#watched it enough times now that the setlist is burned into my brain. i can tell you what song is coming up when what riff

[theinfinitedivides]

also completely unrelated to prev TVXQ! post but hand on hip wrist extended really is one of Yunho's default settings isn't it

[heave-hyung]

Save The Drama For Yo’ Mama

Inspired by real experience, in which Jin doesn’t believe Taehyung’s actually sick and it ends up with Taehyung vomiting literally everywhere. 

- Taehyung has always been the type for dramatics. 

He has a deeply rooted love for cuddling and attention and affection, so the second he stubs his toe, he’ll go whine about it--or maybe he’s sore from practice, he’ll go to a member craving a massage. When he’s sad, he’ll want to be held, and when he’s happy, he wants the world to know. Taehyung has always had a thing for pulling theatrics and overexaggerating his ailments, and the others always find it absolutely adorable.

Except for on days when they’re in a time crunch to get a new choreo down and have absolutely no time for bullshit. Days where they have to get to the studio as soon as possible to work from morning to night to perfect the setlist for their next performance. It’s on these days that Tae’s whining goes right over their heads and straight to their nerves, and as much as they love him, nobody has the time or energy to put up with it. 

“Kim Taehyung,” Seokjin’s voice is stern, the way it is when one of the boys does something stupid and it’s his job to handle it as the eldest, lacking all of it’s normal joy. “Wake up. We don’t have time for this.” 

The older boy shakes Taehyung by the hip, earning a low whine from the second youngest. Taehyung buries his face in his pillow and takes a deep breath, curling up tighter. 

“No, get up, stop it,” Seokjin shakes him a little harder. “I know you’re tired, we all are, but you have to get up, Tae.”

Taehyung mumbles something incoherent into his pillow and moans. 

“What? I can’t understand you with your face in a pillow.”

“I said I don’ feel good, Jinnie-hyung,” he flips over so he’s on his back, but keeps his eyes screwed shut. “My throat hurts--”

“-probably from singing too hard yesterday-” Seokjin tries making excuses for all of his symptoms. There’s no way he’s sick, they haven’t been exposed to anyone but each other and their well-kept studio.

“--no, and my stomach hurts--”

“--didn’t you eat a lot last night?”

“--and I feel sick, hyung, I feel so nauseous.” 

Seokjin blows out a frustrated exhale, running a hand through his hair. “Look, if you get sick, we’ll take you home, alright? But come on, you have to try. For me, tiger, try for me.” 

Taehyung gives a shaky exhale, pushing himself to sit up and immediately regretting it; his eyes aren’t even open and he can feel the world spinning. “I really...I really don’t feel good…”

“You’ll be fine.” Seokjin insists, assuming all of it could just be nerves or from pushing himself, and any other day he’d give all the sympathy in the world and coo and hold him but they just don’t have time for it today. 

Taehyung rubs the sleep out of his eyes, hiccuping. “Fine, I’ll...be out in a second.”

Seokjin nods, getting up. Just before he closes the door behind him, he says, “I’m trusting you not to go back to bed,” and gives him a stern look. The younger singer nods in return. 

Seokjin can’t help but feel a little guilty--something seemed off about the younger man, but he tells himself it’s nothing and moves on, telling the others that he managed to get him out of bed and he’ll be out in a second. 

Taehyung stumbles out to the living room some ten minutes later, looking disheveled but dressed enough to leave the house nonetheless. Jimin and Jungkook both shoot their fellow maknae a concerned look while the hyungs are already out the door. Jimin puts an arm around Taehyung’s shoulder, a wordless comfort, hoping that Taehyung is just tired. 

When they get in the car, Taehyung takes a seat in the back, immediately pulling his legs up to his chest and leaning against the window. The coolness of the glass feels nice against his cheek; despite it being the early fringes of winter, he’s hot and sweating. Jimin sits beside him and leans on his shoulder, running his fingers through the younger boy’s hair. He seems to be the only one that notices that something isn’t right--or at least the only one paying any mind to it. 

The whole ride to the studio, Taehyung is taking shaky breaths, like he’s trying to take deep breaths but his body can’t do the full job of it. He keeps his eyes closed, occasionally trying to breathe through his mouth to get more oxygen in his lungs. The last thing he wants to do is throw up in the car; he’s fortunate enough to not be a member who gets carsick, like Jimin or Yoongi. And Hoseok was right this morning; they don’t have time for him and his bullshit.

Taehyung can’t help but fight tears at the feeling that nobody cares. 

→ ← 

“Tae, wake up,” it’s Jimin’s voice that breaks into Taehyung’s half-asleep state. When did he manage to fall asleep? “We’re here, come on.”

Taehyung nods, inhaling deeply to steel himself. He steps out of the car, watching his exhale turn to fog. Once more, the world spins, and a wave of nausea overtakes him. He leans heavily against the door for a moment, willing his stomach contents to stay in place. He did eat a lot last night, so if he did throw up, it wouldn’t be pretty. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Taehyung didn’t realize Jimin had been standing there waiting for him. 

The younger of the two is tempted to confess to Jimin about his symptoms too, but it seems like there’s no use. There’s no way out. So he nods and follows Jimin and the rest of the members inside. The normally cozy temperature of the room hits him in the face like he just stepped into a furnace, only worsening the uncomfortable, sticky warmth that’s plagued him since he woke up. The nausea still hasn’t faded and his stomach is audibly roiling and churning sickly. 

Taehyung is broken out of his trance by Hoseok clapping and ordering everyone to get into place. The singer stumbles to his spot, and without any more second glances spared to him, the music starts. Shortly after it begins, it stops, however, and Taehyung is disoriented for a moment. He wonders if he managed to blank out and do the choreo without thinking, but he knows that’s unrealistic. Now, there are no glances; all eyes are on him.

“What’s up with you today?” Taehyung knows he’s just stressed, but Hoseok sounds angry and that’s how it’s registered through his brain fog--Hoseok’s mad at him. “I--” Taehyung’s voice cracks, almost making it clear to the others that he’s on the verge of tears. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’ll do better.” 

Hoseok crosses his arms, looks up and down the second youngest’s shaky frame, but after a moment he nods anyway. Nobody notices Seokjin, who’s sipping his water and looking awfully guilty in one of the corners of the room--everybody seems to be getting a little concerned, though. 

But they don’t have time for messing around. So the music starts again. Taehyung does his best to focus, to actually do the moves right, and he makes it a little farther until the music stops again and all eyes are on him once more. 

“Tae, really, don’t you practice at all alone? You’re normally so good at picking up choreo, the one time we need you to get it toge--” 

Taehyung cuts off Hoseok’s rant by lurching forward with a heave, bringing up a copious wave of sick that splatters on the hardwood floor. Hoseok freezes, caught off guard--he saw that Taehyung was pale, but he wasn’t expecting to get specks of puke on his shoes today. He looks back at the others, who all quickly jump into action when Taehyung heaves again, his knees giving out. 

Jimin runs to his side, holding him up so he doesn’t fall too close to the rapidly growing puddle of sick and get it all over him. He has one hand across his chest and the other pulling back his bangs. “That’s it, get it up,” Jimin knows Taehyung won’t be able to move to the bathroom--he can’t even stand--so he does his best to comfort here, voice soft and light, nothing but love in his tone. “You’re alright, you’re okay…”

Namjoon comes and joins the two with a bottle of water, putting it beside Jimin to give to Taehyung when he’s ready. Jungkook grabs a towel to try and clean some of the sweat off of him, knowing that it can’t be very comfortable to feel soaked, cold, and sticky. Yoongi comes with a washcloth, dampened with cool water, to place on the back of his neck instead--Taehyung is burning up. 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone you weren’t feeling good, Tae?” Namjoon asks, wiping tears off his cheek with his thumb.

“I--” Taehyung tries to answer, but he just retches again, and again, his stomach refusing to give him a break.

“He did.” Suddenly, Seokjin--who’s been awfully quiet this whole time--speaks up. “He said he wasn’t feeling good this morning, and I thought he just...I thought he was just stressed.” The oldest crouches down to Taehyung’s eye level, narrowly avoiding the lake of vomit that’s on the floor now. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you…” 

Taehyung coughs and belches hollowly before he finally gets a break. “N-No, it’s okay,” he says, voice hoarse. “M’sorry I made a mess…” Taehyung can’t stop himself from crying beyond the tears that had already fallen from exertion. Jimin places a kiss to the crown of his head, slowly helping him to stand and get away from that mess he’s apologizing for as he reassures him that it’s not his fault. Jimin sits Taehyung down on the bench they normally put their stuff on, moving bags around to make room for him and handing him the bottle of water. “Sip slowly, okay? Try and drink a little for me, I don’t want you to get dehydrated.” 

As they sit for a moment, the others get their things together--there’s no way they were letting their schedule get in the way when one of the members was horribly ill--and Hoseok returns from the bathroom where he’d gone to wipe the thankfully small amount of vomit off of his shoes. 

“You think you’re okay to go, TaeTae? I’m sure you’ll be much more comfortable in bed at home than here,” Jimin asks softly, brushing the younger’s sweaty fringe away from his forehead. 

Truthfully, Taehyung still feels really nauseous, but Jimin is right; he does want to go home and lie down. So he nods, albeit hesitantly. Jimin sees his uncertainty, able to assume why he doesn’t necessarily want to get in a car. 

“We still have bags in the car, right?” Jimin asks whoever may be listening. “I think I just used one recently…” 

“We should, yeah,” Yoongi confirms. “It would be stupid to not have bags when some of us get carsick.” Jimin turns his attention back to Taehyung. “You won’t make a mess...if you get sick I’ll hold the bag for you, baby, it’ll be okay. Okay?” 

Taehyung nods, taking a shaky breath. “Okay.” 

And with that, they head off; Namjoon takes a final glance at the mess before they leave and makes a mental note to make sure a janitor comes by soon. Taehyung returns to the seat he sat in on the way here by the window, leaning his cheek against it once more. Jimin sits next to him and offers his hand to hold. Taehyung accepts the offer gratefully, squeezing his hand tightly and getting a squeeze back.

Taehyung closes his eyes, trying again to take deep breaths and keep the water he’d drank down. He doesn’t want to throw up in a car--he doesn’t want to throw up again in general. His stomach gurgles and groans, and he presses his free hand to his abdomen, chewing on his lower lip. Still, despite all of his effort, his mouth starts watering again. 

“Y-You said we have bags?” 

Immediately, they jump into action, Namjoon taking two plastic bags from the glove compartment and handing them to Jimin. Jungkook, sitting next to Jimin, takes out his water bottle so he can hand it to Taehyung as soon as he’s finished, if not to drink than to rinse his mouth out at least. Jimin sees how shaky Taehyung is so he doesn’t bother trying to get him to hold the bag--the second it’s beneath his chin, Taehyung is retching again. Yoongi, who’s sitting behind them, reaches forward to pull back the singer’s hair. 

“We’ll be home soon,” Hoseok reassures from the front, being the one driving. He’s a smooth driver and some of the others are not, so he was trusted with that position. “A few more minutes, TaeTae.” 

Taehyung can barely hear him over his heaving, comically loud as always, painful and grating as he heaves up the water he’d drank and a considerable amount of stomach acid. He groans when he has a chance to catch his breath, swallowing once, twice, before picking his head up. 

“I think--I think I’m good,” he chokes out between panting, and Jimin nods, tying off the bag and holding his hand once more. Jungkook wordlessly offers the water, but Jimin just shakes his head, figuring he’ll try and get him to drink again when they get home, knowing that it’s much less comfortable to vomit in a moving vehicle than it is at home and in bed with a trashcan. 

Just as Hoseok said, they get home a few minutes later. Taehyung moves as fast as he can on shaky legs. The second they get inside, he heads directly to the bathroom. The boys exchange glances--he’s still throwing up? What else could he possibly have in him? 

Before following him, Jimin asks Seokjin to make some tea and Jungkook to get some extra blankets so he could tuck Taehyung in nicely once he finally managed to calm down enough to sleep without retching up a lung. And then Jimin is by Taehyung’s side once more, rubbing his back and holding his hair away. He feels all of Taehyung’s muscles tense as he retches, bringing up nothing but trickles of bile, saliva, and foam. 

“Taehyungie, I really think you’re empty…” Jimin insists, getting worried that Taehyung will break a rib from the force of which he keeps dry heaving. “Try and breathe, baby, just try to breathe,” he encourages, hoping that Taehyung will calm down soon.

Luckily enough, he does, reduced to panting and burping and groaning once more. Jimin reaches up to flush the toilet for him before hoisting him up to his feet, guiding him slowly but surely to bed. Taehyung plops down on the mattress, happy to be home, and he drags Jimin down with him, immediately clinging to him. 

Jimin doesn’t stop him, smiling fondly at the younger boy and placing a kiss to the top of his head once more before continuing to card his fingers through his hair. He covers them both up with the blankets Jungkook had given them, holding Taehyung close. “My poor TaeTae...I’m sorry you’re feeling so sick…” Jimin comments after a moment. 

Taehyung doesn’t respond--Jimin would expect at least a hum. He just shifts a bit, clings tighter to Jimin, and exhales deeply. His breathing has evened out--Jimin realizes that he must’ve fallen asleep already. He must’ve been so exhausted.

And taking care of your ailing bandmate must also be pretty exhausting, because when Seokjin comes in with a cup of tea, both boys are fast asleep.

[writing-of-a-british-bitch]

A Night At The Opera-Chapter 3

Fandom: Queen/Borhap

Specified gender: Female

Pairing: Brian May x reader/ John Deacon x reader

TW: brian being possessive of whats not his, adam CONTINUES TO BE A DICK, blood, sickness, vomit, swearing

Genre: Horror ig?? ( based on phantom Of the opera)

Series: A Night At The Opera

Requests: CLOSED

Masterlist

By the time morning broke a few hours later, (Y/N) had learnt the entire setlist for Queen. Brian was an incredible teacher, more so than she admittedly thought he would be, and had been extremely patient as she fumbled with the fretboard and the strings. But he was hesitant to get too close to her after she had pulled his mask off. Strangely, (Y/N) had started to feel bad about it, the guilt monster clawing at her insides. Brian had tried his very best to forgive and forget the situation, but how could he? That mask was his shelter from the outside world. His shield from the venomous words of humankind. And she'd yanked it off, without a second thought of how exposing it would be for him. How hurtful. How terrifying it was. But despite it all, he still agreed to teach her, and teach her he did. Her shaky, insecure playing had slowly ebbed into something more confident, even if she didn't necessarily feel that way herself. After Brian's pushing and prodding, her fingers slowly started to glide along the fretboard, instead of stopping and starting as they had before. Her playing was pure, in tune and practically perfect in all ways it could be. Well, for a beginner, that is. To say he was impressed with the techie was an understatement, and he knew that she was already miles and leaps ahead of Adam. Brian had to get the others to see it. To see how incredible she was compared to that repulsive gargoyle with a much too heavy hand. If he could find a way for Freddie to see her in action. While she ran through the songs and covers that Queen performed on stage, Brian flicked through his brain for ideas, when it struck him. Adam wouldn't go down without a fight, he knew that much. So, maybe Brian would have to make him.

"Bri?" (Y/N)'s gentle voice pulled him from his train of thought, wordlessly glancing up at her. She gave him a wide smile "What was that song you were playing earlier? On the stage?"

"Just something I wrote myself, my dear. Nothing interesting, I'm afraid," Brian chuckled, his hair bobbing as he strolled over to her, still holding his Red Special. She looked up at him, admiration shining in her eyes.

"Can you play it for me?" She requested, shyly, instantly looking down afterwards, slightly embarrassed by her request, however, Brian just shot her a soft smile, even though she couldn't quite see it, she could make out the squinting of his eyes. He nudged her over and sat beside her, taking his guitar from her softly. Their fingers brushed in the exchange, causing a blush to rise to (Y/N)'s cheeks. Brian positioned his Red Special before placing his fingers onto the strings and beginning to strum. His technique was so much better than hers, and she couldn't help but watch him in wonder, his fingers dancing across the fretboard like it was nothing. But the song lasted a few minutes before coming to a close, much sooner than she would've liked herself.

"It's been finished for a while. I've tried placing lyrics to it but nothing I write seems to quite work with it, especially with that solo," Brian confessed, frustration lacing his words. (Y/N) pondered for a second, running over the tune in her before looking back to the curly-haired man.

"I think I might have just the thing. But they're on a piece of paper in Deaks' dressing room," She offered timidly, ducking her head as Brian tilted his head to look at her.

"Fantastic, you can bring them tomorrow. Or later tonight, I should probably say," (Y/N) face contorted in confusion at his response, watching as he passed her the Red Special back and got up from the couch that she found had been hidden behind one of the black veils.

"L-Later?" She asked, but Brian continued forward, towards his paper theatre and waxwork figures. He took the Adam shaped one and snapped it in half, looking down at it in disgust. Slowly, (Y/N) got up, propping the Red Special against the couch, and approached him while his back was still turned. He was tense and she was worried for him.

And for herself.

"Yes, unless my company has been so appalling that you no longer wish to return, "Brian sent an arched eyebrow in her direction, but stopped abruptly, breath hitching in his throat at how close she had gotten to him. So close that she could feel her breath on his face.

Oh, how he missed breathing. A part of him wished he hadn't taken it for granted. The warmth of her breath sent him reeling, practically giving her heart eyes. Brian couldn't drag his eyes away, and neither could (Y/N). He spotted a ghost of a smile on her lips and knew his heart would be pounding now. If it could. Against his will, his eyes dragged down to her lips quickly. Almost impossible to pull them away. Her lips looked so warm and inviting. But he snapped back to his senses and looked over to the boat, occasionally rocking in the water. (Y/N) noticed the way he seemed to back away suddenly and frowned a little. She couldn't place what he was thinking. He had placed a barrier beyond his orbs. Obstructed anyone from being able to tell how he felt. She couldn't exactly say that she blamed him. The behaviour he exhibited when she pulled the mask off told her all she needed to know. The girl only wished that she was able to pull all the pain, that he had maintained over the years, away. But he would never let her close enough to heal him, she understood that.

"Your company is far from appalling," Was all (Y/N) could utter, entranced by Brian, like a child meeting their favourite superhero.  Brian glanced down at her, smiling sweetly, but instantly regretted it and looked away again. He couldn't afford to get lost in her eyes. He had to take her back. He had to.

"Come, your friends and that idiot will arrive soon. Wouldn't want them thinking something dreadful had happened to you, now would we?" Brian's words were perfectly innocent but the hungry look he'd given her last time they'd met haunted her, and caused a shiver to run up her spine. Once again feeling small. Brian realised her sudden uncomfortableness and motioned to the boat, still fastened to the wooden peg. Reluctantly, (Y/N) walked over to the boat and climbed into it, sitting down silently as Brian unhooked the rope. He waded through the water, though it barely reached his knees,  and clambered into the vessel. And without another word, he cruised off, the metal gating opening with a loud rhythmic clanging.

When (Y/N) arrived back in the theatre, it was nearing 6 AM. The boys would be there at 11, knowing how Roger tended to oversleep and how Freddie would fret over his appearance for at least an hour. Deaky would fuss over everything, like a dad about to go on holiday, and Adam, well, fuck knows what Adam did that made him so late. He probably wouldn't arrive until 2 PM, 1, if they were lucky. She wandered around the theatre, eyeing the empty seats, knowing they'd be almost full later. Because, despite Adam's tasteless playing, Freddie's intriguing stage persona pulled everyone back. Roger's charming playing and golden locks. Deaky's bopping and dancing on stage. They triumphed over everything.  

As she looked around, she allowed herself to look up at box five. Something told her that he'd be standing there tonight. What would Deaky say if he found out? He would be furious. No, he wouldn't. Deaky never got mad. Not at her. He was too gentle for that.  He would be devastated. A creak from behind her caused (Y/N) spin around, terribly paranoid all of a sudden. Lucille observed her with curious eyes, a small, slightly guilty, glint in them.

"Good morning, I wasn't expecting you here so early," Something in the way Lucille spoke made it very clear that she was very aware of why she was there so early. She knew more about the theatre ghost than she let on.

"Oh-oh yeah I  just needed to set some stuff up, so I came early. Y'know, to avoid Adam's shouting," (Y/N) attempted to lie, but the way she fiddled with her fingers and glanced around anxiously gave her away.  Lucille raised an eyebrow at her response before silently brushing past her, going to check one of the wires, tucking it out of the way of the stage. Something (Y/N) had failed to notice.

"You must tread carefully. He sees everything and knows everything that happens in this place," Lucille stated as she taped the wire back. (Y/N)'s head whipped around to look at the older woman, eyes narrowed slightly.

"How do you know that? How do you know him?" She asked, almost demanding Lucille for an answer, walking as close to her as possible. Lucille gave her no response, instead, waltzing over to (Y/N), who took two steps back.

"Because I've seen this before. I know what he's like, you don't. As much as you think you do, you don't, I assure you of that," Lucille replied sharply, staring down at her. Without another word, (Y/N) nodded, eyes wide and fearful, and hiked back to the backstage area. The girl took comfort in Deaky's dressing room, curling up on the couch. It was only then that she realised how drained she was, eyes slowly slipping shut. But she hardly slept, haunted by the thought of the theatre ghost.

"Adam? Is everything alright?" (Y/N) knocked lightly on the bathroom door. All she heard was a groan from behind the door. "Can I come in?"

The door clicked, unlocking, and the girl slowly pushed the door open. Adam was sat beside the toilet, eyes sunken and skin pale. Reluctantly, she placed the back of her hand to Adam's forehead. Fuck, he was burning up. Immediately, (Y/N) rushed back to Roger's dressing room, grabbing one of the hand towels he kept in there, to mop his sweat after a show. She sprinted back to the bathroom, running the rowel under cold water. The cold towel was pressed to his forehead, tenderly. Just as she pushed it against his forehead, he turned his head into the toilet bowl and spilt his insides. (Y/N) winced at the smell and noise, but wiped his mouth with some toilet paper when he came back up. Adam weakly flushed the toilet and turned back to her.

"Thanks, at least you have the common sense to help me," Adam groaned, and (Y/N) couldn't help but glare at him. God, he was a dick. He turned his face away, to look out of the opened bathroom door and her glare turned to widened eyes. On his neck, there were two small circular wounds, a tiny trail of blood leaking from them both. There was only one place they could have come from. And now she feared for her life.

"(Y/N), have you seen my- oh shit," Roger came stumbling to the doorway, dressed ready for the show. Fuck! The show! It was meant to take place in ten minutes! Roger raced inside, crouching beside the pair. "Adam, are you okay?"

"Of course, I'm fine, I'm fine. I'll be better when we've just gotten the show over and done with," Adam answered, but Roger scrunched his face up.

"There's no way you can play. You're too sick," (Y/N) interrupted, removing the cold cloth from his forehead for a moment to check if his temperature had gone up or down.

"I'm fine, you dumb bi-" Adam didn't get to finish his sentence before he was curling over the toilet again. Roger and (Y/N) exchanged a look behind his back. He wasn't playing. No matter how much he argued.

"Stay here, mate, we'll be back in a minute," Roger told Adam before grasping (Y/N)'s hand and pulling her out of the room and shutting the bathroom door behind him "We're gonna have to cancel the show."

"I know, he can't play. He'll vomit on stage," (Y/N) agreed, just as Freddie and Deaky wandered over, chatting animatedly.  However, the boys soon noticed the look of disappointment on Roger and (Y/N)'s face.

"Everything alright, dears?" Freddie asked hesitantly. Deaky looked at his girlfriend in concern, noticing the worry in her eyes.

"Adam can't play, he's sick," Roger sighed "We have to cancel the show."

"For fuck's sake! Please tell me that you're pulling my leg, Rog, please," Freddie exclaimed, running a hand through his hair, a deep frown finding its way to his face. Deaky swore under his breath, instantly beginning to pace.

"We wish we were," (Y/N) responded, shooting the band a sympathetic look.

"Is there anyone who can play the guitar just for tonight?" Deaky asked, racking his brain for other solutions, playing with the bottom of his shirt nervously.

"No, unless there's a ghost here that just so happens to know how to play the guitar," Roger snapped sarcastically, stress evident on his face. (Y/N) walked over to her boyfriend, who looked panicked and damn near tears. She took his hand into her own and brought it to her lips, kissing the skin fondly. He gave her a miniscule smile, kissing her cheek quickly.

"(Y/N) could play tonight, Mr Mercury," Lucille's voice made the group jump, startled, and turn to look at her. (Y/N)'s breath hitched in her throat. She couldn't play, she'd only just started! She may be a natural talent, but that didn't mean she could perform in front of tons of people!

"You play the guitar?" Roger's head tilted in confusion, as did the rest of the band. Deaky squeezed her hand.

"I mean, yeah, I do, but I-" (Y/N) started tensely, looking down to her shoes.

"Fantastic! You must play for us tonight, dear!" Freddie commanded, a gleeful smile returning. Roger grinned, silently cheering in delight.

"Fred-"

"(Y/N)," She looked up at the softness of Deaky's voice. His gentle touch on her skin "Please. We need you."

A sigh escaped (Y/N)'s lips and after a second of tense silence, she nodded, resulting in cheering from the three boys and a nod of approval from Lucille.

The lights on the stage dimmed, and applause echoed into the theatre. The boys made their way onstage with their instruments, but (Y/N) couldn't help but hold back, pausing before she ran on stage. The lights came on and everyone sat in the audience screamed, but there were confusing murmurs upon the lack of a guitarist. Deaky looked over at her and shot her a reassuring smile. So with a deep breath, she ran on stage, waving awkwardly at the audience. Immediately, (Y/N) was pulled into the music, playing the beginning chords of the first song on the setlist. Her fingers dashed along the fretboard, somehow managing to keep in time with the rest of the band. There was a surge of adrenaline that ran through her, filling her with joy and excitement and before she knew it, the song came to a close.

"Okay, my darlings, are you enjoying yourselves?" Freddie nearly yelled into the microphone and the audience cheered. "Good! We are too! However, I'd like to introduce you to a lovely friend of mine. Our guitarist for tonight! (Y/N) (L/N)"

The audience nearly deafened her with their screams. Everyone was clapping and hollering. (Y/N) grinned and bowed playfully, earning a laugh from the boys on stage, though she could barely hear them over the audience.

"Isn't she fabulous, lovies? I knew you'd love her, almost as much as we do!" Freddie chuckled "Alright, dears, time for a new little number, written by yours truly, liar!"

She barely realised that the show had finished until Roger was leading her off stage. As soon as everyone was out of sight, the boys laughed joyously, pulling her into a tight hug.

"(Y/N) you were brilliant!"

"Absolutely fantastic!"

"Perfect, my love!" (Y/N) could barely think over all of the compliments and the rush of performing. She swayed slightly, beginning to feel dizzy. That was until Adam wobbled over, looking dishevelled.

"She was fucking shit!" He mumbled, a bit of vomit hanging on the corner of his mouth. (Y/N) just shook her head, knowing she'd never be able to please him. Lucille made her way over, each step calculated and sure.

"Alright gentlemen, come on, let the girl have her space. (Y/N) I'd think it best if you were to be alone for a while. Just to catch your breath," Lucille suggested and the girl merely nodded, tired from her first show and, if Adam had anything to do with it, which he had to do with everything, her last. Roger suddenly tensed a little, giving Lucille a wary look.

"I'll come with you. I need to talk to her," Roger said, leaving no room for argument. Lucille only let out an annoyed breath of air, before beginning to walk to Deaky's dressing room. Where (Y/N) spent most of her time. When they reached the room, Lucille walked in with Roger and (Y/N) close behind. She picked up a rose, a black ribbon tied to it, and handed it to (Y/N).

"He's pleased with you," She whispered in the girl's ear, then leaving the room and closing it behind her.

"Something isn't right with that woman. I don't trust her," Roger grumbled, using his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face. But (Y/N) wasn't listening. She only examined the flower in her hand, admiring the black silk tied to the green stem and blood red petals. "Are you alright, love? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"The crowd frightened me. But I loved it. I'm just exhausted- I need some time to myself, just like Lucille said," (Y/N) concluded, snapping back to her senses.

"Well, okay. Don't let the crowd's frighten you, (Y/N/N), they loved you, and I could tell you loved them. I'll leave you alone for a bit, yeah?" Roger asked gently, kissing her forehead.

"Yes, please, Rog. Thank you. I'll talk to you later," She smiled, tiredly, and Roger gave her forehead another kiss before walking out, closing the door. The rose spun between (Y/N)'s fingertips. And she found herself thinking of Brian. The more she thought about him, the more he scared her. He injured Adam, made him sick. Just so she could perform. He was sick. Twisted.

The lights flickered for a moment. Then they shut off.

And (Y/N) felt her blood run cold.

TAGS: OPEN

Tags (for this series): @queendeakyy @scarlettequinn @stephydearestxo @likesomekindofcheese

Tags:  @writingfortoomanyfandoms @metaphorical-love-for-a-car@queens-n-roses @freaky-dcaky@yourealegendfred@fierce-bab@dusthas-beenbitten   @bensroger@strangeandwonderfulconcepts@babebenhardy@benhardyjones @silvver-rose @psychosupernatural

[cheonsans]

Summer Lovin’

Group: ULTRAVIOLET.

Featuring: All of UV, ab.z’s Nayun and Aeri ( @abzlnd​ )

Genre: Mostly just comedy!

Word-count: ~2.3k

Warnings: Some language but nah.

Summary: A companion piece to Avery’s! ULTRAVIOLET just want to relax and pass the time before they’re set to perform at a music festival, but ab.z’s Nayun has other plans for Siyun. 

“It’s too hot, and I can barely see my fuckin’ phone.”

Taesong’s voice is borderline a whine as he squints at the device in his hand, no doubt trying desperately to read whatever message Areum had recently sent him. It is sweltering, he’s right about that, and Siyun’s hand has hardly left the front of his silky shirt in the past twenty minutes, pulling it away from his chest in order to attempt the seemingly impossible feat of cooling down. In fact, the only two not complaining are Minsung and Jamie, the latter of which having said at least four times that the heat was nothing compared to home. King, on the other hand, is about as miserable as taesong.

The group is milling around waiting for the go ahead that the makeup artists are ready for them, and they are all equally thankful for the fact that they aren’t baking under layers of stage makeup that would have surely melted off by then. Siyun already feels like his hair dye is just about melting out of his hair, and he has to consciously suppress the urge to check the back of his neck to see if his hand comes away dripping in purple. After the recent change from silvery-blond back to a more saturated color, he’s still flinching like an idiot every time he sees a tuft of violet in his peripheral.

“So put your phone away and spend time with us, then, Taesong-ah.” Siyun replies to the other rapper, grinning at the absolutely disgusted expression he’s sent in return.

“What, and listen to Sungmin-hyung whine about being refused soju and Jamie yeehaw every ten minutes? I’ll pass, thanks.”

Siyun opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off by King dramatically swooning, slumping against the purple-haired boy’s chest with a groan. Siyun stumbles back half a step at the sudden weight, but he’s used to it by now, shoving the leader back into an upright position just as quickly. It is simply too hot for any prolonged contact, even if King were ridiculously needy when he feels like he’s not getting enough attention. Considering how unrealistic that quota is to meet, they all resort to mostly ignoring his pointed sighs and impatient grumbling for the time being. Unfortunately, any unbearable attitude King would usually have is only exacerbated by the heat, which drains their patience as much as it brings out only the bitchiest sides of each of them.  

Maybe Taesong has the right idea, sticking his nose in his phone and waiting for the time to pass. The performances wouldn’t be for a few hours, and the group is more than well prepared, having gone through their setlist earlier in the morning. It’s nothing too special, just the usual few title tracks and a dance stage so King and Taesong could murder basically everyone watching, and being the impulsively natured boy group they are, they haven’t bothered practicing any further now that their designated sound-check and rehearsal time has passed. As King always says, if they fuck up onstage, it was meant to happen.

“Do you think someone would get me soju if--”

King is cut off by an unfamiliar and enthusiastic feminine voice, cutting through the sluggish, heat-induced reverie that has settled over the group.

“Hey! You!”

King whirls around immediately, brows raised and expression almost revoltingly hopeful.

“Me?” He rakes his hair back from his face, trying to make the action seem cool despite the fact that his dark locks are thoroughly dripping with sweat and not even remotely close to styled.  

“Not you, hag,” She croons, “I’m talking to Siyun!”

King’s expression falls without hesitation, settling in what Siyun can only describe as his bitch-face before crossing his arms. “I’m not even that old.” His defensiveness and disappointment shift to shock, however, that mirrors Siyun’s own countenance once they absorb her last words.

She’s what now? Siyun blinks at her, hand coming up instinctively to point at his own chest, as if she has to be mistaken. Both of the girls coming towards them look vaguely familiar, and Siyun tries his best not to laugh at the manner in which the louder one drags a taller girl behind her, much to the latter’s evident dismay. The taller idol clearly wants to be anywhere else, and Siyun figures she may have been dragged along simply as moral support for the clearly younger fan, but he’s proven wrong once again.

“Siyun-oppa,” The shorter continues, tone positively saccharine.  “You’re single, right?”

Siyun blinks at her, mouth falling open in disbelief at the bluntness exhibited by the female idol. While he’s more than used to disrespect from the other members of ULTRAVIOLET, this sort of blatant flippancy is a bit unheard of from anyone else. Thankfully, years of Jamie’s bullying have prepared him for this, and Siyun keeps his expression only mildly affronted. She isn’t done yet, however.

“See, cause,” She yanks the taller forward, putting her on display like a butterfly on a corkboard...or, maybe a piece of meat at the butcher’s. “I have it on good source that this unnie right here likes Siyun and you should totally do something about it ‘cause she doesn’t have the guts!”

Siyun feels heat rise to his face within seconds. He knows he should bow or thank her or something, but all he can manage is a very nervous laugh, his hesitancy prompting a snort from Jamie that’s poorly covered up. Siyun’s brain is drawing a complete blank, staring at the older girl, and he finally snaps out of it as she  begins to nervously stutter.

It occurs to Siyun that the reception from the other members of ULTRAVIOLET clearly isn’t helping the already embarrassing situation, any. King looks bitter and as judgmental as ever (his few brain cells are probably still working on a rebuttal for the hag comment), Minsung is more interested in a vaguely-dick-shaped rock he found, Taesong is still glued to his phone...and Jamie is, predictably, leering like the nosy maknae he is. It’s up to him to be the group’s ambassador, yet again, and Siyun normally wouldn’t have an issue, but the idea that someone like this pretty girl is interested in him before any of the others...all common sense goes out the window, leaving only what he hopes isn’t too dopey of a smile. 

He’s normally so good with names and faces, too, but all he remembers is that their groups had debuted at around the same time. Logically, he knows he could just glance down to read the boldly printed hangul on their shirtfronts, but his stomach turns at the notion of it seeming like he’s just staring at her chest instead. Rather, he wracks his memory, and while it’s a far less effective method, his brain does manage to conjure up imagery of glimmering stage outfits until oh!

“I’m sorry about, her…uh…she just–” Aeri (he remembers her name on his own, thank you very much, but a hopefully casual flick of his gaze towards her nametag confirms that) bows, and Siyun starts to mirror her instinctively, hands coming up in an attempt to reassure her, but the younger girl is already cutting in. He doesn’t hear what she says, too distracted by Jamie punching him playfully on the shoulder, probably in response to Siyun’s now probably completely red face. Maybe he can play the blush off as heat-related? The heat feels heavy and molten, dripping down his back and settling in the spaces between his ribs. A mosquito buzzes uncomfortably close to his left ear.

“No, it’s okay, really, I think--” He means to mention recognizing her and maybe offer some sort of compliment on their music, but King interjects.

“I think we need to go get ready.” He grumbles, already beginning to stalk off. Taesong follows without looking up from his phone, happy to leave the scene, and Minsung hurries after, his new rock still clutched in one hand. Jamie begins to urge Siyun after the group as the taller boy hesitates, bowing at the same time as Aeri, which prompts another bout of nervous laughter from the rapper as the crowns of their heads almost collide.

“Um, thank you, it was nice to m--” Yet again, Siyun is cut off, this time being bodily yanked by Jamie until he follows the group, face still warm as hell as they make their way into the shade to get their makeup finally done. Once they’re indoors and settling down, Jamie rounds on Siyun within a moment, grasping the elder’s face between his rough-palmed hands.

“Hyung, she was cute!” He practically shouts, squishing Siyun’s cheeks until the rapper lets out a prolonged whine of indignation. “Siyunnie-hyung has an admirer, oh, they grow up so fast!” The maknae cooes, feigning a swoon as he narrowly dodges a swat upside the head. “You should get her number, maybe try not to crash and burn next time. I thought you might throw up on her.”

“Jamie, please.” Siyun smiles tightly at him helplessly, holding up his hands defensively as the high energy Texan yanks at Siyun’s arm again and shoves him down into one of the makeup chairs. Siyun didn’t have a chance to blink before Jamie’s phone is out and AB.Z’s profile is pulled up and shoved into his face.

“Ooh, she’s from Florida…the land of alligators and the infamous Florida Man.” Jamie reads and embellishes, before breaking out in obnoxious laughter. “She’s taller than Sungmin-hyung.”

King glances up at the mention of his name, expression affronted.

“I’m tall enough to kick your ass, don’t test me. Ow, fuck!” The stylist ignores the leader’s yelp of pain as she combs through his hair with a bit more force than necessary, and Siyun fights down a bubble of laughter as she catches his eye in the mirror and offers him a wink.

“No one asked you, hag.” Jamie shoots back at the leader, and King looks as if he might haul himself out of the chair to break Jamie’s wrist if the makeup stylist weren’t between them. Unintimidated, Jamie continues. “God, she seems so sweet…the other one was Nayun, it looks like. I liked her vibe, she had major BDE.” Jamie scrolls through the group’s profile until he reaches the end, resting his chin dreamily on top of Siyun’s head. “You have to talk to her, promise me you’ll talk to her?” The youngest member is a hopeless romantic, and he pouts at Siyun in the mirror across from them, arms slung about the elder’s shoulders. He sways them both back and forth, Siyun a bit awkwardly from where he was sitting.

“I’ll try, okay? You know i’m not good with this sort of thing.” Siyun mumbles, sheepish, and he drums his fingers on the edge of the counter. While there’s certainly intrigue in dating, it’s not really something Siyun has ever let himself have time for. He tried to take up a more casual approach to relationships a while back, mirroring Taesong’s attitude then, but the long and short of it is that it made him feel absolutely awful. It had taken him weeks to get over the guilt of a handful of one-night stands, a consequence that no one else in the group seemed to understand. Since then, Siyun can’t remember the last time he had spoken to a woman he found attractive, beyond conversations where he didn’t realize he’s been flirted with until hours later, when it was too late to do anything about it.

“Excuse me? Look at yourself! Need I remind you who scored number six on that list of top 20 handsomest rookies of 2017?” Jamie insists, oblivious to the true root of Siyun’s hesitations.

“That doesn’t mean anything.” It’s much easier to stare at his tattoos rather than meet Jamie’s eyes in the reflection. “I just don’t wanna mess it up or scare her off. She probably just likes the idea of me and probably doesn’t want to actually get to know me, y’know? Most idols really aren’t like what they seem on paper, anyways. I didn’t get her number, either, so I doubt anything’s gonna come of it.” Not to mention the fact that Siyun doesn’t want to risk a relationship being publicized before he’s ready, not only for his own sake, but for the fans’.

“...Bullshit, but okay, think whatever you want.” Jamie backs off as a makeup artist approaches the two, shooing the younger out of the way. “I’ll leave you be, Romeo.”

“That’s such an awful nickname. They both die at the end, Jamie.” Siyun’s brows crease in the center at that, but Jamie waves off his concern.

“I know that. I read the manga version in middle school, thank you very much. Just shut up and think about it, okay? You’re a good guy, hyung...there are a lot of guys who’d be taking advantage of a situation like this, y’know? Just try to relax, and focus on having fun, for once! You deserve it.” For someone who seems to know more about obscure Animal Crossing facts than anything useful, Jamie can be remarkably insightful, at times. Siyun’s lips press into a thin line before he nods, trying not to melt at the endearing and brilliant smile Jamie shoots his way.

“I’ll do my best.” Siyun acquiesces as the makeup stylist begins to apply serum to his sweat-tacky skin, the scent of roses whisking away his tension.

When it comes down to it, his best is all he can really offer, anyways.