere remained the same—you both enjoyed each other's company, evident in the unspoken comfort between you. The air felt light in your lungs, yet breathing was easy and relaxed. Alex wasn't particularly hungry, but seeing your bright eyes and inevitable smile with every bite you took, he couldn't help savoring his food as well. You made him feel good; he realized just how true that was.

He gently brushed the corner of your mouth with his clean thumb, wiping away a small smudge. You followed his movement intently, reflexively cleaning the spot afterward. For a brief moment, Alex considered bringing his thumb to his lips out of instinct, but quickly caught himself, realizing the weight of the gesture, and instead wiped it off with a napkin. He thought about apologizing, but feared it would make things awkward.

However, you continued to look at him, your face full of color, the atmosphere just as comfortable and inviting as before. It wasn't a mistake for you; you liked the tingling sensation his touch left on your skin.

…

The weeks passed effortlessly; neither of you avoided the other. Occasionally, you both made your way down from your rooms together for dinner at the hotel restaurant or to have a drink. Conversations came easily. At first, Alex felt uneasy about how you didn’t smoke during routine activities, which made him uncomfortable for not being able to cut back on the habit himself. However, over time, he grew used to it and eventually stopped smoking around you, finding that he missed it less.

Sometimes, nights at the studio would deliberately stretch late, with Alex fine-tuning guitars that didn’t really need it or you attempting to replicate familiar songs on the drums, under the guise of practice. The truth was, even though you both knew you didn’t truly need each other, you still made an effort to be close to one another, whether in quiet moments or during busier times.

"Y’know, oldie. We moved it all online…” You mentioned it when you opened your eyes and noticed Alex annoyed by the droplets from his hair dripping onto his newspaper.

You couldn't pinpoint where the idea came from, but you understood his priority in not overwhelming you—imagining how a poor work dynamic could fall into the hands of bad journalists. In the end, that led you both to the beach, enjoying the refreshing breeze that made the sun less intense.

Your comment drove him to give up on the newspaper and just look at you. He couldn't look at you casually or quickly, he was getting used to that. Behind his sunglasses and cap, he felt like he was taking advantage by noticing the thin strap of your bikini and the ties and lace that drove him to think of other pieces. He took a deep breath, sinking into the lounge chair, like in romantic comedies that end well. You brushed your knee against his, drawing his attention back to you (yes, you were sharing the only remaining chair meant for couples—neither of you even knew such a thing existed).

Alex quickly realized he was blushing, feeling the heat in his cheeks when he got you had noticed him staring at you. "Do you need sunscreen? I didn't see you apply any yet," you asked, getting ready for your second layer, while Alex hadn’t put on any. "How disgraceful, Turner. You hardly seem like an older man." He rolled his eyes at your amusement.

His hair was tousled by the wind. His face had a radiant glow at you. You put some of it in his hand, and he began to apply it to his sun-kissed cheeks and nose, a bit of it smudging into his hair. You couldn’t help but laugh at the scene, his clumsy hands more likely to smear than spread the lotion properly. "Alright, Tur, let me handle this." You moved closer, your cool fingertips touching his skin and discarding the sunglasses. He caught the scent of peach as it drifted on the breeze, smiling softly as you smiled at him. Your gentle touch grazed his cheeks, finding comfort in the rough texture of his beard, which made you scrunch your nose in a playful smile that turned into a quiet laugh. Letting himself relax, Alex closed his eyes as you smoothed the excess lotion onto his neck. He wished he didn’t enjoy that closeness, but he did, and he had no intention of denying it.

You cleaned the stray strands of hair and lightly traced your thumb up the bridge of his nose, pausing briefly between his eyebrows. Alex sighed in contentment, his lips parting slightly, you felt even more at ease. Before he could open his eyes, you stepped back, slathering more sunscreen into your hands, then pressed your palms against his soft shoulders and just above his chest. He gave you a funny look, but before anything else could happen, you pulled away. "Rub it in," you instructed, noting his slight confusion. "And turn around. I'm going to apply it on your back." Touching his warm, velvety skin felt therapeutic. He shared that same sentiment. Was this how cats felt when they kneaded with their paws? It was just as comforting.

Alex felt the same when his fingers touched your back in return. The silence weighed on him, with only the pulsing of his veins echoing in his ears. Yet, you smiled peacefully, eyes closed and lower lip caught between your teeth as you lay on your stomach. He massaged your skin with sunscreen, convinced that this was a laborious task. Your muscles relaxed under his touch, and he noticed a foolish smile creeping onto his lips.

He gently moved the delicate strap of your bikini aside, making sure to cover every inch, no matter how thin the material was. His palm brushed your hair away from the nape of your neck, and for a long moment, he imagined kissing your sensitive skin, hearing your sighs at a playful bite, letting out the repetitive thoughts that were always about you stuck in his mind. He had memorized your scent, longed to immerse himself in you until your peaches became his, something only he could experience–no one else, not even the stupid boys your age (especially them). He followed the same ritual on your neck, sighing to himself as he acknowledged how addictive your skin was there; you were highly addicted.

"Wait a minute," you murmured, your words drawn out and languid, almost like failed moans that would fade into silence. Your delicate fingers fumbled with his as you pulled the bikini string down, revealing more of your skin, though not in an obscene way. Even though his gaze was heavy in a way that it wasn't entirely clear. Soon, the piece was no longer there, but the view was limited by the way you were lying.

Understanding his place, he lightly rubbed sunscreen over the exposed area, subtly moving down your waist and barely grazing your hips. He felt as if he were touching porcelain, afraid that any poorly thought-out movement might shatter you. He gave your flesh a final gentle squeeze, and your abdomen contracted at the loss, accompanied by a soft murmur. Returning to his position, Alex chuckled to himself as he noticed how you kept your head closer to the towel you used as a pillow, your body not moving a single millimeter. It was then that he realized the process had taken longer than expected, you had fallen asleep.

He pulled his cap down over his face, a bit embarrassed, even though you couldn't see him. Adjusting his sunglasses back in place, he quietly watched you, taking in your calm breathing and relaxed posture. He took his own shirt, wrapping it over you, deciding that you had been in the sun long enough. He didn't touch you, knowing you were still asleep, but couldn't resist briefly brushing his fingertips against his lips and gently moving the strands of hair that covered your face. His gaze sharpened instinctively, and while he knew how to handle it if he were alone, you didn't deserve that side of his life.

It was quick—just a fleeting moment, a feeling of being watched, though he didn't hear any cameras or whispers. He didn't want to risk dismissing the thought, even if he couldn't see anyone nearby. Slowly, yet without hesitation, he gently called your name, softly stroking your arm. You responded by murmuring his name, manipulating a warm and soft sound, making him wonder if you were conscious of his presence or merely dreaming—of him. It took a while, but Alex remained patient until your eyes opened, startled. He then placed the cap on your head, carefully cradling you in his arms, being cautious not to disorient you further as he buttoned his shirt on you, doing so with as little awkwardness as possible. Despite touching your skin, he never once looked anywhere but your face, waiting for your arms to slip into the sleeves until you looked somewhat presentable.

"We're going to walk to the car, alright? It'll be quick," he said, his voice concerned, firm, and reassuring. He knew what he was doing, hoping to minimize the damage. You simply nodded, resting your tired cheek on his shoulder, and he chuckled softly. "Can you put on my sunglasses, please, little one?" You gave a sweet smile, making him internally berate himself for putting you in this situation. He placed the sunglasses on you, guiding your hands with his own, and kept you close. "Shall we? It'll be quick, promise and you can sleep on the way to the hotel, huh?" You appreciated his calm demeanor, respecting your groggy mood after just waking up.

He grabbed your bag, abandoning any attempt to save the newspaper, and drove his hand on the small of your back. Leaning into him for comfort, you felt him hold you tighter. Instinctively, you nuzzled your face into his chest, only to hear him say, "Okay, just don't get too close to her, alright?" His heart pounded against your ear, and you heard the sound of camera clicks. You didn't want to, nor could you, open your eyes. You couldn't make sense of the noise; the person continued taking photos, asking questions, and you couldn't tell if there was more than one of them.

Alex opened the car door, firmly guiding you until you were seated inside. He gently stroked your hair, noticing how visibly shaken you were. He quickly kissed your forehead. It was a brief, hurried gesture, one you wished you had more time to savor. You held onto his arm, unable to speak. "I'll close the door and come around; I'll be right beside you, and we'll head to the hotel, okay?" He was frustrated, angry, but it wasn't directed at you; he didn't want you to see these feelings of his. He should have been more careful, knowing that this was possible even with the band being on a break, but he had been careless.

Once inside the car, with the windows tinted completely black, ensuring no one could see in, he reached for your hand as he started the engine, holding it tightly as you looked at him, dazed, avoiding looking outside. "Does this happen often?" you asked, your voice small. His throat tightened with an irrepressible knot; he hadn’t considered how foreign all this was to you.

…

Alex’s head throbbed, the furrow between his eyebrows deep with tension. You sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped between your thighs, eyes filled with unshed tears as you looked at him. He had used his connections, calling to inform them of the situation and to request the removal of any photos of you from gossip sites if they had already been posted. He was told on the phone that it would be handled, which confirmed that the images had likely been uploaded.

Alex chose to make the call in the hallway, asking you to go ahead to the room, not wanting you to hear and worry more than you might have already. But as soon as he entered, it was clear you had seen something. Your fingers played with the hem of his shirt, lost in thought, and guilt washed over him.

"I can listen to you, pretty one," he said, his voice soft, showing a rare vulnerability as he assured you that he was there with you. He wanted to hear you out, to relieve any burden weighing on your shoulders.

"I know this happened because you’re well-known," you replied, swallowing hard as you struggled to find the right words. Alex waited, kneeling in front of you between your legs, his fingers lightly brushing your skin. He didn’t know exactly what to do, but hoped he could offer some comfort. The touch didn’t feel like a mistake—it was a natural act of reassurance, though the proximity made him feel conflicted. Yet, considering the situation, it seemed right.

"I’m really sorry, truly. It was careless of me," he apologized, his tone sincere. You shook your head, gently cupping his face in your hands, pushing his hair back. His warm, caramel eyes focused on you, filled with concern as you teetered on the edge of tears, a feeling he feared he didn’t fully understand.

"Tur, I might sound stupid, but—" You hesitated, then he responded with his usual tenderness, drawing you closer. Your legs wrapped around him, your arms holding him tight. He stroked your hair, helping you find comfort against him. The towel draped over his shoulders—since he had given you his shirt and didn't feel like walking around the hotel shirtless—slipped to the floor, and having his warmth was enough for you.

"If they like the album, which I really hope they do, and with all the pre-album promotion as an artist... I don’t want to sound ungrateful, huh, like, this whole journey with you has been amazing, but is it going to be normal to have so many people talking ‘bout me? Pictures of me without my consent? And comments about my appearance?" You couldn’t look at him, which made it easier for you to speak coherently without feeling embarrassed about opening up.

It was so much to process, and Alex hadn’t considered it from that angle. After all, he was the one who had brought you into this situation, both in the moment and for the long haul. You were young, and he didn’t want you to go through what he had at your age. He could have prevented this, but now you were caught up in it.

He kissed your forehead, then your eyelids, realizing just how intimately right—and wrong—this all felt. It was inevitable, and it shouldn’t have been. He pulled back slightly, only to give in when you tightened your hold, snuggling closer. You took his hand and placed it on your waist, your way of asking him for it to take longer, seeking more of his embrace. He chuckled softly, needing it just as much.

There wasn’t much to say. "I think you know the answer, little one. I wish it wasn’t like this either. I’m sorry for introducin’ you to this.”

Alex’s hands slid up and down your back, gripping the fabric and holding you tightly against him. Your sigh was one of relief, drawn out, so sweet. He cupped your chin, lifting your head to meet his gaze. Your cheeks were damp, and he offered a small, uncomfortable smile.

“It’s okay,” you said weakly, trying to sound more composed than you felt. “It’s not your fault, Turner. I don’t think that, and I don’t regret being here with you. I’m just scared of everything that’s going to come with this, especially since I never really thought about it before.” Your words seemed distant, but even in your emotional state, you were eloquent.

Alex didn’t know exactly what to expect either; things had changed since 2008. He remembered the Humbug era being the worst, with all the attention from MTV. His tongue rested on the roof of his mouth as your fingers found a home at the nape of his neck, gently tugging at the fine hairs, much like you do with the hem of your shirt when you’re anxious. It soothed you. Your eyes lowered to his chest, and you realized it was the first time you’d hugged him this longer, and he was shirtless. You liked everything about it—the warmth and the view you had.

He pulled the collar of your shirt toward him, bringing your face closer until his tiny beard tickled your skin. You looked at him, and he didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was staring right into your soul. You were beautiful with your red eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. Understanding what you were going through, he got you whispering amidst the chaos of finding the right words, “I can’t mess this up, Tur.”

He focused on your words, though he wanted to pull you into him even more, but he resisted, waiting for you to continue. “I want this too, I just don’t want you to think less of me, okay?” Your eyes welled up again, and as soon as you tried to lower your head, he gently lifted it back up, fully aware of what you were trying to convey. “I don’t want you to think I’m like this just because I’m interested in you. I don’t want you to see me as…” You paused, struggling with the words. He simply rested his forehead against yours, holding your face gently in his hands.

“I don’t think anything bad ‘bout you, lil’ one. I’ve never thought that way, and these are just your worries, you got me? Nothing changes the fact that I think you’re talented and competent, huh? That has nothing to do with how I see you as a professional. You don’t have to be afraid of that.” He was firm, his voice louder than usual. You took in every word, noting the roughness of his tone and the space between his lack of manners with sentences. He swallowed hard, his mouth slightly open, and you appreciated how patient he was with you, how well he seemed to understand that you needed this moment. Your fingers tightened on his, and then your lips met his. It was slow, and though you felt like you lacked experience, it was warm. He pulled you closer, every inch of you molding to him.

You started to pull away, embarrassed, feeling like maybe this wasn’t meant for you, but as soon as your lips began to leave his, he tugged your collar, bringing you back for a more urgent kiss, making it clear he had been waiting for this for a long time. You leaned back slightly, but he held you firmly, sensing how your body was softening against him. He chuckled into the kiss, and you felt his velvety tongue against yours, slowly being enveloped by wet, lingering kisses. The taste was salty from tears and the sea, you laughed at the thought of him being seasoned.

You brushed his fringe away, noticing how his cheeks were flushed and his lips swollen. You wanted more. You realized your brain hadn’t fully registered what it felt like to have his beard brushing against your face.

“Was it bad?” you asked, your voice barely audible. You couldn’t help but think about how Alex had been with many other women, while you could count on one hand the people you’d kissed in your life.

“Do you talk when you’re nervous?” His warm breath brushed against your skin, close enough to be unsettling. Before you could answer, he planted soft kisses on your lips, still making a slight sound and lingering just a bit. He tasted of mint, not quite of cigarettes. The tip of his nose grazed yours, and the subtle stubble on his face slid pleasantly against your cheek. When he pulled back, your natural reaction was to lean forward for more, which he didn’t resist, a playful smile on his lips as he let you set the pace. Your fingers seemed made for his hair, and Alex was sure of it. By the end, you were breathless, though he wasn’t quite as much.

“Okay, I need to breathe...through my nose while doing this.” He chuckled, pulling you close for a hug. You felt at ease with him, talking out of nerves, but it was clear it didn’t bother you. He liked that. “It’s not bad at all. It’s actually wonderful, pet.” He touched your nose and cheeks, his fingers tracing every feature, wanting to soak in each detail of you. “You’re beautiful,” he said. You nodded. He struggled to figure out if the way your eyes fluttered when he spoke to you like that was because of his voice or his compliments, yet he was determined to keep drawing those reactions from you.

He ran his calloused fingers up your thigh, stopping at your hips, squeezing them hard. Your nails dug into his shoulders in anticipation as your legs parted briefly, giving him better access and also making the fabric of your shirt give him more of a view. The bottom of your bikini was tight, very tight, leaving a mark on your skin and he ran his fingertips over the spot. You looked at him, thinking about how no one had ever looked at you like that; the mix of desire and actually seeing you as something more than that. You had written about it before, but never experienced it, and so you wondered about the possibility of Alex acting like that because he knew your writing. However, you didn't want to think badly of him, you wanted to enjoy it.

His gaze rose to meet yours, his tongue moistening his lips and the crease between his eyebrows deepening, was it fair that that alone made you wet? He didn't need to say anything, you confirmed what he wanted.

The attention lingered on your face, your heart racing at the serenity of how he undid the ties, getting rid of the piece. You couldn't move, taken by how delicate he was and his eyes on you didn't do the same, even though he didn't fail to contemplate you.

“Turner,” it was like a sob, a tiny sharp. His fingers touched your center, sighing as a way of savoring the moment, then he sank a little deeper, smearing his fingers and spreading them from your entrance to your clit to improve the sensation.

“It's all right, princess, I'm right ‘ere. I've got you, but we've got all the time in the world, so let's be patient, you're with me?" Each word was breathy and soft, difficult for you to string together, but you still repeated his last name in a pleading whisper.

He brushed two of his fingers against you, one of your legs lifting and bending at the knees, he laughed at your reactions but it was adorable, even though he was nothing much but his dark orbs. Respecting your body, he plunged his fingers deeper, sliding in easily. Your body gave in, your hands supporting you back and your moans getting hotter, you felt tighter but it still felt good.

"Relax, lil’ one. You can lie down, everything's fine, huh? You can just relax, no thoughts." His accent, full of patience, so familiar yet made you swallow hard. Alex’s fingers were damp, all along their length, carrying that blissful energy that comes with youth. Certainly, it could be said that you were not so used to that, the gap between doing something and thinking about it was great, given your state you had fantasized about it a few times; maybe you expected something he couldn't give you, but he was there for you.

He felt like an exception, he wasn't so young anymore, but he was acting like one. His fingers slid, you swallowed them completely, until your legs trembled a bit and he pulled back, only to repeat it all over again. He was touching you, getting to know you, and thinking about how he would be tasting your juices on his tongue in a few seconds, getting you ready to have him inside of you without any concern... He throbbed with each glimpse.

He couldn't deny that he had fantasized about you too, how he wanted to corrupt you while you were wearing your usual spaghetti strap dresses, hike them up to your waist and just pull down his pants to take you in the studio, have your voice fade away while instruments were thrown to the floor. He would get heavy, swollen with sensitivity in his underwear when he thought about you from time to time, refusing to do anything that bordered on disrespect, and even if he failed, he followed a ritual in his light groping, looking for relief, without letting himself get there as punishment. He never felt right thinking about you that way, but it seemed like a plausible moment to let himself be reminded of it.

Your eyes were closed, your face to the ceiling, your head pressed into the mattress in agony. You weren't expecting it, but your muscles clenched tighter into the sheets, this was new; you knew what it was, it just had never been like this. There were brief kisses on your wetness, noisy and messy, his hair brushed against your thigh and his hands were firmly on you. You had never seen yourself without thinking about anything, not literally, but your senses only hovered over how to be good for Turner so he could make you feel great.

For Alex, it was better than he remembered imagining. It was hard to breathe when all he could do was focus on keeping going, listening to your sweet whimpers for more. The vivid scent of peach filled his senses, your taste taking over his consciousness, everything felt so good.

He sank his tongue, contracting it hard so that it dissolved inside you and felt in honor how you dripped down the sides of his mouth. He held the edges of your shirt tightly, pushing you closer to him, his nose brushing against your clit while his whole face rubbed all over your folds with desire. Your fingers tightened in his hair, gripping hard as you called out his name, the words barely coherent. You focused on him with a dazed expression, your gaze hazy and unfocused. His face was serene, eyes closed in deep enjoyment, completely immersed in your taste. You shifted a little, although he soon forced you against the mattress so you wouldn't do that, wanting to feel his beard hurt your skin. In fact, boys your age, or at least your experiences, did that very quickly, as an obligation. Alex was not a boy.

"You're so addictive," your throat was dry. Alex hadn't even done half of what he had in mind with you; and you certainly couldn't handle it.

He turned his face away due to your trembling knees, holding your gaze to his. He wanted you to get there, but in another way. Still, he watched you as he pressed only the tips of his fingers on your clit, without movements other than those of your hips. “So smart and charming, is there anything you can't do?” You pulsed, electric current going through your entire body.

You didn't know what to do, your cheeks were burning and you could only moisten your lips, wanting the agonizing knot to disappear.

“Turner,” he laughed, the same nasal sound you loved. It was like a mantra, the repetition of the drawn-out last name coming out of you and the cocky laugh. “Please, I need it, I need you, Tur.”

He nodded, stiff and sore in his shorts, then stood up and pulled them off. He didn’t look in a hurry to you, it gave you a headache, but he was nice to look at; his pale skin, his slim waist, his shoulders red from your scratches and his reddened length. He was hot and well-endowed, good enough to make your mouth water.

"Have you done this before?" His friendly tone made you hate your thoughts, and also question if you actually had. His cheeks were flushed, as were his lips, and he swallowed hard while looking at you. You felt a bit embarrassed. "It's okay if you haven't, princess." You smiled softly, shaking your head. "A few times, but it was never good. But this time, it is." Alex understood; he didn't judge you and never would. He ran his hand through your hair, brushing it away from your face, then gently tugged at the collar of your shirt, pulling it slightly away from your skin. "Are your songs not based on your experiences?" You feared he might think that was a bad thing, but his voice didn't carry any judgment. "No..." You sighed, content with his touch and his body pressed to yours. "I don't think I've ever truly experienced love, at least not directly. But I like writing about how I hope it will be." His eyes were a bit misty, and he nodded. He found that meaning beautiful; it was a perspective he hadn't considered before. He didn't feel so distant from that, since he wrote about things he'd witnessed. "It's beautiful. You do it really well.”

He opened the buttons, one by one, taking his time. He revealed your body to him little by little, admiring your collarbone, the curve of your breasts and stomach. His lips touched every nuance, leaving a wet trail and a bite on the flesh below your perky nipple. You writhed with a shrill noise, your legs clinging to him, ready to feel him as he brushed against your thigh. Alex also moaned every now and then, much more restrained and full-bodied, so hoarse.

He held your face to him, preventing you from turning away. The weight of his body felt good, everything about Alex felt like being enveloped in calm; even though you didn't expect calm at that moment. He opened his mouth, perhaps as thirsty as you were, his tongue on the roof of his mouth, staring at you. Slow and precise, you had your muscles soften as he got warm and tight inside you. You swallowed greedily, wet as never before, taking every inch of him.

“Good pet, good girl.” You held onto him tighter, your eyes watering. He held your head, snuggling you close to him. "You're doing great, you're such a good girl, right? Focus on how I'm inside you, filling you to the brim, can you feel me, lil’ one?” He was hoarser, unavoidable not to pay attention. His voice really calmed you down, making it work, your legs rested slowly and you noticed he was more comfortable in you; fitting better.

He held your hand on top of your head, intertwining your fingers, letting you squeeze tightly. Your body rocked on the bed with the rhythm of his hips, the movement was slow, he let his entire length come out of you like that and then pressed harder so you could accommodate him all the way into your lower tummy. It was good, warm, it made you think of more and more until you felt your belly tingle. Alex had a prominent crease, his pink lips parted and he gasped along with you every time your bones collided. Unable to hold back, he sped up, letting you whisper a painful, "Thank you," which made him release your hand, gripping your wrist violently as his forehead fell onto your shoulder. You stained the back of his neck with bruises, wanting your fist to come out the same way.

Your hot breath came in short gasps, you tried to be coherent in shyly mumbling that he could come inside you; wanting to have him fill you to the last drop until you were exhausted. Which wouldn't be a problem, you took your precautions up to date.

The intensity of his body on yours was growing, similar to the arrival of guitar solos in a chorus; you had to close your eyes, really paying attention to how your walls squeezed him inside you. Your firm thighs around him, added to the strength with which he thrusted you, caused friction on your clit and you were becoming aware of your limits. You felt Alex hug you again, delicate arms around you, wetting your shirt in soft moans as he filled you warmly. The sensation, the noise, everything connected made you relieve yourself too, in a relaxation of having both liquids mixing, ready to run out of you. He slowed down, keeping the same ritual, making you feel your thighs sticky until he realized you were getting too sensitive with tears filling your pretty eyes, and it was better to stop.

There was the familiar, comfortable silence that always settled between you two, both of you immersed in each other's presence. The embrace was gentle yet firm. He was comfy, still inside you, pulsing a bit, but good. His hand moved in meaningful circles on your back, and you mirrored the motion on his arm. His hair was a mess, and you imagined yours probably was too. His swollen lips drew in air as before, making you contemplate the way his tongue rested against the roof of his mouth.

"Can you lick me, Tur?" You asked comfortably given the situation, feeling good all over his touch.

He ran his hand over your chin, looking at you, not finding it bad. You hesitated when you asked, but it seemed inevitable. He moistened his lips, touching the tip of his tongue to your mouth, right on the lower one, holding your face firmly and doing what you said. The velvety, wet touch ran down your lip and into your mouth, which made you smile slightly, holding him for a kiss. It was good, you had imagined that. He sucked your lip to himself, in a somewhat messy act of saliva, and you wanted to do it more often.

“You good?” It was a genuine intimacy, right after a few minutes of nothing but the pure sound of his heartbeat echoing in your ear. You couldn’t help but wonder if this would affect how professional he thought you were—after all, he was your mentor—but you didn’t want to bring that up now. Similarly, feeling the way his shirt clung to your body, brushing against his skin and stealing your scent, he wondered the same thing, afraid you might truly believe you weren’t talented enough due to the internet and that this had only made things worse in your mind. Yet, he didn’t know what to say; the silence felt safe. "I’m okay, Tur. Tired, but I don’t want to think about songs, albums, or what we’ll do in an hour right now." You nestled closer to him, kissing his cheek softly, then his neck. Your voice was laced with tears, and he wasn’t sure if it was about what happened minutes ago or the issue with the paparazzi, but he understood that you were vulnerable. He felt guilty, still processing everything. "I’m not going to leave you, little one. I’ll be ‘ere, to deal with this and remind you how good you are." He whispered into your hair that smelled of peaches. You believed him, and he made you see a future in all of this.

You could have him on the cover of your album.

...

taglist: taglist: @ohladymoon @indierockgirrl @bloo-wisteria @bellaturner @cosmicpiracy @nikisfwn @andrews-lovr @nela-cutie @alexturnersbbg3 @blackberryblossom @lilmisssweetdreams @alexshotelandcasino @tbhclove @rostarblog @babieswiftie @yourstartreatment @atticssmellgood @aacheinthejaw @mingods @theonlyoneswhoknowsblog @andulina567 @tonyxstanks @despairinthedeqarture @harrysbestiee @ultragirrl @lifewasawillow @viviannagiorgini @turnerside @seokjinluvb0t @solacestyles @humbuginmybones @gracieghost3695 @holssireland @trumanblacktreacle @lovelikethunder

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#alex turner x reader #alex turner smut #alex turner #arctic monkeys #alex turner fanfic #alex turner imagine #alex turner fluff

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ananxiousgenz · 5 months ago

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HEY YOU GUYS KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS????? JARTHUR COWBOY AU TIME!!!!!

this one also comes with a bit of info for the beginning:

@percymawce-arts and I have finally given this monster child of ours a name!! from here on out, this fic shall be known as "When the Land was Godless and Free" (a lyric from the song foreigner's god by hozier)!

the chapters we are posting are like. severely out of order. we've just been going crazy behind the scenes (we keep getting good ideas and then discussing/writing them for literal hours, it's a great time). percy basically wrote all of this and i just did some minor edits and left all caps comments screaming about how fucking GOOD this is, so any and all compliments should be directed at him <3

and some trigger warnings: this chapter contains alcohol and some suggestive themes!!

@izel-reblogs and @ellamenop (if you guys want me to stop tagging you please lmk)

“Here’s to John and Arthur! Arthur and John!” Noel shouted, stepping up onto the bar and raising his beer, some of it sloshing over the side of the cup with the motion. “Freaky-ass, sharpshooting, vigilante crime-fighting extraordinaires! Without you two, those gangsters would still be shooting up this charming little town.” He flashed a wink and a gaggle of girls seated behind John giggled. John rolled his eyes. “To John and Arthur!”

“To John and Arthur!” the bar echoed, jovial sounds of conversation and rowdy drinking soon filling the space again. John smiled into his drink, only to choke and nearly fall out of his chair when Noel clapped him on the shoulder.

“Get ready for a lot of free drinks,” he said, hopping down to the floor. “This town’s full of generous rich folks just waiting for a chance to throw some money around.”

John groaned. “Does that mean I have to talk to people?”

“I’m afraid so, darlin’,” Noel said, all easy charm and swagger as he leaned up against the bar next to John. “Uh oh. Don’t look now, but there’s one coming up behind you.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” John swore under his breath as a young blonde woman in a pink (and startlingly revealing) dress came up to the bar beside him. “That was fast,” he whispered to Noel, who barely managed to hide a snigger.

“Hi!” the woman squealed, her pitch akin to metal nails on glass. John winced. Voice aside, her general disposition was the near equivalent to staring straight into the afternoon sun, and the neon pink of her dress didn’t help matters.

“Can I buy you a drink, cowboy?” she crooned, gently brushing a hand over his shoulder as she smiled far too brightly (the whole blind sharpshooter gig tended to work better when only one of them was blind).

John shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Oh, I don’t-”

“It’s on the house for you, sweetheart. I’ll pay for everything, don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. So, how about that drink?” She moved in closer beside him, her hand drifting up his neck and along his jawline. John was only beginning to think of how to politely decline when he felt a looming presence over his shoulder.

“Only if you buy for all of us,” Arthur said, not unkindly. But John had been traveling with him for long enough to recognize the hint of something else beneath the politeness. Not what it was, just that it was there. The woman giggled.

“Well, of course! Anything for our dashing heroes!” John glanced over his shoulder at Arthur. His face was set in stone, watching the woman like a hawk on a rabbit as she slipped a few coins into the bartender’s hand and waited for drinks in return. He looked… tense. Like he was a piece of rope, stretched to the verge of snapping, and if that annoying woman made one wrong move, he would.

Noel raised an eyebrow at Arthur. “You must be a real hit with the ladies,” he murmured into his glass, looking Arthur up and down as he did so. Arthur paid him no mind.

The sunshine woman was not the last to buy them a round of drinks, not by a long shot. Plenty of flirtatious ladies (and a few flirtatious men), thankful patrons and impressed watchmen approached them, hoping to show their gratitude by buying them a shot or a glass of whiskey. Arthur didn’t leave John’s side the whole night, quick to shut down any attempts at seduction by feigning ignorance to the intentions of anyone who approached them. But John knew better. John could see the hard set of his jaw, how he gripped his glass too tightly whenever a scantily clad lady twirled her hair around her finger, or a rambunctious young cowboy leaned too far into John’s personal space. It made John’s heart flutter wildly in his chest.

The drinks only slowed as the saloon emptied out, leaving Noel, Arthur and John three sheets to the wind, laughing uproariously at something stupid as the morning sun came over the horizon (Oscar had retired hours before, drunker than anyone at the bar much, much faster. Arthur had squeezed his shoulder and bid him goodnight with an expression of concern that made John’s heart clench).

Noel wiped tears from his eyes and looked over John’s shoulder, out the window behind him. When he saw the beginnings of daylight creeping over the horizon, he sighed. (He watched them, Arthur and John, engaged in a quiet but passionate discussion about something he couldn’t parse. They were both flushed and leaning in too close, chuckling at every other word that passed between them, oblivious to the rising sun or the empty saloon or Noel’s hands on their arms, steering them towards their room at the inn upstairs).

John chuckled (he did not giggle, he chuckled) as Noel tossed him into their rented room, with Arthur following soon after. He tripped over a trunk near the foot of the bed on his way in, falling forward onto the mattress with a gentle oof. Arthur laughed at him much too loudly for whatever time it was.

“Alright, you two,” Noel said, trying to hold back a laugh, “wash up and go to bed. God, I should’ve never given that toast, you’re both insufferable drunks.”

“Oh, shhhhhhh,” Arthur hushed, pulling John out of bed by his wrist. John leaned fully against Arthur in an effort to stay upright. It mostly worked. “You loooooove us,” he laughed. Noel smiled.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes but unable to keep the fond expression off his face. “You keep telling yourselves that.” He wiped his nose and tipped his hat to them. “Goodnight, you two.” Then he closed the door, and it was just them. John and Arthur, Arthur and John.

“Okay, come on,” John said after a long stretch of silence, inelegantly turning Arthur in the direction of their shared washbasin and mirror. Arthur giggled a bit as John tried to move him forward, mumbling some drinking song under his breath that John didn’t recognize (maybe it’s a British one, John thought lamely). They tripped over each other's feet a few times, but ultimately made it to the edge of the sink without completely falling over.

When they did, John braced his hands on either side of it with a tired sigh, watching his reflection in the mirror. There was a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead and a flush to his cheeks from the alcohol, but otherwise he seemed in decent condition. A few cuts and scrapes, some new and some old, and his braid was a little out of sorts, but nothing really concerning–

Then all the haziness of the alcohol and the late night was gone because Arthur’s full weight was at his back, his warmth permeating the fabric of John’s shirt and vest. His hot breath fanned across John’s ear and jaw, his eyes fluttering closed with the weight of inebriation. John inhaled shakily, suddenly brought back to shifting bodies and whiskey and fireworks with such vivid clarity it could have been real.

But it wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. John was drunk. Arthur was drunk, he could barely stand up straight, for fucks sake. He was just using John for support, falling asleep on his shoulder, and…

And pressing his nose behind John’s ear, ghosting his lips over the back of his jaw. Breathing his name with a pained expression. John’s own expression matched, half lidded eyes never leaving the mirror, tense and pained and wanting, oh-so deeply, for the one thing he knew he couldn’t have.

Despite himself, John’s eyes slipped closed. His shoulders relaxed, tension leaving his body as Arthur hands came up to rest on his hips. His head tilted, granting Arthur access to more of his jaw and neck. And Arthur took it. He didn’t kiss, but he skimmed. Barely there, almost not real, deniable. Like a spirit. Like a gut feeling. Like instinct.

“John…” Arthur breathed. John felt a shiver work its way down his spine at the sound of Arthur’s voice at the base of his skull, reverberating in his head like it was meant to be there. It took every ounce of will that John had to keep the small moan building in the base of his throat from escaping.

“Arthur,” he answered, voice hoarse and quiet. He wanted to open his eyes. Wanted to see himself in the mirror with Arthur over his shoulder, arms around him, nosing at his neck and shoulder, resisting the urge to press warm kisses into his skin. Or maybe to bite. To draw blood. John had never been shown a difference between violence and love. Maybe they weren’t so different. He hoped so. He wanted…

He wanted to see the look on Arthur’s face. Would it be like it was that day in the cabin? Shocked and a little confused but mostly needy. Yearning for something. Yearning for John. Or would it be darker? Dark like the clouds before a storm, the kind of storm that drowned you with rain and filled the air with electricity. Would it be dark like he was holding back? Like John was?

But John didn’t open his eyes, no matter how badly he wanted to know. If his eyes stayed closed, he could pretend Arthur’s gentle, delicate touch wasn’t there at all. Just a taste of something more, enough to leave John wanting. Enough for him to imagine. Enough for it to stay a pleasant, alcohol induced dream. If he opened his eyes it would be real, and it would have to stop. And John did not want it to stop.

“John,” Arthur murmured, his voice just above a whisper now. “Open your eyes.” The timbre of it was deep, so much deeper than John had heard it before. How could he have possibly known? How could he know John so well in so little time? So completely? The moan John was holding on to finally slipped past his lips when Arthurs grip on his waist tightened, ever so slightly. “John,” Arthur choked.

“I can’t,” John whispered as Arthur’s fingers moved from his hips, leaving a burning heat behind in the shape of Arthur’s palm. They trailed up and up, tugging at the buttons of John’s shirt as they went, making his breath hitch. Up to his open collar, nails dragging across John’s collar bone and hollow of his throat. Until they wrapped ever so gently around his neck, the thumb coming up to guide John’s jaw this way and that. John was breathing hard, now.

“Why?” Arthur asked, pressing himself closer, still, to John. John whined.

“I…” I want to. God, I want to. Make me. “Please, Arthur, don’t make me. Please, just–”

John gasped when he felt Arthur’s teeth scrape lightly over the skin of his neck, his hand flying up to grip Arthur’s hair, his shoulder, something. To hold Arthur. But he was stopped by a strong grip on his wrist, which guided his hand back down to the edge of the sink, holding it there. Pinning it.

“John,” Arthur whispered. John’s chest was rising and falling like Akke’s after a long sprint, his heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s. Arthur’s thumb caressed his knuckles, white with the strength of his grip on the sink.

“Please,” they said at the same time. John’s brow furrowed, his lips hung parted in anticipation. His mind swung wildly from the present, between Arthur and the mirror with a hand around his throat, to the cabin, pressing Arthur to the wooden floor, pinning his wrists above his head. The burning momentum between them suddenly halted by John’s fear, like a landslide on the track before a train. Now the train was out of control again, brakes screeching against wheels that just wouldn’t stop, sparks flying. Sparks like fireworks. Sparks like live wires. Sparks like exploding gunpowder.

But then the warmth at his back was gone. Along with it the hand at his throat and the one pinning his own to the sink. The teeth at the junction of his neck and shoulder and the hot breath on his skin vanished, leaving only a stark coldness where they’d been before. John sighed, whether in relief or disappointment he didn’t know, and opened his eyes.

The flush on his face had migrated down his neck and chest, which was exposed now (when had Arthur done that?) and heaving. The ‘light sheen’ of sweat was beading at his temples and brow now, falling in drops down to his jaw, along the bridge of his nose. His lips were parted and his eyes were wide and his neck was bare.

And Arthur, leaning drunkenly against the wall behind him, arms crossed, expression chilly. He was breathing heavily too, and his face was red like the first hints of daylight in the sky. But it was the hard set of his mouth and brow that made John shiver.

“We should go to bed, John,” he said, voice still raspy. A needy, sad little sound rose from John’s throat then, and John’s hand flew to his mouth, as if to force the offending sound back in. Arthur swallowed and turned, ready to head back to one of the twin beds awaiting them. Side by side and yet still miles apart. “And don’t worry.”

“It’ll all feel like a dream, tomorrow.”

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #malevolent fanfic #malevolent fic #jarthur #private eyes #malevolent pod #an eldritch being and his wet cat #when the land was godless and free #tw alcohol #tw suggestive #masked #malevolent cowboy au

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ihave-atummyache · 6 months ago

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i was never there

bang chan one shot/imagine

SFW but some allusions to NSFW activities.

toxic relationship! toxic!chan toxic!reader

summary: to everyone’s disapproval, you and chan just cant seem to leave one another alone.

1.2k words

Chan knows that the two of you breaking up was for the best. Your relationship was unstable and toxic, borderline obsessive. You both had become distant from important things in your life because all you cared about was each other.

If he knows that then why is he feeling so guilty about having someone else in his bed? Why does he feel guilty that it isn’t you in some foreign country with him instead of some girl he met at a bar? Why has he only been able to write the worst heart broken lyrics that he has ever thought of?

Despite his better judgement, after his hookup leaves, he sits up and grabs his phone. He unlocks it and instantly opens social media, hoping that you had posted something, posted anything, just so he could see your face.

He feels like he’s going crazy. He checks your social media at least 10 times a day. He doesn’t care if he’s the first view, he just needs to see you. He opens your profile and sees you posted a story and of course he opens it.

13 s ago

He chews his bottom lip as he analyzes the photo you had posted. It looked like you were having brunch and mimosas but that isn’t what bothered him. What bothered him was the fact that there was somebody sitting at the seat across from you.

There was another plate and another glass but the chair was empty, something you had purposely done to try to maintain your privacy, he assumes.

Maybe it’s the drinks he had earlier in the night or the post nut high but something makes him open his texts and message you, despite every fiber in his brain telling him not to.

Who are you with?

Why would he say that? Now he probably looks insane. But your response is almost instant, not even a minute later.

it’s almost 5 am over there. why are u up?

He chuckles at his phone. You’re right, it’s 4:47am where he is but he can’t help his stomach doing a flip at the thought that you know exactly where in the world that he is. It makes him feel slightly less crazy that you seem to have been watching him just as much as he has been watching you.

Keeping tabs on me now? He types the message and sends it before he thinks too much about it. This is the first time the two of you have talked in almost a month and he feels like he’s getting an adrenaline high.

Chan stands from the bed and heads to his bathroom before turning the shower on and staring at his phone as he waits for the water to heat up.

ik YOU aren’t talking about keeping tabs on anyone. somehow you see everything i post within a minute of it being posted. care to explain? He can sense your sassy attitude through the screen and smirks down at his phone.

I can’t miss you?

Risky. Risky reply and he knows it but its all or nothing at this point.

He sends the message before he can think too hard about it. He sees you’re typing then the bubble disappears. This happens a few times before he finally decides to get into the shower.

A few countries away, you’re staring down at your phone, debating how you should reply.

“I fucked up,” you glance up at your coworker, a new friend that you had made. She had listened to you rant and rant about your ex boyfriend and it had actually brought the two of you pretty close.

“What happened?” She raises an eyebrow at you as she takes another sip of mimosa. you let out a sigh, running a hand through your hair before sliding your phone across the table to her. She reads the messages quickly before shaking her head in disbelief.

“He is fucking insane. Are you going to reply?” her words linger in the air for a minute before you grab your phone and read over the messages again.

“Should I even reply? This is so toxic. I’m feeding into him. Fuck!” You drag your hand down your face, frustrated and the waitress returns to your table at the perfect time.

“Can we get another bottle of champagne?” You ask with a polite smile and she nods before walking away.

“Y/n, it’s 11 in the morning,” your new friend eyes you from across the table and you shrug.

“I’ve officially been driven to drinking. I just need to get drunk and then I’ll go home and fall asleep then I’ll wake up and text him back,” you nod at her and she chuckles but lets you continue drinking anyways. Your phone vibrates again on the table and you flip it over, Chan had texted you again.

“What did he say?” Your friend already knows who it is without you having to say a word. You lean forward and unlock your phone and your heart drops at the message.

Baby, I need you. I miss you. Come to the show in Seoul.

You choke on air and start coughing before sliding your phone to your friend so she can read the messages. Her jaw drops and just as she hands your phone back, a notification pops up at the top of your screen; an incoming call from ‘Christopher Bahng’.

Without thinking you answer the call, excusing yourself from the table and stepping onto the patio, right next to your table so your friend can still see you.

“Chris…” you breathe his name out, it feels like a stab to your chest when you hear him let out a breath on the other side.

“I’ve missed hearing you say my name. I miss you so much, baby. Did you see my message?” His voice is slightly slurred over the phone and you recognize the influence that alcohol probably has over this entire interaction but honestly, you don’t even care.

“I saw it. Chris I don’t think that’s a good idea-”

“I don’t care if it’s a good idea or not. I just need to see you. I’m going to lose my fucking mind if I don’t get to hold you soon,” his voice is desperate and you can hear how overcome with emotions he is.

“We aren’t together anymore. This is exactly why. We aren’t healthy for each other, baby. You know that,” the nickname slips from your mouth like a habit and you immediately gulp when you realize what you said.

“I don’t care. I don’t care about anything if you aren’t at my side,” his confession just further nails it into your head that the two of you aren’t good for each other. You chew on your lip, pulling your sweater tighter around yourself.

“Fine.” Before you realize it, you have agreed to see him, just one more time. This will be the final time, your final goodbye.

Or the cycle will start over and you’ll be back in the endless toxicity that you two have been in for a long time.

“God, I love you so much, y/n,” his voice is raspy and you can tell he’s getting tired.

“I know, Chris. Send me two tickets so I can bring my friend since you ruined our brunch,” you chuckle and you hear him laugh on the other end.

“Yes ma’am,” he replies and you feel your phone vibrate, probably the notification that he just sent you the tickets.

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cloudofbutterflies92 · 12 days ago

Text

Mi sei scoppiato dentro al cuore (Ghost x OC)

As I promised I wrote a mini shot about the first meeting between Ghost and Eden before the mission in Russia, I leave you the lyrics of the translation of the song here by Mina, one of my favorite Italian artists. I hope you enjoy reading it

Spending two days in a luxurious hotel because the higher-ups at MI6 were frightened at the idea that in Managua, the capital of Nicaragua they will kill her was beginning to wear on her.

She could understand the first day, maybe the second. But even the third was becoming routine and boring. She had to wait until the fourth day before she could go out, obviously because diplomatic business, that was the goal after all.

"Are you in the room? Have you eaten?"

"Yes Grandma I ate some excellent carne pinchada."

It had now become easy for her to lie to her grandmother Helen, she had a special talent. Ever since she was a little girl she could always get away with it, of course those lies then were discovered by the older woman and according to the severity she would react. There were times during her own teenage years when the raven haired woman had literally made her grandmother almost go to the other world.

The punk nights, the fact that she had once shown up completely with her hair shaved because it was cool. Eden had plenty of experience to talk about, years literally swinging in the razor's edge. Yet looking back in those moments she felt free, without having to be under anyone's control, and now instead she walked there, alone and with the sole intention of forgetting with alcohol.

Same lousy habit as her mother, she probably would have ended up like her i.e. on the verge of the slab. Obviously not together with criminals(in her heart she hoped Anna was dead, she hoped with all her heart)

She needed to relax and forget about what better place than one of the city's many bars? With some very good rum? Something strong to help her relax.

"Another Roberto, Fernandes, Antonio"

The bartender immediately interrupted her. "It's Antonio" he received as an answer only she raised her third glass slightly, swallowing the strong liquid.

On the dance floor were a few couples, three to 'be exact and they were all middle-aged. In a way she envied certain people who still loved each other after years, love now had become a rare thing, a complex concept. Or like her who had lost the shred of hope she had placed in it.

Tu sei arrivato

mi hai guardato

e allora tutto è

cambiato per me

"A glass of bourbon" a male voice beside her caught her attention between the notes of that song, probably the usual foreign man who had come to pass that evening, although from the way he posed he didn't sound like that at all.

"Sorry, sir, we don't have what you're looking for

" "Bloody hell, then"

"Maybe a Flor de Caña?" that was enough to get the attention of the blond man, clearly with an English accent. She recognized them too well, especially with a accent as pronounced as that one. She had to admit, the intensity of the caramel-colored gaze was striking her, making her smile amiably.

"A foreign woman in Nicaragua these days is like seeing an angel in the middle of hell, give me what the young lass said"

Nodding, the waiter left them alone, preparing the drink.

"Maybe this woman wants to know exactly the dimension of hell" with slow movements she sipped, studying every detail. Fit physique anyway, a few tattoos peeking out from slightly raised sleeves. No, he didn't look like a businessman even if not everyone was dressed typically from London's haute couture.

"Hell, oh I've seen hell with my own eyes. I live it every day lassie" the mysterious man raised his glass, cheers to the young woman. In that secluded space both of them in one way or another seemed like two tormented souls, Eden was not the kind of woman who liked to have tipsy conversations, she knew she would have said too much otherwise, and now that she was on her third glass it seemed to be gradually slipping away. But she was clear-headed enough to notice that the man was not there on business, how had she guessed? Well simply by noticing that only a military man could have a tattoo depicting different aspects of military life such as soldiers, bombs, and machine guns. Typical.

She had probably lost many colleagues, and in a way she understood this all too well. She herself had been forced to sacrifice the lives of her colleagues. Live or die, there was not much choice in her field.

"Well there are a lot of ways to represent it"

"That's true" with her voice hoarse from the cigarette she was smoking, which seemed to be her consolation besides the little bit of alcohol she had drunk.

"I have a friend, he's really crazy about cigars. If I told him I hate these cigars he would think I was crazy," he burst out laughing, coughing up the smoke.

Eden, with her hand under his chin looked at him curiously. "I should quit smoking too, I usually smoke Marlboro Menthol”

"Menthol? They taste like washing machine soap those ones”

"They are particular" the brunette crossed her legs slightly, taking the last sip. A few couples went to the center of the dance floor, it was fascinating to see how people of different ages were in love or were loved. Something she gave too long had been suppressed.

"I'm not very good at this crap but would you like to dance?"

Eden automatically burst out laughing; she could see how he was not really the slow-dancing type. But with all the stress of that mission and maybe wanting to let loose a little, why not accept?

Mi sei scoppiato dentro il cuore

all'improvviso

"I'm not coordinated at all love" his gaze lowered chuckling, looking at her a little nervously. Eden shook her head, taking one of his hands and resting it at her own side.

"Follow me" she tried to move for both of them laughing. It was a two-step but there was something more to this: for the first time she felt a sense of happiness?Her heart literally burst as the song said.

"This is one of my grandmother's favorite songs, I know the words by heart" the curly-haired woman explained grinning, how could she tell that he was looking at her as the most interesting thing in that room? How she had made the 'mistake of revealing a top secret information, too stupid at that moment in staying to look at that particular pair of hazel eyes, almost tending toward amber.

They were scrutinizing her, searching.

They stayed there a little longer, in the center of that dance floor. The blue lights illuminated that specific part, the music had stopped but they stood there, almost embarrassed that they had been even after the song ended.

Eventually they both decided to leave that bar, there had been a thought on her part: to spend the night together with him, and the blond had probably thought the same thing. A fuck could have spiced up the evening, but something had stopped them, what could be better than taking away one's pain by conceding one's body? Most likely they were two broken souls trying to find their own broken pieces.

"It was" Eden scratched the back of her head amused

"Good? Funny?"

She nodded "Nice and funny"

There was nervousness between the two, the so-called butterfly effect. There were several choices, but in the end the right thing was to split up. The summer wind brushed lightly, letting a curly hair stand in front of her sight for a few seconds

"Before you go, you didn't tell me your name. If you don't want to be look it's..."

"Simon"

"Simon, my name is Eden" she nodded, she had told as nothing her identity and for her who was on a mission to do so was tantamount to being naive. Never tell your identity to a stranger.

But that stranger had been perhaps one of the few encounters, probably the 'only one that had made her weak. Frightened.

"I hope I get to see you again lass" he smiled slightly and turned his back walking away, Eden could have stopped him but did not. She let him walk away.

But with the promise that they would meet again.

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elly99 · 1 year ago

Text

Masterlist

Other Stories

To The Future - Minji x fem!Reader - A chaotic and intimate conversation about time travel.

한강 - Minji x fem!Reader - A quick date by the river. Could be a sequel to To The Future.

Anywhere With You - Danielle x Reader - Inspired by Dani's song at Bunnies Camp.

Cool With You - Minji x Reader - Calming the storm and coming home.

Sunrise Princess - Danielle x fem!Reader - Insomnia at sunrise.

Thunder Girl - Minji x Reader - She doesn't like being startled.

밍구리 먕먕 - Minji x fem!Reader - When she's too cute to handle.

pho-ever - Hanni x Reader - Good pho never gets old.

Just Another Night - Minji x Reader - Dreaming in Paris.

Higher Dimensions - Minji x Reader - About love and choices.

Updates

23.07.10

23.08.02

23.09.05

23.09.28

23.11.06

#minji x reader #minji #minji new jeans #kim minji x reader #danielle x reader #danielle #danielle new jeans #hanni x reader #hanni #hanni new jeans #haerin x reader #haerin #haerin new jeans #kang haerin x reader #newjeans x reader

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deadpool15 · 1 year ago

Text

Underwear?

"Hello, vlog. I'm currently in the kitchen. You can obviously see that if you have fucking eyes. I'm sorry, sometimes people will be slow. So, a couple of things have happened, first being I got MARRIED." Lyric says while smiling at the camera. "I've just been sitting in my house, living life. I got married in January, so it's been like a couple of months and I know what you thinking your this man done turned our girl into a fucking housewife. No, well shit I mean, the dick is good soo." I laugh while walking towards the refrigerator to grab out the ingredients for the pasta dish I'm making. Just a little simple meal, because I mean you got to save the best for last am I right. Yall know I'm right.

I managed to score me a 6'2, beautiful ass model and actor combined. Yea, that shig was definitely on my bucket list, I mean I was thinking more of a tall women like that video game with the zombies but, shit it's not like I fell short or anything. I met Byeon during Paris fashion week, during a bathroom accident. And by that I mean I walked into the wrong fucking bathroom because I was distracted and lost as fuck. I turn about towards the camera after explaining the situation. "I mean, I'm pretty sure that shit happened to everyone before to all of you. Agree with me, please. The sad part is this isn't the first time I've walked into the wrong bathroom. Let me live, ok. So, back to the story."

Flashback

"Omg, I'm going to fucking piss my pants. I'm too old for all this running and shit. A bitch is about 4'11, therefore I'm not athletic enough either. Sir fucking move." I practically scream at the random man blocking the entrance, ofc he tries to stop me but I pay him no mind, and immediately run into a stall. "This stupid fucking dress." After about what felt like 12 minutes I was able to use the bathroom. I walked out only to walk face first into a door, I looked up and saw a face. "Shit, dude, you are basically built like a wall. Wait, isn't this the women's bathroom, or do you identify as a women. If so, I'm totally sorry, ma'am." He looks down at me smirking before I notice this is the most beautiful man I've ever seen. "Shit, dude, you look like you were made by AI, I mean young lady."

It takes me a moment to realize he is speaking to me. Fucking beautiful specimen. I know his dick is big. Wait shit no what's wrong with me. Well, I'm obviously horny as shit and he could totally fix that issue. "This is the men's restroom, or you lost?" I look up at him basically staining my fucking neck shit this dude is tall, he could totally break my back. Wait, stop it. This is the men's bathroom, which explains why that dude tried to stop me from coming in here. "Yea, I am lost, sir. I was trying to find the womens bathroom, though that's obviously too late since I've already used the bathroom, and well, you know."I should walk you back them, just in case you get lost and wander into another's men's bathroom and some other guy gets the chance. Strange girl." I blush while looking around the bathroom." "Yes, you should be kind, sir."

Present

I start mixing all the ingredients while I finish telling the story, smiling at how the memories make me feel. "So. I'm just gonna let this cook for 30 minutes, and it should be done. I had already prepared the recipe last night, so everything is pretty much good. Anyways, how yall doing? Oo shit, this is a vlog, not a live video. Yea, I'm just gonna edit that out. I don't need yall thinking I'm slow and shit." As I finish speaking, my phone starts going off, and someone is literally blowing up my phone. "Acting like I owe child support in this bitch. I don't claim any foreign. Oo shit yall it's just my MAN." I smile once I see the contact.

Myman- Hey baby, are you busy ?

Mymam- Are you even up, I know you don't wake up til like 4 in the afternoon.

Myman- I was just checking in, baby. We got a break on set, and I told the staff that I had to speak with my wife.

Myman- There is this random girl that kinda won't leave me alone, not that you need to worry, though. I handled 👏 it.

Babycakes- I'm up

Babycakes- Who tf is bothering you, baby? If I need to come out there and check a bitch I will.

Myman- No, baby, nothing like that, I promise, just a little flirting.

Babycakes- Say no more say no more say no moreeee

Babycakes- I'm on my wayyyy

I gathered everything and headed to the car, and before I knew it, I made it on set. "So, since they still kinda filming, I can't bring yall. We'll I can I just like can show yall shit to be honest. So, I mean yall can we my man. My husband. So, let's go." I get out of my car walking up the security guards who greatly remember me and allow me in without a fight. "Omg, yall I thought I wad gonna have to be the anger black women in this bitch, anyways let's find our target." I walk pretty much all over the set saying him to everyone including Lee Yoon-mi. "It's my favorite strong girl. Guys, look at my girlfriend." She laughs hysterically at my comment. "Hello, to Lyrics vlog, stop saying I'm your girlfriend before your husband tries to take us apart." I kiss her cheek while hugging her, asking where would Byeon be right now. "He should be in his trailer. He heard you were coming and got all excited and locked himself in there, saying he was waiting patiently for his love." I laugh at how dramatic he is before telling yoon bye, leaving to finally get to him.

I spot the trailer that lists his name on it before knocking. "Are yall excited to see him, I mean, I am." I wait a while before I hear him at the door, "I told you all. I'm kinda busy." He opens the door staring at me wide-eyed. "To busy for me, sir." Byeon immediately grabs me and yanks me into the trailer, turning off my camera before I could introduce him to everyone. "I fucking missed you so much," I stare at him shocked since he is literally smelling me right now. He grabs my ass while pushing me further through the trailer, "You look so pretty. It's too pretty to walk out of the house. Fuck other people probably saw you didn't they?" "Ofc, they saw me baby I had to ask for your location, duh? What's wrong?" He grabs my jaw while pushing me against the Makeup table. "Don't sass me right now, I've been waiting forever. Sitting here hard thinking about fucking you until you can't walk. Seems like I didn't do a good enough job last night. Let's fix that."

"W-wait baby, we can't do that here," though it seems like my voice means nothing to him because he has already pushed me down bending me over. "But what if they hear, and I'm pretty sure you have to be on set soo- "Come on baby, don't make me beg. You know you want it to, and that's why you came here dressed up for me. All pretty for me." Before I can protest further, he starts fingering me slowly, causing me to moan out loud, and he stops. "Your sensitive baby, why are you sensitive? That would mean you were touching yourself earlier. Shit your already about to cum. I'm gonna have to punish you for that."

#byeon woo seok #strong girl nam soon

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kindestofkings · 1 year ago

Text

when i meet the band they ask, "do you have a man?" i can still say, "i don't remember"

matty healy x reader

face claim: amelia dimoldenberg

childhood friends, reader and matty healy have been the ultimate power couple, with his success with the 1975 and her increasingly popular online series. unfortunately, things don't always stay perfect forever...

authors note: this took me FOREVER but she's my baby and I hope you enjoy!! Absolutely no hate to gabrietta shes seems really cool, but i needed the drama lol

yourusername and chickenshopdate

liked by trumanblack and others

chickenshopdate when will they get it!! my quest for love is still ongoing. TWO more dates lined up for this season, lets hope I don't get ghosted xx

view all 290 comments

yourusername mwhahah you guys are gonna love them!!

1975fan1 oh my god please please have matty on we've been so patient 1975fan2 fr i need to see more of my parasocial parents yourusername dont think I know a matty ?? is he the one who sings about chocolate?

trumanblack well fit xx

yourusername stranger danger !! 1975fan2 hahah you'd swear they haven't been dating for like 5 years 1975fan3 AND friends for like 7 years before that

yourusername and chickenshopdate

liked by charli_xcx and others

chickenshopdate No crashing here, just crushing. 😏 My date with @charli_xcx is out on Friday!💕

view all 200 comments

fan1 holy shit this is my roman empire

yourusername watch out @bedfordanes75 imma bout to steal your girl xxx

bedfordanes75 two can play at that game hun xx charli_xcx guys please theres enough of me to go around trumanblack and me yourusername @trumanblack sorry who brought you into the conversation?? trumanblack love it when you're mean to me x rass75 AH my eyes

1975fan1 damn they're both so hot, i fear the boys of the 1975 have rizz...

(liked by bedfordanes75 and trumanblack)

yourusername

liked by trumanblack and others

yourusername sadly Miss XCX wasn't the one for me, or i wasn't the one for her whatever blahblahblah

im giving love one last try next week before i give up and let my mum set me up!

view all 146 comments

1975fan1 omg matty liked this post maybe he's the last date?

1975fan2 me when im delusional xx 1975fan3 you do know they're going out years? he likes all her posts babe x

chickenshopdate

liked by trumanblack and others

chickenshopdate it's the one you've all been waiting for.. my date with @trumanblack @the1975 is out THIS Friday!

keep the hopes low guys he can't be funny in his first language let alone a foreign one xx

view all 500 comments

1975fan1 OH MY GOD i was right this is everything

rass75 you picked the wrong band member love

yourusername if you weren't too busy being cool and mysterious, it could've been us falling in love over chicken nuggets xx trumanblack oi rass75 back off

yourusername

liked by trumanblack and others

yourusername just broke the internet so i think i'm good to hardlaunch my current placeholder @trumanblack x

view all 490 comments

trumanblack babe you look so cool

yourusername BAHAHA did you quote your own lyrics to me?? thats an ick I might have to rethink this placeholder thing, rass75 are you free? trumanblack stop tryna replace me, hurts my feelings

trumanblack posted on their story!

-go watch me be fit and cool on a date

1975fan_base

liked by yourusername and others

1975fan_base in honour of @trumanblack and @yourusername's groundbreaking date i thought we should all love on the old pics of the two and the guys from her old insta!

view all 10 comments

1975fan1 parents literally my parents

1975fan2 so so cute they've been together so long !

1975fan_base ikr!! they make me believe in love

1975fan3 shes doing gods work giving us those photos

yourusername 💕💕

1975fan_base ahhh omg HI!!

yourusername posted on their story!

trumanblack reposted onto their story!

more boyfriend content cause he's giving out it's ruining his "cool" image lol

replies

bedfordanes75 cant ruin what was never there in the first place 1975fan1 IM SO OBSESSED WITH YOU TWO AHH

four weeks later

tmz

liked by 1975fan1 and others

tmz SPOTTED !! the 1975's frontman matty healy was seen out on a loved up walk around NYC today with gabriette, despite him and his long term girlfriend being seen together just over a month ago. Do we think the previous couple had broken it off already or is the singer adding cheater to his name?

let us know what you think down below!!

view all 500 comments

1975fan1 oh my fucking god men I cant

1975fan2 nooo I hope he and yourusername broke it off before this, shes too good for this shit!

1975fan1 doesnt even matter its very quick to already be in a relationship after ending one that lasted like 5 years...

1975fan3 this afternoon?? tmz you guys are disgusting putting this up, what if yourusername finds out through this!!

1975fan_base

liked by 1975fan1 and others

1975fan_base guys i cant be delusional anymore yourusername just unfollowed matty and all the boys 💔💔

view all 15 comments

1975fan1 noo I cant stop thinking she found out through tmz, hard day to be a 1975 fan....

1975fan2 how can he cheat on the girl who he wrote when we are together and about you for !!

1975fan_base genuinely makes no sense men are TRASH

1975fan3 feel like you guys should've seen this coming he's written so many songs about cheating on his girlfriend

1975fan2 literally no one asked!!

yourusername

liked by pheobebridgers and others

yourusername oh hi! hope you've missed me? let's play 2 truths and 1 lie: it's awards season, i'm fit as fuck and men are trash.

fans of chickenshopdate don't fret we'll be back with another season soon! it's time to level up on english singers, im looking at you @harrystyles xxx

view all 400 comments

yourusername god 1'm so bad at games there's 3 truths there isn't there?

fan 1 AHAHAH you are so iconic, gone for three months and you come back with this fan2 make him payyyy

florencepugh the real queen of england right here!

yourusername 💕💕

harrystyles i'm a pescatarian so what about just a regular date love x

fan 1 oh she's such a girlboss I hope ratty healy regrets every decision he's ever made!

bedfordanes75 gonna smash it! call one of us back when you get the chance <3

(liked by rass75,1975adam and charlie_xcx) fan3 eek the fallout of a couple in the same friend group right there

#matty healy #matty healy imagine #matty x reader #matty the 1975 #matty healy fanfiction #fake instagram

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teafangirl · 11 days ago

Text

Soldat Steals Christmas 🌲❄️

Crack Fic or not … I don’t know at this point

Summary: Santa's sleigh was in the shop because there wasn't enough fuel and Santa was getting bored with flying it. So jolly old st Nick took a ride on the nearest train, it went through Europe, to be more specific the snowy mountains. He would soon find that, that had been a horrible thing to do! He should have stuck to the sleigh.

Or : Soldat unknowingly revisits the train he died on, and has a moment of remembering.

Warnings : You may laugh, Soldat being forced to do stuff, this is just for fun! References to CAFA! Talk of trauma. You may notice I used some lyrics from popular Christmas songs like jingle bells and twisted them. You may cry too I guess, cute ending., WS getting emotional.

A/N; this fic was inspired by a post from @iwasmadetobeasoldier I give credit to for the idea and, Santa’s last words ! I hope you enjoy and I apologize for any misspellings ! And marry early Christmas!🎄 , also all three pictures are from the web!

—------------------

Mission Report, December 24, 2024 - Christmas Eve.

It was the night Santa was supposed to come to town, deliver gifts to the good little boys and girls! The night the jingle bells jingled, all the way kids wondered what fun it must be to ride in a one horse open sleigh or a high speeding train, riding over the hills, laughing all the way. Until He went out on the snow

And on his back he fell, from a train that seemed so high up now, at least from his spot on the snow. They came and dragged his dead body away, hitched him to an operating table, and crack, went his left arm, replaced with metal. Then they hitched him to a chair, which striped his mind apart.

This one foggy Christmas Eve an assassin was taken from his cryochamber his black hair wet, the black mask restricting his speech held his lips shut . It was treated like a toy, his mind only filled with anger and pain. To him the only thing he knows is torment, pain, doing what his handlers tell him, if he fails there's more torture waiting, no chocolate, no sugar plums or no warm fire to sit in front of, no Christmas tree filled with presents only coldness. His eyes were full of pain and that coldness, they called him Soldat or The Winter Solider.

His eyes had seen so many things he wishes he didn't have to see. His handler was quick to send him on yet another mission, he found himself on the roof of a train, it was just him his weapons and the harsh cold. His hair was still wet it felt like it might freeze, the snow was everywhere but to him, it seemed foreign as some slid off his fingers, he had no idea where in the world he had been sent this time he only knew his target was an old overweight, white-bearded man who wears a red suit with white fur trim, a red hat, and black boots the target was known as Santa Claus.

Soldat never asked why a target was chosen, he didn't really care as long as he completed his mission, meaning he received somewhat less torment it felt like he lived a nightmare he didn't know who he even was before or was there even a before. He realized he hadn't moved from his spot on the roof of the train in a while. Perhaps the cold was getting to him. Soldat quickly got inside the train he walked through the train cars gun siting against his shoulder, his metal hand grasped a knife, his footsteps didn't make a sound. His eyes were fixed forward, they called him a ghost, he could send a shiver down anyone's spine with the look in hie eyes. In his mind he was focused on his mission, but there was a feeling, something he hadn't felt before, somehow the train seemed familiar, somehow he knew he was in Europe, for a bare second his eyes bore a look of fear, dead shot as if there was an event that happened here that he couldn't remember. Had he been on this train before, he pushed that thought away and tried to focus on the mission. The train was quiet except for the engine and his deep breathing, which he could hear.

A few cars down Santa was sat, beside his sack, full of presents, to him the train was as quiet as night not a sound in sight. He had decided to take the train since his sleigh was out of fuel, and the reindeers were sick Misses Clause had given him some cookies and milk to eat on the way which he was chomping down bite by bite. Crumbs were all over his big belly, some even stuck in his white beard, if anyone else was on the train they would surely hear him chomping away at his cookies. In the train car he was in there was a piece of metal that was covering a portion of the wall, it looked new, newer then the rest of the train at least. After finishing all but one cookie, Santa decided to have a nap, he closed his eyes only to open them a moment later when he felt a cold, breeze as if the door to his train car had slid open then closed, he locked into the darkness in front of him to see a figure, it was tall dark, it looked like there was a mask over his face, then he saw what its left arm was doing. It was tearing away at the new patch of metal that was shielding, blocking out the cold, a loud screech could be heard as it was ripped away. The cold air flooded into the train car. The figure stepped out of the shadows, its left arm was made of metal, its hair was damp, its eyes were pinned on him, it was wearing goggles, but Santa could tell its eyes were locked like a predator that had locked onto its prey or an assassin that had locked onto its target. It sent a shiver down his spine, he actually started sweating in his suit. The cold made the figure stand out against the train's dark interior. Menacing is what it looked like, before he could ask what or who the figure was, it closed the gap between them. The silence was uncomfortable, disturbing, it made Santa's breath hitch for the first time in forever. Fear wasn't an emotion that was normal to him, he was usually jolly as a lollipop. He found his body trembling as he reached for his sack , pulling out a baseball bat that he was planing to give a very good little boy. Santa had never hurt anyone before, but even now the effort was useless, as before he knew it the baseball bat was torn from his hand by the metal arm of the figure, who tossed it out of the train. Soon he felt the figure grasp the colour of his suit with its metal arm, he felt himself being hurried to the opening, the figure turned Santa around to face it. His back was towards the harsh outside wind.

Soldat had the old man in potion, he took in a deep, shaky breath as he griped both sides of the train car so he wouldn't be pulled out with the man. He lifted his right leg to the mans belly ready to kick him out, he looked the old man in the eyes and oddly the old man just gave a jolly smile, there was a twinkle in his eye as he laughed his belly shook, like a bowl full of jelly. Soldat wasted no time in pulling his foot back and slamming it into his round belly, watching as Santa Claus fell out of the train car. Instead of a scream, all Soldat heard was a loud.

“HO Ho Hoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo”

That got fainter and fainter the farther down he went. The wind prevented Soldat from seeing him hit the ground, but he didn't need to see the body. As he looked out as the mountain blow, he thought he remembered something, but he tore his head back to the old mans sack before his mind could put the pieces together. He knelt down dipped his human hand in, he was for some reason curious what else other than that bat, was in it, something inside him had sparked. It was something he had not felt in years, Joy.

He didn't know why, but he felt warm all of a sudden he closed his eyes, wanting to savour whatever this feeling was images of a boy and a girl sitting around a tree flashed in his mind, images of a boy pulling a snow globe out of a wrapped box. Inside the snow globe was a house, two elderly people maybe his parents, there were also three kids one girl, who looked like she could be his sister, she was making a snow angle, beside her two boys were throwing balls of snow one was blonde and the other was black haired. As he brought himself back to his miserable reality,

he felt something in the sack, pulled his hand out to reveal the same snow globe from the image in his mind. He gently ran his fingers over it feeling every inch of the object, as he sat kneeling he began to feel a teardrop from his eye, he reached his hand up to touch his tear, his eyes focused on the snow globe in his hand. He brought his hand up to his goggles and removed them, he saw the white snow no longer only red. Next he took off the glove on his human hand, desperate to feel this, to feel this object against his skin to memorize it, the feeling. He didn't know how significant it was, he didn't know who he was, but he knew one thing, this felt familiar to him. His human hand spiked with the sensation of being cold as he ran his hand over the object, feeling the glass under his fingertips. He knew that if he bought the snow globe back with him, his handler would smash it, would make him watch, then they would likely make him clean it up. This revelation made his eyes water a little more he didn't want this, yet he knew if he gave up they would likely find him, maybe give him another piece of metal. The thought made him hold his human arm with his metal one as he sighed. He then looked over at the last cookie the old man didn't eat, Soldats body ached he didn't remember the last time they fed him, much less anything that wasn't stale or that he wasn't rushed to eat. Without thinking, his human hand rose to the mask covering his mouth, gently he removed it taking a deep breath filling his lungs he let out a sigh as if he hadn't taken a real deep breath in a long time, next he picked up the cookie with his shaking hand, he bit a tiny nibble off of it, his eyes lit up as he felt the taste of the chocolate, it made him feel better at least a little better than he had felt in years. He curled up against a corner of the train car and finished the cookie slowly as he continued to stare at the globe, his blue eyes becoming softer as tears started to slowly rip out of his eyes.

December 25, 2024 - Christmas day.

–

Soldat woke to the sound of footsteps coming through the train cars, he knew it was them people from Hydra who came to collect him since he didn't return after his mission was complete. He had not even known he dozed off, he felt better, but now he felt fear as the footsteps came closer. He realized he had been holding the globe against his chest, clutching it like it was a lifeline. He knew they would make him forget about it, he contemplated on running away going down the mountain. However before he knew it men barged into the train car, Soldat quickly tried to hide the globe, but one of the men grabbed it from him, they laughed at him, he tried to fight, but he was quickly overwhelmed, and before he knew it the globe was broken, apron out on the ground they watched as he tried to go to it, he wanted to, but he knew it was no use , soon they dragged him back to the base tears littered his face as they shoved him into a cell back in the disgusting place where Hydra kept him. He backed up august a wall and pulled from his pocket two of the figures that had been inside the globe, he managed to grab them when the men were not looking. The figures he grabbed were the blonde haired boy and the little girl who looked like she could be his sister. A smile cracked on his face as he looked at them, running his fingers over them, multiple times he thought he remembered their names “Rebecca, Steve” he said those names over and over in a quiet tone trying to make sure he would remember when Hydra decided to brainwash him again.

The End 🌲

#bucky barnes #marvel #the winter soldier #winter soldier #sebastian stan #cute #mcu #james buchanan barnes #christmas

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lovystar · 2 years ago

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❝ STAIN UPON THE EARTH ❞ ; CHISHIYA SHUNTARO

synopsis ── the borderland came with a terrifying, foreign fundamental rule: choose to live, or die in indecision. you were completely unprepared to face death, to be dropped in the middle of a game you and your best friends had no way of understanding. it was wicked, just your luck to travel into the unknown in a mini dress and platform heels.

pairing ── x unnamed fem!oc (reader)

word count ── 1795

chapter content/warnings ── cursing, unwanted touching, we are just beginning so this is pretty light.

series masterlist ─❧─ next →

You saw the fireworks at night.

Your small group of friends hopped from bar to bar, leaving only when the music became repetitive and, at times, a bit dull. Bar number three began like every other: two of you reserving a space in the dance floor and two attending to the bar. This time, it was Niko and Sora's turn to find a pocket of space to take over. Emiyo and you headed to the bar and, as the birthday girl, Emiyo did the honor of ordering for the group as you paid.

With two drinks each, you craned your neck looking for the bright pink of Niko’s dress. Emiyo found her first, bumping your hip and pointing with head in the direction of the pair. They were waiting near the DJ, already dancing with each other. You nodded to Emiyo and started walking.

You lifted the drinks above your heads to avoid spilling. You took the lead, moving through the bodies with ease. As you walked closer to them, you could feel the vibrations of the speaker a lot more now that you were near the DJ. You weren't scared to admit that you liked parties, not necessarily every week but the sentiment still stood. Your favorite part was feeling the tingles of the music. It engulfed you, the waves taking root in something deep inside you.

When you reached Niko and Sora, you and Emiyo handed the drinks.

“成人期まで!” You all shouted as you drowned the drinks. The liquid stung on its way down, the metallic edge to alcohol lingering on after the fact. Emiyo brought her hands high up, shouting her excitement. Finally, the last of you had turned 20, adding the faux label of adult to their resume.

You moved to the music, following the beat blindlessly. Slight sweat covered your forehead, but it didn’t bother you. You laughed along with your friends, enjoying their company in the small circle you created. You went back and forth with your group, shouting lyrics and going off each other's dancing. You were melted together, loving how the ripples of one's movements breathed life into the others.

You felt somebody dancing along with you a bit after your platforms began to feel heavy on your feet. This bar was particularly packed, so you weren't too surprised when you felt their presence. You ignored the stranger. You were bound to grind on somebody given the proximity to other people in general. You also assumed it was somebody trying to push into your circle, to break it or make it smaller.

It wasn’t going to happen. So, you planted your feet, and made sure you weren’t pushed or forced to take up less space.

A scowl unconsciously made it way to your face when the somebody’s hand landed on your waist. Their fingers were gripping onto you. Suddenly, the hands moved on to your hips and you felt your ass connecting with their lower body. You tried pushing their hands away. Sora was the first to notice something was wrong, and quickly came to your defense.

“Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing!”

You were able to take his right hand away from you, but as soon as you tried to move his left hand, his right hand held onto the hem of your dress, pulling.

Your instincts took over. You picked up your right foot and brought it down with force. For once in your life, you wished you had worn the stilettos.

Before you knew it, your elbow contacted with the person’s mouth. One of their teeth appeared to have pricked your skin. That was your own fault really, you should’ve aimed for their nose. Nonetheless, their hands and body parts were definitely away from you. You turned around to face him, and put space between the two of you, moving closer to your friends. Their comforting hands holding you close.

A stream of curses left the man’s mouth. He was bent down, a bit confused on whether he should be nursing his foot or his mouth and chin. He settled on the latter.

You couldn’t hear everything over the music, but you caught something along the lines of “foreigners” and the word “easy.” He continued shouting and with poison in his eyes, he walked away.

It took a few seconds after he left your sight that the girls started pestering you.

“Are you okay?”

“Did he hurt you?”

“Do you want to go?”

“Yes, let’s go to a different bar.”

“Are you okay?”

“You were so badass! I should’ve beat him too.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine! Really!” You smiled. Behind the smile, though sincere, you were still frightened. Well, you’re unsure if it was fear you were feeling, but the shaking of your hands had to be telling you something. Your heart was beating too fast, adrenaline pumping through your body.

The bodies packing you into the wall of the bar now felt more suffocating than anything else, and the vibration of the music made a sour feeling pulling up your throat. You were going to throw up if you didn't get out of here.

“I just need a minute! I’ll be back, okay?” They looked at you unsure, but nodded, nonetheless.

“I’ll go with you,” said Emiyo.

“No, no! You stay here. It’s your birthday,” you grabbed her hands and squeezed, “I’m fine, I’ll just go get some fresh air and come back.”

The worry did not leave her eyes but finally she nodded, giving you a small smile.

“Be quick or we’ll go get you.”

You didn’t see any stars in the sky tonight. You inhaled deeply, letting the summer air wash over you. You stretched your arms over your head, letting out a groan of relief. Undoubtedly, the free space you found in the sidewalk was nice. People were walking up and down the street, partygoers given their attire.

The wind picked up slightly as you continued down the street, the sweat cooling your skin. The more steps you took, the more you realized how much your feet were hurting. You needed to sit down. The ball of your feet pushed themselves further into the constrains. You clenched and unclenched your fists as you search for a place to sit.

Across the street, you saw a park. It looked more like a garden with playground spring riders. Hopefully they had a bench as well, if you could settle for one of the riders. You crossed the street as fast as you could and walked into the green space. The bench was in the furthest point of the park, right next to a lamp post.

Funnily enough, the park only needed three to be sufficiently illuminated. The multitude of rhythms and speech could still be heard across the street and through the trees, but if you closed your eyes and concentrated hard enough, you could ignore it easier.

You were tired. It seemed like it was the only thing you were feeling these days. You were numb to your world. Where you once found passion and love and ambition was a deep, shallow void. It has been eating at you for some time but now, you just let it. You were too tired to fight it.

Your body decided it wanted to lay down, and so you did. You weren't sure how long you were there, but Emiyo's voice was what brought you back to the present.

“Wahhh… this is what you are doing…? We thought you went home…”

After a few seconds, you opened your eyes, “I just needed a break.” Someone picks up your feet from the bench, sits down and puts them on their lab. When you go to look, you find Niko looking up at the sky, her neck resting on the polished wood.

“There are no stars tonight,” Niko said. You laughed inwardly; great minds think alike.

“You got pollution to thank for that!” Sora shouts from a different side of the garden. She was holding onto one of the lamp posts near the center of the park, going in circles. Then she noticed the spring riders, and near sprinted towards the ladybug. Sora was a happy and playful drunk, and true to her nature, she started singing on top of her lungs. You didn’t recognize the song, but you laughed when she decided she needed to dramatize the lyrics, going from ‘girl in love’ hopping to the classic ‘I’m heartbroken thus I must clench my fists against my chest.’

“You are so childish!” Emiyo laughed. You could hear her footsteps, lower and lower as she walked to the garden’s exit. “I’m hungry! Time to get some fuel!”

“Guys, look. Are those fireworks?”

Sora nearly broke her neck looking up, her eyes wide, “Where? Where?” She ran towards the bench, leaning her body over yours to get a better view. She voiced her awe, before continuing, “wait, do those look like fireworks to you guys?”

They didn’t. If anything, they looked like shooting stars, shining despite the cloudiness, pollution and the prolonged demonstrations of their death. Even then, shooting stars don’t multiply, nor do they appear bigger and closer as they make their way. As you watched the white slowly turn to orange and then red, and started speaking your doubts, particles fell into your eye.

“God damn it,” you said to yourself, rubbing at your eye.

“Okay, yay! Fireworks, shooting stars. I’m still hungry, let’s go to——”

“Yes, fine, I’m also getting hungry.” Your eye was still burning from the amount of rubbing, and despite it stinging a bit, you forced them open. You looked up.

Niko was looking behind you, frowning. You supported yourself on your forearms and looked to your right at Sora. She was gaping at the sky, she kept repeating ‘where did they go?’ You waved your hand in front of Niko’s face, trying to catch her attention. She blinked, once, twice, three times before looking at you. But too soon, she looked back at Emiyo.

“What’s wrong?”

“Emiyo is gone.”

“Huh?” You sit up, “Gone?”

“She just disappeared.” Her eyes widened, “she just disappeared. She was right there,” she pointed sharply, “and now she’s not.”

“You’re so drunk right now,” You laughed, getting up and bringing the short dress lower. “She probably went to get food, she was hungry.”

“No, no, no, no. She was right there.” She pushed herself towards the exit, exasperated, “right here, right fucking here, whining, she was talking about being hungry, wanting to go somewhere but—she didn’t finish talking. I blinked and she was gone. She fucking disappeared.”

“Girl, you—”

“Don’t tell me I am drunk! I am not! Tell that to Sora, I am fine, and I saw what I saw.”

“Well, maybe she just ran to some food stand, or to the plaza,” you tried to reason. It didn’t make logical sense that she would simply disappear.

“How fucking fast do you think she is…?!” Niko shouted, “She has fucking heels! And she’s drunk! Even then! She couldn’t possibly run fast enough to the point there is no sign of her.”

“Okay, I see what you mean,” putting your hands up.

“Yeah,” Sora dragged out, “That’s—that’s not good.”

You walked over to Niko, who was frantically looking around, as if Emiyo was hiding in a bush. “How about this, huh? We calm down ourselves, clear our heads, and get her ass before she gets ran over.” You grabbed Niko’s shoulders, grounding her. The frown had yet to leave her face, and the main change were her eyes. Glassy, the worry intensifying the longer Emiyo wasn’t in her sight.

“Hey! It's going to be okay.” Sora hugged Niko from behind, “By the way, where did the music go?”

It drowned on you that the streets were completely silent.

series masterlist ─❧─ next →

#chishiya x reader #aib spoilers #chishiya shuntaro #imawa no kuni no alice #aib chishiya #chishiya alice in borderland #alice in boderland x reader #alice in borderland #chishiya x oc #chishiya x you #chishiya x y/n #chishiya x fem!reader #shuntaro chishiya #shuntaro chishiya x reader #shuntaro chishiya x you

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kikuism · 8 months ago

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hi mariam!! how about you? any books you're looking forward to reading? ooh, or manga?? any shows or movies that you enjoyed recently? or new tasty meals or baked goods that you've been proud of? 💌 🥐📚

hi jenna! 🤎🤎🤎 ooh let's see

for books, there are a lot on my tbr, but i'm excited for lady macbeth by ava reid! i really love how lyrical her writing is and i always look forward to anything she writes. i'm also tentatively looking forward to the familiar by leigh bardugo — i've only read the six of crows duology and ninth house, but i love a historical setting so i think i might like this one more than ninth house. oh, another book i enjoyed whose sequel i'm eagerly waiting for is the art of prophecy, it's a martial arts fantasy and it's exactlyyyyy what i wanted to read for so long! i needed something to fill in the green bone saga hole left in my heart, and while this isn't exactly a serious epic family saga, it had just the right amount of martial arts and compelling characters to leave me satisfied. it's honestly like if fujimoto wrote a novel. none of these characters were taking themselves too seriously and the writing wasn't taking itself seriously but at the same time there were epic fights scenes and emotional scenes that packed a punch (no pun intended). i really enjoyed it, i loved how funny it was. the fact that the main characters are majority women and one pathetic chosen one warrior is sooooo fujimoto coded. this boy can't do a single thing right and it's up to one of the greatest martial arts legends, an old woman, to take him under her wing and make sure he lives up to the prophecy that's been foretold. included in the cast is the most cringe fail assassin i have ever read in my LIFEEEEE, she's soooo embarrassing when it comes to flirting with other girls it's crazy. she's an insane killer but can't pick up a date to save her life. and who's she trying to flirt with? the other main character, a stoic warrior who's fighting for her people's freedom, she's soooo 🫣 so it was hugely entertaining and i can't wait to get the sequel from the library. i honestly Need to read more fantasy books like this, it's so much fun.

oh, i also finished bel canto last night, and it was.....strange. it's about a mass hostage situation that eventually morphs into something surreal and romantic. yeah, i think romantic is definitely the word bc there is no way this would happen in real life, it was just so impossible to me that these high profile hostages, foreign dignitaries and ceos and whatnot bonding with their captors who want to start a revolution like 😭 in the end they all become a huge family which was equal parts charming and equal parts baffling. so i had to really suspend my disbelief. they were really under house arrest with their captors for 4.5 months, that's crazy. but eventually i stopped asking how they didn't push for negotiations more fiercely and how the police and crowds outside didn't just break in and deal with it and just enjoy the language. i think it's about how people can form impossible bonds in impossible circumstances and so from that aspect it was charming and surreal. i've read 3 books from ann patchett and there's no doubt she writes really beautifully. it's just that after about 100 pages i was like okay....i get it, really. do we really need 200 more pages of this? and the epilogue was stupid i'm sorry...so it was a strange experience.

for manga!! tbh it's been soooo hard for me to get into manga lately, i really think this is because as the years go by it's just harder and harder for me to read on my phone, it's just not a comfortable experience. but then on my laptop, the screen is too big 😭 BUT i did actually start an ongoing manga called firefly wedding, which is about an aristocratic girl with a chronic illness who ends up marrying an assassin for her safety after she's captured. the premise sounded really interesting, so i started reading, and i actually really loved the beginning. the girl really just wants to abide by her duties and marry someone respectable for the sake of her family (she's quite no-nonsense about it, which really reminded me of naomi....) during the course of the story she realizes that because of her condition, she doesn't have much time left, and wouldn't she want to spend it doing what she wants instead of what's expected of her? so what ends up being a marriage of convenience ends up becoming more complex as she starts developing feelings for the assassin. and the assassin, well, he's kind of insane 😭 he's a yandere and like ofc he's written like that, very possessive and toxic, and at times he can be a little too much for me. i really liked their dynamic at the beginning, when they were constantly trying to one-up each other in little sly ways—sooooo good. and obviously someone like him has never known love, so he's always testing her limits to see if she's really committed to him because in truth he also just wants someone to love and be loved in return. and he's really cocky which i really love, which made me really drawn to him....but i liked how she didn't take any shit from him and she made sure he knew it too. i really liked watching their feelings develop.

it's just, when she starts developing feelings in return, and their romance further develops, so does his possessiveness.....'the thought of you with another man is more agonizing than death' ummm 🧐🤔🤨 so like, moments like that made me go oh! is that supposed to be romantic? and i'll admit some parts i was like 'girl he's crazy!!!!! how can you be falling for him???' hgkshfjdj but i get it, he knows nothing of the world of people and relationships and he's learning slowly. he's obviously written like that on purpose, this is the only way he knows how to operate in the world, he doesn't know better. AND something else i really like is that during these scenes, she's visibly unsettled; she makes her discomfort clear to him, so i really appreciate that, and that takes him down several notches. i like how he listens to her that way.

they're slowly shaping each other's worldview, which i like. i like how they both learn from each other; she learns how to take chances, and he learns how to listen to others and take accountability.

plus the manga does this thing where it presents double meanings all the time and i just had to screenshot this moment, it's from a scene where she has to pretend to seduce a client in order to get something valuable from him, and he starts getting physical with her, and the assassin comes to the rescue, and obviously everyone outside can hear that something's going wrong but they won't intervene bc it's a brothel:

'we wouldn't want to be in the way of someone who is trying to make their beloved fall more deeply in love with them' hellooooo?????? i gasped.

she has a scar on her chest from a surgery she had to undergo because of her weak heart, and she's self conscious about it, but then the assassin shows her all of his scars and says there's nothing to worry about, it was really cute.

and then some time later her bodyguard shows up, and he's like 'im gonna take you back home no matter what! i can't believe you've been out here like this for so long' and i was like ohhhhh my god please don't make him an annoying overbearing love interest please please please BUT i was pleasantly surprised!!! he's concerned for her, of course, and he has feelings for her and they've known each other since childhood, but he also ends up coming to respect her wishes and autonomy and hes now cooperating with her and the assassin to make sure she can live out her own life. it's really sweet. i do roll my eyes at the rivalry he and the assassin have though, but i love how they're all working together and they both respect her, it's great. anddddd i'm obvious like this but like the bodyguard more hgjshfhf he's the nice one (and his name his kou!!!) and i've always liked the nice guys instead of the bad ones.

so yeah i'm enjoying this manga quite a bit. plus it takes place in the meiji period which i love. i just wish it was already completed, because it's very hard for me to consistently maintain an interest in ongoing manga bc it only takes a few missed chapters for me to end up abandoning it oops. and it's soooo funny that my main complaint is that the love interest is just too much of a yandere bc that's literally the whole point 😭😭😭 it's exactly what it says on the tin, but i have to share my truth....i'm just not used to it at all so it's a bit much at times. sometimes the scenes that are supposed to be romantic make me go oh 🤔 but i'm excited for him to meet her family.....

the art style is so nice too!!! i really love it

as for anime, i did watch two episodes of the apothecary diaries and i liked it, it didn't hook me, but i plan on continuing it eventually. i think maomao is an interesting protagonist! there's some new anime i want to watch, like windbreaker, it just looks really nice. and i need to catch up with dungeon meshi, i haven't watched the last 3 episodes oops. as for movies, i watched the sound of music recently (everybody clap, i watched an old movie) and i liked it, it was charming! too long, but it was cute and corny. i also watched the classic korean thriller old boy, which was crazyyyyyy....that's all i'm going to say. also watched midsommar, which was.....kind of....mid 😭 sorry. i think my expectations were too high, because hereditary scared the shit out of me. but this was just.....okay. it was too overt for my liking. florence pugh was great though. oh, and for shows, i want to watch shogun, bc i just can't believe it's as good as everyone says it is 😭 idk why, i just have to see it for myself to believe it.

no updates on baking and cooking, it's just been the same old...i'm actually trying to just perfect the basics. i want to make the tastiest eggs and the perfect pizza. lately i've been kneading dough by hand and it's so satisfying and i can actually feel when it's ready instead of relying solely on the mixer, and my pizza has been coming out fluffier and softer so i love that.

i'm also getting back into crochet (it's like an on and off relationship at this point) and i always think i've forgotten but i'm pleased to note that it's muscle memory now. i'm crocheting a basket and tbh i really love crocheting things like that. i don't know if i would wear crocheted clothes but i really love making baskets and bags and whatnot. i just wish this wasn't an expensive hobby.....for this basket i had to buy 4 skeins of yarn and a new hook which ended up costing $50 😭 so i think that's why i just don't do it as often as i want to. however, i really do want to get into tapestry crochet/intarsia, i did it when crocheting my kobo sleeve, but it was messy and i want to make another one and improve my technique, maybe even make some wall hangings.

sorry for this novel length response omg!!! are there any new books you're looking forward to jenna!!

#answered #schech #ugh i Need more historical shoujosei manga....

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urfavnegronerd · 1 year ago

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honey-kehlani

trope: fluffy

pairing: margo kess x black fem reader

warnings: some good old southern metaphors, Grammarly hates me (i think they anti black fr), lowk internalized homophobia but nothing insane readers kinda on the dl but not gross dl yk?, still ina rut lowkey, got up before my alarm and decided to finish this before i leave

song lyrics are italicized

w/c: 1.6k ish

saw you awake

Margo is pretty. Real pretty. Pretty like magnolias in May type. It’s not like you’ve never liked a girl before, because you definitely have. Them late-night reruns on nick-at-nite you used to watch with your family type shit. That 90’s type pretty. It’s not like you were foreign to the concept of being gay, or lesbian, or however the world wanted to label your innate attraction to girls. It just… wasn’t something you mentioned a lot. You’d talked about it a lot with your grandmother, but other than that? Liking girls was something you just didn’t mention. All you knew was that Margo was pretty, the type pretty to make you adjust your cargo pants so they hung just right, in the way so that when you stretched she could see the band of the Nike Pros you wore. Type pretty to make sure you kept your shoes clean, looking all fresh, type pretty to make sure your washday always happened. Cus girls like clean shoes and pretty hair, right? It wasn’t like you could just… go and spit game to her.

You were sprung off your ass and you couldn’t help it, shit you tried to swing from masculine to feminine enough to make her notice, but nothing seemed to work. You’d tried to talk to her, but it… did not end well. You were shy and blushy and didn’t know what to say.

“Talk to me sweet pea,”

“Grandmama it's just a lot on my mind,”

“Girl I am your grandmother, not talkin' to me is like a screen door on a submarine. It don’t make no sense baby,”

“I know,”

“Is it some girl?”

You tensed a little bit, your grandmother is the only one you’re fully out to.

“Yes ma'am,”

“She got your feathers all ruffled?” Your grandmother slowly looks up from the sweet potatoes she’s peeling, eyebrow raised with a knowing look and smile playing on her lips, a hot blush crawls up your neck and you swallow meekly, nodding.

“She’s real pretty Grandmama. Smart, too.”

“That’s real good, baby,”

“Grandmama I’m being serious, she pretty as a peach and I don’t know what to do about it,”

“What you mean you don't know what to do about it?”

“It’s like, every time I see her, I freeze,”

“Baby you fixin to be just another pretty face to that girl, keep acting like that,”

“But what if she not…”

“Not what? A lesbian?”

“Yeah,”

“Then you move on,”

“It’s a lot more than just movin' on, m’dear,”

“Babycakes it sounds like you just making excuses,”

“Yeah, you probably right m’dear,”

A few weeks had passed since you told your grandmother about Margo. You told your grandmother about some girl you ain't never had the guts to talk to, but now, here you are, a handful of lilies from your grandmama’s garden, mixed with lavender, waiting outside her door. Part of you is happy and excited, but the other part? Thinks this is stupid and you should run. There’s such a huge chance that she could just not be into girls, and then what? You make a complete fool of yourself and it could go bad to the point where she tells everyone. Why was being… like this, so difficult? Loving up on someone shouldn’t be hard, right?

Psyching yourself up, lightly bouncing on the balls of your feet, New Balance 550s with juniper, you ring the doorbell, hiding the flowers behind your back.

“Hello?” Margo’s face, big brown eyes, gentle cheekbones, two puffs, and an entire universe worth of beauty peek out from behind the door.

“Margo! I, erm, Margo. Hi,”

“Oh! I know you, we have chem together, right?”

And English and History, but who’s counting?

“Y-Yeah, so, um, listen I was kinda wondering if maybe you wanted to–”

“Those are really pretty flowers,”

“Hnm? Oh, I got them in my grandmother's garden, they’re um, for you,”

“Really?” Her face lights up, starting with her eyes. And oh how you adored the tiny gap between her two front teeth, the way her curls lightly bounced when she laughed or talked. Fully unlocking the door, she swings it open to you. She’s wearing a blue oversized hoodie and purple shorts. “I love lavender.”

You smile and look down, suddenly shy, and you push the flowers into her hands.

“Did you maybe, want to go out with me? Like, together?”

She looks taken aback but smiles softly, inhaling the scent of the flowers.

“Like a date?”

“I– yeah. Like a date.”

“Yes.”

“Wait really?”

“Yeah,”

“So, um, Friday? I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Seven it is,”

“Okay.”

Friday.

don’t walk away

It’s far from uncommon for you to like girls. However, it was far from common for you to have a girlfriend. A pretty girl, Margo, just so happened to like you back. Enough so to go out on a date with you. The first date was far from awkward. Well, it was awkward. You didn’t know what to say or do, she looked so beautiful, so much so that you had told her at least five times that night. She had her hair in two braids wrapped around her head, and one of the lilies you had given her tucked behind her ear.

It had been just over two months of the two of you being a couple, just about a month and a half of you labeling your relationship. The word girlfriend coming out of her mouth was the most beautiful rendition of the English language you had ever heard, the way she gently rolled her r’s, not like the way you’d speak Spanish, but her r’s were a heavyset sound rolling off her tongue.

It was early morning, the sun gently dusting its way into your room, and your arms were latched around Margo’s waist, face pressed against her bonnet. She’s one of a kind and you could promise anyone that, the kind of smart that makes you itch to work hard in school, so the two of you could be those smart girlfriends, the girlfriends that went to the top universities and had their whole future perfectly aligned. You loved her, and that was simultaneously terrifying but calming at the same tie.

From her thick bed of curls, the same bed of curls that you helped braid and detangle, all the way down to the toenails you helped her paint.

“I wanna paint them purple,” she’d announced one day, voice muffled behind the sweatshirt she had stolen from you.

“So paint ‘em purple,”

“You draw better than me,”

“You want my help?”

“Can you?” she pouted. Of course you could, you’d do anything to make her smile.

Loving Margo was the easiest decision you’d ever made, you didn’t even have to think about it. You just loved her, it was simple as breathing.

“Hey,” you whisper, gently ghosting peppery kisses into her neck. You were positive she wasn’t awake, and you felt empowered. Not in a weird way, oh no. It was like you were the one to protect her, to gently watch her chest rise and fall, hear her breathing, and feel the faint pound of her heart. Margo made you feel safe, happy and loved. She fed your soul, filled you up the way your grandmother’s cooking did, and made you feel warm and euphoric, and sleepy at the same time in a blissful combination that came with feeling the most intense peace you’d ever encountered.

“I love you,” that was the first time you’d said it out loud, it was easier to know she was sleeping and say it. As much as you loved her, uttering those words was the most excruciating fear you’d ever been through, the fear that made you wonder whether or not she loved you for real or if she was just acting. Every day you woke up and hoped that it wasn’t just acting, that she loved you as much as you loved her.

“I love you so much, Margo. I love helping you braid your hair up, and helping take them down, I love the little gap between your teeth, and how bright your smile is. I love how you make me feel, Margo. I love how smart you are because I get to be the one to say that you’re my girlfriend, and how far you’re gonna go. Pretty girl, I love how smart you are, I love the way you think. And I know this is kind of cheating because you’re asleep, but I wanted to say I love you, okay? I love you so much Margo Kess”

It did kind of feel like cheating to you, she was asleep, did saying ‘I love you’ for the first time need to happen while she was awake? You didn’t want to wake her though. She looked so pretty, the bright blue camisole a beautiful contrast to her melanated skin, and of course, the matching bonnet cascading down her back. Deciding to leave it at that, you press your forehead to her shoulder blade and breathe in her scent. The hair oil, the cocoa butter, and the Vaseline.

“Who said I was still sleeping?”

or would you wait for me?

taglist: @masaidabest @hiimayee @kombuuuu @lunarfleur @zo3ez @miguellover6969 @nagi3seastorm @n1cole-ghost @hummusxx

a/n: leaving today until friday, so i wont have any electronics :P but please please please blow up my inbox, we 20 away from 200. i seriously love all yall sm, wanted to feed you before i leave. heavy on that blow up my mentions, inbox, errythang so i can come back and read ur lovely notifs.

🩷 reblogs are always appreciated for reach <3

xoxo,

rae <3

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ohsc · 5 days ago

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fave song on each album?

i’m taking this as each taylor swift album but AAAH I LOVE THIS QUESTION i could yap about music forever ESPECIALLY taylor swift

for debut it’s probably a perfectly good heart!! mary’s song is SUCH a close second for the storytelling and just how perfect it is but i’ve always adored apgh i LOVE songs that have such a pretty outro, i love the way it sounds and her vocals and ugh debut is so underrated. i honestly think i’m more excited for taylor swift tv over reputation tv, i can’t wait to hear the difference in her vocals over the two albums!!

for fearless it’s bye bye baby!! i have NEVER seen anybody rank it as their top song or even their top fearless song it’s SO underrated i am so so so insanely in love with the instrumental, the lyrics are BEAUTIFUL her vocals are on point it’s SO perfect but i’m more than happy to keep it as a little gem for myself 🫶 i NEED her to play it before the end of the eras tour or i’ll need some kind of reparations

for speak now it’s TIMELESS!!!! i remember sitting and listening to speak now tv for the first time and as soon as “in the 1500s off in a foreign land” started i knew it would be a favourite. it was actually my #1 taylor song for a long while until i really started to get into evermore. it’s perfect storytelling it’s so sweet and romantic and i’m in love with the sound of the song i physically can’t skip this one

for red it’s probably all too well 10 minutes but that’s a boring basic answer so my other favourite is everything has changed!! i’ve only been like a “swiftie” since red tv dropped but when i was younger there were certain taylor swift songs i’d play on repeat and watch the music video over and over and one of them was everything has changed!! the music video in itself is one of my favourites ever it’s so sweet, i’m also a HUGE fan of ed sheeran X is one of my favourite albums of all time. this song was so important to me as a little girl and will always be one of my favourites

1989 is so hard because it’s a perfect album imo it was my first CD i ever owned and my favourite re-record so far and so many are my favourite songs of all time (you are in love, clean, is it over now?) but going a bit basic for my absolute favourite but i have to pick style!! it is THE pop song it’s my favourite pop song ever i cant think of a song with a better instrumental, it was also one of the taylor swift songs i was obsessed with as a little girl and every time it comes on i turn up the volume all the way and listen so intently. i love blank space and shake it off but style might be THE taylor swift song with her fuck ass bob paired with

for reputation for so long my favourite song was so it goes but honestly now i think it’s dancing with our hands tied!!! it might be my favourite instrumental on the album and the song feels like the heart of what reputation is trying to encapsulate as an album if that makes sense, finding love in such a messy time and trying to cling to that. the lyricism is so gorgeous and i’m so so so in love with every aspect of it

for lover honestly another basic answer again (lover is probably my least favourite which i hate saying because i ADORE it) but cruel summer!! it feels like the style of lover if that makes sense, it’s another iconic pop song. the instrumental is one of my absolute favourites ever and it’s so FUN too. though i never got the opportunity to go to the eras tour it will always make me think of it!!

for folklore it’s such a hard pick because i resonate with so many tracks from this album but probably seven!! the song itself is so pretty, the way it builds into something really beautiful and elegant. i’ve always resonated really tightly with the meaning behind this song and i think it really encapsulates the feeling of being a little girl so well. thinking that the awful things that happen to your friends are genuine ghosts or monsters, planning on running away and playing pretend to cheer your friend up, that glow of childlike innocence. sometimes i can’t listen to it because it makes me cry but it’s one of the most beautiful songs i’ve ever heard

for evermore it’s COWBOY LIKE ME!!!! my favourite taylor swift song ever from my favourite album EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS SONG IS JUST SO SO SO PERFECT. the duet and the soothing instrumental and the way it progresses and the storytelling in the lyrics. i often see debates over whether cowboy like me is a love song or a tragedy and honestly i really do think it’s a tragedy. “forever is the sweetest con” is probably the most tragic love lyric i’ve ever heard in my life whilst the song is still so incredibly romantic. it’s also so destiel coded and if i can’t find a fic based on this song i really think i’ll have to write it myself

for midnights it’s high infidelity!! midnights is so full of gems and honestly i only have two or three skips but there’s something about high infidelity that scratches my brain just right. it might be because honestly it sounds like an evermore track, but the way she sings the lyrics and the way it sounds is just PERFECT. i honestly think i like midnights more than reputation which i know is a super hot take

for the tortured poet’s department it’s THE BOLTER!!! my second favourite song ever EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS SONG IS SO SO PERFECT!! the way the instrumental builds and the strings come in and it makes you just want to sway and float, the lyrics and the way she sings them and the story it builds and UGH im so insanely in love with the song the bolter is MY song. when ttpd was first announced i pre-ordered the manuscript cd (i have a cd collection hehe) before the other editions were announced but when the bolter was released it’s the only time i’ve let myself buy two of the same album to get the bolter edition (and i gave the other edition to my mum)

you didn’t ask me to do this but since i’ve yapped SO much (i’m sorry) i’ll rank them !!

cowboy like me

the bolter

timeless

seven

style

everything has changed

bye bye baby

a perfectly good heart

dancing with our hands tied

cruel summer

#blondie’s asks #sweethearts <3 #randomwholocker !!#blondie can’t shut up about music #taylor swift

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yunhsuanhuang · 9 months ago

Text

LOVE SONGS IN A FOREIGN LANGUAGE | YH HUANG

With apologies to A.L.

When I'm seventeen, I put a picture of Loretta Lynn in the back of my clear phone case. With the same care my best friends take in decorating trading cards of Jungkook and Jisoo, I get a pair of tweezers and my most expensive stickers, and make an afternoon out of sticking little daisies all over a glossy black-and-white printout of Loretta in the 70's. In the picture she's leaning against a tree, her dark hair long and thick, smiling at the viewer with the same unshakable confidence she's always had.

The next day, I slap my phone face-down on the cafeteria table. My friends go oh-my-god and you-actually-did-it and wait-that's-kinda-cute. We propose swapping some of our cards–I get Minho, she gets Randy– until the conversation derails to exams and teachers and the presentation that's due on Wednesday but none of us have started.

Then it's two weeks later, and when I wake up, thirteen hours after Kentucky does, I read that Loretta Lynn has passed away. A clickbait news site uses the same picture for her obituary.

Sometimes I feel like everything I love is already gone and I just don't know it yet.

so why do you like country music, my friend Alex asks me once.

Alex is American, but the South is as alien a place to him as it is to me– he grew up in suburban New Hampshire, after all, in an impossibly huge house bursting with beach-themed paraphernalia. America, to him, is Dunkin' Donuts and perfectly manicured lawns and the pale foam of the Atlantic cutting itself open over and over again against the sharpness of the rocks.

I squint at my phone. It's late, and I'm probably supposed to be asleep by now, but I'm fifteen and the year is 2020 and time stopped mattering somewhere in the middle of March. It's not like I have school tomorrow, anyway.

I type and retype my message for a while. Then, because it sounds about as good a reason as any, I say, idk i just like the fiddles

It's true. I do like the fiddles, and the steel guitar and the autoharp and the banjos too– the joyful clatter of it, the melody so much like flight. During quarantine, I spend a lot of time lying on the bedroom floor with my headphones on, blaring bluegrass at ear-destroying volumes. Maybe if I play it loud enough, if I squeeze my eyes shut hard enough, I can transport myself into the real thing: a honky-tonk with wood-panelled walls, heat and whiskey in the air, some familiar rhythm reverberating through the floorboards. Sometimes I even imagine myself there in the crowd, singing along.

–

In 1957, a song called Geisha Girl by Hank Locklin topped the country and western charts. It's about this American guy who arrives in Japan, falls in love with the titular Japanese geisha, and leaves his American wife for her. Well-trodden ground, both in art and in reality– after World War 2 ended, tens of thousands of Japanese women married American men for love, for money or for everything in between. Locklin's Geisha Girl became so popular that a song was released in reply to it–Skeeter Davis' Lost to a Geisha Girl, in which Davis takes on the persona of the man’s lover back home, scorning her fickle-hearted husband. As is common in reply songs, lyrics from the original are changed to fit the new perspective:

Locklin sings, Have you ever heard a love song that you didn't understand / when you met her in a teahouse on the island of Japan?

Davis sings: Why a love song with no meaning makes you happy, I don't know / I've lost you to a geisha girl where the ocean breezes blow.

A song you don't understand. A song with no meaning. A song in a language you don't speak. What's the difference, anyway?

In post-war Japan, a whole plethora of country music bands sprung up around the country, playing American hits for homesick soldiers: Tennessee Waltz, Lovesick Blues, Your Cheatin’ Heart.. The closer they were to the originals, the better. They'd bill themselves as the Japanese Hank Williams or John Denver or Patsy Cline. The catch? Some of these singers barely spoke English. painstakingly memorising each lyric until their L's and R's sounded just right. Yet, every Friday night they'd get up on that stage and sing songs they didn't understand about a country they'd never been to.

Just a few years ago, America had been Japan's worst enemy. But here their sons and daughters were, singing American songs, working in American jobs, marrying American men. In the present day, you could almost argue that the tables’ve turned: middle-schoolers debate anime at the cafeteria table; red-blooded blue-collar workers drive Toyotas and ride Kawasakis.

One thing that's stayed the same, though– American boys, Japanese girls. Love songs in a foreign language. Kind of a funny thing.

–

For hundreds of years, the West has been fascinated by the geisha. In Puccini’s 1904 opera Madama Butterfly, fifteen-year-old Butterfly is making her living as one when she’s bought by an American soldier named Pinkerton. He marries her, knocks her up, then ditches her in Japan while he marries an American woman. The whole time, Butterfly’s left to pine for him, and when Pinkerton returns to Japan with his wife, Butterfly stabs herself so that her son will be able to live in America with his father.

(Pinkerton, as you can probably tell, is kind of an ass.)

I keep thinking about Butterfly in that lonely, empty house in Japan, waiting for someone who didn’t love her back. I keep thinking about Alex: Alex and his horrible stupid round glasses and his old embarrassing love of Panic! at the Disco and his stupid cringe emojis, Alex who’s still the smartest person I know, Alex who was the first guy to ever pay attention to me. When I’m sixteen, I think about him almost constantly, a constant hum of obsession in the back of my head. I know I’m in love with him because that’s how all the songs go: Randy Travis declares that it’s deeper than the holler / stronger than the river; Deana Carter says it’s bittersweet / green on the vine; Keith Whitley confesses that it’s what I hear when you don’t say a thing.

Alex asks me, so what do you like about country music? And I don't know what to say to him, so I say nothing at all.

–

They read it in the tea leaves and it's written in the sand

I found love by the heart-full in a foreign distant land

–

Alex likes Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, the outlaws and the jailhouses and the pistols at the hip. My classmates like the feminist murder ballads, where they think she did it but they just can't prove it, where afterwards the girls sell Tennessee ham and strawberry jam / and they don't lose any sleep at night. I personally have a fondness for the silly and unserious: Alan Jackson extolling the virtues of grape snow cones, George Strait selling me the Golden Gate.

In the end, though, what I end up listening to most are the old songs– the really old ones, all the way back to the dawn of recording, the Golden Age of the radio. These songs, collected in the 1920s and 30s, are impressively varied in lyrical content: you’ve got the ones that are basically a soap opera stuffed into three minutes flat (Lorena, My Heart’s Tonight In Texas); the religious ones (Anchored in Love, Will the Circle Be Unbroken); the relatable ones (Give Me Your Love); the unrelatable ones (The Dying Soldier, No Depression In Heaven). What I like about them, I guess, is the familiar hiss of the vinyl, the way the lyrics are both specific and universal at once, their ability to make a time and a place that you’ve never been to before feel, inexplicably, like home.

Alex and I aren't anywhere near poor– his parents are both surgeons, and I spend my evenings trying not to fall asleep in increasingly expensive private lessons. But then again, neither were the Japanese country singers of the fifties and sixties, mainly college kids from elite families who could afford custom-made cowboy hats and genuine guitars. Hell, even the prince of Japan was said to be a country music fan in his youth. None of us have worked in the fields or in the mines, none of our parents have had to tell us here's your one chance, Fancy, don't let me down. We're the people Garth was referring to when he sang about that black-tie affair, those social graces, the ivory tower.

What does it mean to understand a song? How do you sing something and really, truly mean it?

–

When I'm sixteen, my fun fact on the first day of school is that I listen to country music. When I go out with my friends, I wear ankle-length denim skirts and lacy blouses and tie my hair in twin ponytails. I beg and beg them to listen to Loretta, to Dolly, to Patsy. In response, they buy me a Cowboy of the Month calendar and save me in their phones as "the horse girl". In one inexplicable picture that we've since lost, I've got my face in my hands, trying to hide my laughter, as my friends gleefully blast a Fox News clip about Randy Travis' drunken escapades.

So maybe my taste in music is the most interesting thing about me. What else is there? I'm not very pretty, only sometimes funny, and, to my eternal embarrassment, not good at all at being Asian. If I was smarter– fine, if I was Alex, Alex with his books and essays and critical theory– I might say that I do everything I do because I don't want to be the whitest girl in a room full of Asians (lame, boring, suck-up) but the most interesting thing in a room full of white people (exotic, rare, unique). A geisha girl, dressed in Oriental style.

Even so, I don't like to think that that's all there is to it. You can shrink the world down to words on a page, map out the complicated intersections of nations and culture and war that make up the popular imagination of America, call it pentatonic scales, the mixolydian mode. Of course there's value in that, I know– but all that stuff's a foreign language to me. You can try to explain why music sounds the way it does, but in the end you just have to hear it for yourself.

–

For a genre obsessed with authenticity, modern country music's chock-full of performers: Toby Keith singing We'll put a boot in your ass, it's the American way, Hardy singing My small town is smaller than yours, Jason Aldean singing, I sit back and think about them good ol' days / The way we were raised and our southern ways.

A geisha's a performer, too, in a way. She trains her whole life to sing, to dance, to entertain. In yet another adaptation of Madama Butterfly, David Henry Hwang's play M. Butterfly, a Communist actor seduces a French man by pretending to be a woman for years. When the actor's finally caught, he's asked how he got away with it. He responds: Because when he finally met his fantasy woman, he wanted more than anything to believe that she was, in fact, a woman.

Don't tell this to anyone else, but when I curl my hair and put on lip-gloss and toddle around in heels, wondering if Alex would like what he sees, I feel like I'm a walking caricature in the shape of a girl. When I’m online with him I simper, I preen, I ask stupid questions just to keep him talking to me– and he likes it, or at least I really hope he does. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I wonder what'll happen if I stop performing. I wonder if there’s anything left of me below the performance.

I used to worry that I fell in love with something that doesn't exist: the myth of America, the barbeques and the cornfields and the porches, the honky-tonk and the church social and the choir all singing, the cowboys on their vast, empty ranches. A place that's already gone, or else never existed at all– but what does that matter? An unreal place for an unreal girl. If everyone's performing, then no one is.

–

How much of this is true, then?

It's true as backroads and cold beer and pickup trucks. True as private jets and cowboy hats and exaggerated drawls. True as Nashville and Wallen and the CMAs. Which is to say, it's as true a story as you want it to be.

–

Tell the home folks that I'm happy, with someone that's true I know

I love a pretty geisha girl where the ocean breezes blow

–

In the months around my eighteenth birthday, my parents start screaming at each other. Suffice to say, they never really stop. I take up temporary residence in the school library instead, and spend my afternoons staring at maths textbooks while regretting every decision I’ve ever made. My exams are drawing closer. I’m sure I’ll fail them. It doesn’t feel real. Nothing does. I can’t bring myself to look at my future, I can’t, and yet like the long black train / coming down the line I know what’s going to happen when it hits me, and I know, I know– it’s not gonna be good. I start learning how to fall asleep to the background noise of things getting thrown. When my friends come over to study, they call the house beautiful. I guess it is.

On the way back from school, pressed into a corner of a sardine-packed bus, I put one earphone in and watch the sunset fall over the expressway, the heat turning the sky a gorgeous, deadly pink. Loretta Lynn sings: Well, I look out the window and what do I see? / The breeze is a-blowing the leaves from the trees / Everything is free, everything but me. The Chicks sing: She needs wide open spaces / Room to make her big mistakes. John Prine sings: Make me an angel that flies from Montgomery / make me a poster of an old rodeo / Just give me one thing that I can hold on to / To believe in this livin' is just a hard way to go.

Meanwhile, in my headphones, a thousand different stories unfold, familiar missives from some far-off place: a son buries his parents. A wife kills her husband. Two childhood friends fall in love. A girl convinces her father to let her marry her boyfriend. A woman pins a runaway to a motel wall. Somebody calls his ex, even though he shouldn’t. A mother sells her daughter to an older man. A traveller gets on a train. The unfamiliar place names rush past. Amarillo, Charleston, Jackson, Cheyenne, Chattahoochee: evidence of an existence outside of calculus and grammar and pushing my desk against my door to block it. In my head I picture as if through a window some wide, sprawling prairie, some open starry sky, and think of Mary Oliver – so this is the world. I’m not in it. It’s beautiful.

–

(Meanwhile, online: it’s a different story.)

–

If it was a breakup, would it have been better? There's no shortage of breakup songs in country music, after all. Like, What right does she have to take you away / when for so long, you were mine? Like, I'm crazy for loving you / Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you Like, Nothing much for us to say / One last goodbye and you drove away.

Instead, it’s the stupidest, most mundane of reasons: we just stop talking. I couldn’t tell you exactly why. For me, I’m wrapped up in exams, family stuff, a clown car full of childhood friends crashing their way back into my life without warning; for him, he’s busy at Harvard, busy with his new friends and new projects and new–

Okay. Fine. His new girlfriend.

I can’t blame him. I don’t have any right to. I still don’t know whether I actually loved him or I was just sixteen, lonely and looking to write myself into a song. Still, after I learn that he’s dating her, I fall into a haze of social-media stalking: I scroll through their Instagrams, their Twitters, anything that’ll tell me more about who he was, who they are. She’s cute, I’ll give her that, and they’re cute together, the kind of forever and ever, amen couple whose profiles are full of heart-shaped chocolates, of candid kisses and in-jokes I’ll never get to hear.

(A love song with no meaning. A language you don't speak.)

For weeks and weeks on end I dream of him, but the really funny thing is that even in these dreams he’s nothing but a spectre: texting me, calling me, writing long-winded letters in the mail. The closest I ever get is this dream where I’m walking through his hometown, the one I looked up in Google Earth in a fit of desperation. It’s just like I thought it would be, every house gorgeous and stately and ancient, the trees barren but still grand. My hometown’s always been warm. It’s the one thing I have in common with the people in the songs, that overwhelmingly oppressive heat, the kind that sucks all the energy out of your bones. Even though Alex lives at the edge of America, Stephen King and sweaters country, in the dream it’s not cold at all– Georgia hot, hometown hot. As I run from house to house, ringing every doorbell, the roads seem to stretch out beneath my feet until the next door seems oceans and continents away. Nobody’s home. Nobody’s there. In the dream, I’m not surprised.

Sometimes I worry that everything I love is already gone, but I guess I knew that already. That doesn’t mean I didn’t love it.

–

When I'm eighteen, my parents spend a small fortune on a family holiday to America, some last-ditch effort at holding the household together. I miss most of it, however, because the moment I step off the plane I come down with the worst cold I've ever had in my life. Thankfully, during the last couple of days I begin to feel a little bit more like a human being and not just a collection of symptoms, so I manage to go down with my family to the shore.

Maybe it's the ghost of the fever coming back to haunt me, or maybe it's just December, but the beach is bitingly cold, the evening light only just poking through the clouds. Standing there, I find myself thinking– predictably– of Alex. We haven't talked in months, at this point: the last thing I texted him was im in the us lol to which he responded Haha enjoy, and that's about it.

On some other shore, so far away we might still be in different countries, Alex is at Harvard writing essays about America– learning how to understand it, how to shape it, how to make it somewhere he can love without reservation. But I'm not him. I know, now, that I know nothing at all about America: not the blue and far-off one in my songs. but the real place, full of contradictions, land of guns and welfare and Walmart and the Free.

I keep going back to what Alex asked me when I was fifteen, when we barely knew each other: so why do you like country music? And it's only here, now, freezing in a down jacket on the California coast, that I finally have an answer for him.

I think: because every good country song is a love song in its own way.

I think: because country music is the only thing I've ever known how to love.

I think: I have stood and watched the sun rise from the waters of the sea / and I've wondered how much beauty in this cruel world can there be / My dreams are all worth dreaming and it makes my life worthwhile / to see my pretty geisha girl dressed in oriental style.

I think: does there really need to be a reason, A?

From somewhere behind me, I hear someone call my name. I turn. It's my mother yelling: “Come back to the car! It's getting cold!”

“Coming!” I yell back, and run to her.

–

Before I have to go back home, I manage to get my hands on a Shania Twain t-shirt, which honestly makes the entire trip worth it.

#just posting for archive purposes #hi william if youre reading this #writing

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