#mick jagger fluff

[cannibalcoyote]

Rockstar: Your Story(Interview)

You're a famous rock star being interviewed about the beginning of your career to the current (includes mentions of Mick Ronson, David Bowie, and Mick Jagger):

"Ma'am, can you tell us a little bit about when you first met David Bowie?" The question was so sudden that I could only scrunch my eyebrows at it. I expected David to be brought up sometime, but I didn't expect the first question to be about him.

"Sure, let's see.... I can't remember the exact date, but my dear friend - Mick Ronson - had called me up saying some band was interested in having us as guitar players. I was hesitant because I enjoyed my job as an architect, but something pushed me to go with him; we hopped on the next train to London and did the audition." I explain, tilting my head up at the memories resurfacing. Ronno had been unsure as well, but I'm glad we went.

"We heard it wasn't a pleasant experience? What happened?" They emphasize 'wasn't', clearly looking for some juicy gossip on Bowie, and who am I to disappoint.

"Well, David had accepted Mick but rejected me, and Ronno originally turned down the offer because of that. He didn't even tell me the truth, just grabbed me by the arm and lugged me as well as the guitars out of the building. I knew it hadn't gone well because he had this angry glare in his eyes, which is strange, because if you've ever met him, then you'd know he's rather sweet, and has a very discerning disposition.

I asked what was wrong and he just said that they didn't want us. I knew he was lying, but I didn't want to argue with him. We spent the rest of the time wandering around London sightseeing." I state, folding my hands up in my lap as I look at the interviewer. I don't like looking back to the '70s, a lot of stuff happened, and I fear what they will bring up.

"What happened after that?" The interviewer continues hastily digging, wanting more information. I guess this person isn't going to quit until they get the full story.

"We had stopped by a restaurant and were having lunch. Ronno was saying we should catch the train home after, but we were interrupted by David. I don't know how he found us, I just remember being shocked when he started begging Ronno to join his band. I was also a little confused, and I remember saying, 'I thought you didn't want us?'

To which David responded, 'No, I want him, I just don't want you.' That line had run through my head the following 3 years until I realized how lucky I was David didn't want me." I say the last few sentences in a softer voice, not liking to relive that particular memory.

"He said what?!" The interviewer over exaggerates their movements, getting the audience laughing just as they had hoped. I laugh a little too, David saying something so rude does seem rather uncharacteristic.

"Yah, I was rather astonished as well because the words left him in such a casual way, as if choosing what bread to buy at the market." I say, gently chuckling at the visual of David buying bread in such a critical way.

"What- How, how did Mick react to that." Their eyes widen, the crowd quiets down as they await my answer.

"Oh, he almost punched David! But I grabbed him and pulled him aside, asking why he lied and all that stuff." I respond, remembering the beautiful anger that he so desperately wanted to act on.

"I bet the last thing you wanted was for him to join David's band, right?" The interviewer asks the question humorously.

"That's... Wrong actually. He was vehemently against playing in a band without me, this is mainly due to the fact that ever since we were 12, we've always played together. But, I wanted him to take the opportunity, to show the world his ability, and to be able to be a confident player without me." I explain in a gentle voice, vaguely thinking of how self-conscious he was at the time when it came to him playing guitar.

"You seem to be a really supportive friend, (Y/N)." The tone of their voice turns genuine, the whole conversation losing the humorous quality that had been sustained.

"I try to be, the last thing I want is for people's failings or regrets to be because of me." I smile, my relieved guilt ebbing away as I think of where he and I are now.

"As well as being supportive, you also seem to be fairly protective, at least, that's what I got when Mick told us the story of you traumatizing his high school bully! With that in mind, how did you feel when you learned he was earning next to nothing during the tour?" The beginning of the sentence sent the interviewer and audience into a bit of a laugh, I laugh as well at the memory of scaring off Ronno's bully.

The laughter lightly quiets down to a more serious tone at the end discussion.

"I was appalled! I hated myself for a while because of that, because I pushed him into this situation where he was barely getting paid. Which was the opposite of what I thought would happen, especially after their popularity went through the roof!"I exclaimed, my eyes widening as I relived the shock; the ebbing guilt rushing forward tenfold.

"I heard you went to some extreme measures in order to help him out, what exactly did you do?" The interviewer goes on, the questions digging into lesser known information.

"Well, I joined any band I could, I would try and get hired by restaurants for live music during nights, and then during the day I had a job as a waitress as well as working part time as a lyricist." I explain, just saying that makes me remember how tiring my schedule was back then.

"Now that's a lot to juggle, and I'm sure you have some great stories from those days, but we have a specific story. What happened during one of your many tiring nights of live music?" They ask, this question is sort of a bore to me, one I'm frequently asked to retell.

"I had been band hopping at the time, and was hired for a gig when I didn't have a supportive group, so I improvised. I played my guitar and was singing live, but before that I had recorded the drums and rhythm guitar parts for the songs I was scheduled to play, so when I got up there I just started the recording and played along.

This was for a club where they wanted rock, so it was heavier playing. It was during my guitar solo I noticed someone in the crowd." I divulged, deciding to add in some information I had never shared before.

"Ooh, is this when you met the Rolling Stones?!" Someone screams out, the crowd and interviewer looking in shock before they all burst out laughing at the person's eagerness.

"Yes... but I technically only met Mick Jagger that night. I wasn't a big fan of the Rolling Stones at the time, but I did have an appreciation for their music. I was actually playing one of their songs at the time. Either way, it just surprised me to see him." I continued after we had all calmed down.

"I know you joined their band after that, but can you tell us what exactly went down?" I squint slightly at my interviewer's vernacular before deciding to just answer them.

"I don't think I can tell you all the details, I worry J might get embarrassed! But, I can tell you that he met me backstage after I was done and asked me if I was available tomorrow to meet him at a recording studio. It was the weekend the next day, so I said yes, he wrote down the address and time on a piece of paper, handed it to me, then said goodbye and walked away." I state in a jovial tone, Jagger is one of my favorite people to talk about, because he loves to call immediately after the interview and schedule a meet up. He's strange like that.

"Sounds strange? How did you feel after that?" They looked intrigued, clearly wanting me to divulge the information that I withheld.

"I was shocked. The next day I went and met him and his band mates, then they started playing a song together and asked me to improv. I had never heard the song before, so I just started watching their movements and playing off of that; by the end they asked if I was interested in joining their band, which I clearly said yes to." I exclaim, the interviewer's face looking shocked by what I just said.

"Wow, that all sounds like it went really fast?"

"Oh it was, we had only been playing for 20 minutes when they all stopped and asked me to join. I was going to say no because I needed to make enough money to send to Ronno, but when they mentioned how much I would make weekly I immediately accepted." I reply, chuckling as I remember my astonishment.

"I know after joining the Stones, your career skyrocketed, your solo albums have done well, and you write all your own songs?" They continue, motioning to my newest album sitting on their desk.

"Yes, my solo albums have done surprisingly well, and I write my own songs. I do accept and sing other songs sometimes, but I usually have a story told throughout my albums, and throwing in a random song messes that up." I explained.

"Did you and Mick Ronson keep in contact during this?" They question, looking at me in interest.

"Of course! In the beginning, Ronno and I called every week at the least, and we would send letters sometimes too!" I state ecstatically before calming myself down.

"How did that work? He was touring at the time right?" They ask in a befuddled way.

"Yes he was, but he would tell me the places he would be as well as the dates that he would be there, and I would do the same with him. It was a little complicated, but it was worth it." I reply, my hands waving as I mimic us writing letters.

"Honestly though, what would you send him that couldn't be said over the phone?" They ask after a few moments, laughing as their mind runs.

"Photos, drawings, songs, food-"

"Photos?" I can hear what they're implying, and I can't help but squint my face in disgust. The crowd's laughter magnified at my reaction.

"Stop thinking like that, you all have dirty minds! I would take pictures of me and the band, as well as the places around me. I loved drawing as well, so I would send him some, as well as some songs that I thought he would enjoy playing. Lastly, I knew he was getting food, but I knew it wasn't food he was used to, so I would bake him something, or buy him local snacks and ship them off to the correct address." I explain, describing the different things I would send him.

"Did he ask you to do any of this?"

"No, Ronno was never a complainer, he hated telling people his issues. I was usually the exception, but he prefers telling me in person as compared to over the phone or in a letter. He did enjoy them though, and he would send me songs and pictures as well. I remember him snapping a picture of his drummer scarfing down some cookies I made!" I jubilantly state, smirking as I remember that the picture is still hanging on my fridge.

"You sent him all these lovely things, what did he send you?"

"I never asked for anything more than a letter or a phone call, but he would send me these extravagant songs, asking me how I thought they sounded and if I liked them. He would also send me drawings - he's not really an artist, but he knows I love the little doodles he does randomly, so he started sending them to me." I grin, knowing Ronni will be embarrassed by me sharing this information.

"Was this an easier time in your life or would you consider it one of the more stressful?" Ah, here it comes, the questions I am most dreading.

"The fame and fortune made my financial issues about none, but socially I felt isolated. I had played in popular bands before, but never like this, I was only consistently around my band mates and the people that worked for them. I only really talked with Jagger and Keith, and then Keith randomly started hating me, so I was down to only talking to Jagger." I reply almost subconsciously, my mind wanting to distance itself from these memories.

"What about Ronson? I thought you said you had weekly phone calls and sent letters?" They ask in confusion.

"We did, but about 3 months into that, David started complaining to Ronno that he spent too much time talking to me, and that he was ignoring his band mates for someone he might never see again." The answer in a short tone, clearly still holding resentment for David's decision.

"David said that?" They say in shock.

"Yah, he said it straight to Ronno's face. We obviously didn't stop talking, we kept calling and messaging each other, but it lessened after that to about 1 call every 2 weeks. They became much longer phone calls though, he said that David was limiting his amount of calls, but stated that David couldn't limit his time, so we would end up talking through the entire night!" I smile on glee, our weak form of rebellion still makes my heart warm.

"We've talked about Ronson and his band mates reactions, but how did your bandmates react?" They continue, going down a different avenue.

"Well, everyone basically made fun of me and said we were in love. They told me to stop being so desperate because I was probably annoying Ronno, that remark actually made me start to overthink a lot. I started worrying that I was annoying him, and that he didn't like talking to me anymore. I think that's around the time I began to develop anxiety, I was already depressed, so that just added on to my plate." I responded before realizing I was over sharing on live TV.

"Did you tell Ronson about that? How did he react?" They gratefully kept moving right along, not leaving an awkward silence.

"Well, I never actually told him about that, I think this is the first time he's hearing this." I smile in discomfort, and an uncertain smile on my face.

"Really? You never spoke to him about any of this?" They ask in surprise, slightly taken aback.

"My anxiety had me thinking that saying a single word to him was annoying him, so no, I didn't just start talking about this to him. It was a really dark spot for me, the person to pull me through was Jagger actually. He noticed my extensive isolation, how I stopped eating around others, how I stopped talking. He really pulled through for me, which is probably why I'm still friends with him." I voice solemnly, deciding that I might as well be honest about the situation since there is no going back now.

"I know this is a heavy topic for you, I have some more questions, but if you're uncomfortable we can move on." Wish you had said that earlier, but oh well.

"Ask away, we can just skip the ones I'm uncomfortable with." I smile in response.

"Alright, what did Mick do? Did he just pull you aside and talk to you?"

"No actually, he wrote a song and asked if I would listen to it." I responded.

"What?" Perhaps I should rephrase my vague response.

"That's honestly what he did. But he wrote a song with true meaning, it was rather dark, and it actually made me cry and begin to hyperventilate. We were alone, so he just rushed over and helped calm me down; he didn't ask me any questions until I had completely relaxed." I explained honestly.

"What did he say exactly?" They continue.

"He just apologized, asking if I wanted to talk. I said no at first, but then he asked why I've been distancing myself from him and the band, why all the songs I was writing were either dark or sad.

I told him the truth, that I was depressed, that I felt so intensely alone, and that I could no longer talk to Ronno because I was probably annoying him." An uncomfortable shiver ran up my spine, reliving those memories makes me feel nauseous.

"How did he react to that? I can't really picture him being the best at giving advice and comfort." She smiles in a joking way, attempting to lighten the conversation.

"He was lovely, he hugged me like a giant teddy bear and told me that he would help me through this. We talked for a while, he asked me why I thought I was annoying Ronno, and I told him what the band had said to me." I answer, feeling a small smile appear at the memory of Mick comforting me.

"What did he say to that?"

"He told me that they were a bunch of single idiots who were jealous, and that I shouldn't ruin a meaningful relationship with my best friend by believing the words of immature drug addicts." I respond, barely withholding my laughter as I watch everyone's reaction.

"He said that?!" They nearly yell, everyone laughing at my answer.

"Yes, and the next day he told them all off for belittling me. During our talk he spoke to me about my isolation, I explained that I did that when I was sad or feeling out of place, and he asked what he could do to make me feel like a part of the team. He honestly made me cry a couple of times from how caring he was. Then he started talking about heavier subjects, such as why I wasn't eating during lunch breaks, why I never accepted snacks, and why I was noticeably losing weight." I state, realizing that I was now broaching the subject of my eating disorder.

"That must've been tough." They state seriously.

"It was, I realized at that moment, how much I missed Ronno. I asked Jagger if he wanted me to leave the band since I was such a problem, but he told me to stop being an idiot. The next day I was given a few sheepish apologies from my band mates, and Jagger became a very prominent person in my life from that day on." I explained.

"That's good. So Mick Jagger stepping up to help you must've put him pretty high on your list of friends right?"

"Yes, I only realized how much he was doing for me when he barged into my room during a depressive episode and all but shoved the phone into my hand. I distinctly remember him telling me not to come out until tomorrow morning. When I held the phone up, he had actually dialed up Ronno, who sounded very tired and confused, as well as concerned." I smile, these are the memories that I hold onto dearly.

"Really? How did he know what number to call?"

"I assume he went snooping around my desk, in one of my drawers was a paper with dates, addresses, and numbers. It was one of the sweetest things anybody had ever done for me." The look on my face was genuine, that was honestly one of the sweetest things anyone has done for me.

"I know you two are still good friends, but was there ever the possibility of anything more?" Oh boy, I hate it when they try to talk about this subject.

"I did find him to be attractive if that's what you're asking, but I was never in love with him. He did ask me out on a date and I had said yes, the date was lovely, but we got caught in a crowd of fans and he was like how he normally is. It made me remember how many groupies I'd seen leaving his room, and how many women I've seen smothered over him at all times, and it scared me away from ever allowing myself to love him." I reply sincerely.

"Could there have been something? If you hadn't cut it off?" They continue to push the topic.

"There could've been something eventually - from the despondent look on his face when I said I didn't want a relationship, I think he wanted us to become something more. I don't regret what I did, I like the friendship I have with him, the last thing I wanted to do was ruin it with his promiscuity and my need for loyalty. We've moved on though, I kind of see him as the older brother I never had." I reply, explaining my reasoning and the aftermath.

"Well, since that ship has definitely sunk, what about Ronson? Was there ever anything there?" They just won't give up will they?

"No... Well, there was one time in high school when we thought we should try dating, but that was spurred on by our teenage inability to understand that we loved each other, but not in that way. We realized that that wasn't us when we tried to act like a couple and both noticed that it felt forced. Ever since then we've been best friends." I state.

"Gosh, you're shooting down all of the fan favorites. Are you interested in anyone? Anyone at all?" They sound slightly exasperated, maybe I should throw them a bone.

"Hmmm... Maybe." I smile, a mischievous glint surely in my eye.

"What do you mean maybe? You can't leave the fans hanging like that!" I can tell that I have their genuine attention now.

"Well, ever since David and I have become friends, I've been... slightly interested in him." I say, jumping straight into the deep end.

"..." The silence could almost be described as palpable, it almost makes me want to laugh at how everyone is stunned into silence.

"Well, don't just stare at me." I laugh lightly.

"... I'm sorry, just processing. Does David know this?" They ask in hurried confusion.

"Well, if he's watching like he said he would, then he knows now." I laughed once again, but this time it had an air of uncertainty to it.

"Don't tell me you just confessed over live TV, in an interview no less!" They say in shock, looking at me with wide eyes.

"What can I say! If he likes me back then this has worked out great." I respond, grinning at their reaction.

"What if he doesn't!" Their response makes me shiver in discomfort at that possibility, but I respond in humor.

"Then I die of embarrassment, cut all ties, and become a hermit!" I state loudly.

"Oh don't do that Y/N! Only healthy reactions are allowed on this show." The crowd laughs lightly at our convo.

I'm about to respond, but my Motorola starts ringing in my bag. I look to the interviewer before quickly digging through my bag and pulling out the phone. I sheepishly glance at it, the audience having fallen silent at the interruption.

"Is it alright if I answer this? It might be important." I state, I know this sounds bad, but it could actually be important since I left my home and animals under the care of my neighbor.

"Of course, but you owe us one more question before you leave then." They respond, holding out their hand.

"Deal!" I agree, shaking their hand quickly.

"Hello, this is Y/N." I state in a professional tone, getting a funny look from the interviewer at my seriousness.

"Y/N darling!" I am thrown off by the happy and familiar tone.

"...David?!" I state in slight confusion, everyone seeming to lean in closer.

"...Yes?" He responds in the same tone, making fun of the way I responded.

"Why are you calling me? I'm in an interview." I explain, swiftly going back to my professional tone.

"Yes well, when someone confesses they are interested in dating you, I thought the first thing one should do is accept." He responds in a joking yet serious tone.

I'm silent for a few moments in surprise, did David just say he wants to date me too?

"Well, don't leave me without a response darling... Will you go on a date with me." His serious and self assured tone dwindled slightly, I can hear his uncertainty.

"Yes." My response was short, it was rushed and all I could muster with my amount of shock.

"Good, I'll pick you up after the interview, so I'll see you in a few minutes." He stated before hanging up.

I can't contain the overjoyed smile that spreads across my face, most certainly accompanied by a warm blush. The audience snickers as I clumsily put my phone away, then they start laughing as the interviewer stares at me with a smug grin.

"Who was that?" They ask tauntingly.

"Ohhh... no one." I try to brush it off, but I know no one is believing.

"Really! Does this no one happen to be named David Bowie?" They continue.

I avert my eyes in embarrassment, the audience laughing even louder as I sheepishly nod my head.

#david bowie fanfic #david bowie #david bowie x reader #david bowie imagine #david bowie fluff #david bowie one shot #mick jagger #the rolling stones #mick ronson #ziggy stardust #bowie #glam rock #x reader #david bowie fanart #x you fluff #x you #mick jagger fluff #depression #mental instability #mental illness #celebrity reader #famous reader #female insert #mick jagger x reader #mick ronson x reader #mick ronson fluff #bullying

[bluesrocknrollinstones]

Mick with Alan Fluff

#the rolling stones #mick jagger #60s #60s rock #rockband #blues rock #alan fluff

[waugh-bao]

@agentidiot Here you go:

Я надеюсь, что сказка не плохая.

#this is basically ‘500 year old emo vampire Charlie makes friends’ #(mostly with Keith) #and then makes garlic bread #also lots of angsty shit about being a monster and not deserving love #but the fluff is what’s important #old married band #charlie watts #young married band #the rolling stones #middle aged married band #keith richards #ronnie wood #mick jagger #my stuff #fanfic #fanfiction #i thought about writing this in Russian #because it would be good practice #and then decided I don’t hate myself quite that much

[kscheibles]

e la vita ch. 2

~ ch. 1 here ~

content warnings: f! reader, fluff, smut, semi-public sex, oral sex (m receiving), smoking, religious trauma, bisexuality

word count: 7.1 k

When I meet Matty the following Thursday, it’s in the city center. Feeling nervous and awfully out of place, I cover my eyes with my hand as a kind of mock-visor and search briefly for his familiar face in the square that’s packed with older gentlemen gossiping and families blowing bubbles each bigger than the last. I take a seat on a bench near the middle of the piazza when I don’t see him, hoping I’ll be somewhere he can spot but not as awkward-looking as I might be if I stood still watching the scene like some sick, American voyeur.

Matty walks up with the gait of a bad Mick Jagger impersonator. I can see now that he’s all limbs though not in a bad way; in a way that exaggerates his movements and announces his presence to the world around him. He seems comfortable with the reality that people will look at him. I suppose it makes sense, given his choice of career, but it still mesmerizes me.

I watch him as he walks towards me. He’s wearing a fitted t-shirt that exposes his arms to me for the first time. They’re golden and covered with a variety of tattoos in different styles; from his biceps all the way down to his wrists. Eventually, he notices me looking and his face breaks out into a smile. He nods up to the cathedral to my left as he approaches me, giving me a quick, fraternal hug.

“How do you like it, then?” he asks, eyes trained on the holy building.

“Matty, that’s a church,” I state plainly, “I spent my childhood in places like that, and I’m pretty sure I’ve learned that God doesn’t like girls like me.”

“If God exists, I promise you’re one of his favourites,” he laughs as he says it, as if it’s not one of the kindest things anyone has ever said to me in my life.

“What do you know about God?” I ask.

“Oh nothing, really,” he concedes, “Just that he’s the most vicious, generous bastard in the world.”

I eye him as he says the words. I suppose that must be true for him. I resent the idea that our accomplishments and qualms are all consequences of our virtuous or sinful behaviors. It’s asinine. But if God is real, he’s certainly blessed Matty – with beauty, intelligence, love, money. 

If God is real, he’s cursed me to be something immutably unlovable. Damned to rot from the inside out for the rest of my life. I don’t believe what Matty says, even for a second. There’s no way I’m one of God’s favorites. 

Matty waves his hand in front of my face, snapping me from my thoughts.

“We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to. I didn’t consider that you might have…religious trauma or something,” he assures me.

“It’s okay, I’m fine,” I say, though truthfully I’m less sure than I say. I wonder if entering the cold, marble palace will transport me back to my youth; to standing primly in church as a child, scared to make a wrong move. Scared to think a sinful thought. Considering each older woman around me, their beautiful hair covered by cotton squares in a performance of modesty. I envied them, how easy they made it look to live by the rules. How little they seemed to struggle with keeping their mouths shut and their shoulders covered and denying themselves the indulgence of imagining another woman’s warm, sweet lips on their own.

Matty seems to clock my hesitance. He takes my hand and leads me in and I was so wrong. 

It’s not cold inside, it’s breathtaking in a way that makes me feel welcome. On the outside of the central atrium are alcoves, each decorated more elaborately than the last. My senses are overwhelmed by the smell of incense, the sounds of hypnotic Latin chanting, the sight of refracting, colorful light. It feels Heavenly. I suppose it’s meant to. 

Matty draws me towards one of the scenes that’s painted on the perimeter of the nave. It depicts a woman washing Jesus’ feet. Her head is bowed in submission, focused completely on the task at hand. In her hands is her long, black hair, which she uses to wipe at the top of Jesus’ feet. The chiaroscuro of the scene illuminates the action; everything else is noise. All that exists is her devotion.

“She was a sinful woman,” I say, “A prostitute, I think.” Matty raises his eyebrows in consideration.

“Was it like a punishment or something? Making her wash his feet?”

“No,” I breathe, “She did it to show him that she knew who he was. Knew he was worthy of being revered.”

“So her taking care of him was a sign that she understood him? Or what? Loved him?” 

I shrug. “Isn’t that what we all do for the people we love? If we’re loving them right?”

“I suppose so,” Matty turns his head to look at me. He must see something on my face – a flicker of an emotion or a thought – that he recognizes because he adds, “But it’s no one’s fault if they haven’t been loved right. It doesn’t make you unloveable. It makes the other person a bad lover.”

“Well I suppose we can’t all be as easy to love as Jesus, can we?” I sigh, moving away from him, towards the center of the church.

I sit in one of the pews towards the back. In front of me are tourists and locals; people of all backgrounds, colors, and ages approaching the altar. Some of them have brought candles, hold rosaries. They appeal to God, beseeching his benevolent will. I empathize with them, even though I have serious reservations about the efficacy of their methodology. It’s beautiful how much they care about their fellow man.

When you see a woman wearing sheer tights, gray hairs combed perfectly into an updo, and kneeling on the cold tile floor with her hands pressed together, twins conjoined in supplication, you know that her motive cannot possibly be her own wellbeing. As selfish as we humans can be, it would be blasphemous to come to God’s house and light a prayer candle for yourself.

Matty sits down next to me, close enough that our legs are touching: his corduroy pants to my bare legs, pebbled by the cold air. I remember sitting in church with my crush as a girl, feeling wretched for wanting to inch closer to her. When I finally let our legs touch through layers of wool fabric, the excitement of touching faded instantly, giving way to the all-encompassing shame of the sin I’d committed. I reject the shame now, gently pushing my thigh further into Matty’s to prove to myself that it’s something I’m allowed to do, even in church. I’m allowed to touch him. I’m allowed to look at him and be distracted by his handsomeness. I’m allowed to think about his lips, plump, rosy, and left open wantingly. I’m allowed to think about his hips, how easily they swayed to the music the night I saw him in the club, and how deeply the rhythm seemed to be embedded in him. I’m allowed to think about his sculptural arms and nimble, calloused fingers. I’m even allowed to lust after him, to daydream about how good he could make me feel, if he wanted to. If I wanted him to.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, breaking my train of thought. 

“I don’t know,” I shrug, trying desperately not to feel caught, “You?”

“Thinkin’ about the people who made this place. All of the gold light fixtures they had to weld. I mean fuckin’ hell look at this,” he points to a sconce on the wall. It’s carved in the shape of winding vines and inlaid on the front are mother of pearl accents positioned in the shape of a cross. “They did it with much more primitive technologies than we have as well.” I nod along. 

“The devotion,” I muse. 

“What’s that?”

“Think about the devotion they must have had to God in order to create such a beautiful thing for Him. It would show if the constructors didn’t believe. They would have phoned it in; cut corners on the carvings in the pews and the intricate architecture of the dome,” I tilt my head to get a better view of the dome in question. Inside of it, windows filter perfect yellow light into the building and angelic sculptures stand guard over the heavens. 

Matty throws his head back completely, looking up towards the sky like there’s something up there that will save him or give him a more profound understanding of the place where his feet dwell. It’s misguided; I’ve spent enough time looking up to know that. There’s nothing good God can teach us that we can’t learn on our own. It’s nice to imagine sometimes, though: that if you look a little harder or listen to the silence on your knees for a minute longer, all of a sudden the answer to your problems will be revealed. 

With his head towards the sky, Matty’s neck is open and vulnerable to me. A strong vein is prominent on the right side of it and his Adam’s apple protrudes, a silhouette that’s so thrillingly masculine. It feels intimate that he would let me see him like this: all awed and curious and unguarded, like a dog that’s rolled over to offer me his belly. I’m flattered that Matty feels safe getting lost in front of me.

I admire how open he is to the beauty of it all. It’s because churches aren’t places that make him instinctively put his guard up. On the other hand, churches for me are places where I was fed lies, Sunday after Sunday. Where old men seized upon my innocence and insecurity and forced poison down my throat until I swallowed every last drop. I’d had to go through withdrawal when I finally got the antidote. It was arduous, sweaty, painful. I learned to question everything a little too well. I don’t believe in any kind of magic anymore; I can no longer believe anything that’s not right in front of my eyes. God took that from me. Matty is lucky God didn’t take it from him, too.

I look up, following his eyes. It’s all so beautiful it almost loses its meaning. Everything is marble or silk or stained glass. It’s too much all at once. I can tell it’s all spectacular but in the flurry of everything, each individual marvel loses its luster. As I tip my head further and further back, I get a little dizzy and the colors that float above me begin to bleed into each other in a kind of kaleidoscopic haze. I snap my head back up; back to reality. I reach out to hold on to Matty’s arm.

“Can we go now?” I whisper to him, still wanting to preserve the sanctity of the place for the other patrons. 

He nods in wordless understanding and leads me out.

–

The scorching heat of midday eventually breaks and yields a brisk night. When the sun sets, my skin remains sensitive, showing temporary, pale markings when I press my fingers into it. It hurts a little; a reminder of the fun I had that made me forget to reapply my sunscreen.

I sit at a table with Christina, Nina, and her friends. Some of us indulging in an aged wine from the region and others vying for an Aperol even though the sun is long past set and the orange bittersweet liquid now looks opaque.

“You know the best way to get over someone is to get under someone new,” says Nina, grabbing another glass of the chianti. 

“Like I’ve never tried that before,” I answer. It comes out meaner than I’d expected; though how could it not? I’m not a teenager dealing with a first kiss who pied me off for a blonder, more popular girl, I’m an adult who built a life with someone and rearranged my guts to fit her into every place that was important to me. Who introduced her to my parents and friends and was now having to wait for the dust to settle in an explosion that blew the whole thing to pieces. 

There are so many life-or-death questions that remain unanswered: Which friends will take my side, and which will take hers? If I have a fling with a toned Italian Adonis this summer, which of our so-called friends will stop inviting me to Dyke Night at Ginger's? Which of them will forget I exist just because I’ve left the city?

No, getting under someone new won’t help any of that, I decide. 

“Sometimes we all need a distraction,” remarks Nina. “Look, the truth is that a breakup uproots your whole life. You don’t know which way is up, you don’t know which places are safe from them, especially in New York. I remember when Mason and I broke up, I didn’t go below 16th Street for a whole month, just because I knew I’d be safe from him if I stayed uptown. My point is more that you don’t have to worry about any of that. You’re in fucking Italy and she’s gone back to Michigan while she figures out her next move. So do exactly what you want for once, it’s not as though you can do that when you’re in a relationship.”

Exactly what I want. The words echo in my mind as the savory wine causes my neurons to sing. What exactly do I want?

–

It’s just past ten when I meet Matty at a cafe near our homes. A late night up with the girls means I’m cursing myself for not arriving early enough to order a cappuccino. Matty is leaning up against a chair with his sunglasses on, looking down. He holds his phone in both hands, a cigarette between the index and middle fingers of his right. He exhales some smoke from his lungs and looks up to see me walking towards him.

“Y/n!” he smiles, immediately putting his arm around my shoulders and kissing me on the cheek, “How are you, darlin’?” I can feel my cheeks getting warm due to our proximity and his openness. 

He has a European self-assuredness to his movements. I’m not stupid enough to think that all of Europe is the same, but there’s a facility with which he takes my hand. Whereas, if I were to touch somebody, I would pause and hedge and overanalyze before reaching out. Even more so if it was someone I liked—which I’m slowly realizing I do.

“I’m good,” I smile at the dark lenses of his sunglasses. I hate those little pieces of plastic for keeping me from seeing his brown irises in the sun. I bet they would sparkle. I want to steal them from him and hide them so he can never wear them again and I’ll always be able to see the magic that happens in his eyes. Maybe it would hurt him, maybe his crow's feet would become more pronounced but I don’t care even a little bit. I want to know what it feels like to look into his soul again. 

“So what’s the plan for today?” I ask.

Matty nods toward a light pole a few meters away. Propped up beside it is a shiny black Vespa. 

“Thought we’d take a little day trip to the lake,” he says.

“Oh no, I can’t,” I say out of instinct. 

“Oh,” he deflates a little, “why not? Have you got somewhere to be?” I look at him embarrassed. 

“My mom would kill me if I got on a motorcycle,” I say. Truthfully, I’m scared more by the feelings that bloom in my stomach at the thought of holding onto his waist than the thought of riding the vehicle itself. He breaks into a toothy smile and crinkles sprout at the edges of his eyes.

“Your mum’s not here. How old are you, again?” he asks. I decide that doesn’t deserve an answer, instead opting to roll my eyes pointedly at him. “Besides,” he continues, “it’s a Vespa, not a motorcycle.”

“Do you have a helmet?” I question, timidly. He reaches out to my tote bag – embroidered with the familiar emblem of Shakespeare and Company – and tugs my silk scarf from it. His hands move tentatively towards my head, face questioning softly if he can touch me. I give an imperceptible ‘yes’, and soon his warm hands are cradling me. He places the scarf lightly on my head and then moves his attention down to my chin, tying it in place delicately. He reaches out to caress my jaw.

“There you go, princess,” he coos. The nickname doesn’t have the sting of taunting it once did. It feels sincere; like Matty really believes I should be treated with the utmost care. As soon as I can begin to smile up at him, he’s gone again, throwing his leg up to straddle the bike. With his Wayfarers covering his eyes, slicked-back hair, and tan skin, he looks every bit the rockstar Nina’s friends say he is.

I find myself skipping to him and straddling the bike behind him. I can’t see his face but I imagine it must be twisted into that ridiculous, self-assured grin I witnessed on the first night I met him. Where it once produced acrid bile that stained my throat with hatred, it now endears me to him. It’s indicative of a boyish playfulness, a thrill-seeking tendency that I so admire. Girls can’t afford to be silly and I’ve been surrounded by them for so long. I want to walk around in Matty’s skin for a day and learn what it feels like. 

What does it feel like to him when he walks home alone at night? It must be how I feel when I walk during the day. No– it’s even more free, it must be. Even during the day, I cringe imperceptibly away from every man I pass on the street, no matter what part of town I’m in or whether I have my headphones on. 

When Matty meets a girl and chats her up, he must not feel any of the apprehension that I do. No poking and prodding to see if she’s the one straight friend that’s tagged along to the gay bar because she’s just “so tired of men” or the sweet, bi-curious loner who’s looking for her first girl-on-girl action. He can just approach them without pretense and genuinely try to get to know them. He can entrance them with the arcane physics of his adorably curly hair and the spellbinding timbre of his speech.

When he speaks up, people must listen to the deeper, commanding pitch of his voice. They must be piqued by the melody of his Mancunian accent. They must believe him, perhaps even when they shouldn’t.

Do I want him? Or do I envy the ease that seems to come with being him? 

Do I want to feel his insides? Or do I want to feel him inside of me? 

I snake my arms around his middle, trying not to dwell on the soft cotton and lithe muscle that cover his torso. I clasp my hands together just under his ribs.

“You ready?” he asks. I press my cheek to his back, bracing for impact. I nod against him.

“Yeah,” I whisper. He chuckles at my hesitance and hits the accelerator.

And we’re off, bumping down old cobblestone roads, bathing in daylight, and meditating to the sounds of the city – babies crying, birds chirping, music playing, meat mongers yelling like showmen – and it’s not scary. Matty is solid underneath me, resilient. He runs a hand through his curiously straight hair like it’s nothing to him. 

On our way to the lake, Matty slows down at a fruit market packed with old ladies haggling with one another. He puts the kickstand for the Vespa out, twirls the keys around his hand, and pockets them. Then he strides over to the gaggle of nonnas greeting each of them in due course. 

“Come stai, Matteo?” 

“Come sta l’america?” 

“Che rockstar!” 

They clamber for his attention like he’s a grandson they haven’t seen in several years. 

“Tutto bene, grazie,” he manages, his English tongue contorting around the Italian. He still sounds anglophonic when he pronounces the words, but they cheer and coo all the same. Matty beckons me from the bike over to the fruit stand. “What do you want, darlin’?” he asks when I arrive next to him. 

I look down at a ripe selection of fruit that’s bursting at the seams with juice. Apricots the color of the sunrise, jewel-toned berries, and peaches: fuzzy, soft, and yielding – not unlike human flesh, I think. My thoughts wander to Matty’s hands and cheeks and thighs. What would they feel like if I touched them? Would they give? Would they warm me? Could I squeeze him hard enough to make him burst?

“Andiamo a Lago di Garda,” Matty explains. The nonnas grab a paper bag and begin pointing to the selection of fruits. “Albicocca, pesca, frutti di bosco,” they gesture to each in turn. Their voices undulate and vary in pitch as they describe the fruits. It sounds like verse to my ears: romantic, melodic, and exquisitely idyllic.

Matty turns to me, “They want to know what you want.”

I look at them – their pink noses and wiry eyebrows and floral aprons – and smile. I mime how many of each I’d like and they pack our bag to the brim. They pass the fruit to me as Matty pays what he owes, bidding them farewell. He runs up behind me as I approach the Vespa and takes the bag from me, setting it at his feet. Then he reaches into his pocket and fishes out a pack of cigarettes. He grabs one with his teeth and lets it stay there, nestled between his lips. My eyes remain trained on his every movement and he notices, tossing me a lighter as he starts up the bike.

“You light it for me, sweetheart?” he asks. My hands fumble with the lighter, bringing it to the end of the cigarette and idling there while Matty inhales. When it doesn’t light right away, he brings his hands up, cupping them around the end and they graze my fingers on the lighter. We look like two school children telling secrets and the moment feels as intimate if not more. How I’d love to know his secrets, each and every last one.

I release the lighter and Matty lets the cig hang languidly on his bottom lip.

“You want one?” he asks.

“I’m good,” I say. 

“Too right you are,” he replies, “hold on tight darlin’.”

–

Matty drives calmly down the motorway as I clasp my hands together as hard as I can. The breeze whips against my face and chaps my lips but I don’t mind. With the sun on my face and Matty underneath me, I feel unreal, unstoppable. As we reach the lake, the trees become more abundant. They flank the roads that lead to the beach and smell like fresh-squeezed lemonade, refreshing and revitalizing.

We finally slow down and sit on the rocky shore. Matty hands me a basket of berries and I immediately pop one in my mouth, enjoying the sweet juice that explodes on my tongue. 

Next to me, Matty bites into a peach. The juices run down his chin and he uses the back of his hand to wipe them off. 

The sticky juice glistens on his hand as he puts it down on the rocks to support himself. I’m mesmerized by the way the sheen that covers his hand catches the sun. I’m like a magpie drawn to anything shiny and ripe and sweet, not content enough with the fruit that’s bursting in my own mouth. I need to have his too.

“Can I try it?” I ask. Matty turns to me mid-bite and hands the peach to me as he chews the bite in his mouth. With the fruit in my hand, I inspect the marks his teeth have left, the place where his tongue has been. The thought that the tangy, sweet flavor will be laced with the taste of Matty’s mouth is absolutely delirium-inducing. It intoxicates me like a drug: the thought that I want him inside of me, that I could have him inside of me if I only lick the spot in front of me. I take a bite out of the yellow flesh and suck the juice into my mouth before passing it back to Matty. 

It’s better than I expected. Warm from being outside, not cold and refrigerated and sterile like the fruit Claire and I used to buy in New York. It’s soft, yielding easily to my teeth and tongue. And it’s sweet, sticky. The surface of the flesh is covered in Matty’s saliva and it seems to make me hungry, truly hungry, for the first time in months. I want to devour the peach and then the berries and then every other perfectly imperfect food I can find. It tastes like vitality. It tastes like desire. 

“That’s really fucking good,” I declare. 

Matty inspects the dents I’ve left in the fruit. Then he runs his tongue over the fuzzy skin and yellow flesh before biting into it. My skin burns from the sun and the eroticism of the situation. We’ve each been inside of one another now, him in my mouth and me in his. I want to taste him properly, from the source.

“How come your hair is straight today?” I ask, reaching my hand out to touch a strand that’s fallen over his face to partially obscure his eyes. It’s stiff and crunches beneath the pressure of my fingers.

“My natural hair would have fallen in my face and gotten us into an accident, especially given the fact I have to drive on the right side here,” he answers, leaning back on a boulder on the beach. I consider his face, trying to imagine his absent ringlets. 

“I wanna see your curls,” I say. I kneel next to him to get a better vantage point. From above, I see each gray strand of hair that invites the light into his mop of curls. I hold his gray streak up to the light and let my hand linger as it falls into his hair and then down to his face, feeling the rough stubble beginning to form on his cheeks.

“Yeah? You like my hair curly?” he teases, a blush gracing the tops of his cheeks as he looks up at my face. 

“A lot,” I nod. 

“I’ll never wear it straight again,” he says to mollify me.

“Good,” I state. I stand up and take my sundress off so I’m standing before him in a white cotton bra and underwear. Matty’s eyes go wide as I remove my clothing and hold my hand out to him.

“Come on then,” I encourage. He stands up smiling, unbuttons his shirt, and removes his trousers, leaving him more naked than I am. 

I thought I was beginning to know Matty, but seeing his bare chest reminds me of how much I have left to discover. It’s littered with poems and phrases, crests and colors. His shoulders are broader than mine and they’re covered in sturdy muscle that continues down to his pectorals and upper abdomen. I’m staring, I’m sure of it. He’s hard in all the places I’m used to softness and wide in the places I’m used to encircling in my warm, small hands. I grab his arm and drag him towards the lake, submerging my head in the cool water as soon as it’s deep enough. When I emerge, I push my hair back and toss some water in Matty’s face.

“Oi! What was that for?” he exclaims.

“You said you’d never wear your hair straight again,” I remind him, “Come on, I’ll help you.”

Matty kneels before me as I scoop handfuls of water onto his head until he’s totally soaked. It feels thrilling, having a man on his knees before me, at my mercy. I’m not used to gentleness from boys; only jeers and catcalls and hands obnoxiously placed at the small of my back in clubs. But I don’t want to use my position for anything other than sweetness. I rub his curls lightly, removing the gel from each strand. Matty looks up at me as I massage his head watching my eyebrows scrunch.

“Your hair is soft,” I tell him. He smiles up at me and moves his arms around my hips to hold me as I continue my ministrations on his hair. He breathes through his nose and I feel the warmth that emanates from him as it seeps into my skin. He’s centimeters away from my core, no doubt feeling my heartbeat wildly in my chest and smelling the faint, musky aroma of the wetness that’s beginning to gather between my thighs.

“Thanks,” he says, lips kneading the soft flesh of my tummy as he does. It tickles and my eyes snap to his, gasping. His gaze remains trained on me as he moves his mouth to kiss me there. He uses only his lips at first, pecking and rubbing at me, but soon he grows impatient. He leaves open-mouthed kisses just above the waistband of my panties, sucking the skin below my navel, nipping at it, and smoothing his tongue over to soothe it. He moans into my stomach as he does, letting out a sound muffled by my belly.

I whine in response, grasping tightly at his hair to keep myself steady. He jerks back quickly.

“Ah!” he hisses. 

“Oh fuck, sorry,” I duck down to him, holding his face to make sure he’s alright.

“I’m fine, sorry,” he shakes his head. “Didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“It’s okay,” I say, “actually, you’re all good now if you want to, um, rinse off.”

Matty ducks into the water, smiling brilliantly at me when he meets my eyes again. I crouch down, reaching out to him, wringing out his curls, and scrunching them up onto the top of his head.

“Better?” he asks, standing up. Beads of clear, freshwater pool in his collarbones and race across his torso down to his hips. They catch on the sunlight and make him glisten. I want to lick them off his body, trace their path, and make him whimper.

I smile and nod, standing up to more or less even our heights. He wraps his arm around my neck, looking down at my body once we’re close enough that I can’t follow his eyes. I tremble. My arms are decorated with goosebumps, my breasts are peaked from the cold, and my white undergarments are soaked, plainly revealing what lies beneath them. 

“You chilly, huh?” he asks. I nod into him. “Let’s get you warmed up.” Matty drags me back to the rocky shore and covers me in his button-down shirt, beckoning me to sit between his legs. He envelops me in his arms like my own personal human-sized blanket and holds me until I stop shivering. 

–

“Oh shit, have you ever been in one of these?!” Matty shouts. He doesn’t need to yell to be heard, I’m right behind him on the Vespa. But he’s so excited at the thought of the old 35mm photo booth that stands tall on the side of the road. He leaps off the Vespa and digs around in his pockets for the 10 or 15 cents he needs to get it to work. “This is so fucking sick!” he exclaims. “Y/n! Come over! This is amazing!”

I dismount the bike more methodically than him, taking care not to get my skirt caught on the seat. I push the velvet curtain to the side and am met with a very eager Matty. He grabs my hand and pulls me onto the bench, instantly winding me up in his arms and tickling me. I’m caught off guard as the bulb in the center of the wall flashes, CLICK. I push Matty off playfully, turning back around to him – CLICK. I look at him, chest heaving for a moment – CLICK. It draws his attention and Matty’s eyes flit to my breasts, I notice – CLICK. I launch my body towards his, unable to contain myself anymore. His lips catch mine as I bring my arms up and around his neck – CLICK. Matty’s hands reach around my shoulders, feeling my bare skin, warm from the sun. I move my mouth hard against his, eager to taste the leftover juice from the fruit, tobacco from his cigarette, anything. Anything as long as it’s Matty. I reach into his soft frizzy curls and hang on to them to steady myself and push further toward him until he’s completely up against the wall of the photo booth. Matty’s hands find the smallest bit of my waist and pull me into his lap. His hands fall to my knees and rub all the way up my thighs, caressing the velvety flesh and stopping only when he’s reached the top to grab two handfuls of my ass. 

“Fucking hell,” he breathes as he releases me slowly. 

Using my newfound leverage, I push his head back onto the wall and attack the exposed skin on his neck and chest. I lick his Adam’s apple and kiss the ink peeking out from under his button-down.

“Fuuuuuuck, y/n,” he moans, lifting his head up to watch me as I unfasten each button on his linen shirt. His abdomen is hard under me and it feels so divine; almost painful but in a way that I deserve, that I revel in. I caress each tattoo on his torso with my tongue and his hands fly to my hair, massaging my scalp. I look up at him when I reach his ‘we are kings’ tattoo, partially concealed by his trousers. My tongue darts out to wet my lips as my eyes question him. “Please, go ahead,” he says, needily. His pupils are blown out and his hair sticks up in places it shouldn’t.

I hook my fingers under the waistband of his trousers and boxers, feeling giddy and nervous with anticipation. It’s hardly my first time – boy or girl – but it’s new in the sense that I’ve been used to one person for so long. How she sounded and tasted. Seeing his cock spring out, hard and red, makes me feel like a schoolgirl. I’m intoxicated by everything I don’t know about him and what I’m about to learn. I move his clothes down below his knees and tentatively kiss his inner thighs. The skin there is thin and warm and it smells musky. I reach my hands up to touch the hair that grows at the base of him. Then I lean my head towards the same spot and kiss the skin there. I run my tongue around the bottom of his cock, wetting him as much as I can and kissing him everywhere as I make my way to his tip. When I get there, I look up at him. His head is backed up against the wall and he’s sat on his hands, surely in some semblance of politeness. I move the left one up to cup my jaw. 

“Show me what you like,” I plead, “I wanna make you feel good.”

He groans through his lips as he pushes his thumb into my mouth. I wet it the same way I wet the rest of him and then I suck on it, just a little, moaning as I do.

“That pressure’s good,” he tells me. I nod and he takes his thumb out of my mouth and rubs it against my cheek. “Honestly though I really wasn’t expecting this. I don’t think it’s gonna be an issue for you.” 

“Is that your way of saying you’re turned on?”

“Very,” Matty chuckles.

I smile at that: an innocent, sweet, reassured one. His words give me the confidence to cover his tip with my mouth, my right hand falling to the base of his length and encircling it. 

Matty’s hand flies to the back of my head, under my hair and grips it like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. My eyes fly up to his face as I take him further in mouth until I meet my hand. I move up and down on him, relishing in every whimper and squeeze and twitch he unleashes.  

I begin to feel Matty stirring under me, and I look up at him, surprised at what I see. His eyes are open watching me with religious devotion. His right hand travels down my shoulder, blindly searching for the straps of my dress and bra and pushing them down until my breasts fall out, spilling down my chest. Matty wastes no time grabbing a handful of one as I continue my pace on his dick. He squeezes me gently but soon opts to pinch my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it out teasingly and keeping time with me. It feels fucking delicious and spurs me on. I remove a couple fingers from him and take him down further, hollowing my cheeks and moaning around him as he twists my nipple with sadistically erratic pressure.

“Please,” I groan around him. It’s possible he doesn’t understand what I’ve said, but he gives me what I want anyway, touching me rhythmically and gently fucking my mouth as he chases his orgasm. 

“I’m almost there,” he pants, reluctantly bringing his hand to my face and pushing it off of him, “You can stop.”

I keep his tip on my tongue and shake my head side to side. 

“Please?” I look up at him begging, “Want it in my mouth.”

“Fucking hell, okay,” he breathes, manouvering himself back inside of me, fucking my face harder than last time but still shallowly enough that I can take it without gagging. I need him. I don’t know why or what I even expect to gain from it but his release is the only thing on my mind. It consumes me. I move my hand from his thigh and squeeze his balls gently, then cradle them in my hand. I taste him not long after, salty, warm, and pooling on my tongue. I can feel him pulse in my mouth, giving me more and more. Though the load gets smaller, and each burst further apart from the last, I find myself hoping it won't end. I feel content, consumed by pride and pleasure.

I hold him in my mouth until I’ve caught every last drop, savoring the feeling of him filling me up and the flavor of him on my tongue. I swallow and lap at his tip and shaft to clean him up, and then I tiredly lay my head on his left thigh. It's been a long time since I let someone drip down my chin and licked them up, desperate to get every last drop. It feels good to need someone like that. Like water. Like medicine.

 He leans over just a bit to cradle my head with his hand, pushing the front pieces of my hair behind my ear, dragging his thumb to my lower lip, and lingering there. I breathe heavily while my eyes pierce his, mouth wantonly open. 

“Fuck, that felt so good, thank you,” he breaks the silence. I take his thumb in my mouth in answer, sucking at it delicately. I release him and kiss the pad of his finger gingerly. Matty takes hold of my hands and lifts my body back to his, holding me in a hug for what seems like an eternity. Time stops for a moment in the booth – it could be the year 3000 or the 80s, there could be a parade outside or a silent street that echoes with each of our breaths – it’s just the two of us, chests pressed against each other, the air thick with elation and longing.

Eventually, I have to peel myself off of him. Matty stands and stretches his arms above his head, displaying his toned triceps and delts. He bends at the waist to retrieve the strip of photos, fingers over each frame as he admires them. He folds the strip just before the last still, hiding the photo where our lips are meeting. Then he rips it off completely.

“There you go, princess,” he places the film with the first four photos gently in my hand. I look up at him confused and just a little sad. “This one’s for me,” he amends, tucking it into his back pocket. “So that I know I didn’t dream it.” He holds my face between his hands as I gaze up at him.

“Angels usually only visit me in dreams.” I roll my eyes and try to avert my gaze from his. He doesn’t let me, tilting my head up toward his by putting his finger under my chin. His eyes search mine with a fervor that would scare me if it came from anyone else. He closes them as he slowly leans forward to catch my lips in a slow, sweet kiss that tastes like goodbye. 

“Don’t make me leave,” I mumble into his mouth.

Matty wraps his arms around my back, pulling me further into him, and rests his head on mine. He’s warm and wet and smells like sex. 

“Why did you want to do that?” he whispers into my hair.

“I don’t know,” I say. I don’t really. It wasn’t logical, it was more instinctual than anything, a natural progression of my feelings and of the direction in which I was kissing him. I wanted to kiss him there; it felt natural.

“It wasn’t to, like, get over your ex or something was it?” he pulls away to look at my face as he asks, “I’m fine if it was, but I just want to know if you like me or if you’re just going through something.”

“I try not to make a habit of blowing people I don’t like,” I tell him teasingly. He chuckles, rubbing his nose against my cheek, tickling me with his five-o’clock-shadow. He kisses the edge of my face, right next to my ear.

“I like you, too.”

For a moment, I allow my mind to run free with the knowledge of his admission. To imagine date nights and naps on his bare chest on the sun loungers at the villa. My stomach flutters. I want it so badly.

I reach my arms up around his neck and touch my lips to his. 

“Will you take me home, now?”

#matty healy fanfiction #matty Healy fanfic #matty healy x y/n #matty healy x reader #matty healy fluff #matty healy smut #matty Healy

[therandomidiotat3am]

WRITING REQUESTS OPEN!

(Hey so I didn't really expect my fanfic from like 8 months ago to get any likes, especially since it was about Thom Yorke but yeah it did! Ive decided to open up writing request's now because of it. For my last fanfic I'll probably try correcting some errors because the grammar is...terrible. Sorry bout that English is not my first language.)

FIRST UP

90's MEN I WILL WRITE FOR :

-Kurt Cobain

-Thom Yorke

-Liam Gallagher

-Noel Gallagher

-Damon albarn

-Alex James

(you can add a suggestion if you want to!)

60's MEN I WILL WRITE FOR:

-Brian Jones

-Mick Jagger

-John Lennon

-Paul McCartney

-George Harrison

-Syd Barrett

I'm open for smut,fluff and all of the kinky shit you guys are into (gore is forbidden)but other than that I'm alright,I'll put a TW just incase some of you get triggered btw!!

#mick jagger x reader #kurt cobain x reader #nirvana x reader #brian jones x reader #damonalbarn x reader #the beatles x reader #paul McCartney x reader #thom yorke x reader #johnlennon x reader #georgeharrison x reader #RPF #therollingstones x reader #Liam Gallagher x reader #britpopfanfic #sydbarrettxreader #radioheadfanfics #thebeatlesfanfics

[multifandomfanfic]

Can you write fluff with mick jagger where hes trying to cheer up the reader because they're sad

Caught by Surprise

Pairing: Mick Jagger x fem! Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Y/N starts to wonder if her and Mick’s relationship will really last. What she doesn’t know is Mick has a surprise up his sleeve.

Word Count: 1.3k

(I am aware Mick Jagger is a crazy sex addict but let’s pretend he isn’t for this fic, okay? :)

Request?: Yes!

It was the year 1963. About a half-year before the first Rolling Stones album was released. I was sitting in my bed inside my modest apartment. I was reading a book I had chosen at random from the shelves of my college library. My rotary phone rang loudly throughout the room, jolting me out of my daze.

I scrambled to my feet and dashed over to the short dresser to my right of my bed. I took it up.

“Y/N Y/L/N How can I help you?”

“Good day, love.”

I grinned because I had been expecting a call from him.

“What's going on, baby? You almost done practicing?”

Mick had been out all day doing God knows what with the other members of The Rolling Stones.

“Umm… yeah about that love. I may be out a bit longer than I expected. We’re really moving and I would like to get this album done as soon as possible!”

My face dropped.

“Oh.”

Mick heard the sadness in my voice.

“I promise I won’t be out any later than 11!”

I sighed deeply.

“Okay. Be safe. Tell the boys I said hi.”

“Will do love. I love you!”

A small smile returned to my face.

“I love you too.”

So I sat and waited. I read books, studied, and listened to the radio, but before I knew it, it was 1:30 a.m.

I tried calling Mick on the rotary phone, but there was no answer.

I sighed and buried my face in my hands.

“Oh, God, I hope he's okay.”

I muttered to myself.

I'd been thinking a lot lately about my relationship with Mick. To be honest, I didn't think we'd last much longer. We didn't have much time to ourselves anymore. In college, I worked extremely hard to get good grades. Between my education and the band, our time was limited.

I flopped back down on my bed, my gaze fixed on the ceiling. Soon everyone would know the name Mick Jagger. He would do world tours, be on talk shows, and have crazy fans. He was excellent, truly exceptional. The rest of his band was as well. And I was well aware of what happens to the wives of rock stars. More than half of the time, I would most likely be left alone. We'd fight, make up, and fight again until the growing unknown became too much for me to bear.

He'd cheat, and I'd be forced to make difficult decisions. I needed to put an end to things. Preferably sooner rather than later.

Mick’s face displayed utter shock.

“What?! Why?!”

I bit my bottom lip.

“You’re gone most of the time and when you’re not gone I’m studying. We hardly have any time alone anymore. Plus you’re gonna be big one day.”

I placed a hand on his arm.

“I know you’re gonna be famous. Super famous. Then you’ll be a rockstar! We’re not gonna last in the grand scheme of things.”

Mick chuckled.

“What’s wrong? Come on, Y/N. I know you don’t really wanna break up. I’m far too irresistible.”

Mick wiggled his eyebrows and I laughed.

My arms were crossed across my chest.

“I just... I've been doing a lot of thinking.”

“About what?”

“Well. When you're famous. You'll be able to attract any girl you want. You won't need me any longer.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I blinked them away.

“I think we should end things. Before we're an unstable couple on the verge of a messy breakup 24/7.”

Mick wrapped his arms around my waist and drew me into his embrace. He rested his chin on the top of my neck. My nose was filled with the scent of his cheap cologne. He'd soon be able to afford expensive items. Being snuggled up against Mick made me feel safe. I burst out crying, unable to stop myself.

He gently rocked me back and forth.

“Oh, my baby. I hate that you had such thoughts. I'd never replace you.”

He gently kissed my brow.

“You are so lovely, kind, and intelligent.”

He hugged me even tighter.

“You're perfect. So perfect.”

He stroked my hair, gradually calming me. My sobs subsided. I took a few deep breaths.

“I love you too… so much.”

“Do you still wanna break up with me?”

I shook my head vigorously.

“No.”

There was a moment of silence between us.

“Just promise me one thing.”

Mick nodded.

“Anything my love.”

I took a deep breath, staring into his lovestruck eyes.

“Promise to love me forever.”

Mick grabbed my hands in his.

“Y/N, you're the one for me. I promise to love you for the rest of my life. My heart will be yours and yours alone for as long as I am living.”

I grinned broadly.

“That was a good line.”

Mick placed a stray piece of hair behind my ear.

“It’s true. All of it.”

Mick got down on one knee. My breath hitched in my throat.

He grabbed one of my hands and placed it in his.

“I don’t have a ring yet. But I promise you once this album is released I’ll buy you the biggest diamond in all of Britain.”

I covered my mouth with my hand. I was completely taken by surprise.

“Y/N Y/L/N. Will you marry me?”

“Mick… You know I would love too. But we’re so young and I’m not sure-”

Mick cut me off.

“Let’s make it official. Please. I love you more than anything in the world. You’re the one for me Y/N.”

I licked my chapped lips. Mick was staring deeply into my eyes as he waited with bated breath. My heart was racing. I adored him. I adored him more than life itself. I could see us, young and in love. We would marry in Paris, the most romantic city in the world. Mick would become the best rockstar on the planet, and we'd have a lavish beach house. I would travel the world with him and his band whenever I could get away from my job. Maybe I wouldn't even need a job. We'd have children, watch them grow, and die together peacefully after decades of love. It all sounded so natural. I was prepared for the future. My future. With Mick.

“Yes.”

#mick jagger #the rolling stones #rock #music #60s #60s rock #multifandom imagines #imagines #imagine #requests open #requested #request #Mick Jagger fluff #rock n roll #classic rock #rockstar masterlist #rockstar #rocknroll #60s couples #60s girl #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #celebrities #fluff #x reader fluff #x y/n #y/n #fem reader

[ilongfor-the-arts]

Could I get a Keith Richards smut?

Hand kink and daddy kink please😫😫😫

I Still Hate You

Pairing: Keith Richards x fem! Reader

Warnings: fingering, slight breath play and degradation, daddy kink, unprotected sex, oral sex (m receiving), language, mild bondage

Summary: What will happen when you’re locked in a room with your worst enemy for the night? Will you rip each other to shreds? Or fuck?

Word Count: 4.8k

Request?: Yes!

I found this gif from @calico-skiess tumblr page :)

The Rolling Stones are the world's greatest band. They completely dominated the music industry and took the world by storm. If I had to choose between The Rolling Stones and The Beatles, I'd go with The Rolling Stones every time. Their music swept me off my feet, with every element blending so seamlessly that you'd think the gods wrote it. The guitar, in particular. It was unique, simple yet complex, and flawless. But I'd never admit how much I admired them, because I fucking hated their guitarist.

I recall being in my senior year of high school, dreading college and wishing to be more than a housewife. Classes were tedious, and life in general was uninteresting. In that same year, the Rolling Stones released their debut album. They weren't much at first, just a wanna be British rock band with no idea where their career was going to take them, but I was hooked from the first note. I knew as soon as I heard the opening track. This band was going to be my ticket out of the boring life I had imagined for myself.

I really enjoyed stage management. Something about being behind the scenes piqued my interest. Observing what was going on in front of you and knowing that it looked fantastic because of your efforts. In my mind, a lightbulb went off. I could try to get a job as the stage manager for this upcoming rock band.

I knew it would be difficult, and there was no guarantee of success, but I had to give it my best shot. I couldn't live the rest of my life wondering if I could have been more. As a result, I dropped out of school and began a new chapter in my life. I found out where The Rolling Stones were going to perform next and drove all night to get there. It was mostly small, local establishments.

I inquired if they needed a stage manager. It was difficult to persuade them at first because they did not believe they required assistance. I persisted, offering to do extra work for them in exchange for whatever they were willing to pay me. I knew money was probably their primary concern, but it wasn't mine. I didn't mind sleeping on the side of the road every night as long as I wasn't limited to the socially acceptable idea of normalcy.

They became like family to me. I did whatever jobs they needed done and was paid as much as they could offer. I shouldn't have enjoyed it. The long hours, the lack of a true home, but I love it all. It felt freeing to float from place to place, doing whatever I wanted whenever I wanted.

The boys looked after me as if I were their little sister. Obviously, I enjoyed some members more than others, but that was to be expected. The one person I detested, more than anyone in the world, was Keith Richards . He managed to get on every single nerve in my body. He was the most arrogant son of a bitch I'd ever met, with the worst temper.He never yelled at any of the other roadies or members of the band, only at me. To be honest, I don't think he ever had a problem with how I did things; he was just looking for ways to screw me over. He was looking for reasons to mock me and scream in my face. Fortunately, the rest of the band was usually there to defend me. He presented the press with a completely different side of himself. Watching him on television and knowing that his entire public persona was a sham was enough to grind my gears.

I remained with The Rolling Stones as their stage manager. My pay increased as their fame grew. I was now a stage manager who also served as a personal assistant on occasion. Life was good, I was getting paid more than I could spend, and I knew this was where I was destined to be.

The best part about it all? I didn't have to be concerned about being noticed. I could go wherever I wanted without being bothered by cameras or thousands of people clamoring for my autograph. Every time someone mentioned how good The Rolling Stones' concerts were, I felt a surge of pride. It was fantastic.

“Y/N! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!?”

He's back, stomping his boots on the ground and screaming bloody murder. I rolled my eyes and shifted my body to face him.

“What?! What did I do wrong this time?!”

I maintained my confident stance by crossing my arms over my chest. Keith stomped until he was about half a foot away from me, staring at me with hatred in his eyes.

“I don’t know what you did but the audio was all fucked up on the last song! It sounded like shit!”

I clenched my jaw. Mick placed a hand on Keith’s shoulder, tearing his gaze away from me to face him.

“Hey man. How about you chill out, alright? She didn’t do anything wrong.”

Keith's eyes darted from me to Mick, then back to me, then back to Mick.

“Come on Mick! It sounded like shit and you know it! Don’t even try to advocate for her!”

He extended his hand to me. I could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. He was fuming, directing all of his rage at Mick. Mick opened his mouth to respond to Keith's insults, but I cut him off before he could finish.

“You know maybe the audio would sound better if you knew how to play your fucking instrument, Richards.”

Keith jerked his eyes away from Mick, slipping free of his grip and approaching me. I'd struck a nerve. He walked right into me, forcing me to take a step back. I could smell sweat and leather from him as he was so close. His breath brushed up against my cheek. I didn't flinch in the face of his piercing stare. I kept my cool.

“You got a lot of fucking nerve talking to me like that Missy. Someone oughta put you in your place.”

Mick grabbed Keith's shoulders and yanked him away from me. Once he was a few feet away, I finally allowed myself to breathe.

“Cut it out Keith. Show’s over. There’s no reason to fight. We can all go home after this and cool off for a few days.”

Keith's gaze lingered on me for a few moments before he twisted his head to glare at Mick.

“Fine. But I’m not driving home with her. She’s made me too angry already.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Fine. I didn’t wanna drive home with you either.”

This was the last show of the tour, thankfully. I needed time away to collect myself. There were three cars at the location to divide amongst us.

“Y/N. You can drive with me.”

Mick offered, I nodded, happy to be away from Keith.

“The rest of you clowns-”

He pointed to all of his bandmates.

“Figure it out. I’ll see you guys later.”

We all bid our goodbyes before we began walking towards our cars. I plopped down in Mick’s front seat, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“I can’t handle him, Mick.”

Mick shut the door, twisting the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life, gently shaking the car.

“Keith is a confusing guy Y/N. I wish I could tell you what’s going on in his head.”

I turned on the radio, flipping through the channels.

“I have no idea what on earth his problem is. Why does he hate me so much?”

Mick drove out of the parking lot and toward my house, his headlights cutting through the darkness. He shrugged casually.

“I wish I could tell you. Personally, I think you two just need to let out all your anger. Get into a heated screaming match or something and let it all out so we don’t have to hear your goddamn bickering anymore.”

I found a good station, turned up the volume, and leaned back in my chair, placing my fist under my x him.

“Hey don’t blame me. He’s always the one who starts it.”

I glanced over at Mick, his eyes remained glued to the road.

“Yeah but you feed his fire. All the insults and backtalk. You’re giving him reasons to hate you. Just ignore him Y/N. He’ll leave you alone.”

I rolled my eyes, scoffing.

“I’m just standing up for myself! Do you suggest I do nothing instead?”

Mick turned his head towards me and nodded.

“I do.”

He turned back towards the road in front of him.

“Ignore him Y/N. He’ll leave you alone if you act like you don’t care.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, sighing. There was a moment of silence, the only sounds being the radio and Mick’s tires rolling over the uneven terrain.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say you guys liked to fight with each other. You’re probably fucking behind our backs and just trying to throw us off your scent.”

My jaw dropped. I stared at Mick, open mouthed and dumbfounded.

“Mick, only you would think something like that. You’ve had more sex than every human on this earth combined.”

Mick took his hands off the wheel for a split second before slapping them back down onto the leather.

“The rest of the band agrees with me.”

I furrowed my brow in amazement, my mouth dropping open wider.

“What?! You’re not serious, are you?”

Mick chuckled.

“I’m dead serious, Y/N. We’ve made up all kinds of hypotheticals. Like, if we locked you both in a room together, what would happen first? Would you rip each other to shreds? Or would you both fuck?”

I scoffed loudly, rolling my eyes and focusing my gaze out the window at the horizon.

“You guys are gross.”

Now they’ve planted a thought in my head that occupied my mind the entire drive home. What would it be like to fuck Keith? He was very attractive, and had the best hands I’d ever seen in my entire life. Long, slender, and very talented.

I wonder what would happen if I kissed him the next time I saw him. No warning, just pressed my lips to his.

“Hey. We’re here.”

I snapped out of my daze and looked up towards… Mick’s house?

“Mick, I thought we were going to my house?”

Mick nodded, throwing open the car door.

“I got something to show you that I think you’re really gonna like.”

I rolled my eyes, longing to be in my bed.

“Alright.”

The cool air blowing into the car chilled me to the bone as I pushed the door open.

“But let’s make it fast.”

Mick led me to the front of his house. He turned the knob and opened the door for me, motioning with his hand for me to enter. I entered Mick's living room and...

Hold up, why was Keith here?

“Keith what the fuck are you doing here?”

Keith's eyes met mine, his face as perplexed as mine. My heart skipped a beat as the door slammed shut behind me. I turned around as quickly as I could after hearing the sound of a lock being clicked into place.

Oh my god. They had actually locked us in a room together.

I dashed up to the door and slammed my fists into the hardwood, a stinging sensation running up and down my arms with each blow.

“MICK THIS ISN’T FUCKING FUNNY! UNLOCK THIS DOOR!”

Mick's low laugh could be heard from the other side of the wood. As he walked back to his car, his footsteps began to fade. With a groan, I collapsed onto the ground, pressing my back against the door.

“Fuck.”

I murmured, holding my head in my hands.

“I guess we’re stuck together.”

Keith was sitting on Mick's couch, I raised my head. The entire house was dark, but the soft hue of the moon streaming in through the windows allowed me to make out his features.

“This is not how I wanted to spend my Friday night.”

I groaned, throwing my head back until it slammed against the door with a loud thud. I kicked my shoes to the side, sitting cross legged on the ground.

A click rang out across the silent room. Keith lit a cigarette, brought it to his lips, and exhaled puffs of smoke. The smoke dispersed throughout the room before evaporating. He sat on the couch, smugly staring off into space.

“I consider this a blessing.”

I rolled my eyes as I stretched my legs in front of me and crossed my arms over my chest.

“How so? It surely doesn’t seem that way to me.”

Keith stood up and took one last drag from his cigarette before crushing it under his boot. He twisted his foot a few times to ensure it was completely extinguished.

He started slowly walking towards me, his boots reverberating on the wood floor. I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart. I couldn't move, I couldn't budge.

Keith moved in closer to me. I could now feel his shoes vibrating through the floor. He stood to the side of me, his hands on his hips, staring down.

I looked up through my lashes at him, his jaw clenched and his eyes piercing into my skull.

“You didn’t answer my question, Richards.”

Keith sank to the ground, his leather pants creaking slightly. He was now at eye level with me, his head slightly cocked down so he could stare menacingly through his brows.

“Because you weren’t being very nice today.”

I almost burst out laughing. I wasn't the nice one, was I? Please, give me a break. I cocked my brow.

“I wasn’t being nice?!”

I pointed to myself.

“You were screaming at me-”

Keith extended his hand, wrapping it around my neck and squeezing, preventing me from speaking. My heart began to beat out of my chest.

“Shut the fuck up.”

He spoke sternly through his teeth. I shuddered, opening my mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“Stand up.”

I couldn't move my legs, my mind was blank. Keith rolled his eyes in frustration as he aggressively grabbed my sleeves and drew me to a stance. He shoved me up against the wall, knocking the air out of my lungs.

“You got a big mouth for such a little girl.”

I inhaled deeply, attempting to catch my breath. I was trembling like a leaf. Keith gave a smirk.

He leaned into my ear and whispered sexily.

“Want me to fuck you silly, honey? I think you need it. Someone’s gotta discipline you.”

Butterflies were fluttering around my insides, tickling my lower abdomen.

“Keith-”

Keith gripped my neck with his large hands, temporarily constricting my airflow before loosening. I gasped. He leaned back, his piercing gaze bore into my eyes.

“That’s not my name tonight sweetheart.”

Fuck. I knew what he wanted.

“Daddy?”

I said, seeking his approval. He smirked and hummed in delight.

“That’s better. Let’s go to the bedroom, shall we? Think Mick would like it if we fucked in his bed?”

Mick had most likely bet on it, so I nodded. Keith knelt down, grabbed me by the waist, and slung me over his shoulder.

I gasped as my hips dug into his shoulder. He carried me up the spiral staircase. I dangled like a rag doll, trying my best to take deep breaths. Keith placed his hands under my knees to prevent me from collapsing face first into the floor.

The trip up the stairs was painfully slow. Keith enjoyed my annoyed hums as he took his sweet time carrying me to the bedroom.

When I heard him kick open the bedroom door, my head shot up. He placed me on my feet with surprising care.

Keith didn’t waste any time. He gripped the front of my shirt, pulling it apart, buttons bouncing all around the room. My eyes widened with shock as he exposed my bra in under a second. I shimmied out of the shirt, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud.

He placed his hands on my shoulders, aggressively pushing me backwards. My back collided with the soft mattress, the springs creaking slightly as the bed adjusted to my body weight. Keith pointed to the bed frame.

“Make yourself comfortable. You’re gonna wanna be nice and comfy when daddy fucks your brains out later.”

I nodded slightly, repositioning myself so I was on my back, my head resting on the pillows. Keith unlaced his boots and kicked his shoes to the side before he straddled my hips, the springs creaking even louder now that he was on top.

He placed a finger under the knot in his tie, loosening and removing it from around his neck. Keith grabbed my wrists, tying them around the headboard over my head. I cooperated, not wanting to stop him.

I stared intently at him as he was deep in focus tying a tight knot. When he was finished, I gave the tie a quick tug, testing the strength of the fabric. He tied it extremely tight, my hands didn’t even budge.

Keith dropped his head to stare down at me. He gripped my jaw, tracing my lower lip with his calloused thumb.

“What should daddy do to you first pretty girl?”

He placed his free hand next to my waist, reaching his head down until it was inches from my face. I could smell the sweat and leather on him, only now, it was in a much more intense situation. I couldn’t speak. My throat was glued shut.

I tore my eyes away from his intense stare, looking down at his fingers that were now tracing over my cheekbone.

“You want daddy’s hands all over your body, pretty girl? Is that what you want?”

I swallowed thickly, a lump forming in my throat. I clenched my jaw and nodded slightly, my eyes still focused on his long fingers.

He suddenly wrapped his hand around my throat, stopping my air for a brief moment. I dropped my jaw in shock, gasping.

“You gotta use your words pretty girl. Daddy’s gonna ask you again, and this time, you better fucking answer.”

His hips were pressed into mine, pushing my body into the mattress so I was unable to move. I could feel his painfully hard cock through his pants, pushing into my lower stomach.

“Do you want daddy’s hands? Want daddy to touch you?”

I took a deep breath, steadying my racing heart.

“Yes please daddy.”

Keith nodded, moving his hands down to cup my breasts over my bra. I exhaled loudly as he kneaded them in his large hands. He tore the straps of my bra in half, a loud snap echoing through the silent room.

He moved his hand behind me, I arched my back to give him better access as he unclasped my bra, throwing it to the side. I’m thankful I wore one of my cheaper bras tonight, I wouldn’t care if I had to throw it away.

Keith grabbed my naked breasts, pinching my nipples and rolling them in between his lanky fingers. I threw my head back as he attached his lips to my collarbone, placing dark hickeys on my skin. He bit and sucked on my sensitive skin as he continued to grip my breasts in his hands.

My breath was ragged. I felt like I was going to pass out, but I didn’t want him to stop.

He moved his mouth down to the valley of my breasts, down my stomach, and eventually to the waistband of my jeans. Keith readjusted himself in between my legs, undoing my fly as slowly as possible.

I pulled on the restraints in impatience as he took his time removing my jeans. He brought them down my legs, bunching them up and throwing them to the side.

Keith placed his hands on my knees, separating my legs as far as possible. He brought his fingertips to my clothed clit, rubbing small, slow, circles.

“Daddy, please. I need your fingers inside of me.”

“Don’t be fucking impatient. You’ll get whatever daddy gives you”

His stern tone was an indicator for me to shut my mouth. He continued his torture, transitioning from figure eights to circles. The more he touched me through my underwear, the more impatient I became.

I groaned in frustration, bucking my hips into his touch. Keith retracted his hand, crawling up to my face and smacking me in the cheek.

“You pull anything like that again, and daddy isn’t gonna let you cum tonight.”

I gritted my teeth, a shudder running down my spine.

“Ok daddy. I promise I won’t do it again.”

Keith tilted his head down, pressing a kiss to my neck.

“Good girl.”

He murmured against my skin, his voice raspy and thick with lust. My stomach fluttered at the pet name.

Keith returned back to his previous position. This time, moving my panties to the side and rubbing circles into my bare clit. I moaned involuntarily at the sudden pleasurable sensation. He was faster with his movements now. He dipped a finger into me, thrusting into my walls.

“You’re so fucking wet baby.”

He added a second finger, pumping them even faster. I instinctively pulled on the tie, wanting to touch him, but the restraints didn’t budge.

I whimpered at the pleasurable stretch when he added a third finger. The wet sound of his expert fingers pumping in my pussy was reverberating off the walls in the quiet bedroom.

No one had ever made me this close to cumming after just a few seconds of fingering, but Keith was able to bring me to the brink of an orgasm in less than a minute. I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing unevenly.

“Daddy I’m gonna-”

Keith retracted his fingers. I whimpered at the sudden loss of contact. He climbed back over me, pushing his fingers in between my lips. I tasted myself on my tongue as I almost gagged due to Keith’s long fingers.

“I wouldn’t be disciplining you if I just let you cum whenever you wanted pretty girl.”

He removed his fingers from my mouth before he began removing his clothes. He stood to the side, slowly pushing the buttons through the holes. He exposed his chest first, throwing his shirt to the side, before moving to his pants.

He pushed his jeans down his legs, kicking them to the side. He stood in front of me in just his boxers, the tent in his pants painfully obvious.

“Do you want to suck me off, pretty girl? Want daddy’s cock in your mouth?”

I nodded my head vigorously, wanting to please him. Keith undid the knot, freeing my hands. I stood in front of him, waiting for his next command.

He placed a hand on my shoulder, pushing me down until I was on my knees in front of him. I hooked a finger into his boxers, pulling them down his legs until his cock sprung free from its confines.

“I’m gonna fuck your pretty little face with my cock.”

He threaded his fingers through my hair, sternly pulling my head back until I was staring up at him.

“I bet you look a lot prettier with a mouthful of cock.”

I reached my hand forward, pumping him a few times while maintaining eye contact. Keith threw his head back, groaning as I moved my hand up and down his shaft faster.

He pulled me forward, towards his cock. I took the tip in my mouth, applying suction. Keith began pushing on my head. I let my jaw go slack, knowing what he wanted.He began assertively bucking his hips into my mouth as his cock hit the back of my throat. Tears began welling up in my eyes as I watched Keith clench his jaw in pleasure.

“Your mouth feels so good pretty girl.”

I felt his cock twitch in my mouth. I knew he was reaching his high. He moved my head along his shaft a few more times before he came into my mouth. I felt his hot load release into the back of my throat while some of it began to trickle down my chin.

Keith leaned down, wiping his thumb across my chin, collecting his cum before pushing his thumb into my mouth. I sucked harshly, removing every last little bit of cum from his thumb.

The ache in between my legs was almost painful. I wanted his cock in me.

“Daddy… will you please let me cum now?”

Keith wrapped his hand around my throat, squeezing it, causing a gasp to slip past my plush lips. His eyes were filled with both anger and desire.

“You really wanna cum that badly?”

Keith’s voice was filled with aggression. He brought me to my feet before he firmly pushed me onto the bed, this time more intense than the first. He climbed on top of me, tearing my panties off my body and slipping his cock effortlessly into my soaking wet pussy.

I threw my head back at the sudden yet pleasurable stretch his cock provided. He began thrusting into me at a fast pace, the tip of his dick grazing over my g spot.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him farther into me. His thick cock hit a new spot inside of me that caused a sensation I had never felt before.

The bed was rattling under us. I was afraid it would collapse spontaneously. The sound of skin slapping against skin and the essence of sex filled the dark room.

I raked my fingernails down Keith’s back, eliciting a deep moan to come from the back of his throat. I felt my orgasm approaching.

I arched my back as I came with a loud moan, my walls constructing around Keith’s cock. He continued to thrust into my overstimulated walls.

“Daddy-”

I pleaded before he interrupted me.

“Shut the fuck up. If you wanna act like a desperate little slut then that’s exactly what I’m gonna treat you like.”

I already felt my second orgasm approaching like a freight train. Keith buried his face in the crook of my neck, breathing heavily into my ear.

I came again, and again, and again. I eventually lost track of the amount of times I had orgasmed. Keith continued his relentless pounding, always bringing me to another orgasm.I was a moaning mess due to his harsh treatment.

I felt his thrust become sloppier, before they finally came to halt. He came inside of me, his hot load filling me to the brim.

I was fucked out. I stared blankly at the ceiling as Keith climbed off of me and began to redress, a trail of his sticky cum clinging to my thighs.

“Don’t you ever fucking insult me again. Otherwise next time I won’t be so nice.”

Next time.

I snapped out of my daze, bringing my head up to take in the sight of him zipping his jeans up.

“Where are you going?”

I asked.

“I’m getting out of here. There’s a back door in Mick’s basement that’s always unlocked.”

I almost laughed. He could’ve left at any time, but he chose to stay here and fuck my brains out.

I stood for a second before falling forward due to my incredibly shaky legs. Keith caught me, helping me regain my balance.

“I’ll call us a cab.”

Keith made his way downstairs to call us a ride. I stood in a pile of clothes, pondering what had just happened.

Holy shit. I just fucked Keith Richards in Mick Jaggers bed.

I laughed in the empty room before I began redressing. Then I realized I barely had any salvageable clothes left to wear. I put on my jeans without panties and held the two pieces of my broken shirt together.

I made my way down to the first floor with my broken panties and bra in hand.

Keith laughed softly when he saw me looking discombobulated. My hair was a mess, my makeup was smeared all over my face, and I was desperately clinging onto my broken clothes for dear life.

“Here. Take this.”

Keith removed his blazer, placing it gently onto my shoulders.

“Just so you know, I still fucking hate you Richards. We hate fucked.”

Keith smirked.

“More like I fucked you.”

He placed a hand on my shoulder.

“And don’t worry, I still fucking hate you too. I’m just not angry with you anymore.”

I smiled, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“Then you’ll just have to fuck me harder next time your angry at me.”

#the rolling stones #keith richards #Keith Richards smut #60s music #60s rock #70s music #70s rock #imagine #imagines #classic rock #rock n roll #british rock #mick jagger #x yn #x y/n #x you fluff #x you smut #x you #requests open #reqs open #request #fanfic #fanfiction #start me up #sympathy for the devil #smut imagine #rock music #british invasion #1960s #1960s rock

[bowieandqueen11]

Letting Yourself Go/ Jealous Bowie X Reader x Mick Jagger

Prompt: hi love! could you do hcs of david's s/o being a really big fan of the rolling stones and david being the great bf he is lets the reader meet mick but ofc mick being his flirty self likes the reader and david is jealous 

Heya @fueled-by-novocaine I’m so so sorry this took me so long but I appreciate you and your support so much so thank you!!

David runs up to the cabin, the fresh white snow crunching underneath his snow boots as he laughs, fumbling in his furry coat pocket to try and find his key. The Swiss sun glints off the white horizon, sparkling for miles over the frost tipped mountains that rise like giants in front of your field of vision, jagged and rough but their bold silhouette glittering as if covered in dripping melting marshmallows, the glint of scarlet and emerald trees blowing in the breeze. As David turns around to face you, his coat sleeves slightly drooping over his gloved hands like a child’s and making you laugh as he scratches his slight stubble, a toothy grin lighting his face as he knows this is going to be the perfect weekend. Leaning down slightly, he grabs a fistful of snow and pats it into a smooth ball, hurling it in a perfect semicircle straight into the middle of your laughing face with a satisfying splat. Shaking the snow of your face, mouth slightly agape as you watch David’s eye grow slightly wider in mock fear, giggles fill the silent night air as you begin to run towards him, bouncing like an astronaut leaping over the crevices of the moon as David rattles on the doorknob, his knees bent and shoulder hitting off the oaken door slightly. However, he nearly topples backwards, feet slipping slightly on the welcome mat and little snowflakes falling like confetti off the roof, landing on his shaking fringe as the door swings open and Mick steps out, sunglasses lining his face and a big grin sauntering on his look.

‘Ah, Mick, I didn’t think you had arrived yet,’ David says, motioning to your blushing form. ‘May I introduce my darling, y/n, she’s been dying to meet you for quite some time now so play nice.’ He sticks his finger out, jabbing Mick’s heaving chest with false authority as his head bounces slightly in amusement, before his frown begins to drop slightly, Mick ripping the sunglasses off his face, his eyes sparkling as he reaches down to roughly grab your hand, a surprised huff leaving your cherry lips as he bows down to press a hot kiss against the back of your hand, murmuring an ‘enchante, love.’

As the evening progresses, David’s mood only sours more like spilt milk. The fire blazes, throwing inky shadows over his eyes as it illuminates the room in a dangerous red light, the fire licking the stone fireplace as you and Mick sit side by side on the sofa next to David, wild laughter and squeals erupting from your chests as glasses of wine litter the table, Mick having stripped down to his green shirt, unbuttoned against his bare chest. His arm lies too comfortably over your shoulder for David’s comfort, his long fingers stroking almost predator like over your tingling skin as his hip bumps against your own, a loud huff leaving David’s frustrated lips as Mick twists his torso away from him, blocking his view of your bright eyes as they follow Mick’s words. His brown hair dances slightly as his head tilts from side to side, his eyes lidded slightly as they obviously follow your lips as you talk animatedly, your hands flying wildly as he begins to bite his own.

David’s eye blaze daggers at Micks’ head, his arms folded over his rising chest as Mick drops his head closer to his own, whispering warmly against your ear ‘you know, y/n, being my lady is all the satisfaction anyone would ever need’ with a slight wink.

This snaps David out of his daydream, his head shooting over to stare in disbelief in his friend before he stamps up, his feet pounding towards you and echoing throughout the room like a stampede of elephants as he holds his hand out to you, Mick throwing his hands up like a schoolchild being caught as he mumbles a low ‘goodnight Mick, don’t bother being here when we wake up’ before yanking the two of you towards your bedroom. Kicking suitcases that lie haphazardly on their side over the fluffy floor, David shuts the door with the force of a tornado before leaning against the door frame, his face as red as lava and his eyes squeezed shut as he breathes out a hoarse ‘I knew bringing Mick would be a bad idea.’

His eyes flash open as he feels your hands come to run gently up his chest and land on his shoulders, massaging into his tense muscles gently before leaning up on your tiptoes to press a sweet kiss against his burning cheek, his gaze falling slightly into one of tired devotion as he watches you press up against him, whispering ‘thank you for letting me meet him though, David. Now I know for certain no one in the universe could ever measure up to you.’

#bowie #david bowie #bowie imagines #mick jagger #mick jagger imagine #rolling stones #rolling stones imagine #mick jagger angst #bowie fluff #glam rock #glam rock imagine #classic rock #classic rock imagine

[lexi5678900]

Loveee

This is me whenever his songs randomly come on my shuffle! I love this little bean ❤️❤️❤️

#harry styles #send me love #send me messages #all the love #harry #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #much love #dad harry #sign of the times #harry album #mick jagger #loml #harold #harry styles hair

[cannibalcoyote]

Rockstar: Your Story(Interview)

You're a famous rock star being interviewed about the beginning of your career to the current (includes mentions of Mick Ronson, David Bowie, and Mick Jagger):

"Ma'am, can you tell us a little bit about when you first met David Bowie?" The question was so sudden that I could only scrunch my eyebrows at it. I expected David to be brought up sometime, but I didn't expect the first question to be about him.

"Sure, let's see.... I can't remember the exact date, but my dear friend - Mick Ronson - had called me up saying some band was interested in having us as guitar players. I was hesitant because I enjoyed my job as an architect, but something pushed me to go with him; we hopped on the next train to London and did the audition." I explain, tilting my head up at the memories resurfacing. Ronno had been unsure as well, but I'm glad we went.

"We heard it wasn't a pleasant experience? What happened?" They emphasize 'wasn't', clearly looking for some juicy gossip on Bowie, and who am I to disappoint.

"Well, David had accepted Mick but rejected me, and Ronno originally turned down the offer because of that. He didn't even tell me the truth, just grabbed me by the arm and lugged me as well as the guitars out of the building. I knew it hadn't gone well because he had this angry glare in his eyes, which is strange, because if you've ever met him, then you'd know he's rather sweet, and has a very discerning disposition.

I asked what was wrong and he just said that they didn't want us. I knew he was lying, but I didn't want to argue with him. We spent the rest of the time wandering around London sightseeing." I state, folding my hands up in my lap as I look at the interviewer. I don't like looking back to the '70s, a lot of stuff happened, and I fear what they will bring up.

"What happened after that?" The interviewer continues hastily digging, wanting more information. I guess this person isn't going to quit until they get the full story.

"We had stopped by a restaurant and were having lunch. Ronno was saying we should catch the train home after, but we were interrupted by David. I don't know how he found us, I just remember being shocked when he started begging Ronno to join his band. I was also a little confused, and I remember saying, 'I thought you didn't want us?'

To which David responded, 'No, I want him, I just don't want you.' That line had run through my head the following 3 years until I realized how lucky I was David didn't want me." I say the last few sentences in a softer voice, not liking to relive that particular memory.

"He said what?!" The interviewer over exaggerates their movements, getting the audience laughing just as they had hoped. I laugh a little too, David saying something so rude does seem rather uncharacteristic.

"Yah, I was rather astonished as well because the words left him in such a casual way, as if choosing what bread to buy at the market." I say, gently chuckling at the visual of David buying bread in such a critical way.

"What- How, how did Mick react to that." Their eyes widen, the crowd quiets down as they await my answer.

"Oh, he almost punched David! But I grabbed him and pulled him aside, asking why he lied and all that stuff." I respond, remembering the beautiful anger that he so desperately wanted to act on.

"I bet the last thing you wanted was for him to join David's band, right?" The interviewer asks the question humorously.

"That's... Wrong actually. He was vehemently against playing in a band without me, this is mainly due to the fact that ever since we were 12, we've always played together. But, I wanted him to take the opportunity, to show the world his ability, and to be able to be a confident player without me." I explain in a gentle voice, vaguely thinking of how self-conscious he was at the time when it came to him playing guitar.

"You seem to be a really supportive friend, (Y/N)." The tone of their voice turns genuine, the whole conversation losing the humorous quality that had been sustained.

"I try to be, the last thing I want is for people's failings or regrets to be because of me." I smile, my relieved guilt ebbing away as I think of where he and I are now.

"As well as being supportive, you also seem to be fairly protective, at least, that's what I got when Mick told us the story of you traumatizing his high school bully! With that in mind, how did you feel when you learned he was earning next to nothing during the tour?" The beginning of the sentence sent the interviewer and audience into a bit of a laugh, I laugh as well at the memory of scaring off Ronno's bully.

The laughter lightly quiets down to a more serious tone at the end discussion.

"I was appalled! I hated myself for a while because of that, because I pushed him into this situation where he was barely getting paid. Which was the opposite of what I thought would happen, especially after their popularity went through the roof!"I exclaimed, my eyes widening as I relived the shock; the ebbing guilt rushing forward tenfold.

"I heard you went to some extreme measures in order to help him out, what exactly did you do?" The interviewer goes on, the questions digging into lesser known information.

"Well, I joined any band I could, I would try and get hired by restaurants for live music during nights, and then during the day I had a job as a waitress as well as working part time as a lyricist." I explain, just saying that makes me remember how tiring my schedule was back then.

"Now that's a lot to juggle, and I'm sure you have some great stories from those days, but we have a specific story. What happened during one of your many tiring nights of live music?" They ask, this question is sort of a bore to me, one I'm frequently asked to retell.

"I had been band hopping at the time, and was hired for a gig when I didn't have a supportive group, so I improvised. I played my guitar and was singing live, but before that I had recorded the drums and rhythm guitar parts for the songs I was scheduled to play, so when I got up there I just started the recording and played along.

This was for a club where they wanted rock, so it was heavier playing. It was during my guitar solo I noticed someone in the crowd." I divulged, deciding to add in some information I had never shared before.

"Ooh, is this when you met the Rolling Stones?!" Someone screams out, the crowd and interviewer looking in shock before they all burst out laughing at the person's eagerness.

"Yes... but I technically only met Mick Jagger that night. I wasn't a big fan of the Rolling Stones at the time, but I did have an appreciation for their music. I was actually playing one of their songs at the time. Either way, it just surprised me to see him." I continued after we had all calmed down.

"I know you joined their band after that, but can you tell us what exactly went down?" I squint slightly at my interviewer's vernacular before deciding to just answer them.

"I don't think I can tell you all the details, I worry J might get embarrassed! But, I can tell you that he met me backstage after I was done and asked me if I was available tomorrow to meet him at a recording studio. It was the weekend the next day, so I said yes, he wrote down the address and time on a piece of paper, handed it to me, then said goodbye and walked away." I state in a jovial tone, Jagger is one of my favorite people to talk about, because he loves to call immediately after the interview and schedule a meet up. He's strange like that.

"Sounds strange? How did you feel after that?" They looked intrigued, clearly wanting me to divulge the information that I withheld.

"I was shocked. The next day I went and met him and his band mates, then they started playing a song together and asked me to improv. I had never heard the song before, so I just started watching their movements and playing off of that; by the end they asked if I was interested in joining their band, which I clearly said yes to." I exclaim, the interviewer's face looking shocked by what I just said.

"Wow, that all sounds like it went really fast?"

"Oh it was, we had only been playing for 20 minutes when they all stopped and asked me to join. I was going to say no because I needed to make enough money to send to Ronno, but when they mentioned how much I would make weekly I immediately accepted." I reply, chuckling as I remember my astonishment.

"I know after joining the Stones, your career skyrocketed, your solo albums have done well, and you write all your own songs?" They continue, motioning to my newest album sitting on their desk.

"Yes, my solo albums have done surprisingly well, and I write my own songs. I do accept and sing other songs sometimes, but I usually have a story told throughout my albums, and throwing in a random song messes that up." I explained.

"Did you and Mick Ronson keep in contact during this?" They question, looking at me in interest.

"Of course! In the beginning, Ronno and I called every week at the least, and we would send letters sometimes too!" I state ecstatically before calming myself down.

"How did that work? He was touring at the time right?" They ask in a befuddled way.

"Yes he was, but he would tell me the places he would be as well as the dates that he would be there, and I would do the same with him. It was a little complicated, but it was worth it." I reply, my hands waving as I mimic us writing letters.

"Honestly though, what would you send him that couldn't be said over the phone?" They ask after a few moments, laughing as their mind runs.

"Photos, drawings, songs, food-"

"Photos?" I can hear what they're implying, and I can't help but squint my face in disgust. The crowd's laughter magnified at my reaction.

"Stop thinking like that, you all have dirty minds! I would take pictures of me and the band, as well as the places around me. I loved drawing as well, so I would send him some, as well as some songs that I thought he would enjoy playing. Lastly, I knew he was getting food, but I knew it wasn't food he was used to, so I would bake him something, or buy him local snacks and ship them off to the correct address." I explain, describing the different things I would send him.

"Did he ask you to do any of this?"

"No, Ronno was never a complainer, he hated telling people his issues. I was usually the exception, but he prefers telling me in person as compared to over the phone or in a letter. He did enjoy them though, and he would send me songs and pictures as well. I remember him snapping a picture of his drummer scarfing down some cookies I made!" I jubilantly state, smirking as I remember that the picture is still hanging on my fridge.

"You sent him all these lovely things, what did he send you?"

"I never asked for anything more than a letter or a phone call, but he would send me these extravagant songs, asking me how I thought they sounded and if I liked them. He would also send me drawings - he's not really an artist, but he knows I love the little doodles he does randomly, so he started sending them to me." I grin, knowing Ronni will be embarrassed by me sharing this information.

"Was this an easier time in your life or would you consider it one of the more stressful?" Ah, here it comes, the questions I am most dreading.

"The fame and fortune made my financial issues about none, but socially I felt isolated. I had played in popular bands before, but never like this, I was only consistently around my band mates and the people that worked for them. I only really talked with Jagger and Keith, and then Keith randomly started hating me, so I was down to only talking to Jagger." I reply almost subconsciously, my mind wanting to distance itself from these memories.

"What about Ronson? I thought you said you had weekly phone calls and sent letters?" They ask in confusion.

"We did, but about 3 months into that, David started complaining to Ronno that he spent too much time talking to me, and that he was ignoring his band mates for someone he might never see again." The answer in a short tone, clearly still holding resentment for David's decision.

"David said that?" They say in shock.

"Yah, he said it straight to Ronno's face. We obviously didn't stop talking, we kept calling and messaging each other, but it lessened after that to about 1 call every 2 weeks. They became much longer phone calls though, he said that David was limiting his amount of calls, but stated that David couldn't limit his time, so we would end up talking through the entire night!" I smile on glee, our weak form of rebellion still makes my heart warm.

"We've talked about Ronson and his band mates reactions, but how did your bandmates react?" They continue, going down a different avenue.

"Well, everyone basically made fun of me and said we were in love. They told me to stop being so desperate because I was probably annoying Ronno, that remark actually made me start to overthink a lot. I started worrying that I was annoying him, and that he didn't like talking to me anymore. I think that's around the time I began to develop anxiety, I was already depressed, so that just added on to my plate." I responded before realizing I was over sharing on live TV.

"Did you tell Ronson about that? How did he react?" They gratefully kept moving right along, not leaving an awkward silence.

"Well, I never actually told him about that, I think this is the first time he's hearing this." I smile in discomfort, and an uncertain smile on my face.

"Really? You never spoke to him about any of this?" They ask in surprise, slightly taken aback.

"My anxiety had me thinking that saying a single word to him was annoying him, so no, I didn't just start talking about this to him. It was a really dark spot for me, the person to pull me through was Jagger actually. He noticed my extensive isolation, how I stopped eating around others, how I stopped talking. He really pulled through for me, which is probably why I'm still friends with him." I voice solemnly, deciding that I might as well be honest about the situation since there is no going back now.

"I know this is a heavy topic for you, I have some more questions, but if you're uncomfortable we can move on." Wish you had said that earlier, but oh well.

"Ask away, we can just skip the ones I'm uncomfortable with." I smile in response.

"Alright, what did Mick do? Did he just pull you aside and talk to you?"

"No actually, he wrote a song and asked if I would listen to it." I responded.

"What?" Perhaps I should rephrase my vague response.

"That's honestly what he did. But he wrote a song with true meaning, it was rather dark, and it actually made me cry and begin to hyperventilate. We were alone, so he just rushed over and helped calm me down; he didn't ask me any questions until I had completely relaxed." I explained honestly.

"What did he say exactly?" They continue.

"He just apologized, asking if I wanted to talk. I said no at first, but then he asked why I've been distancing myself from him and the band, why all the songs I was writing were either dark or sad.

I told him the truth, that I was depressed, that I felt so intensely alone, and that I could no longer talk to Ronno because I was probably annoying him." An uncomfortable shiver ran up my spine, reliving those memories makes me feel nauseous.

"How did he react to that? I can't really picture him being the best at giving advice and comfort." She smiles in a joking way, attempting to lighten the conversation.

"He was lovely, he hugged me like a giant teddy bear and told me that he would help me through this. We talked for a while, he asked me why I thought I was annoying Ronno, and I told him what the band had said to me." I answer, feeling a small smile appear at the memory of Mick comforting me.

"What did he say to that?"

"He told me that they were a bunch of single idiots who were jealous, and that I shouldn't ruin a meaningful relationship with my best friend by believing the words of immature drug addicts." I respond, barely withholding my laughter as I watch everyone's reaction.

"He said that?!" They nearly yell, everyone laughing at my answer.

"Yes, and the next day he told them all off for belittling me. During our talk he spoke to me about my isolation, I explained that I did that when I was sad or feeling out of place, and he asked what he could do to make me feel like a part of the team. He honestly made me cry a couple of times from how caring he was. Then he started talking about heavier subjects, such as why I wasn't eating during lunch breaks, why I never accepted snacks, and why I was noticeably losing weight." I state, realizing that I was now broaching the subject of my eating disorder.

"That must've been tough." They state seriously.

"It was, I realized at that moment, how much I missed Ronno. I asked Jagger if he wanted me to leave the band since I was such a problem, but he told me to stop being an idiot. The next day I was given a few sheepish apologies from my band mates, and Jagger became a very prominent person in my life from that day on." I explained.

"That's good. So Mick Jagger stepping up to help you must've put him pretty high on your list of friends right?"

"Yes, I only realized how much he was doing for me when he barged into my room during a depressive episode and all but shoved the phone into my hand. I distinctly remember him telling me not to come out until tomorrow morning. When I held the phone up, he had actually dialed up Ronno, who sounded very tired and confused, as well as concerned." I smile, these are the memories that I hold onto dearly.

"Really? How did he know what number to call?"

"I assume he went snooping around my desk, in one of my drawers was a paper with dates, addresses, and numbers. It was one of the sweetest things anybody had ever done for me." The look on my face was genuine, that was honestly one of the sweetest things anyone has done for me.

"I know you two are still good friends, but was there ever the possibility of anything more?" Oh boy, I hate it when they try to talk about this subject.

"I did find him to be attractive if that's what you're asking, but I was never in love with him. He did ask me out on a date and I had said yes, the date was lovely, but we got caught in a crowd of fans and he was like how he normally is. It made me remember how many groupies I'd seen leaving his room, and how many women I've seen smothered over him at all times, and it scared me away from ever allowing myself to love him." I reply sincerely.

"Could there have been something? If you hadn't cut it off?" They continue to push the topic.

"There could've been something eventually - from the despondent look on his face when I said I didn't want a relationship, I think he wanted us to become something more. I don't regret what I did, I like the friendship I have with him, the last thing I wanted to do was ruin it with his promiscuity and my need for loyalty. We've moved on though, I kind of see him as the older brother I never had." I reply, explaining my reasoning and the aftermath.

"Well, since that ship has definitely sunk, what about Ronson? Was there ever anything there?" They just won't give up will they?

"No... Well, there was one time in high school when we thought we should try dating, but that was spurred on by our teenage inability to understand that we loved each other, but not in that way. We realized that that wasn't us when we tried to act like a couple and both noticed that it felt forced. Ever since then we've been best friends." I state.

"Gosh, you're shooting down all of the fan favorites. Are you interested in anyone? Anyone at all?" They sound slightly exasperated, maybe I should throw them a bone.

"Hmmm... Maybe." I smile, a mischievous glint surely in my eye.

"What do you mean maybe? You can't leave the fans hanging like that!" I can tell that I have their genuine attention now.

"Well, ever since David and I have become friends, I've been... slightly interested in him." I say, jumping straight into the deep end.

"..." The silence could almost be described as palpable, it almost makes me want to laugh at how everyone is stunned into silence.

"Well, don't just stare at me." I laugh lightly.

"... I'm sorry, just processing. Does David know this?" They ask in hurried confusion.

"Well, if he's watching like he said he would, then he knows now." I laughed once again, but this time it had an air of uncertainty to it.

"Don't tell me you just confessed over live TV, in an interview no less!" They say in shock, looking at me with wide eyes.

"What if he doesn't reciprocate!" Their response makes me shiver in discomfort at that possibility, but I respond in humor.

"Then I die of embarrassment, cut all ties, and become a hermit!" I state loudly.

"Oh don't do that Y/N! Only healthy reactions are allowed on this show." The crowd laughs lightly at our convo.

I'm about to respond, but my Motorola starts ringing in my bag. I look to the interviewer before quickly digging through my bag and pulling out the phone. I sheepishly glance at it, the audience having fallen silent at the interruption.

"Is it alright if I answer this? It might be important." I state, I know this sounds bad, but it could actually be important since I left my home and animals under the care of my neighbor.

"Of course, but you owe us one more question before you leave then." They respond, holding out their hand.

"Deal!" I agree, shaking their hand quickly.

"Hello, this is Y/N." I state in a professional tone, getting a funny look from the interviewer at my seriousness.

"Y/N darling!" I am thrown off by the happy and familiar tone.

"...David?!" I state in slight confusion, everyone seeming to lean in closer.

"...Yes?" He responds in the same tone, making fun of the way I responded.

"Why are you calling me? I'm in an interview." I explain, swiftly going back to my professional tone.

"Yes well, when someone confesses they are interested in dating you, I thought the first thing one should do is accept." He responds in a joking yet serious tone.

I'm silent for a few moments in surprise, did David just say he wants to date me too?

"Well, don't leave me without a response darling... Will you go on a date with me?" His serious and self assured tone dwindled slightly, I can hear his uncertainty.

"Yes." My response was short, it was rushed and all I could muster with my amount of shock.

"Good, I'll pick you up after the interview, so I'll see you in a few minutes." He stated before hanging up.

I can't contain the overjoyed smile that spreads across my face, most certainly accompanied by a warm blush. The audience snickers as I clumsily put my phone away, then they start laughing as the interviewer stares at me with a smug grin.

"Who was that?" They ask tauntingly.

"Ohhh... no one." I try to brush it off, but I know no one is believing.

"Really! Does this no one happen to be named David Bowie?" They continue.

I avert my eyes in embarrassment, the audience laughing even louder as I sheepishly nod my head.

#david bowie fanfic #david bowie x reader #david bowie imagine #david bowie fluff #david bowie #david bowie one shot #female insert #female reader #female writers #female author #famous reader #celebrity reader #interview #mick jagger #mick ronson #ziggy stardust #the rolling stones

[pallasperilous]

Everybody's Got A Hungry Heart

Everybody's Got A Hungry Heart Dean Winchester/Castiel Rated T (mostly for swears) Wordcount: 18k, complete for @pimentogirl

Read on Ao3

Summary: A second-generation rock star struggling with creative burnout, Dean is willing to try just about anything to get his mojo back. Even hiring a weirdo mysterious journeyman music producer recommended by his brother's witchy folk idol ex.

Tags: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Alternate Universe - Show business, Rock Star Dean Winchester, Music Producer Castiel, Fluff and Mild Angst, Slow Burn, Explicit Shostakovich Content, Dean Winchester POV.

Excerpt:

Dean is jumpy as shit. Why one (possibly Icelandic?) beep-boop specialist has him on edge while Mick Jagger’s own vocal coach barely got his heart rate over 55bpm is a goddamn mystery. Maybe it’s the harp solos from that sample track; maybe Dean’s nervous that this is his last shot, and if this guy can’t save Dean from filling out the back end of his contract with “Best Of” and “Live In Concert” compilations, he might as well walk into the fucking sea.

Castiel saves Dean’s life at dinner, which is pizza and a very grudging house salad from the most normal place Dean can slip past Sam.

The real pisser is that it’s not even a good story, as near-death experiences go. A stray bullet doesn’t bust through a window and nick Dean in the carotid; Castiel does not put pressure on the wound and yell “stay with me, dammit” until paramedics arrive. No falling marble, heart attacks, accidental ODs, or jumping-into-the-pool-from-the-roof. Sam just says something mildly funny and Dean tries to breathe some hot Italian sausage (shut the fuck up) and chokes.

Crowley’s not there – he’s vaping out on the side lawn and probably catching bugs in his mouth to replace the human blood he usually drinks. Dad’s dead; Mom is extra dead. Bobby’s home in South Dakota probably asleep in front of the TV. Sam’s…not actually great when it comes to split-second emergencies. He always gets that spinny hourglass kind of look on his face, and in the long, slow milliseconds where Dean’s dying of meat, he thinks it’s gonna be real fucking funny when he and Eileen have a kid and she goes into labor, he’s probably gonna slam the car door on his own hand.

Then Castiel steps behind him and balls his fists under Dean’s ribcage and does the Heimlich thing like that’s why they hired him. The meat magically caroms out of Dean’s airway and across the table, and then Dean is just generally disgusting and pathetic for a few minutes while Sam wigs out and Crowley takes a photo.

Afterwards, Dean offers Castiel a drink, which he turns down in favor of another glass of tap water, as if he has not just rescued Dean from being Us Weekly’s “Gone Too Soon” cover of the month.

“I hope I didn’t bruise your ribs,” Castiel says. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done it, and never on anybody tall.” He’s around Dean’s height, maybe a few years older, a guy on the “interesting” end of the handsome spectrum (Lisa once said Dean was made in a “handsomeness lab,” which feels 1% worse every time he remembers it). If Castiel hadn’t just contracted every muscle in his body against Dean’s back and ass, Dean wouldn’t think the guy was particularly built – it doesn’t help that he’s dressed like a Mennonite accountant who’s recently lost weight and hasn’t had time to drop by the Men’s Wearhouse to size down. He’s taken off the jacket, at least, but he’s still wearing an actual fucking necktie in a room full of denim.

“You save a lot of people from choking?” Dean wheezes. It would be real cool if this has blown his voice.

“You’re my third. I also rescued a boy from drowning when I was sixteen.” Castiel has his hands in his pockets, casually admiring the wild pink sunset shaking itself out over the pool. “Residential pools are incredibly dangerous,” he says, like it’s a compliment.

There’s not a lot more after that. Castiel is still on Iceland time and it’s hard to get it up for chitchat or shop talk after you’ve all felt the cold touch of death over cheesy breadsticks.  Sam offers to show Castiel out to the casita – not that there aren’t plenty of guest rooms in the main house, or that he’s being exiled or anything, but he won’t have to worry about running into the staff there, or a pantless Dean before coffee.

Castiel is shouldering up one of his exactly two modest bags when Dean catches him. “Hey, I listened to the tracks you did for Rowena. Really good stuff.”

Castiel smiles, a small, tired, but authentic one. No teeth, no golly shucks, no blush. “Thank you,” he says. “She’s a unique talent. Working with her was quite an experience.” He lifts his hand in a little “see you in the morning” gesture and Dean returns it, jamming his spare hand in his back pocket like he’s got leather ranch gloves back there and now he’s gonna go out and bring the cows in before nightfall.

Dean can smell Crowley hovering camphorously behind him. “That was a sick burn, right?” he asks, looking back. “Super polite mode?”

“The sickest,” Crowley agrees, cooly. Then he scuttles up the staircase for the night, whistling Eddie Cochran’s opening riff on Three Steps to Heaven. Or maybe it’s Queen Bitch. Read the full story on AO3

#destiel fanfic #deancas #pallasperilous fic #profoundnet

[waugh-bao]

Age isn’t kind, but sometimes, the friendship that grows with it is.

A year of love, in all of its unspoken patterns.

(Part of a series of one shots about The Rolling Stones' relationships with each other, from a variety of perspectives and eras, based on quotes from them).

#gen #no slash #I needed something cheerful after the past few months #so this is just shameless old man Stones' fluff #the rolling stones #keith richards #charlie watts #mick jagger #ronnie wood #old married band #the glimmer twins #the cuddliest rock and roll band in the world #my stuff #fanfic

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

omg can i request a Tommy with the reader putting makeup on him like eyeliner or something like that-

I'm sorry but Tommy with eyeliner is gonna live in my head for awhile

Like David Bowie (Tommy Slater x Reader)

Warnings: implied 1970s toxic masculinity, deconstructing 1970s toxic masculinity, tooth-rotting fluff, oh to sit on tommys lap and do his makeup

Word Count: 607

"I don't know how you convinced me to do this." Tommy said. He was sitting criss-crossed on your bed, with you right across from him. You had your makeup bag open, but there was only one thing you were really looking for. And, when you found it, you said,

"It's just a little bit of eyeliner, babe." You pulled out the thin pencil-like object, and removed the cap. It was already pretty well sharpened, so you just continued with, "I just wanna see what you look like with it on, and if you don't like it," You shrugged, and then held up your makeup wipes. "We can take it off." You told him, and he let out a sigh. He was scratching his ear, and you looked him over before you said, "Y'know, we don't have to do this at all if it-"

"No, no," Tommy said, shaking his hands in front of him. A small smile was already growing on your face from the cuteness of the action. "Just- What was that thing you said earlier again?" He asked, and your smile grew. You knew exactly what he wanted you to say.

"You're gonna look just like David Bowie. A total rockstar." You added the last bit, and you watched Tommy let out a breath. A beat passed, and then a smile finally broke and he waved for you to continue. You smiled and shook your head, before you motioned for him to look up,

"Look up." You said softly, and moved closer. The angle was a little awkward, and you tried to adjust your hand twice. Finally, you huffed and went to hold his shoulders as you climbed into his lap. Tommy let out a soft surprised noise, but he wasn't protesting for a second. His hands were quick to wrap around your waist to steady you, before settling on your thighs. You watched him look you over, and even noticed the slight gulp when you settled your legs around his hips. He gave your thighs an experimental squeeze, and, with a small smile on your face, you told him, "Look up." You whispered again, and Tommy finally did.

You were gentle and careful not to poke his eye. You didn't want to do too much, just a little bit on his water line and a little so you could smudge it out. Your touch was feather light, even if Tommy squirmed a little and blinked as you finished the first eye. You did the second, and then pulled back. You smiled bright, holding his chin and tilting his head so you could admire your handiwork. Tommy arched a brow and said,

"Well?" And you giggled before leaning in to press a kiss to his lips. It was just a little bit of black eyeliner. Nothing too major. But, you definitely thought it added a little something.

"Like a total rockstar." You told him, and he hummed in response. He pressed another kiss to your lips, one that lingered, before you said, "You wanna see?" And Tommy gave you a nod. You climbed off of him and off the bed, and Tommy half-heartedly teased you and tried to grab your leg. He pushed himself off the bed, and went to check himself out in your mirror. He leaned in, so he could get a good look, and you repeated his previous question,

"Well? What do you think?" As you went to hold one of his hands. He shrugged, and then gave you a smile with a tilt of his head. His voice was teasing as he said,

"I think I look more like Mick Jagger."

#fear street #fear street 1978 #fear street tommy slater #tommy slater fear street #fear street tommy #tommy fear street #tommy slater #tommy slater x reader #thomas slater x reader #thomas slater

[wayward-dreamer]

The Right Direction

AO3 Link: Read Here

Square Filled: Dog walker!Jensen

Pairing: Dog walker!Jensen x Female!Dog walker!Reader

Word count: 2,839 (Wow! I wrote something under 5K lol!)

Rating: Teen

Summary: Sometimes the wrong direction can turn out to be the right one.

Warnings: Some swearing, a bunch of cute dogs, fluff.

Created for @spnaubingo

A/N: This is written for @downanddirtydean‘s 500 followers challenge! Prompt is in bold. I hope you like it twin!! Thank you @deanwanddamons​ for being a beta on this! As always, I’d love to hear what you all think! Happy reading and enjoy! :)

Dividers by @firefly-graphics​ 

A wet nose and soft fur were the first things she felt on her hand every morning. Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, a groan leaving her as they adjusted to the light in the room. She felt the bed shift and heard the sound of a collar shaking, her smile growing as the furry ball landed in her lap. She stroked her little Corgi’s fluffy hair, kissing the top of his head.

“Morning, Ringo.” She planted another kiss on his head, her hands alternating between squishing his face and running over his light brown and white fluffy coat. “Someone hungry?”

Ringo licked his lips, signalling he was more than ready for breakfast.

“Alright, come on,” she muttered as she gently dropped him down on the floor of her bedroom.

Y/N got up from her bed, laughing as Ringo scurried out of the door ahead of her, stopping to wait impatiently near his bowl. His round behind wiggled, excited to be receiving his breakfast as Y/N picked up the bag of dog food, dropping some into the metal bowl.

“Stay,” she commanded, watching his innocent brown eyes look up at her. Waiting for a few seconds, she smiled. “Eat.”

Ringo gave his lips another lick, bending down and gobbling up a few pieces of dry food at a time. She smiled at him and then went about getting ready for the morning, quickly changing into her sweatpants and oversized sweater, throwing her hair up in a messy bun. By the time she was ready, Ringo was finished eating.

“Alright, shall we go?” she said, bending down in front of him and petting under his chin. She clipped his leash onto his collar, patting him at the same time. “Now, I’m trusting you to be good with the other dogs, so you better listen to me. Okay?”

Ringo gave her a little whine, causing her to lift an eyebrow. “Ringo.”

His paws started to tap excitedly against the floorboards, making Y/N give him a smile. “Good boy,” she said, scratching behind his head and standing up.

She quickly grabbed her keys, phone and wallet, heading out the door of her apartment, and walking down a few flights of stairs, Ringo in tow. She knocked on the door of an apartment, smiling as Mrs. Morris greeted her. She held the leash of her 6-year-old Border Collie, Betty, in her hand and smiled at her.

“Morning, Y/N. How are you?” she asked, as Betty’s tail wagged excitedly when she saw Ringo, more than ready for her walk.

“I’m great, Mrs. Morris. How are you?”

“Oh, you know, can’t complain,” the older woman said, handing her the leash. “Betty’s a little too excited this morning.”

Y/N patted Betty a few times, shaking her head. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

With a goodbye, she walked Betty and Ringo down the last two flights of stairs, and out onto the sidewalk. She held onto the leashes, enjoying the sun but there was as a slight chill against her face on the bright autumn morning. They walked for about ten minutes, picking up more dogs along the way. A Bulldog, a Pomeranian and a Chihuahua. Y/N walked them into the dog park, knowing how much they loved to run around and play with each other. They were all from the same neighborhood and socially used to each other, making her job much easier. However, Y/N was in desperate need of caffeine, having forgone a cup at home to get the dogs. Making a quick stop at a vendor, she paid for her steaming cup of black coffee and continued to walk them all down the path in the park, trying to find a clear spot to sit down and let them run around.

Y/N kept the dogs in front of her, all of their leashes in one hand, and her drink in the other, trying to get away from unfamiliar pets they hadn’t interacted with yet. As she smiled down at her fur friends for the morning, she basked in the peacefulness of the walk.

Suddenly, Y/N screamed as she collided with another dog walker, a man completely distracted with his phone and not watching what the German Shepherd and Golden Retriever he was walking were doing. Her shoulder got knocked backwards, her arm coming up and spilling her piping hot coffee all down the front of her sweater. She screamed again as the liquid seeped through the material, making contact with  her skin. Thankfully, the sweater she was wearing was thick and she didn’t get severely burnt by the hot beverage.

“Oh my god! I am so, so sorry!” the man apologized, steadying the dog’s leash as he stashed his phone away.

“Sorry?! Watch where you’re going next time, you asshole!” she yelled, using her free hand to wipe the front of her sweater with her sleeve. She hadn’t even looked up at the man yet, focusing on cleaning herself. Her ever loyal companion, Ringo growled at the other dogs, who were slightly bigger than him and were growling back.

“Ringo, it’s okay,” Y/N said, calmly as she pulled lightly on all the leashes, moving the animals  behind her legs. They were all starting to bark, getting riled up by the man’s German Shepherd and Golden Retriever.

“I really am sorry,” the man said, as he pulled the dog he was walking back, “He gets really excited when he comes here, and I was trying to message someone-”

“Well maybe don’t do that,” she grumbled, soaking up the coffee with her sleeve as best as she could. She finally looked up, her eyes blinking as she took in the guy who bumped into her. He was incredibly gorgeous, with green eyes that looked guilty and soft and plump lips that he was biting into. She looked like an absolute mess in her casual attire, and here he was, towering over her and looking like a male model in a dog park.

“Please let me buy you another,” he said, sheepishly as he pointed to her shirt.

She shook her head, a little stunned by the good-looking man in front of her. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“I feel terrible,” he muttered, frowning as he gestured to the German Shepherd “He pulled suddenly while I was texting. It’s no excuse, I know, but he must’ve gotten excited when he saw your dogs.”

“It’s really okay,” Y/N reassured him. She felt awful for yelling at him now that she saw how apologetic he was, “They’re not mine. I’m a dog walker. Only the Corgi belongs to me.”

“I am too, but this guy is mine,” he smiled, gesturing to the German Shepherd next to him, who was now sitting and looking up at Y/N. “His name’s Jagger.”

“Jagger? As in Mick?” she asked, chuckling.

“Yeah,” he replied, smiling. He patted the top of the Golden Retriever’s head, smiling. “This is Astro. Neighbor’s kid is a big Jetsons fan.”

Y/N laughed, gesturing to her best friend in the whole world, “This is Ringo.”

“As in Starr?” he asked, smirking.

She laughed again, nodding. “Yeah. The Border is Betty, the Bulldog is Jackson, the Pom is Mimi, and the Chihuahua is Coco.”

“Ringo and Jagger… we sure know how to pick some good names,” he said, smiling at her.

“Yeah,” she agreed, smiling back at him. “Anyway, I should get going.”

“I really feel awful about this,” he muttered, frowning. “Can I make it up to you some time?”

She bit her lip, smiling as she shrugged. “We’ll see.” She would have to think about it, considering they had just met, and it wasn’t exactly the greatest first meeting.

“I’m Jensen, by the way.” He offered his hand, smiling softly at her. She took it in hers and felt the butterflies in her stomach begin to flutter.

“Y/N,” she said, smiling back at him. She looked down when she felt a wet nose against her hand, seeing Jagger nudging at her hand. She crouched down and patted him down, scratching behind his ears. The dogs tried to move around her to get to him, but she kept nudging them away, lightly. He whined when she stood up, pulling on his leash as he tried to follow her.

“Jagger, no. We gotta go, man,” Jensen told the dog, steering him in the other direction with Astro in tow.

With one last look at the man who she was totally caught off guard by, Y/N led the dogs away, unfortunately having to cut their walk short.  Jensen smiled as he turned and watched her walk away, hoping that he would see her again. He felt terrible and just hoped he had another shot to get to talk to Y/N. He had seen her from across the park before the collision happened. She was beautiful and despite the horrible circumstance, the moment their eyes met he knew he was done for.

They always say dogs have the best instinct about people, and Jensen was happy to know that Y/N was a good person according to Jagger’s eagerness to go with her. He just hoped there would be no hot coffee in the way of him getting to talk to her the next time he saw her.

A few days had passed since the incident in the park. Y/N was back there again, this time only with Ringo, and it was just after lunch. She handed in her article for the week, meeting her deadline a day early and decided to take her fluff ball for a run around in the dog park once she had submitted the article to her editor. She laughed as he ran circles around her on the grass, a blur of brown and white fur. As he continued to run, Y/N’s attention was suddenly taken away from him, as she heard someone clear their throat behind her. She turned and smiled, seeing the handsome dog walker who bumped into her a few days ago, a white cup in one hand, the leash to his beautiful German Shepherd in the other.

“A peace offering?” he stated.

“You didn’t have to,” she said, shaking her head.

He held out the cup insistently, smiling when she took it. “Yes, I did.”

She held her palm out, allowing the dog to come near her. The animal sniffed her a few times and licked her hand.  Y/N instantly moved her hand behind his ears to pet him. “He’s gorgeous.” As is his owner she thought to herself as she looked at Jensen, “How old is he?”

“He’s four,” Jensen told her, smirking. “Still acts like a puppy sometimes, though.”

“Aren’t they always a puppy no matter how big they get?” she asked, chuckling. Jagger started nudging against Y/N, wanting her to play with him. Jensen smiled, glad that his dog approved of her.

“Yeah,” he nodded, and looked down as Ringo came running to her, interested to see who her new friend was. Ringo hopped excitedly towards Jagger, not intimidated by the size difference between them at all.

“Hey buddy, you remember Jagger?” she asked, smiling brightly. She crouched down, calming him slightly as Jagger began to growl. Jensen got down to the dog’s level, holding him back slightly.

“Hey, behave,” Jensen commanded.

Comforting both of the dogs, Jensen let Jagger move forward a little first. He sniffed Ringo as Y/N let him go slightly too, to do the same. They tried to figure each other out, and one lick from Jagger had Ringo running off, turning to see if he would follow. Jensen let him off the leash, watching as he ran off, both of them play- fighting as they rolled over on the grass. Y/N and Jensen stood back, watching their dogs become fast friends.

“He doesn’t take to small dogs so quickly,” Jensen remarked as he watched his German Shepherd play with the small Corgi.

“Ringo loves every dog he comes across,” Y/N said, smiling as she watched them play. “So, I’m glad he found another friend.”

“Me too,” he muttered, smiling. “Jagger’s been lonely. I keep thinking I should get another one just so he doesn’t feel it anymore.”

“Well, until you do… he’s welcome to play with Ringo,” she stated, smiling at the gorgeous man next to her. The butterflies had returned, and she was finding it hard to keep her cool around him.

“Thanks.” Jensen smiled back at her, trying not to hold eye contact with her for longer than necessary, suddenly nervous to be near to her again.

After that afternoon, Jensen and Y/N had a standing meeting every Thursday afternoon in the dog park. As Jagger and Ringo played together, Y/N and Jensen would talk about everything they could before the dogs exhausted themselves. They discussed how they got the dogs, what they did for a living apart from dog walking (Jensen told her he worked at a brewery and Y/N told him she wrote for the paper), their favourite movies, books, music and more. By the fourth meeting, Y/N was hoping that he would ask her out on an official date. She knew she couldn’t be the only one feeling an attraction between them and wished more than anything that he would pluck up the courage and ask her. Maybe she would have to if he didn’t, but that was something she had never done before.

On the day of their usual meeting, Y/N and Jensen strolled the length of the park, walking Jagger and Ringo side by side. Every now and then, they would turn and smile at each other, as Jensen kept telling himself to open his mouth and ask her out on a date. Letting the dogs off their leashes, the owners watched on as they did every week, the dogs now absolute best friends. A brown leaf fell from the tree branch above Jensen and Y/N, landing on her nose and getting stuck there. Jensen laughed as he leaned over, using his thumb and forefinger to remove it.

“Thanks,” she whispered, looking up at him. Their bodies were close, both of them in slightly warmer clothes now that the weather was turning.

“No problem,” he mumbled, smiling. He looked out ahead at the park, worrying his lip as he thought about how to approach the subject of asking her on a date. “Okay, so…”

“What’s up?” she asked,  her stomach fluttering at the thought that the moment had finally arrived.

“I, uh… I really like you, Y/N,” he told her, his smile becoming wider as he turned to her.

“I really like you too, Jensen,” she said, beaming up at him.

He sighed in relief, nodding. “Okay, so then… I would love to- I mean that is if you want to, I really want to take you on a non-dog park date.” Dear Lord, this isn’t going well he told himself as he cringed at his bad attempt to ask her out.

“You know…” She laughed as she looked into his eyes. “Must be hard with your sense of direction. Never being able to find your way to a decent pick-up line.”

Jensen chuckled nervously, his cheeks red with embarrassment. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

“Nope,” she said, smiling as she winked.

A moment passed as they continued to look at each other. Jensen backtracked, a little more confident this time.

Taking a deep breath, he looked at her. “Y/N, would you like to go out for dinner with me?”

She smiled up at him, finding him so adorable in that moment. “Yes.”

The first date turned into a second. The second into a third. They would meet up in the dog park, some days with Jagger and Ringo, and others with all the others they would walk on a regular basis. With huddles of dogs of different breeds, they walked closer and closer to each other, stealing kisses and loving looks.

Dates and dog walking turned into getting down on one knee, the ring box clipped to Ringo’s collar as Jensen asked Y/N if she wanted to spend her life with him, with Jagger in tow.

They married in a small ceremony, with Jagger and Ringo at their feet, more than happy to be best fur friends forever.

And eventually… the news of an addition to their little family came, with Jensen and Y/N completely over the moon with the dogs getting a human brother or sister.

Y/N sat on the couch, smiling as she patted Jagger and Ringo’s heads, both of them sitting on either side of her, their noses close to her growing belly. Jensen walked in, a bowl of popcorn in his hand, settling into the couch next her, putting Ringo’s body over his legs. Y/N turned to him and leaned in, kissing his lips softly as he turned to her.

They say that dogs have great instinct.

And for that, Jensen and Y/N would always be grateful to have two fur companions that brought them into each other’s lives.

-x-

If you’re crossed out, Tumblr won’t let me tag you :(

Tags: @deanwanddamons @winchest09 @downanddirtydean @jensengirl83 @wonder-cole @that-one-gay-girl @flamencodiva @ellewritesfix05 @roonyxx @akshi8278 @hobby27 @michellethetvaddict @spngirl05 @kyjey @halesandy @440mxs-wife @stoneyggirl @deanswaywardgirl @redbarn1995 @marianita195 @babypink224221 @deans-baby-momma @parinarain @thoughts-and-funnies @mandalou29 @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @superaveng @supernatural-love14 @vicmc624 @prettyboyswow @lunarmoon8 @supernatural-bellawinchester

#spnaubingo #downanddirtydeans500followerscelebration #jensen ackles x female!reader #jensen x female!reader #jensen ackles one shot #jensen ackles fluff #jensen ackles fanfiction #dog walker!jensen #dog walker! reader #supernatural one shot #supernatural fluff #supernatural fanfiction

[urgonnaneedabiggership]

Never Too Far

David Bowie x Fem! Reader

Category: Fluff, angst

Warnings: Just slight angst

Word Count: 5.9K

A/N: Hope you enjoy this little piece fueled by excitement and love for Bowie, I swear I proof read a couple of times but if anything went over my head, I apologize in advance for it. Enjoy! xox

Originally Posted by @fleeting-queen-of-pepperland

__________________

Music blared through the speakers, invading every inch of the house, making Y/n's chest rumble. Her hand tightly gripping her brother's as they made their way across the large living room towards the kitchen. 

"Are you sure they're in there?" Y/n asked, stretching her neck and brushing a couple strands of hair behind her ears to take a better look at the sea of faces surrounding them. John answered with a meek nod followed by an unsure shrug. 

"Roger said he'd be here, Brian already left with someone and god knows where Freddie is," he answered, slightly annoyed at his band mates for ditching him and his sister. They had been the ones to talk him into letting Y/n go with them to the party. 

"But it's at Mick's" John had protested "I don't want my sister on her own at one of his parties."

"Come on, Deacy!" Roger had insisted. "She's what, five minutes younger than you?" 

"Three." Y/n corrected, palms sweating as she tapped her fingers against her knees anxiously. "Please, John. You might've gotten used to being around these people by now, but this would mean so much to me!" 

John pursed his lips thoughtfully and stared at Y/n, who looked at him pleadingly, mouthing another "please", holding her hands together in front of her lips. 

"Alright," he receded, throwing his arms up in defeat "But don't wander off and if you even look at anything other than a joint, we're out. Understood?" 

Y/n nodded and hugged her brother gleefully, planting a kiss on his cheek, thanking him profusely. 

"Oh, don't worry, darling" Freddie said, patting John's shoulder reassuringly. "We'll look out of her from time to time, she'll be fine," 

Of course, they didn't, ergo John's annoyed expression. 

Once they walked into the kitchen, Roger was indeed in there, rummaging one of the cupboards while drunkenly whispering to himself. 

"For fuck's sake Jagger, you have all but the Queen's knickers in here but not some damn licorice?" 

"Rog?" John called from behind the drummer, who tripped on the chair he was standing on and barely managed to hold himself up by gripping the edge of the kitchen counter. He stared at the twins and smiled widely, a half-eaten chocolate bar hanging from his free hand. 

"Deacy! Y/n!" he exclaimed and carefully stepped down, "How's the party? Are you having a good time, love?" 

Roger didn't wait for a reply before taking another bite out of his chocolate bar, shaking his head while looking at Y/n. 

"Of course you aren't, how can you be remotely having fun with your dear chaperone breathing down your neck, you poor, poor thing. " 

Roger threw an arm around Y/n's shoulders and pulled her head down to his chest, running his hand down her hair in a comforting manner. 

Despite wanting to protest, Y/n knew he was right. She loved her brother to pieces, but he did have a hard time assimilating that fact that she was not a little girl anymore, and she wanted to live a lot more than he probably would be comfortable with. 

Unfortunately, she had never been confrontational enough to openly tell John to back off. If anything, she would sneak away or find any other passive way to get rid of her occasionally overbearing twin. 

Mostly, it was a lucky twist of fate that saved her from this kind of situation, and this wasn't the exception. 

That night it came in the shape of Freddie barging in through the kitchen door. 

"Brian just got in a fight!" he announced. 

"What? I thought he was leaving with that brunette!" John exclaimed, looking puzzled. Freddie laughed almost maniacally and nodded. 

"Oh, he tried to leave with her alright. But turns out she came here with Townshend and he's having none of it, and apparently dear Bri isn't either."

"I've got to see that, where are they?" Roger asked, bolting through the door. 

"Upstairs, in the hallway!" the singer replied as he quickly followed, still laughing gleefully. 

"Damn," John muttered, seeing them go before turning to his sister. "Stay here, I'll go and see if I'm sober enough to save their drunk asses" 

Y/n nodded eagerly, obviously not intending to obey his order and already wondering what part of the house she'd venture to first once John was out of the equation. Probably not the hallway upstairs. Just as a precaution, Y/n waited for a couple of minutes after her twin disappeared behind the kitchen door. As she scanned her surroundings, her eyes landed on the fridge before her. 

"Oh, what the hell." she whispered to herself as she swung the door open and grabbed a bottle of beer. Y/n hummed while she carefully pressed the lid against the edge of the counter and, with a sudden upwards movement, opened the bottle. A handy trick she had learned from Roger. 

Since everything seemed clear, she reached her hand out to grab the door knob before it suddenly twisted and someone flung the door open, covertly sliding inside the kitchen and closing the door after him. 

Instinctively thinking it was her brother, Y/n retreated to her original position, as if she never intended to leave the room. 

But the figure before her wasn't John. 

He was barely shorter, and slimmer. His skin was porcelain smooth, strands of his scruffy yellow hair fell over his forehead. With a quick head movement the man flipped them out of his face, uncovering his eyes. 

It wasn't until he turned around that she could see them properly, but he almost jumped backwards, startled by the figure quietly standing on the other side of the room that had gone unnoticed by him. 

"Bloody hell," he blurted out before taking a deep breath and leaning against the wall besides the door. "Sorry, I could've sworn I was alone," 

"No, no, it's okay." Y/n assured him with a soft chuckle. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I shouldn't have just stood here, in a dark corner, looking so creepy," 

"Well," he replied with a smirk "Can't be worse than a pale, scrawny weird-eyed lad, can it?" 

She nodded with an amused smile and shrugged. 

"Touche. I honestly thought for a moment I had too much to drink and was seeing a ghost, but then I realized…" Y/n lifted the untouched bottle of beer she was holding. "... I'm completely sober."

"Love, you don't want that." the man made his way towards her with a couple of strides and snatched the bottle from her hands. 

"I have already been here several times," he whispered, leaning closer to her as if he was revealing a big secret, even if they were alone in the kitchen. "I know where to find something more… suitable for such a pretty lady, follow me."

He took her hand, practically engulfing it in his slender and delicate fingers. He led her out of the kitchen, not letting go as he made his way across the crowd that had gathered in the living room, going as far as the top of the stairs. However, Y/n realized he was being careful as to not drag her too roughly through the innumerable bodies. 

Finally, he turned around a corner and slid through a small door, behind which a small staircase descended into a pitch black corridor. 

"I'm David," he said as he continued to walk down the stairs. Even in the darkness, Y/n could see his wide, mischievous smile when he looked back at her. 

"Y/n," she replied smiling back, although she doubted he had noticed since her eyes were anxiously fixed on the steps. 

"Here," he said gently, almost reading her mind, as he took her hand and placed it on his arm. "This stair is a little bit steep, you might want to hold onto me." 

Y/n nodded with a soft "thank you" before they continued their descent. 

Finally, they reached an underground room. David reached out his hand and began feeling the wall next to the entrance until he found the light switch. 

When he turned on the lights, Y/n could see three rows of large barrels and another of wooden racks, full of wine bottles of different kinds. Finally, a small metallic table stood in the center of the room, a silver tray with four glasses resting atop. 

"See?" David said, rubbing his hands together as he made his way towards the racks. He knelt before one and moved his fingers tentatively around the bottles while he chose one. Finally, he gripped the neck of a bottle with a beautifully painted label depicting an abstract bouquet of posies on a white background. 

"Are you sure Mick will be okay with this?"

Y/n asked, snickering nervously as she approached the table. David nodded without a single trace of worry and carefully pulled the cork off. 

"Come on, he won’t miss one sad little bottle, he’s got plenty,” he assured and carefully poured the two glasses, handing one to Y/n. 

“Well, cheers to that,” Y/n said, lifting her glass with a soft laugh. He reciprocated the toast and took a small sip of his glass, staring at Y/n thoughtfully with pursed lips as she took another sip. 

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” he said with an amused grin. Y/n felt her face burn as she bit the inside of her cheek, pondering on whether the words in her brain should leave her mouth. However, thanks to that odd instant connection established between the two of them, David seemed to peek into her mind once again. 

“You do know who I am, don’t you?” he asked. 

“I do!” Y/n gave in, clamping her hand over her forehead and shaking her head, “Of course I do, I’ve been actively trying to get a hold of myself for the last ten minutes, I figured it would be awful to come up to someone wanting a normal conversation and instead end up with another starstruck fan babbling about how much they love your music and how you’re amazing, blah, blah, blah.” 

Y/n looked up at David, who was just staring back with a surprised expression and obviously trying to refrain himself from bursting out laughing. However, before she could panic any further, he grabbed the bottle and leaned forward. 

“I believe the most responsible thing to do would be to cut you off,” However, he did exactly the opposite and tilted the bottle to refill Y/n’s glass. “But if this is what it takes to keep you talking, I’d let you wipe out Mick’s entire cellar, dear.” 

Y/n let out a relieved laughter, feeling more tranquil now that she had gotten that off her chest and didn’t scare poor David away. Said calmness increased when he began laughing as well. It was an honest and hearty laugh that made both of them forget the entire party above them, even after the laughter stopped and they sat in a comfortable silence, sipping on their glasses contentedly. 

“Coltrane,” David said after a short while. Y/n hummed questioningly and furrowed her eyebrows. 

“John Coltrane,” the musician repeated, “do you know him?” 

“I absolutely love John Coltrane,” Y/n replied, emphasizing every word, “I have spent years collecting every album of his, and now I’m only missing A Love Supreme,” 

“That I can help with,” David replied with a flirty smile. Y/n now positively blushed, which he noticed despite her attempt to hide it behind the glass as she raised it to her lips. 

“Smooth,” She quipped. “Alright, Chet Baker?” 

“Love him. I’d hate to boast, but I own a gigantic collection of jazz records. Coltrane, Davis, Baker, you name it. Perhaps you’d like to visit me sometime and I could show them to you?” 

Y/n nearly choked on her wine. However, she realized that the longer she kept talking to the world-famous rockstar, the less she perceived him as such, now rather seeing him as a fellow jazz connoisseur who happened to be undeniably charming. 

Suddenly, their pleasant chatter was interrupted by an odd sound. It was so out of place that it took Y/n a couple minutes to put her finger on what it was, until she realized it was a doorbell. More specifically, the one they had at her building. How the hell could the doorbell of her flat be ringing in Mick Jagger’s cellar, and too loudly to be at the main door? 

As Y/n turned to face David, she blinked confused when her eyes met nothing but an empty space next to the table. Before she could think or say anything else, the doorbell began ringing once again in an annoyingly persistent fashion.

Y/n opened her eyes and found herself staring at the ceiling of her bedroom. She felt a dull ache in her chest and sighed deeply, hoisting herself up and rubbing her eyes groggily. Y/n swung her legs over the edge of her bed and looked down when her toes collided with something cold and smooth. She picked up a small, square object that laid beside her bed, recognizing it as an object she should’ve never taken out of the box in the attic to which it had been confined for months. 

It was a framed picture of David and her together. He was hugging her by the neck and planting a kiss on her temple. The Y/n of the picture smiled gleefully, her hands placed atop the musician’s. 

Y/n huffed and placed the picture inside a drawer next to her bed as the phone downstairs began ringing. She hurried down the stairs and plucked the annoying artifact from its base. 

“Yes?” she answered. The familiar voice of her brother sounded on the other side, especially cheerful. 

“Happy birthday!” he greeted, “Where are you? Are you at home? I’ve been ringing on your doorbell for ages!”

“Birthday?” she answered, furrowing her eyebrows. “Oh, right. Our birthday. I’m sorry, John. I’ll be downstairs in a minute.”

She rushed to the mirror in her bathroom and stared at her face, didn’t liking at all what she saw. Her eyes and cheeks were noticeably red and puffy, and the last thing she needed was a concerned twin that tended to ask too many questions regarding her well-being. 

Y/n hastily threw some cold water on her face and patted her hair to make it look somewhat neat before hurrying downstairs and opening the door to find John standing before her. By the way the edges of his lips sunk when he laid eyes on her, she knew her efforts to look perfectly fine had been futile. Stupid twin intuition, she thought, stepping aside to let him in. They walked upstairs in silence and, right after she closed the door after him, John spoke. 

“Do you want to t–?” 

“I had a dream about him again,” Y/n snapped, folding her arms and sitting on the sofa. John thought that in that position she accurately resembled a pouting child. 

“Y/n…” John cooed sitting next to her, his arm placed comfortingly over her shoulders “Listen, I came to invite you to the studio. Me and the boys are recording a new song today, and I know how much you love to hear us play, and since it’s our birthday we could get lunch after...but if you don’t feel like going, I could ring them, tell them something came up, then we could go to Brixton and get some of those Cuban sweets you like so much…”

“Jamaican,” Y/n interjected with a soft smile, which her brother returned. 

“Jamaican sweets, then. How does that sound?” 

Y/n looked around the flat. That day it felt particularly small and stuffy, and no matter how much she wanted to stay in and spend the day in bed, she knew there was nothing that could lift her spirits more than sunlight, good music and the three boys she loved most in the whole world. 

Suddenly, the sound of a car honk blared through the window, followed by the unmistakable voice of Roger. 

“Come on, Deacons! Are you coming, or what?” 

Y/n giggled and shook her head before staring up at her twin.

“I thought you said you could ring them to reschedule,” 

“I might have decided to forget they were downstairs waiting in the car in favor of your well-being,”  

“Then I guess it would be extremely rude to keep them waiting, wouldn’t it?” 

Y/n said, keeping an exaggeratedly serious attitude. 

“Oh, absolutely. How shalt thou proceed?”  

He replied, making a funny nasal voice to accompany his parodic posh accent. Y/n laughed and threw her arms in the air as she walked back into her bedroom. 

“Alright, alright, you win. I’ll be ready in a bit.”

Y/n hummed as she wandered around the recording studio, carrying the notebook with the notes of the new song John was writing for the album. She flipped through the pages, admiring her brother’s messy handwriting, so typical of him when he was in a hurry. 

She loved the recording studio, and deeply appreciated the band’s willingness to let her tag along whenever she wanted. If it was up to her, Y/n would spend every single day with them at the studio, but she knew they needed space as a band and a Masters took up much more of her time than she expected. 

Thus, she was more than happy to sporadically join them and perform small tasks such as fetching things they had forgotten in the car, like the notebook she was holding in her hands. 

Reaching the door of the room in which they were recording, she grabbed the handle and walked in, her eyes still fixed on the pages. 

“John, here’s your notebook,” she announced, lifting her glance, “I’m serious, if your head wasn’t attached to your neck…”

Y/n froze in place, a cold shiver slowly sliding down her spine as her eyes fell upon the figure that sat on a chair, staring at the boys who were already inside the booth, discussing something among them. She slowly placed the notebook atop one of the speakers and silently walked backwards to avoid drawing attention to her, but it was too late. 

David’s blue eyes wandered to the side until they collided with Y/n’s, freezing him in place as well. Feeling her throat dry up, she couldn’t think of anything better to do other than making her escape through the doors and going back to the hallway, where she stared blankly at the wall before her as she tried to collect her thoughts. 

What the bloody hell is he doing here? she thought, fighting the urge to peek back inside to make sure he hadn’t followed her. 

It wasn’t necessary. Shortly after, Y/n heard steps headed towards the door. Without making sure it was even David, she quickly began walking down the hallway, trying to remember whether it led to the exit at all.

She felt cornered when she reached a dead end, seeing nothing but doors leading to empty studios around her, and the steps kept getting closer. For a short instant she considered the possibility of hiding inside one of the studios, but they were probably locked and it sounded much too childish anyway. 

She couldn’t keep running anymore. 

“Y/n?” The voice behind her spoke, making her stomach feel as if it was riding a roller coaster. She faked a composed smile and turned to face David as he approached her with slow, hesitant steps. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” 

“Hi,” she coolly greeted, “Yeah, I...I didn’t expect you to be here either. What are you doing here?” 

“I’ve been looking for you for months,” he interjected, ignoring her question with a pang of annoyance in his voice. She lifted her eyebrows with faux surprise. 

“Really? Oh, I’ve been quite busy. That’s just how things are sometimes, right?” 

However, the recognition she expected to find in his eyes wasn’t there, as if the words she had intentionally chosen meant nothing to him. Unbeknownst to her, the same moment she had been replaying in her mind over and over for the past months was exactly what he had in mind right then, trying to make any sense of what she was trying to say. 

It hadn’t been a nice day from the very beginning. Rainy, windy and cold. Both of them actually enjoyed that kind of day, but this one felt different. 

It probably was the fact that David’s reply to Y/n’s “I love you” before she left their shared flat was “See you,” or that the night before he had insisted on her going to bed so he could stay up working on the songs for his album, promising he would join her when he was done only for Y/n to find him sleeping on the couch in the morning. 

When her classes were over for the day, she went straight to the phone booth outside her college and dialed his number cheerfully. When he picked up, he sounded tired and even slightly irritated. 

“Who is it?” he dryly spoke. Y/n frowned, a little confused and decidedly hurt. 

“Hi love, it’s me,” she replied, hoping his tone would change when he realized it was his girlfriend calling. However, that wasn’t the case. 

“Oh, hi. What is it?” David answered. 

“Nothing, it’s just...I wanted to let you know that my last class was canceled, so I’ll be coming home earlier, alright?” 

“Yeah, fine. I’ll see you here,” he replied. However, Y/n didn’t hang up. 

“Wait, I was thinking, maybe we could go out and have dinner together? They opened a new place downtown and it seems lovely.” 

“Sure, if that’s what you want,” 

Y/n blinked, still confused. Had she done or said anything wrong? Why did he sound so bitter? 

“Is it not what you want?” She tentatively asked, still maintaining a happy disposition towards him despite his attitude. 

“No, it's fine. Listen Y/n, I’m a little busy at the moment, we’ll talk about it when you come home, okay? See you later,” 

“Yes, fine. I’ll see you later, I lo–”

But he had already hung up. She sighed and exited the booth, gloomily realizing that had been the second unanswered “I love you,” of the day, something that was becoming more and more frequent. 

When she arrived at their flat, Y/n slid the keys inside the lock and turned them as quietly as she could, slowly swinging the door open.

As she made her way through the flat, Y/n could hear David’s voice in the kitchen, somewhat muffled by the whistle of the kettle. 

“...I know, I know,” he spoke, sounding tired. A pause followed before he spoke again. 

“I just want one hour, Lou,” he snapped, “One bloody hour to work properly with no distractions and not having to worry about being an arse to her,” 

He must be at the phone, Y/n thought as she moved closer. 

Y/n stopped on her tracks and covertly stood next to the kitchen door. When David said “her” was he referring to his girlfriend? Was he considering her a distraction to his work? Of course she had noticed he was feeling a lot of stress from the new album, but didn’t think her efforts to relieve him of some of that pressure were unwanted. Perhaps she had unknowingly crossed some boundary? 

“I know she does, and I didn't mind it at first, but...I just can’t stand her sometimes, and I feel like shit about it. Maybe...I don’t know, lately I’ve been wondering whether it’s time to call things off. She’s doing her best, I know she is, but I refuse to put up with it anymore.” 

By that point, Y/n had to clamp her hand over her mouth to muffle the strangled sob that began to build up down her throat. She wished more than ever that her last class hadn’t been canceled, that she was far away from there, sitting before her desk without even suspecting that the love of her life was planning on getting rid of such a “distraction”. She was completely taken aback. The hurtful way in which he was referring to her, even cold-heartedly, didn’t sound like the David she had met and fallen in love with. She would have bet on her life he would never talk about her like that. 

“Yeah, it’s a pity, I did like her, you know? But now I hear her come in and I honestly want to jump out of the window,” Then David laughed. He dismissively talked about breaking things off with her and laughed about it. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and Y/n’s heart as well. “Anyway, that’s the way things are sometimes. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

Y/n didn’t intend to stay and listen for not even one more lousy minute. It took her two seconds to realize she didn’t have the strength to face him. Just standing in the flat, staring at the walls that had witnessed so many hours of their relationship made her sick. 

As silently as she had arrived, but with tears in her eyes and a sharp pain bolting relentlessly through her chest, Y/n slipped out the door and rushed down the street, unsure of where she would go next or what she would do. She only knew that she wanted to be as far away from David as she could.

But apparently, the universe had other plans. The man she had spent months avoiding was now standing before her, looking hurt and confused as he opened his mouth to speak. 

“I need to talk to you,” 

“I think it’s too late for that,” Y/n cut him off, “because I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Exactly,” David replied, “What happened? One day you went to college as always and never came back, you changed your phone number, nobody will tell me where you have been living, where did you go, and most importantly, you didn’t even tell me why you left in the first place.”

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows and blinked, feeling extremely confused. 

“Are you serious?” she asked, “I heard your phone call with Lou, David. I heard everything you said about me being a distraction, and how you couldn’t stand me anymore, and how you wanted to jump through the fucking window every time you heard me come home. And I tried to spare us the whole breakup speech by just leaving, but if you want to talk about it fine, let’s talk about it.” 

David just stood and stared at her, not even a trace of guilt dashed over his face, just utter confusion until his eyes went wide and his mouth broke into a relieved grin, his hand pressed against his forehead. 

“Oh my god,” he said and began chuckling nervously, “I can’t...oh god.”

“What’s so funny?” Y/n exclaimed, not deciding on whether she should feel hurt, insulted or just as perplexed as he did seconds before. 

“Y/n...that call was not about you at all.” 

“What?” 

“How could you have even conceived I’d say such things about you? I was talking about Miranda, the assistant I had been working with for two months,” 

Y/n just moved her mouth a couple of times as if she wanted to say something, but her mind was a complete blank, her brain struggling to order her thoughts and give them some logic, replaying the conversation in her mind. Since she did not speak, David took this as a sign to continue his explanation. 

“She was a fan of mine but I didn’t mind it at first, because it did not interfere with her job. But eventually she began flirting with me until it became unbelievably annoying and I decided to fire her, although I did feel pretty bad about it because she was a nice girl, I just couldn’t ignore it anymore.” 

“But…” Y/n murmured, still unsure. “They way you acted towards me before, like...like you didn’t want me around at all.” 

David’s eyes saddened at that statement, and the guilt that had been missing from his face suddenly appeared as he nodded. 

“That I did and it is completely my fault. The deadline for the album was around the corner, I was struggling with my writing, and I made the terrible mistake of taking all that frustration out on you, and you can’t imagine how sorry I am, darling. It didn’t dawn on me how unfair I was and how horrible you must have felt until I found myself alone in that flat and realized you weren’t coming back.”

David pressed his lips together and sighed deeply before slowly making his way towards her, lingeringly wrapping his hands around hers.  

“I guess what I’m trying to say, Y/n, is that I’ve terribly missed you. I was angry at you for leaving without an explanation, and so I didn’t even try to find you. By the time I realized I loved you too much to let my pride get the best of me, you were already gone. And if you let me, I promise I will fix that.” 

“David,” Y/n replied with a sigh, “I don’t know. I would love to believe all of that is true just like that...but somehow…” 

“You find it hard to trust me,” David finished for her. After all, he was still capable of reading her mind so easily. She bit her lip and nodded, tears threatening to fall from her eyes as she blinked. 

“I’ll need some time to think about it, okay?” she said, putting her hand against this cheek with a gentle smile before clearing her throat and making her way around him to head back to the studio. 

However, before she could take two steps, his voice stopped her. 

“A Love Supreme.” he stated, turning to face her, his face full of a new resolution. “The day we met you told me the only Coltrane album you were missing was A Love Supreme, and I didn’t forget, do you want to know why I never mentioned it again?” 

“David,” Y/n began to say, only to be immediately silenced by him.

“No, no, let me finish. I didn’t forget, and the only reason why I never gave it to you was because I didn’t want to give you just another album. I spent months looking for something way better than that, something that lived up to what you deserve. And one month before you left, I found it. It was an unopened record signed by Coltrane himself, and I was saving it for your birthday, for today, as fate would have it. And I never got rid of it, I still have it after all these months just in case…” his voice faltered, and Y/n could see how his eyes, those beautiful blue eyes she was still infatuated with no matter how strongly she tried to deny it, turned glassy, prompting David to clear his throat. “Just in case you ever came back. And I’m still waiting and if I don’t walk out of here with you today, I will keep waiting.”

Y/n stared at him, scanning every inch of his face, until her eyes stopped when they met his. Slowly, she made her way back towards him and, in a contrastingly sudden movement, cupped his cheeks in her hands and pulled his face towards her to press a soft kiss to his lips. Yet, it did not remain that way for long as David slid his arms around her waist and pulled her closer almost desperately, his lips leaving hers to meet her cheeks, forehead, nose and finally her mouth once again. 

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?” he said, his voice hoarse as a relieved but unsure smile tugged at the edge of his lips. 

Y/n could only nod as she smiled back at him, her thumb softly caressing his cheek. 

“I swear to god Bowie, if you ever treat me that way again, I will shove my foot so far up your–”

“I won’t, I promise,” he quickly assured, pecking her lips hastily, “Do you have any idea of how insufferable it was to live without somebody to bring me coffee while I worked?” 

Y/n punched his arm jokingly, but couldn’t hold back a gleeful snicker as they made their way back to the studio, their fingers almost instinctively intertwined, and the world significantly brighter than it was when they woke up.

Epilogue

“So…” Y/n heard a voice behind her as she helped put the instruments back in their cases. “...is everything sorted out?” 

She turned around to find her twin fondly smiling at her. 

“It is. Isn’t it great that he happened to be around the studio?” she said, noticing a sheet of paper lying on the floor besides one of the speakers. Y/n picked it up and began reading it when she noticed it was a draft of a song. 

“Under Pressure, with…” she lifted her head and stared at her brother, her eyes wide in realization. “You knew he’d be here. John Richard Deacon, did you deliberately ask me to come because you knew he’d be here?” 

John’s face was pale. He obviously didn’t intend Y/n to find out like that. He probably had in mind something more subtle, like casually mentioning it to her at lunch later that day, or back at her flat. 

“Look, I can explain,” he stuttered. “The first time you told me how everything happened, I couldn’t help but wonder why you didn’t even give the lad a chance to explain himself. Because you were right, I had to put up with your babbling about all the wonderful things he said to you for ages, and it did not sound like him. But you’re a very proud and stubborn person, Y/n. I love you, but you know it’s true. And I knew you wouldn’t do it without...well, some help. What can I say? I saw the chance and I took it.”

“Then why didn't you just give him my new address?” she inquired. 

“Because if despite everything you still wanted him to stay away, your address would remain a secret.”

“Johnny, you absolute genius!” Y/n exclaimed, throwing her arms around her twin brother's neck and hugging him tightly, “Thank you. For everything.” 

“Come on, what are twins for? Now, you go and have fun with him. It’s your birthday.” 

“But I don’t want you or the boys to feel as if I ditched you,” Y/n said, a worried look on her face. John chuckled and shook his head with a shrug.

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling,” Freddie’s voice said from behind them as the singer walked by. “you have many, many birthdays left to spend with this bunch of old ladies, we can get lunch tomorrow. Now go.”

Y/n stared at him baffled, but before she could question anything, Brian looked at her, one of his eyebrows lifted. 

“Of course we all knew of Deacy’s plan. Roger just lost money on this.” 

“I didn’t lose shit!” Roger exclaimed, sulking out of the recording booth, “I said she would tell him to give her time to think about it, I never said she would reject him.” 

Y/n looked fondly at the boys and shook her head. They truly were incorrigible. After gifting them with one last excited smile, she ran outside to meet the man she did not wish to be parted from ever again. 

#david bowie #70s #80s #fanfiction #queen #britrock #davidbowie #imagine #david bowie x reader #femreader #rock #davidbowie x fem!reader #bowie #john deacon #roger taylor #freddie mercury #brian may #angst #fluff #david bowie fluff #david bowie imagine #reader insert #david bowie reader insert

[onlyonekenobi]

this was a half-formed idea I’d imagined for them for years, but after reading a post from @good-things-do-happen-dean​ yesterday, I was inspired to actually write it out! just some good old fashioned post-canon domestic fluff, 1.9k - link to read on ao3

Dean’s fingers held lightly to the crystal vial around his neck.

It was almost cool to the touch, he thought, like just the idea of a breeze. He remembered when Cas had given it to him, only a few weeks after Dean had gotten him back from the Empty. The angel had turned to him one night, right smack in the middle of Tombstone, and said, “Dean, I need to tell you something.”

Words had rushed out of him then about wanting to be human (and was that okay with Dean or would it bother him, because “I don’t want it to change anything for you, but-”) and Dean had simply replied, “Cas, I- of course you can be human if you want to be human, that’s your call, all the way, but why in the hell would you want to do that?”

The depth of Cas’s eyes had seemed infinite then, in the dark, as he worked up to what he had really wanted to say all along.

“I won’t lose you again.”

Dean remembered how his whole body had seemed to melt in that moment as the sincerity of Cas’s words-- mostly simple reasoning, though with an undercurrent of self-imperative gravity-- washed over him.

“Okay,” was all he had said in response, and then Cas had twisted his knees underneath himself to lean forward across the little space between them. It wasn’t their first kiss, but from the way Dean’s heart had tripped over itself, it could have been. Even now, when he thought of how Cas’s hands had felt that night, so careful at the nape of his neck, it threatened to fall out of step again.

He hadn’t known at the time what Cas’s intentions for his grace were. Truthfully, he just hadn’t really thought to ask-- which seemed deeply misguided in retrospect, but at the time just felt respectful.

So, it had come as a shock when Cas returned home one afternoon a few days later (he had left in the morning with an implication-heavy “I’m going for a walk.”) and marched right up to Dean with his fist clenched tight and a sheepish smile on his face. He had looked different, somehow, Dean thought. Softer, maybe. Or like his eyes had gotten brighter, as if that were possible.

“I was wondering,” Cas had said, presenting his hand, “if you might want to wear this. You might hear it ringing a bit sometimes, but just think of it… think of it as me telling you I love you.”

-

Now, Dean worried a thumb over the vial while, in his other hand, he cradled a small band of stainless steel. It had seemed only fair, he thought, to give Cas something back. And while he didn’t have anything as deeply personal as his own actual given-up-to-be-with-you-for-as-long-as-we-both-shall-live angel grace, he did have a box of old, thrifted rings from when he had wanted to be Mick Jagger back in his early twenties.

So, he had rummaged it out from the drawer of his nightstand last week, carefully moving a newer photo of Sam and Mary out of the way, and tried each band on again for reference. He had then been very careful, over those next few days, to compare his fingers with Cas’s every chance he got. (Cas had discovered him once, as he stared with what must have been bizarre intensity at their clasped hands, but Dean thought he had successfully played that off as an “I’m just still so overwhelmed with this great new thing that is happening” moment.)

Eventually, after what was almost definitely a great deal of overthinking, Dean had decided that this ring was his best bet. It was mostly unadorned, but care had been taken to crimp slightly raised edges running along each side. Looking at it had always reminded Dean of a road.

A road, he thought now, that would always lead home.

-

He heard a door close in the distance and knew Cas must be getting home from his new routine of sunrise walks. Dean’s heart accelerated wildly at the sound, and he took a steadying breath, laughing at himself. It’s not like Cas would turn the ring down, he reassured himself. Sure, he was still maybe a little embarrassed at the inequality of his offering, but he knew that Cas would recognize the meaning behind it. And anyway, if the grace was from Cas’s past life, the ring was from Dean’s just the same. They could give each other these pieces of their old selves for safe keeping while they made their new selves together. And in that way, at least, it would be a fair trade.

He held his breath to listen, and he was just able to make out the sound-- so much closer than the approaching footsteps, but magnitudes softer-- from the pendant hanging at his chest.

I love you, I love you, I love you, it rang softly.

Dean let out his breath.

When he looked up, Cas was standing in the doorway, tufts of dark hair sticking out wildly from under the new beanie Sam had given him. The lobes of his ears and tip of his nose were just slightly pink, and he wore a smile that radiated up through his crystal-bright eyes. Mornings always suited Cas.

Dean couldn’t help but let up a smile of his own at the sight of it all, but then he remembered the ring in his hand and practically jumped from where he had been sitting on the edge of the bed.

Cas’s eyebrows drew up in shock, but the smile stayed in place. Great start, Dean thought to himself. You probably just looked like an idiot. He tried not to let the creeping embarrassment slow his momentum, but Cas had already stepped toward him, his smile now replete with one of those quizzical head tilts Dean loved so much.

“Is everything okay, Dean? You seem… startled.”

When Dean opened his mouth to speak, he found that only a very small choking sound came out. Get it together, man! he screamed at himself, but Cas was laughing again. The former angel stepped lightly toward him until their chests were just barely not touching and his eyes were locked up on Dean’s. How anyone could look at him with such wonder-- such open adoration-- Dean might never understand.

“All well?” Cas asked gently, and he meant it, no teasing. He was always so earnest in his wanting to know every detail about Dean, and the softness in his voice was relaxing enough that Dean could breathe out a “Yeah,” and mean it back. He tried to maintain his hold on his words.

“It’s just, uh,” he stammered on, “I have something for you, and I’m not real good at this part of things, so I just, um…” His mind was going blank again, despite having rehearsed this roughly a dozen times while Cas had been out walking.

“Here, sit down,” he ventured next, and Cas graciously allowed himself to be turned around and nudged gently into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. His face was expectant, but he was practically leaking patience into the air. He was always being so goddamn multifaceted that way; Dean remembered being intrigued, actually, to realize that this nuance wasn’t an angel thing, but rather… just an endearing Cas thing. With that thought back in his mind, a fresh wave of resolve settled over Dean’s heart.

“This is for you,” he gushed, thrusting his hand toward Cas to reveal the ring sitting on his now open palm.

Cas’s mouth partled slightly in surprise, but he didn’t otherwise move or speak. He just stared at the ring, frozen. Dean felt a heat creep over the back of his neck. Had he misjudged this?

But no sooner had he let the doubt cross his mind than Cas had sprung back up and swiped the ring from his hand in an astonishing blur of motion. And then he was kissing Dean, still-cold fingers a relief against his flushed skin.

Dean’s hand had been clenched shut so tight for so long, it felt good to let it rest open against the small of Cas’s back. Well, it would have felt good no matter what, but it felt extra good now, like this.

After several moments, Cas finally drew back. There was an expression of heartbreaking tenderness on his face.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly.

“I know it’s not much-” Dean started, but Cas cut him off, already fiddling to see which finger it would fit on.

“It’s perfect.”

Dean caught Cas’s eye then, and Cas leaned up to brush another soft kiss across his lips.

“It’s from when you were young,” he said fondly, no hint of a question.

Dean was taken aback. “How do you know that?”

“Well,” Cas answered, all tilted smiles once more, “I didn’t. I inferred.” The ring, Dean’s heart swelled to see, was now placed snugly on the middle finger of Cas’s left hand. He kind of liked that it wasn’t quite the “traditional” placement. It added another layer of balance to the symbols; this was for them, and no one else.

“But you told me about your rings once, do you remember?” Cas went on eagerly. “We were driving back from Sun Valley, and, er, ‘Gimme Shelter’? ….came on the radio, and you told me about how you used to sneak away from your father to go look for them at second-hand stores. You said that in the end you had more than enough for one per finger, because you wanted ‘options.’”

Always, always the details.

“I do hope you paid for this, once, though,” he added, a note of cheek in the afterthought.

Hands raised in mock defense, Dean asserted, “Course I did.” (It was anyone’s guess.)

“But anyway,” he went on, the hint of a tease in his voice, “I guess I don’t really need options anymore.”

Cas smiled lightly again, and Dean felt him twine their fingers together. He instantly loved the new sensation of the ring pushing into his hand.

(Sometimes, when Cas held him, he was afraid it was a dream. Or a trick of the light, like if he blinked wrong, Cas would disappear. Dean knew he wasn’t alone in that, though. They had been through so much, it was really no surprise that they now took turns waking up in cold sweats, clutching for each other, murmuring, “I’m here, I’m here,” until they could fall back asleep.)

So, as the metal bit gently into his finger, he relished the bracing feeling.

It’s real, it said.

Dean mused that he might have to get them matching rings after all, just so Cas could have that feeling, too, if he wanted it.

“I guess not,” Cas answered playfully, and his voice was so full of love, Dean knew he could never have dreamt it. He turned to rest his forehead against Castiel’s and felt his hand get squeezed gently in return.

He would savor this moment. Let it anchor him, overwhelm him, do anything it wanted to him.

He tried to breathe steadily, listening for the soft ringing emanating from the vial around his neck.

I love you, it said.

He shifted his focus down to his hand, where he could feel Cas’s fingers wrapped in his, the edge of the ring pressing into his skin.

It’s real.

#destiel #destiel fic #deancas #deancas fic #fic #mine #I MEANT FOR THIS TO BE LIKE 800 WORDS OOPS #also yes the phrase ''presenting his hand'' was deeply intentional sue me they're married #sorry if there are typos i tried to proofread it but also i wrote this at like 2am so #:) yay fluff #my posts #just writing