#he is glued to that drum kit and happy to be like that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dirty-urie · 3 years

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Jam Sesh

Second Person

Brendon x Female Reader

PFTW Era

Smut Oneshot

NC-17

3.3k Words

Warnings in order of appearance: real person fic, alcohol, slight insecurity, fingering, some dirty talk, penetrative sex

Author's Notes:

This is... not my best work. I don't really like anything about it, but instead of wasting any more of my time on it, I'm just publishing it and hoping that my dislike for it is just me being self-critical and not because it's a really bad fic. Normally I'm all for hyping yourself up, but meh, I'm just not feeling this one, and that's okay because it's my blog and I can do whatever I want. Hope you like it though lmao

He answers the studio door and pulls you in for a hug, which is a little awkward with the guitar on your back, but you make it work. "Y/N!" He exclaims happily.

You're a little surprised that he answered the door and didn't accidentally get caught up in his work. It's not like Brendon would purposefully stand you up; he's just a little bit of a mess sometimes. But he looks happy to see you, and that's all that matters. He motions you inside, and you follow him, collapsing on the couch next to his desk.

"Beer me, Brendon!" You request, and he does, grabbing a beer from the mini-fridge in the corner of the studio and handing you the tall silver can. You wrinkle your nose. "How successful does the band have to get for you to stop buying Coors light?"

"Hey! I like Coors light," he defends, grabbing yours and replacing it with a pretentious-looking IPA. "There you go, a fancy beer because you're my guest."

"Thank you. I'm sure it'll still taste like stale piss, but now it'll taste like fancy stale piss." You joke, taking your guitar out of its case.

He laughs and takes a sip of the beer he stole from you. "Oh shit, is that new?" He gestures to your guitar. "I haven't seen it before."

"New to me. I found it at a thrift shop for 20 bucks, but it barely looks used and look, it's a fender," you say, handing him the guitar.

"Woah, Y/N, this is a find," he says, playing a few chords.

You take your guitar back and start messing around on it yourself. Brendon makes his way over to the drums and starts playing along with you. You try not to ogle or anything, but he looks fucking good giving his all to the instrument. Almost makes you wonder how he'd be in bed... intense, totally in-control. Shit, you need to stop letting your mind wander; you're just as bad as the throngs of thirsty fans. Plus, you came here to play guitar with one of the most talented musicians you know, you shouldn't let your hormones get the better of you.

After a while, you start getting hot in the stuffy studio and stand up to take your jacket and shirt off, leaving you in a white tank top. That helps for a bit, but the heat is still getting to you. "Hey, B, I'm getting hot in here. Do you mind if we go outside?"

Ever since you took your jacket off, he's been laser-focused on the drum-kit, so you're not sure he hears you at first.

"B?" You repeat.

He stops his drumming but doesn't stand up. "Oh yeah, no problem, let me just tidy up the studio a bit. Can you bring the guitars out?"

"Yeah, sure," you step out of the studio with the guitar you brought and one of his acoustic ones, but when you step out of the studio, you notice dark clouds coming towards the house.

"I think it could rain; we probably should leave the instruments inside, just in case," you tell him, walking back into the studio and leaving the guitars on the couch. You notice that he's still sitting behind the drums, his head in his hands. "Hey, Brendon, you feeling okay?"

He waves you off with a laugh, still not really looking at you. "Yeah, yeah, I'm great. Just a little headache; I'm probably dehydrated. I'll bring out some waters with the next round of beers."

"Okay, if you say you're fine, I'll wait for you outside," you say suspiciously, leaving the studio.

You settle into the outdoor sitting area, kicking your feet up on the coffee table. Brendon comes out with two more beers and two water bottles, still looking a bit distressed.

"Sorry, I cut our jam session short," you apologize, as he sits in the chair across from you and crosses his legs.

"What? Are you kidding me? We were at it for hours," you swear he blushes after he says that, but he's probably flushed from drumming, "and even if it was cut off, I just wanna hang out with you, no matter what we're doing."

"Aww, I'm so glad we're friends. Ooo, and now that we have time to talk, you can tell me all about that tour story that you didn't want to write out in an email."

You two exchange stories for another half hour, but Brendon still looks pink even after he hasn't been drumming for a while now.

"Hey, you still look really hot. You wanna jump in the pool? I don't have a swimsuit, but I could just wear my tank top and panties and then change back into my t-shirt and shorts after," You suggest. He looks a little panicked if you interpret correctly, but you're not sure why. And he's getting redder but the second. "Brendon, you look really flushed; you should cool off."

He laughs, but you don't get the joke. "I actually think I should get into the air-conditioning, we could watch a movie? Plus, those dark clouds are getting awfully close. We'll get rained-on as soon as we hit the water." Sure enough, as soon as he says that, the sky opens up, and it starts pouring. You both dash through the rain to the house. He unlocks the door, and you both go inside, laughing.

Your top is positively soaked through, and you're shivering in the cold house. "You mind if I shower real fast? I don't want to catch a chill."

Brendon is looking at something behind your head, not meeting your eyes. "Well, um, you could, um, shower here. But wouldn't you rather be all comfy at home?"

"Would I rather drive through LA traffic in the rain in wet clothes than take a warm shower in your mansion? No. I'm gonna shower." You turn around, walking into his bedroom and then deeper into the en-suite bathroom. His shower is large and fancy, and you almost don't want to get out once you're sufficiently warm. You do though, it is a drought, after all. You wrap yourself in a fluffy towel and then rummage around his bedroom for dry clothes. He clearly needs to do laundry because his drawers are sparse, and his hamper is overflowing. Still, you manage to find a long t-shirt and a pair of his boxers to wear underneath.

Brendon walks in and freezes when he sees you. "Are you," he trails off, takes a deep breath, and then starts again, "are you wearing my underwear?" He eyes the black briefs you stole that are peeking out from under the t-shirt you also stole from him.

"Yeah," you say dismissively, putting your wet clothes in your purse.

"Y/N," he says exasperatedly.

"Mm? Something wrong?"

"Something wrong? Y/N, you're wearing my underwear!"

"So?"

"So my dick has been in them!"

You turn to look at him, rolling your eyes. "Your dick has been in your hands, too, but it's not a big deal because, like your underwear, I presume you wash them." He gives you a look that tells you he's not convinced. "Plus, you loaned me sweatpants after I ripped my shorts a couple of weeks ago, and are you honestly telling me your dick has never been in those?"

"That's different!"

"It is not." He gives you another exasperated look. "Okay, if it's that big of a deal, then I'll take them off, geez," you relent, tugging on the bottom of the underwear.

"Ahh!" He exclaims, turning his head, shielding his eyes, and waving his other arm in your general direction as if to ward you off. "Let's all keep our clothes on."

"What is wrong with you? Why are you being so squirrely? Does my gross body really freak you out that much?" You accuse.

His eyes widen. "Shit, no, I love your gross body, fuck, I mean, I love your perfectly normal body," he stutters while you stare in silence.

"You've made your point," you say, not bothering to hide the offense in your voice. You grab your bag and storm out of his bedroom.

"Y/N, wait," he calls.

You stop and whip around to face him, "You've been weird around me all day, Brendon! When I took my jacket off in the studio, your eyes were glued to your drums! When I said we should swim, you offered to watch a fucking movie instead! When my shirt was soaked through, you looked right past me at the wall! When I asked to shower in your house, you nearly kicked me out! And now you're having fucking conniptions over your underwear!" You shout. "Brendon, I know, believe me, I know, that I don't look like your other LA friends. That I'm not model-skinny or anything, but god, you could put some effort into not making me feel like a freak."

Brendon furrows his brows. "Y/N, of course, I don't think you're a freak."

"Oh really? Because Nicole has been buck-naked right in front of you, and you didn't bat an eye, but apparently, the sight of my arms without a jacket is so disgusting that you can't look at me." Tears are streaming down your face now.

His face falls, and he rushes towards you, "Y/N, sweet girl, oh my god, no, no, that's not it at all. I," his voice trembles, "like you," he says quietly.

You scrunch your face in confusion. "Brendon, of course, you like me; we're friends, but that doesn't make any of your behavior today acceptable."

"Are you really going to make me spell it out?" he asks. "I am attracted to you. Very attracted to you. And this whole day, I've just been trying not to get aroused by the sight of you because that's gross and objectifying and disrespectful, so I've been staring at the ground and thinking about Margaret Thatcher naked so I didn't have to go jerk off in the studio bathroom," he confesses.

"Oh."

"And now I've made things awkward," he rubs the back of his neck. "So, um, see you later, you can keep my clothes. I won't need them back. Probably do something creepy with them once you gave them back anyway. Er, that was a joke. I should shut up."

Your offense and then confusion morph into understanding and then shock and delight. "Yeah, you fucking doofus," you laugh. "You absolutely should shut up."

You take two steps forward, closing the gap between the two of you, and grab his chin. You lean in, and your lips meet his without any reservation. He kisses back, unsure. Then, you take more initiative, looping your arm around his back and pulling him against you.

Brendon stays tentative but enthusiastic, letting you take the lead. "Fuck. Margaret Thatcher naked, Margaret Thatcher naked," he chants against your lips.

"How's that distraction working out for you?" You ask knowingly, pressing your hips against his.

His cheeks warm, and must be blushing. "I think you can feel as well I do that it's working out poorly." He's trying to make a joke, but he's right. You can feel him hardening against you as you kiss. You finally remove your lips from his but keep yourself pressed against him. He turns his face away, blushing like you suspected, and grinning from ear-to-ear.

You run your hand down the side of his face. "For what it's worth, I'm very attracted to you too, if you didn't pick up on that already. Probably why I was so upset," you say softly, "I can leave if you want to be responsible and take this slow," you offer. "Or," you trace the hand from his face down his neck to his chest, "you could take me back to your bedroom and apologize for hurting my feelings." You fake a pout.

Brendon's eyes darken, and he grabs your hand to practically drag you into his bedroom. He slams the door behind you, pinning you against it. "Is this okay?"

"More than okay," you breathe out, and he kisses you hard. You reciprocate, not caring how sloppy and desperate you feel with your probing tongues and clashing teeth. He parts to breathe and then buries his face in your neck, nipping and kissing. You tremble, grateful for the door behind you, so you don't collapse. One of his hands is above your head, supporting himself against the door, and the other is on your hip. He plays with the waistband of the briefs you're wearing, a silent plea for permission.

"Touch me," you beg, and he doesn't feign any confusion, just slips his hand under the fabric and strokes your swollen clit with his index finger. You moan, trying to ask for more, but your vocal cords aren't working. He seems to understand, though, because he moves his hand back to gently slide his middle and ring finger inside you. Instead of thrusting them like you expect, he curls them and rubs against your g-spot. At the same time, he's still stroking your clit, now with his thumb, and kissing you. His coordination is crazy good, but it makes sense with all the instruments he plays. Your core is starting to feel warm and buzzy, and you're only half-shocked that he's coaxing an orgasm from you so soon. You don't know how you're still standing; your knees are weak, and your brain feels like it's filled with a static of lust and pleasure.

Brendon feels you tightening around his fingers and speeds up ever-so-slightly. The small part of you that's still lucid feels his dick, hard and pressing against you where your bodies meet. He isn't rutting or grinding against you, just keeping you pinned against the wall with his hips, and somehow the self-control is even hotter. He presses harder on your clit, and that does it. Your orgasm explodes through you, soaking the underwear you're wearing. Your legs turn to jelly, and you slump forward onto Brendon, who supports your dead weight easily. "That's it, come for me," he coaxes softly. You bury your face into him, feeling blissed-out and overstimulated all at once, unable to do anything but ride it out.

"Y/N, darling, can you move over to the bed with me?"

You nod, letting him support you as you take small steps to his bed in the middle of the room.

"Good girl. Can't believe this is really happening; I can't believe I get to touch you. Dreamed about you for so long," he marvels.

You crawl into his bed, settling back onto your knees. "Dreamed about you too," you admit. "God, can I take my shirt off, Brendon?"

"Pretty sure that's my shirt, actually."

You giggle. "Well then, can I take your shirt off?" You wink, regaining your composure.

He laughs. "Yes, please. In both senses, take my clothes off."

You pull off the t-shirt you're wearing and throw it on the ground, exposing your stomach and breasts to his hungry eyes. His chest rises and falls quickly as he soaks you in silently, trying to get control of himself. "I like looking at you in my underwear." His voice is gravelly.

"Well, wouldn't you rather look at me without your underwear?" you offer.

He swallows and nods. You strip completely. You know your cunt is shiny with your juices, and you're pretty sure that's what's caught his attention. Brendon takes his shirt off, and now it's your turn to stare. He unbuckles his belt and unzips his jeans before taking them and his underwear off. His leaking cock settles against his stomach. He approaches the bed and gets in next to you, rolling on his side to face you.

"Fuck me," you moan, grasping his erection and stroking.

Brendon lets out a choked sound and gropes around the nightstand for a condom. He grabs one and hands it to you to roll on him. You spread your legs in expectation, and he takes the cue to enter you. He slides in easily with how wet and ready you are for him. You don't wait for him to start thrusting; you're too impatient. Instead, you rock your hips up to meet him. He hisses, not expecting the motion, and tenses his entire body to stay in control. It feels like it takes him forever, but eventually, he starts moving, slowly dragging his cock up and down. You squeeze your legs together to better feel him, and he hisses before his thrusts quicken, already working desperately towards release.

You can practically feel the veins running across him. "You're so much thicker than I would've guessed. Fill me up so nicely," you tell him. He throbs at your words, and you suspect the praise is turning him on even more, so when his hips snap forward perfectly into your g-spot, you praise him again. "So good, B, keep this angle, please." Your suspicions are mostly confirmed when he moans, and his thrusts falter a bit as a wave of pleasure washes over him. His hand moves to stroke your nipple while he supports himself with his other arm to avoid crushing you. You move your hand between your bodies to touch your clit, but instead, decide to form your fingers in a V and feel him moving between them instead. He hisses at the new sensation, and you love affecting him with your touch.

You finally do move your other hand to rub your clit, fast and hard. There are so many different pleasure points being activated on your body that you don't know what to focus on, so you don't focus on any; just let all the feelings meld into one as you lay back and mostly let Brendon do all the work. And god is he working hard; his muscles are tense and shiny with exertion, his head is thrown back with an expression of sheer bliss on his face, and his thrusts are unrelenting. Not to mention the hand still fondling your breast. He's gorgeous, too caught up in fucking you to muster any speech. You'd feel bad that he's putting so much effort in while you just get to lie back, touch yourself, and meet his thrusts when you can if he didn't seem so deeply gratified himself. Not only is the friction around his cock divine, but he also loves getting to pleasure you. Seeing your mouth fall open, unable to keep moans from escaping. The sex is messy and unrefined, neither of you quite knowing how to drive the other crazy yet, but pulling out every trick you can think of. You feel like a gamer smashing all the buttons to see what will work.

Despite the usual LA climate, the rain outside is pouring harder, and it's adding to the intensity and frenzy you both feel. "Shit, I'm close to coming," he groans.

"Hang on for me a little longer, Brendon, please. Just five more minutes," you plead. Admittedly, you could come too, but you only get one first time with Brendon, and you don't want it to end. He cranes his neck to suck behind your ear, clearly trying to get you to come faster.

"No fair, you already came," he complains, moving your hands out of the way to rub your clit himself. You use your free hands to play with your nipples, now rock hard from the constant stimulation.

"Shit, okay, come," you allow. As you say it, the first clap of thunder booms through the house. He sighs in relief, kissing you deeply as he lets himself go, getting lost in euphoria. You love feeling his hot come gather in the condom, and it triggers your own orgasm. You shriek as your second orgasm of the day is more intense than the first, and you're pretty sure you soak his bedspread just like you soaked his underwear.

He pulls out quickly and tosses the condom before snuggling up against you. "Guess your weird, gross body is good for something after all," he mumbles against your neck, already falling asleep.

"Hm, if only we could find a good use for yours," you retort, wrapping yourself around him.

#brendon urie smut #brendon urie fanfiction #my work

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rovewritesit · 4 years

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Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 4) John Deacon x Reader Series

Series Summary: After reluctantly joining a band with your childhood best friends, you are thrust into oncoming stardom with no sea legs and an overwhelming sense of anxiety. But you just might find your way, thanks to some seasoned pros by your side. And the interest of one particular bassist.

This series is a work of fiction, and is loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Strong language. Feelings of anxiety.

Chapter Notes: This one was a doozy! Don’t start your very first fic with only a vague idea of where it’s going, friends! Quick reminder that this is a slow ass burn. Gonna take us a bit to get there but want to point out there will be no infidelity. Also fun fact: my grandfather actually did work at Elaine’s and the Mick Jagger story is true.

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

Songs Mentioned:

Hallelujah, I Love Her So - Ray Charles

Lullabye (Goodnight, My Angel) - Billy Joel - [I know it wasn’t released till the 90s but I couldn’t shake it]

Taglist: @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @brianmays-hair @deacyblues @squishy-geckboye @hae-bee @aprilaady

- - - - - - -

July 1982 - Freeport, Long Island

“I’ll be right back,” you sigh to no one in particular, pushing yourself off of the faded paisley couch in the basement of Steve’s parent’s house and making your way upstairs for a glass of water. The dull pounding in your head had only gotten worse from repeatedly staring at the green shag carpeting leftover from the prior decade. Navigating the layout of the familiar house with ease, you make your way to the kitchen.

“Oh, Bunny! Wonderful, I was just about to bring down some iced tea,” calls out Steve’s mother upon seeing you.

“Thanks, Mrs. Castellano. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, you know me. It was too quiet when you were all away.” The Limbs had recently gotten back from a small European tour--the album having spread beyond England; to Scotland, France, Germany, and Belgium. “I can’t help myself when I get all of you back under my roof. Speaking of… how’s it going down there?” she presses.

You keep your deadpan expression glued to your face as you lock eyes with the kind woman.

She grimaces, “I had a feeling. You better bring this back yourself then,” she hands you the pitcher.

“Will do. Thanks again, Mrs. C,” you tell her as you start to trudge your body back towards the basement. You let out a deep sigh before yanking the door open and descending into the pit of your own personal hell.

Lawrence’s voice booms from below, “I said simple! A simple four to the floor, and that’s it.”

The rest of The Limbs were right as you left them. Eddie and Rich lounge on the couch that is pushed up against the wood-paneled walls, their guitars strewn casually over their legs as they watch the ongoing argument. Lawrence paces around the room, his hands seemingly glued to his head as he pulls on his hair, and Steve sits behind his drum kit that’s tucked away in the corner. Padded blankets hang from the ceiling around him - a sorry excuse for soundproofing.

“Oh c’mon, I’m just adding some flavor to it! I’ll be as boring, sorry simple, as you want when we actually record it,” Steven replies, twirling a drumstick in his right hand.

Rich lets out a sigh as he clocks you making your way back. “Bun, any help here?”

You softly place the pitcher on a table off to the side before turning to the group, leaning back on your hands. “I just don’t get why we need to debut something new if it’s obviously not ready,” you say carefully.

“Of course you’d say that,” Lawrence grumbled, gesturing in your general direction. “Do you not want to sing it? Because you all told me you thought it was good!”

“It’s not that, and you know it, it’s just-”

“It just needs some work before Sunday, so let’s run the rhythm section again,” Eddie cuts in impatiently from his perch on the back of the couch. He untangles his spidery limbs and makes his way over to where you’re camped out.

“Okay, I’ll explain it again,” Lawrence huffs.

“We don’t need this stress two days before we play,” you tell Eddie softly.

“It’s a hometown show, Y/N,” he looks at you pointedly. “These folks helped get us to where we are. It’ll be nice to give them something new.”

The label had secured The Limbs a night at the Jones Beach Theater, the largest outdoor venue on the island. People from all over traveled to watch such acts as Jimmy Buffet, James Taylor, and Aerosmith, the height of entertainment for the suburban droves. And now they’ll be camping out for the first hometown Limbs show since they’d been signed. It was a huge deal, and you knew it, but you didn’t need something unfamiliar to throw off your already wavering shadow of a presence on stage.

Rich begins to pluck out the new bass line, carefully watching Lawrence’s reaction as he plays. On the pick-up, Steve again adds a light flourish as he joins in.

“Steve! For god’s sake! What did I just say?!”

“Live a little, will ya, Lawrence!” Steven shouts back.

The door to the basement wrenches open, and you all freeze. Mr. Castellano’s footsteps are heavy as he stomps down the stairs, somehow staring all of you down at once.

“Kids. If you’d be so kind as to keep it down a tad. I already have to watch the Yankees hand their asses over to the Blue Jays up there. I would at least like to hear it.”

“Sorry, Dad,” Steve mumbles.

“Thank you.” He starts to make his way back up the stairs but halts, turning to you once again. “Oh, also, someone from your label called before,” he adds on casually.

Steven jumps up from his stool, “What?! Dad!”

“What?! Steven!” he mimics. “I’m not your secretary.”

“Can you just tell us what they said?” Steve scoffs at his father.

“Something about being invited to a show at The Garden tonight. Some band. It’s… Dang it. I wrote it down somewhere,” he mutters, making his way back up the stairs.

“I wonder who it is,” Rich thinks aloud, glancing around to all of you.

Eddie notices as your body immediately stiffens beside him.

“Bun?” he asks slowly. “Do you know who’s playing Madison Square Garden tonight?”

Your eyes find the green carpet once again. Of course you knew who was playing tonight. Queen was beginning their two-night stay at the venue. Dawn wanted to get tickets, but you had argued that it was getting harder for you to go unrecognized in public. That, and the fact you had come to the realization you could only act like a complete fool around any of the band members. You weren’t keen on adding another entry to the list.

“It’s Queen!” Mr. Castellano calls from upstairs. “Starts at 8. You kids should get going if you’re gonna make it.”

“Queen’s playing?” Lawrence marvels. “How did we miss that?”

Rich rises, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe all the incessant practicing you’ve been holding us hostage for?”

“She knew,” Eddie smirks, pointing at you with his thumb. You stick your tongue out at him.

“Why didn’t you say anything? I’ve never gotten the chance to see them live before!” Steve questions, already rocking back on his heels with excitement. He had become quite the Queen fan since your run-in with Freddie after sticking to him like glue that entire night.

You shrug, trying to act nonchalant, “I thought we had more important things to focus on.”

“No, that’s not it,” Eddie deduces, narrowing his eyes at you. “You’re just embarrassed that you went all jellied around Mr. Mercury the last time.”

“You’re the one who had to go and tell him all about me fawning over them on MTV!”

“Ooor, maybe it’s because the entirety of the UK saw you making eyes at their bassist on that game show,” Lawrence elaborates.

“There were no eyes being made at anyone,” you grit out defensively, knowing full well that their words were ringing true.

“I, for one, am happy you have a crush, Bun. You know it’s been a while since…” Rich trails off, leaving out the name of a dreaded ex none of you speak of.

You push yourself off your perch on the table with a huff. “You know what? We’ll go. Let’s go. That way, I can disprove all your wildly inaccurate assumptions,” you retort, wanting to get the heat off you fast.

Steven chuckles, “Oh no, she’s broken out her dictionary, folks. Looks like we’ve hit a nerve.” He pokes your side playfully.

“Shut up, please,” you tell them, making your way over to the stairs. “We have a train to catch.”

- - - - - - -

You’re late.

The muffled bass from the arena hits your ears as the Limbs dash up the steps leading from Penn Station to MSG. You all but sprint to catch up with the boy’s long gaits as they approach the box office window.

“Hiya, there’s supposed to be some tickets at will-call for us from the band,” Eddie explains to a woman behind the glass as he tries to catch his breath.

“Name?”

“Uh… Lo & The Limbs?”

“Don’t have anything under that name. Could it be something else?”

“Can you try just The Limbs?” he guesses, turning back to the group with wide, panicked eyes.

“Nope, sorry,” she answers in a monotone.

“How about The Legs,” you offer up from your spot behind Rich’s tall figure. She just shakes her head.

“Well, fuck,” Lawrence sighs, slapping his palms against his legs, obviously ticked off from the 45-minute train ride you’d all barely caught because Steve had changed his shirt a minimum of three times before you could all head out.

“What about Bunny?” Steve asks with a giggle.

The woman raises her eyebrows before checking the list yet again.

“Ah, there you are. Bunny and friends,” she concludes with a sigh.

A chorus of chuckles erupts from the boys. You point your finger at Eddie.

“I’m coming for ya. Eds. You’re not gonna know where or when, but I’ll get you back for this one day,” you tell him playfully.

“Oh yeah, and when you kill me, you can be free to go off and start your solo group, Bunny and Friends.”

She hands you all large laminate passes and gestures for you to follow a security guard. They deposit you in one of the skyboxes on the 10th floor. The Limbs tentatively enter, glancing around at the mishmash of people gathered. Extra crew, friends of the band, some execs, you guess to yourself. The boys immediately descend on the small bar set up in the back of the room.

“Here, I assume you need one of these,” Lawrence shoves a beer in your shaking hands.

“You assume right, good sir.”

“How the hell did we lose Steve already?” Eddie gripes. Rich easily spots him over the tops of heads surrounding them, pointing to a tall figure pushing his way towards the front of the box that opens up into seating. You all follow, mummering polite excuse me’s and thank you’s as you try to keep up. You can hear Play The Game get louder as you approach the view.

Steve rushes to the first row of seats, leaning over the railing of the balcony. “God, will you look at all these people?” he marvels, watching as the dancing lights illuminate the mass below him.

But you’re not looking at the crowd. Your gaze immediately finds the stage, where Freddie is situated behind a piano off to the left. His voice booms as if he were standing right next to you, and you’re positive that even without a mic, it would be heard by all 20,000 individuals. His eyes are closed as he slams hard on the piano, seemingly in his own world, yet the entire crowd is wholly entranced.

Brian then casually lopes to center for his solo. He smiles out at the crowd as his fingers dance across the frets gracefully while Eddie screams in appreciation throughout. He then jogs back to his mic, nearly missing his cue for his backing vocals, but his fingers never rest. Roger’s gravely falsetto catches your ear, and you train your eyes on the multitasking drummer. Even up behind his kit, his presence takes center stage while he keeps perfect time. The group ends the song in perfect synchronicity as the lights cut to black.

The chords for Somebody To Love start with a few majestic trills from Freddie’s voice, but your attention is once again grabbed away. Towards the back of the stage, still cast in darkness, you see John. He quickly shrugs off a fitted leather jacket to reveal an even tighter full cerulean blue ensemble before a roadie slips the strap of his bass over his head. He strolls into the light just as Freddie finishes his improv, lightly bouncing on the balls of his feet as they begin the song.

While he keeps his gaze mostly pointed to the ground, his body already thrums with anticipation. As it really gets going, you watch as he comes to life. You can’t help but hang onto his every movement; the unintentional jerks of his head, the light two-step of his feet as he shuffles along to his bass line's groove. He seems entirely at the will of the song and loving every minute of it. A pang of jealousy hits your chest as you wonder if you’d ever feel that free on stage.

Not much conversation passes between you and the boys as you watch on, more than a bit awestruck. You’re not sure how many songs pass, but fresh beers repeatedly appear in your hands every so often. The lights are dizzyingly bright as your eyes skip around the stage, trying to absorb as much as you can. You find they consistently flick back to John, sucking in every minutia of his performance. Your chest tightens like it did the day of Pop Quiz. Every time he had caught your eye, you remember having to push down the inescapable thoughts you were having. You would tell yourself you don’t know what it is about him, but you’d be lying.

A voice jolts you out of your stupor. “You must be Fred’s young friends he met in New Haven.”

The group turns to find a small man situated in the row behind them wearing an impeccably tailored suit.

“Jim Beach, manager for the band,” he holds out a hand for each of you to shake. “Sorry for the last-minute invitation. Fred was simply beside himself when he remembered you’re all from New York. So glad you could make it.”

“This is incredible, thanks so much for having us,” Rich tells the man sincerely as his gaze keeps being drawn back to the stage.

“Glad you’re enjoying yourselves. We’ve always been big fans of playing here.”

“It’s quite the spectacle,” you muse. “I've never seen The Garden this decked out before. I mean, those lighting rigs alone must cost…” you trail off.

“Believe me, you don’t want to know,” Jim replies with a quirk of his lips. “If you’d all like to follow me downstairs, they’ll be finishing up soon, and I’m sure Fred would love to thank you for coming.”

Steve leaps from his plastic seat, “Yes, please!”

- - - - - - -

The green room is unlike any you’ve ever seen—rust-colored persian rugs litter the floor, the grey slate underneath barely peeking through. Tapestries and various paintings line the walls, somehow giving the usually sterile space a homey feel. Multiple buffet tables filled with every accoutrement imaginable are tucked away in a back corner.

The room is scarce of people for the most part. Crew members filter in and out, grabbing waters, some puffing on cigarettes as they wipe down their sweaty foreheads. A select few have migrated down from the skybox as well.

Lawrence plops down on one of the many leather couches, taking in the room. “So this is what it’s like when you make it?”

“Seems a little excessive even for a band of their stature,” murmurs Rich as if reading your mind.

The deafening roar of the crowd is heard from above, and Queen closes out their encore. The crew members who are now needed for the post set break-down hurry from the room as it gets quiet. You all sit there in near silence for a few moments until a light cheer erupts as Freddie, Brian, and Roger all enter the room, swaddled in thick robes and towels around their necks. They're breathing heavy, still radiating the energy from their set, knowing full well that it was a fantastic show.

“Thank you, darling,” Freddie says as someone hands him a bottle of cold water, glancing around at the people who are still giving the band a wide berth. He spots the group of you huddled out of the way. “Oh!” he exclaims with a clap of his hands, making his way over, “You made it!”

He kisses you all on the cheeks, leaving a ghost of sweat on your faces. “My gangly young saplings! It’s lovely to see you.” He locks eyes with you, a wicked grin on his face. “And you most of all, my little cottontail.”

“You were fantastic Freddie, thank you so much for thinking of us, really,” you tell him genuinely.

“And who have we got here?” a towering Brian May appears behind Freddie.

“Oh yes, may I present to you, Lo & The Limbs!” Freddie says, spreading his arms wide. So he does remember the name; you laugh to yourself.

Eddie pushes further into the group to immediately extend his hand. “You slayed tonight, man. I mean, really slayed.”

Brian returns the shake with a surprised laugh. “Why, thank you. I’ve heard your album, and I have to say, you all… slay as well.”

“Oy, you!” A disheveled looking Roger Taylor makes his way over to the group, people parting like the red sea before him. He marches straight up to you, his finger inches from your nose. “I lost quite a lot of quid, thanks to you.”

You shrink back a bit. “I’m sorry?”

“It would be like John to bring in a ringer at the last second. And after we’d already threw down our bets.” You glance at Freddie with a confused look still on your face.

“What a lovely way to welcome our new friends,” Brian throws an arm over Roger’s shoulder before turning to you. “We may have made a slight wager on John’s most recent Pop Quiz appearance.”

“Slight?” Freddie smirks. “My new Gucci loafers would disagree, darling.”

Roger lets out an incoherent grumble. “Well, he usually fucks it up, doesn’t he? That is until you snuck in there.”

“I’m… sorry?” you offer, failing to find a witty remark for the situation.

He heaves a dramatic sigh, “I guess you’ll just have to make it up to me. I’ve been looking for someone to help me bury the bodies, or do my taxes, or be on call if I perhaps fancied a shag in the middle of the night?” he raises his brows in an overtly teasing manner.

You let out a sharp snort. “Fancy a shag? God, that sounds so much better than “ya wanna go fuck?”

Roger chuckles heartily, “Alright, alright. It was touch and go there for a bit, but I’ve come ‘round. I like this one. She can stay.”

“Y’know, we made a bet of sorts as well,” Lawrence reveals with a mischievous grin. The men all look to him, intrigued. “How long Y/N could keep her cool around that bassist of yours. She failed miserably, and now we shall reap the benefits by teasing her mercilessly until the end of time.”

You swear your mouth couldn’t have dropped open faster. Really need to work on that poker face, you tell yourself.

“Someone was trying to be cool around Deacy? Are you sure you’ve met the man?” Brian laughs.

Staring blankly around, all you know is you need to get out of this situation fast. “I need to pee,” you announce loudly. Really, Y/N? “Excuse me.”

Quickly ducking out of the room before anyone can say anything, you lean your back up against the wall in the hallway as you collect your swimming thoughts. What was it about this band that made you get all dumbstruck? Truth be told, you weren’t usually a timid person. Sure, everyone had bouts of social anxiety now and again, but you navigated social interactions seamlessly for the most part. It had always been easy for you to make friends or crack a quick comeback at a joke. Teasing was a form of endearment where you came from. But ever since you’d entered this new world, it was as if you were a stranger in your body. Who happened to be almost mute apparently. You push yourself off the wall to find a bathroom, your mind still fully occupied by your inner ramblings.

“Points!” a roadie shouts at you, trying to get your attention as they push a cart of cumbersome looking sound equipment right into your path. Before you have time to react, two hands grip your waist and pull you back to your previous position against the wall.

Once again, you are face to face with a familiar chest. You watch as a light chuckle rumbles through it.

“I know it’s cheesy to say, but we have to stop meeting like this. Or do you make it a point to always bumble about in narrow hallways?” John pulls his hands back to his side as you meet his attractive colored eyes, amusement flickering in them.

“John. Hi,” is all you manage.

“Good to see you again, Y/N. Freddie mentioned you all might be stopping by. Glad you could make it.”

You try and will your new persona not to take hold, but all you can do is smile meekly at him. He regards you patiently, cocking his head to the side slightly.

“Did you enjoy the show?”

“Yes, very much,” you rush out quickly. “I’ve never seen anything quite like that before. The Garden’s not an easy place to play.”

“Thank you. You’re kind," he smiles bashfully. "The crowds in New York are some of my favorites. I wish we got the chance to spend more time here, but it seems we’re always passing through.”

“Am I interrupting?” Freddie asks with raised eyebrows from the doorway, a grin on his face.

John makes his way over to him. “Not at all. Just heroically saving Y/N from a near-death run-in with Ratty.”

“Sounds about right,” Freddie muses. “Now, if we’re all safe and sound, I’d like to get out of here. I’m positively starving.”

“Where to?” John asks.

“I want to go someplace real New Yorkers go,” he looks to you expectantly.

“Bun-bun?” you hear from inside before Steve pokes his head around Fred.

“Is your grandpa working tonight?”

- - - - - - -

Even John knew of Elaine’s. He’d hadn’t heard about it because the notable food, but rather the wide variety of clientele it boasted. Writers, directors, actors, and musicians alike frequently filled the establishment for the ambiance and lively conversation. Freddie would love it.

The large group enters through the wood door under a large awning, immediately hit by a wall of sound. The small place is packed to the brim. Raucous laughter can be heard from most tables as the patrons sardine together, shouting over one another. It had a certain charm, he guessed, taking in the decor of signed book covers and hand-painted murals.

“Bambina!” A small italian-looking maitre d' steps from behind the counter and spreads his arms wide as he engulfs Y/N into a hug. “You didn’t tell me you were stopping by tonight.”

“Sorry, Papa. It was last minute. Just in time for the 10:30 rush by the looks of it.”

An infectiously warm smile spreads across his face. “Do you see me complaining? You hardly visit anymore now that you’re running around the world with that guitar. I’m so proud of you,” he adds softly, kissing her forehead. “Look at these boys!” he greets the rest of The Limbs like family, clapping each man on the back with love. “Am I shrinking already, or are all you still growing?”

“Probably a little of both, Dom,” Eddie laughs with the old man.

“And there’s even more, I see,” he inquires, finally noticing Queen.

It was unusual for them not to be the center of attention in any given situation, all of them hanging back except for Freddie, who marches right up to the man and places a kiss on his cheek.

“Freddie Mercury, a dear friend of your Y/N. It’s a pleasure.”

He looks to Y/N suspiciously. “Are they musicians? You know what happened that one time. I had to pry Elaine off of beating that tiny Mickey guy. I’m telling ya, it was ugly.”

“Not Mickey- Mick, Papa. How many times do I have to tell you?” Y/N shushes him, looking a bit embarrassed.

Dom waves his hand at her, “Whoever he is, that kid owes me his life. I expect these ones to behave.”

Roger snorts from the back, “Not very likely.”

“We promise,” Freddie swears. “And might I say, I love the suit. Very dashing,” he adds on for good measure.

“Well, how else do you think I got this job?” Dom smiles at him with a wink. “C’mon,” he gestures for all to follow as he leads them through the narrow restaurant, to a long table in the back. “Enjoy, boys,” he tells them as he heads back to his post up front, kissing Y/N on the cheek before leaving.

“Come sit next to me, my love,” Freddie calls to Y/N, patting the seat beside him. “If any of your other family members are as outrageous as that man, I want to hear all about them.”

The group moves to squish in around the table. Roger silently catches John’s eye and motions to the seat next to Y/N. He quirks his brows at him, confused, but makes his way to sit between them.

Eddie has taken his rightful place next to Brian with Rich in tow, the three already in deep conversation about the current music scene. Lawrence and Roger sit opposite each other, tearing into the bread basket and chatting about the show. Next to Freddie, Steve is eagerly hanging onto every word he says as he chats to Y/N about her upbringing.

“I’m just hoping one day we get to do something like that, man. Our show on Sunday should be a pretty big deal, though,” Lawrence tells Roger.

“Where are you playing? CBGB? The Palladium?”

“Nah, we’re playing out on the island. Jones Beach.”

“Huh, Long Island. We’ve never been to Long Island before,” Roger ponders, intrigued. “What’s there to do on Long Island?”

“Well, do you like bowling? Strip malls?” Lawrence pauses for effect. “Bowling at strip malls?”

John lightly chuckles. An arm brushes his shoulder, and he moves back slightly as a large woman weaves her hands around Y/N’s shoulders.

“My little Y/N has come back to us! And surrounded by even more devilishly handsome men than usual.”

Y/N turns around in her seat to give the woman a proper hug. “Elaine! It’s been too long.”

“Let me get a good look at you,” she gestures for Y/N to spin as she regards her. “If you need help beating em’ off of ya, I have my bat behind the counter.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, teasingly, “Don’t I know it. I have a vivid childhood memory of you chasing Ron Galella around the dining room with that thing.”

She lets out a larger than life laugh at the memory, patting the young girl on the back. “Oh, those were the good years. So, aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friends?”

“Elaine! I’m hurt you don’t remember our beautiful time together,” Eddie teases her from the table's end.

“Shut it, Eddie,” she reprimands him with a point of her stubby finger.

Y/N turns to the group, spreading her arms wide. “Guys, this is Elaine Kaufman, of Eliane’s, obviously. Elaine, this is Queen.”

She attempts a half-hearted curtsey. “Your majesties. Welcome.”

Before long, Elaine has pulled up a chair as she cracks dirty jokes back and forth with Freddie, which has the rest of the group (and some nearby diners) howling in laughter. Y/N’s now-familiar cackle sends tingles through John’s body once again. She’s more relaxed than he’s previously seen her be. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail, showcasing her broad smile as she looks on fondly, hands waving about whenever she joins in the conversation. Her face is mostly free of makeup and he catches the hint of a dimple on one of her cheeks as she glances over at him to share in a joke.

Freddie gasps as he catches someone entering the front door. “Is that Shirley MacLaine? Slap my ass and call me Sally, that woman does not age.”

“Come with me,” Elaine says, rising from her chair. “I think she’ll like you.”

Food appears without any of them having to order, along with bottles of wine Elaine insisted they’d love. John tentatively takes a bite of one of the dishes set before him.

“Oh god,” he blurts out upon tasting.

Y/N snickers beside him. “Bad, right? I recommend the tortellini if you want something remotely edible.” She pushes a plate towards him, snagging some for herself.

He gulps down water, trying to rid himself of the bland taste. “I would ask why this place is packed, but it seems I’ve already met her.”

“And you would be right. She’s a riot, but I fully blame her for my vulgar vocabulary,” she reveals, taking a giant bite of pasta.

“You and Freddie seem to have that in common.”

Y/N chews slowly as she muses over that sentiment. “That seems to be the only thing we have in common,” she says softly. He cocks his head at her in question.

“It’s just,” she starts, a somber look replacing her previously buoyant one. “Watching him on stage tonight. All of you actually. You seem so free, so comfortable up there. And Freddie is just magnetic, you know that. It’s as if he makes the crowd fall in love with him again and again with every song. I could never do that…”

“I find that quite hard to believe,” he mumbles, continuing on quickly. “Freddie’s a performer. Everything he does up there is for that crowd. Whereas I’m just a musician, I think. It probably helps that I don’t sing. It'll just take some time to find your footing. You don’t have to be both. You don't have to be either for that matter.”

She scoffs lightly, pushing the food around on her plate. “Don’t I? Ever since this all began, I feel like I’m some paper doll or something. People just dress me up and mold me into what they want. And I go right along with it because I don’t even recognize this version of myself if I’m being honest. So I just keep that mask on until I get back home and I can finally breathe. Because then, at least I don’t have to stare at a stranger in the mirror anymore.”

She breaks out of the daze she fell into while rambling. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t unload on you like this,” she catches herself. “I guess I just had a very different assumption of what my life would look like... I think I'm afraid of losing who I am in all this."

John takes her in, catching glimpses of his former self in her cracks. He itches to soothe her distress. “I can understand,” he tells her sympathetically. “Hell, I thought I was joining a band to play with on the side at uni and look at us now. Sometimes I still feel like I’m leading a double life. I tried to convince myself all this was just a job at first, but I’m sure you’re finding out quickly that’s not always true.”

Y/N looks at him intently, and it’s the first time he truly sees the depth of her eyes. He clears his throat before continuing.

“I've come to learn that the concept of home is a funny thing. For a long time, I held onto the idea of it that I always had for myself, but it’s harder than it looks with what we do,” he sighs, running a hand through his short curls, not wanting to dwell too long on his unpleasent situation back in England.

“But home can be anything really. It can be people,” he says, glancing at his bandmates. “Or even the stage, which sometimes I think is Freddie’s. Or you can be Roger, and make yourself at home wherever you go.”

They glance over at Rog, who is in the middle of an animated story, waving his glass of wine around as it drips on the tablecloth.

“So all you can do is find whatever that home is and hold onto it the best you can. And it might change, but that doesn't mean you have to," he nudges her shoulder with his.

Y/N smiles down at her lap. “Thank you,” she tells him quietly, still swimming in her own thoughts.

“Of course,” he assures, pausing to breathe- not used to giving long-winded explanations. Nervous that he’s pushed too far, he glances over, catching as her shoulders relax.

The restaurant was mostly cleared out by now, save for a few regulars sitting at the tall wood bar. The staff chats casually amongst themselves as they clean off empty tables for the night. Steve is giving Freddie details of the New York club scene, probably hoping to earn himself an invitation one day. Elaine’s regaling Brian, Eddie, and Rich with a story about two writers and a feud of accused plagiarism. Lawrence and Roger were currently attempting to turn their napkins into amusing hats for each other. John finds himself enjoying the young band's presence, their chaotic energy seeming to match Queen’s dynamic quite well.

The group collectively jumps as the music drastically raises in volume, the intro of Ray Charles’ ‘Hallelujah, I Love Her So’ pouring out.

“Oh god, no,” Y/N groans next to him as the waiters all turn their attention to her. Dom appears beside her with an outstretched hand. “Papa, not now, please.”

“Indulge your grandfather, Y/N,” he winks at her as she reluctantly takes his hand, pulling her to the middle of the room. John’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise as the old man springs to life, twirling his granddaughter around the room with ease. The pure spryness of someone that age was genuinely shocking.

“Oh, this is fabulous!” Freddie laughs as he leans his chin forward on his hands.

And it was. The staff cheers, hinting that this was a familiar routine for them. The rest of The Limbs sing along with the track, watching the two affectionately like old family.

Y/N’s apprehensive look fades away as she gives in to the fun, pure joy flashing across her features as she glides along, following her grandfather in the swing dance rather gracefully. She looks free, John thinks to himself, drinking in the true version of the young woman. She was dazzling as her hair fell messily from her ponytail and her laugh was louder than ever as Dom dips her low to the floor, her body bending with him. If this was home, he could see why she was reluctant to leave it behind.

He’s mesmerized by her every movement. She was still an enigma to him, each detail he pulled from her, just making him hungry for more.

You shouldn’t. You’re still married. Well, technically. Papers aren’t signed yet.

“Alright, I’m convinced,” Roger shouts at Lawrence. “Looks like we'll have to stop in Long Island.”

- - - - - - -

“Fuck, it’s cold,” Brian announces, burrowing further into his white windbreaker.

The Jones Beach Theater was tucked right up to the shoreline, causing the spray of the Atlantic to chill the air despite the summer heat. John had never seen a venue like it. It’s as if the vast sea acted as an extended backdrop to the stage, reflecting the stars and inky drape of the night.

The crowd didn’t seem to mind at all. They had been brilliant the entire night, singing along to every one of the songs and dancing in full force. It was perfectly clear how proud they were of their hometown heroes.

The Limbs themselves were a sight to behold from the wings of the stage. The energy from the packed seats had bled over, and all 5 members were indeed feeling it. They had been in perfect sync with each other the entire show, and John was certainly amused by their own way of interacting with their audience. It mostly consisted of them hurling humorous insults back and forth to each other in between songs.

Even Y/N seemed to be enjoying herself, despite her confession the other night. She had taken Freddie’s note that he’d given after seeing her dance and was now stepping out from behind the mic stand for her songs. She slinked around the stage effortlessly, interacting with the other members and the crowd, much to their glee.

“Before we say goodnight to you all, we’d like to leave you with a little something,” Rich calls out over the deafening cheers. “A lullaby of sorts from one of our favorites.”

Y/N drags a stool out to the center of the stage as Lawrence begins a somber melody on the keyboard. The audiences erupts in cheers and John recognizes it as a Billy Joel song.

She takes a seat behind the mic as she gazes out over the crowd. The exhilarated face she had been sporting all night was gone, a shade of melancholy in its place now.

Goodnight, my angel, time to close your eyes

And save these questions for another day

I think I know what you’ve been asking me

I think you know what I’ve been trying to say

Her hypnotic voice pierces through the now-silent crowd. The type of voice you immediately feel in your chest, as if it’s personally strumming your heartstrings. No one dares to sing along, afraid they'll miss a moment of her inflection.

I promised I would never leave you

Then you should always know

Wherever you may go, no matter where you are

I never will be far away

The familiar sight of lighters being illuminated flickers through the sea of people before them, casting a hazy glow on the previously faceless patrons. Their peaceful stares fixed on Y/N, entranced as if she was siren of sorts.

Goodnight my angel, now it’s time to dream

And dream how wonderful your life will be

Someday your child may cry, and if you sing this lullaby

Then in your heart, there will always be a part of me

Her voice breaks a bit, giving away the glassiness of her eyes. They’re not fixed on the crowd, but instead on the sky beyond them. John watches the panes of her face intently. She wasn’t singing to them, he realizes. This was to herself. Possibly to that image in her mind, she had confided in him, the one she was struggling to leave behind—her piece of home.

Someday we’ll all be gone

But lullabies go on and on

“She’s going to be something else, isn’t she?” Freddie asks, mostly to himself.

They never die

That’s how you and I will be

John watches as a single tear slips off the slope of her nose as she finishes, bowing her head.

“Yeah, I think she is.”

#john deacon #john deacon fic #john deacon imagine #john deacon x reader #john deacon series #angelofmydreams

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spokenleaf-a · 4 years

Text

SUMMER OF 1967 — BLUES NIGHT AT LARRY’S ON THE SUNSET STRIP the stage was hot with anticipation, artificial light, and all the previous bodies and their warm ghosts. for one night and one night only you could breathe in the air the poet expelled without being barred off by broad-bodied security. this would be the last of the band’s small-venue shows for a long, long time and you had to be there for it. it was blues night and peridot were situated right in the middle of the bill following another los angeles-based band that too was on the come up called ‘the riders’ but not even half the crowd were for them. peridot were back—larry’s house band for a greater portion of the year ‘66—and they were receiving a welcome most warm: rows and rows of people, the doors held open by eager hands and heads piled on top of one another to snag a glimpse of the show from the streets. man, what a turn out. between sets, other well-known blues tunes bled through the loudspeaker and lulled the chatter to a static hum. if you weren’t already smoking your own cigarette you were caught on the wave of inhaling nicotine by contact and contradictingly both on edge and completely relaxed. smoke coasted along the floor in soft, superfluous clouds. you could barely see the bands through the thick of it. in the middle of the stage stood the mic stand like a lone, holy ornament and young women, hoping to get as close to the band as possible, moulded themselves to the stage’s perimeter and whispered amongst themselves, wondering whether they could see silhouettes moving in the shadows of the stage’s sidelines or not, and then the band came out one by one.

after a sharp wolf whistle and the crescendo of a growing, roaring applause, every pair of eyes in the building locked on the stage and stuck there as if glued. some folks jumped up and down.

the guitarist came out first and he ducked his head in meek acknowledgement of the crowd and the likely familiar faces, simultaneously lifting his guitar strap over his neck and fixing his fingers to the fretboard where he’d pluck a few strings and toe the pedals to get the right kind of bluesy sound. the drummer came out next, as stoic as ever, wielding his drum sticks and taking his drum-seat behind his drum set. richard, their organ player and mastermind behind the whole situation, dressed the part, dignifiedly and wearing a face that looked more than happy to be there in the midst of his divine creation. closely after him followed their good friend chuck serving as their bass player for the night and very glad for it, and so began their liquid, slow and syrupy ode to muddy waters and his 1956 hit ‘rock me’. the band rolled into its sound as if searching for its rhythm, encouraging it out of their fingers and pushing out what was once dormant, breathing into it new life and keeping it alive.

with the impending revelation of the band’s final member, their vocalist as of ‘65 who unraveled in a way no one saw coming but richard—from a poor, orphan kid writing scripts for theatres to a singing, siren-like and worshipped dionysus—the crowd grew restless and the band coordinately bought him time. he relished that pregnant swell of anticipation and they knew it. it got him high. when he emerged at last, from the dark and mysterious realm of stage left in his blue-jean jacket, matching blue jeans and cowboy boots, a look he wore on the cover of their first album which now seemed a symbol of his character, the whistling and cheers grew in intensity. “i love you leaf!” shouted someone who loved him. the bartender ceased his tending. mouths were wet with drool. in the way he lit a cigarette, smoked it and lazily assessed the crowd in his slow, easy meander from one end of the stage to the next it was clear that we were in his world now and lucky enough to be living in it. behind him ensued a musical dialogue between joe’s guitar and richard’s keys in a harmonious give and take, open for their singer’s added two cents while he took his time, whether he was drunk, sober or just intoxicated enough to not care about what anyone thought. after a long, preparational drag that shoved black into his lungs, he ashed the cigarette out in front of the drum kit, approached the microphone and stepped into the song languidly and with no tension save for the soul coursing hot throughout his innards and crawling up his throat for its great escape. his voice came out smooth yet gravely as if forced out of his chest. it was whiskey in auditory form.

want you to rock me baby,

rock me alllllllllll night long... want you to rock me pretty mama, rock me alllllllllll night long...yeah want you to rock me little darlin’, ‘til iiiiiiiiiii sing my song...alright!

there he was. richard maintained his same, proud smile as his fingers tickled the keys, ringing out a sound like true and uncertain laughter beneath unhinged vocals as the bass pushed them forward and the drummer's persistent boom-click-clash kept everyone in line. the performance was raw with the kind of honesty the blues demanded. leaf’s words seemed to cling to his breath as if taboo, like they shouldn’t, and yet they poured out of his mouth like they had to.

you gotta rock me little darlin’,

’til we’re satisfied...

let’s rock a little while.

that breathy spell summoned a good and long instrumental break and their bassist welcomed it, fingers climbing the bass guitar’s neck in a groove that demanded you lean into. the poet’s eyes, glazed and sunken, captured whichever beautiful faces he could out in the vast, dark sea of peeled-open eyes and he wanted to get closer and so he did; he made for the edge of the stage where he could be touched and where most that could were too scared to, where one bravely touched his pants and another, his boot. he crouched down to breathe them all in and they reeked of cheap cigarettes and even cheaper beer, young arousal and all in all, fertility. he stooped before one particular girl who reminded him of his lady back home and who had been rather vocal throughout the performance along with her friend. wanting to know what she really had to say, he extended the microphone cradled in his loose hold out in front of her mouth and he watched her curl into herself with timidity like a flower fearing the consequences of blooming. leaf only smiled at her, a quiet, small, curious kind of smile that read her as if she had just unfolded like a book and let him peek into the library of her psyche. the suddenly shy girl nestled into the safety blanket beside her that was her friend’s laughter, bewilderment and the delayed sense of reality they shared. oh well.

with a swoop of his wrist he was back up and the microphone returned to the mouth of its rightful owner. he reeled in some of that loose cord and wrapped it around his forearm in time for the hook. still, he held the crowd in a hazy enchantment with every step he took while strangers held onto each other and another, braver stranger shouted ‘rock me’ as if to get him to say it. “come on!” they said. there was a sudden silence, a dangerous sense of intimacy established as the singer returned center stage, vulnerability as he hushed the crowd and eased them into his crawling outro. the band, together, made individual noises with their instruments as if trying to regain control and find themselves but not quite being able to get there.

yeeeeah i’m glad you waited for me ‘cause i think i’m...

yeeeeah i’m catchin’ on.

after a final little guitar lick, after the warm, dim lights dimmed down even further and the audience roared for another song, the summer of ‘67 marked the last time peridot would ever play at larry’s bar on the sunset strip and folks were left shaking, hungry, their anticipation never truly sated and their bodies humming with the familiarity of unleashed and imminent potential. come fall, the band would find themselves on television screens across america.

#introduction #/#if you read this just know that i really really love you #also reply to it #find leaf after the show lol

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morningfears · 5 years

Text

Good Feeling

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18

Summary: Ashton is a single father who is trying his best to run his own business. His daughter is the most important thing in his life and he has yet to find someone who can take care of her while he works. Until he meets you. Ashton doesn’t know what to do when it’s love at first sight and things are only further complicated when his daughter falls in love with you, too. But life finds a way to make everything okay and you have a good feeling about all this. (Tattoo artist!AU, single parent!AU, babysitter!Reader; mentions of anxiety, fear of being a bad parent, and some smut)

Word Count: 12.3k

From the moment the door is unlocked at noon to the moment the lights are turned off at midnight, Luna Ink is a bustling hub of activity. Throughout the day, a constant stream of patrons mill about the shop. Some are there to accompany friends, to offer a hand to hold or reassurances when the pain gets to be a bit too much, while others are there to pore over portfolios in search of the right artist. Some search through flash sheets, looking for a piece of impulsive ink to add to usually large collections, while others peruse the jewelry counter in search of their latest accessory.

Artists trade banter across the shop floor, teasing one another about a tattoo or an embarrassing slip-up from the previous night out, as they clean and prepare their stations for their next appointment. Music filters through the large brick building from the moment it opens until well after closing, usually something heavy and usually just loud enough to require patrons to raise their voices. Luna is a hang-out spot, lively and fun, just as much as it is a place of business and though Ashton would never change that, sometimes he aches for just a little quiet.

However, beginning the moment he was born, Ashton’s life has never known quiet.

Ashton’s mother always liked to joke that he began playing drums in the womb. She would tell anyone who would listen that he kept her up at night, kicking and moving, and that things never changed after his birth. There are home videos of him, lost in a storage unit somewhere, that show him beating on the tray of his highchair before he could even walk. There are even more videos that show him beating on pots and pans soon after that. It only took four years of life for him to begin playing drums and though that didn’t end up being his profession, the passion has followed him throughout the years.

He spent much of his youth practicing, playing the drums wherever he could get his hands on a kit. Near his fourteenth birthday, his mother scrounged and saved, worked harder than he’d ever seen her work before, and bought him a kit of his own that he’s sure she regretted buying after he all but glued himself to his stool and spent every waking moment learning song after song after song. There was never a moment of silence with him around, never a moment of peace, and he sometimes feels a pang of regret but soon reminds himself that he can’t change the past anymore than he can predict the future.

He played in a string of bands as a teenager, some for relatively long chunks of time (most often, periods of a few months) and others for single shows. None of them ever really gained the traction they hoped to but he always wonders if the final band he’d been in, the one that gained the most traction in the shortest period of time, would’ve been the one to go the distance if he’d been a little more careful. But the little bit of fame he got, the little bit of attention and the little bit of affection, had gone to his head.

He’d been young and reckless, twenty and living his dream, and it managed to send his life careening down a path he never expected it would follow.

He, along with Calum, Michael, and Luke, the best bandmates he’d ever had and guys he still considers brothers, had been gaining traction far faster than they ever imagined they would. It wasn’t enough to make a career out of the band full time, they still only got paid peanuts to perform at dingy dive bars so they each worked as much as they could in between shows, but it was a start. They toured the country, playing show after show, reveling in the attention of pretty girls that only wanted to know them because they were in a band, and lived like rockstars.

Ashton had always been popular with girls in school but it was always as the friend, always as the shoulder to lean on or the hand to hold. Being on tour, he suddenly became the one that they wanted to bed, the one that they wanted to pay attention to. He was desired, wanted, and he loved that feeling more than anything else in the world. It was an awakening for him, a time of great joy and even greater satisfaction, and he was determined to enjoy it to the fullest extent.

He kept up with those who wanted to keep up with them, exchanged numbers for whenever he returned to town, but most of his conquests were a one and done situation. They hooked up in the bar bathroom or they took him home, knowing full well that he wouldn’t still be in their bed the following morning, and Olivia had been no different.

Ashton met Olivia in some dive bar in the middle of nowhere. He hadn’t expected to find anyone to spend his night with, hadn’t expected more than a few drinks after the show before heading to bed, but he’d spotted her across the room and knew that he would be spending his night with her. She was exactly his type, looking for a night of fun with no strings attached, and the farthest they could make it was the bar’s bathroom.

They never exchanged numbers, barely exchanged names, and bare remembered the night in question, but it changed both of their lives for good.

Nearly a year passed and Ashton had all but forgotten about Olivia, all but forgot about the night that he shared with her, until she reached out to him on Instagram. The message had been a surprise, although Ashton initially saw it as a pleasant one. She told him that she’d seen that he would be returning to the area, this time for a tattoo convention (his day job, the one that really paid the bills), and that she wanted to see him. Initially, he believed that the meeting was an excuse to hook up again and he was in no way going to deny her that so he agreed. He took down the name of the coffee shop she suggested and had even arrived on time, a smile on his face and a few condoms in his pocket, just to be safe. But upon entering the cafe, he found Olivia sitting at a table, just as beautiful as he remembered, with a baby in her arms.

Ashton has never been one for jumping to conclusions, never been one for making assumptions, but the moment he saw the pair of them, he knew. He knew without Olivia opening her mouth that the baby, bundled in a soft grey blanket, was his. And when he sat down, she confirmed his suspicions.

After she apologized for not telling him sooner (she believed this was something she had to do in person, although she would’ve settled for sending him a message if any more time would’ve passed without knowing he would be back in town), she explained to him that she wasn’t ready to be a parent. Though Olivia had always wanted children, she was busy with university and building a life. She wasn’t ready, simple as that, but she thought Ashton should get the chance to meet their daughter before she officially put her up for adoption.

And Ashton, without even thinking about it, decided that he was ready to be a parent. He decided that he didn’t want his daughter to grow up without knowing her father, he knew just how much that hurt, so he offered to take her. He’d have to quit the band, he knew that, but things had slowed down exponentially and they were considering a break, anyway. Luke wanted to go to college, Calum wanted to focus on soccer, Michael had started designing video games and had gotten incredibly good. They were all at different places in their lives and maybe being a father was the place that he was meant to be.

Olivia initially refused. She didn’t believe that Ashton would be a good parent and declared that she wanted better for their little girl. However, she’d listed Ashton as the birth father on Isabelle’s birth certificate and, after a paternity test confirmed that Ashton was, indeed, Isabelle’s father, there wasn’t much Olivia could do. She didn’t want to spend money or time fighting for custody of a child she was only going to give up for adoption, anyway, and if Ashton wanted to take full responsibility, she was going to let him.

So at the ripe age of twenty, Ashton became a father.

Though Ashton thought his life was loud and chaotic before Isabelle entered it, he was proven wrong almost immediately. Though Isabelle was an angel during the day, the picture of a perfect child with a calm demeanor, the moment the sun set, it felt as if he’d somehow acquired an entirely different child. His sweet, perfect little angel suddenly became a shrieking monster who refused to cooperate with anyone. It took a small army of him, his mother, and his little sister to feed, bathe, clothe, and calm her for bed and Ashton spent many nights pacing his own bedroom as he waited for her to tire herself out.

He’d always wanted to be a good father, always desired a happy family more than anything in the world, but every time Isabelle made a noise of displeasure or spent the night wailing, he felt more and more like a failure.

His mother assured him that, as time went on, Isabelle would grow out of this. She assured him that it was likely her adjusting to her new surroundings, adjusting to being with him and not Olivia, but it still weighed heavily on Ashton’s mind. That, coupled with everything else in his life, did little to assuage his fears of becoming like his father.

As the band dissolved and he delved deeper into the world of parenthood, Ashton grew increasingly conflicted and somewhat depressed. He worked harder than ever in his art, striving to become a better artist so that he could provide for Isabelle, and he worked from home as often as he could. For the first year of her life, he only ventured to the shop whenever necessary, only stepping in to work on a client and leaving immediately after. He had his mother by his side, stepping in to keep an eye on baby Izzy whenever he absolutely had to work, but that took a toll on him.

He got very little sleep, really only interacted with his daughter and his mother, and desperately needed to get out of the house. His mother encouraged him to take one night a week for himself, one night for him to just be a twenty-something with no worries, but more often than not, he spent that night worrying more than ever. He desperately wanted to be a good parent but it felt like nothing he was doing was right. He felt like a failure in every sense of the word and needed a change to make him feel complete again.

The time that he spent dedicated to his art, the time that he spent dedicated to his clients and his desire to be the best of the best, was apparent in his work. Although he felt like his life was falling apart, even on the good days, his devotion to his craft paid off.

After beginning in the industry at age fourteen and spending three years as an assistant, three years as an apprentice, three years as a tattooist, and two years as a shop manager, Ashton was given the opportunity to branch out and open his own studio at the age of twenty-five. Luna Ink was the culmination of more than a decade of hard work, of all of the blood and sweat and tears and time that he devoted to his craft, and though music will always be the love of his life, Ashton still feels as if his dreams came true with Luna.

However, opening his own business has, more often than not, clashed with being a single parent.

Now that he owns his own shop, Ashton has to be present. He has to be there to put out fires and deal with the daily goings-on of a business. He has to simultaneously be shop manager, tattooist, and the bad guy, explaining why someone can’t get a tattoo if they’re drunk or kicking out unruly customers, and it’s stressful.What’s worse is that after moving from his coastal hometown to a larger city, one with more traffic and the prime location for both a tattoo shop and a child to grow, to open Luna, Ashton has been forced to rely upon school, after-school care, and a babysitter to keep Isabelle as his mother is now too far away for him to call upon.

Though he lets Isabelle camp out in his office during the day on the weekends, finding someone to watch her at night has been a struggle. Nights have always been the worst for her. No matter how many years seem to pass, Isabelle has yet to outgrow her attitude. During the day, she is touted as the sweetest, most darling child anyone meets. She’s a perfect angel as long as the sun is shining, sweet and docile and loving, but the moment the sky grows dark, she becomes the child of nightmares. The more time that passes, the more like a failure Ashton feels. She was supposed to outgrow this, supposed to be over these tantrums and be his sweet little princess all the time, and he often wonders what he’s doing wrong.

He thinks that he should know how to calm her by now. He should know how to parent her and love her and nurture her so that she’s comfortable with falling asleep. But every night, it’s the same struggle. Every night, Ashton has to leave work to spend an hour fighting to get her into bed before carrying her back to the shop and letting the babysitter he’d hired go home early just because he failed.

Every sitter he’s hired, he’s warned beforehand. In every interview he’s conducted, Ashton made sure to mention that, though his sweet little girl is an angel, nights are hard for everyone involved. Almost every applicant he’s had, and ever sitter he’s hired, has been a college student. All of them assured him that they didn’t mind the late hours during the week and the irregular weekend hours and they all assured him that they could handle a cranky child who didn’t want to go to bed. However, it very quickly became obvious that that was not the case.

Isabelle tore through twelve sitters in the span of four months. They all tried their hardest, Ashton knows this to be a fact, and each of them declared their love for Isabelle with their resignation. They all apologized profusely, both for not being able to handle her and for leaving Ashton high and dry, but it was simply too much for them. It was too much for Ashton, too, but what could he do other than love his little girl?

By the time the twelfth sitter quit, Ashton was close to having a breakdown. His anxiety that something was wrong with her was never alleviated, no matter how many doctors told him that she was fine and that she just needed extra coddling, and he felt awful having to lock her up in his office with a tablet and a few toys to keep her occupied as he worked. He wanted her to have some semblance of a normal life, going to school and coming home to have dinner and take a bath before going to bed at a reasonable hour. He wanted her to live outside of the shop and he felt guilty for ever putting his work ahead of her. Thins proved to be so difficult and the guilt weighed on him so heavily that he almost packed it all up. He came within inches of placing a closed sign on the door and moving back home just to try and give Isabelle enough attention to keep her happy and healthy but Luke managed to stop him in his tracks.

Luke knew about Ashton’s struggle to find a decent enough sitter, he knew how worried he was about Isabelle, and he wanted to help. He didn’t want Ashton to feel like a failure at anything, certainly not at his two biggest dreams, so he asked you how willing you would be to step in. He knew that you spent most of your life babysitting, for your younger siblings and for people in your neighborhood. You often shared stories of tough nights and even tougher summers where you spent hours upon hours watching nightmare children but none of that ever threw you. You were going to school for elementary education, dedicating your life to children, and Luke knew that you would be perfect.

So, when you agreed, Luke called Ashton. Ashton was so desperate that he didn’t think twice about saying yes to Luke’s friend from university. He didn’t think twice about agreeing to let the girl who, according to Luke, got on with everyone and had been working with children for most of her life. He just wanted, more than anything, to give his daughter a better life.

Your first night on the job was on extremely short notice, the day after Luke gave Ashton your contact information, and the night that you met is one that neither of you will ever forget.

“She’ll be at your place in, like, five minutes,” Luke informs Ashton for what has to be the millionth time. “All of the artists that have five o’clock appointments are already at the shop to set up, Alex is there early to help with setup, and everything will be fine if you’re not the first one into the shop for one day,” he reminds him, his voice calm on the other end of the line. “Trust me on this, man. She’s going to work out.”

Ashton wishes he could believe him, he really wishes that he felt as confident as Luke seems to, but the anxiety that he feels swirling in the pit of his stomach could eat him alive. He’s going to be late getting to the shop, he’s never met you, and he knows that Isabelle is more than a handful. He’s worried about absolutely everything and he hates it. But with Isabelle tugging at his jeans, the doorbell ringing, and the television blaring Frozen for what has to be the thousandth time, he’s just ready to get this over with.

“I think that’s her,” he tells Luke, wedging his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he reaches down to pick up Isabelle. “I’ll let you know how it goes. Thanks again, man.”

After Isabelle shouts, “Bye, Uncle Luke!,” Ashton ends the call and rushes through the toy-covered living room to answer the door. He almost trips over a few Barbies on his way, narrowly avoids a Lego, but manages to make it to the door before you have to ring the bell a second time.

And to say that you are a surprise would be an understatement.

From Luke’s descriptions of you, Ashton had been imagining someone who resembled a librarian or possibly a nun. He’d been imagining a homely sort of person, someone unassuming and plain, but he finds that you’re anything but. You’re beautiful, eye-catching even though he can tell you’ve made sure to dress appropriately for the work you’re assuming you’ll be doing (an old college shirt he imagines you got for free at a sporting event and jeans that, while they’re still nice, you probably don’t mind being destroyed with markers or food that you might accidentally end up wearing), and it takes him a moment to realize that he’s staring. He only really snaps back to reality when Isabelle buries her face in the crook of his neck and makes a noise of displeasure.

He sees the smile on your face and concludes that you’d attempted to make eye contact with her first and that is just the first of many things that you do right.

“Hi,” he nods, making sure to smile the mega-watt smile that so many women have swooned over, though he isn’t really sure why he feels such a need to impress you, “I’m Ashton. This is Isabelle.” He offers you his hand, covered in graphite from spending the day sketching, and feels his breath hitch at the surge of electricity that floods his veins as you grasp it. He’s never felt that before and it has his stomach in knots as you let go of his hand.

You introduce yourself, smiling as Isabelle shyly waves at you before returning her face to the crook of Ashton’s neck, and confirm that you are, indeed, friends with Luke. “I don’t know why,” you tease, a fond smile on your lips as Ashton invites you into his home, “but we’re three years into this friendship now and I guess I wouldn’t trade him for anything.”

Though you felt the same surge of electricity that he did, you keep your mouth shut. You’re there to work, there to begin saving money for your move to New York, and you don’t want to do anything stupid to jeopardize your chances. Flirting with your boss, flirting with someone who is clearly only interested in finding a caretaker for his daughter, would be a mistake on your part and you don’t want to be a cliche. You don’t want to recreate a Lifetime movie, you just want to make a little bit of money and help out someone who is clearly trying their hardest.

You find yourself repeating that mantra, reminding yourself that this is a job and that you are professional, as Ashton guides you through the house to the living room. “Sorry for the mess,” he apologizes, sheepish as he glances at the toys covering the floor. “Things are a bit hectic,” he offers as an explanation. You don’t pry, don’t push for anymore information than what he offers, and he’s thankful. He still isn’t sure how to explain his life to people he’s just met, isn’t sure how to tell them that he doesn’t really know what he’s doing even though he looks like he’s got it all together, and he suddenly finds that he cares what your opinion of him is.

He wants you to see him as a success, as someone that knows what he’s doing and is capable of being a fully functioning adult, and explaining that he doesn’t know how to balance being a father and a business owner feels like a failure.

Instead of explaining further, he launches into his expectations of you as a babysitter. “She’s got daycare from three to five,” he explains as he places Isabelle on the floor and watches with a fond smile as she rushes over to her toy box and begins searching for her Elsa doll. “You’ll pick her up from daycare, get her home, and stay with her until midnight. Dinner is as close to five as you can get, followed by a bath. Bed time is at seven. She’s not a picky eater, doesn’t have any allergies, so dinner is usually pretty easy. Bath time is also pretty easy, she loves the water, but Luke might’ve warned you that nights are rough.”

When you nod, Ashton sighs and runs a hand through his freshly dyed red locks. Every time he thinks about it, every time he thinks about how hard it is to get Isabelle to bed or to get her to calm enough to just sit still at night, he feels a white hot pit of disappointment burning in his stomach. He’s only ever opened up to Calum, and it was only once, but he often feels like a failure as a parent. He feels like he doesn’t spend enough time at home, like he doesn’t know her as well as he should, and he feels like an absent father although he’s the only parent in her life.

He relies on babysitters and teachers, on daycare providers and family, to care for his child and he hates it. But he knows that one day, hopefully in the near future, he’ll be in a position to take a bit of a break. When his shop is stable, he’ll be able to step back and give Isabelle the attention she deserves. He’ll be able to pick her up from school himself and spend the afternoons with her. He’ll be able to calm her on his own, be able to have his girl be his little angel no matter what time of day it is, and that’s all he wants.

All he wants is to be a good dad and you can see that as you watch him stare at her. Ashton’s eyes follow Isabelle through the living room, watching intently as she plays with both an Elsa doll and a Captain America action figure, and the sad smile on his lips is enough to tell you how he feels.

You know that he wants the best for her, know that he wants her to be happy, and you try to offer him a bit of comfort.

“I know you’ve heard this before,” you begin, breaking Ashton away from his thoughts, “but I really do think we’ll be alright.” You pause for a moment, watching Isabelle dodge Legos and run around the living room, before you continue. “I’ve been babysitting for a while. My little brother was a nightmare and a half,” you joke, a small smile on your lips. “He refused to go to bed for anyone but our dad and after he passed, it was really rough. But we got through it and I learned a few things. I don’t know Isabelle yet but I look forward to getting to know her. I have a really good feeling about this.”

Ashton doesn’t know you, he only knows what Luke told him, but he feels a calm settle over him as you speak. Something about you, something about your demeanor, puts him at ease and he hopes the same can be said for his daughter. He stares at you for a moment and you meet his gaze head-on, unflinching, and Ashton feels his heart begin to race in a way that he’s never felt before. He attributes it to nerves, chalks it up to the fact that you’re a stranger and he’s leaving his little girl with you for the night even though his subconscious knows that that isn’t the case, and swallows the butterflies storming in the pit of his stomach.

You will your own heart to calm, will your mind to stop racing and your breathing to remain steady, as Ashton sizes you up. You think nothing of it, assuming that he’s weighing your words, and when he nods, the spell is broken. His hazel eyes are no longer staring into your soul and you feel as if some sort spell has been lifted as he stands from the couch.

You follow him through the living room, trailing after him as he gathers his coat and his bag, and smile when he turns to face you. “Thank you,” he breathes, not a moment after giving you both his cellphone number and the shop number, just in case. “I have a good feeling about this, too.”

Saying goodbye to Isabelle is almost routine at this point, he feels as if he spends more time away from her than he does with her, and he bites back a sigh of upset when she tells him that she’ll see him soon. He wants, desperately, for that to be untrue. He wants her to make it through the night with you, only seeing him in the morning when he wakes her for school, but despite the ease that you make him feel, her words unsettle him just a bit.

“I love you, Iz,” he breathes, crouching down to pull her into a hug. “Be good for me, okay?”

When she nods, he releases her from his hug and bids you a goodbye, urging you to call if you need anything at all, before he rushes out of the house to get to the shop.

Ashton has an alarm set on his phone for eight. That’s usually the time the sitter calls, close to tears and panicking, to tell him that they can’t get Isabelle to bed. When the alarm goes off, he keeps his phone on his person and intermittently checks the screen for missed calls when he doesn’t hear it ring. By the time nine rolls around, you still haven’t called him and he sends you a text, ‘Just checking in, is everything alright?’

He thinks it’s a joke or that maybe you’re lying to make him feel better when you send back, ‘All good! Isabelle’s had dinner, a bath, and is in bed. She’s been an angel.’ But then you send him a photo of her, tucked into bed and cuddling with the penguin plushie Luke bought her for her third birthday, and Ashton drops his phone in sheer astonishment.

He sends Luke a message accusing you of being a witch and Luke replies that Ashton owes him a drink. He promises that he’ll buy Luke as many rounds as he wants and finds himself desperate to get home just to see if Isabelle is really asleep or if you’d just managed to get her to play along for a photo.

Ashton ends up having to stay late, a group of drunk frat boys demanding tattoos on their asses didn’t take well to being refused, and sends you at least four texts apologizing. When you inform him that you’re going to stop responding, that it’s alright and that you really don’t mind, he isn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He’s never met someone capable of handling Isabelle’s nighttime mood swings, he’s never met someone so understanding at having to spend an hour longer at a stranger’s house than initially agreed upon, and he’s never met someone who refuses a bonus for working more than they should.

But when he returns home, after he checks on Isabelle and finds her sleeping soundly, you do just that.

“Ashton, I was expecting to leave here in tears tonight,” you laugh as you shrug on your coat once your textbooks are securely in your backpack. “Luke told me that you’ve gone through twelve sitters in just a few months and, honestly, I was terrified. But she was great. We had fun. She went to bed a little later than seven, sorry, but we got to know each other and she’s such a fantastic little girl. Plus, I got all of my homework done so, honestly, I should be thanking you for being late.”

Ashton follows you through the house, half-ready to argue with you and half-stunned that you’ve managed to do the impossible, but any words he’d been contemplating die on his tongue when you add, “Oh, yeah. I made pasta for dinner. There’s a plate in the fridge for you. I wasn’t sure if you ate on the way home or anything but I figured it was late and you’d want something so, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

And with that, you were gone.

As he ate the pasta you’d left for him, Ashton couldn’t nail down any of the emotions swirling in the pit of his stomach. He was happy, of course, that you managed to get on so well with Isabelle. He was glad that you seemed so understanding and willing to do whatever it took for both of them, and it made him happy to know that you thought about the little things. He also noticed that you’d cleaned up the living room, placed Isabelle’s toys in the basket and straightened the bookshelf, and it made his heart race just a little faster.

The spark that he felt upon meeting you, the way that you seem to be the perfect fit into his life, it’s as if the universe has given him a sign that you’re the person he’s been searching for but his brain tells him to calm down. He’s just met you. You’ve only had one night of success and it could be a fluke. And just because you’re pretty and you can calm Isabelle doesn’t mean you’re his soulmate.

You’re just a college student looking to help a friend of a friend and make a little money.

And you tell yourself the exact same thing.

Ashton is just looking for someone to take care of his daughter and help make his life a little easier. The way that he looked at you, so soft and almost in awe, was only because he’s used to babysitters calling him in a frenzy after being unable to handle his daughter. Luke told you that Ashton doesn’t date, that his daughter and his work are the only things that matter, and you know that he’s only looking at you like that because you managed to make one of his loves happy.

Ashton is just a parent looking for someone to help him. He’s not your soulmate and he’s not going to fall in love with you. It’s as simple as that.

Ashton isn’t sure what he expected. He isn’t sure if he expected you to have just had a lucky break with Isabelle the first night or if he was expecting the pressure to become too much for you (you are, essentially, a nanny at this point and though you’re not that far off in age, he knows that it’s a lot for someone in their early twenties to take on) but he’s pleasantly surprised when you manage to last a year as Isabelle’s babysitter. With you in his life, things have gotten exponentially brighter.

The shop has stabilized. It’s taken off and become a hub of activity. Now, Ashton has clients from around the world coming into Luna and he’s beyond grateful for the opportunities that this affords him. He’s gotten to go to conventions and regularly has his work featured in magazines. However, the growth of Luna means that he’s away from home more often than he likes. Isabelle doesn’t seem to mind, he’s half certain that she loves you more than him at this point, and he’s learned how to balance the time that he does spend at home. He no longer works seven days a week, Sundays are now family days where he spends the entire day spoiling his favorite girl, and Isabelle often spends time at the shop during the week (with you close by, watching Ashton work). The three of you have developed a routine and everyone in his life has noticed it.

Now that the shop is empty for the day, the door locked and the music turned off for the day, Ashton is left alone with his shop manager as the pair of them begin their nightly run through. As Ashton combs through the next day’s appointments, searching for anything he should be aware of, Alex stares at his boss.

Ashton is different now that you’re in his life, calmer and happier, and everyone knows just how in love with you he is. He believes that he’s doing a fantastic job of hiding it but Ashton is a fool in love and the only person that can’t see it is you.

“You know, one day you’re going to have to come clean,” Alex hums, focusing his attention on the spreadsheet in front of him.

Ashton glances up from his own spreadsheet, eyebrows scrunched in confusion, and blinks at his shop manager. He stares for a moment, unsure of what he means, before he shakes his head. “I don’t think I want to know what you’re talking about,” he hums as he returns his focus to the paper in front of him, eyes scanning the scribbled ink for anything that catches his eye.

“You’re gonna have to admit that you’re in love,” Alex clarifies with a roll of his eyes. “It’s obvious to literally everyone that watches the two of you interact. You’re so in love with her that it’s painful for us to watch.”

Ashton heaves a deep sigh, a heavy weight settling onto his shoulders as he allows Alex’s words to wash over him. “I’m not in love with her,” he denies with a shake of his head as he drops his pen onto the table and brings a hand to his hair. “I just appreciate having her in my life. She’s good for Isabelle.”

“She’s good for you, too,” Alex reminds him as he turns away from his spreadsheet and faces Ashton. “You’re a different person now that she’s in your life. Watching you this past year has been like watching a brand new person emerge. She brings out the good in you, man.”

Ashton hesitates, unsure of whether or not he should voice his thoughts, but he can’t seem to stop himself. Whenever you’re mentioned, it’s as if all the filters he’s managed to instill in himself have fallen away and the words just flow freely. “She does,” he confirms, his voice taking on a dream-like tone as he allows his thoughts to drift to you.

It really is true that you’ve brought out the best in him. As you’ve gotten to know him, you’ve encouraged him to care for himself more. You make sure that he’s eating (you often leave enough food leftover for him to have both dinner for that night and lunch for the next day) and you make sure that he gets some sleep. You’ve installed apps on his phone that reminds him to drink water, you’ve kept at him about quitting smoking, and you’ve reminded him time and time again that overworking will only hurt him in the long run. You’ve made him a better man in less than a year and Ashton doesn’t know how he managed to survive this long without you in his life.

“She’s so good,” Ashton breathes, memories of you doing more than what was asked of you to take care of Isabelle and him. “She really cares about Izzy. She loves her so much. She checks in on her on days she isn’t with her and when Izzy was sick, she made soup and brought it over even though I took a couple days off to be with her. And she does more for both of us than I ever could have, or even would have, asked. She makes me want to be a better person,” he admits quietly, his voice dropping as he realizes the weight of his confession, “she makes me want to be a better man.”

Alex smiles at him, happy that he’s finally admitted that to himself, and nods. “It shows, man,” he confirms as he taps his own pen against the table. “You’ve always been a good dude but this past year, you’ve been trying harder to be a better person and we can all see it. And I know you guys have been spending time together, too. With Izzy, yeah, but she’s part of the family at this point.”

Ashton nods at this. You have been spending more time with him and Isabelle. On days that Ashton takes off, Isabelle often asks if you can come with them to the park or to the zoo. Some days, Ashton refuses because he wants that time just for them, but more often than not, he’s sending you a text. He always tells you that you can say no, that he won’t be upset and that he’ll break it to Isabelle gently, but it’s rare for you to refuse them. You’ve only said no twice and both times were because you were sick and didn’t want to risk passing it along to either of them.

But Alex is right. You’re more than a babysitter now. You’re family. Ashton hasn’t told you this, hasn’t wanted to scare you away, but Isabelle has called you mom on more than one occasion and he’s been quick to correct her. He sometimes finds himself wishing you were her mother, you love her and care for her as if she was your own child, but he doesn’t think he could ever ask you to be that figure for her. It’s only been a year and you’re close to graduating, close to moving to New York to work at a school that you’ve been dreaming of working for for most of your life, and he doesn’t want you to give up your life for either of them.

The thought that you could leave them soon hits him like a ton of bricks and Alex can see the moment that Ashton’s expression changes. Ashton remembers the night that you told him about your plans, remembers the night that you told him that you didn’t see a future in this city, and though it was near the beginning of your friendship, he can’t bring himself to imagine that you’ve changed your mind that drastically over the course of a year.

“You know, I’m curious,” you hum, voice quiet to avoid waking Isabelle, as you take a seat on the kitchen counter and watch Ashton place the bowl of beef and broccoli into the microwave. “Why a tattoo shop? Luke told me that you guys were in a band. Why didn’t you keep going?” When Ashton sighs, biting his lip and glancing away from you, you instantly backtrack. You’ve gotten to be quite good at reading him in the few face to face interactions you’ve had and it almost scares him just how easily you can figure out his moods. “You don’t have to answer that, sorry. I know it’s probably personal. Or maybe it’s painful.”

“It’s okay,” Ashton nods, a small smile on his face to reassure you. He likes it when he flusters you, likes it when you bring up something without really thinking about it and quickly backtrack into safer territory. You’re usually so calm, so steady and unflinching, that watching you squirm when the personal is brought into play is a pleasant surprise.

“The band was losing steam,” Ashton answers as he pulls the bowl from the microwave and takes a seat on the counter opposite you. “We weren’t getting as many gigs, weren’t doing as well online. We were all having to focus on our day jobs to make ends meet and we realized that we wanted to go separate ways. Luke wanted to go to school, Calum wanted to play soccer, Mike wanted to design video games. I started working in a tattoo shop when I was fourteen. My mom was a single parent, too, and she struggled. I wanted to help and they were the only place that would hire me. I was a shop helper for a while. I swept up, took out the trash, that sort of thing. And when I got older, they realized I could draw and took me on as an apprentice. They let me keep working there while I traveled with the band but when that started to fizzle, I focused more on art. I got good, I got a pretty good following, so I decided that I wanted to do my own thing and opened up my own shop after a friend decided to move his. And that's the story of Luna.”

You nod, smiling at the image of a young Ashton desperate to learn about tattooing and running around a shop to keep up with the demands of a notoriously tough to break into industry. “I’m glad it worked for you,” you smile, genuine in your compliment as you swing your legs back and forth. You hesitate for a moment, almost afraid to ask, before you continue, “Can I ask you a personal question?” Ashton raises an eyebrow. He’s almost positive that it’s going to be about Isabelle but, with you, he’s never sure. So he nods, taking the silence as an opportunity to take a few bites of his dinner. You give him a moment before you ask, “What is the story of Isabelle?”

Ashton pauses for a moment, takes a bite of food and weighs his words, before he answers. “On the band’s last tour, I slept with this girl. Her name was Olivia. It was a one night thing and I almost forgot about it, if I’m being honest with you. We didn’t exchange numbers and I didn’t expect to see her again but about a year later, I went back to her city for a tattoo convention. I was doing okay, was a full-fledged artist at that point and people liked my stuff, and she messaged me out of the blue. I thought it was for a hook up but I met her and she had Izzy with her. I knew right away that she was mine and when she told me that she was going to put her up for adoption, well. That was that. I couldn’t let her. I grew up without a dad and I didn’t want Isabelle to go through that. Even if she got adopted, I thought that she would always wonder what happened to her real parents and I didn’t want her to have to struggle to find answers.”

Ashton is quiet for a beat, staring at the ground without really seeing it, before he adds. “I always wanted a family. Being a dad was always one of my dreams. I wouldn’t trade Izzy for the world. I love her more than anything but sometimes I wish things had been different, you know?” When you nod, understanding clear on your face, Ashton shrugs. “Now, can I ask you a personal question?”

When you nod, tilting your head in curiosity, Ashton smiles at you. He doesn’t want to delve too deep, not at first, so he settles for the obvious. “What’s your plan for life? Luke said you’re doing elementary education. You want to be an elementary school teacher?”

“Yeah,” you nod, a small smile on your lips as you do so. “That’s always been my dream. My dad was an elementary school teacher and I spent summers in his classroom, helping him get it ready for the students. He loved his job more than anything and I always wanted to be just like him. The school I want to teach at is the one that he wanted to teach at. It was always his dream school. They offered him a job when he first graduated but mom was already pregnant with me and he knew they wouldn’t be able to afford living in New York with a newborn on their salaries so he passed and they moved into the suburbs. But that was always his dream and I want to make it come true for him.”

Ashton is surprised to hear that you want to move to New York. Though he didn’t imagine you’d be a permanent fixture of his life (no matter how much he’s beginning to desire that), he still feels a pang of sadness and a little bit of hurt to know that he only has a little over a year and a half with you. He doesn’t doubt that you’ll get the job, doesn’t doubt that you’ll have multiple offers, but you sound so certain that New York is your future and it crushes any hope that he had in the pit of his stomach.

But he’s only known you for a month. Whatever he feels for you is nothing compared to the desire you’ve held for years to make your father’s dream come true so, despite the bitter disappointment that creeps up the back of his throat and makes every bite he swallow taste like anguish, he nods. “I know you will.”

“She’s only planning on sticking around a little while longer,” Ashton informs Alex as he begins gathering his paperwork and placing it into the appropriate folder. “She wants to move to New York.”

Alex blinks, surprised by this statement, and shakes his head. “No way,” he laughs as he follows Ashton’s lead and begins packing up for the night. “You must’ve heard her wrong or maybe you haven’t checked in a while but she’s just as in love with you as you are with her and she wouldn’t dare leave you and Izzy.”

Ashton shrugs. He doesn’t want to believe Alex’s words, no matter how sure he sounds, because that would make the hope that’s blossomed in his chest over the last year real. Having someone else validate his fantasies, having someone confirm his dreams, would make the love that’s blossomed for you something that Ashton can’t ignore and he doesn’t want to be the reason you give up on your dream. So he doesn’t mention that Isabelle’s taken to calling you mom on accident. He doesn’t mention that he can imagine a future with you in it, that he can imagine taking you on a date or lying by your side when he returns from work. And he doesn’t mention that you are, without a shadow of a doubt, the romantic love of his life.

Instead, he bids Alex a good night and asks him to make sure that everything is clean before he goes home.

Ashton expects to find you at the dining table, laptop open in front of you and books spread out around you, but he’s surprised to find you in the living room. You’re lying on the couch, fast asleep, and the sight calms the swirling butterflies in the pit of his stomach and quiets the swell of anxiety threatening to overwhelm him. The sight of you, fast asleep and so peaceful, makes his heart ache and his palms sweat and he wants nothing more than to press a kiss to your forehead and keep you there but the moment he drapes the soft grey throw over your body, you begin to stir.

“Fuck,” you whisper, voice thick with sleep as you sit up and rub your eyes, “I’m so, so sorry, Ash. I promise I don’t make it a habit to fall asleep.”

“Don’t worry about it, doll,” he laughs as he settles onto the couch beside you and gestures for you to lay your head in his lap. “It’s fine,” he assures you when you squint at him. This is a little more intimate than any moment the two of you have shared but boundaries are broken between the two of you almost daily now. You’ve cuddled before, lying on the couch with a movie on and Isabelle between the two of you, and he’s held your hand on numerous occasions when out and about. So, you do your best and try not to think too much of it. You assume that he’s just being friendly and when you settle back down, your head on his lap and your legs covered by the throw, Ashton continues, “I know that you try to stay awake the entire time but you really don’t have to. You always tell me to get some sleep but you’re the one that runs after a six year old six days a week, on top of classes and a full school day. How was it, by the way? Your last day as an assistant teacher.”

Ashton smiles at the yawn that leaves your lips. He bites back a laugh at the scrunching of your nose and the huff of breath that leaves you before you answer his question. “It was bittersweet,” you mumble, voice slowly losing the sleepy edge. “I’m glad to be done, that was my last big task before graduation next week, but I didn’t want to leave the kids. They were the best first class I ever could’ve asked for, you know? And they threw me a party and they gave me a coffee mug and some candy and it was the sweetest things. I cried.”

“I figured you would,” Ashton giggles, his voice light even though you can tell he’s tired. You can see the dark circles beneath his eyes as you shift in his lap to glance up at him. He’s already looking down at you, a soft smile on his lips, and the look on his face makes you frown. “What?” he asks, concerned when your smile fades into a look that he’s never seen before. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t think I’d get so attached,” you whisper, your voice dropping as you shift your gaze from his face to his black t-shirt. “To all of this. I didn’t think I’d get so attached to the children at the school or the school itself. I didn’t think I’d get so attached to living here. I didn’t think I’d get so attached to you and Isabelle. But realizing that I graduate in a week, that all of this is over soon, it hurts.”

Ashton can see the tears gathering on your lashes and it hurts his heart to see you look so upset. He hates to know that you’re anything less than thrilled at any given moment and to see you so down makes him want to comfort you. He doesn’t think twice as he brings his hand to rub your back. You’ve curled onto your side, your face pressed into his stomach, and he can feel the wetness of your tears soaking his t-shirt.

“It’s okay, doll,” he breathes, his own voice dropping as he desperately tries to avoid waking Isabelle. Seeing you cry hurts him but it would break Isabelle. “You’re gonna get to follow your dream,” he whispers, though he desperately wants to tell you that none of this has to end any time soon. “You’re gonna get to make your dad’s dream come true.”

Ashton can barely make out your words, your response is muffled by both his t-shirt and the emotion constricting your throat, but what he hears is enough to make the hope that’s been buried in his chest break free. “My dream was to be like him but I don’t know if New York is where I want to do that anymore,” you whimper. Over the past year, your desire to be like your father and to make his dream of teaching in New York come true have shifted. You still want to be like your father, yes, but you can now imagine your future here. You can imagine your future with Ashton and Isabelle.

Your father was always flattered that you wanted to be like him. He was always happy that you were so certain that you wanted to be a teacher and that the school that he dreamt of teaching at was the one you were so keen on. But before his passing, he often reminded you not to get too bogged down in the specifics. “Life is funny, sweetheart,” he told you, a smile on his lips as he balanced you on his knee, even after you got too big for it. “You plan everything, right down to the letter, and the universe shows you that what you want isn’t always what’s best for you. Don’t think that New York is where you have to end up. As long as you’re happy, I’ll be happy. I didn’t end up in New York and look at me, I couldn’t have asked for a better life. Just let whatever comes, come.”

After his passing, you held onto his dream like a lifeline, desperate for some sort of connection to him. But over the year you’ve spent with Ashton and Isabelle, you’ve come to realize that he was right. Life will often find a way to disrupt your plans if what you’ve planned isn’t what the universe deems necessary for you. Ashton and Isabelle disrupted your plans in the best way possible and, though you’re certain that you want to continue your life with them, you’re not sure how Ashton will feel about that.

“What do you mean?” Ashton questions, bringing you back to the matter at hand. His hand is warm on your back, reassuring and comforting, and your sobs have quieted enough for you to feel okay to pull away from him and sit up.

You feel guilty, awful that your number one priority is no longer making your father’s dream of teaching in New York come true, but your heart is telling you that this is where you belong. And you tell Ashton that.

“I got offered a job at the school,” you inform him with a watery smile and he feels his heart begin to race. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, doesn’t want to believe that you’re staying for him and for Isabelle, but as he watches you play with your fingers and pick at a loose string on your shorts, he realizes that that’s why you’re so conflicted. “They want me to stay and teach fourth grade. I’d get to see most of my kids from this year again,” you tell him, your voice quiet. You hesitate for a moment, chewing at your bottom lip and staring at the carpet, before you add, “And I’d get to stay with you guys.”

Ashton can tell that you have more to say so he remains quiet as you think about your words. He remains quiet, though the butterflies in his stomach are almost nauseating at this point, and waits for you continue speaking.

“I feel guilty,” you whisper. “This was my dad’s dream and I always wanted to make it come true for him but he always told me that life was funny. He always said that life finds a way to give you what’s best, even when it’s not what you think is best, and that he wanted me to be happy. But I’ve been working toward this for so long that I feel awful even considering doing something else.”

Ashton feels his heart break at the sight of you, watery-eyed and guilt-stricken, and he doesn’t hesitate to pull you into a hug. “Your dad would’ve understood,” he assures you, voice soft as he holds you close to his chest. “He would’ve been happy that you’re doing what feels right and not what you thought you were supposed to do. From everything you’ve told me about him, it seems like all he wanted for you was for you to live a happy life. If staying here, staying at that school and staying with me and Izzy, makes you happy, I think he’d understand.”

“It does,” you nod, blinking away tears. You separate from him, looking away and wiping your face with the back of your hand, before you continue speaking. “It makes me so happy because I love those kids and I love you guys. I know I shouldn’t, I’m just a fucking babysitter, but I love Izzy like my own. I didn’t want to tell you because I thought it would make things awkward and I’ve corrected her but she calls me mom every now and again. I keep telling her that I’m not but she keeps calling me that and I really, really wish it was true. And I know this is probably going to make things weird and that you’re probably going to hate me or think I’m delusional but the more time I spend with you, the more I fall in love with you. Now, every time I think about my future, the two of you are in it.”

Ashton feels as if the world has stopped turning. Nothing matters in this moment more than the pair of you and he isn’t quite sure how to adequately explain his own feelings so he responds in just the way he’s dreamt of for the past year. He reaches out, cups your cheeks, and leans in to press his lips to yours. The kiss is soft at first, hesitant, but the moment you realize what he’s doing, it’s as if every emotion the two of you have felt over the last year is being poured into the embrace.

Every bit of anxiety, every bit of nervousness, every bit of sadness, every bit of anger; every ounce of love the two of you have felt for one another is poured into the kiss and Ashton feels as if his heart is going to explode. The feeling of your lips pressed against his, the feeling of your hands tangling in his hair and your body arching into him, is indescribable. He feels as if he’s in a dream, happy and content to live in this moment forever, and he doesn’t seem to mind that he can’t breathe. The moment that you pull away, gasping for breath and head spinning, he’s already desperate to feel you again. However, he feels as if you deserve a verbal answer, a confirmation that he feels for you just as you feel for him, so he presses his forehead to yours and smiles brightly.

“I’m in love with you,” he laughs, his voice raw and thick with emotion. “I’ve been in love with you since the moment we met and I know that sounds crazy but I don’t really care. Izzy loves you. Those kids love you. Please, stay. Your dad would be happy that you’re happy. Stay and let us make you happy.”

“Okay,” you nod, your voice cracking as you allow the emotions raging in the pit of your stomach to win, “okay. Yeah. Please.”

Ashton knows that he shouldn’t, he knows that the pair of you should take this slow, but he can’t help himself as he returns his lips to yours. The kiss is passionate, full of love and clearly displaying your mutual desire, and the love he feels for you makes his heart ache. You allow him to lead the kiss, his hands moving from your cheeks to your waist in an effort to pull you onto his lap, as yours move from his hair to his shoulders, gripping to keep your balance as you rest on your knees.

“Let me love you,” he requests, his voice as quiet as he can make it as his hands travel to backs of your thighs, thumbs brush your bare legs. His lips brush your jaw, soft and slow, before he presses a kiss to your neck. “Let me show you how happy I can make you,” he breathes against your skin. He mouths at your skin, lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and you clutch at his shirt for stability as you desperately attempt to find the words to agree to him.

Your voice is breathless, quiet and barely there, but Ashton can hear the pure desire as you whisper, “Please, I want it.”

He knows that the couch isn’t the best place for this, knows that you’re running even more of a risk of interruption out in the open, but he’s been desperate to touch you for close to a year. He’s often imagined what you would look like, what you would sound like, and the image of you beneath him has been the fuel of many late night fantasies for him. He’s desperate for you, achingly hard and willing to run the risk, so he tugs at the bottom of your t-shirt. He slips the cotton over your head, hands instantly drawn to your breasts as soon as you’re free of the restriction of your bra.

His lips attach to a nipple, tongue flicking the peaked bud, as his fingers work at the other. He lavishes your breasts with attention, leaving marks on your skin that only the pair of you will be able to see, and has you mewling from his ministrations in record time. His experience is obvious, his talented hands and mouth doing little else but making you just as happy as he insinuated he would, and you can feel the arousal dampening your panties.

Ashton can feel you growing restless, can feel you getting impatient, and he takes your squirming as a sign to move on to better things. He leaves a final mark on your breast, a final reminder of your first night together, before he shifts your position and guides you onto your back. His fingers hook into the band of your shorts, glancing up at you for permission before tugging them down and off when you nod your head. He toys with the waistband of your panties, a pretty blue pair that compliment your skin, as he asks, “Are you sure this is alright, doll? We don’t have to do this.”

“Please, Ashton,” you breathe, your voice sounding just as fucked as he feels. “Please, I want this. I want you.”

With the confirmation he desperately wanted to hear, Ashton nods and slides the material down your thighs. He can see you biting your lip, can see you fisting the throw and considering placing your hand over your mouth, as he slots himself between your spread thighs. One look at you is enough to see how desperate for him you are. You’re practically dripping, thighs trembling and cunt glistening, and Ashton can feel himself growing harder in his jeans. He wants to make you cum first, he knows that he won’t be able to last long, so he settles in for what he hopes is the first of many mind-blowing orgasms.

He presses soft kisses to your inner thighs, beginning just above your knee and working his way up one side and down the other. He avoids your center, avoids where you want him most, and presses his lips to your heated skin. He places kisses to the pubic mound, places a kiss just below your belly button, and grins at you when you heave out a sob of frustration. He has you desperate for him, aching and beyond ready, and the moment his tongue brushes your folds, you nearly fold in half. Your back arches off the couch, one of your hands flies to his hair and tugs at the red locks while the other covers your mouth to muffle the whine of pleasure that leaves your lips. Ashton grins, pleased with your reaction, and begins licking in earnest.

He teases, his tongue slow and soft, as his fingers brush through your folds. He circles your clit with his thumb, grinning when the reaction makes your thighs jerk, and bites back a moan of his own when he finally slips a finger into your heat. You’re so tight, tighter than he ever could’ve imagined, and he knows that he has to make this orgasm good because he won’t last long enough to fuck you through another. He’s careful as he prepares you, thorough and measured, and he can see the tears dripping into your hair as he backs off when he feels you clenching around him.

He edges you twice, brings you as close to the edge as he can without pushing you over, and pulls back. It’s torturous, unfair and wrong of him, but he wants this orgasm to be the best you’ve ever had. The feeling of him between your thighs, tongue lapping at your folds and fingers stretching you open, is enough to send your mind reeling. But the moment he feels you clench for a third time, the moment he feels you tug at his hair and arch into him, he decides to give it to you.

He lets you cum, keeps licking and pressing his fingers into you. He keeps his thumb on your clit and presses his free hand to your lower stomach to keep you pressed against the couch as he brings you through the aftershocks of your orgasm. He keeps going until the hand you’d kept in his hair to keep him in place is pushing him away and, even then, he remains between your legs for a moment. He presses his cheek against your thigh, catches his own breath for a moment, before he sits up and begins brushing his fingers over your heated skin.

“Good?” he asks, his voice rough with lust as he traces nonsensical patterns over your still twitching thighs. You level him with a look of disbelief and he laughs. “You look so pretty when you cum, doll,” he breathes, leaning down to press a kiss to your collarbone, unsure of whether you’ll mind him kissing you after going down on you.

When you whine, hands reaching out to pull him back in for a proper kiss, he grins and sinks into the embrace for a long moment. The pair of you kiss, you attempting to regain your senses and him letting you take your time. But the moment you begin unbuttoning his shirt, Ashton pulls away to rid himself of his clothes.

You watch, eyes raking over the exposed ink covering his body, and Ashton grins as you blink, surprised by his pierced nipples. “That’s the only surprise piercing,” he assures you with a laugh as he catches your eyes wandering a little lower. “For now, anyway,” he hums, reaching for a condom. When you roll your eyes, he laughs again and pulls you into another kiss as he settles between your legs. He remains in the moment, enjoying kissing you, before he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours once more. “Are you sure about this?” he asks, one last time. “We really don’t have to do this tonight.”

“Ashton,” you whine, your arms wrapped around his neck and hands tangled in his hair, “I appreciate the thoroughness of your consent but I want you. I want this. I am in love with you and I would really like for you to fuck me.”

“I love you,” he laughs, both thrilled at your desire to sleep with him and liberated by his ability to freely confess his feelings for you.

He aligns himself with your entrance, careful as he settles between your thighs, and enters you slowly. Your nails dig into his shoulders and he buries his face in the crook of your neck as he sinks into you. The pleasure that he feels is overwhelming. You’re beyond tight, squeezing around, and it’s the most pleasant thing he’s ever felt. He can’t imagine anything better, can’t imagine any physical feeling ever outweighing this one, and he has to stop once he’s fully sheathed and breathe deeply to avoid humming almost immediately.

“Fuck,” he breathes, eyes closed and teeth gritted. “I’m not going to last, doll, I’m so sorry. You feel so good.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, “I’m okay. That orgasm was fucking amazing. Take what you need.” You sweat that you can feel him in the back of your throat, swear that you can feel every stroke of him in the pit of your stomach, and it’s overwhelming as he settles into a rhythm.

He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to bring you over the edge for a second time but he’s desperate to try. Ashton fucks into you, slow and deep, and his thumb circles your clit as he chases another high. You didn’t imagine it would happen, have never had it happen, but Ashton manages to make you cum a second time, almost embarrassingly fast, just before he reaches his own high.

The pair of you remain intertwined, Ashton seated deep within you and you clinging desperately to him, for a long moment. Neither of you want the embrace to end, neither of you want to separate, but you know that you need to get dressed. You know that you need to at least pretend to have some decency, so Ashton pulls out and disposes of the condom. He tugs on his boxers and helps you into his button-down after helping you stand from the couch. He steadies you for a moment, grinning at the wobbling of your legs and the shaking of your hands, before he scoops you into his arms.

“Let’s go to bed,” he whispers, smiling at you happier than you’ve ever seen him.

He carries you through the house, grinning down at you and trying his hardest not to laugh whenever you get overwhelmed and have to hide your face against his chest, and his heart feels as if it’s soaring. He’s so happy to know that you love him just as he loves you and everything feels right with the world.

Seeing you in his bed, dressed in one of his t-shirts, feels right. He knows that waking up to you by his side is going to be an indescribable feeling and he finds himself looking forward to the morning as he settles into bed beside you. And when you ask, “What do we tell Isabelle?,” he doesn’t worry at all.

Because you’re going to tell her the truth. “We tell her that we love each other,” he answers readily. “We tell her that we love her and that we’re happy and we want her to be happy. We tell her that you’re not her mom yet but maybe one day you will be. We tell her that everything is going to be okay because with you here, lying beside me, it is. You were right, everything is going to be alright. I have a really, really good feeling about this.”

You smile at him and Ashton can feel his heart race. “I have a really, really good feeling about this, too.”

And though there’s much for you both to consider, many factors that you haven’t yet weighed and decisions yet to make, the future no longer scares either of you. Neither of you are afraid of what is to come because you know that together, the three of you, you have more than you could ever need. The future is yours for the taking and you both have a really, really good feeling about it.

_______________________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: When the fuck did they take away that line? I like that line. Tumblr. Give me that line back. Anyway, here is my first passionate foray back into 5sos fics. If this flops I will cry so validate me, please.

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fourmisfitz · 4 years

Text

Breakthru: Part 3 (Roger Taylor x Reader)

Part One | Part Two

Warnings/Content: Swearing, Angst, etc... the whole shibang, really (but no smut... yet;)) (18+)

Words: 4k

A/N: I cried while writing this 🤗 Hope you enjoy, my lovelies! Please let me know what you thought! (Picture whichever Roger; I switch between seeing it as Ben!Roger and late 70s Rog) P.S. there will def be more than 4 parts to this series. Probably 6-7...

“Did we even pay for this?”

“Oh trust me, I’m paying for it alright.” You scoffed at yourself.

His fork clonked against the plate when his shoulders slumped.

“I meant the food.”

You knew that, but you couldn’t shake your unexpected encounter enough to give undivided attention to dinner right now. You timidly swirled your fork around a cluster of noodles as a barking dog outside echoed into the dining room.

“Right… then no.” You shoved the bite into your mouth, eyes eventually meeting Roger’s as your head remained bowed at your plate.

A huff crossed the table to your hand, carried by the frigid air blowing in through the window behind Roger.

“Okay I get that you’re giving me the cold shoulder for whatever reason, but could you at least clos-.”

“For whatever reason?!” He inquired.

You slumped back in your chair, already knowing you were in the wrong.

“How do you think it feels to be the middleman? And you taking stabs at yourself about how you’re “paying for it” is supposed to make me feel better, I suppose? Like I’m just some inconvenience?” Air quotes accented his irritation.

“No!” You spat. “I didn’t mean it like- but-” You were growing more frustrated, Roger being the last person you wanted to pick a fight with right now, “you know, you’re acting like I invited him, Roger.” Your forearms dug into the edge of the table as you propped yourself forward.

Roger finished a gulp of his beer, his hand paving back his hair out of habit. His head shook as his scurried gaze avoided eye contact, brows furrowed. It’s what he did when he was focused, caring about the subject, but it came with impulsivity.

“Right, no- but you-”

“But I what, Roger? But I: invited him into this mess? I created this mess.” You watched his eyelashes flicker before meeting with yours. “But I: didn’t lie better to keep a suspecting husband out of the picture?- Who, need I remind you, has a reason to be suspicious and even more than that: furious?! Or, here we go-”

Roger pled your name to stop,

“but I: am the one who shouldn’t have cheated in the first place?...” You carried on. “I wasn’t happy, Roger, I-... things don’t always work out picture-perfect for every party, and i hate-” Your voice broke, “-that I’m hurting him- that we’re hurting him, because as much as it sucks, this is equally our problem now.” You shoved your rickety chair out from the table and stood up hastily, banging your knee into the edge as you did so, sobs threatening to escape.

He swallowed his expression before reaching behind him, the clack of the window lock making you jump slightly before collecting yourself and retreating to the kitchen, dishes in hand.

Roger sat, not sure what to do as he anxiously drummed his fingers until they fell out of rhythm when you returned to his chair. With something held by your hip, you reached out a patient hand. After a moment that felt like forever, he moulded his cautious, calloused hand with yours and you led him to the living room.

The leather cushions sank as both of your bodies fell into them. You brought the burgundy object to your lap and Roger squeezed your hand slightly when he recognized it. Scattered black letters that nearly spelled “A Royal Family” were glued to the fabric, a few missing. Of course, Roger had crossed out the family part months ago and wrote “pain in my ARSE” in Sharpie during a pointless fight between his bandmates; it made up for the absent letters.

“You still have it…” His marvelling voice was light.

“Of course; I basically slaved over it for a week.”

He offered an airy laugh as his fingers ghosted over the cover gently.

You flicked through a few pages, crinkled from beer stains and remnants of other unidentified things, collecting your memories with the band. It illustrated you being a friend to all of them, before this “love” triangle formed.

The first instalment was from the second time you met Queen, because the first interaction had you too nervous to introduce your Polaroid camera. Another photo showed Roger pinching your cheeks with one hand, your smile still evidently bright even in the pufferfish lips you wore as your eyes squeezed shut. Also pictured: Freddie in a hospital gown holding a thumbs up while Roger pouted beside him…

Roger let out a deep, throaty laugh, “Do you remember that?” the ink in the image pooled a ring around his indicative finger as pressed into it - the time he had shoved his drum kit off the risers and a heavier floor tom fumbled down onto Freddies foot. Freddie had laughed between his exclaims of pain so Roger wouldn’t feel as bad, cracking jokes and teasing him, perfectly in-tune with his nature.

You snorted, “How could I forget? You screamed siren sounds the whole drive to the hospital, and then some!” Roger returned a light laugh and rubbed the back of his neck before moving the album onto his lap for closer inspection.

It was all there, all your memories before this messy situation were captured over the past few years in this book. Of course, some had become more tainted memories than others; the photo of Brian kissing your cheek in the studio and your eyes gleaming brighter than the flash ever could. You couldn't remember what had happened before the shutter clicked, but maybe that was from intentional practice to forget. The time you tripped over some amp chords Freddie had left exposed even after countless requests from Brian to tidy it up - in the photo was you on the carpet, right knee all bloodied up as Freddie hugged you, though his passion translated into more of a choke hold. Johns hand was visible, cleaning the wound, and Brian looked scoldingly at Freddie in the background. You didn’t remember much, but behind the camera, Roger was the one who made you smile enough to stop the tears that were still apparent on your cheeks.

“I like this one.” Roger pointed at a corner photo you missed amongst the others crowding the page.

“Why?” You laughed, embarassed.

“Because it was the first time I saw you so… free.” He placed his palm over your aching knee, instantly making the throbbing go away. There you were, in a convertible with the band, your bum on the rim of the side window, only legs inside the car as your arms outstretched behind you and the wind blew your hair every which way.

“I remember you had been going on and on… and ON and ON-” He teased, rocking his head for emphasis.

“Okay, okay!” You felt a bit of that heavy ladening weight dissipate with your laughs.

“-honestly, love, I don’t even know what it was you were saying: you spoke so fast… but seeing you so carefree and in your element speaking pure passion about some song and how music can make us feel-... well it made me think-…” He ogled at the photo some more.

“Made you think what, Rog?”

“...I knew right then, I wanted to be with you.”

You felt the corners of your lips pinch dimples into your cheeks as you kissed his warm cheek and his grip tightened on your knee.

“You’re not an inconvenience, Roger...” you watched the side of his face as he looked up at you.

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.” You corrected.

He smiled bigger than you’d seen in a while, and he started playfully attacking your entire face with a bundle of quick kisses all over, pulling giggles from you.

At that moment, just when you began enjoying your night again, your phone vibrated from your back pocket. You groaned and dropped your head in response.

“You know I think we should just throw our phones away.” Rogers eyes remained grazing the photos.

“Deaky.” You confirmed, earning an intrigued look from him.

Answering hesitantly, you listened as his soft voice spoke your name worriedly over the line.

“Everything alright, John?”

Roger watched your mouth open several times to speak, but no words came out until you finally put John at ease with, “Alright- yeah, I’ll- I’ll go check it out, okay?”

“What was that about?”

“I have to go check something…”

Roger blinked.

“John’s worried about Brian; says he’s down at The Crooked Frame and he’s well-through a round of shots to himself. He didn’t care for anything he had to say and wants me to try to get him to go home.”

Roger nodded and you pecked his forehead goodbye.

“I love you.” Roger whispered. You levelled your eyes with his, “I love you too.” and kissed his lips properly before grabbing your jacket and keys.

On your drive over, you didn’t know what to expect. All you knew was that in over a year, Brian hadn’t had anything stronger than a pint or two, and he definitely wasn’t one to drink alone.

“Sweetheart, turn it down, you’re gonna blow the speakers!” His voice crescendoed in equal amusement and caution as his long fingers turned down the volume knob.

“Hey! I like that song!” You poked his arm as the wind took over for surround sound, only faint echoes of Tom Petty ringing throughout the car.

His laugh was deep and delightful.

“I love that song, but I don’t love false auto repair quotes.”

You returned the chuckle and shook your head in admiration. Smiling contently at him now, you rested your chin upon your fist, propped up by your elbow on the center console.

“Do you know what else I love?” He yelled over the rippling wind, pushing his long locks out of his face with one hand.

“My singing voice?” You turned the volume back up to full.

“Hey, watch it!” He went to reposition it when you interrupted his motion by clasping your fingers with his.

“C’mon, babe- sing it with me…- Tryin’ she, had one little promise, she was gonna keep!” You bellowed the lyrics at the top of your lungs, not a care in the world if you were off key.

He shook his head and unable to resist, joined in on the fun.

“Oh yeah! All right!” Your voices collided in unison, drowning out the stereos guiding voice.

He pointed a finger at you in cue.

“Take it easy baby!” You tried to match the throaty melody in the original song, your torso swaying with passion.

“Make it last-” “Make it last all ni-ight!” You each sang your respective parts and after a moment he redestined the volume back to static.

“I love you.” He finished.

And you looked at him like he held all the power in the world. Your heart caught up to the speed of his car and it felt like everything had been aligned at that moment. Your breath hitched in your chest for awhile until you realized you weren’t dreaming and should probably say something.

“Aww, I love you too, Bri!” And you threw your denim jacket-clad arms around his neck, feeling everything, all at once.

He let go of a breath and took another one in that could finally reach the pit of his lungs in relief. You withdrew your arms and instead hugged his arm. Brian glanced at your head on his shoulder, and turning back to the road, he smiled to himself and kissed your hair.

You closed your eyes at the gesture and squeezed his arm with both hands in appreciation. He loved you; he said it, and you felt the same. And it was almost irrevocable. Almost.

He turned the volume back up once and for all.

“She was, an American girl!” You both sang along again, the song ringing throughout the car again.

♫ He crept back in her memory

God it's so painful ♫

The bar wasn’t a ghost town, but it wasn’t exactly bustling on a tuesday night, either. Brian wasn’t hard to miss, sitting at a desolate counter where the female behind it was tending to old men strewn along the stools. You made your way over, the men ogling at you like you were meat. One of them even squeezed your ass as you made your way to him, prompting you to shoot the man a look and flinch away.

“Pretty dodgy place to be spending your Tuesday, don’t you think?” You offered.

Brians sweaty curls were glued to his face as he slugged back the second shot of what must have been his second round.

He wreaked of body odor and a variety of musky liquor.

You took a controlled breath in and tried again.

“This seat taken?” You asked lightly, only to be answered with a slow look that could only be described as a glare. He looked down at the stool silently, back at you, then shrugged as his eyes returned to the shots waiting to be gulped.

You sat down and when the bartender asked if you could use a quick fix, tequila it was. You figured you would be here awhile.

“Have you seen John, tonight?”

He just shrugged and mumbled.

You leaned the side of your head on your propped palm, facing him.

“Well he’s seen you, and we’re worried.” You prodded.

“Bull.” He croaked, reaching for the third shot.

You covered the shot before he could grasp it.

“You can’t just drink away the night, you know. I know you’re hurting, but-” You took a confirming gaze around the room, a thick musty layer of smokey fog glazing the air. Scattered coughs and clinks of pints between men with their pants too low echoed throughout. “-but we’ve gotta get you home, Bri.”

You reached out to take his arm, but he swatted you away, pure offense lacing his long face, all the way to his clenched jaw. You watched on timidly.

He dipped his head back again and slammed that third glass down, clattering against the rest, not earning a single head turn.

“Home? Is that so?” He scoffed. “Yippee, I get to go home to a warm cozy bed, to my wife, and- oh no- that’s Roger who’s pulled that straw, isn’t it?”

You tried to keep calm even though it was becoming more obvious that this wasn’t going to be pretty in the slightest.

“Brian, don’t be mad at Roger-”

He didn’t stop you, but when he looked at you you realized you didn’t even know how to continue your sentence.

You twiddled your fingers and starting faking interest in your cuticles.

“I want to kiss you.” He finally chirped.

Your hands began to shake beneath your gaze, then you met your eyes to his. Yours grew glossy first.

“Brian,”

“I want to kiss you and shove you against a wall and fall asleep with you cradled in my arms, against my chest-” Brian took your wrist rather aggressively and pressed your palm to his sweaty chest. “-where you’re safe.” You could feel his heart beating fast enough to put him into cardiac arrest beneath his button-up.

You swallowed your shaky breath and glanced from your hand to his worrisome eyes.

“I love you.” You spoke softly.

His eyebrows allowed some space to come between them. Hope, until:

“But-”

“Don’t say but,”

You drew in another breath, and you began to feel the alcohol bubble in the pit of your stomach. That- or brians words sank like an anchor that would always be instilled in you.

“Alright... I love you, and,” You retracted your hand to your side, “You’re not my safehouse, anymore.” You stood up from your stool and dove your arm under the strap of your purse; it was time to go.

Brian grabbed your shoulder like a warning as you pivoted away from the bar, trying to shake his words into your veins.

“Well you either love me, and you feel that-” but all you felt was a growing numbing sensation from the tequila settling in. “-or you don’t feel anything at all, and that’s why you’re able to do this.” His voice croaked on the last few syllables.

Ultimatums didn’t make the choice any easier, and you were well invested into your decision by now.

His eyes pierced you with a stern, desperate gaze, practically burning a hole in your face.

You wanted to tell him so many things in this moment; how it’s more complicated than whether you do, or you don’t. How you’ll always have a spot for him in your heart, but you have more love for Roger, because he was there when Brian wasn’t. You didn’t just wake up one day and hate him in a heartbeat, after one fight. It was small at first - things you would have shaken off on their own, but then everything piled up, one after the other, and over time it bottled up and overflowed out of you. You were coming home and leaving your 9-5 for a 24/7. You had your transgressions to be burdened with for how you dealt with things, but he drove you away. You wanted to say so many things to Brian, but all that came out when you took his quivering jaw into your hands was:

“You are an epic person, Brian, but you’re not my person anymore.”

You bowed your head and went to leave again when he added,

“What am I supposed to do then? You’ve got part of me inside you.”

You looked back, caught off-guard by his words.

“’n case you’ve forgot...” He added. “Or are you running away from that, also?”

As those last few words left his lips, slurred from boozing away his sorrows, you heard the bell of the tavern door chime. Had you not known it was Roger from his white jacket swallowing your peripherals, it wouldn’t have caught your attention.

Brians swallowed hard. “Right.” He smacked his empty shot glass on the counter and stood up messily, earning some preventative arms from you, just in case, only to be returned with a stern flexed hand dismissing your caution. “I see your person’s arrived.”

Roger watched, trying to guage the situation and determine a safe distance, hovering by the door.

You looked between the both of them, Brian sitting back down and already moving onto his next shot. You huffed and held up a waiting finger to Roger before retreating to the bathroom.

While you were gone, Roger took the liberty of trying to get on Brians level, or at least remind him that his liver hasn’t taken that much booze in too long.

“Come for a pity party?” Brian quipped, brows raised into his hairline.

“Look it’s time to go, Bri. I’ve called a cab, just let me help you u-”

“Fuck off.”

“Easy...” Roger lowered his voice, “Look mate, I know you’re upset, but I can’t watch you ruin yourself and run this any deeper-”

“Oh, you don’t know shit! And quit the high and mighty strut like you have no part in my ruining.” Brians eyes practically bulged out of his skull.

Rogers breaths kept to his nose as they became more heated, his pursed lips containing himself.

“You’re a homewrecker, and you’re a right twat.”

Brian was getting well up in Rogers face now, only making him grow more agitated by the second. Roger averted his eyes for a second, but Brian made sure to revert that with a prompting shove.

“Brian, you’re pissed drunk. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh I think I know quite enough.”

“Alright,” Roger readjusted his shirt with a shrugging motion, “Fine, have at it - rip into me. I hurt you, I know that...” Brian watched on. “But she needed you. You pushed her away. I-” His index finger repeatedly stabbed his own chest, “won’t be blamed for being there for someone who needed somebody.”

“If she really needed me - if she really didn’t feel heard, she would have spoken up. She knows she can come to me with anything.”

“You sure about that?”

“Quite.”

“Willing to bet your life on it?” Roger pressed.

“Everything alright?” The bartender chirped, her expression appearing more annoyed than her tone, a lousy attempt to diffuse the situation.

Without either of them breaking eye contact, Roger nodded.

“Yeah. Was Just leaving, as a matter of fact.” Roger added, realizing he was only feeding the flame as he went leave before things got too ugly.

“Hey-!” But he was yanked back when Brian clenched a fistful of his jacket.

“You don’t get to just walk away.”

“I’m not walking away from you, Brian. But this-” Roger glared at the cluster of shot glasses, some spilling onto the floor, the receipt of them trailing down Brians chest. “isn’t you.”

“Oh so you know everything now, huh?”

“You’re right sloshed, just quit, and get in the cab, and we’ll talk later-”

“you know how my wife smells?”

“C’mon mate-”

“You know how my wife’s hands feel.” Brian took a step closer, really getting into rogers face, now.

Rogers only response was his nostrils flaring with anger and forced restraint, trying with all his might to contain himself and walk away.

“You know how my wife-” his nose was practically aligned with rogers, “tastes.” he growled.

You walked out after hearing some commotion, in time to see the aftermath of what followed a fist colliding with a nose, blood weaving into the spilled booze on the floor.

You gasped and threw yourself between them, screaming at them to stop. You took the hand of the fallen and yanked him back to his feet, spinning around to block them off.

“Do I need to call the cops? Or have you got your wives under control?” The bartenders raspy voice hollered.

“This is ridiculous.” You spat, looking between them, while one of them literally spat a bloody mess out of their mouth and the others chest heaved.

“C’mon, that cabs going to leave soon.”

You got in the backseat and instructed the driver with a huff, rubbing your eyes in exhaustion. You looked down at your growing bump and placed a palm to it as it kicked, tears pricking your eyes and you bit your lip to contain your rising sobs.

“I’m sorry.” He offered, placing a hand on your forearm.

“Me too.” And with that, you lifted your hands from your bump and habitually began wringing out your fingers.

You looked over to him, a dishevelled mess. You took his bloodied hand, uncurled his fingers, and as your tears fell into his palm you searched his eyes. You hunted for hate, because all of this would be a lot easier if he hated you, but all that came up to the surface was an ache. You placed your hand in his, wrapping your hands around it.

“Here we are!” The impatient taxi driver announced your address, and you withdrew your hands from his, unbuckled your seatbelt, and paid the driver.

“Wait-” He tried to call, but his voice barely rose above a croak.

“This is for him too, please make sure he gets inside.”

He pled your name softly, “Wait,”

You offered him a glance, waiting.

“C’mon, are you going or aren’t ya?” The driver grew more aggravated and you could tell caring about the passengers well being wasn’t exactly something money could buy.

You looked out the window at Rogers flat, then back to a speechless Brian, then waved the driver off, changing your mind.

Once you stumbled upstairs into your shared flat, you retrieved a washcloth from the linen closet, soaked it with warm water, and after you finally got Brian to quiet down from his guilty mumbles blaming himself, you pulled the duvet over him and pat his head with the cloth.

“’m sorry I did this. I pushed you away, I caused all of this. I’ll change- I’ll change myself for you, Y/N, I swear-!”

“Shhhh-shh-shhh...” You moved a clump of dampened curls out of his eyes as he gulped, looking between your eyes, his growing more heavy. “This isn’t on you, and I don’t want you to change.” You bowed your head and placed a kiss on his forehead.

He closed his tired eyes, and you rubbed your thumb soothingly over his cheek and temples for a moment, watching him doze off in seconds.

You placed something on your nightstand before crawling back up to him in bed and pressing another chaste kiss to his cool skin. “Things will feel whole again some day...”

And in the morning when he woke up, he didn’t find you in bed with him, but instead, a note.

He reached over and yanked the paper through half-asleep eyes, water spilling over from the glass you left him, as well as a clanging sound eliciting from something hitting it.

It rang throughout his ears as he read the words you left for him.

“I will always care about you, but right now, I can’t find my love for you. I should’ve done this awhile ago, and I’m sorry I didn’t sooner.”

Without peeling his stark eyes from the scrap paper, he outstretched his other arm and slammed his palm down on the source of the noise at the nightstand, and to his face, he lifted up the ring he put on your finger nearly a year ago.

♫ Something that's so close

And still so far out of reach ♫

54 notes · View notes

buttered-ghost-toast · 4 years

Text

OC background story//Secondary Characters

1: i’m aware they’re sorta boring in a sense (literally all 3/4 profile busts lol) but I couldn’t be bothered to get super detailed about them yet. I was trying to work out a look, and this is the quickest way lol. Lots of mistakes here, don’t focus on that. Just...jive with me.

2: idk that anyone is going to be interested, but i’m happy with my little babies! :) This kept me busy lol.

Long post ahead!

Okay, so the band, Adria was formed sort of by accident. None of the members thought they were really going to get anywhere and were mostly just learning to play instruments and jamming to escape the pressures of adolescent life.

Niri--her parents were very strict and proper. “Yes, sir. No, ma’am.” type people who do what they can to keep up appearances. Her father is a police detective and her mother was a homemaker after the birth of her children, but was once an attorney. They expected the same level of success from their children, having picked out career paths before the kids were even a speck in the womb. When Niri and her older brother showed excellence in academics, they moved to a new city, enrolling them in an academy that was known for churning out high level success stories--Politicians, Judges, CEO’s of major corporations...you get the drill. They were happy to practically go into debt forever if it meant their kids would be successful.

Year 1...Enter KOU.

Kou’s dad was always business first. He expected his son to be the same. So much so that the day after the birth, he went out and bought a whole building to keep for his son, the future doctor, to house his practice. Being from an old money family, there was never a shortage of opportunities to rub elbows and make a way for this kid to be a success no matter what. Through years of primary education, he was a quiet kid, but there was something under the surface that loved to go against the flow of where his life was forced to travel. His mother passed when he was very young, but she was the reason he was able to have few moments of peace and fun. He and Niri were school rivals, fighting for the top spot on the scholar’s board, but...they wound up giving up the struggle when they realized they had a lot in common and neither really cared to pursue their parents’ dreams. They stopped attending after school programs and chose to graffiti and vandalize the building Kou’s dad bought while it was still empty. When they weren’t tagging, they were listening to “inappropriate music” and that soon became them teaching themselves to play the songs on instruments they bought...with Kou’s dad’s credit card. They didn’t sound bad after a while!

One day, the pair skipped school altogether to avoid an exam they had not studied for. On their way out of the academy, they were tailed by someone they never expected would keep their secret so well...

KRISS

Kriss and Kou are cousins. Their mothers were twins, so the two share a few features, but their personalities couldn’t be any more opposite. Where Kou is a grounded, sensible person, Kriss is carefree and...kind of an idiot. His mother raised him on her own and as a very open, artistic soul, she taught Kriss to always follow his heart and his dreams. He’s basically never been told “No” in his entire life. He was a very energetic kid, so his mother urged him to try out the drums (maybe it would tire him out enough for a nap) which he ended up falling in love with. It’s one of the few things he ever really kept an interest in despite being pretty flighty with his pursuits otherwise. Once he realized what his cousin was up to, he set up a drum kit within a few hours and was glued to their side ever since.

Kriss’s mom is the only person who really believed in the band from the start. She would be a big help through their early years and to this day has a reserved spot to watch them play shows whenever she wants (usually stage right).

Did I mention Kriss was part of the percussion section of the academy band? Well, it was more of an orchestra, but still. He felt there was something lacking in their sound during jam sessions so after a few weeks, he called up a few friends.

Vash

Vash is a complete wildcard. He’s the sweetest person you’ll ever meet, but it takes a while to realize that because his personality is quite...Sharp. He has no problem speaking his mind, never has, and he’s not afraid to call anyone on their BS. Does an expert job of providing entertainment with his outbursts. His first words when he dropped by the “clubhouse” were “so you expect me to play in this shit hole?” His mouth usually got him in trouble at school so he was somewhat happy to have something to occupy his mind so his mouth wouldn’t run so often. He’d been playing music for many many years, his parents both being famous musicians themselves, so he has mastered quite a few instruments and often provides backup vocals because “none of the rest of you dingbats can be trusted to stay on key.”

He is the glue that holds everything together and his honesty keeps everyone grounded. He expects everything to run smoothly and on time, so he was made leader of the band within the first hour. It’s effortless and he keeps his cool pretty well under pressure, but the one person who manages to make him snippy is Eri.

ERI

Eri is a mess of a human being in the most endearing way. He’s a walking contradiction and he loves to push buttons. He and Vash have been neighbors and best friends since they were born. They’re the Yin to each other’s Yang and act like an old married couple, always disagreeing on the most basic things. It has never been an issue and the others love to watch a match go down. Where Vash is hands-on and always on track, Eri is laid back and couldn’t care less if something goes wrong. That’s not to say he’s not passionate about their dream, he’s just more of a “Things will happen as they happen, just go with the flow” type. His easygoing nature lends him a very grounded and rhythmic personality...perfect for a bassist. His favorite thing is spending time with friends and being able to just do what his soul calls him to do. He does, however, absolutely hate attention. It makes him feel pressured to act a certain way or do a certain thing and it just clashes with his entire vibe. He broke out in a rash when they got their first major gig and had to do a meet and greet. He loves his fans, but...can they not want pictures all the time? “I look awkward when I smile.” He really does. The boy doesn’t smile, it’s always a grimace.

Eri’s dad owns a very successful restaurant and often got the band small gigs like birthdays and weddings that he was hired to cater for. He doesn’t understand what they’re hoping to do, but hey, the kids play some mean covers of songs he grew up on. Besides, if his son is happy, that’s good enough for him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- For the first few years, they snuck around and the others lied for Niri and Kou when their parents had questions. They couldn’t say they weren’t all hanging out together, so once things got real, they moved their practices to Vash’s house since his parents had all the equipment they needed and didn’t really care one way or another about what was going on, too busy with tours and things.

Once they graduated, it was harder to cover. Niri came clean to her father, her mother having found out shortly before but promising to keep it quiet if she just quit and focused on school. Her father was furious and demanded she cut ties with her “hooligan friends” immediately as she was set to go to college and become a lawyer like her mother. Niri refused and was kicked out of her home after being called a failure of a child. This only fueled her fire to pursue her dream. She called Vash, mostly to cry in frustration, but he met her at the front of her neighborhood saying “I just felt something was up with your dumb self so I came by to check. Good thing I did. Let’s go, you’re moving in with me til we figure all this out.” The two soon became three when they got an apartment with Eri two months later.

Kou had a similar experience once he told his father he didn’t want to be a doctor and had no plans to attend his father’s alma mater (which he only got into after his father wrote a very generous check being Kou’s grades had slipped to an abysmal level) he was removed from the premises by security, cut off financially, and removed from the will within 2 hours. The only thing he managed to keep (for a while anyway) was his car, so he hopped in and drove over to his aunt’s house and lived there for a while with her and Kriss.

During this time, they still had small shows coming left and right. One night after a few years of a rough grind with no money and shitty daytime jobs, while playing a local club (that didn’t even pay them by the end of the set), they met a small time producer who liked their sound and asked them to record a demo. The producer played the demo to a group of friends that called a separate group of friends and eventually their little song made it to the ears of a real band who had an unexpected opening in their roster for an upcoming festival tour. Adria got the call and had to scramble to get their set list ready. It wasn’t anything big, just a side stage gig, but the more stops they played, the bigger the crowds they drew.

When they made it home after several stops, they were met by the producer who found them, asked to record a whole album and from there they filmed a very low budget MV and soon after their first single was playing on the radio. They were asked to appear on small time local talk shows. They spread like wildfire once their second single dropped, played on stations nationwide. More MVs and a headlining tour followed with a second album set to drop. Kriss and Niri were asked to be part of a 6 episode arc on a popular TV drama and a second tour. It was a tough climb, but they’ve been at it for 15 years. Niri and Kou did go back home at one point and faced their parents, attempting to make amends and build a bridge. Kou and his dad are in a much better place now, the old building they used to play around in was transferred into Kou’s name and they now use it as their recording studio/ band headquarters.

Niri’s family reunion was a little less of a happy ending, in fact, it’s still a work in progress. Her mother apologized and they cried a little over the years missed, but her dad is a very tough man to get through to. He acknowledged he was harsh in his actions but still feels justified in what he did. He says if it weren’t for his tough love, Niri wouldn’t have felt the need to work so hard to get to this place in her life. He did at least say thank you when Niri handed him a check to cover the hit her parents’ savings took when her brother went to medical school. She has weekly calls and video chats with her mom and her brother often makes it out to shows and sends her snaps when he sees her on TV or hears the band on the radio. Her dad sometimes texts her “Heard your new song. It’s loud.” That’s his way of saying he's giving it a chance and doesn’t exactly hate it.

#butter's OCs #the band Adria #OC backstory

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mikenips · 4 years

Text

Pinheads

“What the fuck are you doing back here? You aren’t even working tonight.” One of the other managers at Bowlero, the new bowling alley and venue, says to me.

“I’m playin’ tonight.” We all wish we had known the Stools were doin’ a live album recording down at OLL tonight before we booked it though. Rae said Chuck told her before I picked her up that they don’t play till midnight. So the goal is to rush the sets so we can get there in time for their set.

“That explains the war paint on the eyes.” Chip, the mechanic that once got fired as a carny, says as he spits dip into a coffee cup. “Ya know ya got some jeans with those holes though Mike?” Damn. That’s pretty clever.

My mom’s side of the family is down at lane one. And my dad’s side is hangin’ in the lounge. Even my uncle from New Mexico is in town for the holidays. Jordan is setting up the kit. Sound checkin’ the violin. Drew walks into the storage room that doubles as a green room for gigs. Me and Greg the bartender are hittin’ a vaporizer before I get on stage. We play first. “You see how Drew walked in here man? He walked up like he owns this bitch!”

And the scene really does own this bitch. I’m the bar manager at twenty one. Drew just started training to bartend. Dom works the front desk here and there. Everyone else askin’ if we can pull some strings to get them hired or booked. Just waitin’ on Sugar Tradition. Gotta make sure they don’t get carded. The kids are still in high school. And we’re eighteen up. Like the owners would really care though. They got history too. One of ‘em owning the Garden Bowl. The other is one of the top lawyers in Oakland County. Used to own the Falcon Club in Hamtramck in the nineties. Actually even was Johnny’s lawyer to get Outer Limits their liquor license.

We open with “Haunted House.” I’m fuckin’ baked. And already forgettin’ the lyrics. That shot of jezy Greg fed me probably didn’t help. Nobody is here yet besides my family. A few members of the Hand. And some Royal Oakies waitin’ on lanes that don’t understand what the fuck is happening. We’re botchin’ even our classics. At least the Oakies are gettin’ a real weird show.

Yelp into a drone cover of “Real Cool Time” as Jordan saws away at his violin behind me. Antonio rollin’ across the stage in front of me. Glad they got in alright.

Fuck it. We got a show to get to tonight. “This is gonna be our last one.” A piece of glitter falls into the corner of my eye. “It’s about when it’s five am. You’re blacked out. Shirtless. Pissin’ on the side of a 7-11. Smokin’ a spliff. Shotgunnin’ a tall boi. If you could all raise your drinks.” Rip through “Miller High Life” before boltin’ for a cig while Sugar Tradition sets up.

“Dude!” Jordan says to me as we load some gear into the car. “I think that was the worst set we ever played.”

Dee comes up behind us. “What are you talkin’ about? That’s the best part about Just Guys Being Dudes. There’s no bad sets. Every set is it’s own experience. I really dug it. The owner was behind me and Rae vibin’ too.”

Take a drag. “Thanks Dee. That means a lot to me.”

Walk back inside. Didn’t even realize how many people had showed up. Sean’s dad, my old high school film teacher, is here. Still doesn’t know he showed my dick at the student film show at the end of the year. Even fuckin’ Ian Ruhala showed his bitch ass. There’s no way that was coincidental. Not when his girlfriend’s sister is performing with Zilched at the Stools show. Joey’s gonna lose his shit when he gets here from the wedding.

“That was sick Michael!” My coworker Reagan says to me. “Wanna celebrate by doin’ a shot of Jager with me? You don’t even gotta give me a drink ticket.” I’m about to be trashed tonight. What am I talkin’ about? I already am.

“Why not? I’m gonna need seven shots of jezy too though.”

“Wakin’ up I got a nothin’ to do!” Sugar T kicks into one of their many rippers.

Cy, my GM, walks over to me. “These guys are really good.” I can barely make out her words over Kevin’s spastic style of jazz drumming. “They’re like a psychedelic Mudhoney.”

“Yeah. They’re also only seventeen too. Don’t tell the managers though I booked some minors.”

She laughs. “Nobody should be that good at that young of an age. Do they have a CD?”

“Nah. We put out their debut album on the cassette label I’m helping run though.”

“What the fuck are you kids doing making cassettes again?”

“Cause they’re fuckin’ sick! You wanna hear this fuzz on something just as fuzzy. We don’t wanna clean this noise up!”

Walk back to center stage. Jake is in the corner with Evan. Owen layin’ on the floor in front of the couch. Crossed the border for this night. On the couch next to Rae is Joey Molloy goin’ hard to Sugar Tradition’s set. Gotta love Joey. Nobody goes as hard at a show as good ol’ Joey Molloy. Bleached tufts of hair whippin’ through the air the same way their brain whips back and forth in the skull. Everyone takes the Polish, purple nectar. Jeżynówka. A Hamtramck staple. A little piece of home all the way out here.

Joey walks in, still in his suit, and helps Drew wheel three cabs into the crammed lounge as I meet Antonio at the merch table. They spent over a mill on this remodel. And the Hand is about to shatter all the windows here when they hit their first note. This will be the first and last time they let a stoner metal band in here. TJ stoned as fuck on the floor testin’ out the Juno. Sean, equally as baked, clicks open the briefcase synth he made.

“Yoo Antonio. Whenever you guys are ready I’ll take you to the office so the manager can cut you a check. You just gotta fill out some tax forms.”

“Shit… This is like a legit gig then?”

We weave through the overfilled lounge. Drunks and stoners attempt to file towards the stage. BO and fuzz forcin’ the yuppies to wait for their lanes elsewhere. Tonight, this bitch is ours.

Paperclips and loose change vibrate their way off the desk in the office as the Hand strikes their first drone. “Wait… Kev,” Antonio spins in the desk chair. “What’s my social security number?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

“You guys don’t know your social security numbers? How?”

“Dude. We’re in high school. We’ve never had to use ‘em before.”

“Honestly,” my coworker cuts in. “We don’t really need the W-9. If you take it with you and bring it back in a couple days it’s probably fine. But I really don’t give a shit if you do.”

Head back to the bar. All the freaks headbang in unison to Joey’s screams before Drew rips into a solo. Greg hands over two shots before I even flag him down. “I knew Drew was gonna shred because he never talks about his band. The quiet ones always shred. Good job putting this together Mike. Not a huge drinking crowd. But I’ll take a chill night. Gettin’ stoned to some chuggin’ bands whenever it comes.”

Or at least I think that’s what he said. I can’t hear over the riff. Hail the fuckin’ riff! Wrappin’ it just before midnight. Nobody says goodbye to each other before we all dip. It’s every man for himself. Drag racin’ down I-75 to get to OLL. Somewhere in the night Caveman Woodman is yellin’ about the Stools. Tellin’ folks to fuck off if they think rock n’ roll is dead.

Walk into Outer Limits greeted by the familiar unbearable humidity of a crowd of familiar faces. Not a single face you don’t recognize. Greeted with a free Stroh’s and shot of Hornito’s courtesy of Johnny. Kid Infinity on the stoop of the stage. Documenting the entire night on camera. 208. The Long Stairs. The rest of the Waterheads. Everyone from the Bowlero show there too. Sweat gluing bodies together as flesh meets flesh. “This one’s about a spooky dream Will had!” KQ shouts into the mic as Chuck uses his already soaked shirt to wipe sweat from his forehead. As Will’s screeching guitar bends, cuing “Black Fly Stew.” Two step tune off their latest seven inch from Third Man Records. Jack White may be a prick. But he sure puts out some good ass music.

This time I’m not gonna concuss myself on Joey Molloy’s eye socket. They speed and slop their way through their discography. Dig into some tracks Will claims are older than some of us. Kirk recording every second through the soundboard to be put out on Chuck’s cassette label Painter’s Tapes. “How does two more sound?” KQ asks after finishing up a version of “Q-Nails” that’s half the length of the studio version. But still has all the original notes. Bodies make their way off the concrete ground to their feet. Stomachs cramp from downin’ Stroh’s. Lungs attempt to catch their breath. Jake yells back to ‘em “Eat shit Mike Duggan!” We don’t need no curfew. Unplug us and we’ll scream louder.

Mikey of the Waterheads discusses Sigmund Freud on the patio while we all pass joints to each other. Never give those lungs a break. Kyle of 208 passes out Remove Records t-shirts. Tells us none of us need to pay for ‘em. But we all force money into his hands. “This is what the scene is about man.” My words come out half coherent.

“Exactly! That’s why I’m so glad me and Shelby came here from Florida. This is what music should be about! Community. Doing it for each other. Fuckin’ being there! Cause without each other, none of what’s goin’ on is possible. We’re like one big, happy, chaotic family!”

Jake punches my shoulder at the bar. Radiating the energy of the Bananas in Pajamas. A loose and excitable toddler ready to play. We each get a shot of jezy. “You here anything yet about HMF Nips?”

“Nah. I saw they ‘leaked’ some of the lineup. But it was all like Hala. Legume. Who Boy. The indie bands ya know.”

“See. And that’s what’s fucked man! They don’t fuckin’ get it like we do. We’re out here every fuckin’ night playin’ these joints. We’re all at every show for each other. They make one appearance a month. Half the time not even in Hamtramck. They don’t support each other. They’re in it for the clout! And fuckin’ Who Boy gets picked before any of us?! That’s fucked up man.”

“It is dude. But don’t worry so much about it. I’m sure it’ll all pan out for us. Cause we get it. And they don’t. You wanna come over to my place after? Make some pancakes or some shit?”

“Oh heeeellll yeah! Pancakes at Belmont. I’ll rally the troops. We gettin’ trashed tonight!”

As if we aren’t already. Rip through a fifty pack of whip-its in twenty minutes. Sittin’ around eatin’ pancakes at three in the morning. Listenin’ to the 13th Floor Elevators as Joey tries persuadin’ everyone into watchin’ Pirates of the Caribbean. “Dead Man’s Aaaaasssss…” his whipped voice whispers to every single one of us individually.

Jake does his first popper as if he’s huffed it before. Panicking in the barstool in my living room. “I’m sweaty. My head hurts. And my face is hot, man. My face is hot!” Before locking himself in the bathroom with a sealed fifth of tequila. We continue to chainsmoke in the house I rent. No mention of not smokin’ in my lease. Dunkin’ chocolate chip pancakes in a bowl of syrup. He re-emerges from the bathroom. Quarter of the bottle now inside him. Or possibly in my toilet. “Rae. You gotta finish this. I can’t do it.”

Owen spits up on Giovanna while tryin’ to rush to the bathroom. Attempts to wipe the bile off her knee before returning to the cool tile floor around the toilet to sleep for the night. Jake arguing with me and Rae about ordering him an Uber home. “You’d fuckin’ love it if I crashed on your futon Nips. You’d fuckin’ love ordering me an Uber home wouldn’t you Rae?”

“Jake dude. I don’t know what you want from me man. Your car is at Evan’s anyways.”

“I just wanna shit on my toilet!”

So eventually he consents. Tells Rae he’ll Venmo me the ten bucks she spent on him cause he’s “Venmoed Michael Nipples before.” Even though I’ve never had one. Yells back to us with the passenger door open “what’s its name?” As he struggles to crawl into the whip.

And as Rae and I go to sleep. My phone buzzes with three texts from the drunk Toehead. “Uh oh…”

“Help…”

“We listenin’ to Dough Boyz!”

Fuckin’ idiot. Pinhead. That’s what we all are though. Or at least what we pretend to be.

#bowlero #hail the riff #just guys being dudes #vague glimpses of beauty #outer limits lounge #the stools #the hand 420 #sugar tradition #remove records #painters tapes #grown up fucked up #detroit garage rock #detroit diy #a vibe

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converse-luke · 5 years

Text

I Don’t Know Where You Are

Have a Soulmate Au! Kinda angsty sooooo

Length: 7000

Warnings: Arzaylea, anxiety, mentions of death, hospitliziation

Tags (message me to be added): @hereforlukescruff @paqueretteash @negative-love

Luke’s first tattoo appears when he’s sixteen. It’s a quarter rest, only an outline, his soulmate will get one fully filled. He’s in the middle of band practice and his wrist starts burning so intensely he drops his guitar. Michael turns to him to say, “What the fuck, Hemmings,” a common saying that makes him flinch. Ashton is nicer, standing from his drum kit and unwrapping Luke’s fingers from around his wrist.

“You’re getting your first soulmate tattoo.” He smiles despite the fact that fear is written all over Luke’s face. “It’s okay Luke, this is great actually.” And Luke’s heart stops racing because it’s Ashton and he’s older so he must be right. “You should go home, let it form the rest of the way.” Luke nods, a bit dizzy from all the excitement but stumbles home, leaving his guitar on the floor of Michael’s garage. It’s dark when he gets home, and his mom yells at him for walking home alone. He shows her his wrist and she softens a bit. “Alright, go have some dinner and then we’ll talk.” X-X-X A year later Luke is trying to sleep and then a searing pain appears from his ribcage. He falls out of his bunk, gasping and head pounding from the fall. Liz climbs out of her bunk and places her hand on Luke’s head. “What’s wrong Luke, come on baby tell me what’s wrong.” “My chest, Mum.�� She pulls up his shirt and sighs. “Your soulmate is getting their first tattoo. It’s a big one so it’s going to take a while,” Luke groans as the tattoo slowly forms. “Why does it hurt so much?” Ashton slips out of bed and goes the kitchen, returning with a small ice pack and pressing it to Luke’s chest. “I can’t tell you why it hurts baby, I’m sorry. Just stay here until it forms fully.” Liz grabs a pillow and puts it under Luke’s head. Ashton grabs a blanket and climbs under it with Luke. Liz looks at Ashton who nods at her. Luke breathes heavily as Ashton pulls him to his chest. “Do you wanna see my tattoo Lukey?” Luke nods as he pants through the pain. “See look it’s a pair of drumsticks in an X.” Luke nods and winces. “I got it our first concert, right after we got off stage.” Luke’s fingers brush over the tattoo gently. “Didn’t it hurt?” “A bit, but probably nothing like yours is now since it was my tattoo. My soulmate got a really small tattoo for their first one and it wasn’t too painful. Since yours is so big it’s gonna hurt a lot.” Luke nods and settles against Ashton, eyes closing. He wakes up in the morning to Michael almost stepping on Ashton on the way to the bathroom. Luke scrambles up and beats Michael there, hearing the older boy bang on the door. “Give me a minute!” Luke pulls his shirt off and turns so he can see the left side of his ribcage clearly. Icy eyes look over the pure black tattoo. It’s a wolf, howling up at him. His fingers drag over its body, fascinated in the way the ink stretches over the skin of his ribcage. Happiness bubbles up inside him, filling him all the way to the brim until laughter bursts from his lips. Luke laughs again as he stares at the tattoo his soulmate gave him, eyes sparkling in wonder. Michael bangs on the door again, “I’m leaving!” Luke pulls his shirt on and leaves the bathroom with a smile splitting his face open. “What’s up with you, have a nice wank?” Luke ignores the comment with a wide smile and runs back to the bunks. He hides in his bunk until they have to go to the venue, shirt hiked up as he stares at his mark. Luke’s fingers can’t stop running over it, obsessed with the wolf-shaped mark on his skin and how it stands out. His heart keeps thumping in his chest, a happy little drum beat as he caresses the new mark, tracing the edges with his fingers to memorize the shape. When the bus rolls to a stop he shoves his shirt down. He doesn’t tell Ashton about how his tattoo looks but the elder smiles at him. Luke sings his heart out on stage, not many people came to see them but in the moment that doesn’t matter. When he gets back to the bus he has Ashton take a picture of his tattoo so he can see how his soulmate will see it. His heart soars in his chest when he can see it, teeth catching his lip as he looks it over, zooming in and out repeatedly. X-X-X The first time Luke feels his soulmate’s pain he’s on stage and it’s two months after he’s gotten the tattoo. His knees buckle and he tumbles to the floor. Luke gasps as pain seems to shoot from his soulmate tattoo and up his chest. Someone picks him up off the ground, taking him backstage while he wheezes. His mind is so foggy through the pain he doesn’t understand that the concert has stopped and he’s being looked at by medics. Calum appears in his view, saying things that Luke can’t discern. He’s confused about why pain is ringing from his mark all the way up to his head, why his mouth has gone dry and his body has gone numb. The pain suddenly lifts and Luke coughs as his body shudders as the pain goes to a simmer. “Luke you’re okay, it was your soulmate. You’re not actually hurt, it’s an echo.” Someone holds his head, petting his hair to keep his fringe out of his eyes. Two people hold his hands, one tracing over his quarter rest tattoo. Blue eyes dart up to meet Michael’s, who is staring down at him with tears brimming in his eyes. “You can’t do that to us Luke, god you just collapsed. Your soulmate must be in a ton of pain. Are you okay?” “I can still feel a bit of pain, my mark hurts.” Luke tries to get up but three sets of hands keep him down. “No getting up until all the pain subsides, doctor’s orders.” “We have a show,” Luke tries to get up again but is forced down. “Luke we cancelled the rest of it to make sure you were okay.” Ashton says, his thumb on Luke’s tattoo. “This isn’t your fault, you can’t control it.” “It’s my soulmate so it is my fault.” Luke feels his heartbeat pound and his chest grows tighter, breathing catching in his throat. Luke lets out a strangled sob as he tries to breathe normally while his mind races. “It’s my fault, they’re gonna hate us.” Luke can feel his chest tightening as he scrambles to take a clear breath. There are hands soothing him, someone telling him to breathe while tears pool in his eyes. Michael holds his head, wiping the tears away and speaking in a tone Luke hasn’t heard before. When he calms down his bandmates hug him tightly and they form a protective circle around him when they walk from the venue to the car. They push their hotel beds together and keep him in the middle of their cuddle puddle. Luke feels something right before he falls asleep, an echo from his soulmate, it feels like comfort. X-X-X They’re moving to LA so they can focus more on their music and work on their album. Luke is trying to rest on the plane but his body is restless. Michael pushes him when he turns around again, shoving him against the plane window. Luke feels his wrist burn, mumbling a small ‘ow’ as he rolls up his flannel sleeve to examine his left wrist. Diagonally under his first tattoo comes another. “Michael I’m getting a tattoo.” He shoves his wrist in Michael’s face, showing where his tattoo is coming in. Luke gnaws on his lip ring while excitement claws up his chest. “I’m getting one too,” Michael shows Luke his own tattoo that’s forming on his own arm. “So if the universe thinks this moment is big enough for us to both get tattoos I think we’re doing something right.” Luke hisses as his wrist burns. “I’ll ask for some ice,” Luke nods, his tiredness slipping away at the prospect of watching his tattoo form. His gaze shifts to out the window, locking on the ocean and staring into its depths. A flight attendant hands them ice packs that soothes the itching and burning of their wrists. Luke falls asleep with the ice pack on his wrist, his and Michael’s heads resting on each other. Ashton turns back and snaps a picture of them for his Instagram, smiling at the two of them. Luke wakes up having to go to the bathroom a few hours later and climbs over Michael. Luke shuffles in, peeing and while he washes his hands noticing the tattoo. He looks at his wrist, thumb brushing over the outline of a plane and holding back a squeal. He’s briefly entranced by it, eyes glued to the small tattoo. Someone pounding on the door startles him out of his trance. His cheeks turn red as he leaves the bathroom, scurrying back to his seat. Luke sits down and snuggles up to Michael, falling back asleep easily. X-X-X Luke can’t decide which is worse, feeling emotional or physical pain. His soulmate gets hurt… a lot, luckily for him not enough that it makes him too worried. It’s never been as painful as the first time, usually just enough to mess up a chord if he’s on stage. Emotional pain he hasn’t felt strongly but he has gotten some positive echoes when he’s getting really homesick. So when he’s recording vocals and feels the burning of a tattoo on his neck he steps away from the mic. Luke takes a deep breath to get the pain to subside, apologizing to the producer and stepping back up. Ashton stops him five minutes later when he gasps again. He makes Luke sit down on the couch and grabs him an ice pack when he admits that another mark is forming. Ashton sits next to him, placing it on the back of his neck to let the cool sensation seep in. Then his heart feels like it’s snapping in two. Luke whimpers as an overwhelming sadness washes over him from head to toe. He hasn’t felt anything like this before and his own anxiety mixes in with the sadness. “Ashton, what’s happening?” He clings to the elder, lost as he struggles for control of his own emotions. “It’s okay Luke, your soulmate is having a really rough time right now. It’s really intense cause you’re getting a mark as well.” Luke shudders, not prepared for the sudden waves of abandonment that smash against him and threaten to tip him over. Almost as soon as it comes the storm stops, leaving him empty and anxious. Ashton is there, like he always is, to calm him and make him lay on the couch. “Take a break Luke, I’ll record some of my vocals while you calm down.” Luke breathes, feeling his anxieties wash away with each intake. “We can go get ice cream after okay?” Ashton runs a hand through the messy quiff before standing up and going into the recording booth. Luke is surprisingly calm when Ashton finishes up. He even manages to sing a few lines for their album before Ashton demands that the producers let him go. Luke is thankful for the eldest, he doesn’t think he would stand up for himself if it was just him here alone. Ashton stays close, close enough to support Luke if he needs it but not too close to feel suffocating. Eating ice cream is soothing for Luke, it makes him forget about the pain of his tattoo knitting itself into existence across his skin. Ashton keeps him distracted as well with his sunshiney attitude. They get an Uber back to their house and as soon as they're inside Ashton is making Luke lay down on the couch. He sits on the edge of the couch and makes sure to brush Luke’s hair out of the way before looking at his new mark. “Can you tell what it is?” His voice is muffled in the couch cushions. “Luke it’s just a circle.” Ashton rolls his eyes, Luke turns his head and furrows his brows. “Why do you say it like that?” “Like what?” “Like it doesn’t matter what my tattoos are.” Luke sits up, anger starting to bubble in his stomach. “I mean it doesn’t. Soulmates don’t always work out Luke and yours is giving you a lot of pain.” Luke scoffs and stands up, crossing his arms, “Luke it’s not a big deal, it’s just a tattoo.” “Yea, which will lead me to someone with a matching one.” “Do you know how many people there are in the world Luke, the chances of you finding someone with your exact tattoos is so small. A lot of people don’t even end up with their soulmate.” Ashton stands and squares his shoulders as Luke’s anger beings to boil. “I’m going to end up with my soulmate Ashton. Just because your parents split up and were soulmates doesn’t mean I’ll leave mine.” Ashton flinches and Luke’s stance weakens. He knows immediately what he said was wrong but he doesn’t know how to fix it. “Ash, I’m… I’m sorry, I- “Save it Luke,” Ashton storms off towards his room, Luke sags against the couch. His anger disappears like baking soda being thrown over a grease fire. Guilt begins to eat away at him as he pulls his knees up to his chest. Luke sits there for a while, wrapped in his own guilt. Calum shuffles by, brown skin unusually pale. Calum sits next to him, a hand resting on the top of his knee. “You okay Luke?” Luke is still, eyes planted forward, he doesn’t meet Calum’s gaze. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me. I should be worried about you.” Calum shakes his head and sighs. “Everything is alright with me, my soulmate is just sick.” Luke wants to scoff because that is a huge understatement but he doesn’t call Calum out. “I said something bad to Ashton and I don’t know how to apologize to him.” Luke takes a deep breath, “I think my soulmate put up a block on their emotions.” Calum stays by Luke’s side despite the pain that comes from his own marks. And Luke knows it’s meant to be comforting, that Calum is trying his best but guilt gnaws away at his insides. He reaches a hand back to touch his mark but the giddy feeling isn’t there like the first time, shame is. X-X-X They’re in the studio when Calum collapses. Michael catches him before his head catches on the side of the piano. Luke gasps and stumbles back while Ashton calls for help. He can’t speak, stuck in his own head while chaos unfolds just feet away. He’s frozen even when paramedics are hoisting Calum onto a stretcher, barely recognizing the feeling of someone guiding him into a car to follow. Ashton grabs his hand which startles him, he hasn’t spoken to the elder since their small fight, too embarrassed to approach him. Luke is still stuck in his head, brain moving impossibly slow but racing at the same time. He doesn’t even realize they’re in the hospital until Ashton is grabbing his face. “Luke, buddy snap out of it. I know you’re having trouble processing everything right now but we have to be there for Calum.” Luke nods and shakes his head to clear it. He touches the mark on the back of his neck and takes a deep breath. Ashton checks him over once and takes his hand. “It’s gonna be okay.” Calum is laying in a hospital bed and Luke wants to throw up. He looks healthier than he had when he collapsed despite the frown that seems permanently etched into his face. Michael sits down in a chair next to Calum and takes one of his hands. Calum squeezes Michael’s hand tightly and draws in on himself. “My soulmate died,” he says after a while. Luke’s hand slips away from Ashton so he can wrap his hand over the wolf mark. Ashton crosses to Calum and holds his other hand. “Calum,” Luke walks forward, his arm still around his chest. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do.” A sob bubbles out of Calum and Luke places a hand on his leg. His dark hair hangs in front of his face as he weeps over the loss of his soulmate. Someone he’s never met but felt the deepest connection to. He’ll never feel the burn of a mark again or how his soulmate feels despite being miles away. Luke feels his own tears brim over the edge and cascade down his cheeks. Calum falls asleep after a while and Michael lays next to him, holding his best friend close and draping a blanket around them. Ashton takes Luke outside and finds a private room. He wipes the tears away that Luke has neglected to before pulling the youngest into a hug. Luke whimpers into it, digging his head into Ashton’s neck. “I’m so sorry Ashton,” Luke feels a hand go onto the back of his neck and rub against his mark. “It’s okay, I forgive you.” Luke clings to Ashton, breathing stuttering as he mutters another apology. “What is Calum going to do?” Luke whispers in the quiet of the room. Ashton keeps Luke pressed to his chest. “I don’t know Luke, but we can be there for him.” Luke nods, he feels like he should pull away but Ashton makes him feel safe from the emotional distress outside this tiny room. “I think my soulmate put up a block. I can’t feel them anymore.” Luke admits, nerves creeping along up his stomach and into his throat. “How about we talk about that later Lukey, after everything is calmed down?” Luke nods and Ashton pulls away, wiping away more tears. “I’m gonna call Calum’s mom and see if she can come to L.A. Are you okay going back to the room?” Luke nods and wanders back, sliding in next to Calum in the bed much too small for three of them. X-X-X The day the She’s Kinda Hot music video drops Luke gets a tattoo. He moves away from Calum and makes an excuse about going to the bathroom. He removes his shirt and watches a crown form on his right shoulder. Luke winces and pants through the pain of it, not as sensitive to the pain with the block his soulmate has over their emotions. Sometimes, he tries to send them echoes of his feelings, just so they know he’s doing okay. Every emotion gets cut in the middle of it being sent out. Luke puts his shirt on and grabs a beer from the fridge, downing it quickly and going to sit back next to Calum. Calum pulls out a laptop and shows him the views on their video, together they read through the comments and laugh at overreactions. He never mentions his mark to Calum, it’s too soon. X-X-X Their plane lands in the middle of the night. Luke is exhausted, rubbing his blue eyes to try and relieve his tiredness. He’s glad that fans aren’t out at the airport at such a late hour but his girlfriend is there to pick him up. He gives a weary goodbye to the boys and climbs into her car after putting his stuff away. Luke stares out the window blearily, eyes focused on the moon. He feels a prick of pain just behind his right ear. Luke ignores the pain until he feels the block break, serenity flowing over his body like a tidal wave. He gasps, wincing when Arzaylea gives him a look. Luke keeps his face straight until they’re pulling up to their apartment. He gets his bags out of the car and feels Arzaylea press a kiss to the back of his neck. “Didn’t know you got a mark while on tour.” “Oh, yea neither did I.” She scoffs and locks the car. Luke’s nerves rage inside him but the calm he receives from his soulmate makes him exhale. “Arz, what is it, my mark?” “A crescent moon,” she looks at him and shakes her head. “You know you’re going to have to cover that up when we fuck right?” Luke flinches but nods, he had forgotten about having to cover his marks up when they were together. “Just give me a minute, I’ll be right in.” Arzaylea goes inside while Luke tilts his head back. He stares up at the moon, a crescent shape in the sky. His heart beats faster as his fingers press against the small mark and a smile pushes past his lips. Peace rushes over him as he keeps staring at the moon, knowing that his soulmate is looking at it too. X-X-X Luke knows it’s about to come crashing down around him. He can tell by the pitying looks he gets when the boys see his marks covered up with band-aids. He knows that it’s not healthy to keep his marks so covered but it’s what she wants so Luke does it. Sometimes at night he sneaks to the bathroom and uncovers his marks. Like right now, he’s staring at his reflection in the mirror, removing the bandages after he takes his shirt off. His fingers reach to the wolf mark even though the comfort of it isn’t there anymore. He wants to call Ashton, tell him that he feels like he’s suffocating and doesn’t know what to do, but he doesn’t. Instead, he grabs new bandages and covers his marks back up. He doesn’t sleep any more that night, deciding to sit on the floor and pet Petunia until the sun rises. Luke feels tension wind up his spine as Arzaylea wakes up, receiving a soft echo back from his soulmate to try and calm him. Instead his guilt doubles.

X-X-X Luke is drunk, he doesn’t really know what’s happening right now. All he really knows is that he wants to go home. “Arz,” he calls as she dances on him with a drink in hand. “I want to go home.” Luke raises his voice, his buzz isn’t a good one, instead he’s feeling anxious and tight instead of loose and relaxed. She rolls her eyes, “Then go home Luke, you’re not a baby.” Luke swallows thickly and stumbles out of the club. He orders an Uber and calls Ashton. “What Luke?” He growls into the phone, Luke winces, he knows he hasn’t been the best friend recently. Luke tries to reply but his mouth just gapes open like a fish. “Fucking hell,” he hears someone else in the background, Ashton’s soulmate, “No, he’s probably crossfaded.” The call ends and Luke’s Uber shows up. Loneliness creeps in on him as he rides in silence and he feels a small echo. In his drunken state he puts up a block and feels echoes getting cut off. He stumbles inside, mumbling a hello to Petunia before laying on the bed on top of the covers. He’s awake when she gets home but feigns sleep, hearing her let out an annoyed huff when she can’t wake him. Even with someone sleeping next to him Luke feels alone. X-X-X There’s shouting, so much shouting. Luke can feel his arm starting to burn as the two of them shout at each other and he clasps a hand over where it burns. Then Arzaylea throws his phone and it shatters against the wall. Luke stills, eyes wide as Arzaylea stares him down. “Are you going to fucking listen to me now?” She takes a step towards him and Luke backpedals, fear clenching his heart in a tight fist. “No. No we’re done, I don’t want to see you anymore.” “What?” She seethes taking another step towards him. Luke moves backwards so the table’s between them. “We’re done, you need to leave right now.” His voice shakes but Luke squares his shoulders and makes himself bigger than he feels. Arzaylea glares at him before grabbing her purse and his car keys and storming out. Luke staggers to his phone, sinking to the floor as he gets the cracked screen to light up. Tears finally slip past his eyes as he calls Ashton. He doesn’t pick up. Luke calls again and on the final ring Ashton picks up. “What do you want Luke?” Luke shudders and the edge to Ashton’s voice disappears. “Ashton, Ashton please come get me.” He hiccups, tears falling freely down his cheeks, “Please, I’m getting a mark and I just broke up with Arz and I don’t know what to do.” Luke sobs, clenching the broken phone tightly. “It hurts so much Ashton,” his voice breaks and he whimpers. “Okay, Luke I’m on my way. Stay on the line okay?” “Okay,” Luke gasps and winces at his mark. “Please hurry, everything hurts.” “I’m hurrying Luke, I’m almost there.” Luke lets out a cry at a painful jab from his forming mark. Ashton opens the unlocked door and ends the call as he finds Luke on the floor. Luke spots him and launches himself forward, sobbing as Ashton holds him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Ashton I’m so terrible.” He clings to the eldest in a desperate attempt to keep him close. Ashton shushes him and picks Luke up. It’s not as easy as when they were teenagers but he manages. Ashton calls Petunia and she lumbers into the room, following him to the car. Ashton places Luke in the passenger seat, going back inside to grab an ice pack and pack a bag of Luke’s clothes. When he returns to the car Petunia is in Luke’s lap, licking at his arm where the mark is burning. Ashton puts the bag in the backseat and Luke feels his block go down. He giggles at Petunia, his heart hurting at the quick change of emotions. Luke nudges her away from his arm and just as he looks at his mark Luke feels like he’s being split in half. He wheezes, and Ashton looks over at him with worry in his eyes. Luke sends out a panicked echo, feeling it get cut off halfway. “Ashton, they cut me off again, but it’s so much worse this time.” Ashton reaches over and squeezes Luke’s hand. Luke looks down at his mark and feels his heart drop into his stomach. It’s a heart with a large black divide going down the center. “I’m never going to be able to forget her. The fucking universe just made sure of that.” Ashton looks at the broken heart on Luke’s left arm. It’s in the middle of his forearm and decently sized too, it stands out against the band-aids still on Luke’s skin. Luke tugs his hand away from Ashton and holds Petunia, small tears working their way down his face. Ashton doesn’t comment on it, instead he pulls the car out of the driveway and starts driving towards his house. Luke shambles in like a ghost, going to Ashton’s guest bedroom with Petunia in his arms and laying down. Ashton’s soulmate stares at the blond, her brows furrowed as Luke curls in on himself. “Care to explain?” “He needed me,” Ashton sets the bag down behind his couch. “I thought you were mad at him.” “He’s my brother, I couldn’t be mad at him forever. Everything around him just lit on fire and now he needs help to put himself back together.” “You know you don’t have to do this, right? Ashton you’re always trying to fix things.” “I do have to do this, not just for him but for myself. I can’t sit by anymore and watch Luke destroy himself.” She nods, pressing a light kiss to his lips. “You don’t mind if he stays here for a while?” She shakes her head and Ashton smiles sadly, “I’m going to let him be for a while. He has a lot to process right now.” X-X-X Getting better is a long process, Luke falls off the wagon quite a bit. Sometimes he’ll come back to Ashton’s shitfaced and start crying on the floor. Ashton is kind to him, picking him up off the floor and making him go to sleep, leaving medicine for his hangover. Luke knows he’s hurting Ashton though, even if his bandmate won’t admit it. Sometimes when he’s in his room he can hear Ashton and his soulmate arguing quietly in the kitchen. It feels like his parents are arguing, Luke’s stomach turns uneasily. So Luke starts playing music again. He begins with just playing piano, drawn to the melancholic sounds he can create. Ashton beams at him when he sees his hands curl over the keys. Even if his hands play slowly and in minor key he’s still proud Luke is playing music. It takes longer for Luke to pick up the acoustic that’s sitting next to the piano. Ashton watches him behind a coffee mug while his soulmate sits on the counter. His fingers strum over the strings and he winces at the sound. “You haven’t tuned this.” “No one’s played it.” Luke tunes the instrument by ear and then starts playing a tune in his head. “You should write that down, we could put it on the next album.” “You don’t think it sounds a bit too emo?” “You can be as emo as you want Luke,” Luke stands putting the guitar back. “I’m gonna go buy a journal. I’ll be back soon.” He grabs his wallet and keys, darting out of the house after toeing on his shoes. Ashton’s soulmate leaves late one night. They’d been arguing about Luke and it devolved into something completely different. But Luke could hear word for word what they were saying, they weren’t even trying to keep it quiet. Luke sits against the door like a little kid spying on his parents fight and a few tears slip down his cheeks. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he mutters, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. When he hears the door slam closed Luke wipes away the tears and peers out into the kitchen. Ashton is standing stiffly against the kitchen island, hands clenched into fists. “Ash?” He pads out, “Is everything okay?” Ashton laughs coldly and Luke winces. “No, we’re taking a break. She put up a block too, they’re hell.” “I know,” Ashton turns around and utters an apology. “She didn’t, she didn’t leave because of me right?” “Not entirely,” Luke winces again and whispers an apology. “Do you want to talk about it?” “I want to drink until I can’t stand but I’m not going to do that.” Luke nods and walks over to Ashton’s coffee table, giving the eldest a notebook. “Maybe writing it out would be better?” Ashton pulls Luke into a hug and the blond smiles. They spend hours writing together, each wrapped up in pushing all their pain onto paper until their hands cramp. Ashton is tapping out a beat with his pen and then Luke sings something softly. “Luke what was that?” “Just something I’ve had in my head.” Luke fiddles around in his chair, “Why?” “Sing it again,” Luke does, eyeing Ashton curiously. “We’re taking that into the studio, Luke that could be a great single. Do you have a name for it yet?” “Yea, it’s called Lie to Me.” X-X-X They’re celebrating the release of Want You Back when Luke’s right bicep starts to burn. Luke sets his glass of water down, hand clasping over his arm. Calum rolls his eyes and goes to grab him an ice pack as Michael is busy getting reacquainted with his soulmate. Luke sheepishly takes the ice pack, but his heart is starting to race. He doesn’t know if it’s out of fear or joy yet. Luke has removed all the bandaids that adorned his skin not long after him and Arzaylea broke up. He only wears one, over the broken heart tattoo, he refuses to even look at it. He and Ashton fought about that and it only stopped when Luke had walked away and closed the door to his room. Luke excuses himself from the table and hides in the bathroom of the bar. It’s usually a bad decision but the bar they picked is remarkably not packed. He removes the ice pack and hikes his shirt sleeve up so he can see the mark. His heartbeat picks up then stops dead in his chest. His fingers drag over the pitch black rose inked on his arm for a second before tugging his sleeve down. He marches to the bar and orders a shot of tequila, downing it quickly and telling the bartender to keep them coming. There’s a giggle beside him and he turns. She’s looking up at him, lips wrapped around a straw as she sips on a cocktail. “What?” He throws back another shot and she smiles, setting down her glass on a paper coaster. “You’re just funny, trying to act all tough.” Luke sits at the bar, furrowing his brows. “What does that mean?” “I mean, it’s pretty clear that you’re trying to act tough so no one sees that you’re in pain.” Luke feels his heart stutter as she speaks, vulnerability trying to claw up his chest. “And what do you know about that?” “A lot more than you’d think.” She goes back to her cocktail but Luke’s eyes remained glued to her. He doesn’t know why he’s drawn to this girl he’s met at the bar but he stays where he is, another shot in his hand. She looks at the glasses littered over the counter and back to him. “Maybe you should slow down, I’m sure someone’s looking for you.” Luke smiles, he feels the haze of alcohol buzzing around him. “Doesn’t matter, they’re with their soulmates.” She watches his finger trace the rim of the empty shot glass. “My soulmate hates me.” “I’m sure that’s not true.” She stands, abandoning her drink and pulls the drunk blond up. “How about I take you to your friends?” He nods, leaning his weight on her as he points to the booth Calum is in. Calum sees the two of them and intercepts Luke, putting him in the booth before turning back to the stranger with a placid look. “You should watch out for him. He’s in a lot more pain than he’s letting on.” “We will,” she nods curtly and turns around to the bar. Her hair is pulled up so her neck is visible and Calum sees it. The soulmate mark on the back of her neck, a circle with Australia in the middle of it. It’s the same size as Luke’s blacked out tattoo. He surges forward, pushing past a few people until he can reach her. He taps her shoulder and she turns around. “You’re his soulmate.” She laughs, actually laughs at Calum. “Sure he is,” she goes to turn away but Calum grabs her wrist. “I’m serious, just see if your marks match, please.” “If he’s my soulmate I don’t want to talk to him right now.” She tugs her hand away and crosses her arms. “I never got to meet my soulmate, do you know how much I would give to be in Luke’s position? You have no idea what he’s been through, just give him a chance. Let him talk to you,” she huffs and nods. She walks back over to the table where Luke is drinking a glass of water. Calum takes Luke’s left hand with little struggle and pushes up his sleeve. “Do they match yours?” Her right-hand grips her left wrist tightly and she nods, “Yea, he’s my soulmate.” Calum drops Luke’s hand who has taken to leaning on Michael and giggling. “I’m giving you my number, if you want to meet him when he’s sober just text me.” She nods, taking her phone and handing it to Calum, taking it back after a second and returning to the bar, ordering a new drink. Calum smiles and sits down next to Luke, shaking his head at the blond. X-X-X A week later Calum gets a text. It just says ‘I’m ready’ but he understands. He gets up and drives to Ashton’s, unlocking the door and barging in on Luke. He’s sleeping, mouth hung open and snoring lightly. Calum whacks him with a pillow. Luke jumps, eyes snapping open as he stares at Calum. “Get up and go shower, you have a date.” “Fuck off, I’m not dating anyone.” Luke turns over and presses his face into his pillow. “You’re going to want to go on this date,” Luke ignores him, “Come on, it’s just coffee.” Luke continues to not respond so Calum grabs Luke’s water off the nightstand and dumps it on him. Luke springs up, cursing heavily. “What the fuck?!” Calum shrugs, a smirk on his face. “You fucking suck,” he goes to the bathroom, turning on the shower. “I’ll drive you to your date!” Luke lets out another slew of curses through the door while Calum laughs and gets his phone out. Luke exits the bathroom with a scowl and gets dressed, not caring if Calum is in the room or not. As he’s putting his shoes on he gasps, “Calum, they just dropped the block.” “Maybe it’s a sign your date’s going to go well.” Luke rolls his eyes as Calum smirks behind him. X-X-X Luke sits at a corner booth, iced coffee in his hands. He stares down at his hands until someone taps on his shoulder. “Mind if I sit here?” It’s the girl from the bar, a coffee in her hands and sweet smile on her lips. Luke nods and she sits opposite of him. “Your friend said you were going to talk to me.” “About what?” Her brows furrow as she looks at the genuine confusion on his face. “About us being soulmates. Did he not tell you?” Luke’s mouth opens and closes, his eyes darting down to the table. “Guess not,” she turns her left hand over and Luke stares at the blacked out marks that match his. His eyes focus on the middle of her left arm, the completely blacked out heart staring at him tauntingly. Luke shrinks back but feels his left arm get tugged forward. “You don’t want to see my mark.” He whimpers as she grabs the bandage covering it. “You won’t like what you see.” “How do you know that?” Luke shakes his head and turns it away, he doesn’t want to see her reaction. His arm tenses as she pulls away the bandage and feels gentle fingers run over his mark. “Oh, oh Luke,” her voice is sweet and concerned, “Why would I not like this?” Luke looks up at her and he can’t help himself from spitting out, “Because I’m broken,” he watches her flinch and cuts off the echo he was accidentally sending. She gets up and sits next to him, taking his face between both her hands. “You are not broken because of a mark you got.” Luke wants to shake his head but he feels himself get swathed in comfort. It’s so overwhelming he laughs and a tear slips out. She wipes it away, feeling his hands fist her shirt. “Hey, how about I take you somewhere more private and we can talk?” Luke nods and takes her hand and his coffee. She tosses hers. Luke is quiet as she walks to her car, head down and eyes plastered to his converse. When they stop at her car she pauses before pulling Luke into a hug, it feels like coming up for fresh air. X-X-X It’s been a few months of dating Luke, nearing on half a year and he’s probably the happiest he’s ever been. He loves coming off stage to see his soulmate waiting for him with a wide smile and matching marks. He loves how he can talk about his own anxieties and will get loving words and soft comforting echoes. Luke really likes when he’s on stage and an echo of pride will hit him straight in the chest. His smile grows tenfold and sometimes he messes up the words but that’s okay. When he got his broken heart tattoo filled she was there, holding his other hand and distracting him from the needle piercing his skin. Around eight months into their relationship they get a tattoo together. It appears while they’re both laying on the back patio together, but it doesn’t burn. Instead it feels like a feather being run over his skin as it appears. They don’t get ice packs, instead they watch it form while wrapped up in each other. An anchor appears over the expanse of their right forearm, and Luke smiles. “It’s cause you keep me anchored right?” “You keep me anchored too babe, you make sure I don’t do stupid things like go cliff jumping again.” “Please don’t do that again,” he laughs, loving the stories he’s been told about all the painful echoes he’s been told. His fingers brush over the wolf tattoo peeking out from under her crop top, serenity falling over him. Luke exhales and gets up, walking back inside. She follows and hooks her arms around his waist. “You know how loved you are right?” Luke whines and turns around, digging his head into the crook of her neck. His hands travel the expanse of her back, stopping at the back of her neck to touch the mark there. Her heart warms as Luke presses a shy kiss to her lips before he runs off. She shakes her head and chases after him, laughter filling their house to the brim.

#converse-luke works #luke hemmings x reader #soulmate au #5sos au #5sos imagine #luke hemmings imagine #angst

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certifiedskywalker · 5 years

Text

Jealous Much? (Part Two) - Roger Taylor

Last time...

“See ya then, mate!” Brian cheered, turning to continue walking. You should have followed him, but the view of the girl kissing Roger’s cheek, then his lips had you locked in place for a moment. He seemed to glow under her affection and it felt like someone had stabbed you in the gut. “Y/N? You coming or you gonna stand there and freeze?”

Shaking your head you trailed after you best friend. What you didn’t catch was how Roger followed you with his eyes, a frown etched into his features as you walked away. Too busy in your thoughts and half listening to Brian, you came to a startling realization. You were jealous, but not for the reason you had originally thought.

So you were jealous? So you might have feelings for your best friend’s new bandmate? You could pretend everything was normal….right?

Warnings: Cursing, sex mention, and Roger again

“Y/N, you okay?” Brian’s concern cut through the tangled web of thoughts clouding your mind. Slowly, you lifted your glassy eyes to meet his gaze. “You’ve been staring at that page for thirty minutes.”

“Y-Yeah,” you stammered, rubbing at your eyes to clear them. Brian hummed a disbelieving tune at your reply and you raised an eyebrow at him in question. “Yes?”

“You’re stressed, love.” You fake gasped, resting a hand on your chest in feigned shock as you widen your eyes. Brian cocked his head at your actions and you couldn’t help but smile through your turmoil.

“Really? Stressed, you say? Why I never would have thought about that diagnosis!” Brian mumbled something under his breath and you shook your head at him. “I’m fine, Bri, really.”

“Then why don’t you come to band practice with me tonight? I know Tim was looking forward to seeing you again.” Your cheeks burned lightly at the mention of the band. Instantly, you thought of Roger and the girls that clung to him as you left last Friday night. How Brian had so pointedly said Tim wanted to see you again, not Roger pulled at your chest.

“I, uh, I-I don’t know.” You closed the book and shoved it in your bag to get it ready for school the next day. “I have some homework still but it’s not really due, I just wanna get it done, ya know so-”

“Y/N.” Brian leaned over the table and stared into your eyes seriously. “You need a break.” You couldn’t deny his statement. Like always, Brian was right. Ever since the weekend you had been working yourself to the bone in an attempt to stay on top of school. One benefit to your work was that it distracted you from your already distracting thoughts of Roger. You didn’t want to deal with whatever those reflections could entail, as you feared the worst.

Brian raised his eyebrows as your lingering pause filled the room. The urge to tell him about your confused feelings for Roger was overwhelmingly great; but you knew if you did speak of it, you would never hear the end of it. Truthfully, you were unsure as to how Brian would react. You felt that he would support you, but Roger was also his bandmate who, judging by how things went Friday night, seemed to hate you. Yet, you would be lying if you didn’t admit part of you wanted to see him again.

“Al-alright,” you breathed finally, letting your tense shoulder sag. “Jus’ let me get dressed and fix my….everything.” With that, you stood from the table and rushed to your bedroom. Compared to the rest of the flat, your room was the most messy. Even then, that wasn’t saying much. You bed was always in a state of being unmade and a few pairs of socks were floating around on the floor. Ignoring the mess for now, you honed in on your closet to find something to wear. You pondered your options, not really taking into account just how fast the minutes were flying by until you heard Brian’s clogs thumping towards the door.

“Y/N!”

“I’m coming,” you shouted, grabbing the first warm sweater you could find. Once you pulled it over you tugged on a cleaner pair of bell bottom jeans and slipped on your boots. As you darted down the hall, Brian stood at the door, holding your coat in his hands.

“Dressed to impress?” Brian teased at you pulled your arms through the sleeves of your coat. You groaned at him like an annoyed child would at their mother. Brian grinned as he unlocked the door and stepped out, not catching the final glimpse you stole of yourself in the mirror near the door. Hopefully, you thought in reply, hopefully.

“There you are. I was about to bloody-” Roger greeted you and Brian at the door, but the welcome died on his lips when his eyes fell on you. Blue eyes were bright with a sense of shock as he drank in your presence. “What’s she doing here?”

You tried your best to ignore his caustic tone when addressing you, turning to glance at Brian sympathetically. “I invited Y/N along. Figured four heads would be better than three.”

With that, Brian nudged Roger out of the way with his guitar case and giving the two of you enough room to push inside. You followed Brian over the threshold, not missing Roger’s gaze which was glued to your very being. Tim’s house was small, something you hold noticed when Brian had pulled up, but the interior was homey. Psychedelic posters were plastered on the yellow walls with a shaggy orange carpeting that contrasted the worn tan-leather sofa facing a radio fixture. You probably would have felt more comfortable if weren’t for the drummer huffing with annoyance behind you.

“There you are Br-Y/N! Hi!” Tim’s sing-song reception was a much welcomed relief to you as Roger retreated to another room. Throwing an arm over your shoulders, Tim pulled you in for a side hug.

“Hi,” you said sweetly, eyes still slightly downcast. The smile Tim gave you was bright and it might you feel more relaxed despite the unsettling coldness you first encountered. “Sorry I made Bri late. I couldn’t find a sweater to wear.”

“Nonsense, it’s fine,” Tim responded with his hands raised to show no harm was done. “I’m happy you decided to tag along.”

“Actually,” Brian clarified, “I made her come. She’s been stressed with school, so I thought she could use a break.” Tim nodded at his friend before turning back to you.

“Everyone’s a bit on edge, with midterms coming up. Even Roger is a bit timid now.” Almost as if he sensed the air around you shift, Roger entered the room.

“I’m what?” He snarled, eye pointed at Tim who brushed his tone off as he replied with a look over his shoulder.

“Timid, with midterms,” Tim turned back to face you, “Rog is gonna be a dentist.”

“Shove off,” Roger snapped as he looked over at you and Tim. You met his eyes for a brief moment and you saw, for a split-second, his anger dulled into some emotion you had never seen him wear before.

“Alright, alright,” Brian chided, trying his best to diffuse the situation, “put this passion into the songs please!” Roger grumbled something you didn’t quite catch as Tim walked over to his bass. His plucked at the strings, in a different way Brian does with his guitar, and a few bassy notes played into the air. You heard him humming a tune that sounded slightly familiar as Brian fixed his guitar strap.

“Warm up or right into Alright?” Roger asked, barely able to sit still while seated behind his drum kit. You noticed how his leg was bouncing, eyes darting around the room as he waited.

“Beat up your drums if you want to,” Brian said, “I have to re-tune this. Give me a moment.” He moved to sit on the couch, gently stroking the strings of the instrument to test the sound of each note.

“Need your pitch pipe?” You reached into his case and handed him the small object. Your friend nodded at you in thanks as he continued with his meticulous work. Watching, you shifted your weight on the balls of your feet, not really knowing what to do except not to look in Roger’s general direction. Thankfully, Tim chimed in to save you.

“You wanna try few notes? I can show you how,” you watched as Tim slipped the leather strap off his shoulder and offered you his bass.

“Oh, really? Is that okay?”

“There’s no rule against it, love,” he teased affectionately as he placed the strap over your shoulder. The bass was heavier than you imagined as it rested against your body. You smiled at the feeling, as if now you could be part of the band. You were about to share that thought when you looked up and locked eyes with Roger.

He wore the same expression as before. An underlying anger was overpowered by what you would call a sense of hurt in his eyes. Blinking a few times, he turned away and busied himself with the drum kit. You did the same, looking down to study the bass. Tim let out a proud chuckle as he took in this new sight of you.

“She looks the part, doesn’t she?” He wasn’t really asking anyone in particular, but Brian looked up and beamed with approval. “Okay,” Tim started, moving to stand behind you, “let’s start with a simple chord.” Reaching around your shoulders, Tim’s hands guided your fingers against the strings and neck of the bass. You could barely contain yourself when a rhythm started to flow from your fingertips.

“Brian,” you began, “look, I’m like you now.” You heard a rough laugh escape your friend’s throat. You couldn’t see him, as Tim’s warm body blocked your view.

“You wish.” Tim clicked his tongue and cocked his head to glance over at Brian.

“I dunno mate, she’s pretty good. If we teach her guitar she could replace you.” Brian scoffed softly, shaking his head with his loose curls bouncing about his face.

“Once you’re done with her I can teach her how to bang properly.” Roger’s voice cut through the feathery air of amusement with the less than humorous innuendo. Lifting your eyes, you held Roger’s gaze and let him see the red blush crawling up your neck. He grinned at your slightly offended expression which confused you further. You were angry at the surface of his words, but you couldn’t help but wonder how many other times he had used that line on how many other girls. You felt Tim’s arms drop as embarrassment bloomed in your stomach.

“Watch it mate,” Tim growled, and the sudden shift of his tone alarmed you.

“Hey, it’s alright,” you said, grabbing Tim’s arm. Roger’s eyes darted to your hand as you moved, the smile fading from his lips. Noticing his reaction, you let your hand fall and stepped between the two men. “Take the bass, save the passion for the songs.”

Hoping that Brian’s quote would calm them slightly, you held the bass out for Tim to take. When he did, you turned around, eyes glancing over Roger’s form. You paused when you saw his mouth open as if preparing another insult. Rising your brows at him, you waited.

“Ya know I wouldn’t try-”

“The damage is done, Roger,” you sniffled and made your way towards the sliding glass door you could see in the kitchen. It wasn’t locked so you easily escaped into the fresh air outside. Standing on Tim’s back porch, you looked up at the darkening sky.

When you were both younger, you and Brian would camp in your backyard and stargaze. You would both come up with the strangest names for planets with all new creatures that called those worlds home. You focused on one star in particular, trying to steady your breathing as you stared at it. In your haze, you barely even heard the sliding door opening and closing behind you.

“Give it a name yet?” Brian’s soothing voice reached your ears, prompting you to turn your eyes to him. He was already looking up at the star you had focused on, a fond smile playing on his lips. Turning back to the glimmer of light, you sighed deeply.

“I was thinking Airhead-Drummeria, but that might be too on the nose.” Brian let out a forced laughed before turning to glance at you with worry dripping from his features.

“Why is it Rog? What about him gets so under your skin?” You shrugged, eyes still glued on your newly titled planet. Brian sighed, shaking his head. “Is it the flirting? He does that to every girl, he’s not just picking on you. He’s a right prick to everyone.”

It seemed like Brian was expecting you to laugh at that, because he let the quiet go on for one too many moments longer than usual. He shifted, turning his whole body to face you despite your eyes still in the sky. Brian was right, Roger was a prick to everyone. He was disgusting to every girl he encountered; so why did that fact pain you so deeply? Was it because you weren’t a fan of the flirting or the idea of Roger flirting with people other than you? Or was it both? You let out a groan to reply to your own thoughts, your head falling in your hands.

“I don’t know,” you whimpered, “I just don’t know.” Brian nodded, tugging you to his side gently. He stayed silent, despite knowing that hiding your face in your hands was your signature tell; you were lying to him. Maybe even yourself.

“It’s alright, Y/N. You’ll tell me when you want to, when you do know. Just like I did with Smile. Take your time.” You nodded against his shoulder, lifting your eyes to the star once more.

“Maybe that’s the planet’s name.”

“What?”

“Smile.”

After taking a moment to collect yourself, you followed Brian inside. The atmosphere in Tim’s living room was thick, with the two men a few yards apart from each other. When he noticed your presence, Tim perked up and gave you a cheery smile. You returned it, then glanced over at Roger who, still behind his drum kit, had his eyes on his shoes. It was clear that they had talked about something when Brian left to fetch you; but whatever conclusion they came to eluded you.

“Alright, shall we actually start practice?” Brian asked, fastening his guitar back over his shoulder. Tim nodded and Roger straightened his posture. Your eyes held his for a moment before you moved to sit on the couch opposite to where the instruments were set up.

“Normal setlist?” Tim asked, to which Brian and Roger nodded. Soon the steady starting beats of ‘Doing All Right’ began and you swayed to the slow opening. It was just like how they played it the first time on that Friday night. Only this time, you could see their faces clearly with the lights in Tim’s lounge. More specifically, you were able to watch Roger’s arms tense and flex when the beat picked up in the song. Your eyes were glued to his biceps which, while thin, were well defined.

Absentmindedly, you felt yourself licking your lips; a force of habit picked up when you were studying something with intensity. You almost didn’t see Roger’s eyes reading your face like an open book, a smug smirk gracing his lips when he realized you were staring at him. Even with warmth spreading across your face, you couldn’t find it in you turn away. His blue eyes sent a wink your way and you did your best to stifle the smile that threatened to spread across your lips as the song continued on.

The rest of the band’s practice went on with only a few minor issues. They discussed new songs that they could add, a few Beatles covers were suggested by Brian and shot down by Roger. Their bickering was that of siblings and a welcomed noise between songs. As time went on, the music died out and Tim gave everyone so refreshments. Now slightly buzzed, the boys chatted openly.

“There’s a lot of competition on campus,” Tim said bitterly, “like Humpy Bong. They’re playing at real venues.”

“Oh fuck Dumpy Thong,” Roger sneered and you wondered if he purposefully messed up the band’s name. Either way, it made you laugh, a sound that the drummer didn’t miss. “They aren’t worth shit. We have something that they don’t, ya know?”

“You’re right,” you said, surprising yourself and everyone else in the room. Roger himself gawked at you with wide eyes. You blushed at his expression before shrugging. His gaze softened as he continued to look at you, his eyes scanning over your face as if he were trying to tell if you were lying. “You guys are great.”

“Cheers, love,” Tim said happily, tipping his beer bottle in your direction. You nodded your head and took a swig of your own beverage. “You’ll be coming to the next show right?”

“When is it again?” You questioned, turning to look at Brian.

“Friday night, again,” he sighed, “I know you have that test so I didn’t-”

“I’ll be there,” you said, patting Brian’s arm. Your friend gave you a grateful smile before playfully tousling your hair. You squealed lightly, trying your hardest to undo the damage his large hands had done. You heard Tim laughing at you and when you looked up you saw the smallest of smiles present on Roger’s perfectly pink lips. With slightly reddening cheeks, you reached for Brian’s empty bottle and took Tim’s from his. “We should get going.”

“Yeah,” Brian sighed, stretching slightly, “you’ve gotta study more, right?” You nodded as you walked into the kitchen. Searching around for the waste bin, you heard a set of footsteps trailing you. When you finally found the trash you tossed the empty bottles inside.

“Forgot one,” turning, you were face to face with Roger. His eyes, once wild when he was drumming, were heavy-lidded. In his hand he held a bottle and you couldn’t help but see how calloused his fingers looked. Your mind almost, almost, got lost in what they would feel like against your skin, but you cleared your throat to keep yourself grounded.

“Oh, sorry,” you said, reaching for the bottle. Your fingertips brushed against Roger’s and you felt a flood of warmth spread through your entire being. In the moment, you froze, trying to read his face to see if had felt that too. His eyes widened slightly, but you missed it as you pulled the bottle from this grasp and tossed in with the others. “And I’m sorry about Friday night.”

“What?” Roger cocked his head slightly, resting his hands on his hips.You nearly lost your train of thought when you saw how his teeth grazed his bottom lip in confusion.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you Friday night, when I went to find you. I mean, you deserved some of it, but I was a bit harsh.” Roger’s brows furrowed slightly and then shifted when he realized what you meant. He chuckled, rolling his eyes slightly before he spoke up.

“You think that’s why I’m so pissy? Because you called me out? Darling, don’t be so daft.”

“I’m trying to apologize,” you clarified and Roger nodded, smiling now.

“Well…” He trailed off instead of offering his own apology and you fought the urge to scream. You were trying to be nice, to mend fences, but he found being wrong impossible.

“Fine,” you pushed past him and made your way towards the door. You heard a panicked sound escape Roger’s throat but you kept going until you reached your coat that hung beside the door. Slipping it on over your shoulders with a huff, you walked outside and slammed the door behind you.

You waited in the passenger seat of Brian’s car, tapping your foot to the beat of Smile’s music that was still fresh in your mind. Arms crossed over your chest, your thoughts were clouded by Roger; his eyes, his words, and his lack of remorse. Why did you always fall for people like him?

Your breath caught the moment the questioning critique crossed your mind. You had fallen for Roger Taylor somehow, despite him being an absolute wanker. Swallowing thickly, you tried to act natural as Brian clambered into the driver seat. Once he was settled, he turned to you with a strained look on his face.

“So what happened now?”

“Just learned that I hate your friend,” you lied, burying your face in your hands again. Brian nodded, but remained silent for the ride back to your shared flat. Left alone with your thoughts, you wallowed in your feelings wondering how on Earth you found yourself infatuated with Roger.

Tagged:

@itsametaphorbriansblog @casafrass @stardvstial @sheridans-dynamos @apseventy @incorrcctqueen @haywood-ya-not @deacontaylormaymercury @crazysaladchopshop @orchideax @shutup-sorry @ixchel-9275

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writing-of-a-british-bitch · 5 years

Text

With You

Fandom: Queen/ Bohemian Rhapsody

Specified gender: Female

Pairing: Brian May X reader

TW: language

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.9K

A/N: This is shit oops.

Requests: OPEN

Wise men say only fools rush in

But I can't help falling in love with you

You never expected to find love. You wanted to, but you never saw it happening. It was one of the worst feelings imaginable but was only worsened when your cousin, Deacy, came to visit with his wife Veronica. They were just so... happy. And, as bad as it sounded, it made you feel sick. You were happy for them, god you were ecstatic but the thought that you'd never truly be happy haunted your mind.

But then came Brian.

You'd met him after a nasty breakup with your ex. Deacy had just picked you up from the airport when he got a phone call demanding he come straight to the studio. He had offered to drop you at home with Veronica and your niece and nephews, Robert, Laura and Michael, but you decided to join your brother at the studio.

You'd met two of his bandmates briefly at his wedding, but didn't really get to know them that much. Freddie had spoken to you quickly before getting shit-faced and Roger had run off with one of your cousins. So, seeing them at the studio was something else entirely.

"Sorry I'm late, guys. Was picking her up."Deacy stated as he walked into the studio, holding the door open for you. You were trailing close behind him shyly. Roger perked up from behind the drum kit upon seeing you, while Brian was too distracted tuning his guitar. Paul rolled his eyes, bringing his cigarette to his lips and Freddie continued to press some of the keys on the piano in a beautiful melody.

"I never expected to be saying this to you, John, but no groupies. The boys don't need any more distractions." Paul snapped, pulling the cigarette away from his mouth.

"That's his sister you fucking dimwit," Roger growled, standing up from his stool and strolling over, bringing you into a quick hug.

"Good to see you, (Y/N)," Roger added, his voice quickly transferring to one of a kinder tone.

"Nice to see you too, Rog."You mumbled with a small smile.

"Oh, (Y/N) darling! I didn't see you come in." Freddie declared, springing up from the piano and tugging you into a tight embrace.

"Surprised you remember me, Fred, considering that last time I saw you, you were shit-faced." You teased lightly, hugging the loud singer.

"Oh, hush, dear." He laughed before pressing a kiss to your cheek and waltzing back to the piano. Paul was glaring knives at your back as Freddie kissed your cheek.

"Oi, Bri, you gonna say hello or what? You were rude enough not to introduce yourself at Deacy's wedding." Rog called, distracting Brian from his guitar. Brian's eyes wandered to you and you felt yourself freeze. Brian couldn't drag his eyes away either. You were... gorgeous...Your eyes were shining brightly, despite the obvious jetlag lingering behind them. The growing smile on your lips made you look so innocent and child-like. He was awestruck.

"H-hello." You muttered, eyes locked on his.

"H-Hi." Brian choked out, a smile on his face as his eyes scanned your body.

"(Y/N), come over here! I need your opinion on this!"Deacy exclaimed from across the room. You shot Brian an apologetic look before dashing over to your brother. Brian watched your every move before a certain drummer took a seat next to him.

"Mate, you were proper ogling at her then!" Roger grinned in a hushed voice, Brian smacked his arm, shooting him a small glare.

"Fuck off." Brian huffed, his eyes falling back on you as you danced to the beat Deacy was playing.

Shall I stay? Would it be a sin If I can't help falling in love with you?

It had been about three months since you and Brian got together, about a year since you first properly met, and he'd been roped into helping you babysit your niece and nephews. He was very tense, considering that it'd been two days since his band had gotten into a huge dispute and broken up. You'd comforted him to the best of your ability but nothing seemed to help. You were shocked when Brian agreed to help take care of your family.

But yet here you were, your niece Laura curled into your side, your nephew Michael pressed into your other side as you cuddled Deacy's youngest, Joshua, to your chest. Robert was sprawled on Brian's lanky body, a sleepy smile on his fence. The children's eyes were glued to the tv and you watched the sleeping baby in your arms, gently running patterns on his skin with your finger. And Brian was fixated on you. He couldn't help but grin at the sight of you with three of Deacy's kids, your eyes holding so much love, he could practically feeling his heart burst. You glanced and caught Brian's eyes. You smiled, cheeks turning red and looked away shyly.

"It's, um, it's late. We should probably get these guys to bed. Can you take the boys to their room and I'll take Josh and Laura." You mumbled quickly, gently worming your way out of the two kids. Brian nodded silently, carefully placing Robert next to him on the couch, before standing up and picking Michael up, returning to the couch to pick up Robert. Laura had fallen to where you had been previously sitting, as you walked to the kitchen, placing the bottle of milk in the microwave, holding Joshua close to you, swaying lightly. Brian carried the boys upstairs, placing them in their beds, tucking the blankets to their chins.

"Thank you, Uncle Bri." Robert murmured quietly before drifting off. The curly-haired guitarist smiled slightly, before deciding to head back downstairs. Immediately after stepping foot into the kitchen, Brian felt his heart melt as you cradled Joshua to your chest, holding the back of his head lightly as he drank from the bottle. You looked up at your boyfriend and smiled bashfully.

"Hey." You whispered.

"Hi, love." He replied softly, leaning against the counter. Joshua took that as his cue to start screaming, breaking the peaceful silence. You sighed, placing the bottle back on the counter, shushing your nephew, bouncing him lightly. Brian watched in awe as you began quietening the boy, not quite sure how you did it. Soon, Joshua was fast asleep, face smushed against your shirt. You crept past Brian, carrying Joshua upstairs to his nursery. After about ten minutes, you returned downstairs, only to find Laura missing.

"I took her up, don't panic, love," Brian remarked from behind you. You spun on your heel to face your boyfriend before wandering over to him, being pulled into a warm hug.

"I'm so lucky to have you. I can't wait until we have kids." Brian confessed and you froze, grinning widely

"You imagine us with kids?" You questioned, resting your head under his neck.

"Of course I do. Just imagine a bright baby boy or girl with crazy curls and your beautiful eyes. They'll probably end up with their mother's mouth."Brian chuckled and you hit his chest.

"Fuck off." You giggled.

Like a river flows surely to the sea Darling, so it goes Some things are meant to be Take my hand, take my whole life too For I can't help falling in love with you

When your boyfriend told you he'd be performing at Live Aid, you couldn't quite believe it. Yet here you were, showing your pass to the security, holding your two-year-old, Richard, on your hip. It would be the first time you saw Roger and Freddie for a long time. Security led you through the backstage area to Queen's small trailer, knocking on the door. Brian opened the door.

"Hi, love. Hey, little man." Brian exclaimed, pulling Brian from your arms and spinning him around. Richard laughed boyishly and you climbed into the trailer, shutting the door behind you. Freddie was gawking at your family. He'd never known that you and Brian had a kid. Hell, he didn't even know you were married.

"Richard, c'mere buddy!" Deacy exclaimed, smiling at his nephew, who stumbled over clumsily. Roger had a gentle smile on his face as Deacy lifted Richard onto his lap, pressing a loud, overdramatic kiss on his cheek.

"Hi, (Y/N). How have you been, love?" Roger asked as you sat next to him.

"I've been amazing, thank you, Rog. It's good to see you, Freddie." You smiled over at Freddie who waved, his other hand entwined with a man with a mustache similar to Freddie's.

"It's lovely to see you too, darling. This is Jim, my...my friend." Freddie stated, leaning forward slightly.

"Do want a cig, (Y/N)?"Roger offered, presenting a cigarette.

"I, um, I can't at the moment, thank you, Roger." You answered and Roger nodded before it clicked and his eyes widened.

"You're joking!" He exclaimed, tugging you into a hug. You grinned nodding enthusiastically.

"Congratulations, darling!!" Freddie said, standing up quickly and enveloping you into a hug as soon as Roger let you go.

"May, I thought I told you to stay away from my sister!" Deacy joked but hugged Brian quickly. Everyone quickly fell into conversation as Richard took a nap before the concert. Freddie had moved to sit next to you.

"So... I didn't know you and Brian got married." Freddie started, awkwardly.

"We- We aren't married. We weren't planning kids but then came Richard and now this little babe in my stomach." You told him, with a small shrug, placing a hand on your stomach.

"Richard is gorgeous. You did well." Freddie chuckled and you laughed quietly. He was exactly what Brian guessed him to be. Nearly. He had (Y/H/C) curly locks and bright Hazel eyes, chubby cheeks, but he was incredibly tall for his age( courtesy of his father).

"Thank you. Wanna know his full name?" You asked gently.

"Why not?" Freddie shrugged his eyes shining, with joy rather than drugs for once.

"Richard Freddie May" You confessed and Freddie leant back, his hands covering his face. You heard him sniff and, as he pulled his hands away from his face, you saw tears in the corner of his eyes.

"You used my name? After all, I've done?" Freddie's voiced cracked but he couldn't pull the smile off his face.

"Sure, you've fucked up a little, but you've always been there for me in the few years I've known you. You and the boys are like a family to me." You said and Freddie pulled you into another hug.

"Isn't Roger jealous that his name isn't there?" Freddie joked you chuckled.

"I promised him that if we have a girl, we're calling her Meadow." You replied.

"(Y/N)? Could I talk to you outside for a second?" Brian enquired and you nodded, kissing Freddie's cheek before walking outside where your boyfriend was waiting.

"I was planning on doing this later, but if I don't do it now, I'll back out." Brian began. You didn't even realize the boys were watching for the window. Brian suddenly pulled a ring from his pocket and got on one knee. You gasped, covering your mouth, tears falling from the corner of your eyes.

"(Y/N), from the minute I set eyes on you, I knew you would be the one for me. But I never expected for you to fall for me the way I fell for you. You mean so much to me and I want nothing else than to spend the rest of my days with you and with our children. So, (Y/N), will you marry me?" He asked and you nodded, unable to choke any words out. Bri shot to his feet and slid the ring onto your finger, pulling you into a kiss.

"About time!" Roger yelled as he opened the door, a sleeping Richard against his chest. You and Brian both pulled away.

"Fuck off!" You both snapped and everyone broke into laughter.

Take my hand, take my whole life too For I can't help falling in love with you For I can't help falling in love with you

Tags: @writingfortoomanyfandoms @queens-n-roses@yourealegendfred @fierce-bab @dusthas-beenbitten@silvver-rose @benhardyjones @bensroger

(let me know if I’ve forgotten you or if you want to be added)

#queen #phoebe writes #roger taylor #brian may #freddie mercury #john deacon #ben hardy #joe mazzello #gwilym lee #rami malek #roger taylor x reader #brian may x reader #freddie mercury x reader #john deacon x reader #ben hardy x reader #gwilym lee x reader #joe mazzello x reader #rami malek x reader

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pkmntrainergreyze · 5 years

Text

You. Alone (Gerard Way Imagine)

Continuation of this imagine: https://urietarded-boyd.tumblr.com/post/163861624236/there-might-be-something-across-the-booth-gerard

Warning ⚠: This short story includes stalking and kidnapping. If you find those topics sensitive I highly suggest you skip this oneshot

The more he inched closer to peak into (Y/n)'s window, the more fogged up the glass became.

Gerard's glove-less hands trembled as the cold began forming icecaps in his nails. The poor clothing decisions sprang more evident when he realized the neighbors could see his black plastered form in a cherry rooftop, but right now, he couldn't care less.

The red haired boy's nostrils flared in her scent, he was diving through her silky (h/c) locks. Though truth be told, his delusions is far from the cold, damp reality.

Mindlessly, he began drawing the figure inside, gaze barely faltering on his muse. She has his mother's eyes.

Meanwhile, (Y/n) indulged herself in the snacks that scattered her bed. Netflix was turned on and filtered in the (genre) section. She lived in a world so unaware, a blessing for the man outside and a curse in her near future.

Who cares if Frank called dibs on her on seventh grade?

He wouldn't take care of her like he would.

He thought to scoot closer, to add details to the sketch's lashes. But as soon as he left a toe out a loud squeak echoed.

She blinked to his direction.

His dark chocolate pupils blew moon-sized. He scurried to flatten his back down to hide, breathing heavily. He hoped to God she hadn't seen a glimpse of him.

For a boy out in a -7° December night with nothing but his skeleton printed jacket and pajamas, he sure felt bubbly lukewarm inside at the thought of (Y/n) thinking about him, in the dead of the night— no, the objective is to NOT to be seen! Damn it Gerard!

With that, the windows bursted open, with a perplexed girl bobbing her head out. She seemed agitated while she looked outside.

Nothing.

"Geez" She pouted and shrugged the weight off her chest.

One cannot simply flop to their bed knowing the slightest chance of having a stalker outside. So she retreated back to her windows and sealed it shut, and draped the red curtains like how they end a show.

But it was far from over.

The stage was set, and the microphone had never looked so lonely in her life. Yet she couldn't seem to inch closer to accompany it. Her feet seem to stub if she tried to move closer.

Instead, she stepped back and sat to the farthest seat, scoffing and cursing at the obstacles preventing her access to the front row.

A brunette was beside her, crunching tacos. The scent was so spread out she could sniff the fresh vegetables without effort. She felt something light fell on her foot. Something very green. She was about to turn and scold whoever ruined the mood. Who would put so much lettuce on their tacos?!

Oh, hello Tyler Joseph.

He's the singer of twentyonepilots, and also one of Miss Flack's students. He's not the most favorite, but he couldn't be categorized as a teacher's pet either. He attend the same music class, and when he does he's silently taking notes in the corner. They talk sometimes, but for the most part her cousin Josh is around to start the conversation. Without the dandelion-coloured boy, the topic would solely be about music sheets, his parents at school, or his brothers.

Which happens once a month.

She shut her mouth tight. Tyler seemed obscure from her exasperation however, as he continued to chew rather loudly. She cleared her throat and he looked at her with a inquirer's nod.

She paused for a moment, eyes glued on the chipped food as she spoke "Aren't you supposed to cover Twist And Shout after Pierce The Veil?"

Tyler squeaked and jumped. A landslide of taco chunks fell to the ground. Some of condiments fell on (Y/n)'s shoes as well. The two gawked, it took quite a while before an explosion of apologies bursted from Tyler's mouth.

She inevitably facepalmed.

"Imsosorry!!!"

"It's fine Tyler" She forgave him once again "a little vegetable wouldn't hurt anyone"

She never mentioned an as I told you, she haven't noticed that she had it in her to be so patient.

He stared at his own unstained pair of shoes, avoiding eye contact.

(Wasn't the saying supposed to be water?)

"Are you here to watch Frank's band?" Once Tyler asked the question, a mental image of the guitarist jumping around resurfaced inside her head. She nodded, with a Cheshire grin.

"Hell yeah!–well, and yours too"

He nodded back and chewed his taco slowly, eyes roaming around the gymnasium.

"Also, where's Josh? I saw Miss Flack's trying to find him to set up the drum kit"

"Probably with Brendon" He rolled his eyes and snarled "having a good time"

At a split second, she saw Tyler's right eye twitch. This time he devoured his food rather harsher, and rather than his usual soothing voice she received quite a feral bark. She decided it's best not to push him further.

As the silence resumes, his dinner did the same. She boredly stared at the stage, both nervous and excited about her friend's performance as if it was her own. Both have mutual feelings about that microphone, yet one had it more repressed than the other.

They just sat, undisturbed.

Well, until Mark— Tyler's best friend— rushed over with an unlaced shoe flying out, nearly hitting (Y/n).

Like any other calm, a storm arises. Mark entered, his shoe flying out like a stray bullet. As she looked down she noticed the last of his blue shoes were unlaced. If he had been a little more careful then the chances of her landing on Dream world would be very thin. He stood there, unapologetic, agitated.

"Josh has been gone for 13 minutes Tyler!" He yelled, forcefully grabbing Tyler's shoulder and shaking it, making it seem like a seizure than a wake-up call. Tyler can be heard muttering questions, too bad Mark's roars outnumbered his "Where the heck is he?!"

In the midst of a misunderstanding and choking noises, the faintest sound of bells and chimes resonated from your pocket. Her cellphone kept vibrating, screaming for her to take it. When she did fished it out, Mark managed to stop himself from committing a murder.

She pointed to her phone, then the backdoor. Mark sheepishly told her to continue after nodding in understanding. Tyler took it as an opportunity to strip himself a breath. (Y/n) walked out of the door, leaning her back

Maybe she should have helped Tyler regain his breathing, get to know Mark better, and stayed safe in general.

She tapped twice and saw the caller's ID. The string of numbers did not belong to he contacts, nor her history of blocked spam numbers. She furrowed her eyebrows in irritation. Great, another one of those you won a hundred thousand dollars, just give us your address, credit card and other bullshit!

As she tapped the green phone icon, she schemed a way to deal with the... transaction.

Once she slid her fingers to answer the phone, there was no turning back.

"Hello?" She tried to hide her groan, she really did to play safe in case it was her mom, but the guttering sound reached her throat.

"Good evening (Y/n)!" The voice chirped. Gerard? Hmm, when did she gave him her number. Well, he is Frank's friend after all. Doesn't change the fact it feels strange to hear his voice on the phone...

"Um, is this Gerard?" She chuckled and the voice didn't return the happy echoes.

"I have Josh with me"

The voice dropped dead. And there it was again, the feeling of being watched. Her laughter came to a stop. Her paranoia was toggled on. She gasped slightly.

"If you want to get him, go to the boiler room"

You furrowed your eyebrows. Can't Tyler do that instead? He is the one that should be looking for him in the first place.

"I'll call Ty—"

"No"

(Y/n) turned perplexed. She mimicked his word without breath.

"I want you"

"You. Alone"

Click.

The call was over.

Her breath hitched and body rigid. She clinged to her phone, uneasy. Hell, kind of conversation was that? It sounded psychotic, but she has no evidence to make it valid. It's just small talk. Small talk that made her feel uncomfortable. Strange, it's not like the quiet young raven haired artist gave a death threat.

But it doesn't seem harmless either.

She sighed, shaking. Where was the boiler room again? Beside the janitor's closet? No, that's class 304.

She shook her head. It's probably under the gym.

Her footsteps echoed throughout the hall. It was noiseless. As she furthered down the boiler, sweat balled down her forehead. She isn't even feeling the heat just yet, making her sweat cold, fear induced.

It's just Gerard. He's harmless.

Right?

Dang it. The hell is Josh doing on the boiler room with Gerard anyways? Why does she have to fetch him? He's a grown man with two feet.

Fuck, did he sprain an ankle again—

Boiler Room.

The words were carved in metal, or painted wood. She stood in front of it, reluctantly opening the door.

There stood a sable haired boy, wearing a red bandana and a lustrous leather jacket. It was just him.

Gerard alone.

"Where's Josh?" She held the doorknob firmly. One foot in the boiler room and one foot out the door. Gerard stared at her eyes, too long for her taste. When she was about to snap him he broke out of the trance himself. He fumbled to reach a tablet behind him and passed it to her.

Her heart dropped to the floor along with her jaw.

A man she hoped wasn't her cousin was tied down. She was all too familiar to figure out it was one of the school's student chairs. If it was possible to gawk even further she would have a heart attack after seeing Josh's figure tattered in bruises and knife deep cuts. He was stained in brown, dried blood from oxidation.

If Tyler was here, he would say he'd rather have Josh ignore him for a week than see him like this.

"W-was it you?!" She looked at Gerard, eyes wide and awoken by the bitterest truth of what was in front of her. A monster.

Gerard gazed back, stoic. She could feel the remorse-less Gerard felt without fitting his shoes— and she was utterly digusted. She want to vomit at his leather jacket, or alternatively, lunge forward and choke him for this sick prank.

Yet the opposite can be said for him. The ugly emotions that broke her made her the most beautiful woman to walk on earth. Oh, he was having a good time.

"Y-You..." Both words and emotions piled up in her throat, asking permission to slip out. When she did, the invisible hand that choked her finally left her be "Y-You psychopath!"

"Well I'd consider you a fool if you didn't notice" Gerard scoffed, amused.

(Y/n)'s nose scrunched at this, unable to comprehend how the man before her made it sound like antisocial personality disorder is okay.

Gerard folded his arms and raised his chin, snickering faintly.

(Y/n) looked back at the tablet, hands shaking "Josh, is that you?"

Josh moved, mumbling words similar to white noise. "(Y/n)?"

She froze in disbelief.

"You're a smart girl, you know what I'm about to say next"

There are multiple possibilities, and the obvious one is the one who desperately cleave to be wrong. She shook her head, groaning on the mental pain he had caused her.

But what else does her stalker want from her?

He stared at her, with patient eyes that dared to command her to say something.

Out of both fear and naivety, she did.

"You... want me to date you" She sobbed "for Josh to be free?"

Gerard sighed, staring at the ground. This time, instead of her own impulse, she felt his disappointment.

But why? What's with the sudden shift in the atmosphere?

"You flatter yourself too much"

What?

He chuckled "Ahh, just kidding. Yes. That's correct"

With that, the shift came to be consumed by the side she wished hadn't won.

Despair.

This 'man' just played with her emotions like strings in a puppet.

She can't remove her eyes on the tablet. It was the exact opposite of love at first sight— the deranged brother of it.

It's twisted. Too catatonic and too callous.

"Soooo..." He drags in, making (Y/n) jump. He bobbed his head in her shoulder and peaks in to see the light in those (e/c) eyes drain "what's it gonna be?"

Neither.

Josh has been with her since thick and thin. The man whom she wished was her brother instead of a cousin that visits her every weekend will die.

The boy that knows her darkest secrets.

"I'm..."

The brother who continues to support her.

"I'm yours"

The man that tried to get rid of Gerard Arthur Way last night.

Gerard grinned, so wide he might as well cut off his cheeks. He rushed towards her, pulling her tighter. He finally breathed into her scent. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

Is the same man she saved with her decision.

He can finally make up for the time his family did not appreciate him. All the support he didn't got. All the jealousy he built up after hearing his mother shower his brother with compliments.

His dream just became a reality.

But it costed (Y/n)'s sanity.

This isn't what her parents have taught her about love. This isn't her mom's bed time stories or the Disney princess collection CDs her dad brought home. Love is mature. It's about trust and the feeling of security and lasts for what her classmates do not believe in; forever.

And most especially, it's not a choice.

She can't just go and say from the bottom of your heart that she'll love this monstrosity for the rest of her life.

That is ill

But if going out with a man like him is what people think makes up the definition of love.

Then they don't believe in love.

#gerard way x reader #gerard way imagines #gerard way imagine #my chemical romance #imagines #x readers #tyler joseph #josh dun #frank iero

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