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a-pair-of-iris · 10 months

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Con ustedes, American Parrots (1/?)

"Es la reunión de la generación luego de 10 años, y para sorpresa de varios el más exitoso de todos no fue ningún atleta ni un super cerebrito, sino el flaco González, de quien nadie se acordaría si no fuera por los rumores de que se encerraba en los baños para fumar. Ahora, Manuel es parte de una exitosa banda de rock, American Parrots, y todos sus antiguos compañeros están desesperados por sacarse una foto y pedirle su autógrafo. Pero la única razón por la que Manuel trajo su cara y la de su compañera de grupo a la fiesta fue para reencontrarse con su ex mejor amigo de quien perdió el contacto; y quién sabe, tal vez Francisco esté interesado en encender una mecha que nunca se atrevieron a tocar en la escuela." La hermosa portada es cortesía de Aris quien hizo una maravilla de mis desvaríos de instrucciones. Gracias mana :3 tkm

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Abriendo la noche, American Parrots

Una mujer a la entrada del evento, cuya cara ligeramente recordaba, le colocó el sticker con su nombre y antiguo curso en la chaqueta. Habían colgado luces y globos dorados y una gran pancarta arriba de la puerta del gimnasio, que decía “Bienvenidos generación del 2013”, lo que enseguida disparó la palabra cliché en su cabeza y, de pronto, Francisco se sintió inmerso en una de esas comedias románticas que a veces miraba con sus hermanas. Las manos comenzaron a sudarle, pues uno de sus objetivos para esa noche entraba dentro de la categoría de “cliché”, al igual que la pancarta.

“No hay nada de malo en querer hablar con tu viejo amigo…”, pensó, una de las tantas frases que se había repetido una y otra vez durante toda la semana, hasta decidirse en presentarse.

Al entrar, se encontró con al menos dos docenas de tiras de luces de navidad cayendo desde el techo del gimnasio, el que Francisco recordaba mucho más grande durante sus años de escuela. El comité definitivamente se había esforzado en conseguir focos en el mismo tono de amarillo cálido, pero en algún momento debieron acabarse en la tienda, pues entre los alargados comunes también podía ver unos en forma de globo y otros de estrella, los que estaban bastante lindos, por cierto; debía averiguar dónde los consiguieron para tenerlos antes de navidad.

Pronto localizó las mesas que hacían de bar en un rincón, y fue directo a preguntar por un rompope o un canelazo, o si no había alcanzado para un barman de verdad, quizás un poco de whisky, o como último recurso el champagne que ya podía ver servido en las lindas copas a un lado de la mesa.

- Han sido un par de años, eso pasa… no es la gran cosa… -se alentó en murmullos mientras esperaba al lado del bar.

Eran más bien 9 años y algunos meses, pero, ¿Quién los cuenta, eh? Un amigo es para siempre y todo eso…

- … solo es tu rico y famoso ex amigo del colegio, ja... -El golpeteo incesante que llevaba con el dedo comenzó a atraer las miradas de las otras personas cerca del barman, así que se forzó a parar, fingiendo que miraba algo en el celular.

Este rico y famoso amigo claramente aún no se presentaba, o todos estarían aglomerados en el mismo lugar, en vez de los grupitos dispersos por todas partes del salón.

Reconocía muchas caras, y otras eran bastante familiares, si bien los nombres no volvían con la misma rapidez. Varias miradas amistosas y saludos tímidos a la distancia, lo convencieron de acercarse a ciertas personas y sus respectivos conocidos cuando tuvo un diluido pisco sour en la mano, como forma de pasar el tiempo, aunque no se detuvo más que unos minutos con cada uno, y siempre volvía a un rincón para observar la entrada.

La mayoría diría que Francisco fue un chico popular en la escuela, en el estricto sentido de que muchos lo conocieron y tuvieron buena impresión de él. Sin embargo, y con la perspectiva que le han dado los años, la verdad es que no tuvo muchos amigos, de esos que uno desea seguir en contacto una vez graduados. Consideraba distinto a quien ahora esperaba volver a ver tan ansiosamente -por más de una razón-, aunque de igual forma se haya permitido perderle el rastro luego de unas pocas llamadas y mensajes al comenzar la universidad. La distancia y una serie de problemas personales jugaron en contra de esta amistad en especial, que pensó podría mantener a flote lo suficiente con un mínimo contacto hasta el momento en que pudieran retomar su relación, y ahora se arrepentía de su descuido.

Por un lado, era extremadamente difícil hacer amigos como adulto, sobre todo el disponer de tiempo y los ánimos para convertirlos en buenos amigos -para qué decir algo más que eso-. Además, en la medida en que pasaban las semanas de los últimos meses y se acercaba este día en específico, una profunda nostalgia lo obligó a rememorar los dos últimos años de escuela en que, contra el pronóstico de muchos, se había puesto cómodo al lado del lobo solitario del curso.

Manuel no fue un chico problemático, al menos no más que cualquier otro estudiante y; cuando a Francisco se le conocía por participar en muchos comités y talleres, y su apasionado interés por los animales y el medioambiente; de Manuel nadie sabía mucho, excepto que lo único más afilado que sus miradas era su lengua. En lo personal, Francisco había sucumbido a varios ataques de risa cada vez que Manuel terminaba de destrozar a alguien con sus palabras.

Durante sus remembranzas se preguntaba si acaso Manuel lo recordaría con igual aprecio, y es que, a pesar de cuán distintos los percibía el resto, nunca se había sentido tan cómodo con alguien como llegó a sentirse con el otro chico. Manuel entendía su aprecio por los animales, si bien nunca resultaron sus intentos de convertirse del todo al veganismo, y no le resentía sus largos descargos sobre la crisis medioambiental; incluso le respondía con curiosos comentarios sobre el comportamiento humano y la tan hipócrita idea de la racionalidad moderna. Manuel podría haber sido filosofo o investigador si no tuviera tanta alma de poeta, pensaba.

Y a favor de esa pequeña posibilidad de que lo recordaría, estaba el hecho de que llegó a mostrarle sus poemas y las historias cortas que escribía en ese tiempo. Actuaba avergonzado cada vez que le cedió sus libretas para que mirara, aunque Francisco recuerda haber insistido en lo buenos que eran. Alguno de sus comentarios debió convencerlo al final, puesto que un día sin esperárselo encontró en la librería un lomo con su nombre en él. Al inicio, solo tomó la antología de historias cortas porque quería tener algo ligero que pudiera leer entre las sesiones de fitness y yoga que dirigía, pero al abrir las solapas para leer sobre el autor, una foto en blanco y negro de su amigo apareció. No había reconocido el seudónimo J. M. Gonzáles hasta ese momento, pero su fotografía y los pequeños datos del autor no le dejaron dudas que se trataba de su Manuel. Buscó si había algo más de su amigo en la tienda y acabó comprando un libro de poemas y una novela corta junto con la antología, y disfrutó los tres inmensamente, reconociendo en algunos párrafos y oraciones el humor sarcástico tan característico de su amigo.

Lamentablemente, ya se habían distanciado para entonces, o lo habría llamado enseguida para preguntar por qué nadie sabía de esta maravilla. No entendía por qué no se hablaba más de su carrera como autor en las entrevistas a las que American Parrots asistía a cada rato, o por qué los fanáticos de la banda de rock no lo mencionaban más a menudo. Sin embargo, y como era común, fuera de los aplausos o críticas por la música que producían, lo más interesante para hablar era qué integrante de la banda se estaba acostando con quien; las apuestas de los últimos años era que Manuel como guitarrista y acompañante obviamente estaba saliendo con la vocalista principal, aunque Francisco no se lo terminaba de creer.

Podía ver que algunas personas en el salón traían camisetas, bolsos, e incluso algunos discos y vinilos del álbum estilo rockabilly de hace dos años, y se sintió un poco avergonzado del libro que cargaba en la bandolera colgando de su hombro. En su defensa, pensó que sería un buen tema de conversación en caso de que no supieran cómo romper el hielo después de tantos años. Viendo el escenario actual, estaba claro que muchas otras personas estarían en busca de la atención de Manuel, y no estaba seguro de poder robar un tiempo para él con la estrella de la velada. Si es que se presentaba. Había confirmado que estaría, pero nunca se sabe con los rockstars.

…

Daniel se tardó diez minutos en encontrar un buen lugar donde aparcar, pero parecieron eternos mientras Manuel miraba con aprensión todos los vehículos apostados en las calles laterales del colegio. En la invitación advertían que seguía existiendo muy poco espacio al interior, por lo que era preferible llegar sin auto o al menos hacerlo temprano si esperaban conseguir estacionamiento. Con ese tono pasivo agresivo tan irritante que siempre tuvieron los del comité de eventos, y que la vida adulta seguramente solo había reforzado.

- ¿Queres apostar cuántos se acercan más a mí que a vos? -Martina se dejó en paz el pelo por un momento y le dio un apretón en el brazo; en parte para sacarlo de su remolino de angustia; en parte para hacer que volviera a sentarse correctamente. Últimamente estaba bien insistente en que la acompañara a pilates y yoga, pues le surgió el descontrolado temor de que terminara con joroba a los 30 por encorvarse tanto.

- Podemos hacer lo mismo que el evento en Buenos Aires, y el que tenga que soportar menos lamebotas compra el vino y las papas para la tomadera de la noche -propuso una vez lo tuvo erguido, y pasó a acomodarle la corbata como por cuarta vez desde que habían dejado el hotel. Daniel les sonrió por el retrovisor y comentó que podrían añadir unas empanaditas o fritos de pollo esta vez.

- No sé cuántas ganas de comer vaya a tener cuando terminemos acá -se quejó Manuel, soportando los arreglos de última hora que Martina estimara conveniente.

Debió hacer un puchero o algo así, porque lo próximo que hizo la rubia fue apretarle las mejillas y moverle la chasquilla de la cara, tal cual hacía cada vez que lo encontraba “adorable”. Por eso, y una sarta de otros comentarios y gestos que no se dignaba a controlar frente a las cámaras, era que todos estaban tan convencidos de que eran pareja. Manuel tampoco sabía si simplemente disfrutaba hacer que se sonrojara, o estaba marcando territorio y jugando a largo plazo con él. Era algo que intentaba ignorar, más que nada, por los dolores de cabeza que le traía buscarle algún sentido a la rubia.

- Entonces te tomás un té mientras yo me chupo una birra, no te creas que vamos a poder comer nada entrando acá, seguro se nos acercan como moscas a la mierda -Manuel estaba acostumbrado a escuchar peores cosas viniendo de su boca, pues a pesar de la reputación de “buenos chicos” que les daban los medios, todos en la banda tenían su buen repertorio de palabrotas. Era solo que lo glamoroso del vestido y el maquillaje contrastaban cómicamente con el tono de Martina.

- Te pillaran las cámaras hablando así… -se burló.

- Dirían que claramente es culpa de vos -Martina finalmente dejó su ropa en paz y pasó a colocar sus manos sobre su propio pecho- Sho soy una delicada flor de la pampa.

Manuel contuvo la risa justo antes de salir, pero Daniel, teniendo los beneficios de la parentela, se echó a reír sin culpa alguna, y Martina resopló.

- Pues con estos amigos… ¡Y vos! -Martina se inclinó hacia el asiento del chofer y tiró de la oreja a su primo, solo lo suficiente para que este dejara de resoplar, y mientras el más joven se masajeaba el dorso de la cara le dijo, apuntándolo con el dedo- Te quedas en el carro y atento al móvil, que nos dejaron venir sin guardaespaldas, pero quién sabe cómo se tornen las cosas una vez dentro.

- ¡Pero creí que iba a entrar con ustedes a comer! -se quejó el chico, indignado con las nuevas condiciones del trato. Martina le hizo un gesto para que dejara de chillar al instante. Fue entonces que Manuel decidió salir del vehículo y esperar a que los primos arreglaran los detalles entre ellos. Se alejó unos pasos, caminando sobre el pasto en dirección a la reja del colegio, pero aún así pudo escuchar partes de la discusión.

- No me vengas con problemas pibe, ¡Vos le lloraste a mi tía que te dejara venir!

- ¡Pero dijiste que iríamos a fiestas! ¡Y solo me has tenido de chofer!

- Yo no prometí nada de eso, ¡Mi único deber era comprarte los pasajes…!

Al parecer habían sumado un piso más al edificio desde la graduación, y una nueva capa de pintura, aunque eso podría ser solo por los eventos de ex alumnos como el de ahora, o quizás para los padres que buscaban nueva escuela para el próximo año. De todas formas, todo lucía similar a lo que recordaba, y el sentimiento nostálgico que le había rehuido hasta el momento finalmente apareció. En general, la escuela no había sido ni buena ni mala, por mucho que a sus padres y a su hermana les haya angustiado la escasez de amigos, Manuel sabía manejarse y estar tranquilo solo. Era una de las muchas razones por las que al principio nadie se pudo creer la carrera en la que estaba teniendo éxito.

Dicho eso, por supuesto que gozó el momento en que finalmente consiguió uno, por muy poquito que durara esa relación al final. Lo de valerse solito le jugó en contra al momento de mantener la amistad tan bonita que recordaba con Francisco; y es que ni en los dos años que estuvo pegado al chico se acostumbró a poner atención a la regularidad con la que compartían mensajes y llamadas. Y luego conoció a Martina y el resto de los chicos, y empezó a tocar y escribir para la banda, además de sus publicaciones cortas. Para el momento en que se tomó un descanso de todo ese trabajo, se dio cuenta que habían perdido el contacto y, como tonto, lo dejó así.

La fe de recuperar el contacto era lo que finalmente convenció a Manuel de venir, pues no aceptó ninguna de las ideas de Miguel sobre aprovechar esta salida en público para la promoción de los siguientes conciertos. Quien fuera a ir de sus antiguos compañeros ya debía tener en mira los tickets, y con el éxito que gozaban últimamente, no necesitaban fanáticos por cortesía, o que solo buscaran presumir que fueron al mismo colegio que el guitarrista.

Sintió los tacones de Martina acercándose, y se volteó en el momento justo para que la rubia se colgara de su brazo, una posición ya típica para ellos en cualquier evento. Aunque esta vez no había ni una cámara a la vista o personas gritando como en los Grammy Latinos.

- ¿Y en qué quedaron con el cabro chico?

- Eh, se estará tranquilo el pibe, pero vamos a tener un buen recargo al final del viaje por el servicio al cuarto… -Eso se lo estuvo esperando desde que se enteró que Daniel iba a colarse una vez más en el viaje de su prima- Oh, y mañana hay que agendar otro transporte con el hotel para ir a la entrevista de la radio que quería Migue, porque dice que se va a quedar todo el día en la piscina.

- Y justo que mañana íbamos a la disco -bromeó, y Martina se sonrió.

- Podríamos pasar a una parrillada justo después de la radio -la rubia le siguió el juego, y continuó llenando su itinerario hipotético- No es culpa nuestra que se lo perdiera, viste, las entrevistas siempre te dejan un hambre feroz.

Siguieron planeando su próximo día, con ideas cada vez más descabelladas de las que Daniel se arrepentiría toda la vida de no haber participado, hasta que el portero les pidió firmar una lista de ingreso sin reconocer a ninguno de los dos; pero para ser justos, no parecía estar en el rango etario típico de sus fanáticos más leales.

-Oh, bueno… se esforzaron, al menos se esforzaron… -comentó Martina cuando llegaron frente al gimnasio decorado, escondiendo ágilmente la cara de las personas aún afuera mirando sus teléfonos.

- Tratemos de no parecer tan “snobs”, ¿Puedes? No quiero quedar con reputación de cuico o algo parecido -pidió, y apretó suavemente la mano que Martina aún tenía sobre su brazo.

- Siempre serás del pueblo Manu, no te preocupes por eso…

Martina lo dejó tomar unas cuantas bocanadas de aire para darse ánimos antes de atravesar la puerta. Ninguno de los dos estaba muy seguro cómo reaccionarían sus antiguos compañeros. Quizás le restarían importancia a su éxito actual justamente por haberlo conocido cuando era un adolescente común y corriente; aunque las experiencias con los conocidos del resto de la banda sugerían que no sería el caso.

- Ok, entremos…

…

No fue un estallido de gritos y conmoción lo que alertó a Francisco de que Manuel había llegado; creyó que alguien chillaría al momento de verlo y todos se agolparían a su alrededor, mostrándole el camino. En realidad, fue un tanto más gradual, aunque de todas formas su presencia inmediatamente atrajo personas a su órbita como un imán a la limadura de hierro. En un par de minutos los dos miembros de American Parrots -pues lo había acompañado la vocalista, dándole alguna credibilidad a los rumores sobre la pareja- estaban rodeados por al menos tres filas de personas, y cada vez más grupos de ex estudiantes se acercaban al perímetro que se había formado, esperando algún momento para interactuar con las estrellas.

Francisco no veía cómo podría acercarse a hablar directamente entre toda esa multitud, que ya exigía bastante atención. Y si es que lograba colarse hasta el frente de la pared humana, no podría intercambiar más que un par de palabras de cortesía, idénticas a las que el resto estarían diciendo, y quizás alguna mención de cuánto tiempo había pasado desde la última vez que hablaron.

Eso sonaba muy descorazonador, y de pronto se sintió muy incómodo, así que se alejó de la multitud entusiasmada hacia la periferia y fácilmente se integró al grupo de cinco de las ex estrellas del coro, que contaban con dos enfermeras, un ingeniero y dos abogados; si podía entender bien los pequeños comentarios que se hacían unos a otros.

Hizo los aportes necesarios a la charla cuando se lo pedían, pero la verdad, eran perfectamente capaces de mantener la conversación andando, incluso hablando uno sobre el otro. Francisco tenía algunas dificultades para seguir todos los hilos, pero eso también podía deberse a que un tercio de su atención estaba con el grupo, y el resto seguía pendiente del tumulto al centro de la habitación, que se hacía más bullicioso al tiempo que sus ex compañeros comenzaban a sacar la mercancía que habían tenido tan mal escondida hasta el momento. Cuando alguien consiguió bolígrafos para ambos artistas, empezaron los gritos estridentes que estuvo esperando escuchar, pues Manuel y su compañera -debió aprenderse bien los nombres del resto del grupo- comenzaron a otorgar autógrafos para todos quienes les rodeaban.

Los ex coristas no vieron los gritos de alegría y fanatismo con muy buenos ojos.

- Ash, ni que fueran tan especiales como para alterarse así-comentó Trinidad, una de las enfermeras. Miraba con disgusto al grupo de amigas que en el momento posaban junto a Manuel y su amiga rubia para unas fotografías.

- Sí, la verdad no creo que sepan muy bien qué están haciendo, yo habría hecho muchas cosas distintas si fuera el líder y escribiera las canciones, y te aseguro que no me habría demorado tanto en hacernos internacionales -comentó el abogado, con el mismo tono de voz que, Catalina decía, adquirían algunos de sus compañeros varones en las juntas del directorio. Ahora entendía cómo era ese picor interno, esas “llamas del infierno refulgiendo en el espíritu” que su hermana asegura experimentar cada que debía escucharlos volviendo a explicar lo que ella acababa de decir.

- Yo creo que nos habría ido mejor si hubiéramos decido hacer nuestro propio grupo… -comentó la otra que presumía de abogada.

- ¡Exacto! Nunca lo vi en las prácticas del coro o la orquesta -agregó el ingeniero, notando que no había abierto la boca en los últimos cinco segundos de la conversación- Gonzáles debió aprender a la rápida luego de la escuela, nunca tomó ninguna clase con la banda, no debió ser muy bueno como para entrar…

Y en ese instante decidió que iría a tomar algo de aire, pero no antes de detener el discurso claramente lleno de envidia y resentimiento de este grupito de tontos. Ahora sabía lo que le pareció extraño de ellos; eran de los que estudiaron pensando en el dinero y no porque algo fuera su pasión.

- La verdad es que a Manu nunca le gustó el profesor ni el ambiente que generaban algunos de los chicos de la orquesta, y ahora veo por qué… -su comentario los dejó en silencio al instante, y cinco pares de ojos se dirigieron como láseres hacia él.

- Y si recuerdo bien, desde que la maestra lo hizo cantar en el evento de homenaje en octavo año intentaron reclutarlo para el coro, quién sabe, tal vez eso habría evitado que quedaran en cuarto lugar en todos los campeonatos regionales hasta la graduación -Ante él tenía cinco caras en distintos grados de vergüenza, incomodidad, ira e indignación. Más que nunca estaba decidido a tomar el trago que le quedaba en el vaso y correr al estacionamiento, pero no sin antes darles una última pedrada.

- Bueno, mejor para ustedes, o tendrían que tragarse la envidia al verle la cara todos los años en sus conciertos de exalumnos.

Seguro que había perdido puntos en su resolución del año pasado, sobre lo de ser un embajador de bondad y gratitud que habían discutido con el grupo de meditación; de igual forma escapó del lugar sin darles oportunidad de pensar en una objeción. Sobre a los dos abogados.

…

No pensó que vendría tanta gente, ¿No debería al menos un tercio ya estar casado y con hijos? Y quizás un quinto de la generación fuera del país o con mejores cosas por hacer; él podría estar haciendo otras cosas si Miguel no hubiera insistido tanto en que confirmara su asistencia y liberado su agenda justo para eso. Sabía que fue mala idea el asegurar su presencia tan pronto como lo hizo, hubo tiempo para que se corriera la voz y todas esas personas que normalmente se ausentarían cambiaran de opinión.

- ¿Podemos tomarnos una foto también? -preguntó la más parlanchina de un grupo de amigas que, con mucha determinación, se habían hecho paso hasta el frente de la fila- ¡Es que somos super fans!

“Claro, todos aquí lo son”, pensó con sarcasmo.

- ¡Pues claro! -dijo en voz alta, manteniendo una cara plácida.

A metro y medio de él, Martina seguía dando autógrafos y recibiendo abrazos, mientras otro “super fan” no se había contentado con el disco y la camiseta firmada, y continuaba hablándole de los otros muchos músicos que le gustaban y a los conciertos que había asistido de ellos, aprovechando de preguntar, una y otra vez, si quizás conocería a alguno de ellos. Decidió que acabando con su grupito -que sospechaba habían pertenecido al taller de teatro, pues reconocía un par de timbres de voz y expresiones dramáticas- iría a ahuyentar al sujeto. Claro, sin que se notara tanto que lo querían lejos.

Manuel adoraba a sus fans, eran geniales, no serían nada sin sus fans. Lo que le irritaba en el momento es que estaba seguro que más de la mitad de los que ahora pedían autógrafos y fotografías no eran, como algunos decían, “super fans”, ni siquiera fans normales. Debieron percatarse que el flaco Gonzáles era el que tocaba en una banda famosa en algún momento antes de la reunión, y se habrán escuchado un par de sus canciones más populares y aprendido algunos datos, como el nombre de la banda, por ejemplo. Aunque hubo uno, diez autógrafos atrás, que había insistido en llamarlos American Patos, así que… no era el mismo sentimiento de gozo que tenía cuando podía hacerle el día a un par de chiquillas/os, que se la gritaban y lloraban todo cada que lanzaban un nuevo single o tenía otra gira y eventos en público.

De igual forma, Miguel decía que “todo oyente irregular podía volverse uno dependiente si se le hacía sentir lo suficientemente especial”, por eso intentó creer en la sinceridad de estas personas un poco más, lo suficiente para sonreír en la selfie de grupo.

Las mujeres colocaron poses y rostros “sexies” a su alrededor, e intentó seguirles la corriente, aunque nunca se le dio bien la cara de pato.

- Y ahora, ¿Puede ser cada una por separado? ¿Para el Instagram?

Sus fans eran maravillosas. Amaba a sus fans. No era nada sin sus fans. Se siguió repitiendo, aunque cada vez se convencía menos a sí mismo.

Continuó sonriendo, firmando cosas y posando junto a gente de la que olvidó el nombre en cuanto el siguiente grupo se colocó en frente. Y a pesar de lo mucho que esperó y soportó, nunca apareció la única persona que estaba deseando ver.

“¡¿Y dónde mierda esta Francisco?!” apretaba y relajaba los dedos, con los ojos en las personas en frente, pero ladeando sutilmente la cabeza para observar por el rabillo del ojo lo que podía del resto de la habitación. Con tanta gente a su alrededor, la tarea se le hacía difícil, y en verdad no distinguía mucho más allá, por lo que, en cuanto apareció la oportunidad de escabullirse, la tomó. Ese momento fue cuando una de las chicas que recordaba haber visto al mando de todo acto y acontecimiento en sus días de escolar, se montó al pequeño escenario del gimnasio e hizo estremecer los oídos de todos los presentes al encender el micrófono.

- ¡Saludos a todos! ¡Otra vez! Sé que deben estar disfrutando la velada, reencontrándose con tantas caras familiares y recordando los buenos viejos tiempos, así que no les quitaré mucho tiempo, pero ¡Es hora de los premios!

Expresiones confundidas aparecieron en los rostros de la mayoría, y en ese instante en que las masas se olvidaron de él, atravesó los pocos pasos que lo separaban de Martina.

- Voy a ir a buscar por afuera.

- ¿Tu amigo? -la rubia felizmente no necesitó que gastara más palabras explicándole a quién iría a buscar.

Le dio un apretón suave a su mano, en parte como confirmación, en parte pidiéndole perdón anticipadamente por dejarla sola manejando la situación allí dentro. Sin más que hacer, se escabulló como una rata a los rincones más oscuros, para hacer su camino hacia la puerta de evacuación que veía abierta al extremo opuesto de la entrada. Con suerte habría menos gente por ese camino, y la que se encontrara seguramente habría tenido mejores cosas que hacer, como fumar, o revivir un viejo romance besuqueándose entre los arbolitos del patio escondido por ese lado del gimnasio.

…

Francisco acabó escondido en las gradas de la cancha de futbol, en el espacio donde un agujero negro parecía formarse por la excesiva separación de los postes de luz. En sus tiempos de estudiante se enteró que era uno de los rincones donde se suponía ibas a besuquearte durante las tardes de invierno, cuando acababan los talleres y ya estaba oscuro, pero aún no echaban a todos fuera del colegio. No es que alguna vez lo haya hecho, y si hubiera tenido la oportunidad de compartir saliva en la escuela, lo habría hecho entre los estantes polvorientos de la biblioteca; una ubicación más respetable, desde su perspectiva.

Considerando el espíritu de remembranza de la noche, y como se sentía de ganas de ser sincero en la privacidad de su cabeza, la verdad es que llegó a imaginar cómo sería haberse besado con Manuel entre la sección de fantasía y literatura latinoamericana, o quizás en el rincón donde guardaban las enciclopedias, pues nadie nunca las pedía. Si es que el chico hubiera estado interesado en eso, estaba casi seguro que le habría parecido romántico de su parte, el considerar sus gustos con tanta atención. A Manuel le habría gustado tener su primer beso entre Tolkien y García Marques.

Dio un suspiro y se ajustó la chaqueta, y el viento helado que corrió lo devolvió al presente.

No tenía caso pensar en las oportunidades perdidas. El hecho es que era un cobarde, entonces y ahora, diez años no habían podido ayudarlo con eso. Podría volver adentro e intentar en serio hablar con Manuel, atravesar en medio de toda la gente y pararse frente al hombre y exigir un minuto de su atención, al menos para quitarse la interrogante que lo agobiaba desde hace meses, “¿Te acuerdas de mí? ¿Fui tan importante como tú lo fuiste para mí?”; pero el tan solo pensarlo le daban ganas de vomitar.

“Debería irme ya”, no le interesaba quedarse a ver la supuesta ceremonia de premios, ni el video conmemorativo para el que estuvieron pidiendo fotos. Había respondido con algunas que aún conservaba, aunque ahora se arrepentía, si aparecía cualquiera de las fotos en donde Manuel salía sonriendo por sobre su hombro, en un estúpido collage dentro de un seguramente mediocre video con una canción cursi de fondo, bueno, probablemente se pondría a llorar en medio del gimnasio. Y los celulares tenían mejores cámaras que cuando salió de la escuela. Se sentía muy viejo y abatido para llevar con gracia esa clase de vergüenza.

Esos era sus sombríos pensamientos, cuando una oscura silueta en los bordes de la cancha hizo que se le fuera el alma por un segundo. Se quedó petrificado en su lugar oculto en las gradas, y por su mente pasaron un centenar de posibilidades, antes de recordar que; ya no era un escolar tras horas en la escuela; y que definitivamente su vida no era una película de terror, de esas en las que moriría por ser un estudiante solo en la escuela de noche. Respiró aliviado, y observó el caminar errático de la figura. Atravesaba la cancha a paso veloz, y miraba hacia los costados con mucha frecuencia. Quizás también estaba pensando en las películas de terror, o no sabía dónde se encontraba el baño. Su lugar en la oscuridad total evitó que el personaje lo percibiera, así que fue testigo de un momento de franca emotividad cuando la persona se detuvo en medio patio, agitó los brazos por sobre su cabeza y pateó el piso en frustración.

Tales gestos le trajeron recuerdos, y una chispa de esperanza lo obligó a levantarse y seguir con los ojos la figura del hombre que poco a poco regresaba a los pasillos mejor iluminados del colegio. Al ver la tela rojo vino del esmoquin que llevaban esos hombros estrechos, se echó a correr antes de pensarlo mejor o perderlo de vista.

…

El maldito no había venido.

O al menos, eso parecía.

Ya se había recorrido casi toda la planta baja y, a menos que Francisco se haya vuelto un rebelde y haya irrumpido en la biblioteca o el laboratorio de biología, no se le ocurría dónde más buscar que no fuera empezar a llamarlo dentro de los baños.

Así que, solo cabía pensar que el desgraciado ni se había presentado, con su suerte, seguro ya estaría casado, con dos hijos y otro en camino; o en algún barco océano adentro persiguiendo balleneros con los estúpidos de Greenpeace. Iba a tener que contratar un detective privado como los ridículos cuicos en las novelas de su mamá, solo para saber a qué mugrosa bodega al interior del amazonas tendría que ir a rescatarlo de las compañías forestales a las que intentaba desmantelar.

Su escritor interno inventaba muchos cuentos, lo sabía, pero la desolación comenzaba a azotarle en la cara más que el viento helado.

Ya se quería ir, desaparecer del tonto evento que no le sirvió para nada más que darle una ligera jaqueca. Quería colocarse sus lentes de sol, aunque fuera de noche como todo un gil, y hacerse ovillo en un rincón del auto hasta llegar de vuelta al hotel. Incluso dejaría que Martina le hiciera cariño en el pelo y le cantara “Manuelita la tortuga” por millonésima vez; pues incluso cuando intentaba subirle el ánimo no podía dejar de ser un poco perra.

Sacó su cajetilla de cigarros del bolsillo interno del esmoquin, y comenzó a agitarlo para que los palillos que tenía adentro en vez de cigarros hicieran ruido como sonajera y le bajaran la angustia. Una de las primeras cosas que Miguel hizo como agente fue obligarlo a dejar de fumar, pues dijo que ni de chiste iba a lograr cantar los coros y tocar la guitarra un concierto completo por quien sabe cuántas noches seguidas con pulmones llenos de toxinas. Con el tiempo y la fama, trabajaron y conocieron personalmente un sinnúmero de otras bandas y cantantes, así que sabía que Miguel estaba lleno de mierda; pero ya había hecho la pega de abstenerse por más de un año, así que el hábito se quedó, junto con todas las muletas que sus compañeros lo ayudaron a inventar, por muy ridículas que fuera.

El choque de los palillos y su nube de penuria ocultó los pasos de quien se acercaba, lo suficiente para que la voz a su espalda lo tomara por sorpresa.

Su cajetilla cayó al suelo, y un toque de hielo le recorrió la espalda al escuchar su nombre pronunciado por una voz grave pero agradable. Un sentimiento de familiaridad le picó el pecho, y se volteó tembloroso a ver si era por quien se había estado lamentando, o solo otra desilusión más que llevarse esa noche.

Sus ojos se toparon con unos almendrados de pestañas largas que a veces lo visitaban en las noches, y del pecho se le escapó una respiración ahogada. El otro hombre no se percató, en parte porque no parecía poder mirarlo directamente. Francisco agachaba la cabeza, y metía las manos en sus bolsillos, meciéndose de un lado a otro.

Se veía nervioso.

Se veía como un sueño en ese traje.

- Eh, hola, pues… perdón, quizás ya no te acuerdes de mí, pero, solíamos ser amigos… -comenzó a murmurarle al piso.

Seguía igual de obtuso al parecer.

Daba igual, siempre le habían gustado sus hombres un poco mensos. Como le recriminaba su mamá.

- ¡Weón! -le grito, a lo que el otro hombre dio un respingo-. ¡Déjate de tonteras, Pancho!

En un momento desenfrenado, se abalanzó sobre su antiguo amigo. Su acercamiento careció de cualquier delicadeza, no calculó ni distancia ni aceleración, y chocó contra el pecho del otro con tanta fuerza que por poco terminan ambos en el piso. Como un niño torpe elevó los brazos y se aferró al cuello de su antiguo amigo, y este por suerte respondió sujetándolo alrededor de la cintura.

Con el descaro que llevaba años aprendiendo de Martina, frotó su mejilla contra la de Francisco antes de acomodar la barbilla sobre el hombro de este, ajustando su agarre en la espalda del otro hombre para mantenerlo inmóvil contra su pecho por algo más de tiempo.

- Mierda, Fran… -susurró en un jadeo. El golpe de adrenalina inicial por el reencuentro corrió su curso, y con algo de vergüenza sintió que sus ojos comenzaban a lagrimear más rápido de lo que podía controlar. Su voz brotó resquebrajada de su boca, y Francisco claramente lo notó, si el apretón que le dio con sus brazos significaba algo.

- Manu…

- Te he echado de menos… -le confesó con un hilo de voz, y la cara roja de vergüenza. Aunque la mano que Francisco movió hasta su nuca lo ayudó un poco con el bochorno.

Cuando la otra se posó en su espalda baja y lo acercó al abdomen firme del hombre, pues, el calor en su cara se dirigió a otra parte.

- Yo también… -Francisco soltó una risita.

Manuel sintió una sonrisa tirando de la comisura de sus labios. También sintió en la piel las vibraciones del pecho frente a él, y frotó el mentón sobre las solapas del traje al que se aferraba.

- Te he extrañado bastante… -Francisco carraspeó, y luego de darle otro apretón a las dos partes del cuerpo de Manuel donde tenía las manos, hizo el esfuerzo de alejarse, aunque no demasiado.

Erguidos frente a frente, notaron que seguían prácticamente de la misma altura, lo que era perfecto para mirarse directamente a los ojos sin problema alguno.

- ¿Dónde te estabas escondiendo, ah? No te vi acercarte en ningún momento allá adentro -dijo Manuel, con algo de reproche en la voz. Había mostrado la cara, sin peluca ni gafas allá en el gimnasio, solo para que a Francisco se le hiciera más fácil encontrarlo; y lo vino a hacer aquí afuera donde a trechos les faltaba luz para verse los pies.

- Uh… -Francisco frotó una mano contra su pantalón, y con clara vergüenza dijo- Me dio algo de nervios acercarme, no sabía bien si te acordarías, o querrías volver a verme…

- Pancho -Manuel detuvo en seco esa línea de pensamiento, solo con el tono de voz y la mirada en blanco. Francisco le sonrió por hacerlo.

- Bueno… también quería… hablar un rato, en privado, y allá adentro, pues…

- Sí, entiendo -Manuel tuvo que soltar una carcajada, imaginando la pelea que habría sido sacarse a sus “super fans” de encima para tener, aunque fuera un minuto, en privado para conversar con Francisco. Quizás aquí afuera no era tan mal lugar para encontrarse.

Aunque podía conseguir algo mejor.

- Oye, ¿Viniste solo? ¿Tienes un rato para copuchar en el rincón? -preguntó, observando con atención el rostro de Francisco. Tenía ideas, y había sentido cosas en el abrazo que compartieron; algunas cosas provenientes de Francisco -unas bastante delatoras-, pero seguía sin tener del todo claro en qué situación estaba navegando con el otro hombre.

- Ah, sí, vine solo… -Francisco lo miró fijamente por un momento, y con voz tentativa agregó- No es que haya alguien a quien quisiera traer y… -sus mejillas se sonrojaron un poco, Manuel pudo notarlo a pesar de la mala iluminación- … no me molestaría ir a otro lado contigo y… charlar.

La entonación que usó en esa última palabra, le indicó a Manuel que estaban considerando lo mismo.

Quizás Manuel sí tenía un rockstar dentro de él. Con esa idea, lentamente entrelazó sus dedos con los de Francisco y comenzó a guiarlo hacia la calle a un lado del colegio.

…

- ¡… se lleva el premio por quien ha tenido más hijos! -la chica en el escenario acabó sus gritos, y una muchacha a quien le habría venido bien un poco más de rubor en la cara pálida de cansancio se las arregló para subir los peldaños con la panza claramente de embarazada que cargaba. El que suponía había echo la otra mitad del esfuerzo para obtener el premio, se tardó un poco en soltar la copa de la que bebía para ir a ayudarla.

Mientras el resto aplaudía, Martina intentaba mantener la cara plácida y sonrisa de barbie que practicaba cada noche escuchando a Miranda. Eso, al tiempo que reprimía los estremecimientos que le daba la idea de parir siquiera una vez.

En sus conversaciones con Manuel, cuando ambos estaban sufriendo de insomnio por el jet lag a lo largo de los años, había llegado a aceptar que la maternidad quizás no era un destino asegurado como le contó su abuelita, y perdonarse mayormente por ello. Aunque el flaco había llegado a convencerla que no se vería tan mal como pensaba con una barriga de esas; eso por aquella vez en que quedaron tan borrachos en Madrid, que no encontraron nada mejor que fingir ser madres en espera en el cuarto de hotel. Según lo que les gritó Miguel en la reunión del siguiente día, Manuel dio la actuación de su vida en el pasillo fuera del cuarto, gritando con tal convicción que se le había roto la fuente que hasta ambulancia llegó a llamar la pobre mucama con la que se toparon.

Su amigo a veces se convencía a sí mismo que ser esposo y padre tampoco estaba en su destino, y que una manada de perros sería su familia cuando estuviera viejo y mañoso. Pero Martina pensaba que si alguien podría sacar bebés medio decentes y adolescentes casi soportables sería su Manolito. Si es que ella solo sería la tía estilosa de esas criaturitas, o tendría que poner la mitad del ADN para hacerle el milagro al flaco, aún no lo tenía claro.

- El siguiente nominado es un compañero muy especial, tan especial, que no hay día que no se escuche algo de él en la radio…

“Oh, ya empezamos…”. Martina miró discretamente por la habitación, en la lejana posibilidad de que Manuel haya vuelto al gimnasio y conseguido de alguna forma pasar desapercibido entre las mesas y globos.

- … definitivamente ganó los premios de quién hizo más dinero, y quién ha viajado más lejos…!

La multitud comenzó a percatarse que el aludido no estaba por ningún lado, y como visores de submarino, volteaban sus cabezas hacia Martina como si una onda de choque se esparciera invisible por la habitación.

- ¿… Manuel? ¿Dónde está Manuel? -preguntó finalmente la autoproclamada directora de ceremonias. Y no tardó mucho en ubicar a Martina, con toda la gente ya mirándola.

- Ah, tuvo que ir al baño… -con facilidad, proyectó su voz para que todos en la habitación pudieran escucharla, y le hizo el gesto con la mano de que “siguieran rodando” a la mujer frente al micrófono- Seguro ya vuelve, pero sigan, sigan…

- Oh… -en su favor, la mujer se recuperó rápido de su desilusión, y continúo entregando las piochas de plástico que valían de premio para las más ridículas nominaciones posibles. Martina no sabía en qué momento habían recopilado la información que esta gente parecía tener del resto de los presentes, pero le tranquilizaba no estar en la línea de fuego.

Continuó observando la habitación distraídamente, hasta que se topó con una espalda que reconocería a kilómetros, perteneciente a quien le había dicho claramente que debía quedarse con el auto.

Caminó ágilmente entre las personas, y por una vez en lo que iba de la noche, ignoró todos los pedidos por autógrafos y fotografía. En menos de dos minutos estuvo al lado de su primo, a quien sujetó del brazo y volteó en su dirección antes de que pudiera colocarse otro canapé en la boca.

- ¿Y vos qué haces? ¡Te dije que aquí no tenías que entrar! -le dijo entre dientes.

Daniel la miró con los ojos de conejo asustado que acostumbraba cuando se veía en problemas. Aunque pronto superó el susto, y volvió a estirar la mano al canapé con camarones que había sido su objetivo. El irrespetuoso.

- ¡Pues perdón! Pero Manuel me dijo que podía entrar un rato a estirar las piernas y comer algo.

Eso no se lo había esperado.

- ¿Manu? ¿Ya se fue al auto?

No debió irle bien en su búsqueda, entonces. Pobrecito, debía estar muy deprimido. Parece que iba a ser noche de tragos, seguro los de la radio les perdonarían estar un poco atontados.

- Pues entonces nos vamos, no vale la pena quedarse más si el flaco ya está listo para volver al hotel.

- ¡Oh, yo no contaría con eso! -Daniel alzó la voz al final, en el tono de alguien que sabía algo que otros no, y se estaba riendo a carcajadas en la privacidad de su cabeza por eso. Martina frunció los ojos ante ese tono.

- ¿De qué estás hablando? -pronunció bien cada palabra, y vio cómo su primo no sabía si temblar donde estaba parado o continuar riéndose para adentro.

- Pues verás, se apareció de la nada tocándome el vidrio de la ventana, casi me da un infarto, pensando que venían a robarme o algo, pero resultó ser Manuel, quien venía muy tomado de la mano con su… “amigo”.

El payaso de Daniel hasta hizo las comillas con sus dedos, pero al menos le pintó el cuadro a Martina bastante claro.

- No me lo creo… -de todas formas declaró su incredulidad.

Esa zorra. No donde se iba a sentar.

- No sabía que Manu tuvo novios en la escuela, si me hubieran dicho que quería reconectar con uno hoy, habría guardado algunas toallas del hotel en la cajuela.

Daniel estaba siendo demasiado progresivo con todo esto. Eso empezaba a irritarla.

- ¡Esa zorra!

Alguien iba a tener que premiarla por su paciencia, Martina era prácticamente una santa a estas alturas.

Al menos un nuevo novio, es más, un amor juvenil reconquistado, significaba que el corazoncito de Manuel iba a latir con más sonetos cursis y versos acalorados para posibles canciones. American Parrots estaba necesitando material para otro álbum.

La Santa Martina se merecía otro Grammy latino.

Y si este no terminaba de convencerla para el flaco, bueno, a ver si el tal Francisco soportaba un tour con la banda, o los flashes de cámaras y siestas en aeropuertos eran demasiado para él. Quizás si acababan rompiendo, su corazón roto les conseguiría lo imposible y sacarían álbum dos años seguidos.

Martina también podía ser una perra si quería.

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cowgurrrl · 1 year

Text

“I want to be great or nothing.”

Summary: When world famous rockstar Joel Miller finds himself in some hot water with the press, his PR team suggests fake dating an up and coming actress to refine his image. However, when they actually start spending time together, the happy couple can’t stand each other. Will they be able to turn it around for the cameras or will it all be for nothing?

Warnings: smut indicated with an asterisk, tlou au, fake dating, enemies to ???, Sarah is alive :D

01. Smile You’re on Camera [1.7k]

02. When The Sun Goes Down [2.6k]

03. BWFW [3.8k]

04. Kiwi [3.8k]

05. A plea for tenderness* [7.3k]

06. Blueberry Pancakes* [4.5k]

07. Losing My Cool [1.1k]

08. Never Thought [3.5k]

09. Layla [2.3k]

10. Pine Point [4.7k]

11. Old Friends Die Hard [3.6k]

12. Too Close [2.5k]

13. The Chain [2.6k]

14. From the Dining Table [4.5k]

15. Wonderfully Bizarre [1.2k]

🎸🎸🎸

Drabbles

A Soulmate Who Wasn’t Meant to Be: You settle into life without Joel

Night Shift: Joel settles into life without you

Tennessee Whiskey: A (somewhat) quiet night as you and Joel adjust to sharing life again

Thank God I Found You: You and Joel talk about going public with your relationship

Gold Dust Woman: Oscars season with Joel

The Actress: Red carpet interviews with Joel

Je te laisserai des mots: You and Joel realize forever doesn’t sound too bad

I Want To Marry You: Joel asks you The Question

Kiss Me Once, and Kiss Me Twice: You and Joel get married

Heavy Metal Drummer: When Joel’s drummer suddenly drops out, who better to fill in than the girl who’s been there since the beginning?

Just A Boy: Joel struggles with your newest cast mate

Small Bump: You tell the girls you’re pregnant

Beautiful Boy: You and Joel find out the gender of your baby

Hayloft: Joel being protective of his family

Choreomania: Sammy tries to figure out if he likes what his dad does

Brooklyn Baby: You and Joel welcome your son

Iris: Sarah and Ellie hold Sam for the first time

Hey Me, Hey Mama: Mother’s Day

Jackie and Wilson: A night in the Miller household

Little Wonders: When Mom Guilt takes over, Joel finds a way to support you

Mama’s Boy: Sam’s going through a phase

Daydream Believer: Daisy seems to know something you don’t

As It Was: You and Joel have an announcement

At Last: Sam doesn’t seem to know the difference between real life and acting

Daylight: An almost perfect Texas day with the Millers

Yo Gotti: You and Joel read thirst tweets together

Beautiful Girls: Your first night at home with your twins

Love You: Joel being the best dad to tiny baby angels

Unknown: You find out Violet has asthma

I’m Still Standing: Actors on Actors: You and Carolina Garcia-Long

My Girls: The first of many Sophia and Violet days

Lucky: The girls are going through a phase

Girls On Film: Joel accidentally starts discourse

I’m Just Ken: A Halloween fashion show with the Millers

Live from New York: You and Joel take on SNL

Please Come Home for Christmas: The Christmas season with the Millers

Bug: The BuzzFeed Puppy Interview

So This Is Love: A Beach Day

Salad Days: The t-shirt coup

The Millers: A Year in The Life: A documentary about your lives

Good Old Days: A SAG-AFTRA Career Retrospective

🎸🎸🎸

Extras 🤠

Joel and sundress season*

Dancing with Joel

Your instagram story 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

ACL with the Millers

Joel’s tattoos

You and Joel find out you’re having a baby

Your reaction to questions about kids

Family headcanons

Random thoughts 1

Random thoughts 2

Honeymoon with Joel

Actress!reader freaking out about Joel on Instagram

Talking about your relationship with Joel

Sammy Insta posts

Family instagram posts

Sophia and Violet

Birthday headcanons

What the kids do later in life

Text threads :D 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

The kids’ instagrams

Grandpa Joel

Grandpa Joel pt. 2

Instagram stories: Barbie edition

Random family thoughts

#one for the money two for the show #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel tlou #the last of us x reader #joel miller the last of us #the last of us au #the last of us fluff #Joel au #joel the last of us #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fluff

581 notes · View notes

enam3l · 1 year

Note

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMYHUKpBj/

Three words: Dad! Eddie Munson

Ok well I'm obsessed? I was literally just gonna reply like I love this but no I got too carried away and produced one of the most random and bizarre fics I've ever done. I'm sleep deprived okay!

the munson sandwich (rockstar eddie x reader)

/ hella fluff / taglist and requests open

you can see all rockstar eddie x reader stories and lore at #enam3ls rockstar eddie or the masterlist! and check out my new series love, lola

Should kids sleep in their parents bed? It was always going to be a bone of contention. Eddie was to the core, a clinger, he wanted to be in physical contact with you constantly. So you knew from the get go it would be no better (if not worse) with your children. After reading all the parenting books your brain could handle before imploding, you decided you didn't have a strong opinion either way on whether kids slept with you or not.

However, once you had Sloane, both of you were so besotted, it wasn't even a question. As if meant to be, she fitted perfectly between you and Eddie in bed. Every night you would all get cosy and form the Sloane Sandwich. A perfect recipe with a slice of mom and dad and in between was the filling of Sloaney Bologna (a nickname coined by Eddie that neither you or your daughter were too thrilled about). Both of you were infatuated with the perfect little cherub you made together and just wanted to be near her always. Sloane could happily snuggle against her dad with you being big spoon and still able to keep your arm over her and Eddie's torso. It was ideal.

Then Iris came along aka Eddie's clone and shadow. Naturally, she inherited her dad's clinginess as well as everything else. Unlike Sloane, who just slept happily in the middle enjoying both parents. Iris insisted on clinging to Eddie like a tiny curly headed spider monkey. Now it was a slice of you, Sloaney Bologna and then Iris insisted on being so close to Eddie, she was more like a condiment smeared on top of him rather than an extra filling. For the first time in your relationship, your sleeping position of having your arm draped around Eddie's stomach was no longer possible. Instead he just had a little Iris laying right on top, a mini Munson stack. But, you couldn't be angry, not when they looked so cute. Little duplicates of each other who'd become inseparable.

It worked out that you had two years between each daughter. So by time you were pregnant with Maeve, the bed was full with four year old Sloane and two year old Iris, plus you and Eddie. Realising there's quite a difference between that and just a baby and a two year old in the bed. Iris was now less of a little mini Munson stack on top of Eddie but rather a lump. All of that mixed with your baby bump, meant it was time to have the talk with Eddie.

'Baby, we can't all fit in the same bed anymore,' you broke it to him.

He gasped like you had suggested something outrageously cruel, as if you now wanted your kids to sleep in cages.

'But we're a Munson sandwich?!' He huffed.

'Well, you've overfilled the sandwich,' you raised a finger at him, stopping him from sniggering at the innuendo. 'I am the top piece of bread that can no longer balance on top! Between you, your clinger, Sloaney and now the bump, your beloved wife and carrier of your children is practically falling out of bed.'

Over the years, you had learnt using carrying his children was a sure fire way to win with Eddie. He groaned like a teenager, knowing you'd used the secret weapon.

'Fiiiine. We'll get a bigger mattress, sweetheart!'

Your jaw dropped.

'Eddie! That is not what I was suggesting!'

He held his hand up in protest.

'Well, sweets, you should've known better than to have ever let me have my way and have the girls in the bed. We're a bed sharing family now. Deal with it. We shall be getting a bigger mattress!'

By the end of the week you were the proud owner of a mattress that seemed to be the size of every other one you've owned, stitched together. Yet, Eddie would soon learn it would not be enough. Nothing was a match for the terror of Maeve Munson.

'I don't know how, but I know you've taught her to do this,' he accused, outraged that a baby kicked him so hard he had a black eye.

After you dealt with Iris clinging to your husband for the last two years, he was now getting a taste of his own medicine. Although, Maeve was far more ruthless than her sister, even as a newborn.

'You were in her way,' you smirked, 'she thought you were trying to steal her Mommy.'

'You were mine first,' Eddie grumbled from the other side of the bed, sore eye and all.

Now Sloane was six, she wasn't a permanent feature in the bed but her absence did not create more space. Maeve simply turned it into a buffering zone. If her dad were to encroach on the space, little limbs would kick ferociously to keep him at bay.

One night you had even been awoken by a wail from Eddie.

'AHhh you better be sure that you didn't want anymore kids, Y/N because Cerberus Munson has just crushed all hope of it!!'

To go with his now sore balls, he got a hard shove from yourself.

'Cerberus Munson? Absolutely not. That nickname is vetoed. Far worse than Sloaney Bologna. If Maeve is Cerberus, that means I'm hell!!'

He knew he'd stitched himself up with that one so sulked in silence the rest of the night; bringing you your favourite breakfast in the morning.

As you sat on your bed, eating your apology breakfast, alongside a black eyed and tender balled, Eddie, you strategised. Despite how funny it was, there was no denying your precious, protective Maeve was a health hazard. It would be a real shame to injure him further considering you'd married a man with such a pretty face and balls. So, a new arrangement was made. No longer were you and Eddie the slices of bread in the Munson Sandwich. It now went a slice of Iris, a filling of dad, a filling of mom and then a slice of Maeve. It meant for the first time in four years, you and Eddie could actually fall asleep on each other like you had your whole relationship. Then, on the occasion Sloane joined, she could slip perfectly in between you just as she had when she first arrived.

Even as your children grew older, the Munson Sandwich was still beloved. On sad days or chilly nights, the Sandwich would reassemble. It didn't matter if they were adults with their own children, Eddie and you were going to cuddle your girls like they were still your little babies.

---

my taglist angels: @whoahoney@lukewearingbeanies @esme-viridian @elysian-chaos @munsonology@mseddiemunson @kreepja @midnightsgetawaycar @therosietoesy @littlepotatobeansworld

@josephquinncore

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virtual-hugs · 6 months

Text

SRTTR Eyes as Default & Contacts for The Sims 3

● These eyes don't have fake catchlights. Recommended: aWT Eyeball Mesh (SimEyes Version), Eye Shader Tweaks & Bottom Lashes Default (or this if you prefer no lashes).

● Default replacement face overlay includes: Lashes by @potatobuttcheek & Teeth by @oneeuromutt.

● Fixes the iris being unaligned with the glow from occult eyes (preview) and white splotches inside the mouths of toddlers and children.

● Note: Default iris and sclera are in separate packages, so you can mix with other defaults. Iris texture is 2K and sclera is 1K, but the game scales these depending on your graphics settings. Due to limitations the contacts can’t go as bright as the default version.

DOWNLOAD: SIMBLR.CC | SIMFILESHARE

Iris converted from Saints Row The Third Remastered, sclera from Grand Theft Auto V. All rights to the original material belong to Rockstar Games & Volition (rip).

#s3cc #ts3cc #sims3cc #srttr #gta #ts3 cas #ts3 genetics #ts3 eyes #ts3 contacts #ts3 default

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courtingchaos · 6 months

Note

oooo but what about Doesn't-Know-He's-An-Incubus Eddie. like growing up his life was completely normal until he's older and starts having sex and he realizes he feels so.... strong.

This would be good too because the part I left out is him haunting comic book stores and tabletop game spaces because those girls are so desperate for a dude to not mansplain to them. They just want to be included and they know what they’re talking about and Eddie just loves teaching people. He’s like, the only dude who isn’t shooing them off or telling them they’re dumb. And it would get him so much ass.

Like picture it. He’s unaware of any actual power he might have. Probably got it from Al, that Munson charm he always wielded had to come from somewhere. Eddie would see these girls getting dragged around by boyfriends who could care less that they were there, if only to show the other dudes that ‘hey, I have a girlfriend and you don’t.’

He’d smile and ask them about their character sheet and next thing he knows he’s in the back of his van with her. He’s sliding into another random bed. He’s leaving after getting his world rocked enough that he feels like a brand new man. He’s finding people at the Hideout on terrible dates and suddenly he’s getting these little flashes of himself in the middle of getting his dick sucked. Nothing he’d ever seen, at least not from that angle, but they’re just brief rose tinted images.

It’d happen more and more, for longer periods. Someone’s babbling under him and he’s like, taken by visions. Sometimes it’s just him sometimes it’s someone else. Sometimes he’s just a polished version of himself, some kind of rockstar-model combo, but then he starts seeing it. That freak behavior.

“A tiefling? Really?” He asks mid stroke. He looms over her while staring through her. He can see the horns weaving through his hair. The deep purple skin and black eyes. A forked tongue flicks down at her with his grin bracketing it.

“Wh-what?” She’s breathless and gone. He shifts his gaze to catch her’s and he can’t. Eyes fogged over with lust, mist that settles over the color of her iris.

“Is this it, your big fantasy?”

“Uh huh.”

He leans in close pushing her knees into her chest. Spread open so vulnerably under him. He could eat her up and he doesn’t think she’d ever complain. Inches from her face he’s whispering to her, talking her to the edge of her pleasure. Writhing and shaking under him, nails digging into his biceps he barely notices the scratches or the draw of blood. He hasn’t noticed the change in his voice. There’s a baseline to it, something deep and reverberating and it almost strings her orgasm along longer.

When she finally comes down and unwinds from herself Eddie realizes he never came. There was a spell happening in the back of his van, something heady and new. He could snatch that image of himself out of thin air and tuck it away for later. It makes him chuckle while she’s trying to wiggle back into her jeans.

“So do you play as a tiefling or was that just something you came up with on the spot?” He’s buttoning his own jeans and doesn’t catch her giving him a weird look.

“What?”

“The…tiefling thing. Big purple guy?” The ‘me’ is implied but he doesn’t say it.

“I don’t-I’m not-“

“I’m not picking on you.” He’s quick to reassure but she looks confused, not hurt.

She shakes her head. “I didn’t think you were.” There’s a shy smile that she tries to hide. When he opens the door to help her step out she asks if he’ll be around for next weeks session. It’s unsaid but he catches the flash of the inside of his van.

“Sure.” He’s vibrating. His skin crackles and his blood sings. This feels better than any bong rip or bump he’s sniffed. There’s a tingling along his spine as he watches her walk away and he tries to figure out just what it was he was doing in the dark.

#this is a FOI blog btw sorry for the references #I just liked the book for a lot of things and I’m digging into my clay stash to mold #asks!

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jflemings · 6 months

Text

WOSO MASTERLIST !

୨୧ ｡ ⟡ ⋆ ࣪. ໒ 🌱 @

- all fics can be found under the tags pegs woso & pegs tillies ! , requests are open

crossed out titles are wips

☆ angst

✿ fluff

❥ nsfw

🀥 personal fav

✰ SERIES

WHAT’S QUEDED

PORTLAND CALLING - JESSIE FLEMING

✰ JESSIE FLEMING

- blurb masterlist

- piper’s world

- patiently ✿

- mum!jessie headcanons ✿

- remember to say goodnight ✿ ☆ 🀥 , tuck you in ✿

- inevitable ☆ , unforgettable, unexplainable ✿ ☆

- dancing shadows ☆ 🀥

- mine ✿

- out of the woods ☆ 🀥

- third time’s the charm ✿

- rockstar’s girlfriend ✿ ❥ , pt2

- your nickle ain’t worth my time ✿ ❥ (rockstar’s gf universe)

- birthday wishes ✿

- oddly specific gf!jessie headcanons ✿ ❥

- stay ✿ 🀥

- jealous!jessie headcanons ✿ ☆

- fleece ✿

- flower fairy ✿

- rascal ✿

- visiting hours ✿

- viral ✿

- proof of life ✿

- the better option ❥

- you lead and i’ll follow ✿

- pomegranates ☆

- party of two ✿ ☆

- lipstick stain ❥

- lovechild ✿

- more than friendly ✿

- gossip ☆ ✿

- die for ✿

- iris ✿

- let the light in ☆, pt2 ☆, pt3 ☆ ✿ - please read the warnings

✰ KYRA COONEY-CROSS

- in the open singer!reader x kcc smau ✿

- dedicated to you ✿

- like ribbons in your hair / inspired by lacy by olivia rodrigo ✿ 🀥

- my stomach’s all in knots / lacy p2 ✿ ☆

- big sister duties ✿

- run ✿

- our 32 ✿

- safety pin ✿ ☆

- the only exception ✿

✰ HAYLEY RASO

- disconnected ✿

- look at us now ☆

✰ SAM KERR

- golden girl ✿

- ran the block ✿

- still into you ✿

- trivia ✿

✰ CORTNEE VINE

- cruel summer ☆ ✿

✰ STEPH CATLEY

- garden ☆

✰ LEAH WILLIAMSON

- clumsy girl ✿

- oblivious about the obvious ✿

- into your arms ☆

✰ ALESSIA RUSSO

- frangipani flowers ✿

- she knows it ☆

- you could start a cult ✿

- yard sale ☆

✰ NIAMH CHARLES

- phases ☆ ❥ , - one shot ☆ ✿

- run for the hills ☆

- mine ✿

✰ GRACE CLINTON

- all of the girls you loved before ✿

✰ LOTTE WUBBEN-MOY

- sous chef ✿

✰ KATIE MCCABE

- baby? ✿

- lover of mine ☆ ✿

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boxofbonesfic · 1 year

Photo

Title: ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴜꜱ [5]

Pairing: Rockstar!Bucky Barnes x Reader

series masterlist || series playlist || chapter song

Summary: Drowning in women and designer drugs, Bucky Barnes of Valkyrie’s Revenge is in a race to rock bottom. Fed up, his bandmates give him an ultimatum—straighten up, or fuck off. In a last, desperate bid to maintain his place, he agrees to return to the one place he swore he’d never set foot again—home.

Warnings: Angst, Drug Addiction, Depression, Suicidal ideation, Mental Health issues, Toxicity, Recreational Drug use, Hard drug use, PTSD, Dealing with trauma, Slow Burn, Fluff, MINORS DNI, [More to be added]

A/N: whew. this chapter… i tried to warn you guys, i really did. buckle up!! as always, i recommend you listen to the chapter song while reading, or alternatively, listen to the fic playlist! thank you so much for reading! divider by @firefly-graphics

series playlist || chapter song

This work is entirely unbeta’d, and unedited. Though I don’t own any of Marvel’s characters, this work and the plot contained inside are entirely mine. I do not consent for this work to be posted anywhere else by anyone but me. Enjoy 😘

It’s Iris’ shaking that wakes you, her little hands jerking your shoulder back and forth as you blearily open your eyes to the almost total darkness.

“Mommy, mommy there’s somebody at the door,” she says, her voice nervous. You sit up, rubbing at your eyes. It takes you a moment to process what she’s said, and you listen for a few seconds, but hear only the quiet sounds of the house settling, dripping faucets, branches scratching against the plastic siding.

“Wha?” You shake your head. “No, baby, it’s bedtime, nobody comes around this late—” You’re interrupted by a fierce round of knocks—some of them so loud, you’re fairly certain the person responsible is kicking your door. It only takes a moment for you to go from sleepy to high-alert, your eyes flicking between your daughter and your bedroom door.

“See?” She whimpers, clamoring onto the bed and clutching at you. You detangle yourself from your anxious daughter, and reach under the bed for the baseball bat you keep there—just in case. Even though your heart is pounding, you know you can’t show her how scared you are—Iris is only as calm as you are.

“Kiddo, you’re going to stay right here in mommy’s room, okay? I’m going to go downstairs and see who’s at the door.” You softly close the door behind you, jumping as the doorbell rings just before the knocks resume. With sweaty hands, you grip the worn handle of your father’s bat, and edge down the stairs towards the door. You hear a loud crack, like wood splintering outside the door, and then—your name?

“Open the do-hic-ooor,” Bucky moans, and through the thick frosted glass you see him rest his forehead against the little window at the top of the door. You fumble with the chain, the bat clattering as it hits the floor. You turn the handle, and Bucky practically falls inside. He stumbles over the threshold, and you scramble to catch him so that he doesn’t clip his head on the end table. He rests heavily on you, his head lolling.

“Bucky?!” You hiss his name. “What—what are you doing?” He attempts to stand up, straightening his jacket as he shoves his hands into his pockets. You resist the urge to slam the door as he shoulders past you—you don’t need Iris more riled up than she already is. “Are you fucking crazy?”

He staggers against the wall. “I n-needed t’see you.” His watery smile is barely even that, a slight upturn at the corners of his trembling mouth before he drags the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead. “Wan’ to see you,” he repeats, slurring.

“Bucky it’s fucking two a.m.” You throw your hands up. “It’s fucking two a.m. and you are scaring my fucking kid!” You’re tempted to hit him, to slap some fucking sense into him because clearly he doesn’t have any right now. Your hand twitches at your side as you tamp the urge back down.

“My fucking kid,” he retorts, and you feel a portion of your righteous anger break off and crumble into guilt. “Isn’t s-she?” He shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. He glares at you with lidded, red-rimmed eyes. You want to say no, you know you should, for the sake of your peace, your daughter’s peace, to uphold the promise you’d made to your parents, to yourself.

But you can’t. It won’t come. You’re floundering watching his face contort into some unnameable expression. You don’t know how he’s figured it out, how his addled brain has finally put the pieces together.

“I w-wanna see her.” He slurs, and tries to step around you. You block him, shoving him backwards.

“You’re high out of your fucking mind Bucky! I don’t even want you in my fucking house!” You shrill. “Where’s Steve?” Bucky hunches his shoulders defensively. His glassy eyes roll as he tries to deny what you can plainly see.

“‘M’not high,” he mumbles. “I—”

“Bucky you can’t even speak!” You yell, and then wince, hoping Iris isn’t listening at the top of the stairs. “You show up here at the most ungodly fucking hour, demanding to see Iris— “ You cut yourself off, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Bucky you fucking terrified her, okay? You—I’m going to call Steve.” Your exasperated words make him flinch. He tries to stop you as you reach for your phone, but his movements are heavy and slow.

“That lying piece of shit. Don’t—” He reaches for you, and you slap his hand away, your heart pounding.

“Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do in my house.”

“I’ll l-leave. If you call him.” He threatens, his voice hard. His pupils are dilated wide, his eyes wet, but you can tell he means it. You know you shouldn’t feel responsible for Bucky, not now, not ever again, but it doesn’t stop you from feeling it anyway. You scrub a frustrated hand over your face, tangling your fingers in your hair before you squeeze your eyes shut, regretting the decision before it even comes out of your mouth.

“Okay, fine,” you relent, holding your hands up. “No Steve. But you can’t see Iris like this.” Bucky looks rough. You know he’s been out partying, doing only God knows what—his eyes are red-rimmed and watery, his nose red and irritated. He looks like he’s going to argue with you, but after a moment snaps his mouth shut angrily.

“Fine.”

“You can sleep on the couch.” You say stiffly. “I’m going to go get you a blanket. Stay down here.” The words are curt, short as though you’ve bitten off their edges. He opens his mouth, and you’re not sure you want to hear what’s going to come out of it next, so you turn away, and march directly up the stairs. You wait at the top to hear the tell-tale creak of the first stair, but it doesn’t come.

For a few seconds, you pace on the landing, hands balled into fists and pressed against your closed eyes. Bucky is here. He knows. He knows. He knows. You can’t stop the endless refrain inside your own skull, panicked tears tightening your throat as you try to swallow against them.

Calm down. Iris can’t see you like this.

You take slow, hiccoughing breaths, swallowing back the tears and anger until they’re gathered into a tight, hot ball in your chest. Forcing it down, you head for your bedroom.

Your door is cracked open, and Iris peers at you guiltily through the gap. You almost want to laugh as she jumps backwards, hopping nervously from foot to foot as you cross your arms.

“I thought you were supposed to be in bed,” you say, raising an eyebrow. Iris scuffs her foot guiltily against the floor.

“I, um, I heard Mr. Bucky,” she admits, and you have to stop yourself from smacking a frustrated palm against your forehead. “Why is he here, Mommy?”

You’ve never felt more like shit than in this moment—you can’t tell her. Not like this.

“He’s… he’s not feeling well, babes. He’s going to rest downstairs, on the couch.”

Iris looks at you excitedly. “So he’ll be here for breakfast?!”

“No.” You say quickly, and her round eyes go glassy. “He has somewhere to be tomorrow morning, so he’ll be gone when we get up for school.” You’re not sure if you’re saying this for her benefit, or yours. “Into bed.” You say, patting the mattress. “You’re sleeping with me tonight.”

Bucky is standing in front of the fireplace in your living room. It doesn’t work, but the hearth serves as a display wall of sorts. Framed pictures of Iris, photos of you two together, your parents, your life. There’s a sort of sad bemusement on his face, like he can’t believe your life went on without him. That you had lived without him. You watch as he reaches forward to trace Iris’ face through the glass, and wonder if he’s looking for the parts of her that reflect him.

You clear your throat and he turns, guiltily shoving his hands into his pockets. The silence is so heavy between you, you aren’t sure if you can carry it. Luckily for you, Bucky breaks it first.

“I dunno how I didn’t see it the first time,” he says with a sad, hoarse little laugh. “She looks just fuckin’ like me.” You’re not sure what you hate more. The fact that he said it, or the fact that it was true. “Kid’s wearing my goddamn face and it took me a month to notice it.” He turns like he’s going to grab a picture off of the shelf but misjudges the distance, and stumbles against the wall with a thud.

“Jesus, Buck!” You rush over to him to stop him falling. Grunting, you loop one of his arms over your shoulders. He goes with you easily, mumbling something you don’t understand as you half drag him towards the couch. “You need to lay the fuck down.” You growl, sloughing him onto the cushions. He lands with a soft “oof”, and begins kicking at his boots.

“Hold on—christ— I’ll help you.” You tug his boots off and toss them to the floor as he curls in on himself.

You’re not sure how a man his size can look so small, so fragile, but he does. The angry, bitter part of you wants to throw the blanket and pillow on the floor in a heap, but you don’t. You spread it out over his sleeping form and he mumbles, twitching. Carefully, you reach to tuck the pillow under his head, and pause as your fingers brush his cheek. You let them linger for a moment before pulling your hand back quickly, and cradling it against your chest.

You turn sharply and head back for the staircase.

“Goodnight. Jellybean.”

His voice stops you in your tracks, the raspy word making your throat tight.

He won’t remember it in the morning.

You go upstairs.

Iris is asleep in your bed when you open the door. Sleep finds her easily, and you’re glad for it. It means she feels safe, something you don’t want to jeopardize with the man sleeping it off on your couch downstairs.

You suppose you had been lucky, not having to see him like Steve did, strung out and barely coherent. If you can help it, Iris will be spared that sight forever. Fists clenched determinedly in the duvet, you stare at the ceiling, waiting for—you don’t know what you’re waiting for. The doorknob to jiggle, for sounds of destruction to arise from downstairs, the sound of his voice, for sleep—for anything.

And then, finally, you sleep.

🎤

This isn’t Steve’s house.

Bucky stares up at the unfamiliar ceiling, counting the minutes until the memories begin to trickle back into his skull. He remembers scoring—easier now than it ever was, considering. Every bar-back knows a guy who knows a guy who can get him what he wants, all he has to do is ask.

And boy did he fucking ask.

He remembers the disembodied rolling bliss, remembers you, your disappointed face. Bucky groans, sitting up. The blanket falls to his lap, and he furrows his brows, picking up the edge. He knows what Kitty will say when he comes to meeting today. It’s a small town and word travels fast. Bucky knows he wasn’t exactly discreet. He’s used to it by now, the well of disgust and shame that begins to grow in his stomach the more he recalls.

It was inevitable, the demon whispers, and Bucky wonders fearfully if it’s right.

I shouldn’t have come here, he thinks to himself as he looks around. His head is still cottony with the pill-hangover, but he knows enough to know he’s an invader here. Why did he even come? The pitiful confrontation he’d forced had gone nowhere, ending with him passed out on your sofa. Bucky rubs his temples.

The whole house smells like caramel apple, your favorite candle. Bucky doesn’t know why he still knows that, but he does. It’s neat enough, but there are signs of life everywhere. Iris’ toys, your books. And in the corner, your guitar. It’s well taken care of, the used Sweetwater you’d managed to get your hands on. He remembered the day you’d found it, rescuing it from the attic of Kevin Harris’ grandmother’s place after she passed.

“Good, you’re up.” Your clipped voice sounds from the doorway. He looks up to see you, still in the oversized shirt you used for pajamas and leaned against the wall. You look tired, and Bucky knows it’s his fault. “How are you feeling?”

He laughs dryly. “Like an asshole.” He’s a wrecking ball. “Is, um. Is Iris…?”

“She’s fine,” you say, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before you fold your arms across your chest. “She didn’t see you.” He’s thankful for that, at least. “I called Steve. He’s on his way.”

Bucky grimaces. He doesn’t want to see Steve, not after—

“Why did you tell Steve and not me?” He blurts,. “Why did you tell him about Iris?”

“He guessed,” you say defensively. “And even if I had, that’s my business. You made your choices very clear, Bucky.” You glare at him from across the room. He doesn’t know what to say to that—you’re right.

“She’s my daughter.”

“Bucky. I couldn’t—last night? I… How could I let you meet her like that?”

The shame burns in his throat and he swallows tightly against it.

“I know. But I—” The sound of someone at the door makes the both of you jump.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, and disappear down the hall. Bucky stands, folding the blanket you’d given him and placing it neatly on the couch cushions. He hears your footsteps recede, and then the sound of the door lock unlatching. Your voice floats down the hall, quiet but audible.

“Oh—Andy.”

And then a distinctly male voice. “I wanted to stop by, maybe help with drop-off today? I figured we could get breakfast together after.”

“I, um. You know what, Andy? Now is just really not a good time—”

“Is that your bat? Did something happen last night?” He sounds concerned. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes everything’s fine, no—wait, Andy I said it’s not a good time—”

Bucky backs away from the archway just as Andy rounds the corner. His shocked face contorts with anger as he whips his head around.

“What the hell is he doing here?”

Bucky feels hot anger flare in his chest as he crosses his arms. “Could ask the same of you.” Andy takes a step forward before you grab his arm.

“Would the two of you just fucking stop? Andy I said it’s not a good goddamn time!” Bucky watches you run a frustrated hand through your hair, tugging on it before letting go. He shouldn’t feel so territorial—you aren’t his. That doesn’t stop the sneer from curling his lip as he watches the other man reluctantly stand down.

“What is he doing here?” Andy asks again, and you purse your lips.

“Andrew Barber this is my house. I do not have to explain myself to you.” Andy looks positively murderous at that, but says nothing, crossing his arms as he levels a hard look at Bucky. “He crashed on my couch last night. Happy?”

“No.” Andy replies without taking his eyes off of Bucky. “You should have called me.” There’s a possessiveness in his tone that makes Bucky’s hackles rise. He’s the one with history, it’s Andy who’s the newcomer. What right does he have, to look at Bucky like the interloper? He doesn’t like the way Andy positions himself between you, a hand on the curve of your hip over the t-shirt. It’s familiar in a way that makes Bucky want to bare his teeth in warning.

You let her go, the demon reminds him. You threw her away like trash. He is pleased, though, to see you shove Andy’s hand away as you place your hands on your hips stubbornly.

“I’m an adult, Andy, and I handled it.” You say, your hard glare daring him to challenge you. He doesn’t. “Besides. Bucky was just leaving.” You say it pointedly around Andy’s broad shoulders.

Bucky doesn’t want to leave now, especially not now that Andy is here, but there’s little room for him to argue, not when he sees Steve pull up in the pickup through the living room window.

“Yeah.” He mutters. “Just leaving.” He shoves his hands into his pockets as he heads for the door. You walk him out onto the porch, your arms still crossed over your chest. He looks past you to Andy, who smiles at him smugly.

“Try not to miss your meeting,” he says, and you whip your head around to glare at him, before closing the door behind you.

“Look, ignore Andy. He’s just—”

“An asshole?” Bucky scoffs. “I didn’t think that was your type.” You scowl at him.

“Well, if he’s an asshole then I’m two for two, so it’s definitely my type.” You retort sharply. “Bucky, look. Last night—”

“I fucked up,” he says quickly. He doesn’t want to hear you say it. He doesn’t know why, but for some reason he knows that hearing you tell him he fucking relapsed again would make him hurt worse than the fucking DT’s. “I know I fucked up.”

“You did,” you say, and he winces. That stings, too. Maybe worse. “You had three weeks, Buck. Why’d you throw that away?”

His lip curls. “Finding out you have a kid six years into their life isn’t really awesome news.” He snaps back. “You, Steve, you both lied to me.” He can’t help the accusatory pitch his tone takes. He knows you take note of it too, your eyes narrowing to angry slits.

“Oh bull-fucking-shit, Bucky,” you say, tossing your hands up. “Call after call after call, none of my fucking letters answered.” You shake your head at him. “What was I supposed to do? You shut me out! I wasn’t going to fucking chase you forever!”

“What?” Bucky steps back, reeling. “What are you talking about? I never got one fucking call—”

“I am not doing this with you.” You say, pinching the bridge of your nose as you turn back towards the front door. “I am not going to fucking stand here and argue with you about what I know I did. You don’t get to show up high at my fucking house and demand to be treated like you would have been father of the year if you’d known.”

“Maybe I fucking would have!” He spits, the old venom welling up temptingly under his tongue. He regrets the words before they’re even fully out of his mouth. “If you hadn’t tried to trap me—”

The slap echoes in his ears before he feels the sting of it, raising his own hand to his face where you had hit him.

“Get the fuck out of here.” You spit through gritted teeth. Your eyes are wet with unshed tears, and the angry shame in Bucky’s chest grows until angry tears are pricking at his eyes too. It isn’t for you, his anger. No, it’s for himself—because there’s no one Bucky hates more than the man he sees reflected in your glassy eyes.

“Don’t fucking come back until you’re sober, you understand me?” You shove a finger into his chest. “I would rather tell her you’re dead than let her see you like this.”

You don’t wait for him to answer, instead you yank open the door and shut it in his face, barricading him on the other side. He’s tempted to bang on the door, to kick and punch at it until you’re forced to come back out again because this isn’t fucking over, dammit—

But he doesn’t.

Bucky searches for the half empty carton of cigarettes in his jacket pocket, sticking one between his lips as he gets unceremoniously into the passenger seat of Steve’s pickup.

“Rough night?” He asks as Bucky straps himself in, and grabs for the lighter in the cupholder. He doesn’t answer right away, lighting the cigarette and exhaling a few clouds of acrid smoke as Steve pulls out into traffic.

“Yeah,” he says, tapping the ash out of the open window. He watches the row of brick and mortar houses fade into the distance in the rearview mirror. “Rough.”

🎤

“Iron Man at your service, this is Tony.” Tina had been rather reluctant to patch Bucky through to Tony’s personal line, but after a few choice words—some of them threats—she had done so.

“Tony.”

“Bucky! How are you? How’s it going in Milton?”

“Meridian.”

“Whatever.”

“Fine,” he says, choosing purposefully not to mention his bender just the night before. “Listen, did you uh. Ever get any letters, phone calls, or anything from anybody back home in Meridian?”

“Bucky you get so much fucking fan-mail we could fill an olympic swimming pool with it—not now, baby, I’m on the phone,” he hears Tony stage whisper to someone who giggles. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“When I first signed up. They’d be old.”

“Probably? I mean nothing of note. You know we sort through the mail and give you the important stuff. Anything from your personal contacts, you would have seen. Look is there a point to this? Because I’ve got to tell you, I’ve got some pressing business to attend to, if you catch my meaning.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. Tony has never thought twice about sampling from the buffet of groupies that seemed to tail Valkyrie’s Revenge like lost puppies.

“I need to know if I got letters about a kid, Tony.”

“What?”

“A fucking kid Tony. I need to know if we were contacted—”

“I told you,” he says quickly, his tone dismissive. “If they got sent, you’d have seen ‘em, kid. Why? Somebody springing a paternity suit on us?” He hears Tony hush more people, excusing himself quietly. The background noise coming through the receiver seems to fade until there’s only quiet breathing on the other end.

“No. I mean—I don’t know. I just…” He pauses. You’d seemed so certain, so sure of yourself when you claimed you’d tried to contact him. Call after call… all my letters unanswered. “I want to know.”

“Well I can’t help you, pal,” Tony replies. “We’d have told you if we got them.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Bucky swallows against the lump in his throat.

“Keep me posted. This is why we have lawyers.”

Bucky hangs up without another word, frustratedly tossing his phone to the bed. He’d refused to speak to Steve when he asked him where he went, why he’d been gone all night. It was easy enough to deflect with an argument, a skill Bucky had learned the very first time his bandmates had tried to take him to task for his behavior. No one wants a screaming match at ten in the morning.

He can’t deflect himself, though, can’t stop the thoughts going round and round in his skull like a carousel. Someone had lied to him, someone had kept Iris from him.

And if not you, then who?

Steve’s quiet knock on his door makes Bucky’s head snap up, his eyes narrowing as his friend steps across the threshold. He’s still angry, and Steve knows it, holding his hands up placatingly.

“Look. I know you don’t want to talk to me right now. But I’m heading out, and I think you should come with me.”

Bucky eyes him suspiciously. “If you’re trying to drop me off at a facility this is a shitty fucking way to start.” Steve shakes his head.

“Not a facility.”

“Then where?”

“You’ll see.” Bucky watches his friend’s face for a tell—Steve always was a terrible liar. There doesn’t seem to be one though, not that Bucky can see. He gets up slowly, and follows Steve back down the stairs and out the front door. Steve gets into the driver’s seat, and waits patiently for Bucky to catch up before the truck engine roars to life. Bucky is glad that Steve doesn’t force conversation, doesn’t try to fill the silence with meaningless platitudes as he drives.

He doesn’t turn toward Meridian, instead taking the dirt road north of town, away from the meager downtown strip and up into the hills. It’s a gloomy day, overcast and gray, with the occasional drop of rain splattering against the windshield. The back-roads are both familiar and strange to him now, it’s been so long since he’s driven them.

Bucky remembers that—driving full speed around the treacherous corners with you standing up through the sunroof, your arms outstretched like you were trying to touch the sky. He’d believed you could then, in those moments, that your fingertips could touch the deep unending blue.

That blue is gone, though, as are the people you were—Bucky doesn’t know you anymore.

He’s surprised, when Steve pulls up to the old graveyard and doesn’t pass by, slowing to a stop outside the gates.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks, panic gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. “Steve—”

“How long’s it been, Buck? Five years? Six?”

“Fuck you,” Bucky snarls, lunging forward to try and grab the keys from Steve himself. “I don’t want—”

“For once, Buck, I could not give a shit less about what you want.” Steve stuffs the keys into his pocket and gets out of the car. “Come on.” He doesn’t wait for Bucky, pulling open one of the wrought iron gates with both hands. It opens with a rough squeal. Bucky reluctantly unbuckles himself, sticking a nervous cigarette between his lips as he follows him down the muddy path. His hands are trembling and unsure as he lifts the lighter, but his feet know the way without his direction.

The graves are right next to each other, just like they are in Bucky’s nightmares. The grass is green over the top of them, different from the loose dirt that had been shoveled on top just before Bucky had lit out of Meridian.

Should have been me.

“Why did you bring me here?” Bucky asks, his throat tight with tears he doesn’t want to shed. The cigarette burns at his lips, and he flicks the remains of it into the damp grass behind him.

“It’s the one place you’ve been avoiding. You promised you would come back.”

Bucky flinches.

It’s the first promise he ever broke, the one he’d made as he tossed in his handful of dirt like the preacher told him to. They’re in a better place, he’d said, patting Bucky sadly on the shoulder. A better place. Bucky was too old then to believe the lie—there was no better place. Just cold, wet earth and worms and nothing. He wonders if the demon was born that day, coming up out of the dirt while his mother and sister were lowered into it, because he’d known he was lying, even as he spoke the soft words to Becca’s tombstone—

He would never come back.

But here you are, his self loathing whispers. Even a broken clock is right twice a day.

“It should have been me,” he says softly, stepping forward to rest his palm against the cold stone. “We all know it should have been me.”

“I don’t think Becca would agree with you.”

“Well it doesn’t matter what you think,” Bucky snarls over his shoulder. “She’s dead.” Steve runs a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Yeah, Buck. She’s dead. She’s dead because Fred Ackerson’s truck jumped the guardrail.” Bucky doesn’t know why hearing that from Steve enrages him, makes him want to pummel his best friend’s face into pulp right there in the dirt next to his sister.

“You don’t understand,” he says through gritted teeth, his hand a tight fist on the tombstone. “If I had—” Steve grabs his shoulders, shaking him.

“What? What would you have done? She died on impact.” There are tears in his eyes too. “How long are you going to punish yourself for this shit, Buck?”

“I deserve—”

“Iris is six.” Steve’s words cut through him like a blade. “Do you want to see her make it to seven? Eight? Or do you want to be down there in the dirt?” He asks, his voice hard. “Because you won’t. Fuck, Bucky, you keep this shit up, I don’t think you’re going to see Christmas.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Yeah, well, that’s up to you, isn’t it?” Steve says, releasing him. “It’s always been up to you.” He casts a forlorn look at Becca’s tombstone over Bucky’s shoulder, before he shakes his head. “Say… whatever you need to say. I’ll be waiting for you in the truck.” The silence closes in around him like fog, so loud that Bucky’s ears ring with it as he stares at the graves. He’d never said anything at the funerals, his tight lipped silence as loud as any of the moving eulogies given by those that had known them.

Bucky clears his throat. “Hey, Beccs.” He says in a hoarse, quiet voice. “B-been a while, huh?” The ground is muddy, but he sits down on it anyway, on the strip of grass between his mother and sister. “I, um. I don’t know what to say. That’s why I never said anything, it all seemed… stupid, I guess. Because you can’t hear me where you are, so… what does it matter, right?”

He’s tempted to give up and go back to the car, but Bucky swallows down the bitter urge, and keeps trying.

“But… if you could hear me, Beccs, I’m—I’m fuckin’ sorry.” His voice cracks. It feels like glass in his veins to say it, to finally admit it out loud to the air. “I am so fuckin’ sorry.” He hates to think about that night, about pulling mom and Beccs out of the twisted burning metal. The only way he can is with the pills, but there aren’t any this time; nothing to stop him from having to sit with his pain.

And for the first time in a long time, Bucky does. He welcomes it back like an old friend—and for once, the demon is silent.

“I’m sorry I didn’t turn fast enough, didn’t see him coming,” he mumbles through steady tears. “I’d give anything for it to be me in there, not you.” The tears won’t stop now that they’ve started. “Y-you were going to be fucking—I dunno. A fucking astrophysicist, or something, Beccs. A goddamn force, and I, fuck. I don’t know what to be without you, sis. I… I don’t even want to be.” He admits the last part softly, to himself. He hasn’t thought it, really, not beyond wishing he could trade places with her.

If he was honest, Bucky wanted to die. That was the truth of it. That was why he didn’t bother to save money, why he did every drug he could until he was blacking out. He wanted oblivion—like mom. Like Becca.

That’s not what Beccs would want. The voice is softer, not acid like the one that usually follows every conscious thought.

She would want you to live.

Bucky isn’t sure how long he sits there in the cold drizzle before he gets up, wiping at his face. His hair is slick from the rain, and he shakes the droplets off of his coat before he gets into the passenger seat of Steve’s truck. He’s waiting—just like he said he was.

He starts it wordlessly, and they’re halfway back to Meridian when he asks him.

“Did you say what you needed to say, Buck?” Bucky follows the path of a particularly fat drop of rain down the window with his finger until it passes from view.

“Yeah. I think so.”

next chapter

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

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averagewriter-inthedark · 1 year

Text

She’s Still Preoccupied With 1985 🎤 | Bob Floyd x Rockstar!reader Imagine

Takes place after the events of TGM

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Lt. Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x modern-day rockstar!reader (childhood best friends/romantic), dagger squad (platonic), Bob x female!oc (past romance), male!oc x reader (past romance), The 1985’s!BandOCs (platonic)

Content Warnings: major fluff, angst, profanity, canon divergence (Bob is born in 1985 in this, making him roughly 34 during TGM & 37 in the year 2022), pop culture references, second chance romance troupe, suggestive content and light smut + implied smut (MINORS DNI!!) inspired by the song ‘1985,’ by Bowling For Soup | Female!reader—afab!reader (she/her) | wc: 17.2k

Premise: Join Lt. Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd as he looks back on his fairytale love story with childhood best friend and real life rockstar, who’s set to perform one last time on the country’s most iconic stage, in her band’s final show of their farewell tour.

Note: so after I wrote ‘It’s A Long Way To The Top’ with Maverick x 80sRockstar!reader, I had inspiration for someone from the dagger squad x modern-day rockstar!reader. I was going back and forth between Rooster and Phoenix, but this anon suggested Bob with a rekindled childhood best friend and I thought that was the bullseye. Once again feel free to imagine your friends as your bandmates, I just gave names to make it easier to write. I do not own any of the song or pop culture references, this is for fictional purposes. Let me know what you think! - Bee 🐝

Songs that are real life songs, but are used as ‘your’ songs in this imagine: ‘1985’ by Bowling For Soup, ‘Iris’ by the Goo Goo Dolls, ‘Some Nights,’ by Fun, ‘Pompeii’ by Bastille, ‘Payphone,’ by Maroon 5, ‘Let’s Get Lost,’ by Bats for Lashes & Beck, ‘Where Do Broken Hearts Go’ & ‘Little Black Dress’ by One Direction.

——————————————————

Lt. Robert Floyd had seen a lot in his 37 years of life. Growing up on the plains of Montana, there wasn’t much for him until it came time to leave for college. There, life seemed to pass by quicker than the night sky. He’d experienced the hype of a Navy vs Army football game, getting wasted to the point he hated alcohol. Endless nights of studying that paid off when he received not only his diploma but also the rank of Ensign in the U.S. Navy. Then there was that time he nearly married his college sweetheart only to end things weeks before the wedding because he realized his heart belonged to someone else. In his career Bob pulled Gs with his pilot against the speed of sound in an F-18 and most recently, dogfighting SAMs out of enemy territory.

But no words could describe what Bob felt as he stood on the floor of Madison Square Garden with the people he called his best friends, waiting for the appearance of his one true love on stage.

The love that was once thought to be impossible, until fate was like, “These souls belong together. Once the time is right, I will work my magic.”

17 years prior in 2005, Bob was certain he’d never get the chance to tell Y/n L/n he had loved her since they were fifteen years old after hearing her voice on the radio.

“That was Kelly Clarkson’s ‘Since U Been Gone,’ part of her Grammy nominated album Breakaway released last summer. Clarkson is the favorite to win the award for ‘Album of the Year’ at next year’s Grammys. Up next is a new group recently signed to Capitol Records….here is ‘1985’ by, funny enough, The 1985s”

Something about the name of the group and title of the song had an odd feeling swirl through the then college student. Driving the car he was in was his roomate Derek and their buddy Adrian along with Derek’s girlfriend Willow.

Nothing could’ve prepared Bob for the voice coming through the speakers, the lyrics bringing back the memory of when she showed him the paper with them written down in her semi-sloppy handwriting.

“Debbie just hit the wall, she never had it all.”

“One Prozac a day, husband’s a CPA.”

“Bob, you okay?” Adrian tapped him on the shoulder, “You look a little pale.”

“Her dreams went out the door when she turned twenty-four.”

“Only been with one man, what happened to her plan?”

“This has a good beat,” Willow bopped her head.

“She was gonna be an actress, she was gonna be a star.”

“She was gonna shake her ass on the hood of Whitesnake’s car.”

“My mom could definitely relate to that,” Derek joked, stopping at a red light. He too was enjoying the song. It gave that classic rock feel that the 80s music his parents listened to had. Nowadays Hip-Hop and Pop are becoming the main genres of music on the radio.

“Her yellow SUV is now the enemy.”

“Looks at her average life and nothin’,” *guitar riff* “has been,” *guitar riff* “alright.”

Bob, who’s eyes were wide and heart racing, breathed in awe, “No way.”

“Since Bruce Springsteen, Madonna,”

“Way before Nirvana,”

“There was U2 and Blondie,”

“And music still on MTV.”

“Her two kids in high school,”

“They tell her that she’s uncool.”

“‘Cause she’s still preoccupied,”

Tears spring in Bob’s eyes, wiping them away before his friends could see when Y/n sang the final line of the chorus.

“With 19, 19…1985.”

That was how the future naval aviator discovered his childhood best friend had accomplished her dream. Breaking into the music industry. It’d been nearly four years since he’d seen Y/n, the two parting ways after her father took an accounting job in California, uprooting the teenager and her family from their home state of Montana.

They’d grown up on the same street, both their moms teaching at the elementary school. The two had pretty much gone through every grade together considering their school was small with few teachers. Every year they were in the same class, often sitting next to each other and spending time after school on the playground while their moms finished up for the day. Bob spent nearly every moment with Y/n as kids, becoming best friends when they were only five years old. But it wasn’t until the boy was twelve that he realized what a crush was….and boy did he have one on her.

Cherishing their friendship, poor Bob didn’t say anything about his surfacing feelings for his best friend. Even when the news of her moving was announced when they were 16, Bob remained quiet. It pained him to do so but he’d rather have her in his life than risk losing her if she didn’t feel the same.

In all the years Bob Floyd knew Y/n L/n, music was her life. It consumed her entire being with the young girl always humming a tune or singing along on the radio. When she was given a keyboard and guitar for Christmas, Y/n self-taught herself how to play until they could afford to put her in lessons. Then there were the notebooks.

At first it started as sticky notes with a verse or two, then it turned into loose pages of lyrics before finally the teenager wrote them all into notebooks. Anytime inspiration came to Y/n she was writing it down on whatever she could find. Napkins at a restaurant, receipts from her mother’s grocery run, hell even on her arm Y/n was writing lyrics so she wouldn’t forget. Sometimes she’d have the whole song complete before settling on a title, or a catchy title would come to mind but the lyrics would take time. Bob would always get annoyed when she’d steal his pen from out of his hand, but would let it go, understanding she had to write it down before she lost it.

At a football game he witnessed her unable to find a pen in time to write something on her arm before the lyric faded away. The teenager nearly sobbed right there in the middle of the stands, face in her hands as though to will herself to remember. “Are you okay,” Bob whispered, to which he received a sad groan.

“No….please don’t interrupt my thinking. I’m having a crisis, Robby.”

Y/n’s mom, who mentally still lived in the 80s, was the inspiration for her song ‘1985’, Y/n wrote at 15. Bob could still remember the day she raced up to their reserved lunch table, planting the paper in front of him, “Read this,” she was out of breath, but smiling nonetheless. Picking it up, Bob adjusted his glasses and let his eyes read over the words scribbled down that were separated into: intro, verse 1, chorus, verse 2, chorus, bridge, chorus, & outro.

“Wow,” he reads over the lyrics again, brows raised and feeling a connection to the song. It wasn’t hard to pick up on the fact it was likely titled ‘1985,’ which also happened to be the year they were born. “This is amazing, Y/n. Almost like….wait is this about your mom?” As her best friend growing up, Y/n’s mother was like a second mom to him….so Bob knew her obsession with the 80s and how she had plans to be an actress before she and her high school sweetheart, Y/n’s father, got married after college and had Y/n when they were 24. Then they had her siblings afterward and both changed their course of careers in order to raise them. The line that said ‘husband’s a CPA,’ is what really gave it away considering her father was an accountant. Debbie wasn’t her mother’s name, but even a rocket scientist could piece it together Debbie represented her.

Glancing up, he sees her guilty expression, offering a light shrug. “Is it that obvious?”

Bob never forgot that song. Even with all the ones Y/n showed him afterwards and when they lost touch two years after she moved, he never once forgot the song, ‘1985’.

It was a sad day when she told him the news. They were halfway through junior year, college applications around the corner and setting up for SATs/ACTs when she dropped the bomb, “My dad’s being transferred to California.”

The Coca-Cola he’d been drinking nearly went all over his steering wheel when he coughed, her words sending him into shock. “W-what-you’re moving?!”

“Next month,” she mumbled, head down to hide her face from his view. “My dad is there now looking at places for us. In the meantime Mom is dealing with the house while also applying to schools in the area my dad’s gonna be working.”

“Where?” Bob asks after a moment of silence, allowing him to fully process the news.

His best friend—who he was in love with—was leaving him.

Y/n sighed before replying with a sad chuckle, “Los Angeles. You know I would feel excited, seeing it was my plan to move to L.A after graduation, but I just can’t bring myself to.”

“Why?” Bob says softly with a frown, “This is your dream, Y/n. All you’ve wanted was to go there and audition for American Idol—or whatever that singing show is.” He was trying really hard to cheer her up, pushing down his heartbreak all the while. “This is your chance.”

“Yeah, but….” She glanced out the window, “what if it doesn’t work out? I don’t even know if I wanna go to college—which my mom still scolds me every time she gets the chance because she thinks I’m a fool to wanna pursue music. You know how it is,” Y/n gives Bob a knowing look, “she thinks of her life and wants me to go to school before selling my life away to a 9-5. I know she’s looking out for me, but God, let me make my own mistakes.” Her head leans on the window, “If it doesn't work out then that’s on me. But I’m not gonna give it up just because it seems out of reach. That’s what back up plans are for.”

Silence fills the car, the two letting their thoughts wonder. “Promise me something, Robby.”

“Anything,” he doesn’t hesitate.

“Promise me that even though I’m leaving, we’ll still be best friends. We’ll still write letters or talk on the phone…just don’t give up on me.”

Taking her hand in his, hoping she doesn’t feel the slight tremor as the words he so desperately wants to say are on the tip of his tongue, Bob gives her a look of love which she likely would believe is one of sincerity, “you’re my best friend, Y/n. I believe you will accomplish everything you set your mind to. When you make it big, I’ll be cheering you on every second and until then, we’ll talk every day if we have to,” he makes a face after thinking, “though maybe narrow it down to once a week so my mom doesn’t kill me for the phone bill.”

That makes Y/n laugh before reaching over the console to hug him. Arms go around his neck while his one arm awkwardly wraps around her side.

“I love you, Robby,” she tells him, sending his heart soaring. “You’re the only person I can count on in this whole damn world.”

“I love you too, Y/n.” ‘More than what you could possibly know.’ “I’ll always be here for you. Forever.”

He never thought he’d break that promise. But around the time of graduation things became so hectic in Bob’s life on top of the fact he was hurting. Hurting because he loved Y/n, and anytime they would talk on the phone or send letters he was reminded of the fact she was in California while he was stuck in Montana and they could never be together. Bob felt the only way he could save his heart and move on from that love was by cutting contact. It was his fault and he knew it when the letters eventually stopped coming and the phone stopped ringing every Friday. His mother could only relay an excuse to the girl so many times before Y/n eventually gave up. The last letter she sent him came two months after their last phone call, “So much for always being there, Robby. Have a good life, I hope it treats you well. -Y/n.”

He didn’t know what happened to her until two years later when ‘1985’ played for the first time on the radio for the whole world to hear. Tears lined his eyes, the man having to look out the window away from his friends. The flooding of emotion was overpowering, forming a sob in his throat.

She did it. She’s on the radio like she always dreamed.

“That was ‘1985’ the debut single of incoming rock band, The 1985s. Hits the nostalgia I gotta say—I feel we’re looking at some fresh new faces to the scene. Can’t wait to see what they have to offer in the future.”

The prediction of the radio host came true, when in 2006 the group released their debut album Established in 1985. Like their name, it referenced the year all members were born in which included frontwoman and occasional guitar player Y/n L/n, bassist Thomas Quinn, guitarist Farrah Cortez, drummer Xavier Hernandez, and keyboardist Pepper Renolds. All met at the University of California Los Angeles, and funny enough none were students in the music program. They were all in STEM/humanities with Y/n studying sociology with a minor in music, meeting the others when they formed a study group after they all had the same prerequisite classes their second semester.

It was at one of their meetups that Y/n couldn’t help but sing along to Journey’s ‘Faithfully’ and The Who’s ‘We Don’t Get Fooled Again,’ as they played on the little radio in the corner. “Damn Y/n,” Thomas looked amazed, “You got a voice, girl. How come you’re not studying music?”

“Same reason why you aren’t—don’t give me that look, Quinn, I saw that bass in your place when we were there last week.”

Next thing they knew Pepper mentioned she was a pianist who was progressing onto keyboard. Then Farrah said she played guitar and Xavier smirked, “all y’all need is a drummer and you can be a band….oh wait, have I ever told y’all I play drums?”

And thus, the 1985’s were born.

Months were dedicated to them building their sound and learning to be a band all while keeping up with their school work. Y/n was the brain behind all their songs, literally dropping the pile of notebooks onto the table one day saying, “I’ve got at least four albums worth of songs in these…maybe even more.” Working little by little they eventually got the tunes for several that they knew they’d want to release first if they managed to get discovered. MySpace was just starting out and Y/n took it upon herself to be bold, creating a profile for them. She listed her information since they didn’t have a band email set up. That would hopefully come in the future.

It was on MySpace that their lives changed forever.

Roughly after a year of working nonstop to create songs and develop their sound, the band uploaded a video onto the platform for ‘1985,’ in May of 2004. It almost looked like a music video, teaming up with students from the drama programs who were in need of doing their end of semester project. They had someone play Debbie, her husband, the two kids, and a group of extras. Even the yellow SUV Y/n’s mom drove was used as well as a poster of Duran Duran for the line in the second verse. The band would be in clips throughout the video, Y/n singing and playing the guitar. It took them the whole night spray painting a makeshift logo of ‘The 1985’s’ onto Xavier’s drum set.

When they first uploaded the video they were all like, “Even if no one sees it, this was still fun as hell to make.”

But little did they know it was going to be seen by many eyes…..including an executive of Capitol Records.

Y/n was just coming home from her shift at a local diner when she checked her email, dropping the water bottle in her hand and letting out an ear-piercing scream that woke her roommates.

“Y/n, my name is Martin Plaza and I’m a talent exec at Capitol Records. A member of my team came across your video on MySpace and we were impressed by your band and song, ‘1985’. We’d like to set up a meeting if you all are interested and please bring any demos you may have. Email me back as soon as possible or give me a call using the number listed below. Hope to hear from you soon. Regards, Martin Plaza.”

Y/n and the group could hardly contain their reaction at the meeting when Martin and a few members of Capitol Records were visibly pleased with what they were hearing. With so many songs they had recorded, they settled on bringing five, including ‘1985,’ and ‘Some Nights,’ which they were planning on uploading to MySpace next.

Martin and the team had excused themselves briefly before returning with the offer: a six year contract with Capitol Records releasing at least three albums during that period.

You can bet your ass they agreed. Signing their names before the sun could set on the horizon.

Champagne popped that night with Y/n crying against the receiver of her pink Motorola as she informed the news to her family. Her mother cried with her, her dad celebrating in the background while her siblings were like, “Don’t forget me when you become famous, sis.” What made her sad though after the call ended was when she went to dial Robby’s number, only to close the phone with a sigh. It’d been over a year since they last spoke, Y/n unsure where he even was or if he had a cell phone. The only number she knew was his home phone.

Curiosity and slight anger rising, Y/n dialed the number saved as his home landline, not surprised when his mother answered. “Y/n! Why hello, darling, I wasn’t expecting your call tonight.”

“Hi, Mrs. Floyd,” she sniffed, feeling tears prick in her eyes again. Y/n was not used to addressing the older woman by her last name. It felt awkward now to call her by her first. “I know he’s probably not going to come to the phone…but if Robby—Robert is there, could I…could I just speak with him please? It’s important.”

“Oh honey,” that was enough to indicate it wouldn’t happen. Y/n looked up to the sky, heart breaking in two at the fact her so called best friend, who she loved more than anything in the world, had completely discarded her. “Robert is uhh—he’s at the Naval Academy, sweetheart, I can give you his email or cell number—.”

“No-no-no,” Y/n interrupted, stunned by the news. “It’s fine. Uh, just never mind.”

“Honey—.”

“Sorry to bother you so late, Mrs. Floyd. Take care and thank you for your help.” Placing the phone in her pocket, Y/n allowed the tears to flow freely before moving back inside to where the party was. Only she could hardly enjoy it now. Instead she let her feet carry her over to the notebook placed on her backpack, removing a pen hastily from the pencil pouch and scribbling down the lyrics that were screaming in her head. The words that took over the paper went onto become their Grammy award winning singles, ‘Iris,’ and ‘Payphone.’ Iris became so popular it was used in several movies and tv shows after its release in 2006, earning the band the Grammy for ‘Record of the Year,’ to go along with their ‘Best Rock Performance by a Duo/Group’ and ‘Album of the Year’, three MTV moonmen including ‘Video of the Year’ and the American Music Award for ‘Song of the Year.’ Payphone was just as successful, topping the Billboard Hot 100 for 20 consecutive weeks and winning just as many awards as Iris.

Anytime the songs played on the radio or wherever he was, Bob had to change the station or frown until it ended. Deep down, he could feel they were about him—hurting him even more at the realization Payphone was basically saying how Y/n loved him and was trying to move on. Just in the way Y/n sang combined with the lyrics telling a story, it was obvious he had broken her heart. And they weren’t even together. They were just best friends…..who were too stupid enough to not admit their feelings for each other.

His senior year of college Y/n and the group were starting to become big, all the members taking a break from college in order to build their careers as musicians. Often Bob would check in to see how Y/n was, tuning into award shows to watch them perform. Pride and awe filled him watching her sing, living her dream just as he believed she would. He hated that he broke his word to her, and it seemed to affect Y/n whenever she performed Iris and Payphone, putting every ounce of emotion into each lyric.

At 21 Bob had finally entered a relationship with a nice girl from the Naval Academy. The possibility of him reuniting with Y/n was long out of the picture and his friends were getting on him to finally break out of his shell. They had no idea of his connection to the rockstar, but they could tell anytime they were on the radio Bob’s demeanor changed. Abby, a sweet pre-law student at the Naval Academy, was his first serious commitment, the two bonding over similar interests and plans for the future. Hope rose at what it could hold.

Until she and their friends decided they wanted to go see The 1985’s concert.

It was 2007, they’d just graduated and were commissioned to the rank of Ensign’s waiting to be shipped off to their respective duty stations. And Bob was engaged…..but he hadn’t really proposed in the traditional way. It was more of Abby pointing out if they wanted to get stationed together then it was best for them to get married and he just agreed. But a big part of him was hesitant to go through with it.

The news of Abby and their friends' desire to go to the concert made his stomach drop and head spin. Still in Maryland, they had gotten tickets to the show in New York at Madison Square Garden which was only a couple hours away. Abby had went ahead and got them as a surprise for Bob, not telling him until the day before the show.

“You guys go,” Bob initially said, praying she couldn’t pick up on the anxiety in his voice. “I—uh—I’ve got some things to get done—.”

“What things?” She scoffed, shaking her head as she laid out the outfit she planned to wear. “School is over, you aren’t planning to see your family until next week, and you don’t leave for flight school till the end of summer. What could you possibly do tomorrow night, Bobby?” He mentally cringed at the nickname, unconsciously thinking of how Y/n would call him Robby.

This wasn’t a good idea and he knew it. Already he was starting to think of her again. More and more by the second. Feelings were resurfacing, and Bob was fighting them hard. If he saw her on stage it was only going to confirm what he already knew.

That Y/n owned his heart. And no one else would have it. Not even Abby.

In the end, Bob found himself on the floor of Madison Square Garden of all places, wondering just how the hell their friends managed to get the area. The band was touring for their debut album, selling out within seconds and what made it more historic were they managed to get The Garden in their first ever tour. Usually groups/artists had years before they played at the Garden, settling for smaller venues in New York, but the 1985’s had become sensations.

The entire time they waited for the band Bob’s hands were shaking, the man unable to contain his tremor with each minute. Abby asked at one point, but brushed it off as him being excited when he didn’t give her an answer.

He was a little excited….but mostly fucking terrified.

Especially because they were very close to the stage. Like if one of the members happened to walk close to where they were standing they’d be spotted.

Bob should’ve fucking knocked on wood.

When the band came out Madison Square Garden erupted, Y/n belting out the lyrics to their opening number, looking like an actual dream. Her look was more of a modern take on rock n roll but still looked classic. Black leather adorned her body with cutouts to showcase some skin, arms covered in ink from the various tattoos and hips rolling to the beat of the drums causing the crowd to go crazy.

Y/n really knew how to work the stage and make it her bitch.

Bob was mesmerized. Utterly speechless as his eyes glued to the woman he once called his best friend. All he could do was stand there and stare, while willing his heart to calm down by how fast it was beating.

It was to be a two hour show at the least, and Bob didn’t know if he wanted to leave as quickly as he could or wishing the show would last forever. Seeing Y/n up close and performing before a crowd made him feel things he didn’t know were possible. Her dazzling smile, dancing across the stage and playing the guitar was everything he could’ve dreamed for her.

He loved her. Bottom line, Bob loved Y/n like no other.

When their eyes connected 30 minutes before the concert ended, causing Y/n to drop the microphone and throw her off for the remainder of the concert, Bob knew he couldn’t marry Abby.

He wasn’t sure if Y/n recognized him at first, but the rockstar had approached the side he was standing at to interact with the crowd when her gaze landed on his. Eyes widening, Y/n literally dropped the microphone causing the impact to echo through the speakers. Bob’s cheeks went bright red, unable to look away in their 2-second staring contest until Y/n blinked rapidly and cursed.

“Shit,” he saw her mouth as soon as the microphone hit the platform, bending down quickly to pick it up. “Sorry about that guys,” she nervously laughed, eyes glancing at Bob as though to make sure they weren’t deceiving her. A sharp intake of breath indicated she realized it wasn’t a trick. Walking backwards until she was back to the middle of the stage where the band was, Y/n’s tone became flustered, “U-uh, we only got a couple songs left in the show. We’re gonna take a quick five minute break so just hang tight.”

Bob could see the looks of concern from her friends/bandmates as she ran off stage, the group following behind. His heart dropped, rubbing a hand over his face to calm down the anxiety in his veins.

“What the hell was that about?” Derek laughed, “It was like she saw a ghost or something.” Everyone besides Bob agreed, none seeing the way Abby was staring at him with an unreadable expression.

When the band returned for the final act Y/n did her best to not look at the section Bob was in. Unlike everyone else in attendance, the Navy officer could pick up on the fact she was more tense than at the start of the show. Her voice shook lightly when delivering the lyrics to ‘Iris’, although it was as though she was putting more emotion than ever into the song, bringing tears to Bob’s eyes. Y/n also appeared to hold back tears, quickly transitioning the song to their next to avoid breaking down.

‘1985’ was the last in their set, everyone in MSG jumping up and down to the chorus and screaming the lyrics. Y/n smiled the entire time, finally letting a tear slip when the concert came to an end. To everyone it may have looked like the rockstar was overwhelmed with emotion at the fact she just played Madison Square Garden before a sold out crowd. But for Robert Floyd, he knew those tears were because of him.

Especially when they connected eyes again, Y/n’s lip quivering before turning away to hide her face. When she walked off with the band Bob felt his heart go with her.

“You’re hiding something,” Abby said with a soft tone when they arrived back home late that night. It was nearly 3 in the morning, the concert having ended at 11.

Bob tilted his head back, eyes closing to block off the rest of the world, “Please, let’s not do this.” He just wanted to go to bed and sleep the night away.

“You know, I always wondered why your knuckles would tighten around the steering wheel when their songs played on the radio, or why you look like you wanna cry anytime I sing ‘Iris’ at karaoke, why you can’t even look at me when I do,” she lists off, voice slightly rising. “Then there’s that box of letters you hide in the closet. And….and the photo album you won’t even let me look at. We’ve been together for a year, and you have not once told me you loved me.” By now Abby’s voice wavered, sniffing as she continued.

“I’ve been a fan of The 1985’s for close to a year now, but it wasn’t until tonight I actually read up on them. On Y/n…..” she saw how his body reacted, confirming her suspicion even more. “How she was living in L.A when they got discovered, but she grew up somewhere else…..She’s from Montana. The same town as you, Robert.”

“That’s just a coincidence—.”

“She went to the same high school as you!” Abby shouted, pushing off the wall she was leaning against. “You told me your town had less than four-thousand people—and only one high school. She would’ve gone there, Robert—in fact it said her mom was a teacher at the elementary school. The same one your mom taught at!”

By now Bob had enough, mouth tightening as he spoke calmly to his ‘fiancé’, “What do you want to know, Abby?”

“Who was she to you? Don’t fucking say shit like ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’—I saw her look at you,” tears pricked in her blue eyes. “How she looked like she’d been punched straight through the heart. She fucking dropped the microphone—and looked like she wanted to faint! Like you were a walking ghost. And you….you looked the same.” Pausing, she thought back to his face at the concert. There was no doubt Y/n and him had locked eyes, she heard him audibly react despite the noise.

“You looked like someone with deep regret. Someone who longed for a second chance. You looked like someone in love, Robert. Never have you looked at me that way.” Abby waited for him to respond, but Bob was unable to speak, expression unreadable causing her heart to break.

“Just please,” she breathed out, “tell me the truth, Bob. What was she to you?”

Silence filled the room, causing the tension to rise. It stayed that way until Bob finally sighed, face falling as he admitted what she already knew.

“She was everything. She is everything.”

When it came time to ship out two months later Bob was not the married man he expected to be. In all honesty, he was relieved. That night the argument had ended with Bob telling Abby he couldn’t marry her—he’d be hurting her even more if he followed through with it. Never could he love her the way he did Y/n and wouldn't put her through that. Going their separate ways was for the best. Even though he’d likely never be with Y/n, no one could compare to her.

Abby was angry as one could expect but part of her knew it was for the best. What good was it getting into a loveless marriage? She almost resented the rockstar, feeling like she could never enjoy the 1985’s anymore knowing the man she thought she spent the rest of her life with was hopelessly in love with his former best friend, who was the frontwoman of her favorite band. But then Abby took some time to think, and felt her heart break for Bob. She couldn’t imagine what it was like loving someone you couldn’t have.

Ending their engagement and agreeing to be friends, Bob told stories about growing up with Y/n—even bringing out the letters and photo album for her to see. It amazed the woman, flipping through the pages to see the singer when she was a child and teenager. It was almost funny to see how polar opposites the two best friends were, Y/n with her 80s band t-shirts and ripped jeans next to a Bob in his cowboy hat and flannels. As teenagers Y/n dabbled more in the grunge makeup. One photo made Abby laugh as it showed Bob with black eyeliner and glitter on his cheeks.

Coming across the end of the album was a half of a ‘Best Friends Forever’ necklace taped to the page. Abby frowned, “What happened between the two of you?”

This was a question he never thought he’d answer, thinking he’d go the rest of his life without anyone finding out his history with Y/n.

“After she moved we stayed in contact for about two years. We’d call every Friday—send letters from time to time ....” He paused, biting his lip as the frown took over. “But I stopped responding and answering.”

“Why?”

“It hurt too much,” he admitted, hating the way his heart clenched. “I never said anything because I didn’t want to lose what we had,” he looked to the ground, “but then it just became too overwhelming and I thought if we….if we drifted apart then I eventually could move on.”

Abby is silent, glancing at the picture of him and Y/n before looking back at the necklace, “Wanna hear something, Bob? Something you probably won’t believe, but I promise you it’s more likely than you think?” He looks up from the floor, brow raised slightly.

“What?”

“I think Y/n loves you.”

“Not in the way you think, Abby,” Bob deflects with a shake of the head. “And she definitely doesn’t anymore—she hates me no doubt.”

“No, listen to me,” she closes the album, setting it aside. “When did you two stop talking?”

“Around fall of 2003,” he tells her, look of regret in his visage, “in 2004 was the last time she phoned the house.”

Abby thinks back in her research of the band, shoulders dropping slightly, “That’s when they got signed to Capitol Records. ‘Payphone’ and ‘Iris’ came out last year, but Y/n said in an interview she wrote them the night they were signed—which had people confused because they’re sad songs that were written on a night that was supposed to be happy. Don’t you see?” She waves her hand at his now confused gaze, making her huff. “She probably had called your house hoping to tell you the news! Anyone who hears those songs knows it’s about heartbreak. And not the type of heartbreak you get by a friendship disintegrating, Bob. That’s the heartbreak when someone you love with your entire soul hurts you.”

“Abby please,” Bob pleads with her, water lining his eyes. Falling silent the woman leans away, solemn in her expression.

“All I’m saying is she loved you more than you think. And judging by her reaction to you tonight, I think I’m right when I say Y/n would give anything for you to talk to her again…..”

For years Bob thought about what Abby had told him that night they broke up. It kept him up at night especially when The 1985’s came up that day either in conversation or on the radio. There were times he was tempted to write a letter, but life would get crazy with the Navy and then in 2011 he was invited to Top Gun.

Devastated couldn’t even be the right word to describe how Bob felt when it was revealed Y/n had eloped with a Hollywood heartthrob. Not a fan of social media, Bob had just returned back to his squadron after graduating from Top Gun to turn on E! News where they were covering the story.

“Wedding bells are in store for rockstar Y/n L/n of The 1985s and actor Enrique Lorenzo from The Walking Dead. The two have been spotted throughout the year looking cozy at award shows and Lorenzo attending The 1985’s concerts in L.A and Atlanta. An inside source has gotten word the two applied for a marriage license two days ago and earlier this morning had a private ceremony with close friends and family in West Hollywood. Neither has confirmed if they have in fact tied the knot, but I would keep your eyes out. In the meantime, congratulations to the happy couple and we’re looking forward to seeing Y/n’s ring.”

It seemed like all the air had left Bob, turning off the tv in a flash but still pointing the remote as he stood stunned. Then his phone buzzed with messages.

“Honey, just checking in. Call me when you get home,” was from his mom, trying to avoid the obvious elephant and would rather discuss it over the phone.

“Have you heard the news?” Abby wrote. “I’m so sorry, Bob.” He actually appreciated that she wasn’t walking on eggshells. That she was upfront with him. Though it’d been over four years since their breakup, and Abby was now married with children, the two remained friends and often checked in with each other occasionally.

“It was bound to happen some time,” he replied before turning off his phone so he couldn’t receive any more messages.

The rest of the night he was pretty much a walking shell, then as the years went on Bob closed himself off. Hardly did he date, and when he did they only lasted a few months before the girls realized he was not ready for the commitment they were wanting. Some understood, others were more aggressive when spitting out their feelings. Never did he admit why he couldn’t love them the way they wanted. The only people who knew who his heart belonged to were Abby and his family.

2015 Bob was transferred to Lemoore when the news broke that Y/n and Enrique had divorced after nearly four years of marriage, however, they had been secretly separated for almost a year before it was finalized. Cursing mentally, Bob couldn’t help but feel a slight relief—which was completely fucked up knowing Y/n was going through a difficult time and here he was silently celebrating, as though he really had a chance now to make things right.

That should’ve been his sign to call her mother and ask for Y/n’s number, with the hope she’d give it to him. But then Bob felt it was too soon. Her divorce had just been finalized, he didn’t know the exact reason despite the former couple citing irreconcilable differences. Whatever it was, Bob wasn’t sure he wanted to know but at the same time couldn’t help but be curious.

He’d get his answer almost two years later in January of 2017 when he flew home to Montana to celebrate his birthday. It was his 32nd and his mother literally begged him to come home so they could all be together now that Bob’s sister had recently had twins and were there to visit. Wanting to meet his nieces, the WSO relented and booked a flight for the weekend after confirming his leave.

Suspicion filled him with the way his family was acting when he arrived. Almost like they were excited but nervous, which only confused the officer. He was in his service khakis, pulling his cap off when they got inside and removing his windbreaker before setting it on the coat rack.

That’s when he saw the black suitcase in the corner.

“Who’s is that?” He asked with a raised brow, noticing his mother slightly tense. It wasn’t a luggage he recognized as one of theirs, and it was as though it had just been placed there.

And his sister had already unpacked in her old room. So it wasn’t hers.

Blushing, his mother tried to find the right words, “Oh-um, It’s—.”

“It’s mine.”

32 years had gone by in Bob’s life and never did he think he’d experience anything close to cardiac arrest. But hearing Y/n’s voice, so close as though she was behind him, made him think he was about to die right then and there.

Then he turned around, slowly, heart beating so fast it was about to explode from his chest, and she was there. Standing at the end of the staircase in a beautiful black leather dress with matching knee high boots, her hair slicked back into a bun and minimal makeup showcasing her gorgeous face.

She was ethereal. Absolutely breathtaking.

The last time he saw her in person was when they were 22, before that was 16. Here she was a grown woman who’d been through a hell of a life. She looked beyond gorgeous, and Bob felt the heat rise to his cheeks.

Only her gaze was not as warm as the emotions Bob was feeling. Honestly he felt like he could be six feet in the ground with how she was looking at him. Betrayal, heartbreak, anger, but underneath it there was love and hope.

“Hello, Robert.”

He didn’t even know how to react. All he could do was stand there, speechless with his mouth slightly agape. Eventually he just breathed out, “Y/n.”

Stoic, Y/n glanced at his mother, “Mrs. Floyd, could you please give us a moment.”

“Of course,” the older woman nodded, bidding her son a glance, “We’ll all be out on the porch.”

Nodding in thanks, Y/n waited until she and everyone in the house had moved outside before facing Bob again. Chills ran up his arms when she let her eyes trail over his figure, remaining emotionless.

An awkward silence passed, neither really knowing what to say. Bob was hesitant to break it, hoping she would but Y/n just continued to stare at him. Both unable to form the words.

Finally he tried to say, “y-you uhh, wow.” He swore he heard her scoff under her breath.

“Yeah, wow,” her tone broke his heart, but then again Bob couldn’t blame her. After all, he’s the reason they drifted apart. When he didn’t reply, instead glancing to the ground, she scoffed louder, “That’s all you can really say? ‘Wow’? After thirteen years, Robert, all you have to fucking say to me is ‘wow’? No, ‘I’m sorry,’ no ‘I can explain everything.’”

Anxiety rising, Bob sighed which only made her angrier. “Y/n, I-I—.”

She couldn’t stop herself, “Why?” The question haunted her for over a decade. “Why did you just throw me away like trash—a-after everything we’d been through? You owe me the reason why you broke your word to me and made me feel like shit. I have waited and waited for years, Robert, hoping you would call or send a letter but now I’ve had enough so you can’t run away from me now. So start talking.”

“Y/n, I didn’t mean for y-you to feel like that,” he tried to explain, but the words were not the best, causing her to explode.

“How else was it supposed to make me feel!?” She threw her hands out. “That’s how it came off as to me! ‘All always be here for you,’ my ass, Robert. You remember telling me that? It was only two years—two years of us doing so well with the distance—I was even planning on surprising you for fucking Christmas and then it was just gone in the blink of an eye,” snapping her fingers, Y/n emphasized her point. “No explanation, no warning. Nothing to tell me you didn’t want to be friends anymore, having your mom give me excuse after excuse why you wouldn't come to the phone.” She pauses to calm herself, her tone kept rising with each word.

Bob takes the moment to speak, “It’s…Y/n, you have to understand it was never my intention to hurt you,” when she made a sound of, ‘yeah right,’ he rushed out, “Please! I fucked up, I know I did and I’ve regretted every second of it since then—and as much as I wanted to reach out and apologize, explain to why it happened…I just felt so ashamed and then I heard you on the radio,” a sad smile comes to his lips, seeing her stiffen at the mention of her debut. “And when I heard your voice, I just thought that was it. You didn’t need me anymore and believed you would forget about me eventually.”

“Forget about you?” Her tone went soft, eyes glistening. “You were my best friend—since we were fucking five, Robert!” He flinched, shame filling his veins. “We did everything together, I shared everything with you. My music—some of which were inspired by the fucking things we did,” the confession had his eyes widened a bit, “You think I would just forget all of that? Thirteen years worth of friendship down the drain? Sorry, but I’m not like you—I wouldn’t just ditch the only person I trusted most in this world because I was starting to become something. Did your mom tell you I called?” She suddenly asked, not letting him answer before she was ranting again, “It was almost a year after you threw me to the winds. The night I fucking met with Capitol Records and got offered the opportunity of a lifetime….I wanted to share that with you. Despite the fact we hadn’t talked for almost a goddamn year, I desperately wanted to hear your voice and tell you I did it,” her voice cracked at the end, causing tears to prick in Bob’s eyes at the sight she was fighting back her own.

“That I did it,” Y/n held back the sob threatening to escape. “You were the only one who believed in me, and I couldn’t even share that with you. Because you didn’t want me in your life anymore—and you know what that’s okay. Friendships come and go, but you couldn’t even give me the fucking respect to tell me. And then you come to my show!” Now she was shouting, “Yeah I know that was you, don’t even try to deny it. It may have been four years at that time but I know damn well that was you in New York. I cannot fucking believe you would come to my show and not even tell me! And then to not reach out after was a fucking slap to my face.” Her breathing was starting to get heavy, the woman pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t even recognize you honestly. The Robert I knew would’ve never hurt me like you did. He would’ve at least shown me some respect. He wouldn't leave me to wonder what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said sternly.

“Well it doesn’t feel that way now does it?” She said just as harsh, “Why?”

“Y/n, it’s complicated,” he put his hands to his neck, looking at the ceiling as he started to lose composure.

“Then tell me why!”

“Because I fucking love you that’s why!”

The words had left Bob’s mouth before he could stop himself. Silence ignited, the WSO covering his mouth with a hand as he went pale, staring at Y/n whose own mouth was parted. The confession had hit her full blast, causing her to stumble back as though she physically felt them possess her. A shaky hand came to her own mouth, looking away from the man when her eyes closed allowing the tears to spill on her cheeks.

“I love you,” Bob whispered, mirroring her expression. “I’ve loved you since we were fifteen, Y/n. I knew I felt something when we were twelve, but I just brushed it off thinking I was confused. But then I couldn’t stop thinking about you—and what we could have. But I didn’t want to lose you if you didn’t feel the same.” Opening his eyes, they locked on hers. God even when she cried she looked beautiful. “When you left…I thought it would be easier to move on. But then we talked every week and the feelings wouldn’t go away. No matter how much I tried. You took my heart with you to L.A. and you’ve had it ever since.”

He waited for her to respond, chest on fire with how bad his heart was racing. Fingertips were going numb as Bob stared at her with pleading eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t go back in time and change it as much as I wish I could. Please know, Y/n, I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so fucking sorry for hurting you. I won’t ask for your forgiveness because I don’t deserve it. I won’t blame you if you walk out that door and we never see each other again. But just when you do, know that I’m truly, deeply, sorry.”

Time seemed to slow now with the two adults staring at each other. Now that it was all out in the open, Y/n seemed to be processing the whole thing. Bob couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Unbeknownst to him, Y/n’s brain was screaming, as was her heart. Lips quivering, the woman sniffed.

“You love me?”

“I do,” Bob signed after a moment. He no longer could keep it in, feeling the immense relief at being able to finally say it aloud.

“For years?”

“Almost seventeen.”

“Seventeen,” she repeated with an unreadable tone. “Y-you, I thought—your mom told me you were engaged.”

“That was in college,” he explained softly. “She was at the show with me that night. Saw how we reacted to each other and realized things I tried to hide. I ended things with her—I couldn’t trap her in a marriage that would make her unhappy—make me unhappy. She understood after a while and we stayed friends.” Bob rubbed his jaw, adding, “everyone else that came along was the same. I couldn’t love them the way they wanted me to. My heart wouldn’t allow it.”

Y/n leaned her head against the wall behind her, gazing at the ceiling, “A-and you were just going to go through life alone? Never planning to settle or be happy?”

“What good would it be hurting someone by committing to them when I couldn’t offer everything they would give me in return. They could love me, but I couldn’t love them, Y/n, and that’s unfair.” He wiped away a tear that slipped from his eye, no doubt his irises were red, “I’d rather be alone than do that to someone.”

She took a sharp inhale at that, more tears falling. “You should’ve told me,” her voice cracked, making him look away. Only to freeze when she said in almost a whisper, “Because we could’ve had all this time.”

“Wh-what?” Was his mind playing tricks on him? Or did she really just say what he thought she did?

Y/n chuckled, but it was more of laughing at how sad the situation was. Shaking her head, her eyes stayed on her boots as she said, “Did you ever wonder why I rejected Tyler Davies when he asked me to homecoming junior year, insisting I wanted to go with you instead?” Tyler was the quarterback of their high school football team. A senior, who asked Y/n to the dance and became the talk of the school when she said no. Many were jealous she even got his attention, riddled with shock she would reject the star player.

“Because you felt sorry for me I didn’t ask anyone?” He asked like it was obvious, causing her to huff.

“Because I wanted you to ask me,” his heart skipped again, “And whenever Melinda Perry would flirt with you in government I would literally send her daggers because of how jealous I was. Why do you think I warned you not to go out with her when you asked for my advice? Yeah I knew she was a snake to most of her boyfriends, but I was also selfish because I didn’t want you dating someone else. God, Robby, you were so blind. Even with your glasses you still couldn’t see that I loved you.” It was though he was on cloud 9, disbelief at what he was hearing.

Y/n loved him. At least she did when they were teenagers.

The next question couldn’t even form in his mind before she was lifting her head back up, shrugging when allowing the confession to fall from her lips. “And as much as I want to hate you right, I can’t bring myself to. Because I’m still hopelessly in love with you, Robby.”

Now he was the one stumbling back. “Y-you do?”

“I do. I’ve loved you since I was sixteen.”

He didn’t recall much that happened after that. Just that his feet were carrying him over to her, cupping her face in his hands and moving their faces close together. Lips just barely brushing over, he waited for her to make the next move. Y/n wasted no time, pressing her mouth to his and the two felt the eruption of warmth and love consume their bodies. Her arms around his neck, her fingers ran through his blonde hair causing Bob to groan. The sound made her gasp, allowing Bob to slip his tongue past her lips and heat up the kiss.

“I love you,” he whispered against her lips, bringing them back together.

“I love you too.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” His arms went to cradle her, pressing her against the wall. She simply nodded before kissing him back, “I forgive you, Robby.” God he missed that name. Only she could make him feel some type of way when she said it. He chuckled when she added, “Even though I should slap the fuck out of you.”

It was a miracle they made it up the stairs and into his childhood bedroom which was now a guest room. He had to remember to lock the door after setting her on the bed, praying to God his family would stay outside. There was music playing from what he could hear through the window so it made things easier when the two got lost in each other.

Clothes scattered the floor, kisses and hushed whispers shared between the two. Bob worshiped Y/n, letting his mouth kiss along every inch of her, trailing down any tattoos that coated her skin and paying extra attention in the places that brought her the most pleasure.

When he entered her they both sighed in bliss, moving as one until they reached a climax that brought them both to tears. All the time Bob whispered how much he loved her, Y/n repeating it each time. She moaned with each thrust and whenever she pleaded with him to do something Bob delivered it without hesitation. With her leg over his shoulder, chests pressed and mouths attached together the officer believed if he died right there it would be with a smile on his face. They came together, Y/n gasping his name as he eased them through their climax. When it was over Bob leaned down to capture her lips, wiping away her tears before removing himself to clean her. They basked in the afterglow, Y/n laying her head on his chest while he lightly traced the tattoos on her arm with his finger.

“Can I ask you something?” He asked, making her humm in response. “Enrique…”

The woman made a sound, lifting her head to gaze at him. “Enrique and I had been friends for some time—and we did drunkenly hook up once to get the sexual tension out of the way but that was it,” Bob controlled his reaction, though he couldn't say anything for he too had his fair share of one night stands. “The band’s contract was renewed and The Walking Dead was just starting out. The label and his producers thought it was a good idea for us to be seen together. Just to bring in some press for our upcoming album and the show. But we never felt anything more than friends for each other.”

Bob sat up a bit, causing her to lean on her elbows as she rested on her stomach. His expression was unreadable, “but you two were married.” Again Y/n let out a sigh.

“Enrique and I were friends so we shared things. He confided in me, I confided in him—Enrique was in love with someone who he couldn’t have. Ring a bell?” She raised a brow at him. “I was in the same boat. Just like how you said you couldn’t bring yourself to love anyone else, I couldn’t either. But at the time I thought you were married, Robby.” That had his eyes widened. “I called your mom after the concert that night, hoping to get to you and she told me you were engaged. So when I met Enrique and we both were going through the same thing, we thought ‘instead of being miserable alone, let’s be miserable together.’ Our publicists hated the idea, but we both believed we wouldn’t get our fairytale ending.”

Something in the way she said that last sentence had Bob think about Enrique Lorenzo. Most recently it was revealed he was in a relationship with fellow costar Simon Zahir, coming out as bisexual to the world with an instagram post of the two sharing a kiss.

“So you married him even though you didn’t love him?” Kinda like how he almost did with Abby. It made Bob frown thinking about it.

“I did love him, just not the way a wife should love their husband. And he understood because he couldn’t love me the way a husband would their wife,” she sadly smiled, “It was a mutual understanding where we would go and support each other at premiers and award shows, kiss for the cameras, all that was needed to show the media we were a happy couple. But behind closed doors we actually lived separately.”

Hesitant to ask, Bob waited a moment before saying what was on his mind the last couple years. “What made you two divorce?” The question made her give a small smile.

“Simon confessed to Enrique he loved him after they finished filming season four, and that he and his wife were divorcing. When Enrique told me… I could just see the hope in his eyes, and who was I to deny him his chance at happiness just because I didn’t want to be alone. It would have been selfish of me to. No, I told him the first thing the next morning we’d file but our publicists called and asked to wait until Simon was divorced before we went through with ours. That’s why we were ‘separated’ for a year,” she put quotes around ‘separated’. “We didn’t want to cite irreconcilable differences since it was a mutual decision, but the lawyers thought that was the best route to go.”

Bringing a hand up to caress her cheek, Bob asked the second question he wanted to know, “What made you come here?” She leaned into his touch, “you said you thought I was married. How did you even get here?” The last question was more due to the fact The 1985’s were currently on tour. It was another reason why he was so shocked to see her there when he arrived.

“We played in Helena last night. After the show I had this feeling I needed to come here, so I called my mom to get your mom’s number. That’s when she told me you were flying in today.” Her face turned to one of guilt, “I sorta feel like a bitch because tomorrow is your birthday and I came here knowing there would likely be an argument. Even though I thought you were married, I just really wanted to know the truth. It was eating me up. And with that feeling I needed to come here again after so many years, it sorta felt like a sign—if you can call it that.”

Leaning more into his hand, Y/n added, “I didn’t come with the intentions of winning you over or anything—especially under the impression you were married. I wanted answers, that was all. Although,” she kisses his wrist, “I’m not complaining with how things turned out.”

“Me either,” he agreed with a laugh. As he moved in to kiss her, a knock on the door interrupted causing the two to look like deer in headlights.

“If you two are presentable,” it was his sister, “then we’d be happy if y’all joined us for dinner sometime soon. But by all means, take your time.” She ended with a cheeky laugh before footsteps indicated she had walked away.

Bob let his head fall back into the pillow with a groan while Y/n giggled. She went to get up, but the man wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled into her neck. “I’ve waited too long for this.” Humming, he felt her hands go to his air, maneuvering them so he was on top of her.

Y/n gasped at the feeling of him becoming hard again, causing Bob to smirk as she wrapped her legs around him to offer assistance. “Me too, baby. Me too.”

In the haze of it all and as the weeks passed, the two began to live the life they dreamed of with each other. Neither realized they had forgotten protection that night….until Y/n was puking on the tour bus and counted the days since her last period.

“Look at me,” Bob held her hands. They sat in her hotel room in Sacramento, the band finishing out their tour in California before setting to work on their next album. When she called him that morning about her possibly being pregnant Bob got in his car and drove straight there. Thankfully it was a Saturday so he was off and had great timing. Pepper was kind enough to give her a spare pregnancy test she had on her, so Y/n waited until Bob arrived to take it.

Relieving herself on the stick, she kept it in the bathroom to wait for the results while she sat with him on the bed. She was crying, unsure how to feel. Part of her was excited at the idea of being pregnant and having a baby with Bob, but also feared it was too soon. They had just started dating, she was on tour until the end of the month, and they had been keeping their relationship quiet from the public so she was scared of what could happen.

For the WSO, he was going to be happy regardless of the outcome. “Look at me, Y/n. Everything is going to be okay. I am not leaving you—I swear to you, baby. If that says positive, then believe me when I say I will be the happiest man alive,” she whimpered, making him press kisses her cheek lovingly, “We’ll get through it together. You’re gonna be done with the tour in a few weeks and then we can take it from there. And if it’s negative then that’s completely okay too.”

When the results did come, the stick reading in small letters pregnant, the couple cried together with Bob pulling Y/n into his lap. “I love you—I love you,” he kissed all over her face, her cries turning into giggles. “It’s going to be okay, Y/n. I’m so happy, darlin’. So so happy. I want nothing more in this world than to have a baby with you. You’re going to be the best momma ever. I know it.”

October of 2017 brought Marcel Brandon Floyd into the world. Keeping her pregnancy a secret, no one besides the band and their families had knowledge of the birth of their son. Thankfully Bob’s identity was still hidden, both very careful to not let paparazzi catch them together. Especially with Y/n being pregnant they didn’t want to add on the stress of the media discovering their relationship. They planned to announce it on their own at some point once the baby had arrived.

It wasn’t until Marcel was roughly a month old that Y/n posted an Instagram picture with his tiny hand wrapped around her finger, ‘my world has arrived 🤍 10.20.17.’ The announcement had Y/n trending #1 on Twitter and talk show hosts calling to have her on the show. Y/n declined, she only really made television appearances with the band if they were performing, but that was only when they released new music.

Around the holidays was when Bob proposed. They were sitting by the fire, Y/n in his lap with Marcel in her arms when Bob simply said, “Marry me.”

At first she thought he was joking, but then he removed a velvet box from his pocket. Her eyes watered, “Are you serious?”

“More than I’ve ever been. You’re my person, baby. I’ve waited for this moment my whole life—and I won’t waste another second. Marry me, Y/n. Be my wife and I promise to love you even after death.”

He truly meant it when he said he didn’t want to waste another second. After she said yes, they put Marcel to bed and Bob made an appointment at the courthouse, both agreeing to get legally married and wait for a big ceremony some other time. They made love all through the night until the sun rose. In the morning the little family and the band gathered in the courthouse and tied the knot.

Y/n already knew the media was going to have stuff to say about her when the news broke. This was her second marriage, also happening in the spur of the moment like her first one. Only this time around it was with her soulmate so the rockstar couldn’t give a fuck what they had to say. She and Bob were coming up on a year, had a child, and planned to spend every second of their lives together. She loved him with every ounce of her being.

On instagram the picture posted was of their rings followed by one of them kissing where his face was hidden. “I’ve been keeping a secret from all of you. In January I reunited with my childhood best friend, who I was in love with way before The 1985’s were even thought of. Things happened in life causing us to drift apart, but we recently found our way back to each other and I plan to never let him go. He is my second half. The person I was meant to grow old with. I can’t put into words how happy I am and with the birth of our son, our little fairytale seems to be working out. Some of you may think this is all too fast but let me tell you this, we’ve waited a long time for this moment. I ask that you please respect our privacy and thank you to all who have supported me over the years. Much love, Y/n ♥️”

For almost two years the two kept their relationship under wraps from the media. Then in October of 2019, just before Marcel’s birthday Bob was called back to Top Gun. It’d been several years since he graduated from the program, surprised they even wanted him for the mission. With how timing was the WSO would have to report to Fightertown a couple days after his son turned two. Y/n had a beach house in San Diego, deciding her and Marcel would stay there while Bob was in his detachment and what made it better was Xavier and Farrah—who fell in love over the course of their years as a band— were both from San Diego, both currently there while the band took a small break. Bob would have to stay on base with candidates, but after training ended he’d come to the house to be with them.

Pepper and Thomas were back in L.A, but we’re working on beats for their upcoming album and sending the three what they had for them to add on or scrap if they felt it didn’t fit. They had a meeting with the two Zoom with Xavier and Farrah and their two young kids at Y/n’s place the day she got the call Bob was in an accident.

“Hello?” She answered the phone, moving to the side away from where Xavier was drumming. Marcel was in his little playpen, a pair of baby earmuffs over his ears to protect them from the loud noise.

“Hi….” The guy on the opposite end let out a soft chuckle. “I’m looking for uh, Y/n L/n?” His tone was that of someone who found it funny he was asking for someone he definitely thought wouldn’t be on the other end of the phone. Like he saw the name on the card and said, “there’s no fucking way this is the guy married to Y/n L/n,” but because of his job he had to call the number anyway.

“This is her. Who am I speaking to?”

The man went silent for a moment, before clearing his throat. “This is Lieutenant Royce from NAS Miramar medical group,” Y/n’s heart picked up as dread filled her, “Can you confirm you are the spouse of Lieutenant Robert Floyd.”

“Yes,” she rushed out. “I am. Is he okay? Did something happen?” Closing her eyes, she prayed she wasn’t about to receive the worst news imaginable. No, Bob had to be okay.

“There was an accident with his F-18 this afternoon, he had to eject—.”

“Excuse me one second,” she apologized before bringing the phone back slightly to yell at the drummer, “Xavier! Stop drumming for five seconds—I need to fucking hear right now!” The man winced as he mouthed, ‘sorry’ catching the ashen look on her face. Both he and Farrah set aside their instruments, watching Y/n turn away to speak again, this time more calmly. “Please repeat that for me, Lieutenant.”

When Royce heard the name of The 1985’s drummer being shouted at, the Lieutenant nearly forgot what he was calling for, “U-uh, yes. There was an emergency ejection in your husband’s F-18 this afternoon during training. He is okay minus a few bruises, but he will be staying overnight in our facility for observation.”

“Oh my gosh, okay,” she breathed in relief, bringing a hand to her mouth to calm herself. “Is there any way I can see him?”

“Do you have a dependent ID card?” She tells him yes and he says with a light cough, “Then yes you can come onto base and see him.” Royce gave the address, still finding it hard to believe he may have been talking with the frontwoman of the most popular rock band in the last 15 years. He really thought it was just someone who shared a name with her. But then again, they sounded very alike.

Thanking the officer, Y/n wrote down the address and rushed to grab her purse. “I have to go to base—something happened with Bob. Can you guys watch Marcel until I get back?”

“Of course,” Farrah told her, “go go, we’ll stay here and clean everything up.”

Practically speeding onto base, it was the first time she ever had to use her military ID, which had the guard at the front gate jaw drop. He maintained professionalism, scanning her card and nodding to the rockstar. As much as he wanted to ask for a photo the guy could tell she was in distress and it wasn’t a good idea. “Have a good day, Ms. L/n.”

“Thank you, sir. You too.” She waved apologetically, recognizing the look she often got from fans. Had the situation been different she would’ve happily chatted a little longer.

It was the same when she got to the infirmary. The receptionist, who looked to be in her mid twenties, dropped the apple in her hand while other young servicemen were doing double takes and whispering. “That’s fucking Y/n L/n.” “Are you sure?” “I’m serious! I had a huge crush on her in college. I’d recognize her anywhere.”

“Hi,” she offered a small smile, aware the guy to her left had his phone out trying to sneak a picture, likely tweeting the fact she was in a Navy hospital. “I’m looking for my husband, Lieutenant Robert Floyd. I received a call from a Lieutenant Royce saying he was here.”

Upon hearing his name, the gentlemen seated behind the girl with his back to her spun around, eyes bulging when they landed on Y/n. The chair almost fell when he stood abruptly. “T-that’s me. Yes I’m the one who called you, Ms. L/n. If you would follow me I’ll take you to him.”

“Thank you,” she walked behind him, ignoring the whispers and comments made by those around. By now TMZ probably got tipped off, she could already feel her phone buzzing—no doubt from her publicist wondering what the hell was going on. She made a mental note to call her back later to explain.

Royce knocked gently on the door before opening it, “Lieutenant—oh you have visitors I apologize,” he glanced over his shoulder to Y/n, still in disbelief on what he was about to say. Turning back to Bob, Royce gives a nod, “your wife is here.”

“She is?” Y/n heard Bob, and some murmurs of voices going, “Wife?” “When the hell did he get married?”

Pushing past Royce, thanking him briefly, Y/n entered the room only to stop short at the several pairs of eyes landing on her. Off to the side she saw a man with a buzz cut drop his bag of chips, choking on the one in his mouth, “What. the. fuck.”

The two standing in front of the bed—mouths agape—parted away allowing Y/n to see Bob sitting with his flight suit unzipped and tied around his waist. Exhaling in utter relief the woman rushes to him, throwing her arms around his neck. “Oh, Robby.” She felt his arms go to her waist, pulling her closer as she hid her face in his neck. Y/n could literally cry with how happy she was to see him in one piece.

“I’m okay, darlin’.” He rubbed her back, aware his fellow aviators were staring at them with mixed expressions. They looked confused, disbelieved, shocked, and in awe.

The quiet, reserved, yet sometimes sassy WSO is married to the woman who's been ruling the radio over the last decade.

Who had seven fucking Grammy’s under her band’s name.

Pulling away, Y/n ran her hands along his shoulders, checking for any visible wounds. “What happened? Lieutenant Royce told me you had to eject?”

“There was a bird strike,” he explained, taking her hands and soothing them with his thumbs. “We lost both engines—Phoenix tried to get back control but we were going too fast and couldn’t save the jet. Had to eject at the last second—we’re okay though, I promise. Just a little shaken.”

“Thank God you’re alright,” she sniffed, hugging him again while kissing his cheek. “Leave it to you getting in an accident that makes me use my ID for the first time.”

“How was that?”

“Interesting. I was tempted to run the gate because I had no patience, but controlled myself. Getting arrested would not have been good.”

“No it wouldn’t,” he chuckled, pressing his lips to her forehead.

The clearing of someone’s throat ended the moment, Y/n removing herself from Bob to face the group of aviators who were still speechless by the scene. Smiling shyly, Y/n took in each of them. “Hello, I’m Y/n.”

“Oh we know who you are,” Fanboy said with awe, groaning when Payback smacked his shoulder with a disapproving look. “Sorry that was not the best thing to say. What I-I meant was we’re all fans of your work.”

“And by that he means we were all jamming to your music on the tarmac just yesterday, not understanding why Bobby here looked so smug when Seresin said he could totally get a shot with you if he ever got the chance,” Rooster added on, resulting in the blonde pilot to glare at him before blushing when the others started to laugh.

“Well now I sure as hell won’t try—I’m not that shallow to hit on a married woman, Bradshaw. Made that mistake ages ago and it was not pretty. Anyways, sorry Bob for what I said,” he held a hand up, “but let me be the first to say what a fucking G you are. And Y/n, it’s an honor to be in your presence. Big fan.”

Y/n raised a brow, smirking to her husband to see his reaction. He sure did look smug, keeping his arm around her waist. “A fucking G, huh?”

“He’s the one who said it,” he smiles before noticing she was alone when she arrived, “Where’s Marcel?”

“With Xav and Farrah. They were at the house when I got the call—we were working on some songs.” In the corner of her eye she saw Coyote and Fanboy visibly react to the mention of her bandmates.

“Forgive me for asking,” Phoenix finally spoke from her bed that was seated right next to Bob’s. “But weren’t you two childhood best friends if I’m not mistaken? Sorry if it’s too personal, but I remember seeing your post on instagram two years ago and I thought it said something like that.”

The couple smiled, confirming her wonders. “Yeah,” Bob looked at Y/n with love in his eyes. “We grew up together. Took a hell of a long time before we could get our chance at love, but it was worth the wait.”

For almost an hour the aviators learned more about Y/n and Bob’s relationship, literally saying it should be a romance novel with what life threw at them. The hopeless romantic in Phoenix couldn’t help but awe, feeling so much happiness for her backseater and the rockstar she’d been listening to since sixteen. They truly were the ultimate love story.

When it came time for the mission with Bob and Phoenix selected as one of two foxtrot teams, Y/n held onto him the entire night prior to him shipping out. He made love to her for hours, very slow and sensual ensuring she felt every inch of him. And when they climaxed a tear spilled from her eyes, “You better come home to me.”

He kept a picture of her and Marcel in his pocket the entire time. Before the jet took off of the carrier Bob gave it a small kiss before keeping it safe in his flight suit. The second they got back after successfully completing the mission he called his wife to tell her he was coming home. She practically catapulted into his arms when she picked him up from the docks, not giving a shit that the paparazzi had followed her there. By now the whole world knew who Bob was to her.

The rest of 2019 seemed to go by in a blur. They first thought 2020 would be the best year of their lives when it was discovered Y/n was pregnant again, having conceived the night Bob had left for his mission. She was just at the end of her first trimester when the entire globe shut down. When the rumors spread of a possible pandemic with the outbreak happening across the ocean, the 1985’s all took up camp in San Diego now that Bob had become an instructor with Phoenix at Top Gun. Thomas and his fiancé, who was an actress, didn’t mind moving, neither did Pepper and her girlfriend. The group were working on their sixth studio album and had celebrated 15 years as a group.

But they were starting to get burnt out, thinking it was time to go on hiatus.

Concerned with the virus and what it could have on her pregnancy, the two were very strict on keeping up with covid restriction. For at least three months Bob was working from home, the base shutting down with only certain personnel allowed on. Marcel was still too young to be in pre-school and daycare wasn’t needed since Y/n was home most days. And when she did have business meetings to attend or studio sessions he often traveled with her. Zoom became their best friend during the lockdown, with meetings happening frequently at the beginning to figure out what they were going to do going forward.

Y/n spent weeks going through what were the best records to put on the album. If this was going to be their last for a while then she wanted it to be their best. Two songs she knew she wanted were ‘Pompeii’ and ‘Little Black Dress’, while the other 13 were going to take time to decide. ‘Pompeii’ could definitely have people relate with how this lockdown was making them feel. On the other hand, ‘Little Black Dress’ was mostly for her, inspired by the time Bob went absolutely feral when she walked into the room wearing a little black dress.

It was one of her favorite memories.

And so the months went on and before they knew it they were welcoming a baby girl in July—right smack in the middle of a pandemic. The whole ordeal was unlike anything they ever imagined. Only Bob was allowed in the room, not even their son could come visit so little Marcel didn’t even get to meet his sister until days later. He was with Y/n’s mother who traveled down from L.A and quarantined in the weeks leading to her due date. Y/n hated hospitals, looking forward to bringing their daughter Brenda Rose home. Unfortunately no one else in their family or friends could meet the baby girl until spring of 2021 when things were starting to settle out.

That was also when The 1985s made the decision to go on hiatus, planning to release their album that summer before going on a final tour in 2022.

“This just in, pop rock group ,The 1985s, have announced a hiatus following the release of their upcoming album End of An Era set to drop at the end July. Frontwoman, Y/n L/n, posted on her Twitter a photo of the group in a sweet embrace with the caption, ‘when one chapter ends, another begins. Join us in 2022 as we say goodbye to the stage—thank you to everyone who has supported us since we were kids on MySpace. We hope to see you as we close this chapter in our lives, but don’t worry, the future can always surprise you. In the meantime, as Elvis would say, ‘The 1985s have left the building.’”

“It’s a sad day for fans of Grammy award winning rock band The 1985s. Earlier it was announced they are going on an indefinite hiatus once completing their impending world tour for their sixth studio album. Formed in 2003, the 1985s skyrocketed to the Billboard charts after debuting with their single ‘1985’ in 2005, going on to dominate the late 2000s and early 2010s with features on The Twilight Saga: Eclipse soundtrack, the 25th anniversary of We Are The World to raise charity for the Haiti earthquake, and accumulating a total of seven Grammys including taking home the big three: ‘Record of The Year,’ ‘Song of The Year,’ and ‘Album of The Year’ in 2008 for their second studio album Sugar, Spice, and A Little Bit of Rock ‘N’ Roll. The announcement of the hiatus has succeeded the news of bassist Thomas Quinn tying the knot with longtime girlfriend, Oscar Winner Amelia Bandera, who recently revealed she was pregnant with the couple’s first child. Last year frontwoman Y/n L/n welcomed a daughter with her husband—the couple’s second child since they wed in a private ceremony in 2017. And word on the street is keyboardist Pepper Renolyds is looking to adopt with partner Jenna Langdon. The married pair of the band, Xavier and Farrah Hernandez have had two children following their wedding in 2010 and have hinted at possibly wanting to have a third. It is unsure when the group is likely to regroup after 2022 comes to an end, but one thing is for sure: The 1985s have embedded their name as one of the bestselling groups of the 21st century. I’d say we could be looking at a possible induction to the Rock ‘N’ Roll Hall of Fame in the future, and a Star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.”

Now here they were, November of 2022 at Madison Square Garden to take the stage one last time. Would they ever come back? Probably, but it would be some time before they did.

So they were gonna go out with a bang.

“I have twenty minutes until my ass needs to be on stage, Robby,” Y/n mumbled between kisses, back pressed against the door of her dressing room. His mouth went to her neck, roaming his hands all over her body that was covered in her usual leather, “That’s plenty of time.” The response had her giggle, moaning when he attacked her sweet spot making him smirk.

“Then you better do double time…we’re on the clock.”

Her glam team was going to be pissed when she came out with messy hair, glistening of sweat, and slightly smudged makeup, but she didn’t care. Not when her husband was rocking her world as he had her bent over the couch. His chest pressed to her back and hair in his fist, whispering absolute filth into her ear—saying he was going to have her on stage full of him and only he would know. But Bob also gave words of praise and love.

It wasn’t the first time he snuck backstage to rile her up before a concert. When they started the American leg of the tour in California he was at almost every show and would bring her flowers. Sometimes the kids came along, other times they stayed with Phoenix, but each time Bob would either get her pent up by teasing her as the minutes counted down…or would full on rail her. He'd be lying if he said he didn’t get off on the thrill of almost getting caught….or the fact anyone passing the dressing room could figure out what they were making their own music.

This time around in The Garden their kids were with Phoenix and Rooster, who were all waiting to get to their spots on the floor after wishing her and the band good luck. The others were already there, ready to have the time of their lives with the sold out arena. Bob needed to hurry because the stage manager was going to be knocking on her door any second.

They finished with minutes to spare, out of breath and panting with a light layer of sweat coating Y/n. Fuck she looked sexy in her leather and messed up hair, glistening as the light hit her. A smug look took over Bob, winking at his wife who just shook her head with a smile, “I’m gonna miss that now that the tour is over.”

“Don’t worry, baby. We still got after party.”

The rockstar ushered him out when the stage manager appeared, the aviator delivering a smack to her ass as he told her good luck. She smacked his in return causing him to yelp, “Naughty boy.”

Yeah he got some looks from his fellow officers when they got to the floor, Jake whistling under his breath as he went to check his watch. “Jesus Bob, you two were at it for a while. Were you trying to go for baby number three? I hope she’s able to walk on stage.” The comment had Phoenix slap his shoulder, “Can you not? We have kids with us,” she gestured to not only Bob’s children but also Payback's ten year old son and Hondo’s seven year old daughter. Then there was Mickey’s girlfriend carrying their toddler with baby earmuffs, the same Brenda and Marcel were wearing. “My bad,” Jake said, though the smirk remained on his face when Bob sent him a wink.

When the show started it was the most amazing thing any of the squad had witnessed. Some of them had seen the band in their college days, but it was obvious they were gonna top what they did ten years ago. There was a light rumble to Madison Square Garden with how loud it was. Flashing lights and smoke covered the stage, the countdown with a video montage hitting zero before The 1985’s opened with ‘Where Do Broken Hearts Go,’ sending everyone who was still sitting on their feet. Bob put Brenda on his shoulders, Rooster doing the same with Marcel who were clapping and pointing to their mother, “Mommy!”

“Now, I’m searching every lonely place,” Y/n belted out the first line of the chorus, moving down the stage’s elongated platform that split the floor. “Every corner calling out your name. Tryna find you, but I just don’t know.” Xavier hit the drums with Farrah’s riff, Y/n holding a hand to chest, “Where do broken hearts go?”

“Are you sleeping, baby, by yourself? Or are you giving it to someone else? Tryna find you, but I just don’t know,” Pepper and Thomas joined the vocals, “Where do broken hearts go? Where do broken hearts go?”

When the song came to an end, Y/n let the audience scream for a moment before introducing the band. “Madison Square Garden!! New York City!!” The crowd screamed again, smiles on every member. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, theys and thems and anyone in between…. welcome to the ‘End of An Era’ world tour—our final show as we close out an actual end of an era,” Y/n moves closer to her friends with a sad laugh, hearing the sounds of protest from some fans.

“Let’s start off by introducing ourselves…..Mr. Thomas Quinn on the bass!” Tom hits some chords against the audience’s cheers, Y/n doing a little dance off to the side. “Miss. Pepper Reynolds on keys everyone!” The former pianist lets her fingers move along the keys, grinning wide and waving when she finishes. “Show me what you can do, Ms. Farrah Cortez,” the guitar solo sends the crowd into a frenzy, which only increases when Y/n introduces Xavier. “And last but not least, Mr. Farrah Cortez,” laughter rings out before she corrects herself, “I meant Mr. Xavier Hernandez,” the drums go crazy when his last name leaves her lips. She waits till he’s finished to do a bow.

“And I’m Y/n L/n,” she has to pull her mic away to hide her laugh, cheers ringing from every corner in the sold out stadium. “And we’re The 1985s.”

The energy throughout the concert was insane. Even during intermission and 5-minute breaks the audience was having a blast. The dagger squad, plus Hondo and even Maverick were dancing and singing along—the older man getting a literal PowerPoint lesson from his former students on everything there was to know about the group.

Y/n was very entertained when Bob told her that night, saying Maverick aced his test they’d given him. “You gave your old instructor, the famous Captain Mitchell….a test on our band and music? And he got a 100%?” His little nod and smile had Y/n jump in his arms, kissing all over his face, “You’re so fucking adorable, Robby. I love you so much.”

The first part of the show was mostly dedicated to songs on their most recent album, including ‘Pompeii’ and ‘Little Black Dress’. The latter had Bob blushing mad during the set, especially when Y/n came over to where they were at, eyes on him and curing a finger to get him to come to the edge of the floor. There the stadium exploded when she practically laid on the platform to lean over and kiss him, the cameras catching the scene to display on the giant screens.

Blowing kisses to her kids, she got back up and finished the song, smirking at how the dagger squad were whistling and howling in cheers. “Sorry I couldn’t help myself,” she giggled, moving back to her bandmates to prepare for the next set.

Though the tour mainly focused on their songs from their latest work, they called back to some old hits, including ‘Let’s Get Lost,’ which was written for the third Twilight movie soundtrack. “We got any Twilight fans here tonight?” Y/n chuckled at the screams, “I got one thing to ask then….Team Edward or Jacob?”

‘Some Nights’ was one of her favorites to perform, feeling a wave of nostalgia each time she did. It was a fan favorite as it was their second single ever released. The band harmonized on the track, all of them showing off their vocals with the ‘Oh come on,’ part of the song.

Y/n was hesitant to sing ‘Iris’ and ‘Payphone,’ considering they were about her husband, but he assured her when they were planning the tour set list that he wouldn’t be offended. They were some of her greatest works, the audience should hear them.

They even covered the iconic, ‘Don’t You Forget About Me,’ from the Simple Minds—most notably from the movie The Breakfast Club. “I hope you never forget about us, New York,” Y/n said when they finished, “Cause we’ll never forget you.”

Finally they were coming down to the final ten minutes and they had yet to play the song that started it all. “As we come to the end of tonight’s show, we just wanna thank each and every one of you for the support and love you have shown us tonight and through the years. None of this would’ve happened without you all—and we cannot thank you enough for sticking by us, you all play a giant role in what we do. And we’re going to miss you the most as we close this chapter in our lives,” Y/n pauses, feeling the tears prick her eyes. Glancing at her friends, she could see they were fighting back their own. They knew it would be an emotional night, and now they were minutes away from stepping off the stage for the final time.

“We started this journey when we were only seventeen and eighteen—and it’s been a hell of a ride since. Next year marks twenty years since we became The 1985s, seventeen since we made our radio debut, back when MySpace was still a thing,” she has to laugh at that, “What better way to end this tour—end this chapter, than by traveling back in time to the year that started it all.”

The reaction in the dome had little Brenda have to cover her hands over her muffs because it was so loud, Bob holding her on his hip and asking if she was alright. “Loud,” she said in her small voice, causing him to mentally awe.

“I know, baby, it’s loud. But the show is almost over and then mommy will be done, then we go home. Can you hold on for one more song? It’s your favorite one,” Brenda’s eyes brightened at the mention of her favorite song, nodding frantically making him laugh. “Okay munchkin, I expect to hear you sing along—except don’t say the bad word in it, understood?”

“Yes, dada.”

Phoenix was jumping up and down with Marcel in her arms, head banging with the little boy along with Rooster and Javy. Everyone was in delight, rockin out to the final number. Brenda sang along with Bob, the crowd harmonizing with them.

“She’s seen all the classics,” Y/n belted the second verse, hands moving on her guitar, “She knows every line. Breakfast Club, Pretty In Pink, even St. Elmo’s Fire.”

“She rocked out to Wham, not a big Limp Bizkit fan. Thought she’d get a hand on a member of Duran Duran.”

Her and Farrah were leaning their backs against one another, “Where’s the mini-skirt made of snakeskin? And who’s the other guy that’s singin’ in Van Halen? When did reality become TV? Whatever happened to,” she hit a riff, “sitcoms,” she hit another, “game shows? Sing it!”

The entire squad, the kids, and Madison Square Garden echoed, “ON THE RADIO!”

“Was Springsteen, Madonna. Way before Nirvana there was U2 and Blondie, and music still on MTV. Her two kids in high school, they tell her that she’s uncool. ‘Cause she’s still preoccupied with 19…19…1985!”

Her mini solo before the bridge had the crowd wild. Smiling the entire time, Y/n even went to the side where her friends and family were, making them all go crazy. “She hates time, make it stop. When did Motley Crue become classic rock?”

“Classic rock,” the band repeated.

“And when did Ozzy become an actor? Please make this stop,” Y/n hit a riff, “stop,” another, “stop!” Only the cheers could be heard during the slight pause before Y/n brought her hand back on the chords.

“And bring back Springsteen, Madonna. Way before Nirvana. There was U2 and Blondie, and music still on MTV. Her two kids in high school, they tell her that she’s uncool. ‘Cause she’s still preoccupied—sing it!”

“1985!!!”

“One last time Madison Square Garden!!” Not a single person in them dome didn’t sing along, everyone shouting the final chorus at the top of their lungs.

“Since Bruce Springsteen, Madonna. Way before Nirvana. There was U2 and Blondie, and music still on MTV. Her two kids in high school, they tell her that she’s uncool. But she’s still preoccupied, with 19….19….1985!!!”

All the band members continued playing an extended outro, lights flashing all around as the crowd whistled and screamed. Y/n ran over to each side of the stage before coming to the middle, waving a hand to her band who were still going hard on the instruments before raising it and finally bowing.

On the floor, Brenda still in his arms, Bob wiped away the tears falling from his cheeks with his free hand. His friends were cheering, the entire scene overwhelming for the WSO as he stared at his true love as she took her final bow. Y/n was also crying, as were her friends when they finally closed the show shouting, “Madison Square Garden—New York City we love you! Thank you so much for being here with us and being the best crowd ever. Safe travels wherever you’re going and we hope all your dreams come true. Until we meet again….as Elvis would say, The 1985s have left the building!”

The crowd was still screaming, the five adults coming to the middle of the stage holding hands in the air before bowing. Then they all met in a tearful embrace, Y/n full on sobbing with Farrah and Pepper, overcome with emotion that it was all over. Waving to the crowd, they spotted dozens of fans in their line of vision crying, some even throwing flowers onto the stage. They all went to each side of the platform to blow kisses and wave, until finally walking off into the arms of their crew who’d been with them since 2005–where another heartfelt moment took place.

As soon as their families made it backstage, Y/n was dropping to her knees to allow Brenda and Marcel to run into her open arms. “My babies!!” Peppering kisses against their cheeks, Y/n held them tight as they said words of praise. “You were amazing, mommy!” “That was so fun!”

“Thank you, baby,” she kissed Marcel’s head, looking up to see Bob staring at her with absolute love and admiration. Gently moving him and Brenda to the side, Y/n stood up, only to squeal when Bob’s hands went to her thighs to lift her up, spinning them around.

“You were incredible!” He exclaims, stopping still but still holding her up. Their lips met in a searing kiss, “absolutely spectacular.” Her hands came up to cup his face, deepening the kiss as their children wrapped their arms around Bob’s legs. It was like they were in their own little world, oblivious to everyone celebrating around them. The band were with their kids and partners, the crew were popping off champagne.

“I love you so much, Robby,” she said against his lips, kissing him again when he said, “I love you too, baby. More than anything in this world. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

When they pulled away, Y/n was a flustered mess, mirroring that of Bob who was looking at her like she was a goddess. “Don’t give me that look, Floyd. Not until we get to the hotel.”

“Can’t help myself, darlin’,” he chuckled, adjusting her in his arms before giving her another kiss.

“Eww,” Marcel groaned, making the couple laugh into the kiss. Bob set Y/n down, but pulled her close as Brenda and Marcel squeezed in between them.

“So what’s next then?” Bob whispered in her ear. “I know you can take the girl out of rock n roll…but she’ll always be a rockstar.” Y/n laughed, pulling away to gaze deeply in his beautiful blue eyes that she fell in love with as a teenager.

“Now, we live our lives. One day at a time. Together.”

Y/n really needed to thank her mom one day. It was because of her that the woman got to live her dream. After all, she was the one still preoccupied with 1985.

……….

TGM tag list: @avaleineandafryingpan, @caitsymichelle13, @poppyalice2001, @cutelittlepotatofry, @luckyladycreator2, @americaarse , @elenavampire21

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