#Cables off Drums

[chososcamgirl]

(SHE’S) JUST A PHASE CHAPTER FOUR: holy waters

masterlist

“Give it up for Miss Ayesha Erotica, everyone!” Yn announced with infectious enthusiasm over the radio waves.

Miwa, sporting vibrant teal hair and an equally vibrant grin, followed up with theatrical flair, “God, I love emo boy!”

Yn shot her a smirk. “Well, I’m pretty sure that’s a sentiment we can all get behind, right?”

Miwa didn’t miss a beat, her excitement bubbling over as she declared, “No Yn, I really, really love emo boys!”, being sure to enunciate the s at the end.

Yn’s face contorts as a picture of Megumi flashes through her mind.“That makes one of us,” Yn quipped, “but I see your point.”

“Seriously, though,” Miwa said, barely containing her glee, “today is shaping up to be amazing!”

Yn arched an eyebrow skeptically. “Oh? Do tell.”

Miwa’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she revealed, “Because Tridant has graced us with 10 free tickets to their show this Saturday, and we’re giving them away!”

Yn’s face twisted into a mix of dread and disbelief, her jaw nearly hitting the studio floor. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered into the mic, trying to cover her panic with a forced grin. “Trident? You know I’d rather listen to nails on a chalkboard.”

Miwa’s eyes widened in playful astonishment. “Huh, since when did you become such a critic?”

Yn leaned over and mouthed, “Just roll with it.”

Miwa nodded, her grin widening. “I know, but that’s exactly why this is going to be hilarious. We’re going to make someone’s day—and maybe even get you to enjoy yourself.”

Yn groaned dramatically. “Alright, but if I have to endure this concert, you owe me a full day of Solange on the station.”

Miwa clapped her hands together, her laughter echoing. “Deal! Alright, listeners, if you want a shot at these coveted tickets, call in now and tell us why you’re the ultimate Tridant fan. And don’t forget to shout out how much you adore these emo boys!”

As the phone lines lit up with eager callers, YN slumped back in her chair, torn between dread and reluctant amusement. Despite her best efforts to look disgruntled, she couldn’t help but be drawn in by Miwa’s infectious enthusiasm. And she knew Twitter would have a field day with this one—especially with a certain raven-haired boy likely to make an appearance in the trending topics.

“Megumi, get off your phone! We need to practice otherwise Gojo will be up our asses!” Yuta barked, his voice cutting through the cluttered practice room like a drill sergeant.

The space was strewn with old gear, tangled cables, and random junk, making it look like a tornado had hit a music store. Yuta, already in dad mode, stormed out, his footsteps echoing off the mismatched walls as he went in search of something crucial.

“Yeah, but Toge’s on his phone too,” Megumi shot back, his fingers still scrolling through his screen, barely lifting his gaze.

“Yeah, but nobody gives a fuck about him,” Yuji interjected from the corner of the room, where he was perched on a drum stool, grinning like he’d just won a prize.

“Suck my dick ,” Toge retorted, his white hair bouncing as he turned, looking genuinely miffed.

Megumi rolled his eyes with exaggerated drama, reluctantly shoving his phone into his back pocket. He could feel the buzzing vibrations through his jeans and couldn’t help but smirk, taking a twisted pleasure in the fact that he was managing to irk you.

“Ugh, Megumi, why are you grinning like that? A jumpscare warning would’ve been nice,” Toge commented, half-annoyed, half-amused, from his spot by the amp.

“Go fuck yourself,” Megumi snapped back, his smugness evaporating into a gruff irritation.

Did he really find joy in annoying you? Megumi mused, a hint of doubt creeping in.

“Hey, Megumi, you seem unusually cheerful today,” Yuta announced as he reentered, clutching whatever he’d gone to fetch with an air of importance.

“See? Even Yuta’s noticed,” Toge snarked, his eyes glittering with mischief.

“So what’s up, big guy?” Yuji asked, his grin widening as he strolled over, clearly enjoying the chaos.

“Did you finally get your dick sucked or something?” Toge blurted out, his tone blunt and unapologetic.

“Why would that make me happy?” Megumi shot back, genuinely confused.

“Because everyone can tell when you’re sex-deprived,” Toge replied matter-of-factly, adding with a laugh, “Plus the horny slash hate subtweets you’ve been posting do nothing for your case.”

“I’m not sex-deprived,” Megumi insisted, his face turning a shade of crimson.

“MY BOY!” Yuji cheered, rushing in for a celebratory dap.

“Not like that,” Megumi murmured, his cheeks burning as the room erupted in laughter, the awkwardness of the situation making it clear that maybe he should have kept his phone in his pocket.

“Alright, let’s get down to business. We need to nail this new song for our upcoming gig,” Yuta finally says as the laughter dies down, holding a stack of sheet music with an air of importance.

“Finally!” Yuji cheered, bouncing on his drum stool.

“Yeah, yeah,” Toge muttered, putting his phone away and grabbing the microphone. “Let’s see what this new song’s all about.”

Yuta handed out the lyric sheets and nodded at the band. “This one’s a bit different—more upbeat. I want to hear energy and precision. Let’s start with the intro and build from there.”

extras!

• the band in sjap is called triDANT not triDENT bc the group collectively came up with the name together but toge was the one entrusted (first mistake) who had to write it down for copyright purposes etc paper work ete anyways this man CANNOT spell so that's why it's with an A instead of an E lol

• yes the group definitely clowned him for it but they couldn't change it so it stuck and they ran with it

• toge did go to the gym but he snuck in when yuji went and they definitely blasted him on their social media page and stuck his face on the wall of shame😭

• the tickets sold out COMPLETLY and yn lowkey wanted one for herself…

• definitely did not smile to herself when panda told them he scored her tickets thanks to toge..

• dramatic ass

• megumi has convinced himself he only texts yn to piss herself and nothing more than that

• i aspire to be at his level of delusion

• yn, panda and nobara all went to whole foods and asked if they had any close to expire tomato’s at the back (they did)

• they went home with 2 crates full of the most saggiest wettest tomato’s in existence

• hope u guys enjoyed the week overdue chap :3

taglist: @shokosbunny @luvvmae @catobsessedlady @satoryaa @prozacprinc3ss @essjujutsu @therealsatorugojo @yeehawslap @gojodickbig @dawnisatotalqueen @j2upiters @nappingnai @lalalasillybilly3000 @totallytatum @3cst4syy @lysaray @saltypuffin1040 @aozui @noodles-icetea @makeshiftproject @kurtcobaingirlie @kokoiinuts @renbittt @dashingaurries @slvttycorpse @cuupidsss @mochroialainn @tenjikusstuff4 @oroborosttheiii @ichcocat @iiwaijime @drugzforyou @sugurubabe @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @tyigerz @yoyo-yui @megoomies @yizmiu @jasminasblog22 @yomamablazeit @marst4rz @guitarstringed-scars @qtnfer @kalulakunundrum @lovefrominaya @beepbopzlorp @iheartlindz @itsdragonius @meguemii @chilichopsticks @7kn0wn @starantulas @1l-ynn @bonitoflakez @rcveriees @solaqes @starrysho @sukunaspillow @evry1luvssm

*if i can't tag you please change your tag settings otherwise i will remove you from the list!

[bchan95]

On Tour (Bang Chan x Reader)

You go on tour with Stray Kids and although it can be exhausting, he always comes home to you.

You sigh, leaning back on the bed in tonight's hotel room. It's the same beige walls, uncomfortable bed, and boring cable television, but you ignore all the drab surroundings and pull out your phone.

Opening your Instagram, you click on a user's live and start watching the screen. You hear the familiar sounds of your boyfriend's voice, surrounded by the chaotic noise of drums and guitar. Amidst the fog they appear, seven individuals dressed head to toe in black. As you hear a familiar accent speak, your heart melts.

"What's up Chicagooo!"

You smile, seeing him stroll down that runway like he owned it as the first song began. This is a pattern you're pretty used to at this point. Showering, ordering room service, pulling up a live stream, and watching the boys from afar. Every once in a while, you go over to the venue to watch the show in person, but there are some nights where you just need to be alone. Away from the lights, the fans, the noise...

It wasn't that you hated the tour. It was actually the opposite. You were beyond grateful that you had the luxury to follow your boyfriend on tour for half of the year. Working on your freelance social media marketing virtually as you go. You felt like the luckiest girl in the world. You just loved a bit of alone time too.

It was incredible seeing all of these new cities you'd never been to. Whether you were grabbing gelato in France or visiting Chan's home for a home-cooked meal from his mom, every step had been perfect. It didn't hurt that you had a perfect boyfriend to kiss you in every corner of the world. Capturing it in photos and videos to keep for years.

You ate your ramen off of the tray next to your bed and listened to the livestream. Hours went by in minutes now that you knew the setlist by heart. You screenshotted a few particular moments of Chan and then let your phone sit in its holder above you as you ate. You felt your cheeks warm, not just from the soup but the pride you felt for your man as he gave it his all, as he did every night.

You hear the familiar sounds of the final song and turn over to see the guys waving at the crowd as the curtain falls. You push your hand through your hair as you run to the bathroom. You spray your perfume a bit, run your toothbrush across your mouth, and fluff your hair in the mirror before returning to bed.

You scroll on your phone for a half hour before you hear a familiar knock at the door. You stand and unlatch all three locks he made you promise to lock before he left today.

"We're on a private floor baby... I'll be okay," You said with a giggle as he kissed you for the third time.

He held your face in his hands, running a thumb across your cheek. "I just want to be extra safe, can you do that for me, honey?"

You blush, nodding before he kisses you one more time and disappears out the door.

10 hours later, he's here again, waiting patiently to hear all of them unlock before you press open the door. As soon as it unlatches he pulls it open and rushes inside.

You giggle as sweaty arms wrap around you and kisses are planted on the top of your head. He pulls you closer, lifting your chin with his other hand. He presses his lips to yours harshly, your lips dancing for several minutes before you push against his chest, pulling the two of you apart.

"Chan," you smile widely as you look at his pouting lips. "You have to be exhausted, go shower, and then you can come and kiss me."

He shakes his head, pressing his lips to yours again. "Shower with me."

You giggle, pressing your hands to his chest. "I've already showered."

He grabs your waist tighter, smirking against your lips as he walks you backward toward the bathroom. "I don't care."

You smile wide, following him inside. After 20-30 minutes of washing each other's hair and kissing against the shower wall, your lips are practically stinging. You both re-emerge into the bedroom lightheaded from the steam and each other. Chan scoops you off of your feet and into his arms, and carries you to the bed.

As you reach the mattress, Chan lays you down softly on the pillows. He crawls over you, hands on the surface next to your face on each side. His smile brightly as he lowers himself down to your face again, intertwining his lips with yours. You bring your hands up to his cheeks, pressing him in closer. As you part, he leans up to kiss your forehead one more time.

"You make this all worth it, baby."

You couldn't help but pull him down by his collar and kiss his lips again. Nothing felt more right than coming home to him. No matter where in the world you may be.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I’m falling out of obsession love with konig..will you do me the favor and respark my love for him i need an obsessed in love man to match 😓

Word count: 1.9 k

Summary: He comes to see you after a mission.

CW: Mild smut, angst, fluff, emotions. +18 only

A/N: This is part of the Just Friends universe, but pov is 2nd person (you instead of she/her). I'm not sure if this is what you asked for anon...but it's what you're going to get 🥹 

Rain drums your window. You've left it open a crack, and should get up and close it, but you don't have the strength. You can't sleep, you can't get up: it's the wolf's hour and the mood is heavy like the rain clouds that have circled the base for hours now.

It's the first time you hear him breaking in. Well, technically speaking, he's not breaking in anymore, now that he has a key. But it always feels like he comes to see you when you least expect it.

The five-day mission has turned into a four-day and half a night mission, then.

You feign sleep and listen how he takes off his boots. He's illegally quiet without them for such a big man. His shirt meets the floor, then he opens his belt – you know he's about to come and ravish you, and for the first time since forever you are not up for it.

The bed lets out a terrible creak of a wail as he crawls next to you. You fear it's only a question of time before the old metal and wood give in under you two. It's basically a miracle the sturdy bunk hasn't yet broken into pieces from your love.

His length touches you first as he settles behind you. It's hot and hard, lean and sleek, like the rest of the man that soon surrounds you like a copper cable with a pulse. His hand is warm as it slips under the covers and under your shirt. Or actually, his shirt.

"I'm home," he half whispers the obvious. Calls your room his home… Or perhaps it's just you. You're his home now.

The hand drifts to your hip, and it's possessive: he always starts there. You win nothing by pretending to be the sleeping beauty, so your hand comes to rest on top of his.

"Did you have fun..?"

It's a bit of a sick question. But it is what it is. And what's more, he doesn't even answer it.

"I need a fresh pair, Engel," he says with an odd honey to his voice.  "The last one is completely ruined."

You know he's talking about another pair of panties, a comfort object and a lucky charm he takes with him now that he's back in the field again.

The rain taps the window, and the darkness of the room is only pierced by distant hues of blue. The base is never dark, never fully asleep. His hand drags the shirt up, then stops on your ribs.

"You have my shirt on."

It's not a scolding, not at all. It's only a happy, shocked surprise.

"You… You left it here," you turn a little to look at him. You can see his lashes from the darkness of the hood as they drop: he's looking at you with tenderness, although the demanding flesh against the small of your back is far from tender. 

"Mm. You have my shirt and I got your panties... A good deal, eh?"

His hand wanders further under the shirt, cups a handful of your breast. You can feel the cords of muscle bunching against you: abs that contract, thighs that press and lift yours, his cock that gives a taut pull between you two.

Your nipple is caught between hard fingertips, as he twists it like a volume control. Your abs crunch too, out of the sudden sensation that bleeds.

"Hey…"

"I can't concentrate on missions because of you," his voice drops another note or two. And now you are being scolded. But so, so tenderly still…

"Mh, König… Not–not tonight," you whisper, wondering if this man can even take a thing such as a simple no. He lets go of your nipple, but not your breast. 

Not you. Never you.

"You have worries?"

You. You're my only worry.

Your mouth closes, draws into a line. You can't tell him.

“No… No.”

"Let me have you, angel. I've waited so long." His breath is growing heavier, the lean pulse against your back, thicker. 

"I'll make you feel good," he tries to bargain when you're not responding. In a way, you want him too, but for the first time during your... acquintance, you would like him to just hold you. Without the need to throw yourselves off a cliff first.

"Not tonight." You move, then turn in his gentle, throbbing hold, and he almost draws his hand away. "Please, König…?"

"Ok," he says, but looks like he doesn't quite know what to do. Just...hug you? Go to sleep while holding you? It's a change in protocol, but he's willing to do it for you. For that knowledge alone, your hand slithers down, finds his length and wraps around it.

"I can help you? If you want?" 

The rain is thin now, as it bats the glass. He lets you go and gradually leans back, falls to the mattress and allows you to give him a good, long stroke.

"My saving angel," is the only thing he says as he falls as slack as he can – a state which can barely be called relaxed – under your palm.

He's a needy man, and deprived since the last time you saw him. Which is why you know it doesn't take long. You barely see him in the electrically illuminated darkness, but you can feel how the choked sighs ripple across his body. You feel everything: the tight trembles, the density of the air around him. You hear the moist click as he swallows, the panting that rises. The occasional groans that sound like he's crying although he's not.

It's the only way he knows how to feel good, and someday, it just might make you cry. Even the sky cries for him, it seems, because a sudden gust of wind sends an entire sheet of rain against your window.

He's exceptionally quiet, probably because you didn't let him inside you this time. But then you remember he's usually this quiet only when he's emotional.

He's missed you...

That's what this is about – the ever demanding furnace of flesh. He wants to drown in you, burn until there's nothing left. It's been days, and he might've found some privacy to fantasize about you while ruining your lace, but it's no substitute for the real thing.

His hand flies on top of yours after you find that perfect angle, the one he likes. A harsh moan coats the night air, and shoots fireworks inside your stomach. He moves your hand up and down his cock like you can't do it right, but the connection, in truth, speaks of intimacy. The touch is affectionate. It says: 'we'…

Us.

Together.

He hisses, as if he's in pain. But he's just close, and you up the pace: his own hand is now only a loose, gentle cage around yours. He's so long, it seems like it takes forever to travel from the tip to the base, and you're trying to be quick and strong on top of it all. Just milk him well so he can sleep. 

So that perhaps you can sleep.

He looks at what you're doing to him, then looks at you, and it's the vulnerability in that stare that makes you understand he feels equal to that rain. You're his only summer sun. 

Then those lashes flutter, and his eyes turn to glass just before he comes. He spills all over himself with a long groan and a soul-ripping jerk, a giant coming undone under your palm and on your poor bunk bed that has seen so much already. The load is so generous you wonder whether he has even had the time to jerk himself off during the mission. If your innocent lace has barely been touched…

The last spurts are sadder, a few gushes that float to coat your hand, and he finally stills into some form of peace. He breathes in the night, relaxed and empty. You feel like you just worked on an emotional volcano, but he gathers himself quickly, raises to a half sit and tears his shirt off and over your head. Using it to clean himself and your hand, he throws it somewhere on the floor and pulls you on top of him.

Your breasts meet the solid chest, your thighs barely have enough time to go about his hips as he closes you in one of those bear hugs. The half-hard tip of him still throbs against your folds, and only then do you notice you're wet.

"I missed you," he sighs through the mask as you're held tight against his slowly settling pulse. He holds you exceptionally firm, squeezes you against him like you're his favorite toy. He tightens the hold around your middle until you are forced to let out a whimper. Only then does he loosen the hug and give out a gentle chuckle.

"Immer so gut… You feel so good. Always."

His confession is such a normal and yet, such a fragile thing to say, that you feel tears burning in your eyes.

"I missed you too," you say while trying to hide your tears from him.

"If you have worries, you can talk to me," he then says and starts to caress your back. The window is open, and the cool night air rolls in but in his embrace, you don't feel cold. You squeeze your legs and arms around him, feeling like a leech who never wants to let go. Finally, he's holding you, just the way you wanted to…

"It's nothing," you say, when in truth this man has you worried day and night. He's like a fridge you stock full day after day, only to find it empty every morning. And the things he gives you, the things he stuffs you full with… It's like having a cat who likes to fall asleep with you, a tame, purring beast who brings you fat rodents. If you don't praise him for them, he starts to hide them around the house until you wake up one morning to a terrible smell.

"You're the first who's ever hugged me," he mutters somewhere next to your ear. The golden fire inside your stomach turns into pity, horror and pain. 

"Are–are you serious…?" You whisper in the darkness of his mask that's spilled all over your pillow. You know he has had women before you, but apparently, they have never attached to him like this. Like tiny little leeches to a bear.

"Didn't your mother hug you when you were little?"

He thinks on his answer for a second or two, maybe three. The fact that he has to think about it should tell you enough.

"No."

Then, "I can't remember…"

Your lip tugs, your lashes bat away the fire that burns. He's breathing calmly under you again, satiated by a simple handjob and a hug. Although it feels like he's the one hugging you while you're being held captive there on top of him… It feels like he doesn't even quite know what a hug is.

"She had her own troubles," he mutters, sounding like he's about to fall asleep. Even on the brink of oblivion, he defends the woman who didn't know how to hug her own child, because he can survive without touch. No matter what, he will survive. 

His breathing starts to even, and your tears begin to fall. You think of moving from on top of him, to give him space and comfort to get some sleep. But it seems it's not an option, the way he holds you like a plush toy he will never let anyone take from him.

"I think I'm going to sleep now," he rasps, somewhere between awake and sleep. The rain has stopped, and you wonder whether it has only moved somewhere else, if it's now raining inside you. His hold of you tightens just before he slips to sleep.

"Don't let go, Engel…"

[unknownperson246]

Can you do a smut of Axl Rose? Maybe it could be angry sex and it's after that concert where that idea gets water in the electrical cables so they have to stop to show?

hii im so very sorry its late but I hope you enjoy it ❤️

Water On Wires

Words: 463

Warnings: *smut* *p in v* *angry sex* *rough sex* *reader is used as a sex toy* *cussing*

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ 

You were Axls girlfriend and you were standing on the side of the backstage where no one could see you. Everyone was cheering GNR on. You were excited to see your boyfriend's band perform in front of a lot of people. Axl was in front of the stage in all-black clothes singing happily. Izzy was with him shredding his guitar. Slash was in the middle while Duff and Steven were in the back playing the drums and bass.  Suddenly all the electrical equipment broke down and stopped. All the mics went down. The guitar amps went silent. All people could hear was crackling. Izzy pointed out the people who threw water on the cables. Axl went on about a rant. “Because of the people who threw water. The concert is off. In other words, the concert is over fuckers. Go home dick suckers.” He scoffs and yells at the people in the front row.

“And you, fuck you.” Was the last thing you heard Axl yelling When Axl came running off stage He was so angry. You watched the fiery redhead's anger grow more and more. 

You knew when he was angry he loved to fuck you. You were getting ready and turned on the way you watched him come towards you. You heard his heavy breathing. It was menacing but you loved it. He suddenly grabbed your arm. He pulled you further backstage. He ripped your clothes off. “Get on all fours” He snarled at you.

You followed his directions and you got on the floor hoping you were enough to please him. He took his belt off and his hand dug into your hips. He made swift moves over and over again. His hips moved heavily while fucking you. His tip kept hitting your soft spot over and over again. 

“Oh, Axl” You moaned as he kept slamming into you. 

His hands went down to your thighs. All you heard was his small grunts and moans coming from his mouth. He was too angry to speak. He loved to degrade you with his actions instead of his words. He used you as a sex toy. 

“Axl” You sigh as he takes his last thrusts in you. His eyes roll into his head and his head goes back. He grunts and moans. He finally let out a small moan of your name.

“Y/N,” You hear him moan loudly. 

Your nails dig into the floor. You feel him stop pounding you. You feel him leaving you. You crawled to get your clothes that were on the floor. You watched Axl go back on stage seeing no one out there. It was just you and the band because everyone went home. The rest of the band was mad at what Axl had done.

[sirdindjarin]

A Ghoul and a Vault-Dweller Walk Into a Bar

Cooper "The Ghoul" Howard x Lucy MacLean.

TAGS: Fluff, pining, introspection lol.

WARNINGS: Swearing, alcohol consumption.

Based off of this post ! I loved the idea and couldn't get it out of my head.

AO3 link 🤠

A few days after the events of the last episode, the Ghoul and Lucy take solace in a quiet saloon, only to find their dynamic is changing.

“Ain’t this a peach,” the Ghoul muttered, taking in the New Vegas saloon. It was a postwar attempt to recreate what no one still walking had ever experienced, but it was faithful enough to send the Ghoul back to the set of a movie some two centuries earlier. He could smell the burn of the stage lights, hear the staccato of studio executives arguing, and see PAs stumbling over cables in the background. 

His bittersweet reverie ended when - what else - the Vault Dweller opened her mouth. Again. 

Bouncing on her tiptoes, her wide smile was interrupted only by her exclamation, “Wow! This place is right out of a history book. Oh, gosh, look at that!” 

Hanging from the ceiling was a myriad of materials in various stages of rust and decay. Grimy, glaring patrons grumbled as Lucy rushed past their tables to examine some memorabilia plastered to the wall. She gingerly ran her gray forefinger over the rusted farm equipment. “See these? They used to pull these behind a tractor, or a horse, and it made furrows in the ground. That made it a lot easier for them to plant things like corn, tobacco, wheat -” 

The Ghoul ignored her lesson. Let the history buff have her boring version of fun, it’d give him some peace. After the past three days, he needed it. He strode toward the far end of the bar, spurs clinking.

Lucy had been silent after the revelation with her father. Downright catatonic, almost. The following morning, still in sight of the Hollywood sign, and out of the daggum goodness of his heart (truly, he’d been a saint to even think about it) he’d offered her a hit of an upper, but she’d curled her lip in disgust. No skin off his nose, he’d thought humorously, he would just let her stew. 

Before the sun had set that next day, however, the girl abruptly flipped from traumatized silence to her usual non-stop chatter. He hadn't asked what changed. The Ghoul assumed she'd come to terms with her father being an evil sonofabitch. He expected her trauma would rear its ugly head at some point, but that was a future problem. Once she started talking again, he had again been a saint - he’d only thought about shooting her once. And that only because she had asked him a stupid question. 

You mentioned finding your family. You have kids?

Sidling up to the bar top, his ragged coat slapping gently against the stool, the Ghoul’s attention was drawn to a jukebox against the wall to his right. Colorful lights flashed, dimmed by a layer of dust; but the old machine advertised it was ready to sing. He glanced curiously at some of the songs, felt a flicker of some emotion he wouldn’t put name to, and turned away. He drummed his gloved fingers on the wooden counter, impatient to have something to smother the spark of sadness. Here, the weight of the past was literally hanging over his head.

The Ghoul had directed his focus on the other end of the bar, where the barkeep seemed to be pointedly ignoring him, when a dull scraping sound alerted him to someone sitting beside him - between him and the mocking jukebox. 

“Hi! Barkeep?” Lucy beamed and motioned between herself and the Ghoul, “Could we get a drink, please?” 

The gruff man looked more like a patron than a bartender, all heavy gait and uninterested stare, but he raised his eyebrows at Lucy. The Ghoul laughed under his breath. 

“What?” She asked in a whisper. Grimacing, she worried, “Oh… is that not how you’re supposed to do it?”

“There’s a laundry list of things you shouldn’t be doin’, Vaultie, but flaggin’ down the bartender ain’t one of ‘em.” 

Lucy straightened her posture. “You know, we have established a mutual goal and I would appreciate mutual respect. I don’t think being laughed at is-”

“Sweetheart, I ain’t laughin’ at you; quit bein’ so sensitive,” the Ghoul stated flatly. “Don’t we make quite the damned pair? A Ghoul and a Vault Dweller walk into a bar…” he trailed off with another chuckle.

Lucy relaxed her shoulders, still feeling awkward. “Oh, haha.” 

“All we got is distilled water and tequila. Which’un you want?” The bartender interrupted, though he spoke only to Lucy.

“Uh, I would like to try the tequila. I still have some water leftover and it’ll be fun to try something new.” 

The bartender sucked on his teeth, turned, and left - resenting serving a peppy Vault Dweller and outright refusing to serve the arrogant ghoul seated beside her as though it was a person.

“They don’t much like my kind here, darlin’,” the Ghoul grinned lopsidedly. He tapped his holster with his new forefinger. “I’ll have to get my drink a different way.”

Eyes wide, Lucy nearly stood on the rung of the stool as she shouted to the bartender: “Make that two glasses of tequila, please.” 

The barkeep went still for a brief moment before deciding it wasn’t worth it. He’d seen some weird shit, but if this wasn’t the strangest duo he’d ever served, he’d eat a radroach. He sent the shots sliding down the well-worn wood counter with surprising skill, and they stopped directly in front of Lucy. She nudged one of the grimy glasses toward the Ghoul, who grunted. 

In those old movies, the characters often clinked their glasses together. Excited to perform a toast in a real saloon, Lucy raised her glass toward the Ghoul. Her eyes sparkled so earnestly that the Ghoul briefly considered indulging her. Instead, he tipped the shot glass into his parched mouth, eyes closing in satisfaction.

“Ah,” he hummed. This was nothing like the chems he used to stay sane, and tequila wasn’t his favorite, but damn if it didn’t feel like the alcohol stripped off some of the layers of the past week's shit.

Upon opening his eyes, he was surprised by the mix of amusement and regret in his chest at the way the girl’s face had fallen. It was childishly funny the way he could disappoint her so easily - as though they kept the same standards of behavior - but the pleasure of her disappointment only took the Ghoul so far. 

“Go on, sweetheart,” he goaded, his voice deep and persuasive. “It ain’t top-shelf but it ain’t lizard-piss, either.” 

“I don’t know what either of those mean,” Lucy mumbled as she brought the glass to her lips; she winced as fumes burned her nostrils. Abandoning caution, she threw the clear liquid into her mouth and swallowed as the Ghoul had. The liquid stung as it slid down her throat; her mouth puckered. Fighting the urge to cough, she cleared her throat instead. Lucy refused to let the Ghoul have anything more to bully her about.

Lucy blinked away the wetness in her eyes. The Ghoul was watching her. Lucy couldn’t discern the look in his eye, but it wasn’t one she’d seen before. The Ghoul had made certain of that. 

“That was, um, so good,” she grimaced. But the warmth in her chest and stomach was pleasant. “You want another?”

The Ghoul chuckled, “If you’re buyin’.” 

***

“No, I only meant it as a compliment,” Lucy slurred, blushing furiously. She was only four shots in, but the Ghoul was starting to get concerned that she would throw up on him. Lucy wobbled on her stool. “Really, they’re nice eyes. No, ‘m okey dokey. Wow, this stuff is strong.” She held her hand out in front of her and wiggled her fingers, fascinated by the way her vision seemed to be a half-second beyond reality. 

“Must be. You,” he pointed in her face, “can’t handle your liquor.”

"Hey, it’s my first try," she steadied herself. 

“It’s gon’ be your last if you paint my boots. You look a little green, Vaultie.”

Her big brown eyes refocused on the Ghoul. “Okay, well, distract me. I know you won’t tell me anything about yourself.” 

He tensed. 

“And that’s okay. But I don't even know your name." Lucy threw him a frown, "What if I have to call for you - what am I supposed to say?” 

The Ghoul chewed at the inside of his cheek, tearing away some skin as he considered. He’d had twelve shots. She wasn’t asking anything too revealing; and she had saved his life. And maybe all her “Do Unto Others” bullshit wasn’t bullshit, but he still wasn’t about to crack open like a can of biscuits. The Ghoul gazed down into her doe eyes, then he and the tequila made a decision.

“Cooper,” he answered after safely looking away, his voice rough over the word.

Something scratched at the back of Lucy’s brain. Tipsy as she was, she knew this was important - she did not want to ruin whatever progress they seemed to have made. She nodded and replied politely, “That’s a good name. Cooper.” 

Lucy watched the rainbow of lights as they reflected off the shiny bar. She slid off the stool and leaned over the jukebox, flipping idly through the songs. 

Cooper held his thirteenth shot in his gloved hand as he stared ahead at the blank wall of the now-empty saloon. After they had collectively purchased nearly twenty shots, the bartender had lost all sense of distaste for either of them; he now sat in a chair, dozing, waiting for the Ghoul and the Vault Dweller to ask him for more. 

A gasp came from Cooper’s right. His stool groaned as he turned, and he saw Lucy grinning up at him.

“Look at this song: I Walk the Line. It’s from one of my favorite movies -” 

Cooper's stomach lurched. 

“A Man and His Dog.” Lucy selected the song. “And the main character’s real name was Cooper. Used to watch those old Westerns with - with my dad all the time. The best ones are the ones with him. With Cooper Howard, I mean. He was always the good guy. He never hurt anyone. Well, unless he absolutely had to, of course.” She began to wax poetic about ethics, and her audience of one tuned out. The gruff croon of Johnny Cash filled the otherwise silent building.

Cooper Howard debated whether or not he should tell her the truth. He didn’t know how much she knew about his life as an actor - some of her questions about his family could be answered if she knew about his widely-publicized, definitely-public-record divorce - but seeing her face when she learned that her favorite cowboy movie star was the radiation-ravaged monster sitting beside her would be hilarious.

I keep my eyes wide open all the time

I keep the ends out for the tie that binds

Well, would it be hilarious? Cooper wasn’t so certain anymore. Lucy’s disappointment in him was rapidly losing its luster. Her cowboy had fallen a height that would’ve killed anyone else - had killed almost everyone else. The good man she idolized was dead. He wouldn’t resurrect him just to kill him again in front of Lucy. 

For the second time that afternoon, she pulled him abruptly from a reverie. 

“I wonder what it was like. Everyone in these saloons… with a jukebox playing while you dance with a handsome stranger,” Lucy gazed out at the empty room. “It must’ve been incredible.”

Cooper didn’t correct her about jukeboxes and saloons. Instead, he took his thirteenth shot, allowing it to burn away what was left of his judgment. 

“Well, come on down, darlin’.” He held out his hand - the one that was one-fifth her.

Dubious, distrustful despite their fledgling partnership, Lucy’s eyes darted between his outstretched hand and his dark eyes. This man had cut off her finger less than a week before. He’d tried to sell her. 

But this wasn't a desperate game of cat and mouse, and he no longer believed she was a lying murderer. (That conversation had been a hoot. One of the few times he’d asked her a question, Cooper had wondered what possessed her to cut off Wilzig’s fuckin’ head, and, after she told him Wilzig had left her no choice, she tearfully described the sound of his spine severing and nearly vomited. The Ghoul had laughed.) She was here of her own choice. Lucy chose to follow the Ghoul - Cooper - into the Wilds and the Wasteland. She trusted him now, and he her.

“It’s alright, Vaultie. Y’know I won’t bite,” he drawled with a smirk. “Of the two’ve us, which one has bitten the other?” 

“Wh-?” Lucy started to ask, then decided better of it. Cooper had given her his name and his trust. He had been as kind as summer by Wasteland standards, and she would be damned if her manners were the poor ones. She took his hand.

As sure as night is dark and day is light

I keep you on my mind both day and night

The room was spinning, and Lucy wasn’t sure if the blame should be placed on the tequila or the Ghoul who held her so gently. This was a far cry from the lasso he’d thrown around her last week. She opened her mouth, fully intent on telling him See, the Golden Rule is golden for a reason. But when his hand slid slowly from the curve of her waist to the small of her back, she found that the words were missing. 

He guided them in a small, slow circle. Cooper’s chest was pressed up against her own, and it was though his centuries-deep layers of leather and cotton, and her pristine, thick Vault-Tec suit were non-existent. The vulnerability set his teeth on edge, but it relaxed Lucy. She let the music, the alcohol, and the Ghoul take her. Uncharacteristically shy, and somewhat nauseous, she laid her head on his shoulder. 

Cooper hummed along with Johnny Cash, letting himself feel a modicum of peace in this improbable, inexplicable bubble. He could feel Lucy’s heart beating rapidly beneath her garish suit. His own heart felt like the tattoo of a horse’s hooves. Cooper’s jaw tensed as he wondered how she’d feel to know that. He found himself hoping. 

Hope and contentment were as foreign to him as a nose and hair, now. Yet he felt the gnaw of yearning. Lucy was a reflection and a time machine. Maybe that cowboy - the one who deserved both hope and contentment - could live again. 

And happiness I've known proves that it's right

Because you're mine, I walk the line.

[dsybouquet]

okay we know the rockstar! ellie troupe but what about rockstar! reader ?

like imagine..

you’re backstage, waiting for your band to go out on stage. touring was tough but there was nothing you loved more than performing. the adrenaline, the screaming fans and the flashing light - it was pure euphoria.

you quickly had your makeup done before lighting up a cigarette. „thats almost the last show.“, you told the rest of your team, before giving each of them a high-five. „let‘s rock this.“

the opening band finished, and your band went on stage. fans screaming, applause from everywhere, whistling - euphoria in your veins. smilingly, you waved your hands.

„what‘s up guys! are we in a good mood ?“

again screaming and whistling and you loved it. you eyes the venue and you were beyond impressed by the amount of people. after all you‘re not the most well known band just yet.

but giving the fact that you sort of dress and sound like taylor momsen - your band was pretty hot and and eyecatcher with it‘s members, yet alone with the unique sound of your singing and the heavy guitars and drums.

your eyes landed on a specific girl. she was.. gorgeous, yet didn‘t look like a fan. while she was with the security guards you guessed she was a staff member, maybe even the venue owner. she stared back, a slight smirk on her lips, before she returned to the security guards and then disappeared.

afterall, you didn’t care much about it. you played your show, rocked the shit out of the venue and played two more songs off the set list by demand of the crowd.

„okay guys, this really is the last song. cover of no more tears by ozzy osbourne, but with our touch.“

and as you played your cover, the girl appeared again. smiling widely, clearly enjoying your version of one of her favourite songs - but you didn’t know that. you smiled back, performing the shit out of your body, before ending with a heavy breath.

„thank you, Jackson! It was a pleasure! enjoy the rest of your night !“

off the stage you went, clapping hands for your team and your band, praising them, thanking them for their hard work too.

„amazing show.“, a unfamiliar voice said, causing you to turn around. it was the girl from before. „i‘m ellie, pleasure to meet you and thank you for coming to my venue.“, she said with the most charming smile on her lips, holding out het hand for you to shake.

„hi! ______, nice to meet you.“

„oh! i know who you are.“, she laughed. „sorry for not introducing myself earlier, i had things to take care off. however, i am more than impressed by what you and your fairly young band did !“

you smiled and turned around to the team. „it‘s mostly their work, they are amazing.“

ellie nodded, smiling still.

„also a pretty girl like you with a voice like this? you‘ll go big.“

„god! thanks a lot. i might just blush from the compliments.“, you laughed as you walked back to the backstage room, lighting a cigarette on the way.

you kept the conversation going while some assistances from the venue helped gathering your instruments, microphones anf cables to get them back to your bus.

„going back to the hotel?“, ellie asked outside the venue, leaning against a wall while watching you help her assistances. ellie was so intrigued by you. the way you walked, talked, performed - all of it was beyond perfect and beautiful. you might even say she was starstruck by you and your smile.

„i guess so. still two shows left in the next days and we still have to get there.“ you said, with that smile that made her go insane. while smiling, a cigarette was between your lips. exhaling the smoke in the dark night air, you looked at ellie.

„what a pity. thought i could ask you out for a drink or two.“, ellie said, again with the most charming smile and a voice so gentle.

you looked at your band members and then at her. „well, i guess there is nothing against a drink.“, you smiled, telling your team to go without you and that you‘ll join them later on. they know you won‘t, but agreed. after all, ellie was very attractive and seemed kind.

„shall we?“, she asked, a cigarette between her lips as she looked behind her while waiting for you to catch up.

„yeah.“

⋆·˚ ༘ *

i rewatched green room and was in the mood for a bandish thing okay (at least here is no massacre LOL)

kinda wish i had a better idea for this because it‘s a nice idea yet IDK well hope u enjoyed it bye xx ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

(convinced ellie is an black sabbath and ozzy osbourne fan, and you can’t change my mind)

[dsireland86]

Hello ☺️ Hope your doing well.

Could I please request a Matt Dierkes one shot if possible him being a grumpy ass except to his wife?? Fluffy and cute 🙏

Oh you are my first Matt Dierkes one-shot! Yes! Thank you for the inspiration :)

Feeling on the Edge

TAGS: @philomenie @supersquirrel1996 @foliosgirl @angelmarie89 @fadingintothegrey @theanarchymuse95 @thisbicc @lma1986

Matt drummed his fingers on his lap anxiously. I could tell he was in a bad mood, dying to get out of the video call meeting with the management team. His face said he was irritated and completely over the whole record label bull crap. He just wanted to be done.

Seeing how fidgety he was, I nudged his leg beneath the table with my foot hoping the friction was enough to tame his temper. He looked over at me and his dark eyes, full aggression, immediately softening.

I grinned at him to let him know I was still in his corner. He grinned back, took a deep breath, and refocused his attention on the computer screen, but not before reaching over and placing his hand on the inside of my thigh.

The rest of the day was hell for everyone, because Matt insisted on setting the world around him on fire. Every little thing that someone did annoyed him. Every word that was said, Matt had some sarcastic, snippy remark to follow it.

In the process of just three hours, he managed to break a computer monitor because he was too impatient, cut the wrong wire while attempting to splice a cable that Noah said was dead, spill Nicholas's coffee all down the front of him because he turned around too fast out of anger, dropped a mix board, misplaced his phone not once, not twice, but three times, and to top it all off, he had run out of Dr. Pepper.

"Dude, you need to calm the hell down! You starting to stress me out," Folio criticized him.

"Yeah, no joke. And if Folio is stressed then the rest of us are at the point of giving you a beatdown."

Matt glared at Noah who crossed his arms while leaning against the table. Matt didn't speak, but the look he was giving Noah screamed a big "fuck you".

"Well, it's not my fault. Those stupid pieces of shit at the record label treat me like I'm and idiot sometimes. I'm not a fucking idiot! I know how to do my job!"

"Nobody is say you are, baby," I pointed out.

"Matt calm down, man. You know not to listen to those people."

Nicholas came walking into the conversation after switching to a pair of clean clothes.

"Oh my god! What the hell are you wearing?"

Matt's expression was of utter disgust, looking at Nick. All of us turned and stared, a few bursting into fits of laughter. Nick didn't match at all. Sporting a neon pink shit that was a little too snug and a pair of snake skin looking pants that were way too stretchy for him to be wearing, he looked ridiculous.

"What?" Nick shrugged with his hands up. "It's all I could find. If someone hadn't been so angry and turned around so fast," scowling over at Matt, "I wouldn't be in this mess."

"Oh so it's my fault you look like a clown?" Matt snapped.

"Yeah, I kinda is," Nick shot back. "And your piss poor attitude!"

"What! I don't have a piss poor attitude! I've just had a fucked up day and all of you have added to it!"

"What! I didn't do anything!" I exclaimed defensively.

Matt's eyes quickly shifted over to me. "No, no, not you baby. You're fine. You haven't done anything wrong," he reassured me, smiling.

"Oh for god's sake, come on man! Your wife isn't that perfect," Folio groaned.

"Hey!"

"Mmm, I don't know, Folio, she's pretty perfect. I mean, you've had her cooking, and we all know that's she's done your laundry a few times, even finding the matches to your lost socks."

Folio looked at me, smiling apologetically.

"Yeah I guess so. Sorry, Y/N," he said leaning over and laying a sweet soft kiss on my cheek.

"Okay, well if you all are done flirting with my wife, I'd like to have her back now, please. Go get your own women! She belongs to me."

"Matt! That was so mean!"

"What! It's true! They're always trying to steal you from me."

I laughed so hard.

"Holy shit, Matt, you can't be serious!"

"Especially you," he chided Noah. "You're always trying to get in her pants."

"Alright, Matthew. That's it! Come with me; now!"

"It's Matt," he corrected me as I pulled him away from the group.

"What is going on with you? Where did that come from? Noah? Really, Matt!"

Squeezing his eyes shut, Matt pinched the bridge of his nose, walking sluggishly over to me. I snaked my arms around his waist, shaking my head at the Lord of the Rings Shirt he was wearing.

"I just washed that shirt and hung it up last night," I scolded him.

Turning his hat backwards, he lowered his forehead to mine, taking a deep breath.

"I'm sorry. I'm snapping again, aren't I?"

I smiled, placing my hands on the sides of his face.

"Yes, baby, you are," slowly sliding my hands up under his shirt. I played with the front of the waistband of his joggers, feeling his tummy sink in from being so ticklish. He chuckled, jerking his body away from me, but I gathered his shirt in my hands and pulled him back into me. That's when his lips found mine, colliding ever so gently. They were wet and warm, and tasted like the recent Celsius he'd just had.

"I'm sorry," he breathed.

"For which part?"

He scowled at me, confused.

"For being grumpy or the shirt?"

Matt laughed, giving me a quick kiss.

"Both."

"You owe those guys over there more of an apology. You've been horrible to them today. Are you listening to me?"

"Yup, I am," he assured me. But the way he scooped me up into his arms, leaning over me and attaching his lips to my neck, I knew he wasn't.

"Matthew, stop!" I squealed, trying to get out of his clutches. "Let me go!"

"It's Matt, and no," he groaned, letting his head fall to my chest as I continued to wiggle out of his embrace. "I'm not letting you go. Ever."

The more I wiggled, the more he tightened his grip and my leg got caught up in his, tripping me, and causing me to fall. I squeezed my eyes shut, preparing for the hard impact, only to meet a soft body beneath me and a slight bump to the floor. I looked down and saw Matt beneath me.

"Shit, baby!"

"I'm fine. Don't worry. I'm good." He stared up at me, smiling.

"What? Are you sure?"

"Positive," he assures me, reaching up and pulling me into his lips. He kissed me slow, taking his time to let me feel every move he made.

"Mmm, that... I like that."

He grinned. "I like, you. A lot."

"Oh really? I hadn't noticed," I joked, leaning in and kissing him again, feeling him smile against my lips.

Matt sat up and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into his lap. I rested my arms on his shoulders, staring into his eyes.

"You're really pretty, you know that?"

"Oh, so you can give compliments. Shocking!"

"Shut-up! God," he shook his head laughing. "Your sarcasm's going to kill me one day. And what the hell, I'm trying to be nice here!"

Matt tickled my sides, making me laugh hysterically.

"I love you," he said, kissing my forehead.

Wrapping myself up in his arms, I snuggle into Matt, burying my face in his chest. His heart was beating fast, telling me he was happy; that I made him happy.

"I love you, too, Matthew," I replied, grinning.

"It's Matt."

[endereies]

Fuck it - Matt Sturniolo

Spotify playlist:

Summary: Fem!oc x Matt Sturniolo

Growing up with parents who make her feel isolated, what happens when she meets Matt. A person who introduces her to new people, new experiences and new feelings.

Authors notes:

My first ever fic which is crazy but I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I have writing it (hopefully it will have consistent updates)

Warnings: swearing

Word count: 4857

“Is this something we are meant to do?”

“Fuck it.”

Seeing the hallways early in the morning was always an eerie feeling. The corridors that normally bustle with kids and teachers were now silent, the only sounds being my own footsteps that thud on the marbled floor below. That never failed to make me paranoid. I pull a headphone from my ear, taking my case out my pocket with my spare hand. Usually, I am then met with anticipated silence as my music dims from my ears; today was different. My body pauses at the door to the music room, my hand hesitates to reach for the handle as sounds of drumsticks that crash against snare drums and cymbals interrupt my normal routine. I grow curious and open the door wide and I walk through the doorway, the guitar on my back slamming the door into the brick wall behind it. A loud crash echoes behind me which startles me and the boy who remains sat behind the drum kit. My face falters once our eyes meet and I realize who it is.

Matthew Sturniolo

“You have to be shitting me” I mumble and grit through my teeth, laying my backpack and guitar case onto the sofa opposite the drums.

“Shit sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone in here...” he almost groans back, seeing my demeanor towards the situation.

“Yeah evidently” I return my words with a sarcastic tone, practically mocking his obvious statement. I sigh and slump down on the sofa which my backpack now leans off of. The sound of leather creases below me and I adjust myself on the uncomfortable material, my foot immediately finding this as an opportunity to tap against the carpeted flooring. “So, how long do you plan on staying in here?”

He lays his drumsticks on the drum watching them proceed to roll off, awkwardly trying to catch them as he now stammers making me raise an eyebrow and scoff.

“U-uhm well until class starts, do you need to practice your... guitar?” he peeks his head around his cymbals to view the case my instrument is carried in.

My feet awkwardly shuffle on the floors “obviously not as much as you do.” I grovel in response rolling my eyes before propping my body weight up from the sofa to lean against my knees.

“What’s that supposed to mean.” He mutters with a slightly colder attitude than previously possessed.

“Calm down, not like that, I mean… you’re in several performances for the band’s talent show next weekend. I was saying it was a higher priority than my...” I trail off now focusing my gaze on my guitar casing “hobby.”

“Oh.” His voice weakens, almost timid now realizing his now false accusation. He shifts on the seat and manages to look me in the eye again.

I drag out a tangled lead from the side of my case, flashing the headphones to Matt before practically throwing them on the couch as I drag my guitar out of the case, kicking the wrapping off to the side. I lean the guitar up against the height of the sofa as I start to untangle the lead with both my hands. I weave my fingers through the loops and slide the cable against itself. The length of the cable eventually reveals itself with the final tug on the wire.

The click from the guitar plug completes my set up as I start to tune my guitar, listening to the string’s pitch change as I twist the tuning pegs. The odd chord here or there slowly blends together until the strings match the necessary sounds. Leather beneath me creaks again as I sit back down the sofa with the guitar lying under my arm and on top of my thigh.

Matt trails from the conversation and picks up his drumsticks creating a light beat with the tips of them. It was a basic beat merely to gain a tempo before he nods his head to a new beat that I instantly recognize.

Dark red – Steve Lacy

I begin to study Matt’s actions, them intriguing me for the first time this morning. His hands are focused on the beat of his drums, occasionally hesitating before another sound emits from the skin of the drum. His pace steadies more as he concentrates on his movements. I find myself tapping the body of my guitar lightly to the beat he makes. Matt nods his head gently to the drums which causes a strand or two of hair to fall Infront of his face, resting just above his eye. I swallow harshly and look down to the strings on my own instrument and I pluck at them before strumming to create an occasional note from the song matt is playing.

I give in, however, and adjust my guitar on my lap so that I can play the song properly. Grabbing my pick that is sat beside me, tainted with its own ‘dark red’, my guitar now hums with the according notes.

He snaps out of his focused state and snaps his head over to me with a smile. For some reason it makes me smile back as I continue to play the song more passionately as I hum the lyrics to keep me on beat. I hear a breathy laugh from his direction as we then hit the chorus which makes me smile once again. Thankfully he is only focused on the drums.

I feel his gaze on me when its time for me to change my chords for the verse. I follow suit and switch the tune as the beat drops, I strum a little harder on my guitar which makes a stronger sound emit from my instrument. I keep humming the words to the song gently in tune with Matt’s drums; I steal another glance at him. He isn’t smiling much as before but you can instantly feel the passion as he plays and nods his head. He doesn’t seem to care about anything else, not the strands of hair that fall from their initial position, not the amount of noise he is making at 8:12am or music sheets that slide further of the holder. Something about Matt’s playing almost distracts me, every music class I’ve been too everyone looks so forced into their instruments. Those kids even make me feel negative about music at times, but this? This is different.

He looks up at me, meeting my gaze and I instantly look back down to the guitar resting on my lap. I purse my lips together as the final 30 seconds of the song reach. Matt stops playing the drums to allow me to finish, finally fixing his hair and slicking it back over himself. The last chords I play are slower, softer and relaxed. I stroke the strings on my guitar slowly and sigh once the noise quietens.

A silence falls between us both. Both our breathing is a little heavier but not enough to be noticeable to the other.

“You can play guitar.” He speaks with a cocky smile as he leans back onto the stool below him.

“As if this was for show” A quite scoff escapes my throat as I retort. “You don’t play bad yourself”

“Thanks...” His tone diminishes to a calmer and more confused one, he looks at me with an expectant expression.

“Alyia…” I respond.

Playing songs with matt was refreshing from anyone who I normally play with, he can actually play his instrument.

The next week follows the same routine. I walk in the music room, greeted by matt and we play music together. It wasn’t like it was for fun or anything, only to help him practice for the talent show.

That’s what I kept telling myself at least.

-

“Good morning.” I speak into the room without acknowledging my surroundings. I take off my jacket and throw it onto a chair nearby and place my guitar case on the carpeted floor.

“Hey” A voice emits from behind me rather than its usual location behind the drum kit.

I turn my head sharply to the drums and I notice they are strangely empty; I turn my head another 90 degrees and my eyes meet matt. He is leant against the door frame with his drumsticks resting in his cross arms which lie against his chest. He adjusts his position so he stands straighter and slicks his hair back with his palm.

“don’t do that Matt, you scared me” I turn again to face my guitar, leaning down to unzip the casing and reveal my black guitar.

“you’re here early, how come?” Matt strides past me and takes a seat at the drum kit before tapping the base drum a few times.

“Well. You are here before me and this is the last day before the talent show tomorrow, why not?”

“Ah. Can’t get enough of me, can you?” he laughs at his own joke and shakes his head slightly. Before I can respond to it, he chimes in again. “What song today, Alyia?”

I finally take position at my ‘designated seat’ and strum a gentle #C chord. “Uhm...” I drag the m through my pursed lips before muttering. “What one is your weakest?”

“Fuck I don’t know? ‘There she goes?’ I keep going to fast about halfway through the damn song” he grumbles with mild self-deprecation and clicks his tongue against his cheek.

I don’t respond with any words but simply tuning one of my strings and immediately strumming the initial pattern to the song’s melody. I nod my head to keep in beat until matt joins in 10 seconds in with light cymbal taps, finally playing his base with more momentum 5 seconds later.

I enjoyed playing this song a lot more than the rest. Even if it did repeat itself, it only made it harder to mess up the chords. The pace was slow but enough to keep me entertained and created a soothing atmosphere that made me forget about the blisters that were starting to form under the rough skin on my hands from the week’s excessive playing. My arm that relaxed over the body of my guitar allowed me to relax into the song more.

I take a glance up at Matt for what feels like the millionth time this week and I see those same strand of hair as before fall onto his face, he manages to tilt his head and jolt it slightly to flick them back into place without ruining his pace.

I play fast about halfway through the damn song.

Not true. He plays it perfectly; we stay in tune with each other the entire time. Even when I add an extra note or riff to mess with him, he stays on beat.

Weird.

I finish the song with a gentle stroke on my stings with dissipates into the air around us. My eyes meet his again.

The door then swings open with a slam as it hits the brick wall in the same place that I hit it the first time I spoke to Matt.

“Mattyyyy” A voice echoes off those same brick walls which is followed by a groan from behind the other.

I hear Matt sigh once he relaxes from his jump scare. I still recover from mine as my body starts to relax once more. Curiously, I face where the voice came from and two boys enter the room and walk towards Matt, one quicker to hug Matt than the other. I recognize their faces as you can easily match them to Matt’s own expression.

“Hey Chris? What are you doing here...? Matt welcomes him with a side hug, holding his drumsticks in the hand that wraps around his back.

“I told him not to bother you but as per usual… He. Didn’t. Listen.” The third one speaks in a monotone voice through his gritted teeth before he puts his weight on one side of his body.

I stay silent, not wanting to disturb the interaction between the three, just lightly tapping on the edge of the sofa, plucking clump of fabric between our fingers. My guitar still rests upon my thigh, my fingers of my other hand lightly plucking at the strings as it drapes over the body of it.

“Whatttt, I haven’t heard Matt play in forever, he has basically shut himself in here for a week” Chris groans and wipes his hands over his face as he slumps on the third’s shoulder which pushes him to the side.

“Jesus Chris its not that bad, you will hear him more after the talent shows.” He retorts as he pushes Chris’s body weight off of him with both arms.

“Well, it’s nice for you two to show up...” he speaks with a calmer tone than previously as he then hints towards me with a simple head tilt.

Both the two boys turn their bodies in my direction and abruptly pause their sentences. An awkward silence comes over us and I offer a weak smile.

“Oh, my bad, whoops” Chris mutters towards me, becoming a little quieter than before and stepping back towards Matt “Nick, why didn’t you tell me someone else was here dude.”

“As if I fucking knew” Nick sighs as he side-eyes the younger boy. He turns his arms outward before dropping them to his side once more.

“Guys this is Alyia, she is the one who I mentioned who can actually play guitar without making our ears bleed.” Matt points his drumstick at me and waves it in a tight circle while leaning on one of his drums. He hints at me with a sincere smile.

“Uh, hey?” I practically mumble these words to the group of them; they all face me with blank expressions as we grow quiet in unison, the only sounds being the scratch of Chris’s soles on the rough carpet as he shuffles his feet subtly.

A meek wave is given as nick raises his hand to me hesitantly. He looks to Chris and Matt, rolling his eyes as they don’t speak again.

“So, you were the one who scared matt shitless the first time you met?” Nick’s voice fills the awkward silence.

“I mean that’s one way to put it I suppose”

Great introduction Ally

“Guys look, this is nice and all but why are you two here exactly. You are never here this early unless I beg you to join me.” He pauses as he ponders about the situation that he made clear “wait, did Nate drive you here?”

Nick nods his head strongly as does Chris, who has stopped shuffling his feet now.

“Yeah, Nate did give us a lift, and all Nick did was play Melanie the entire 15 minutes. I gave up and put headphones on” Nick then lightly elbow’s Chris in the ribs with gritted teeth, his gaze remains on Matt’s drums.

“Anyway, Miss Ackley is rounding up the bands for a final practice between people for tomorrow, we said we would grab you and bring you there.” His arms cross over each other and he sighs heavily.

“Fuck. This early? Damn, whatever…” A long sigh escapes his lips as he pushes himself up from his previous slouched demeanor. He slicks his hair one last time as he stands up and paces towards his backpack which seems far too empty to contain more than one book, maybe a pencil case if you’re lucky. Perhaps it was because the straps were worn out and tired from previous years. We were seniors after all.

I track his motions with my gaze, watching Matt’s footsteps hit the ground harshly, more so than on average. I can feel the vibrations under my own sneakers.

Both Nick and Chris race ahead of Matt, already leaving the doorway they previously crashed through with energy. However, Matt slacks behind whilst I turn my focus back to my guitar, expecting him to follow suit and walk out.

“You should come watch the show tomorrow, I’d like you to see that our practice wasn’t in vain.” His fingers pick at the chipping wood that hug the door frame.

“You sure? Its not like you needed the practice to begin with.” I raise an eyebrow and let out a breathy laugh for a short moment, which is only interrupted by his words.

“I’m positive. I’d like to see you there for at least one song.” His eyes essentially plead at me as he feigns a pout with his bottom lip, hoping for me to surrender, which I do.

“Fine. One song got it.?”

He salutes at me and pushes himself from the doorway, letting his fingers linger there for as long as he can before he turns the corner. That leaves me sat alone in the music room, which hasn’t been the case since before I met Matt. It feels wrong now.

After a few minutes, the silence becomes too deafening for me to work in so I pack up my equipment and leave the music room in search of the library. I couldn’t work in that silence I once used to wish for every day.  

-

The talent show was never all that important to me, if it was I would more than likely participate in it with my guitar. Matt is the only reason I ever showed up this year. I’ve only known him a week and normally I would just refuse, however, the fact that he is playing and playing well makes me want to go. Finally having someone else that can actually play music is more appealing to a musician than you may think.

-

An alarm blasts from my phone reading 6:15pm.

Shit. I’m running late.

I grab my bag, shoving some basic necessities into it as I exit my room in a hurry and speed down the stairs, skipping a few at a time. I turn the corner of my banister, quickly placing my hands Infront of me to stop myself from crashing into the cream-coloured wall that is now facing me. I use that momentum to push myself towards the front door, grabbing my keys on the way out, letting the door slam behind me.

*Matt pov*

“Hey Quinn, can you help me set up my drums? I got shit to do real quick” I walk offstage and adjust the earbud in my ear slightly, tilting my head as I do so.

“Uh sure? Just give me 5.”

I only respond with a nod from behind having already walked past Quinn whilst I walk to the main dressing room. The hallway echoes with my shoes squeaking as I walk heavily with long strides. People inside immediately perk up and glance to the door that swings open.

“Yo, Nate you coming out or what, I need you backstage on music, we have to start in 10 minutes.” As I talk, I seem rushed and a little stressed with my words; everyone is so nonchalant about the fact that they all have to be ready in 10 minutes and I am the only one currently onstage.

Nate stands up and walks towards me, grabbing my wrist lightly and pulls me out the doorway, the door lightly clicks behind us unlike the crash that I had previously made.

“Dude, you have to understand that this isn’t a theatre or concert. No need to stress, no one cares this much but you.” He jolts his elbow into my rib with a smile on his face.

“Ugh” I groan and roll my eyes, leaning off from Nate’s grip which remained on my wrist. “I know, I know, I just want it to go well. I rarely ever get to show off my drums to anyone, let alone a whole school.”

“Well, I’m ready, go get Martha and Dan and finish setting up. I’ll get my shit turned on now, ‘aight?”

A sigh escapes my lips as I nod my head slowly and separate from Nate, returning to backstage. I feel relief when Martha and Dan wave me over from their positions they take on stage behind the curtain. I take faster strides to my drum kit which is now fully set up and, looking back over my shoulder to see Quinn give me a thumbs up which I appreciatively reciprocate.

Once I take my seat my leg immediately bounces up and down making the floorboards under me creak ever so slightly. My fingers follow the same pattern and start to spin my drumstick meticulously between each finger one at a time circulating my hand repeatedly.

I get a cue from Nate at the side and I immediately force my foot on the bass pedal and strike it steadily. After 8 counts the snare and floor tom got added to my rhythm. By now the curtains have started to open for night and draw to each side. I try and focus on the beat I’m creating but my eyes can only fall to the audience and I start to scan almost instantly. At first, I’m not sure what for but then my brain catches up with itself.

Alyia

Dark Red – Steve Lacy

The steady, rhythmic beating of drums fills the air around me and I concentrate on the flow of my beat. I allow myself to fall further into the base lines I provide and I consistently hit the skin of the drums accordingly. I let my eyes look up to the crowd in front of me. Even though my drums are placed towards the rear of the stage, the lighting hoisted above me, allow me to see each audience member with ease. The lights aren’t harsh however since a slight red tint provided all our eyes with a little more comfort than the original hospital white shade.

Occasional glances flick between the audience and my drums as I attempt to locate Alyia, she never promised me she would attend, I just hoped she had promised herself.

I can’t tell if I am stressed about being on stage for the first time in ages or what but my heart is racing more than my anxiety ever normally causes it to. My hands are slightly clammy but I blame that on how much I’m playing the drums and moving my body.

As my body forces me to look at the audience once more, heads turn to the back of the hall, now facing the right-hand side. I follow suit and glance over in that direction. The side entrance has gently been pushed open and someone has walked through. Their back is turned to me and I momentarily put my concentration back into the music and timings. Curiosity gets the better of me once again and I exhale deeply, slipping my tongue between my lips to wet them briefly and I fix on the door again as I attempt to make out who entered.

My eyes squint as I focus on the person for about ten seconds before I finally realize who it is.

Alyia.

She actually came? I didn’t think she was serious when she agreed to the one song. Granted she was a little late. Nothing I minded at the moment, however.

I see her quickly set eyes on the stage, examining it quickly. I watch her eyes as they fall to my drum kit, lingering on the school logo on the bass drum. She hesitates as her eyes met mine, her expression, inscrutable. I maintain eye contact before I break it to change the pattern of my beats. And by then her own focus changes too.

When I am finally able to take my eyes away from the drums, the song is over. Dan and Martha don’t stay on the stage long enough to even acknowledge the people they had just performed to and they simply wandered off stage. I remain sat down on my stool. I plant my feet flat on the ground and use force to swivel my position back and forth as I drink from a half empty water bottle. I flip the bottle between my hands before I replace it with the quieter options of my sticks which rhythmically spin amongst my first few fingers to the beat of the song in my head – the song I was playing next.

Ride – Twenty One Pilots

I then notice some movement out of the corner and I turn my neck to see a hand waving at me. A confused expression grows on my face as I narrow my eyes off stage. I notice Nate standing next to the singer of who I’m playing for next and a worried expression is visible on the both of them.

A sigh disperses into the air for what seems to be the millionth time tonight and I push myself off my seat, lightly hitting the side of the cymbal with my hip as I brush past.

“What’s going on?” I finally reach where they are and stand closest to Nate, crossing my arms across my chest.

“Jess’s guitar string just snapped.” An exasperated sigh leaves the singers lips as he hands me the broken string from his own palm.

“Shit, uhm...” I inspect the string and based on the thickness I immediately knew it was a D string. My hand lays flat, holding the string in front of me and I hand it back them.

“It’s just a D string, I have spares in my bag, Nate will show you where it is.” I face Nate then nudging his side.

“Uh yeah sure, we will be quick Matt, promise.”

I nod before walking back onto the stage, and back to my stool which now is cold due the lack of body heat. With my legs only being covered in some black, denim shorts it makes me jump back somewhat.

-

After five minutes of delay, the ‘host’ announces the singer and guitarist’s names to the audience. I sigh with relief as I pick back up my drumsticks and get into position.

It’s not long after that I confirm everyone’s set up and intro the next song, after the initial counts of 8 I provide, the guitarist and piano audio that Nate creates joins in with me.

This song starts much more smoothly than the first few songs I played and everyone’s skill set is higher and much more practiced too. My sections are more complex than the last song however, I enjoy the flow and atmosphere enough to ease that stress and relax me.

Halfway through the song, the chorus plays for the second time and my arms relax into the repeated pattern which allows me one more chance to look into the audience. The first people I notice are Nick and Chris. Nick has one of our cameras out, fortunately without the flash on as Chris goofs off next to him which results in Nick jolting his knee into Chris’s. I roll my eyes at them and the pace of the song slows down. The lights dim gradually as we approach the final seconds of the song. My muscles stop tensing since I can play softer and leisurely. A deep breath fills my lungs and glance up into the audience, I instantly meet Alyia’s eyes again and we both smile, mine definitely showing more than I mentally allowed myself to, but I stopped caring quickly when she broke eye contact with a roll of her eyes.

-

My drumsticks finally rest upon the floor tom drum and I’m now sat backstage closest to the audience whilst I pack up my things. I grimace when I feel resistance in my ears from the earbuds I put in 2 hours ago now.

Once everything is packed up, I can only wait until the next song is over until I can leave this heated environment. The only distractions from time that I had were quick exchanges with two people I previously performed with, my bottle clattering on the floor next to me and another mini staring contest with Alyia that I ended this time.

-

“Finally.” I mutter when the host begins their ending comments to the night, I hold my coat between my arm and ribs and swing my backpack onto my right arm, praying my bottle didn’t fall out again when I rushed down the side platform.

My eyes close themselves, only opening again when a tug on my shirt wakes me up. I stop walking and turn my head around with an initially confused expression.

“So, you invite me out here and you don’t even say hi, Matthew” The girl in front of me is finally in a clearer view with all the main lights turned on and a lack of distance between us. I study her outfit momentarily which consisted of low-rise navy jeans; a cropped purple star tee, barely covering her bra straps; a white overhanging beanie and a bunch of small accessories around her neck, wrist and fingers.

“Alyia... hey.” I snap out of my stare as I look down at my air forces which shuffle around on the floor.

“I gotta say, I’m happy you came”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

[feraltuxedo]

A Tentative WIP Wednesday

I'm in the throes of a serious bout of writer's block at the moment, but very slowly a new fic is emerging. I'm only getting a few sentences written each day, but it's better than nothing, right?

With this one, I'm sticking very firmly to my comfort zone.

Since there's been so much love for Intermezzo in the past few weeks (thank you to all of you who have read and enjoyed it), and this new fic is very much Intermezzo 2.0 in terms of tropes, vibes.... everything really... what better time to share a bit of it?

Anyway, here's a snippet of said WIP. Ex rockstar Crowley meets classical musician Aziraphale. Rock music and bickerflirting aplenty:

Aziraphale was still digging through the mess of cables on the search for one that didn’t look like it might electrocute his bass guitar, when the door opened again.

This time it really was Anthony Crowley who strode through it. In the flesh. God, he was striking. Taller than Aziraphale had imagined, and skinnier. In his Hellspawn days, he’d been dressed in heavy leather jackets and those impossibly tight jeans everyone insisted on wearing a decade ago. His hair had trailed behind him like a cloud made of pure fire when he’d strutted across the stage in snake-skin boots. Statuesque, drawn in sharp lines like a Picasso masterpiece come to life.

Present-day Crowley looked a lot more casual in a black hoodie, short hair, and, surprisingly, no sunglasses. A guitar case was slung over one shoulder, a messenger bag across the other. Like any other mortal walking the streets of London. Still outrageously good-looking, mind, middle age be damned. Aziraphale barely had time to notice the deep brown colour of his eyes, before they glared right at him.

‘Can’t get an espresso anywhere in this place. Oi Blondie, be an angel and go fetch one, would you? Double shot, no sugar.’

Aziraphale jumped to his feet. He’d never before felt quite so threatened by the words be an angel. The pathetic part of his brain that was still stuck in 2015 didn’t fail to point out that Anthony Crowley snapping at him to get coffee was the hottest thing that had happened to him all year.

Anathema stopped him with an outstretched arm before he reached the door, eyebrow raised in disapproval.

‘Don’t you fucking dare.’

He flinched at the fire in her voice before he realised it was aimed squarely at Anthony Crowley.

‘You don’t have the name, money, or credibility to boss people around these days, so shut up, sit down, and listen.’

Crowley waved his arms about to demonstrate the rehearsal room's utter lack of seating options. Even the drum stool was cluttered with assorted cardboard boxes. Anathema ignored him.

‘Aziraphale isn’t your personal coffee boy. He’s in the band, so you better treat him right or you’ll be playing without a bass, which is literally impossible.’

Crowley crossed his arms.

‘Jim Morrison managed.’

‘You’re not Jim Morrison.’

‘And the White Str—’

Anathema cut him off with a sound that could only be described as a hiss.

Anthony Crowley turned to face him again, and god-in-heaven, Aziraphale was not prepared for the effect of the man he’d spent many a lonely night fantasising about actually acknowledging his existence.

Admittedly, he didn’t look all that pleased about it.

‘So you’re actually a bass player? Like a proper one?’

Alright, that wasn’t the tone he’d hoped to hear out of Anthony Crowley’s mouth. Aziraphale picked up his bass guitar and clutched it tight, with the sinking feeling that perhaps there was truth to that saying about never meeting one’s heroes.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You look like you’ve just passed your grade four exam, paid for by mummy.’

‘Actually, I have an MMus in Performance.’

‘A what?’

‘A Master’s degree.’

Which is more than Anthony Crowley had managed. 3 GCSEs, and none of them in music, if Wikipedia was to be believed. Aziraphale held onto just enough tact not to point that out. He raised his chin a fraction and noticed a shift in Anthony Crowley’s gaze, perhaps a smidgen of respect creeping into those deep brown eyes.

‘You can get a degree in bass guitar?’

‘You can, though mine’s in cello.’

Crowley’s eyes narrowed and the trace of respect vanished, as if he had a personal vendetta against the cello. That certainly didn’t bode well for Aziraphale’s prospects in his band.

‘Yeah, well, I don’t think faffing about with an overpriced bit of wood between your legs qualifies you to play in my band. Not that I wouldn’t pay good money to see that, mind…’

The mix of embarrassment, indignation, and the hot flush of feeling star struck did strange things to Aziraphale. It made him drop his bass, which landed on his foot. This was great news for the bass, since Aziraphale’s foot was a good deal softer than the thin carpet.

Not such great news, however, for his toes.

‘Botheration,’ he yelped, grabbing the bass to lean it against one of the many amps that surrounded him.

‘Botheration?’ Crowley repeated. ‘Fucking hell, Anathema, where d’you find these people?’

Anathema’s disapproving eyebrow rose a little higher.

‘I found him at a strip club, actually.’

‘I was playing the cello!’ Aziraphale corrected hastily, as he wiggled his toes, just to make sure they were all still attached.

The G String was London’s only classical-music themed strip club. Or at least that was what the manager claimed, and Aziraphale had never bothered googling the matter. The music was easy, the audience distracted enough not to notice when he hadn’t practiced that week.

Crowley’s gaze shot back to Aziraphale, raking over him from head to throbbing toe and back. The irritation from just a moment ago made way to… admiration? Sweet Jesus, he was looking at him, and he clearly liked what he saw, judging by the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.

‘With your clothes on?’

‘Of course with my clothes on,’ Aziraphale huffed, trying his hardest not to look too pleased with the once-over he was receiving.

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias x Black Reader - A Sky Full of Stars

I didn't finnish my Man United content so I'll leave that for tomorrow, here is the Ruben fic! 😝

18+

Summary - Ruben takes reader to a Coldplay concert.

Enjoy!

"Girl, I don't even like Coldplay....." You whispered into your phone.

"Then why are you going to see their concert?" Your best friend asked, laughing at the fact.

You looked back over your shoulder. Ruben was still in the bathroom getting ready. You could hear him, humming along to the speaker that he brought in there.

"Apparently Ruben loves them." You sighed.

"He does? I didn't know that?"

Neither did you. He had suprised you with the tickets last minute, saying that he would love for you two to go. How could you say no?

"Do you even know any of their songs?"

"No." You snorted. "Maybe one song. That living la vida loca..."

"Wasn't that Ricky Martin who sang that one?"

"I don't fucking know? All I know is that I won't be able to enjoy myself at the concert because Coldplay don't play no music that makes you want to dance!"

Your friends lughter drummed in your ear "I agree. Aren't people just jumping up and down at their concerts?"

"Probably. I'll let you know how it goes."

"Okay girl. Remember, you're doing it for love. Perhaps Ruben will agree to see Beyonce Renaissance with you?"

"I doubt it, but thanks."

You hung up the phone just as Ruben left the bathroom.

"You ready to go?" He asked.

You stood. "Yes. Am I overdressed?"

You wore a red thin laced dressed, that hugged the shape of your body like an hourglass. Ruben on the other hand, wore beige chinos with a white shirt, leaving the top buttons undone.

"I don't know?" He muttered, eyes looking you up and down. "Turn around, let me see what's behind."

"Ruben. " You gasped.

He chuckled. "You look fine babe. The car is waiting for us downstairs."

You grabbed your purse and let Ruben escort you out of the door.

"Car? Aren't we taking yours?"

"Nah, it will be too difficult dealing with parking and stufff. Besides, I thought we could check into a hotel later."

"A hotel, why?"

You arrived downstairs. Ruben held the car door open for you to get in.

"No reason. He shrugged. "I just thought that it could be nice to finnish the day off with...."

"The two of us checking into a hotel?"

Ruben blushed.

You nodded. "Okay, it's a date then."

He smiled. "It's a date."

The concert was more or less what you expected it to be, a fully set Ethiad Stadium with people jumping amongst each other in a crowd. You didn't know the majority of the songs that were played, however, you did enjoy the light show that they put on. Apparently the wristbands you were given upon entery lit up and shifted colors, creating a swarm of lights amongst the people in the crowd.

"Are you having fun babe?"

The night had its moments though.

There was one song they played that made the whole crowd sing along, creating the most amazing atmosphere.

"What's this song called?" You asked. You were leaning your back against Ruben, swaying in his arms. It was soothing, the vibration of his chest as he sang along with the rest of the crowd.

"It's called A Sky Full of Stars." He said, lowering his head to whisper into your ear.

How fitting, you thought, with the glowing wristbands. Looking down, it did indeed look like you were surrounded by a sky full of stars.

"Do you like it?"

"The song?"

He nodded.

"Yes, it's good."

Ruben set his hands on your waist and brought himself down to plant kisses along your naked shoulder.

"I'm glad you're having fun." He whispered.

Blood rushed through your veins as he kept serranding your shoulder and neck with kisses, almost making you lose your footing.

"Ruben." You moaned. "Wait until we get to the hotel."

Seems like he couldn't wait. The concert ended and Ruben didn't seem cable of keeping his hands to himself during the car ride to the hotel. He leaned over to caress your legs, tugging at the hem of you dress as the two of you made out in the car like two horny teenagers.

"We have to stop." You gasped, when Ruben cornered you in the hotel elevator, on its way up.

"Ruben, please." You gasped as he backed you up against it, making you fall back flat against the matress.

"It's your fucking dress." He groaned, forcing himself to stop kissing you.

Arriving at your floor he lead you down the hallway, towards your hotel room. He slid the keycard into the door and did not waste anytime to take in the room. You were only staying for the night and all you seemed to need was the bed.

He grunted in response, too mesmerized by your legs that lay spread before him. He rolled up the hem of you dress to your hips, exposing your belly but most importantly, your damped underwear.

"You're hot for me too, no?"

You chuckled and pulled the hair on his head, wanting for him to stop admiring your wet pussy and come up and kiss you. He did so for a little while, allowing your tounges to dance in your mouths. But then he traced the kisses bellow, clearly more interested in what was happening down there

"Fuck Ruben."

His fingers caressed your opening, pushing your panties to the side. By now you were all his, swollen and glistering for him to enter you.

He threw your thighs over each of his shoulders, keeping them steady by pressing down on his palms.

You squealed as he licked across your swollen bead, taking the whole thing into his mouth, sucking it dry.

"Ruben please. You're gonna make me come too fast."

He ignored your plea, desperate to have you in his mouth, his tongue warm against your folds.

You raised your hips and began circulating the movement, so that Rubens rough beared caressed just the right spot. Along with the pressure applied by his tounge you were no match for him. Your body began to tremble, with you arching your back and fisting the sheets.

"Fuck." You said, coming down from the high, catching your breath.

Ruben came back up to place sloppy kisses in the crook of your neck, caging your head in between his arms.

"Why are you so good at that?" You asked, your chest heaving up and down trying to restore your breath. You probably didn't give half as good blow jobs like Ruben ate you out.

"I guess I was hungry." He chuckled. "And your pussy taste delicious."

His erection caressed your inner thigh as his weight lay on top of you. You reached down to unbuckle his belt. His lips kept latching on to your neck, making it a bit difficult for you to concentrate.

"Do you have any condoms?"

He paused and raised his head. "No, I forgot. Do you?"

You shook your head. "I'm not on anything either."

"You mean..."

"No birth controls."

"Do you still want to do it?"

"If you don't mind the risk of having a baby." You chuckled.

Ruben looked you dead in the eye, his gaze undoubtedly determined, his expression unmoved. "I don't mind." He said.

Your smile faded a little, mostly out of sheer suprise.

"Ruben I..."

"It's your choice of course."

"Thanks." You muttured.

Your thoughts drifted a little, to the moment you and Ruben shared during Coldplays performance of A Sky Full of Stars. You wished that moment would have lasted forever, with you leaning against Ruben and him swaying you in his strong arms. You remembered the swarm of lights, how they glowed so beautifully in the dark.

"You okay?"

You returned to the present. Ruben tucked one of your fallen braids behind your ear, letting his thumb stroke your bottom lip. It was plump from all the kisses, so was his.

"We could just go to bed." He shrugged.

You shook your head. "I want to fuck."

He chuckled, but then his expression was serious again. "No condom?"

You nodded, quite sure of yourself. "No condom."

That was all you had to say for Ruben to pick up where you left off.

You lay under him, his weight on top of you. He kept his pants on, only rolling them down just enough to pull himself out of his underwear.

His hard length, slapped against your folds as he raised his hips, trying to find your entrance.

You gasped in his ear as the first thrusts left you unadjusted to his size.

"Tell me to stop if it hurts." He grunted.

You shook your head, "Don't stop, just go slower."

You collcted a bundle of his hair as he pressed you against the matress once more, this time sinking in and out of you with ease. He kept at it, taking pride in the way your breath hitched with every stroke.

Your dress got torn somewhere along the way, with Ruben cupping your breast in one hand and sucking the nipple of the other, all this whilst his rough movments rocked the hotel bed, no fear of breaking it.

At one point you saw stars, a sky full of them. You knew that Ruben could see them too, because his body moved as if he was about detach himself from you, to pull himself out last minute.

"No, stay."

You trapped him with your legs around his waist.

Panic struck his voice, "Y/N, I'm about to..."

"Then do it, inside me."

"You sure?"

You nodded. "It's what I want."

It was a new experience for the both of you, coming together like this. With one last sloppy thrust Ruben knocked his hip bones against yours, emptying himself inside of you. You felt yourself clench around him, your walls closing in on him, sucking him dry.

"Fuck, Y/N. That was amazing." He said, dumping his body next to yours.

"Mhmm." You muttered, not really satisfied.

Ruben noticed this and raised his head. "Didn't you come?"

"Not like I usually do."

"Oh."

"But it's okay Ruben, I don't need to..."

He shook his head, refusing to listen to your protests. Scooting closer to you, his hand slipped below the sheets.

"Ruben I..."

"Sshhh." He hushed, his lips against your ear. "Relax."

His fingers began circulating your clit, slowly at first but with an increase of movement as you began to make noises again. Embarrassing noises, since you were the only one making them this time.

"Ruben, please I...."

"Shhh." He hissed. "Just let yourself go."

You did, or at least you tried to. And there was the stars again, appearing in the sky and all around you."

"Ruben I..."

He entered you with his fingers, hooking them against your clenching walls.

"Ruben please."

"Just let go."

You bit your lip, struggling to contain the throbbing fountain within in you.

"There." He said.  As you with one last clench of your walls came all over Ruben's hand.

He seemed to enjoy it, boyishly grinning at you.

"There." He repeated. "Now we can go to sleep."

You drifted off with his words, dreaming of newborn babies and a sky full of stars.

[jimsbeetroot]

Omg hiii!! I am in more need of Sid stories so might as well request one could you do a Sid x reader where it’s before a show and he wants some help with the face paint and the reader she helps him and it’s just a cute soft fluffy moment between them

yes yes yes! love this! I’ve wanted to write more Sid but I can’t seem to think of any scenarios! Please write if you have some ideas so my light bulb can start working again hehe. a/n; my favourite Sid mask is honestly his gray chapter mask. it’s so awesome, almost cyborg like, and with the metal plate it’s just become my favourite!

“paint me like one of your french girls?”

-

The hum of anticipation buzzed through the backstage area, where the familiar stench of rotting masks, sweat and metal filled the air.

It was the usual chaos before a Slipknot show, with crew members rushing about and the distant sound of drums being tested on stage. You’d poked your head out minutes earlier to get a look at the filled venue. The unbelievable crowd was a sea of smiles, some old, some young. But they all had one thing in common; they’d come to see fucking Slipknot. You could still hear the audience humming from the backstage room and it never ceased to amaze you, how far the band had gotten.

But amidst the frenzy, you were with Sid, tucked away in a quiet corner, away from the madness.

Safe to say, Sid wasn’t feeling it today.

He was sat crouching down, fiddling with some cables from his turntable. He was a genius at music, but he was your own personal and private handyman. The man could fix just about anything. Cars, tractors, motorcycles; he’d even managed to fix your damaged laptop once. There wasn’t a thing the man couldn’t do. But, there he sat, cursing under his breath in frustration. Somebody had messed with his turntable setup and he was forced to take matters into his own hands, seeing as the tech was sick. He knew how to, that wasn’t the problem. But he was fed up and annoyed that he had to deal with technical issues that could’ve easily been avoided.

Sid was wearing his black suit. The one with the red accents and patchwork.

You watched him intensely. His mask was on the floor next to him. You couldn’t see his face because his back was facing you, but you could feel the frustration reeking from him.

“Fifteen minutes, people!” A staff member yelled. “Fuck,” Sid hissed. You bit your cheek and took a step forward.

“Anything I can do?” You asked carefully. He could tell you to piss off, and you wouldn’t take it personally. But he didn’t. Sid turned around and forced a smile on his lips.

“Can you actually find my paint? I think it’s in my black bag,” Sid said. You nodded and swiftly, you made your way to his black travel bag, which he brought everywhere. You fished around and found the black paint. On your way back to Sid, a victorious ‘yes!’ was to be heard.

When returning, Sid was standing up, mask in hand and smiling at you, the frustrated look, long gone.

“Figured it out?” You asked him. He nodded and opened his arms. You met his embrace and wrapped your arms around him, letting his fold over you.

“Yeah. I’m punching Rick for leaving me to deal with that, the next time I see him,” Sid said, referring to his tech. “Wasn’t he like, really sick?” You asked, chuckling. Sid shrugged, “Probably too much Taco Bell.”

You grinned at his joke and shook your head. “Don’t be rude. The man just likes his burritos.”

Sid pulled you in for a kiss, his taller frame bending down to reach your lips.

“Paint me like one of your French girls?” Sid asked. Silence fell over the two of you before you both erupted in laughter. “No, seriously. In the last two shows, the paint has looked like shit. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. It’s just black paint,” Sid said and shook his head.

“Sit down,” you said and put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him softly towards a chair. He sat down on the chair and you plumped down right on top of him as if his lap was your own, personal seat. It was.

“I think you should do three layers,” you said and opened the container of black face paint. You dipped your index finger into the creamy mixture and wiped it over Sid’s chin. “My patience is non-existent,” he responded.

“I know,” you scoffed with wide eyes, having experienced his impatience well over a hundred times before. He grinned and shrugged his shoulders.

"Hold still," you murmured, your voice soft, almost teasing.

He chuckled, the sound low and comforting. "I'm trying, but it's hard when you're this close, ya know?"

You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks, but you didn’t let it distract you. Moving to his eyes, you gently brushed the paint around them, filling in the gaps his mask left exposed. His eyes never left yours, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze, but it didn’t make you nervous. It was like he was grounding you, making you feel steady even when your heart was racing.

"All done," you finally said and leant back to admire your work.

Sid grinned, his teeth gleaming under the new layer of paint. "Thanks, babe," he said, his voice a mix of gratitude and something softer, something just for you.

He leant forward and captured your lips in a quick, tender kiss, his hand gently cupping your cheek. It was a small gesture, but it was full of the unspoken connection you shared, a moment of calm before the storm that is a Slipknot show.

When he pulled back, his mask was back in his hand, ready to be put on. "You wanna do the honours?" he asked, holding it out to you.

You took the mask from him, carefully pulling it over his head. As you secured it in place, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride, knowing you're the one who helped him transform into the wild, enigmatic Sid Wilson the crowd was about to see.

Sid was everything you wanted. He was crazy when he wanted to be, but he was also beautifully kind, calm and sympathetic. You wanted to hide him away to be yours forever and always.

"Go kill it out there," you whispered, your hand lingering on his chest for just a moment.

Sid gave you a nod, the intensity in his eyes now fully masked by the terrifying persona he wore on stage. But before he headed out, he leaned in close, his voice low and full of affection. "I'll be thinking of you, Y/N."

And with that, he was off, disappearing into the chaos, ready to give the performance his fans were waiting to witness. But even as the crowd roared and the music started to pulse through the walls, all you could think about was the warmth of that kiss and the softness behind the mask, a softness only you got to see.

[humanrindswrites]

overworked

summary: lars works too much

pairing: lars ulrich x female reader

warnings: fluff, comfort, mentions of overworking and nervousness, food

word count: 1686 words

a/n: this takes place before the damaged inc tour in 1986

The sound of drumming got louder and louder as she made her way through the house. She knew that Lars was going to spend the best part of the day practising for the tour, but she didn’t expect him to be playing so late into the night. The migraine she had from the noise wasn’t expected either.

She covered her ears and screwed her eyes shut as she got closer to the home studio he’d had built, unsuccessfully trying to keep the noise from reaching her eardrums. She braced herself for an onslaught of sound and shoved the door open, trying to make her movements as loud as possible to match him.

Inside, she found Lars at his kit, stripped down to his underwear and covered in sweat. His hair was tied back and held down by his headphones but what escaped stuck to his forehead. She watched him as he played wildly, his toned arms slicing the air as the sticks struck each of the drums, his eyes screwed shut in concentration. There was no way she would be able to hear him, but she was determined to get his attention somehow.

“Lars,” she said, her voice raised enough for her to hear over the beat but not enough for him to hear.

Gingerly, she stepped towards the kit, the vibrations forcing their way through her body until she swore she could feel her bones rattling. She shouted his name louder only for him to still not hear him. Starting to get frustrated, she carefully moved around to stand beside him, avoiding the wires on the floor and his flailing arms.

His headphones were plugged into a stereo beside him, presumably playing the song that he was practising. She pushed the pause button to stop the song and he kept drumming for a few seconds more before realising that there was no sound.

“Hey, what gives?” he said to himself as he took the headphones off and turned around, the shimmer of cymbals fading. “Oh, hey. What’re you doing here?”

“Lars, do you know what time it is?” she asked him and folded her arms over her chest.

“I dunno, about 7?” he said as he got up from the stool and set his sticks down on top of the stereo.

“It’s ten-thirty.”

Lars’ eyes went wide and he shot up from the stool to look at the time on the stereo. It was indeed ten-thirty at night.

“Fuck,” he breathed in disbelief. “I’ve really been practising all day.”

“You have and I want to go to bed soon,” she said and took his arm to lead him out of the room. “Have you even eaten today?”

The sudden sound of his stomach growling was exactly the answer she was looking for. To his friends and fans alike, Lars was known for always eating something. The fact that he’d been practising for so long without even getting up for a single potato chip showed how committed he was to the tour.

“I should go eat something, I guess,” he said as he stumbled around the kit. “No, maybe I should shower first.”

He babbled to himself over what he needed to do first and almost tripped on his headphone wires as he tried to make his way out of the room. Thankfully, she caught him before he could fall over and placed her hands on his shoulders to ground him.

“Okay, just take a breath for a moment,” she said. “Which is more important right now: food or not being sweaty anymore?”

Lars stopped for a second to think, his decision made for him by a bead of sweat running down his temple.

“Shower first,” he said. “Then food.”

“Good choice,” she said with a smile before leading him out of the studio, helping him to cross the wires without getting his toes caught on them. Lars’ habit of playing at home barefoot had caused many unfortunate accidents in the time since the studio had been put together and no amount of cable organisers helped.

“Join me?” he asked when they reached the hallway.

“I was about to go to bed,” she said, her voice trailing off as Lars stroked her face with one of his taped-up fingers.

“Please?” Lars asked, giving her his best puppy-dog eyes. “I’ll wash your hair for you.”

My hair is pretty dirty, she thought as she let him guide her to the bathroom.

True to his word, Lars did in fact wash her hair for her in addition to his own. If they hadn’t been standing up under red hot running water, she would have fallen asleep from the feeling of his fingers massaging the suds into her scalp. They'd both had equally long days, but she hadn’t spent hers practising for an upcoming world tour. 

But that didn’t stop Lars from taking care of her. Even when his arms were aching and he could barely stand up anymore, he wouldn’t put himself before another person. Especially not her. 

Neither of them had the energy or willpower to cook, so she ordered pizza while Lars dried his hair, taking his time to meticulously style it despite going to bed soon. She’d never understood why he cared about how his hair looked before going to bed, but she wasn’t going to argue with him about it. If it meant he wasn’t going to bed with soaking wet hair, she’d put up with him causing an electric surge by using two hairdryers at the same time. 

The pizza had arrived just as Lars had finished drying his hair. Thanks to him being a notoriously unpicky eater, she’d ordered what she wanted for them to share. They sat together on the sofa, flicking through TV channels showing only test patterns before settling on one of the talk shows that were about to wrap up. 

“Y’know, I really needed this,” Lars mumbled through a mouthful of pizza. “You made a good choice.” 

“You think every food choice I make is a good one,” she said after swallowing a bite of her own. 

“That’s because they are,” he said with a smile before placing a greasy kiss on her cheek. 

She giggled and wiped her cheek before they continued to eat in comfortable quiet, watching the show and seeing what else was about to come on before the channel shut down for the night. 

When they’d finished eating, they cuddled up together on the sofa, letting MTV play in the background while they both fought off sleep. She knew Lars could practise for hours on end and still have extra energy left over, but this was different. It was as if he’d forgotten how to do anything but drum. 

“Are you feeling okay, honey?” she asked him softly.

“M’fine,” Lars mumbled into her shoulder. “Just tired.”

“No, you seem like you're worried about something. What’s going on?”

Lars sighed and ran his fingers through his hair as he sat up.

“I just don't want to fuck this up,” he said, tiredness showing in his voice. “I don't want to let everyone down.”

“You’re not going to let anyone down, you’ve played so many shows now it’ll be as easy as breathing.”

“Yeah but this is a world tour,” he said, miming a ball as he talked. “Sure, we had that European tour last year but this is so fucking different.”

“It sounds exciting to me,” she said and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “But I can see why you’d be a little nervous. I wouldn't be able to even set foot on that stage and just stand there.”

“Hmm, you are a bit of a chicken in that regard,” he said and wrapped his arms around her waist before pulling her closer to him. “I wish you could come with me.”

“I wish I could come too,” she said and rested her cheek on the top of his head. “I always wanted to go to Japan but I think there are more important things for me here right now.”

“Will you come next time? It’s not easy being on the road all the time, but you being there would make it so much easier.”

“I’ll see if I can,” she said and softly kissed his head, the light scent of his shampoo filling her nose.

“I really do want you to come with me,” Lars insisted and unwrapped himself from her to take her face in his hands. “I miss you when you’re not around, and I feel like I’m not so stressed or worked up about performing.”

“That’s because I’m the one who’s always telling you to come to bed and stop working so late,” she said with a soft laugh and rested her hands over his, her thumbs stroking his knuckles. “You’re such a workaholic, I don’t know how to you it!”

“It’s called ‘being committed’, my dear,” he said and shot her his best fake smug grin. She laughed again and took his hands away from her face before kissing him, literally wiping the grin off his face.

“I think you should be committed to getting some sleep right now,” she said as she got up from the sofa and pulled him to his feet. “C’mon, we’re going to bed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lars said and grabbed the remote to turn the TV off. “But y’know I’m going to end up doing the same thing tomorrow right? I’ve still got a fuckload of practising to do.”

“I know, and I’ll just drag you to bed again,” she said as she led him to the bedroom, turning off lights as they went. “I don’t want you to be dropping dead from exhaustion before that first show.”

“I know, know,” Lars said, in a falsely resigned way. “I am the glue that holds this band together, y’know.”

“I dunno about that, the other guys may disagree with you on that one. Especially James,” she said as she made her way into the en suite bathroom to brush her teeth.

“They can disagree all they want, they know it’s true!” he called after her.

[shyphonics]

Salad Days Chapter 5: We Are The One

This chapter is certified 18+™ for smut and light mental health crisis (we've all been there... right?)

I'm sorry if I'm rusty lol. Also, I made a tag list! Let me know if you want in :) this is looking like it's gonna be pretty long.

one | two | three | four

It’s your turn for soundcheck now, and… Jesus, you’re actually nervous. It’s been forever since you’ve been nervous.

You’ve played The Strike every week for about a year now, slowly creeping your way from dead Monday shows, to decent Thursday shows, to electric weekend shows.

You’ve worked your ass off to move from the merch table spot in the dark, at the edge of the dance floor, to one of the spots under the lights and the AC unit.

You know every person here, at least by face, and they know you. Either from the band or the bar. Except for Rodrick and his friends, that is.

You’ve never headlined before, though, and something about your first time is making you shaky.

So, here you stand, face to face with yourself in the bathroom mirror. Jessica, your lead guitar, is against the wall, cool as can be in her vinyl pants. She blows out a long puff of smoke, and fluffs out her short, green hair with one hand.

“We’re gonna be fine. It’s like any other night.”

But it’s not like any other night, not to you.

Is it Rodrick? Are you trying to impress him? That’d be really fucking stupid. You don’t do what you do to impress people.

That, and you’re pretty sure he’d be impressed no matter what you do.

But…

You don't quite know what's happening to you, whether it's how good he’d looked on stage, or the feelings that overcame you when that douchebag sucker-punched him.

Maybe it's a combination of both.

On stage, he'd been sexy and self-assured. Playing those drums like it was nothing. Making your heart flutter with a wink and a smile, like you were a dumb lovestruck teenager at her first concert again.

After that guy had hit him… he got vulnerable. He'd looked so sad, defeated almost. Hurt, not just physically, but emotionally. It made you wonder if those two had a history. It made you want to latch onto him and make him all better.

It seems like Rodrick, whether he’s aware of it or not, knows just where to hit to take down your walls.

“We gotta go,” Maureen pops her head into the restroom.

You push your little emotional breakthrough back in and take a deep breath.

This isn't the time for that.

You climb the side steps, as you have a hundred times, and start fighting audio cables until everything looks right.

Pink cord goes from amp to overdrive pedal. Black cord goes from tuning pedal to bass.

Fuck. Is that even right? You don’t know anymore.

Low notes come from your amp, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

Everyone else is all set up, and you look around. It’s time.

Soundcheck is quick. Too quick. You adjust your setlist with your foot, and stretch out your fingers.

Eddie pushes his glasses up and gives you a thumbs up.

You just gotta start, and then you’ll be fine.

“Hey fuckers!” Your voice comes out more powerful than you'd expected, “We’re The Shrieks!”

The crowd comes alive. Deep breaths.

The lights are up, the crowd is buzzing and you- wow. You're glowing. You look so confident and fucking cool, all lit up in gold stage lights.

Rodrick watches as you and your bandmates give each other a nod.

A note rings out. A second. A third. A fourth.

The song explodes, and Rodrick’s mouth falls open. You’re hopping, and shaking your hair out, really hyping yourself up.

Then you open your lips. Rodrick is enamored. No high school crush he ever had could compare to how he feels right now. He gives in to the movement of the crowd, and it feels like being in the ocean. Bodies all moving as one.

There’s a smile on his face that just won’t go away. He’s never been to a show quite like this.

He holds on to the front of the stage just to watch you, taking in the absolute power you’re giving off. Trying his best to read your lips and hear every word.

I am the one who brings you the future

I am the one who buries your past

A new species, I come from the ruins

I am the one that was made to last

We are not Jesus (Christ!)

Oh, no, we are not fascist (pigs!)

Oh, no we are not capitalist (industrialists!)

Oh, no, we are not communists

We are the one

We are the one

We are the one

We are the one

The party’s still going, even after everyone has shuffled out and the doors are locked. Mike has commandeered the sound booth and is playing “some shit from the good old days.”

You're up in the storage loft above the stage, wrapping up cables and boxing up mics. You close a tackle box full of neatly rolled cords and notice Rodrick down by the stage.

You sit and just watch him for a minute, trying to figure out if your bathroom mirror crisis was just pre-show jitters.

He looks like he's looking for you, craning his neck around and slowly spinning in place.

He's just such a dork.

You’re not sure if you can even be snarky with him anymore.

It's been a really long time since you had a crush on someone. Especially one like this. You're used to being in control, giving no more of yourself than you want to. For all you know, when you get down there, you'll be giggling like an idiot at his mercy.

Pull yourself together.

“I love this song,” you drop down from the storage loft, hopping off the stage, landing in front of Rodrick. Trying to play it cool.

He jumps when you appear, a smile spreading across his face.

“You were amazing.” He sighs.

“Back at you,” you restrain yourself from grinning.

You're still buzzing with adrenaline, and it spurs you on to try something. You step forward, and clasp your arms behind his neck.

His eyes widen, but after some hesitation, he brings his hands to your waist. The two of you begin to sway, a little uncoordinated, to the music. You look up into his eyes. He looks nervous, but a small smile is beginning to form on his face.

Your giddiness starts to fade away, and you feel a little more in control of yourself.

“Did you go to your prom?” You ask.

“Hell no,” Rodrick scoffs, “Did you?”

“I didn't even graduate,” you laugh, “so no. But it explains why we're kinda bad at this.”

“I don't think we're that bad,” He attempts to spin you. You both break out in a fit of giggles as your back hits his chest and you recenter.

“I wanna do that, like, every weekend forever.” He sighs.

“That's not a hard ask. I can show you some of the other venues when I'm free. You guys will be working the circuit in no time.” You look up at him.

Rodrick’s smile is so genuine. He looks completely content.

The world disappears around you as you get lost in the song, swaying and spinning, staring into each other's eyes. You've never been so glad to have taken a chance on someone.

“How's your lip?” You ask.

“It's okay,”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not really.”

You hesitate, then lean upwards, testing the water.

He seems to be thinking the same thing, and he leans down to meet your lips.

The kiss is warm and familiar, all traces of awkwardness are gone. It feels like you know each other. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek and pulls away.

“So am I allowed to like you now?” His voice is lower than before. He holds you close to him, one arm tight across your lower back.

“You feel like you could pass a field sobriety test?” You smirk.

“Yeah?” Rodrick raises an eyebrow.

“Okay. You're allowed.”

He laughs, rolling his eyes, and leans in to kiss you again, but you both quickly turn to the sound of someone clearing their throat. It's one of his bandmates, the blonde one. He's avoiding looking at either of you.

“Hey, Rodrick, uh, you two…” He clears his throat again, “The other bands invited us out to eat, and we were gonna go… but it looks like you're busy.”

Rodrick blinks at you, “Are you gonna go?”

“Yeah, let's go. You should get some carbs in you. Soak up all that booze, or you're gonna have a bad morning.” You detach from him, and walk towards the back door.

Your car is parked right next to their van, and Rodrick looks like he's hesitating getting in with his friends. You roll your window down and raise your eyebrow at him.

“Do you… wanna ride with me?”

He looks surprised, “Can I?”

“Yeah, get in.” You lean over and pop the door open, butterflies swirling in your stomach.

He bounces into your passenger seat, beaming.

“You know where to go, right?” You shout into the van. Rodrick’s friends give you a thumbs up.

You roll the window up, and pull out of the parking lot.

Rodrick is drumming on his knees to a song playing in your car. You watch him out of the corner of your eye and smile a little. You think of the day you met him, all pent up energy and rock n roll, baby!

Big, dumb dog.

He moves a hand to your thigh and continues drumming the rhythm. You feel a blush creeping onto your cheeks. His eyes are locked on your thigh as it bounces to the beat.

You pull up outside the old Waffle House, and it looks like you're the first to make it.

“Let's wait,” you sigh, leaning back, turning up the music.

His hand stills on your thigh. You close your eyes, honestly exhausted from the show.

His hand moves upward to rest in the crook of your hip, and the corner of your mouth curls up. You turn your head to look at him.

“What're you doin’?”

“Nothing,” he says, trying to sound inconspicuous.

Rodrick’s heart is going a mile a minute. He'd been so confident back at the bar, but here, with you, just you, he’s freaking out a little.

He studies your face in the glow of an orange street light. Your eyes, the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips. He wants every feature burned into his memory forever. His hand is warm against your hip. You put your hand over his and he smiles.

“What, did you get scared or something?” You smirk.

“No…” Rodrick lies.

You kiss him again, and he melts into it. He slips one hand into the back of your hair and pulls you closer. You maneuver over the center console to get in his lap, and he breathes out deeply. The kiss gets messy, like all the energy of the night is coming out between your lips. Your hands are shaking. One rests on Rodrick’s shoulder, the other in his hair, and you make a noise as he bites your lip lightly.

“Sorry, is that okay?” He whispers.

You pull him in, and bite him back harder.

He groans, and his hold on your waist tightens.

He's snaking a hand under the hem of your shirt, when there's a tentative knock on the window. You pull away from each other.

“God dammit!” Rodrick pants.

It's Ward, with a hand over his mouth, feigning being scandalized.

“Oooooooh,” he taunts, when you're both out of the car, “I knew it.”

You roll your eyes, and keep the door open with your foot as the guys pour in. People from the show are everywhere, this is a decently common occurrence. You find a seat between your band and Rodrick’s at the bar. Maureen, your drummer, offers you a fist bump, and leans into your ear.

“He's cute,” she whispers, “did you drive here with him?”

You nod, suppressing a goofy grin.

“Do you think you're gonna…?”

You shrug.

“Up to him,” you whisper back.

The waitress, a blonde with a buzz cut and a face full of piercings, greets you by name, and asks, “Usual?”

Once your orders are in, Rodrick puts his hand securely on your thigh.

“Do you guys come here a lot?”

“Oh yeah, at least every weekend,” you lower your voice, “That's Jeanine, she's our regular. Then Martin and Rosie, who have worked here since the beginning of time. Then there's Carla. She's new. Last weekend, she and Martin were fighting because she kept getting orders wrong.”

He narrows his eyes and looks at each person you point at.

“Do you just come here to eavesdrop?” he asks quietly, suppressing a laugh.

“It's fascinating. Just watch.”

The two of you eat in silence and observe the inner workings of Waffle House.

Rodrick nudges you as Carla scrapes a plate into the trash, and Martin yells, Dammit, Carla! Chunked and covered! Not scattered!

Carla throws her apron to the floor and flips him off with both hands. Fuck you, old man!

“Oh shit,” you whisper.

“Damn,” Rodrick turns to look at you.

As your eyes meet, and the bell on the door jingles aggressively, you can't hold in your laughter anymore.

"He's such an asshole." Rodrick whispers, giggling in disbelief. Does every diner job just suck ass?

"I know, this Waffle House is under a dictatorship," you laugh

You both calm down, and end up just staring at each other.

“Rodrick, I don't wanna be too… forward, but…” you trail off.

His face goes blank.

“Do you wanna… get out of here? With me?”

Rodrick drops his fork, and snatches his tab off the counter.

“Yes,” his voice is feverish.

You follow behind him, and wave goodbye to everyone on your way out.

You'll absolutely get teased for this later on, but who gives a fuck?

Now, I've drunk a lot of wine and I'm feeling fine

Gotta race some cat to bed

Oh, is there concrete all around?

Or is it in my head?

Rodrick’s hands are on you the moment you shut your front door.

He backs you up against it, bringing his lips to yours once again. His lips creep down to your jaw, then your neck. Then he's on his knees, pushing the hem of your shirt up, kissing your stomach, your hip bones.

Your hands are in his hair, stroking and tugging.

“I don't know what it is about you,” Rodrick murmurs between kisses, “I just knew, I had to…”

“Me too,” you laugh a little, “I'm not usually this easy.”

He grins deviously up at you, undoing your bottoms.

“So you don't bring someone home like this after every show?” He gives your waist a little bite.

“No, god, no,” you chuckle, “this should be too fast, but something about this, you just feel right."

“Why me?” He pauses, looking up at you.

“You're just,” you look down at him. His dark doe eyes drill into yours, plump lips slightly open. You feel his hot breath on you, and it sends a shiver up your spine, “Jesus, you're just fucking hot. And you're not, like, an asshole about it. You could've taken any girl in that bar home tonight.”

“I wanted you,” his lips twitch, and without hesitation, he lifts you up, and sets you back down on your kitchen counter. He plants soft kisses on your thighs, and pauses to look up at you. It makes your head cloudy.

“Can I try something?” His voice is breathy.

You're still recovering from the shock of being lifted like that.

“Yeah,” you say, in slight disbelief, looking down at him.

He plants a kiss on your panties, and then removes them completely. You heartbeat skyrockets.

“I might be kinda bad, but… I've always wanted to try.”

You watch him gaze over your wetness. You truly cannot believe what's happening right now. He looks lustful, but focused, like he's trying to form a plan. Then without warning, he just dives in.

You hadn't expected much from him, but damn, he knows what he's doing. A shocked moan leaves your lips.

Your body feels electric as he snakes his tongue through your folds, finding all the places that make you whimper. He grunts, and you practically feel it reverberate through your whole body. You wrap your legs around his head and pull him closer. His tongue circles your clit and you throw your head back. His plush lips cover so much ground as he gives you a light suck.

“You sure you've never done this before?” Your weak voice teases him.

He pulls away with a pop, making you shudder.

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head, “I’ve just thought about it a lot.”

“Well, you're doing fucking great.”

He gives you a sly grin and goes back in.

Your back starts to arch as he flicks, and sucks, and swirls his tongue. Your moans mix with his soft grunts and you realize you're starting to come undone. You grab a handful of his hair and roll your hips.

“Keep going,” you gasp, “I-I’m…”

His eyes flick up to meet yours and that does it. Your body jolts, and you squeeze your eyes shut as an orgasm rattles through you, the counter cool against your body.

He slows his actions, and comes to rest on your thigh again.

When you're recovered, you sit up, and put your hands on his shoulders. You kiss him hard, tasting yourself, and feel a new arousal awaken in you.

“Was that really okay?” His eyes plead with you.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You pant, holding his face in your hands, and he looks bashful, “Best I've ever had.”

You hop down from the counter.

“Your turn.”

“Are you sure?” He stutters.

You take him by the hand, and lead him across the small apartment to your bed.

Rodrick’s breath is shaky as he leans against the edge.

“Take your shirt off,” you tell him, and he does.

His eyes are hazy with lust, and he grunts when you kiss him. You run your hands over his chest. The muscles in his core are tight, and you can feel his heartbeat. Hard and fast.

You kneel, and your hands find the tight bulge in his jeans. He bites his lip as you unbuckle his belt and free him from his boxers.

It's a good length, fairly weighty, and he groans when you take it in your hands. You look up into his eyes and lightly roll your tongue over the tip. His knees buckle, and he sits back on your bed. You chuckle and scoot closer, steadying yourself between his legs.

“So… safe to assume you've never done this either?”

You fit him further into your mouth, trying to wet as much as you can.

“One time… almost,” he says, labored, “we were in a car and the cops knocked on the window.”

“Fuckin’ pigs,” you shake your head, then take him in as far as you can get him.

He lets out a long, low noise. You grasp the rest of his length with your hand and pump lightly. His thigh shakes under your other hand as you swirl your tongue.

You catch his eye and come up for air, licking him from base to tip. His eyes roll back, and you laugh.

“Should I keep going, or is this gonna take you out of commission?” You tease.

“Please… keep going,” Rodrick breathes.

His mind is foggy as he feels himself enter your mouth again. He can't even process what he's feeling, all he knows is he never wants it to stop. He doesn't feel in control of his own body. His hands desperately search for a grip on your comforter as you bob your head.

He tries his best to focus, to keep his eyes on you, but he feels something in himself start to slip. He throws his head back and closes his eyes, barely keeping himself up on his elbows. His legs tremble as he feels himself hit your throat and he lets out a long moan.

Then your mouth is gone, and he opens his eyes, desperate for the feeling to come back.

You crawl on top of him and straddle him.

“Scoot back,” you murmur, and he obliges.

You lean down to kiss him, and his hands come to rest gently in your hair.

Something still feels weird in his head. He doesn't think he's drunk anymore, but even the low light of your apartment feels too bright. His ears are ringing, maybe still from the noise of the bar. He feels his heart start to beat out of his chest, and he holds on to you for dear life.

It feels like he's dreaming, but maybe as long as his hands are on you, he'll be okay.

You're saying something. The words don't quite reach him, but he nods anyway. Eager for something to pull him back into reality.

A little voice in the back of his head is hissing. He tries to blow it off, but it's persistent, fighting him.

You don't deserve this.

Fuck his stupid brain. He wants to be present with you. He wants to hold onto every little second of this, keep it forever. It feels like you're far, far away from him, even as he watches you take your shirt off and feels your hips, warm on his.

The ringing in his ears subsides a little as your lips touch his again.

“Let me know if you want to stop, you look a little overwhelmed.” You whisper.

“No,” Rodrick urges, “I never wanna stop,”

You laugh, and start to kiss a trail down his chest.

He sighs into the feeling and closes his eyes.

The fuzz in his head isn't gone, though.

Yet.

It'll go away, he knows it.

He just needs to focus. On you, on how good you're making him feel.

On how good he'd made you feel, he's pretty damn proud of that.

Just stay in the moment.

Please, just stay in the moment.

And now I'm ready to close my eyes

And now I'm ready to close my mind

And now I'm ready to feel your hand

And lose my heart on the burning sand

And now I wanna be your dog

And now I wanna be your dog

And now I wanna be your dog

Well, c'mon

~

tag list: @crumpets-are-better-with-jam

[ashleybutcrazy]

Callio fun facts

as the title says, here are some fun things about Callio regarding her career at the music store!

-played the ukulele like a bass (scroll down to see an image of it!)

-licked the smudges off guitars

-dusted off fretboards with her nub of a tail

-sang (meowed) to customers if they held her up to a mic

-hopped up on the electric piano

-checked that amps are properly plugged in (and if they were not, she would gently bite the end of the cable with the utmost care to not puncture it, and waddle cutely and determinedly across the shop to the proper place)

-hit the drums with her paws

-batted shakers around

-gathered dropped guitar picks into a pile under a chair (these would be used to reward customers who pet her favorite spot)

Here is Callio playing the ukulele (modeled after my own) as part of an art trade with the incredible @kokolencha!

[hellishchrissy]

hello random gareth/el thought: el experimenting with hairstyles and trying them all out on gareth. her favorite look is definitely the pigtails, she just thinks he looks so sweet 💕

that is all

It's a pretty nice Saturday afternoon, one of those first days of spring that actually feel warm on your skin, and the sunshine is no longer accompanied by a cold breeze. Summer of 1989 is fast approaching, its first rays of light filtering in through the windows of Gareth's mother's garage.

He's back from college for spring break, and though there has been many promises made to his mother about the garage getting cleaned, it's as much of a disaster as before – if not worse. Gareth has assured her, over and over, that this time he’d get to it. Instead, the place is a chaotic mess of empty beer bottles, tangled cables and music gear.

And it’s not like Gareth has a chance to focus on playing his drums for an entire week straight when he’s away at college – he’d barely scraped through his midterms, and a dorm room isn’t exactly a place where you haul a drum set with you.

So here he is now, sitting on his worn-down stool, headphones over his ears while trying to nail down the drums of a Metallica song that’s been looping on his Walkman for the last twenty minutes. His dark brows are furrowed in concentration, head bobbing to the beat, a drop of sweat on his forehead as his hands fly over the drums. But every now and then he misses a beat, and quiet curses fall off his lips. He rewinds the tape.

As if the song itself isn’t challenging enough, there’s another distraction making him miss a beat here and there: El’s standing behind him, her slender fingers in his hair as he plays. Her hands are separating his curls with methodical precision, tugging and grazing at his neck in a way that makes it hard to even hear the song blaring in his ears. She’d done this before – probably hundreds of times – but it’s always a distraction. Today, more so than usual. Her cool fingers send jolts down his spine, making it damn near impossible to keep time.

“El,” Gareth murmurs, tearing the headphones off his ears in a hasty movement. He lens back his head so that he can look up at her standing behind his stool. “You’re distracting me.”

El grins when their eyes meet, but her fingers don’t pause their braiding. “But it looks so good, Gare. You could wear your hair like this at the gig next week.”

Gareth snorts, shaking his head against her hands. A grin tugs at his lips. “Babe, I don’t need to look good for a metal crowd. I just need to be able to play the drums.”

Which sure as fuck is impossible right now, with the way her touch is electrifying his veins.

“You can do both,” El teases, fingers still deftly working over the last section of curls.

Gareth lets out little laugh, low and rough. “You’re seriously overestimating my multitasking abilities here.”

El doesn’t respond, but merely gives him the soft, knowing smile she’s perfected during the years, the one that makes Gareth’s chest warm with affection despite the fact that he’s been lucky enough to witness that damn smile for over two years now. For a moment he just sits there, the headphones hanging loosely around his neck, listening on to El’s quiet humming as her fingers twist his curls—

The drumsticks clatter onto the floor.

And before he can even think twice, Gareth shifts on the stool, twisting around enough to snake an arm around the unsuspecting girl’s waist. He pulls her sideways onto his lap, his other arm wrapping around her to steady her some more. A surprised yelp falls from El’s lips as she falls against him, landing with a quiet little thud. Gareth’s left hand settles instinctively on her thigh, holding her steady as she looks up at him with a laugh that lights up her brown eyes.

“Gare, no, you’re all sweaty—“

“And you’re evil,” Gareth murmurs, leaning downwards. El’s wearing an old band t-shirt of his, worn and stretched out from washing, and the sight of it makes his heart skip a little beat.

El grins up a him, her arm making its way around his neck to pull Gareth downwards. “Am I distracting you now?”

A grin mirroring El’s tugs at Gareth’s lips, his heart thumping against his ribs. “You have no idea,” he mutters.

Gareth’s hand moves up and down her thigh in a way that makes El shiver, his ring-clad fingers brushing against the denim of her shorts. It’s something he’s done hundreds of times before, the gesture familiar, comforting and so, so distracting. El’s breath hitches the way it often does when Gareth’s touch is a little too casual; she swats his hand away with a laugh, her gesture playful.

“You’re trying to get the song right, remember?” She says, her voice soft but firm. Her brown eyes narrow.

Gareth groans, over-dramatic. His forehead drops against her shoulder, the softened fabric of her t-shirt brushing against his cheek. “Yeah well, maybe I care about you more than I care about Metallica.”

El grins, shaking her head. She pushes against his chest with her hand. “Don’t even try. You’re obsessed with Metallica.”

“Well, yes, but I’m obsessed with you more,” he says, half-serious, half-teasing, his light eyes twinkling.

His words make El laugh, her body vibrating in Gareth’s arms. Her hands grab the collar of his flannel, pulling him downwards and onto her lips.

Gareth is grinning against her mouth.

El lingers for a bit before pulling back. “Get back to work,” she commands, her fingers giving his brown curls – now already falling out of the untied braids – a playful tug before she hops off his lap.

Gareth’s eyes follow her, and he wipes a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He bends down to pick up the sticks from the floor. “You’re killing me, Hopper.”

“Maybe you’re just getting rusty.”

Gareth laughs, tilting his head back. “Rusty, huh? Sure, babe. That’s what this is.”

El throws her an amused glance over her shoulder. Gareth pulls the headphones over his ears again, rewinding the familiar song on the Walkman. Metallica’s trashing riffs fill his ears, far too loud for his own good. And though he tears his gaze away from El and forces himself to focus on the drums, he can still feel her touch lingering on his skin. Distracting him, her laugh still echoing in his ears, drowning out the song blaring from the headphones.

God help him, he’s gonna fuck up the song again.

[1mnobodywhoareyou]

emotional damage

willex | gen | 2,948 words

on ao3

thank you for hosting this event @jatpfebfanfest! it was great fun :D This is for the most lovely @floating-in-the-blue and I definitely experienced no crises writing for you <3 (she lies). I hope you like it! The greatest of thanks to @bbreaddog for beta-ing for me and @narcissusbrokenmirror for being my personal cheerleader! I appreciate you both so much!

“Ohhhh, look who it is Alex!” Luke teases as he catches sight of a familiar crew member helping them get set up for their show. 

Alex can feel the heat travel up his face to the tips of his ears. “Shut up!” he mumbles, trying to make sure his voice doesn’t carry across the stage. “I never should have told you.”

Alex crouches down to finish setting up his drum kit. 

“You should talk to him,” Luke insists as he unwraps a set of cables, laying them out as he goes.

“Not gonna happen.”

Alex feels an elbow rest on his shoulder and looks up to see Reggie grinning at him. 

“We talking about Alex’s favourite stage hand?” Reggie asks cheerily.

“No,” Alex grumbles at the same time as Luke excitedly exclaims, “Yes!”

Alex shoves Reggie off of him and returns to getting set up. He nods Reggie toward his own side of the stage, silently begging him to drop it. 

Reggie’s grin grows. He doesn’t move from his spot, calling back to Luke, “Hey Luke, how much you wanna bet that Alex can’t do it?”

Luke meets Reggie’s gaze and a grin of his own spreads across his face, “You’re on!”

“Terms?”

Alex interrupts them, voice laden with frustration, “Can you two not?” 

Both Reggie and Luke turn their most exaggerated innocent expressions on him.

“Not what?” Luke asks.

“Can you not make my personal life the center of your amusement?”

“That’s not… that’s not what we’re doing!” Reggie cries defensively. 

Alex raises an eyebrow, “really?”

“Really! We just want to see you happy.” 

“I AM happy,” Alex insists.

“Yeah but you could be happy AND have arm candy and someone to smash faces with.” Reggie’s grin is back as he finally leaves Alex to go finish his own set up. 

Alex rolls his eyes, “You’re ridiculous.”

“Guilty as charged!” Luke exclaims shamelessly before sending a dramatic wink Alex’s way.

Alex sighs as he turns back to his drum kit to ensure they’re set up properly for sound check. He doesn’t miss Luke’s exaggerated whisper to Reggie, “Loser buys pizza.”

“Mmmmm, free pizza! The best kind,” Reggie enthuses before returning to his bass.

“It’s rude of you to think I can’t do it!” Alex shouts back at Reggie and he’s simply met with Reggie’s signature shit-eating grin. 

“Prove me wrong!”

And Alex tries. He really, really does. He works himself up to leaving the green room and makes it halfway down the hall before he has to circle back. His second attempt has him almost all the way to the stage wings before he’s again fleeing to safety. Before he knows it, his time is up and they’re called to the stage. 

He gives it his all for their performance, the way he always does. If he maybe plays a little harder and sings a little louder, knowing that the person occupying so many of his thoughts is in the building and might be able to hear them, well then that’s for him to know and him alone. Though the knowing glances that both Luke and Reggie direct his way cause his face to flush. Maybe his thoughts are a bit louder than they should be. 

He doesn’t even know this guy’s name, it’s unfair that he’s completely taken over Alex’s thoughts.

Alex finds that after finishing their set, he doesn’t have the opportunity to even think about finding the stage hand. Between taking things down and interacting with fans, he completely loses his grasp on time. Before he knows it, Luke and Reggie are steering him toward their van.

“I WIN!” Reggie cheers and Luke sends a wry look Reggie’s way.

“You never set a time limit,” Luke pointedly reminds him. Reggie’s eyes widen, his face immediately falling into a pout.

Alex’s own expression brightens as he remembers their exchange. “YOU’RE RIGHT! You didn’t!” Alex claps Luke on the back excitedly. “Thanks, buddy!”

Luke grins, “Welcome! You still have to do it eventually though.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alex grumbles as he starts the van. He’s the only one of the trio that can be trusted behind the wheel, as hard as Luke and Reggie might try to continue to convince Alex otherwise. How they managed to get their licenses, Alex will never know. “Where we going?” he asks.

“I still want pizza,” Reggie mumbles as he buckles himself up. 

Alex turns to Luke, “What’s the band account balance say?” 

Luke reaches down and digs out their cash jar, shaking it sadly.

“Not happening, buds. Unless one of you wants to treat,” he replies. What little they do have and keep in their individual accounts is normally reserved for emergency emotional support (or making bets at the expense of their friends), not impulsive pizza runs.

“Cup noodles it is,” Alex says as he steers the van toward home, grateful for the lack of traffic at this time of night. 

He doesn’t miss the way Reggie’s face falls as he glances in the rearview mirror. His heart shatters thinking about how often he’s seen that expression. Reggie might be good at hiding his feelings behind a goofy grin most of the time but Alex knows him and has learned to see through some of the cracks. The same way they have for him.

Alex takes a deep breath, refocusing on the road in front of him.

Luke gushes excitedly from the passenger seat, “We’re gonna make it, guys. I can FEEL it. Then you can have all the pizza you’d like, Reg!” He’s speaking in his typically amped up way that makes you wonder if he’s convincing you or himself. Apparently he’d also taken notice of Reggie’s pouting. Or, even more likely, just knows their friend that well at this point.

“Yeah,” Reggie agrees dejectedly. “It’s just temporary.”

Alex shoulder checks and moves into the right lane, slowing down to make his turn. He’s just made it to the corner when suddenly something thumps against the passenger side of the van.

“Holy shit, dude! You hit someone!” Luke exclaims, pulling himself forward in the seat to look out the window.

Alex immediately stops the van and shifts into park. He slams open his door, jumping out to see what had happened. “Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit,” he recites to himself the entire time he’s rounding the front of the vehicle.

He gets around to the front passenger corner of the van and notices a person brushing themselves off and pushing away from the van. They’re just barely illuminated by the street and headlights, still shrouded by the darkness of being just the wrong side of midnight. 

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry!” Alex rushes out as soon as he notices them.

“It’s all good, man. Not your fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Alex reaches them just as they remove their helmet, flipping their hair up and over their head as they do. As soon as Alex realizes who it is, his mouth goes dry and he loses all coherent thought. 

He’s startled back to reality by the sound of car doors slamming. 

“You hit Willie?!” Reggie cries, “Dude!”

Alex is sent reeling for a second time. 

He hit his crush. 

Who has a name. 

That Reggie knows.

“How did you-? Wha-?” Alex stammers as he looks between his friends and Willie, who hasn’t stopped grinning for the duration of Alex’s crisis.

Alex shakes his head, trying to clear his head but with limited success. He redirects his attention to Willie. “Are you okay?” he asks simply.

Willie nods, “Yep, totally fine! I’ve been through worse.”

“That’s not… Okay,” Alex runs his hand through his hair. He can feel his pulse quicken and he reaches out for the van, realizing that he needs some support to remain standing. Alex feels Luke immediately shift into crisis mode beside him. They’ve been through this enough times by now that the signs of oncoming panic are clear to his friends.

Luke guides him so that he’s half sitting on the front bumper. He starts to coach Alex through some deep breathing and grounding practices to stave off the impending panic attack. It only takes a few minutes for his breathing to stabilize and he’s able to tune back into what’s happening around then.

When Alex looks up, he notices Willie’s concerned expression and that Reggie is now holding a skateboard. He must have gone hunting for it while Luke and Alex were otherwise occupied.

Luke rubs a few more circles onto Alex’s back before standing to join the others.

“You good, bro?” Willie asks.

Alex nods. He wipes his hands on thighs and stands, “Yeah. I’m good. This is weird. I’m so, so-”

He’s cut off before he can apologize. “Dude, seriously. This was my fault. I literally skated into the side of your van.”

Alex directs a skeptical look Willie’s way so he continues, “Honest, it wasn’t even possible for you to have hit me. I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

Alex stares at Willie in with combined disbelief and awe for another moment before Willie’s voice interrupts his thoughts, “I’m Willie, by the way.” Alex looks down to see Willie’s hand extended in greeting.

Alex reaches out to shake it. “I’m-,” he starts before he’s interrupted.

“Alex, I know.”

Alex’s brain threatens to shut down yet again, “You… you know?”

“Well, yeah. You’re the drummer of one of the hottest acts in town. Of course I know who you are!”

“I told you!” Luke cries as he elbows Reggie in the ribs. Reggie grunts at the unexpected contact. Alex barely registers their activity as he continues to process everything from the last… Five minutes? Night? Day? Week? How long have they been in each other's orbits for?

“Hey, Alex,” Luke calls, “you with us?”

Alex turns to glare at Luke though he has to admit (privately) that Luke has once again succeeded in getting him out of his head. 

When he turns back to Willie, he finds he’s again met with that grin. An all-too-knowing grin. 

“Reggie owes me pizza, wanna join us?” Luke directs to Willie. Alex starts at the unexpected invitation but doesn’t have time to dwell on it before-

“I do not!” Reggie exclaims petulantly.

“You do!” Luke insists, waving his arm toward Alex and Willie. 

Alex turns to look at Willie, aghast with both the realization of what Luke is talking about and the implication that Willie is expected to engage with their chaos. “You don’t have to! I’m so sorry about them,” he says before turning back to Luke, “Are you serious right now?”

Luke crosses his arms across his chest and returns a smug grin, “TECHNICALLY, I win.”

“That is SO not what I meant,” Reggie mumbles.

WIllie looks between the three boys with confusion, “Win what?”

Before either Luke or Reggie have the chance to consider responding, Alex is between them with a hand covering each of their mouths. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Don’t worry about it.”

He feels them both lick his palms simultaneously and pulls his hands away from them. “You’re both disgusting,” he says, wiping his hands on his pants.

Willie muffles a laugh at their antics. He quickly composes himself before interjecting, “Luke said something about pizza?”

Alex turns wide eyes on Willie, “You want to come for pizza? With us?”

Willie shrugs, “Yeah, sure. Except it’s my treat. You know… for the damage.” He smiles at Alex again and Alex is sure that his brain has completely left the premises.

“Emotional damage,” Luke whispers teasingly, barely audible but loud enough for Alex to hear. He directs another glare Luke’s way. Luke’s only response is a shit-eating grin.

“YES!” Reggie whoops as he climbs back into the van. Luke very quickly clambers in after him. When Alex sends Luke a confused look, Luke simply nods toward Willie in silent suggestion.

Alex lets out a soft sigh. He redirects his attention to Willie, “Do you want a ride? We know a place that’s still open and is cheap enough that Reggie can’t eat you out of house and home.” He raises his voice toward the end of his sentence to ensure that Reggie can hear him and, hopefully, take the hint.

He does. “What do you think I am?” Reggie calls back, “Some kind of animal?”

“You said it, not me,” Alex mutters under his breath and Willie coughs out a laugh. Alex smiles at Willie before gesturing toward the van, “Your chariot?” he offers.

“My Prince Charming,” Willie says with a grin as he climbs into the van. Alex stumbles over himself in surprise as he walks around to the driver’s side. He takes a deep breath and a quick moment to calm himself before opening the door and climbing in.

Alex buckles up his seatbelt. He turns to ensure Willie and the guys had done the same before shifting into drive. After another shoulder check, he completes the turn he had started before hitting… being hit by…? colliding with Willie. 

There’s a moment of awkward silence as the four of them settle into each others’ company. It of course doesn’t last long.

“So Willie, what’s your favourite Sunset Curve song?” Luke asks as he pulls himself up between the two front seats. 

Alex groans, “Really, dude? Seatbelt!”

“Hey! My seatbelt’s on!” Luke insists as he tugs on the shoulder strap that crosses his chest for evidence. 

Alex rolls his eyes, “It doesn’t count when you stretch it out like that.”

Willie can’t help but laugh at their bickering as he turns to Luke to answer. 

He’s interrupted by Alex, “You really don’t have to answer him.”

Willie smiles at Alex, “It’s alright! I love your music. I think ‘Now or Never’ is my fave though.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Luke encourages Willie to explain further.

“Luke! Seriously, not everyone is as deep into music as you are. Sometimes people just like what they like!” Alex chastises Luke again.

“It’s chill, Hotdog. I don’t mind.”

Alex sputters at the unexpected nickname. Reggie chimes in from the back, as if pulling the thought directly from Alex’s brain, “Hotdog?!”

Alex can FEEL Willie’s grin from beside him. He finds his ability to focus on the road slipping away with each passing moment.

“Yeah, from that time y’all got so sick from street dogs?”

Alex groans again, “You mean when we almost died?!”

Luke reappears between them, “Do we get nicknames too?”

“Mmm,” Willie hums, “sorry, that’s a privilege reserved only for my favourites.”

Alex again feels his brain completely vacate the premises and yet somehow he can see the grin growing on Luke’s face without even looking at him.

Alex autopilots into the parking lot for the pizza place they love. He pointedly avoids looking at anyone as they climb out of the van and into the restaurant.

“Order for me!” Alex calls back to Luke and Reggie as he beelines to the restroom in the back of the building. 

He locks the door behind him and leans up against it, trying to swallow air into his lungs. This has all been just… too much. 

Alex finally manages to slow his racing thoughts enough to push off of the door. He takes the three steps required to stand in front of the sink. He grips the edges of it and stares at himself in the mirror, unseeing. This can’t possibly be reality right now, can it? Willie is absolutely flirting with him, right? But… not directly. Through his friends. He’s not dreaming or in some alternate reality?

He splashes water on his face to try to reset so that he can go back out there and face whatever is coming next. This is good. It’s a lot. But it’s good. Willie has not only taken notice of him, but actually seems to like him? Enough to know his name and feel comfortable teasing him, anyway. Enough to explicitly tell Luke and Reggie that Alex is his favourite. Alex is never anyone’s favourite. Okay, no, he’s not going there right now. He can do this. 

He lightly smacks his cheeks to refocus.

Alex nods to himself in the mirror, satisfied with his internal pep talk. He pulls a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and dries his hands and face. He takes one last deep breath before opening the door and heading out into the restaurant.

As Alex walks up to the booth the others had claimed, he overhears Luke and Willie continuing their conversation from the van.

“That searching for tomorrow line,” Willie says and Alex can see Luke’s grin grow from over Willie’s head. Luke and Reggie are on one side of the booth, facing the back of the restaurant, and Willie is on the other side, back to Alex.

“Ohhh, that’s Alex’s!”

“I know,” Willie replies cheekily before leaning conspiratorially over the table toward Luke, “you’ve got a hot drummer.”

Alex makes a choking sound, attracting the attention of all three guys. Willie turns, resting his forearm on the back of the booth bench, Luke’s eyes widen slightly but the grin remains, Reggie lifts his eyes from where he’d been focused on taking a bite of pizza and waves at Alex with his free hand.

“Yeah, we do!” Reggie agrees enthusiastically. He takes a bite of pizza and speaks around it, “We’ve been trying to get that through his thick skull for ages.”

Willie tracks his gaze over Alex’s body. Alex can feel the flush move up his face and to the tips of his ears. 

“Cute when he blushes too,” Willie winks at Alex before turning around, sliding over to make room for him at the table.