#fun fact: this was the same gig where he pulled the ceiling down

[coco-crimson]

Fad Gadget live at The Loft in Berlin, Germany, 1984

[babybluebex]

it takes two [peter parker]

➽ pairing: peter parker x fem!reader (y/n) ➽ word count: 3.0k ➽ summary: an accidental discovery leads peter and you to discuss poly-nylons, tony stark, and aunt may’s burnt meatloaf.   ➽ warnings: awkward teenage feels, fluff, all that good stuff ➽ a/n: nerdy little peter melts my heart uwu. enjoy!

“Hey, Y/N. Y/N!”

I turned to see Peter fumbling with his books, and I extended my arms to catch them. “Hey, Pete,” I chuckled. I looked at one of the books in my hand and saw the official autobiography of tech giant Tony Stark, and I laughed. “We get it, man, you’re in love with Tony Stark.” 

“I’m not,” Peter said quickly. “Just wanna read up on my boss.” 

“Right,” I said with a click of my tongue. “The whole internship thing. That seems like a pretty sweet gig, Pete.”

“It’s…” Peter began and nodded. “It’s alright.”

“What do you actually do?” I asked, placing the biography of Peter’s one true love back on his stack of books. “Do you do paperwork? Or Mr. Stark’s laundry?”

That elicited a laugh out of Peter. Peter Parker and I had been friends for a while, since we were lab partners in eighth grade biology, and I had been one of the first people he told about the internship. As excited as he was to get it, though, he never really talked too much about it. “I do…” He began. “Um… Stuff.”

“Well, yeah, that’s what I’m asking,” I said, shouldering my backpack. “What kinda stuff?” 

“This and that,” Peter shrugged. “Sorta whatever needs to be done.” 

I nodded slowly. “Uh-huh,” I responded. “Well, since you’re not gonna tell me, I’ll tell you some big news.”

“Sure,” Peter said. “What is it?”

“I got an interview for MIT,” I grinned, and joy overcame Peter’s face. His arms instinctually went out to hug me, but his stack of books went tumbling to the ground around us. He paid it no mind and hugged me tightly anyway, rocking us as he embraced me. Peter gave amazing hugs; that’s one thing nearly everyone can agree on. 

“That’s awesome, Y/N!” Peter exclaimed. “When is it?”

“Friday evening,” I said. “And I’m freaking out really bad. Do you think you could help me prep?”

Peter had already bent down and begun to retrieve his books. “Why me?” He asked. “A-Ask Flash, he’s on the debate team.” 

“Because I don’t want to ask Flash,” I sighed. “I want to ask you. God, Pete, you got an internship with Stark Industries! Why wouldn’t I ask for your help with interviews? I mean, I assume there was an interview process…” 

“Um, sorta,” Peter said. “Yeah, yep, there was.”

My eyes narrowed. “What was that turn around?” I asked. “‘Sorta’ an interview, but also yes?” 

“It wasn’t a, uh, a typical interview,” Peter said. “I met Mr. Stark’s head of security before him.” 

“Wait, hold on!” I cried. “You’ve met Tony Stark?” 

“I told you about this!” Peter smiled. “We went on that company retreat!”

“Th-The one to Berlin?” I asked. “You met Tony freaking Stark in Berlin? How’d I not know this, Peter?”

“I remember telling you,” Peter said. “I missed those days, and I texted you asking about homework, and you told me we had a test and asked how the retreat was, and I said that it was awesome and I met Tony Stark.”

“I don’t remember that,” I said. “But come on, Petey! Please help me prep for this interview, MIT is my dream school!” I grasped his arm and pouted at him, and I said, “For me?” 

Peter rolled his eyes jokingly. “Sure,” He said with a smile, as sincere as always. “Just come by tonight, I’ll get Aunt May to order a pizza or something and we’ll work it out.” 

I hugged Peter tightly. “Thank you!” I giggled. “Hey, save me a seat at lunch, yeah?” 

“Umm, Ned’s brought a few pieces of his Death Star,” Peter began. “It might take up a lot of space.”

“I’ll help,” I said. “If you don’t mind, that is.” 

“S-Sure,” Peter said, the tips of his ears turning pink. “We could use your smaller hands for some of the more intricate parts of the build.” 

“Great,” I said as the bell rang long and high for classes to start. “Crap. I’ll see ya, Pete!” 

The day passed as slowly as any normal school day would. I didn’t have a math club meeting that afternoon on account of our faculty sponsor being sick, so I was able to go home before I went to Peter’s. I gathered all of my MIT stuff from my desk and shoved it into my bag, and I opened my computer for a minute before my mom inevitably made me come to the living room. Twitter was already open (I didn’t pay great attention during last period physics), and I clicked around the trending page for a moment before seeing, at the very bottom of the list of trending topics, something called the “Man-Spider”. It wasn’t being talked about too much, but it was a trending topic in my area; knowing that someone would probably ask about it at school tomorrow, I clicked on it. 

It was a shaky phone video of a man in a blue and red suit on the rooftop of a building that was adjacent to the videographer. “Hey, you’re that Man-Spider from YouTube!” the videographer yelled. 

“Call me Spiderman!” The suited man replied back, his voice echoing around the street. 

“Okay! Do a flip, Spiderman!” 

The so-called Spiderman flipped backwards, eliciting a whoop from the videographer. The video ended there, and I huffed out a quiet laugh. Peter was really into gymnastics; he would like this video. I tagged him, @pparker101, figuring that he would watch it before I got to his place. 

When I finally got myself up and made my way across the borough to Peter and his Aunt May’s apartment, May answered the door. She was a tall and thin woman with long hair that she usually pulled up, and she smiled when she saw me. “Aw, hey, Miss Y/N,” May said. “What’s going on?”

“Peter’s helping me with an interview thing tonight,” I said. “Is that alright?” 

“Oh, sweetheart, of course,” May said, waving her hand around. “Where are you interviewing?” 

“MIT,” I replied. “The actual interview is on Friday, but, since he’s got that internship with Stark Industries, I figured he would help me prepare.” 

“Oh, good job,” May said. “Yeah, Pete popped out to get a sandwich, but you’re welcome to wait for him. Are you hungry? I’m making meatloaf.”

I had known May for long enough to know that it was safest to skip out on the meatloaf. “Oh, I’m alright,” I told her. “I ate before I came.” 

“If you change your mind…” May sang and scrunched her nose at me as she smiled. “Pete said that you helped him and Ned with their Death Star build today; how was that?”

“Pretty great,” I smiled. “It was a lot of pieces and we’re not finished yet, but all working together was pretty sweet.” 

“I bet,” May replied. “All of you are so smart, I could never do that, even with instructions.” 

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out to see Peter replying to me on Twitter with a simple :). “Thanks, May,” I said. “Um, I think I’m gonna go set up in Peter’s room.”

“Alright, Miss Y/N,” May said and gave me a quick hug. “Have fun.” 

Peter’s room was messy as always, discarded projects all over the place, and laundry piled in the corner of his bottom bunk. I sat down on the edge of the bottom bunk and started to extract my papers and things to practice, but there was a weird sound from behind me. It was quiet and I almost missed it, but the cool breeze that hit my shoulder helped alert me to the fact that the window was open. I turned over my shoulder, expecting to see the widow accidentally unlatched and opening, but instead I saw something completely different: my best friend crawling on the ceiling. 

I couldn’t form words. I wasn’t convinced that I was actually seeing what was happening. Peter was attached upside down to his ceiling, wearing a weird onesie-looking outfit with alternating red and blue panels. He was quiet as he crawled to the other side of the room, and he extended his hand, his middle two fingers and thumb folded into his palm, and a string of white shot from his wrist and attached to the corner of the door. Peter tugged the door closed with ease, as if he had done it before, then he expertly flipped from the ceiling and landed on the carpet with the grace of an Olympic gymnast. His back was to me, but, now that I saw him better, I saw that he wore the exact same outfit that the Man-Spider wore in the Twitter video. 

“Holy shit, are you the Man-Spider?” I cried, and Peter flinched. He turned to me, his face stricken with panic, and I saw a black arachnid symbol in the middle of his chest. “You are! Holy shit, Peter--” 

“Dude, shut up!” Peter hissed quickly. His hand came up to his chest and he pressed on the spider symbol, and the tight suit loosened and fell off of his body. “I-I’m not the Man-Spider--”

“Spiderman!” I recalled from the video. “Peter, what the actual fuck--” 

“Shut up!” Peter pleaded, rushing to me and pressing his hand against my mouth. He was right on top of me, his chest nearly touching mine with each breath, and his dark eyes were wide at me. “Y/N, you… You can’t tell anyone. Please!” 

I shifted my head in order to remove his hand. “Are you serious…” I began. “You’re Spiderman? Wait, how did this happen? Was it the Stark internship, did Tony Stark do this to you?” 

“I’ll explain everything,” Peter whispered. “Just, you really cannot tell anyone.”

“Does May know?” I asked quickly. 

“Are you kidding me?” Peter scoffed. He reached down and grabbed a shirt and began to dress himself; I had noticed that, after the suit came off, he was only in boxers, but I figured that it was better not to say anything. “If she knew, she’d go ballistic.”

I sighed heavily and sat down on the bed once more. “Make this make sense,” I groaned, pressing my head into my hands. “Did this happen to you? Did you make it happen? Is this a Bruce Banner thing?” 

“No,” Peter said quickly, and he sat down next to me. “Look, it’s a really long story, but the basics are that I was bitten by a radioactive spider and now I can do weird things. Like, things I never was able to do before. I’m really strong now, Y/N, and I just… I can do that.” He said and pointed to the ceiling. “But Tony Stark found out about me somehow and he tapped me to help him in some sort of weird fight with him and Captain America. He made me that suit! It’s really cool!”

“It is!” I said quickly. “So, are you, like, an Avenger now? Is that what the Stark internship is?”

Peter paused for a moment, and his cheeks turned pink. “Yeah, I mean…” He started. “Basically, yeah, I’m an Avenger.” 

“Oh my God,” I laughed. “That’s awesome, Peter! But… Why would you keep this from me?” There was no point disguising the hurt in my voice. That was it, plain and simple. “I thought we told each other everything.” 

“We do,” Peter said. “I just… Mr. Stark told me to keep this a secret. He said that anyone who knew could be in danger. I didn’t want you getting hurt.” 

I chewed the inside of my cheek. The secrecy hurt and it wouldn’t stop for a while, but my excitement overshadowed that. “This is super cool, Peter,” I laughed. “So, the thing you just shot, do you-- Like, does your body make that? Like a spider? Was that a web?” 

“Yeah, it’s a web,” Peter smiled widely. “But my body doesn’t make them. That would be super gross.” 

“Sorta, yeah,” I agreed.

“Nah, it’s, uh,” Peter began and rushed over to the forgotten suit on the floor. “It’s a poly-nylon substance that’s loaded in these web shooters that Mr. Stark made me. They’re super strong and take three hours to fully dissolve. They come out of this shooter that I wear on my wrist.” He lifted up the silver web shooter to show me, and I grinned at it. 

“That’s awesome,” I chuckled. “Wait, does Ned know?”

“No,” Peter said quickly.

“MJ?”

“No.”

“Liz? Betty? Flash?”

“You’re the only one,” Peter reiterated. “Nobody else knows. Mr. Stark, Happy, Pepper, everyone at SHIELD, and you. You’re the only outsider.”

“This is…” I began. “This is really cool, don’t get me wrong, but isn’t it dangerous?” 

“Yeah,” Peter nodded. “I mean… Yeah. Everytime I go on a mission, I’m not really sure if I’m coming back.”

I sighed and rubbed my neck. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Petey,” I started. “But I really don’t like this. The idea of my best friend being an Avenger is super cool, but it’s scary as shit. I can’t lose you, Pete. Nobody gets me like you do, and I don’t know what I’d do if you died and I didn’t know why.” 

Peter was quiet as he came back to sit down next to me, his web shooter still in his hand. He toyed with it for a moment, then placed it in my lap. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what else to tell you. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize, Pete, you didn’t do anything wrong,” I said. “You were doing what you were told was right. If anything, Tony Stark needs to apologize to me.”

Peter scoffed. “Good luck with that,” he said. “You’re cool. Ya know that?”

“Me?” I chuckled. “You’re freaking Spiderman, dude! You’re cooler than everyone at Midtown! So, is Peter Parker, like, your alter ego? Like Batman?”

“Batman isn’t real,” Peter said pointedly. 

“The point stands, ass,” I said and shoved his shoulder, eliciting a laugh from him.. “By day, you’re a nerdy high school student and, by night, you’re an Avenger?”

“Sorta,” Peter shrugged sheepishly. “I guess, I mean… Not to brag, but--” 

“Brag away!” I said. 

“I’m supposed to be helping you with your interview,” Peter began. “I think maybe we can table this until later. Yeah?”

“Fine,” I said with a pout. “Let me get my stuff…” 

I turned to retrieve my papers and everything that I had brought, and Peter’s hand returned to my lap to grab the web shooter. The fates, though, decided to throw a wrench into our casual moment, because the ajar door burst open to show May. Before I knew what was happening, Peter had shoved the web shooter down between my thighs in an attempt to quickly hide it, and he pressed his lips to mine. I caught on instantly; his hand between my legs only made sense if we were kissing. It was an easy cover up, something to get May out of the room, and-- honestly-- probably something that May had been suspecting all along. 

“Oh!” She exclaimed and backed out of the room, and Peter gave me a tight grimace. I could almost hear him stuttering out an apology. “Sorry, guys! I didn’t mean to--”

“That’s about my luck, huh?” Peter said loudly and laughed. “It’s-- Ah, shit-- Sorry, May!” 

“No, don’t be sorry,” May said from behind the door. Peter pulled the web shooter from between my legs and grabbed his suit, and he shoved them under the blankets behind me. “Don’t let me interrupt... Whatever that was. Peter, please remember to use a--”

“May, hush!” Peter cried, and I saw genuine embarrassment rise in his cheeks. “We’re not-- We weren’t--” 

“We were just kissing, May!” I said quickly. “Nothing else!” 

“Right,” May said. “Have fun. Meatloaf’s burnt, so, if you guys want something to eat, we can get Thai. Or you two can get Thai and I’ll stay here--” 

“May!” Peter groaned. 

“Right, I’ll leave you two alone,” May said, and Peter and I held our breath until we were sure she wasn’t at the door anymore. 

“God, sorry, Y/N,” Peter mumbled, pushing his hair out of his face. “It’s the only thing I could think of--”

“No big,” I said. “But I’m sure May thinks we’re dating now.” 

“She’s thought that since eighth grade,” Peter said and rolled his eyes. “Now she has ‘proof’.” 

“I mean…” I started. Too late to go back now. “I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t thought of it before.”

“Us dating?” Peter asked. 

“I know you like Liz and MJ, so it’s always been…” I started. “Never mind.” 

“Sure, I like Liz and MJ,” Peter said. “But I like you too. Like, in a different way than I like Liz and MJ.”

“Like, in a girlfriend way?” I asked. 

“Yeah,” Peter said. He was looking down at his lap, obviously abashed and not wanting to look at me. “You’re really funny and smart, and you’re super pretty… Mr. Stark thinks you’re cute too.” 

“Tony Stark knows about me?” I asked. “He thinks I’m cute?”

“N-Not in a creepy way,” Peter said quickly. “When I went to Berlin, I brought a picture of you in my luggage, and Mr. Stark-- Well, Happy found it and he told Mr. Stark, and he said that you were pretty… Encouraged me to ask you out… Gave me… Ahem, pointers on how to ask you out.” 

“Really?” I grinned. This was amusing to find out. Tony Stark knew who I was. That was almost as cool as finding out my best friend was an Avenger. “What’d he say?”

“Some really gross stuff, to be honest,” Peter chuckled. “Nothing I’d ever say to you, not even jokingly. But… Whatever. Anyway. MIT interview--” 

I leaned in towards Peter and kissed him again, and I felt his smile against my lips. He kissed me back, his arms wrapping around me and tugging me close, and, when the kiss broke, I whispered, “So, does Spiderman have a girlfriend?”

“I’m sure he can get one if he wants to,” Peter said. 

“Does he want to?” I asked. 

“Duh!”

[troubatrain]

sober - m. barzal (pt. two)

a/n: part two every body give it up for reposting part two!!

One - Three

The sounds of skates on the ice at the Rangers practice facility were becoming almost therapeutic at this point, you close your eyes basking in it for a moment while you edited a video from a charity event the team hosted the week before. You had a makeshift desk in the hallway that led to the locker, trying to get as much work as you could none so you could try and wipe your memory of everything that had to do with Mat Barzal. You knew you shouldn’t have let him win, because men that smug don’t need an ego boost, but you did. Mika’s voice on the other side of that bathroom door was the wake up call you desperately needed. Mat Barzal was a gigantic mistake, and you had to just forget he ever existed. But, his contact was burning in your phone, Mat with a blue and orange heart just to piss you off a little bit more.

“Alright, what’s wrong?” Chris huffs out, his large frame towering over you and leaning on your desk. His eyebrows were furrowed, he’d seen right through, something was off.

“Nothing Kreids,” You roll your eyes, trying to cover up the fact that you were thinking about Mat’s mouth on your pussy in that bar bathroom, “Seriously, I’ll get over it.”

“This is about a guy isn’t it?” Chris questions, grabbing the chair across from you and sitting in it, “Spill.”

“I’m not diving into my dating life with you,” You snap back, catching yourself before your tone gets too harsh. It wasn’t that Chris wasn’t your friend, because he was, it was that you didn’t want to get caught gossiping when you were supposed to be working. Charlotte would have your head on a stick, and everything you’d been working for since you got the job would just be for nothing, “I’m fine seriously, I have a date tonight.”

You did. The night after you last saw Mat, you’d gotten bored enough to open up Tinder on your phone. A couple of swipes later, you had a date with some finance bro from Murray Hill you weren’t going to call the next day. If you wanted to get over somebody, you were just going to have to get under somebody else. Plus, in a city this big, the odds you’d ever run into Mat again were probably slim.

“Like a real date or a rebound date?” Chris asks, a humorous tone to his voice. Chris was a romantic, but you knew Chris Kreider’s were few and far between. So while you were young, you decided that it didn’t matter if you fell in love, you could do that later. For now, you were going to work hard and play harder. 

“A rebound date,” You smirk, watching Chris roll his eyes at you, “Don’t slut shame me Chris or I will-”

“I didn’t even say anything,” Chris defends throwing his hands up before you really got into it, “Just call me if he’s a creep or something, please.”

“Okay dad,” You snort, laughing and directing your attention back to the video you were supposed to be editing.

***

Maybe you should have listened to Chris. The man sitting in front of you did nothing besides talk about himself, his job, and he was unbelievably rude to your waiter. You should expect this, as if some random dude you met off Tinder would be some sort of gentleman but you thought maybe, just maybe, you’d be wrong. Unfortunately for you, you were just reminded of one thing - men are trash.

“So what do you do?” Chad asks, which could very possibly actually be his name but you’d forgotten while you were trying to block this entire night from your memory.

“Oh, I work for the Rangers,” You shrug, it wasn’t that you weren’t proud of your job. But the questions that came after were always the same, and if you were right, Chad would have the same answer.

“They must love having a pretty little thing like you around,” The words were sleazy, and they left the same icky feeling in your stomach that they always did. You didn’t want to be some pretty little thing that was around for someone’s amusement. You were an adult who had a pretty important job and you liked to be respected and in the little bubble you lived in at MSG, you were. But, no one outside of 8th and 33rd seemed to agree.

That was the moment when you realized someone’s eyes had been on you the whole time, stopping you from chewing out your date in the middle of the restaurant. Mat Barzal was seated across the restaurant, a girl who looked like a supermodel in front of him. You roll at your eyes at his cocky smile, the girl paying no mind that he wasn’t even listening to her. You pull your phone, letting Chad ramble on about how nice your gig with the Rangers must be.

stop staring at me barz

i can’t when you look like that angel

pretty sure the girl in front of you should keep you busy

pretty sure the guy in front of you is a douche, sneak out of here in 5?

in your dreams

i’ve had dreams about you, they’re pretty fucking filthy though

You stop, rubbing your thighs together subconsciously. You were on this date to forget Mat ever existed and going home with him would be an enormous mistake. One more time couldn’t hurt? Right?

call the uber loser

You watched Mat’s face light up, practically slamming cash down and saying goodbye to his date, before he skipped out of the restaurant. You shake your head at his obviousness, excusing yourself to go use the restroom and thanking whatever higher power that it was close to the exit. The second you stepped out, you could feel an arm wrap itself around you - pulling you into a broad chest.

“I like this little game we’re playing,” Mat smirks, pecking your lips while you wait for a car to pull up. You raise your eyebrows at him, waiting for an explanation, “You know, where you pretend to hate me because we’re supposed to but in reality you can’t stay away - you know how these movies end.”

“I can go back inside,” You threaten, pointing to your date who is still sitting at the table.

“Why? So you can hang out with some dude who you know can’t get you off like I can,” Mat scoffs, his ego getting bigger by the second.

“Maybe I’ll just steal your date,” You smirk, taking notice of the way Mat’s face lit up, “You’re a pig.”

“You’re not a ray of fucking sunshine either you know,” Mat scoffs.

“Your ego’s huge, I’m just keeping you humble,” You tease, pushing his arm off of you, he didn’t get to claim you like that.

“It’s not going to humble me when you’re at my apartment screaming my name,” Mat smirks, and you roll your eyes.

***

Mat’s apartment was a vague memory from the night you had spent. But, you remembered enough to point out every reason why you hated it. It was a bachelor’s apartment, filled with overpriced dark furniture that you know someone else picked out - or even worse, it came with the apartment. The view was immaculate, the floor to ceiling windows lived in the dreams of your own ideal place. The decor was typical, a few jerseys framed on the walls that you most definitely should have noticed when you left his place.

“You can say you hate it,” Mat chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist while you continued to take in the apartment, “I’m sure it’s not up to your standards.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, biting your lip to suppress the moan that was trying to escape with Mat was nibbling at your ear lightly.

“It means you know you’re better than me,” Mat whispers, “But I know there’s one thing I’m better at than you and that’s why you’re here. I can fucking ruin you.”

“Mat,” You sigh, elbowing him in the stomach while he smirked against your neck, “I’ll ruin you first.”

Mat let out a dramatic groan, “You’re such a brat.”

Before you could defend yourself and chirp him back, Mat had his large hands on your thighs while he carried you into his bedroom, dropping you on the bed. His mouth was sucking at your neck, and you knew you were going to have to invest in a new concealer if you kept this up. Well, at least he finally shut up-

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Mat whispers, his hands exploring your body, “You going to remember it this time?”

“Shut up,” You whimper, trying to let out how good Mat’s hands under your shirt actually felt. They were huge, and the rough skin against yours made your pussy flutter. Mat unclasped your bra, smirking to himself when he got it on the first try, “I’m sure you’ve had plenty of practice.”

“I have that’s why I know I’m good,” Mat smirks, climbing down your body while you shed your clothes. Mat slips his finger under your jeans, pulling your panties off in one swift motion, “Fuck, I think you know it too. Are you this wet for little old me?”

You didn’t have words for his stupidity, instead you kicked his back with the heel of your foot. You heard Mat’s laugh while he pressed open mouthed kisses to the inside of your thighs, “You’d be a lot cuter if you were nicer.”

“You’d be a lot cuter if you didn’t laugh like a hyena but here we are,” You chirped, sighing when you feel Mat’s finger slid up your folds.

Mat Barzal’s oral game was, in all honesty, immaculate. Were you going to let him know that? Absolutely not. Were you going to let him milk for every orgasm you had left? You might.

“Mat, fuck,” You let out a breathy moan, a real one trying to escape you. Mat had made you cum twice already, and his mouth was well on his way to a third before his dick even touched you.

“Let me hear you Y/N,” Mat halts his movements, curling his fingers to see if he could just get it out of you.

“Faster,” You moan out, your hips lifting to try and get his fingers to start moving again. Mat smirks, finally satisfied before his tongue swirled your clit to send you over the edge. Mat finally pulled away, wiping the sides of his mouth that were glistening from you.

“Ready for me?” Mat asks, a smug smile on his face. You nod, watching while he reached over into his nightstand to grab a condom.

“That box is awfully big,” You joke, not able to stop yourself from making fun of Mat. In reality, he probably wasn’t any better than you were, but that didn’t mean for a second you didn’t think he needed to be knocked down a few pegs.

Now, it was Mat’s turn to roll his eyes, “Because you’re such an angel.”

“I’m not, I’m the devil,” You smile, biting your lip while you watched Mat roll the condom over his cock. This part you may have remembered vaguely, but you didn’t remember how big it really was.

“Tell me if I’m being too rough,” Mat groans, entering you slowly so you could adjust to him. At least he isn’t a total douche.

“I thought you were going to ruin me Barz,” You tease, “I’m sure you know better than to talk a big game and not deliver.”

Mat’s eyes went a shade darker, a smirk on his face while he snapped his hips back and slammed back into you, causing you to let out a moan that was so loud you were positive his neighbors heard. His pace kept up, the sounds of his skin slapping against yours filled the room. You grab into any skin you could find while Mat continued to pound into you, your legs practically shaking from the feeling. Your nails dug into his skin, only boosting Mat’s confidence that he was good.

Mat gave you one more orgasm before he finally let himself go, his hips stuttering and a string of curse escaping his mouth. He stayed for a minute, trying to let you both bring yourselves down before he finally slipped out of you.

“You can stay if you can’t walk,” Mat jokes, his nude frame walking back into his room with a warm towel to clean you up. You didn’t peg him as much of an aftercare guy, especially for someone who probably got laid more than the average person.

“I’ll crawl back to Manhattan before I sleep in this bed with you,” You say while you pull yourself up from the bed. You gather your clothes, getting dressed while Mat watches you from his bed.

“So…” Mat starts, his hands behind his head in a way that was just so masculine you didn’t know if you wanted to go another round or punch him square in the face, “Did I make the team?”

“We can’t do this again,” You say, trying your hardest to keep your cool. If you were being honest, you probably would have done it again.

“We can,” Mat suggests wiggling his eyebrows, “It’ll be our dirty little secret, that’s hot.”

“Barz...”

“Y/N...”

“I’ll call you.”

“So I made the cut?”

[sadaboutniall]

Without Fear

masterlist | tag | wattpad

sorry I suck at updating. happy valentine’s day, here’s a new chapter!! 💕💕 have a lovely valentine’s 

Chapter Eight. May.

When all of this is over, I; Love me like there ain’t another day, lead with the heart, ain’t that the only way? Keep thinking ‘bout how much I changed today.

It’s surprisingly easy, then, for Niall and Lu to figure things out. It’s easy to fall into the routine of two people who can’t get enough of each other—for Niall to swing by the cafe every day after work, and for Lu to clear her weekends to watch Niall coach. They have dinner together more often than not, Ruairí sleeping at Niall’s feet while he sits at Luna’s kitchen table. They kiss on the couch and fuck on a wool blanket in front of the fireplace, Niall’s lips at Luna’s neck, Luna’s fingers clawing down his bare back. Afterwards, she likes to lie with him and trace the scratches with her own fingers, caressing the patterns that mark him as her own. 

Niall tells her that if they don’t keep it on the downlow news of their relationship will travel the island fast, and Luna will never escape questions about it—it makes her think back, so far back, to that night on the roof, when he mentioned how much Inis Mór loves its gossip. She remembers watching him that night, freezing cold on the roof of her unfamiliar flat, wondering what it would be like to truly know Niall. All she’d wanted to do then was reach out and touch his hand, feel his skin against hers—now, she does it nearly every night, without thinking twice. 

It’s one of those nights, in early May, when things change forever. 

She’s lying all over him in her bed, the way they both like to after sex, his hand tangled up in the curly mess of her hair, her fingers tracing patterns against his bare chest, the smattering of chest hair starting to bloom out across his freckled skin. Luna has the windows open and the smell of spring is delicious through the windows, even this late in the night. As a gentle breeze billows her curtains, Niall slides one hand up Luna’s bare back, from where he’d been resting it at the curve of her ass, coming to a gentle stop between her shoulder blades. She glances up at him, feeling his chest rise as he takes a deep breath, ready to speak. 

“Do you remember my mate Conor? From the Paddy’s Day party?” 

As if Luna could forget the way Conor’s brother had cornered her in the kitchen. She nods, and Niall exhales quickly. 

“Well he works at this pub down  in Dublin, helps manage it actually, and he rang me this morning while I was at work to ask if I wanted to come down and do a bit of a gig at the weekend.” His eyes are trained on the ceiling, his chest still as he holds his breath, waiting for Luna’s reaction. 

“Niall,” Luna sits up in bed, and, finally, Niall looks at her. She can’t quite figure out why he looks so nervous. “This is fucking amazing.” 

Niall breathes out a giggle, hands coming up to cover his eyes for a second. When he moves them and looks at Luna again, they’re sparkling wet. “I know it’s nothing big, just a mate doing a favor but I—my first gig in Dublin, Lunes.” 

“It is something big,” Luna doesn’t even try to temper the excitement in her voice—Niall never makes her feel embarrassed about how she reacts to things, not the way Ida, the way her old job, used to. “It’s something massive, actually, Niall. I’m so proud of you.” 

Underneath Luna, Niall flushes beautifully, his pale skin warming up with pride, love, a little embarrassment. Luna feels an impossible swell in her chest, a balloon of pride that she can’t keep from flying away, that makes it impossible to act like the chill, unbothered, cool girl she’d tried so hard to be in New York. Instead, she cups Niall’s cheek with her hand, feeling the way his skin burns up under her fingertips, and leans in for a kiss. 

-- 

And so, Luna takes her very first trip to Dublin. 

Niall can’t wrap his head around it, the fact that Luna’s been living on Inis Mór all this time and has never been off the island—not even to Galway, the closest mainland city—and Luna can’t quite figure out how to explain to him that nothing off the island is of interest to her when the island has him. Instead, she tells him it’s all for the best, anyway, that he’ll be the best tour guide or her first foray into the rest of Ireland. He smiles, and  wraps his arms around her middle on the ferry over to Galway, his body sheltering her from the violent wind and the bitter cold. Spring is tantalizing in the air, Luna can smell it in her every breath, but winter clings on nonetheless, biting and threatening. 

On the train ride from Galway to Dublin, Luna and Niall sit across from each other, Niall’s guitar at pride of place in the seat next to him. Niall takes the seat travelling backwards,  so Luna can get a proper view to  watch out the window as the Irish countryside blows past her, a blur of impossible green and infinite horizon. He falls asleep somewhere near Mullingar, in the middle of the country, and Luna finds herself watching him more than the passing landscape—the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks, the tangle of freckles on his neck, the gentle parting of his lips, the constant, comforting rise and fall of his chest as he dreams. 

They arrive in Dublin late that night, the city illuminated by golden street lights and car headlights in a way the island never is, and as they board the Luas on their way to Conor’s flat Luna finds that she’s not taking in the sights around her, but staring instead at the sky above, squinting, strangely desperate to catch a glimpse of any of the stars that make the Inis Mór nights so bright. 

All she can see are lights from planes, taking their passengers far away.

— 

In the morning, Luna wakes up to the sound of Niall’s laughter. She’s on the air mattress in Conor’s living room, where she and Niall had fallen asleep the night before, and she can tell from the sound of his laugh that Niall’s only in the kitchen, a room away, chatting with Conor. But for some reason, it feels like a million miles. 

She stretches out in bed, the air mattress creaking and deflating underneath her, and lets the sounds of the city wake her up, too, so that if she closes her eyes she can pretend this is New York—can feel like she’s back in Williamsburg, Ida next to her, the city bustling below them. As much as she denies it, as much as she loves her life on Inis Mór, Luna can’t shake the fact that there’s a part of her, small it may be, that misses living in a city. But then she hears Niall again, his giggle from the kitchen, and the feeling slips away without a second thought. 

Niall is where she wants to be. 

She pads into the kitchen, the sleeves of Niall’s sweatshirt pulled down over her fingers, and stills in the doorway for a second, the morning’s first smile working its way across her face as she watches Niall and Conor laugh over some video on Conor’s phone, their heads close together so they can both look at the screen. It hits Luna like a pang in the stomach, the fact that Niall is so far away from his friends all the time—the fact that, by staying where he is, he’s losing out on all of this. 

She thinks about herself, too, her early days in New York, before things got so bad. The late nights out with her friends and Ida, crashing at whoever’s apartment was closest to the bar they’d ended the night at, waking up in the afternoon in a pile on the couch, heads throbbing with hangovers and someone, the least hungover usually, standing with her phone out, writing down everyone’s order for the bagel place. Looking at it now, a million miles away, a whole ocean between it all, Luna knows that those moments were the most precious: those exhausted mornings, giggling over Snapchat stories from the night before, splitting bagels so everyone could get at least one bite of every flavor. There was no better feeling than that—nothing more intimate than the morning after the night before. 

Standing in the doorway of Conor’s flat, Luna realizes that Niall hasn’t had the chance to have any of those mornings. 

He hasn’t let himself. 

“Hey, petal. You’re up!”

Luna shakes herself out of her thoughts, eyes focusing on Niall, who’s looking at her with a smile on his face that makes her heart flip the same way it did back in January, when he walked into the cafe for the first time, wind blown and nervous. “We made a fry up, I put yours in the oven to keep it warm.”

“Thank you,” she tells him, her voice coming out a little croaky from lack of use. “That’s nice of you.”

“Wasn’t gonna leave you starving,” Niall smiles, standing up and making his way over to the coffee pot. “Sit down, lover, I’ll get your coffee ready too.” 

— 

Despite Luna’s dreams of spending the afternoon wandering around the city hand in hand with Niall, she finds that they hardly have any time to sightsee before they find themselves packed into the pub, Niall sitting next to her on a barstool, jiggling his leg up and down anxiously. It feels to Luna like there are more people in this pub alone than on the entire island of Inis Mór. She puts her hand on Niall’s knee, and feels him calm down, just a notch. 

She’s only on her second Guinness (and Niall’s barely managed to get halfway through his first), but it’s been a long time since Luna’s been drunk in a bar, and she can feel the effects of it—the alcohol coursing through her in a way it only does when you’re surrounded by other drunk people, the heady smell of the bar adding to her intoxication. She’s overwhelmed, like she knew she would be, but it’s not as bad as she anticipated—not scary and claustrophobic, but fun, something new and different and familiar, all at the same time. She drops her head onto Niall’s shoulder and closes her eyes, safe and sure here, with him by her side. 

— 

Niall gives, without a doubt, the best performance Luna has ever borne witness to. 

He starts playing to a loud, rowdy, packed pub, his voice barely carrying over the sounds of friends chatting to one another, their laughter flitting across the room—but by the time he’s three songs in he’s got the whole place captivated, all eyes on him, smiles on faces and pints raised in the air. By song five people are shouting out requests and Niall’s taking them, slinging a few jokes in between songs, and Luna could swear her heart has never felt so swollen, her stomach never so full with butterflies.  

It’s midway through his set, when Niall makes the ground fall out underneath Luna’s feet. 

“I wasn’t planning on doing this tonight,” he says into the microphone, “because I wasn’t sure anyone would be interested, but you lot seem like a kind enough audience. I wrote this tune myself, if you don’t mind me playing it? It’s called This Town.” 

— 

This Town is about Cormac. Luna can tell from the first lyric. It plays in her head on repeat for the rest of the night—through the rest of Niall’s set, through the heart-stopping smile on his face when he sits back down next to her afterward, through the unfathomable hour of strangers coming up to them and offering to buy Niall a pint for his performance, clapping him on the back and letting him know how much they enjoyed listening. It plays on repeat while Luna tells Niall how proud she is of him, leaning in for a kiss and tasting the Guinness on his lips, the lyrics on his tongue. It plays on repeat through the end of the night, too, Niall helping Conor put away some of the glasses after they lock up, Luna feeling like she’s watching herself through someone else’s eyes, spilling beer everywhere when she tries to help. 

Niall cleans up her mess without a single complaint, but Luna can’t stop feeling sick to her stomach. 

This Town still plays in her mind late that night, when Niall goes down on her in Conor’s living room, the air mattress rocking below them, and it plays in her mind the next morning, when they finally do walk hand in hand through Dublin, Niall stopping for selfies every time they pass a tourist spot. It plays on her mind when they board a train to Galway in the early afternoon, and, still, on the ferry back to Inis Mór late, late that night. Niall drives her home and they make out in the car for ages, his hands up under her sweater, windows open to let the spring air in. It smells like Niall and newness—the coming warmth, the longer days, the hope and life and breath that spring brings to everything. 

It smells, to Luna, like everything thawing away. 

— 

Luna’s grateful for work on Monday, the constant orders and customers a distraction from the feelings that she knows are out of line. Niall adores her, she tells herself as she brings Mr. O’Keefe his usual coffee, a song is just a song, and nothing more. 

But it’s hard to shake, Niall’s voice, “over and over, the only truth, everything comes back to you.” For so long, Luna realizes, Niall’s voice has been something special for her—something she hears in her cafe, in her bedroom, in her bathroom when the shower is on. Niall’s voice is the soundtrack to her washing dishes, to her curled up on the sofa reading while he plays guitar across the room. It’s the soundtrack to long car rides in the middle of the night, the moon and stars illuminating the cliffs ahead just for them. It’s the soundtrack to them, to Niall and Luna, and it hurts her more than she thought it would—more than it should—to realize that she has to share that with the rest of the world. 

When Niall bustles into the cafe that evening, Luna can’t hide her excitement. It feels like a million years, a million miles, since last night, when he pulled her in for one more kiss before driving home to his mom’s house. His cheeks are redder than usual when he comes up to the counter, despite the warm spring day outside. 

“Hiya,” Luna leans over the counter for a kiss, her anxieties melting a little when Niall’s lips meet hers. “You alright?”

“Lu,” Niall’s breathless, handing his phone to Luna across the counter. “Look at this.” 

She glances down at his phone, open to the YouTube app, and her hands start to shake before Niall speaks. She knows exactly what’s happening—it used to be her job, to help make things like this happen. 

“Someone recorded my gig down in Dublin,” he’s telling her, his voice so distant that it sounds muffled, distorted, in Luna’s ears. “It has a million views on YouTube, Lu. It’s—I’m going viral. People are asking if it’s on Spotify, I even had to take my Instagram page off private. Conor says I should come back down for another gig, people have been asking after me. I—Lu. I think we made it.”

####

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[coeurdastronaute]

The Story, Ch. 5

Previously on The Story

The show was at the largest venue in Bly, an old community center that doubled as town hall, wedding rental, voting station, and almost every other event in between. The bar in the back was composed of tapped kegs in containers of ice and boxes of cheap liquor, while the stage rose only two feet off of the ground on the opposite wall. Old wood beams held up the roof and giant pillars kept all of it standing, solemn and tender as they were, worn soft with age and bodies and heat. 

It felt smaller than her elementary school gymnasium, but Dani didn’t mind. The warmth of the bodies that filed in felt safe, as if she could feel every beating heart. 

Owen was kind enough to grab the first round, returning with stretched hands full of frothy pint glasses. The lights were dim, just strung up string lights hanging from the rafters, the vents propped open for added fresh air while the ceiling fans wobbled on their stems to keep everyone from roasting. Dani surveyed everything, enjoying how normal it all felt, and how weird it was to be around so many people suddenly. Laughter and conversation boomed and echoed around them, and it, too, was a comfort she hadn’t expected. 

There was something different about Jamie, as they sat down at a small, lopsided table in the corner, the whole party oddly anxious all around to be away from the house for the first time in a long time. But Dani picked up on a different kind of anxiety in the gardener. She knew it was about the rarely-seen sibling, but she also didn’t know how to fix that. Something told her she couldn’t help despite her desire to do it. Jamie hadn’t given her enough to be someone that could make this better. 

“It’s pretty full. He must be fairly well-known,” Dani offered as Jamie went half in on her drink quickly. 

“This is the only thing happening tonight,” she disagreed. “Not much entertainment coming through Bly. They’ll take anything they can get.” 

“I’m excited for some music,” Owen decided. “Time to cut a rug and such.” 

“I don’t know if I’ll remember how,” Hannah sighed wistfully before taking a demure sip of her beer. “Can’t keep up with the new stuff.” 

“What kind of music does he play?” Dani turned to Jamie who stared at the swirling mass of people. “Jamie?” 

Startled slightly by the hand on her thigh, Jamie followed the touch up the arm to the au pair’s amused gaze and cleared her throat. 

“Oh, he grew up play traditional stuff back home. Kinda branched out all over. He mostly is just in the band. This is his first band where he’s been the lead. Calls himself a Swiss Army knife of a musician. Whatever books him the gig for the next few months.” 

“It’s going to be fun,” Dani promised, quieter this time, just fo Jamie. “I’m sure he’s excited to see you.” 

“Or he needs a kidney or money.” 

“Maybe,” she shrugged, squeezing the leg in her palm. “But at least we get a night off.” 

The gang relaxed into their spot as the hour ticked on toward show time, while still more locals filled the hall, milling about, drinking and existing for a rush. Jamie, too, relaxed slightly despite her constant looking out over the crowd for familiar faces. Dani moved her hand to take a drink from her glass and didn’t put it back, but the length of their arms rested together, squished at the table. Jamie thought about that a lot. 

They were four friends, not coworkers. They were four friends, being themselves, and it was a wonderful feeling for them all. 

By the time the band took the stage, their table had the remnants of three rounds of trips to the bar, and while not exceeding drunk, they were laughing more than ever before. 

Jamie looked at her brother as he took to the mic for just a minute before turning to the au pair, oddly vulnerable in the moment. She watched Dani stretch her neck to get a better view as the lanky young man put a guitar strap over his shoulder and introduced himself. 

“That’s him,” Jamie nodded. “Mikey.” 

“You have the same chin,” Dani decided, turning her eyes to the gardener beside her, appraising her, strictly for comparison’s sake. “And... “ she smiled. “The same eyes.”

“Are you blind? His are painfully brown.” 

“No, not the color,” she shook her head. “This part.” 

Jamie felt her smile falter as finger tips touched just under her eyes and moved around to her brow, causing the furrow to soften. She just watched Dani smile softly with her observation. 

“You have eyes like a forest. Sometimes green, sometimes brown, sometimes gold, sometimes all of them at once. It’s oddly fitting. I think you might be made of the woods.”

It knocked her out to hear that. Jamie filed every word, every shape of every syllable to keep to herself and replay all night. The whole thing. The smell of the drinks on their breath. The feeling of the skin on her brow. The fact that Dani was less than a foot from her face and that was the closest they’d ever been. The way the lights overhead made her hair glow white almost, or golden sometimes. And the words. No one ever took the time to say something like that to her, but it was said so factually, so unlike a line, that it felt like maybe it was a fact. That Dani was someone who could make facts true. 

“Excuse me--”

Dani looked away before Jamie did. Time didn’t quite matter at that point, because the gardener had forgotten even where she was. 

“We already have drinks, thanks,” Dani dismissed the man at the table. 

“I already know I’ll strike out with this one,” the stranger nudged his head toward Jamie. “But I was hoping for a dance from her beautiful friend.” 

“Fuck off, Tommy,” Jamie slumped back in her chair as the music swirled to a new height, louder than should have been allowed. 

“See what I mean?” he teased. 

Dani looked to Jamie who just shrugged and relented. 

“We play darts at the pub. He’s a shite dancer and darts player.” 

“I don’t know,” Dani politely shook her head, bashful suddenly. 

“I’m a great dancer,” he promised. “I’ll show you around.”

“First one to dance with the American wins the pot, yeah?” Jamie looked over his shoulder at the table she knew to be the regulars about town. “How much?” 

“I’d never partake,” he promised, holding out his hand. 

“Go on,” Hannah encouraged the au pair. “Quite a strapping young man.” 

“I’ll be coming back for you,” Tommy nodded toward the housekeeper. 

With one more glance at the gardener, Dani tentatively took the hand extended to her. She was tugged out to the dance floor, laughing and holding on for dear life, much to Jamie’s chagrin, which she buried deep down as she tried to make herself watch her brother perform. 

“I suppose I better get my dance in while I can before that goliath comes back,” Owen stood, offering a hand to the housekeeper. 

“I’m all left feet,” Hannah shook her head. 

“Perfect. I’m alright.” 

The guitar twanged, and drums kept a beat, and the classic noises of their festivals were spun into a modern kind of feeling, alive and new but still with the steps and changes. Whatever the people had expected, this wasn’t it, and perhaps they were surprised and grateful for it. Mikey’s voice was deeper than Jamie remembered, deeper than the sparse phonecalls separated by months. He looked like their mother. He looked like his father more, and that man was a stranger to Jamie. 

But for the life of her, she wasn’t sure how he did it-- how he turned the entire place alive. 

XXXXXXXXXX

James was tall. Much too tall, Dani realized as they danced together. But he was sweet and polite, careful to ask the basic questions, compliment her enough. He made it to the second song before he was interrupted with a request for her hand by another strapping young man in a stripped shirt. 

For some reason, Dani accepted despite the annoyance of being away from her table. When she looked over, she saw Jamie alone, slouched there, but intently watching her brother. From the table, the gardener chanced a look to see the smiling au pair, glowing and effervescent as all hell. Dani kept a distance with her dancing partner, Benny from the grocer down the block. 

By the third partner, Jamie was beyond annoyed. She didn’t like the way Dani held their hands, nor did she appreciate how the boys smiled and were so polite and she kept the smile on for them. 

Only when James made his pitch to the newest woman in town, did Jamie decide that it was enough, that she couldn’t handle the fearful but polite look of the au pair, that she didn’t want to see anyone else, that she wanted to be the last one dancing with the American. 

“May I?” 

Dani looked toward the voice as James put some space between them finally. Gallant and cocky, Jamie challenged him to say no. The song swirled around them all in the stand off, outliers in the moving mass. 

“Yes, of course,” Dani nodded, dropping her hands and nodding politely to the gentleman caller who took it well enough for her sake. 

Satisfied at her handiwork, Jamie gave him a smirk as he rolled his eyes in his defeat. She held onto the victory as best she could, aware that it now meant touching the au pair, and she hadn’t particularly planned on this part of the endeavour. 

“Looked like you’d seen a ghost. Thought I might save you if you didn’t mind.” 

“He… he looked like…”

“James looks like everyone. That’s his curse, you know? Destined to be a fill-in despite my best coaching to find him a proper bride.”

Dani gave up thinking about it. She didn’t want to anymore as Jamie held her hand and pushed her hip, spinning her out, exaggerated and right on time. By the time she was pulled back, all was gone with the past and what remained was just that second. 

“How was my delivery this time?” the gardener asked with a wiggle of her eyebrows. “I’ve been practicing after my last report card.” 

“Much better.”

“I can always call him back over and we can try again, if you’d like to provide notes.” 

“That’d ruin the follow through.”

“Ah, right,” she sighed. “I suppose I’ll just have to keep saving you then, if that’s alright? Strictly for revision.” 

“Strictly,” Dani nodded, fighting her smile though it burst forth a little. 

The song shifted to the next, but neither moved, neither let go. The lights flickered slightly overhead, the ancient electrical system unaccustomed to the weight of the music and the mood. Dani softened in Jamie’s hand. She wasn’t sure how, or where it all came from, but she took a breath and washed away the nagging feeling that she was doing something wrong. She was out with friends and the music was good and the night was happening. 

The gardener adjusted their pace, deftly moving them in a way Dani hadn’t expected her to be capable of doing. What was revealed just showed the multitudes that remained hidden, perhaps under lock and key, from the average passerby. But Dani was set to investigate, no matter the cost. 

They moved in a comfortable quiet, until Dani realized she was closer than she’d been with anyone all night, and for the first time it hadn’t felt like work. She ran her thumb along the worn fabric of Jamie’s shirt, willing herself to remember just that, just the threadbare feeling and the smell of sawdust and begonia. 

“Did he call you a ‘bonnie lass’?” Jamie asked, pressed close. Dani swallowed as a hand moved to her hip. “Try his exaggerated accent and tender Scottish boy routine on you? Call you beautiful beyond compare?” 

“How did you know?” 

The smirk appeared, only this time Dani was so close she could practically miss it. Her nose nearly touched a dimpled cheek. The heat from the crowded bar and the last vestiges of summer made the moist ends of Jamie’s hair even curlier. The au pair held onto her shoulder and felt a squeeze on her hand as they moved to the pace of the music. 

“Taught him everything he knows, Poppins.” 

Dani chuckled and shook her head, pushing away slightly though she didn’t make it far, the tight grip of the gardener keeping her still as the song began to close. 

“His accent was quite charming.” 

“And ye’ don’t like mine?” Again she leaned closer. Dani could smell the sweat and Jamie-like scent on her skin, just beneath the beer and heat and wood of the bar. As the music grew quieter and the applause rose, Dani felt the tickle of breath on her neck. “Do you need someone to tell you how beautiful you are? Do you not know, Dani?” 

“I…” 

“It has been an absolute pleasure to play our songs for you tonight,” Mikey interrupted the applause. “We have just a few more for you to enjoy. Thought we could do an old favorite, spice it up a bit and really wear down these old floor boards if you’re interested.” 

The arms that were holding her up loosened and Dani was left in a daze as Jamie whistled and hooted, so that all the au pair could do was wake from the haze of the bright dance floor and squished bodies and weakly clap as well. 

In the middle of the entire group of happy, dancing humans, Dani felt, for an absolute instant, that she was free. Her hand was still on Jamie’s shoulder until she snatched it away, remembering herself. Someone shifted, and she saw Eddie’s face in the crowd for a split second, and the warmth that seemed to emanate from her very core went cold, like water on a fire. 

A drowsy guitar chord began, lazy and somewhat more old-fashioned than the previous set. Before Dani could escape it, she was stuck, and a beaming gardener turned to her. 

“M’lady,” Jamie held out her hand after a formal and deep bow. 

Dani took her hand and looked around to remind herself it wasn’t real. 

“I, uh, I don’t know the steps,” Dani whispered, fumbling slightly. 

“Good thing it doesn’t matter then,” Jamie promised. “Keep up and find me, yeah?” 

“Find you?” 

“Aye, you’re the hen in this fox house.” 

By the time the drums kicked in, Dani felt herself relax in Jamie’s gentle guiding, the music and her smile infecting her completely. Just as she was getting the hang of it, Mikey’s dulcet tone humming and vibrating the very rafters with the stamping of feet. And despite herself, the warmth came back to Dani as the chorus rang out. She lifted the hem of her dress slightly as she bounded around, completing the steps, stomping the rhythm out. 

It was sometime at the beginning of the second verse that Dani felt herself tossed, moved around from dancer to dancer, spun and laughing so loud she thought she wasn’t making a sound because the music drowned it out. She was dipped and spun, with various sized hands on the small of her back, and twisting her hand as she moved from suitor to suitor and with every passing chord she felt free and light, she felt like she was floating. Each caller seemed more eager than the one before, and Dani lost track of time itself. 

She lost sight of Jamie in it all, and dismissed Eddie’s visage in the dark corner for a moment as Owen snagged her, carefully tugging her back to the present and maybe the future, his movements no where near as easy and agile as the gardeners despite his best efforts. He lasted about ten seconds before her hips were encircled by strong arms, and Hannah found her a few seconds later, both out of breath and  brimming with warmth before Owen spun to her as well. 

And it didn’t matter that she hadn’t a partner for a few moments as Dani allowed herself this second, to not catch her breath but rather keep losing it. She felt her cheeks aching from expressing more joy than she had perhaps ever before in her life, right there, on the unsanded and stained old floorboards of the ancient community center. The lights were too bright, too hot, the fans ineffective against August and the bodies who didn’t seem to mind. Dust kicked up and floated around them while the walls seemed to shake and move with them, allowing such jubilee. It was unexpected, to suddenly be alive. Unexpected and confusing and overwhelming. 

In the middle of all of the bodies and all of the bliss, Dani found herself trying to remember the last time she’d danced, truly, honestly, painfully, deliriously, deafly danced. 

“I thought I told you to find me, Poppins,” a low voice murmured against the shell of her ear. 

Jamie was her favorite dancing partner. It was no contest really. The other dancers were great in their own ways, but never quite right;  some were too tall, and some too short, some not fast enough, and others were too slow. None of them had the smile. None of them chased away the guilt of being alive. Her smile was infectious and only made Dani’s bigger. The drinks of the evening were coming to a head into a perfect timing of buzzing beneath her skin and feet. It was Jamie who made the magic, and only right there did Dani realize it. 

“I can barely see straight,” Dani laughed, her smile poking her own ears, her movements a little more haphazard, but she didn’t care because Jamie met each and every one of them. She knew the steps now and she couldn't be bothered to care. 

The music slowed for a moment, but the crowd knew it was just gathering it’s momentum, and Dani inhaled the calm as Jamie spun her and clung, their hips close. 

“This is the best part,” the gardener promised, shuffling them along. Chests heaved to catch breath. From beneath her lashes, she looked at Dani and noted the pink of her cheeks and the red of her lips. 

Sweat slicked the curls to Jamie’s forehead, the tan of her skin not at all hiding the blush of her chest. 

“Am I going to be hunted again?” 

“With a face like that? Yeah, I’d say so.” 

“Don’t let go then.” 

As much as she wanted to freeze time, it wouldn’t, and the song continued, exploding into noise for the finale. A small curl of the guitar grew quicker, prepared to grow louder until the drums came back in. Dani didn’t hear Jamie’s response, but rather felt the grip tighten. And all hell broke loose, bodies ducking and dodging and moving. Dani tossed back her head as Jamie spun her again and again and again until it stopped with no more than a whimper.

As soon as it ended, Dani wobbled before tossing her arms around Jamie’s neck and laughing there. She let herself be spun once again, her dress flowing around her knees as the crowd applauded and cheered, the laughter milling between it all.

“Didn’t know you could move like that,” Jamie chuckled. 

“Me neither,” Dani confided, still slightly amazed. 

“Seems like you needed it.” 

“I did.” 

The next song began and with a little less confidence than before, Jamie held out her hand again. 

“Unless you’d like a break,” she offered. “I’d go for a pint--” 

Dani took her hand and moved closer again. There wasn’t the rumble of the song among the people, there weren’t steps to it, just two people pressed tightly against the rest of the room. 

“I don’t want to stop moving,” Dani sighed, resting her cheek on the gardener’s shoulder. “It’s safe here.” 

She didn’t get to see the small smile that Jamie had as she stood a little straighter, grateful her brother knew enough to play a slower song after such a commotion. 

“I suspect you might have a few attempts to interrupt.” 

“Please don’t let go,” Dani shook her head. 

“It’s going to get another thumper in a minute.” 

“Good.” 

“You better hold on tight.” 

XXXXXXXXX 

The town of Bly was nearly quiet until the bar spilled open and from the large doors, a wave of overheated bodies washed out onto the lane, pouring into every direction as the drinks were cut off and the music finally ended. It was a clear and warm night, with thin clouds occasionally hiding the stars, creating patches that tore at the evening intermittently. The respectable crowd was already in bed, and the rowdy bunch set about slinking home. 

With a bit of nerves, Jamie bit at the skin of her thumb as she toed where the dirt met the grass near the fence beneath the old lamps that led back into the town proper. Cars began humming past, kicking up dust as they dispersed despite a few roaming gaggles of drunk and laughing friends. 

It’d been nearly a decade since she’d danced so much or had that much fun. It was still swirling in her head as she came back down to earth. The continual spinning could only be attributed to the au pair and her laugh, how it bounced around the room, better than the music, and how carefree she looked, moving with such freedom it betrayed all of her power walking through the manor. It was entirely a new problem, Jamie realized, to see such a tightly wound thing break away because she was perfect before, and now it was… it was… 

She sighed and dug for the smushed pack of cigarettes in her back pocket. She just wasn’t going to think about any of it and blame everything on the stiff drinks and mixture of alcohol and music. It worked for the puritans. 

“Your brother was pretty good,” Dani offered, taking a seat on the fence. “He got all of the talent then?” 

“I’d like to see him grow three varieties of orchids,” the gardener murmured as she stuck a cigarette between her lips and began the curious search for her lighter. 

“I meant musically. You are clearly a talented dancer and botanist and camper and trainer of young men in the art of flirting.” 

She couldn’t help but smile as she met Dani’s eyes during that list. She fiddled with the cigarette, wiggling it between her teeth as she leaned against the fence. Her shoulder touched Dani’s leg, where the hem of her dress fell on bare knees. 

“Must be from the other half of his genetics.”

The flick of the lighter effectively ended the conversation, or at least she hoped, shielding it from the nearly non-existent breeze out of practiced habit. She took a long drag and tilted her head up to add to the flimsy collection of clouds hidden in the dark behind the streetlight. 

“Thank you for tonight,” Dani offered amidst the quiet. 

“I didn’t do anything but bring you to a lowbrow night at the opera. Not sure it’s in need of any gratefulness.” 

With another drag, Jamie shook her head and crossed her arm over her middle. Dani reached over and pulled the cigarette from her fingers before taking a deep drag herself. Elegantly, like a professional, she fiddled with it, furrowing at the burning end. Jamie hadn’t ever thought to imagine such a sight from the tight pony tail in human form. But now that she had seen it, she didn’t want to imagine anything else. 

“Thank you for tonight,” she repeated, handing it back. 

“You’re welcome. Thanks for… thanks for coming.” 

“I want to dance more.” 

“Lucky for you, I know a guy who can pluck a fine tune,” Jamie stood a little taller. “I’ll go fire up the band again.” 

“No no, stop,” the au pair laughed, tugging Jamie’s arm back from her faux errand. “I meant in general. I need more moments to feel… to not see… for--” Despite the smile on her face, Dani struggled to find the right way to say what mattered. Helplessly, amused at it all, she looked to the gardener. 

“To feel invincible.” 

“Yeah, that.” 

In almost quiet they passed the cigarette back and forth until Jamie tossed it to the ground, snubbing it with the toe of her shoe. 

“I should go find Hannah and Owen, get a ride back to the Manor.” 

“I was-- I could take you.” 

“Enjoy some time with your brother,” Dani reminded her as she hopped down, her hand firm on Jamie’s shoulder for support with the maneuver. “It’ll probably be another six years before you see him again.” 

“I’ll see you around then.” 

“Seems bound to happen at some point. “

Still brimming and smiling, Dani twirled as she made her way toward the car and Hannah’s form waving in the distance. 

“Night,” Jamie offered weakly, sure it never reached the target who was humming and dancing her way across the field that acted as a parking lot. She leaned over the fence and folded her arms, waiting and watching. 

“And thank you for being my fox tonight,” Dani called, turning back again and bowing, exaggerated as Jamie had on the dance floor. 

Her laugh trailed off, wafting along in the breeze, dipping and winding its way between the branches and leaves and gone, evaporated into the night and among the clouds and the smoke they’d shared.

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

No Courage - Ryan Seaman x Reader

Summary: Dallon insisted on throwing Ryan’s birthday party at the Weeke’s place, when all Ryan really wanted was to spend some time with you

Reader: female implied? idk, no pronouns, i think...

Warnings: alcohol consumption

Word count: 5 031

A/N: as promised and several days late: the Ryan Seaman birthday story. Also can someone tell me what’s up with me writing for a Ryan, the story being 4000+ words and the couple ending up cuddling on a sofa? I just think it’s perfect.

Ryan was not entirely convinced by the idea to celebrate his birthday at Dallon’s house. He kept insisting that since it was his birthday, you all should celebrate at his place, mainly because secretly he had hoped for a calm evening with some of his closest friends, who he could discreetly ask to leave around midnight in order to get some extra time just alone with you. Because let’s be honest: every time you were invited over to his place, you stayed and helped clean up. Even though he probably would not manage to be honest enough with you to tell you why exactly he loved having you over so much, he would still have you all to himself for a little while longer.

But now this plan had been foiled by Dallon, who had decided Ryan’s birthday should best be celebrated at his house. Sadly, Dallon’s arguments were better than Ryan’s. The Weekes’ living room was huge and offered lots of space for many people, way more people than would have fit into Ryan’s entire flat, and this way it had been possible to invite a lot more of his friends. Also, since the house was separated from the neighbouring houses by the garden that framed the property, they would be able to turn up the music as loud and for as long as they liked, whereas in Ryan’s flat they would need to be quiet after ten pm.

Eventually Ryan had given into Dallon’s plan, allowing Dallon to throw the birthday party for him. And so he ended up in the passenger seat of Dallon’s car, at the evening of his birthday, with you in the backseat, as he got picked up for his own party. Dallon was focusing on the street, some quiet music flowing from the speakers as the lights of the city passed by outside. He smiled as you leant forward, poking your head to the front between Dallon’s and Ryan’s seats, and pointed to one of the buildings that was coming closer, randomly dropping a fact about the building’s history.

Just a few minutes later Dallon pulled into the driveway of his home. Since it was already dark outside, you saw colourful lights skipping around inside, reminding you Dallon had spent almost the entire morning installing some party lights at the ceiling. A balloon was stuck to the front door.

In the house a lot of people already waited for Ryan to finally arrive. He was welcomed with cheers and hugs, and Awsten insisted all of you needed to sing “Happy Birthday”. After Dallon and Breezy had made sure everyone had drinks in their hands, and knew where the buffet was, people started spreading around the huge living room and the kitchen.

While you knew most of Ryan’s friends, you were not really close with any of them other than Dallon, Awsten and Josh. But as your luck wanted, they were all busy talking to someone already, so you snuck to your favourite armchair in the Weekes’ household, and sat down at the edge of the crowd, watching them.

You had never really minded being the one at the side lines. From the people in the room, you were one of the few who was not a musician or in a relationship with one. Sometimes meeting with all of them felt like stepping into an entirely different world. Occasionally it made you lonely, because you felt left out, but at the same time you knew you were basically Ryan’s best friend, and even if that did not allow you to be as close to him as you would have liked, it was still a huge honour. Even if it meant receiving phone calls from him at 2am, waking you up, in order to talk to you about music or whatever was on his mind.

You looked across the room, where Ryan was playfully boxing someone in the arm. His hair had grown longer over the past months, as long as it had not been in years. He had absolutely no right to look as soft as he did right now. Brown strands were falling in his face, and his eyes were squeezed together from smiling so hard. You absolutely loved seeing him this cheerful and carefree, so you allowed yourself to watch him a moment longer.

Across the room, Breezy’s and Dallon’s glance wandered from Ryan to you, and back.

“What if we just say we’re renovating the guest room,” Breezy asked quietly.

“Have them share the sofa?”

She nodded. “I mean, they are absolutely blind about each other’s feelings, but sleeping on the same couch should maybe get them somewhere, don’t you think?”

“Better than having one sleeping on the sofa, and the other in the guest room anyway,” Dallon agreed.

“Good, I’ll just quickly lock that room,” Breezy said, leant up to kiss Dallon’s cheek, and hurried off.

In the meantime Dallon was stuck watching how you turned away from observing Ryan, and instead scanned the room again. The second your eyes had left him, Ryan turned his head, and gazed over to where you were sitting. This was ridiculous. Everyone, literally everyone, knew that Ryan and you liked each other, and it was driving Dallon absolutely crazy that you both were too blind to realize it, or too scared to admit it.

A couple of hours later, music was blaring from the speakers in the living room. The couch and armchairs, as well as the couch table had been pushed to the side to make space for people to dance, an opportunity most were taking. The amazing birthday cake, which Breezy and you had spent all morning baking, had been eaten almost completely, and only two small pieces on a plate on the kitchen table were waiting to be eaten by some hungry party guests.

After you had pulled yourself together a couple of minutes after arriving, you had socialised a lot, and talked to almost everyone at the party. But now you had gone back to standing in a corner, watching our friends dancing through the room. Laughing you witnessed as Dallon swirled Breezy around before he dipped her, making he giggle. Some of the others were dancing in pairs as well, the rest jumping around on their own or in little groups.

“M’lady.” Surprised you turned to find Josh offering you his hand. “Care for a dance?”

Laughing you shook your head.

“I suck at dancing,” you answered, speaking loudly enough so he could hear you over the music.

“So do I,” he shrugged, still offering you his hand.

Smiling, you rolled your eyes and placed your right hand in the left hand he held out to you, allowing him to lead you a little further into the room. Turning to you, he grabbed your hand a little tighter, and placed the other on your waist, swaying a little to the beat, and striking up a conversation. Most of the time he was hard to understand over the loud music, but you caught enough of what he was saying to chat with him.

You remembered having danced with him before, at one or two other parties, and how it had always been so relaxed and fun. He was not holding you too tight, not standing too close, he did not spin you around so much as that you would get dizzy nor did he spin you so little as that it would get boring. In fact you had simply fun dancing with him.

But still you could not help but wonder what it would be like to dance with Ryan instead of Josh. You had never danced with Ryan before, at least not in the way Josh was dancing with you now; and you probably would not be so relaxed about it, always feeling like you were behaving clumsily.

Ryan in the meantime had been talking to some old band mates of his, but when they went to grab another drink, and he had turned around, his eyes searching the room for your face as always, and he had found you were not standing in the corner anymore. Confused he looked around before he spied you dancing, with Josh. You were smiling and laughing at something Josh had said, and Ryan could not help but feel a sting of jealousy in his chest as well as his stomach clenching together.

He knew Josh had no interest in you, not romantically. But what if you were interested in Josh? After all he was an amazing guy, who even asked you to dance. It annoyed Ryan that he had not been the one to ask for a dance with you first. He had thought about it, and then always pushed the thought aside, hoping he would find the courage later. And now you were dancing with someone else.

What if you started liking Josh? Maybe it was stupid to think you would fall in love with someone just because of a dance, but then again Ryan had realised he was in love with you because you had smelled on some rose bush while you were on your way walking home back from some gig, and had asked him to smell the roses too, holding the stem of the flower so he had it easier. For Ryan that had been the moment he had realised he was in love with you. Maybe he should have said it then and there on the spot, confessing his feelings with the sweet smell of these pink roses in his nose under the yellow light of some street lantern, a couple of blocks away from your home. But he had not.

Instead he knew that sometimes it were the little things that made people realise their feelings; so if dancing with Josh made you realise you had feelings for him? Ryan did not want you to have feelings for Josh, he wanted you to have feelings for him. Not that he could change much about it once it happened, but he felt annoyed anyway. If only he had asked for a dance with you first, but no, he had been too embarrassed.

Downing the last sip of his drink, Ryan decided it would probably be okay if he asked for a dance with you once the song after the next was over. But as if a higher power was desperate to make him stick to his unspoken promise, Josh let go of you by the end of the song that was playing, and even though Ryan could not understand what was being said, it looked like Josh wanted to fetch a drink as well.

Without much of his consent, Ryan’s feet started carrying him through the room and past several of his friends, while the next song started playing, and before he was fully aware what happened, he stood in front of you, holding out his hand.

“Would you like to dance?”

Ryan’s eyes were almost black in the dimly lit room, only the flickering, colourful spots of the party lights ghosted over his face. His expression was almost unreadable, but he seemed nervous.

“I-“ Surprised you stared up at him. Had you not just fantasised about this, about dancing with Ryan? Why were you hesitating? Smiling shyly, you nodded. “I’d like to.”

Uncertainly you placed your hand in his, noticing how warm his fingers were as they closed around yours. Slowly he pulled you closer to him, close enough so he could put his free hand on your waist, just like Josh had done earlier. Why did it suddenly feel like you had never danced with anyone before? Hesitantly you placed your hand on his upper arm, not daring to meet his eyes, and allowed him to guide you into a swaying motion.

Damnit, you had been right earlier when you had thought about how you would be far too nervous while dancing with Ryan to enjoy anything. Luckily Ryan seemed too focused on himself, careful not to step on your feet or bump you into anyone, to notice your slightly-off behaviour.

When the song ended Ryan made no attempt to let go of you hand, which caused butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

Luckily, both Ryan and you started relaxing over the next few songs, while he made sure never to let go of your hand. He had pulled you a little closer now, his one hand on the small of your back, the other gently holding yours, as he danced with you, spinning you out occasionally, when it fit the spirit of the song, making both of you laugh in the process.

And when the next slow song came on, he stepped even closer, so close in fact that his chest was pressed against yours now. He snuck his arm around your waist, and when you shyly gazed up at him in a mixture of surprise and adoration, you found he was already looking at you. His expression was soft, and a smile pulled at his lips as he watched your features. A strand of his hair dangled into his eyes, and following an impulse, you reached up to brush it away.

Was he blushing? It was hard to tell in the dim light. He definitely smiled a little wider, his eyes not leaving yours for a second. It felt like you were losing yourself in them, every second you did not turn to look away felt like he was staring deeper and deeper into your soul, making your heart beat a little faster, and making you fall a little deeper in love with him. The world around you fell into the background, and everything but him stopped mattering. You would have done a lot to make this moment last forever.

But later, and you were not even sure how or when, you ended up sitting on the carpet in the living room. Most of the other guests were gone already, leaving only your hosts Dallon and Breezy with Awsten, Josh, Ryan and you behind. The flickering party light had been turned off, and instead two small lamps on the wall shed warm, yellow light into the room. The playlist had been switched from upbeat songs you could dance to, to calm piano music.

Someone had prepared a cocktail for you, a mojito with a little bit too much lime for your taste. The glass stood by your side on the carpet, while your hands combed through the soft, brown hair of the drummer whose head was resting in your lap now. How Ryan had ended up there? No idea. But he lazily held a glass with his favourite cocktail balanced on his chest. It was not his first cocktail, and you were pretty sure someone at some point had just handed him a new one without him asking for it, but it really did not matter. Not when you were sitting on the soft carpet in your friend’s living room, comfortably dizzy and slightly tipsy from the drinks you had had over the course of the evening, with the man you had admired and even loved for the past years resting in your lap.

Ryan’s head was turned to the centre of the circle of people, and he laughed quietly at something that had been said. It was pretty late at night already, you realised with a glance at the clock. Your eyes felt heavy and your brain like palp, which was not only due to the alcohol, but also to being tired.

For literally hours you sat on that carpet, talking to the others, and weaving your hands through Ryan’s hair, ignoring your heavy eyelids. Ryan only moved to take a sip from his cocktail every once in a while, and sometimes his eyes met yours, making him smile before he tore his gaze away again.

By the time both Josh and Awsten decided to go home, you felt stiff from sitting for so long, and laughing Ryan helped you up, pulling a little too hard, and causing you to bump into him. Quickly he wrapped his arms around you, and held you in place, nuzzling his nose into your hair while hugging you. When he pulled away, you found Dallon was waiting to talk to you.

“Ahm… we’re kinda renovating the guest room right now, so… I guess, you’ll have to share the sofa,” he explained, with a gesture towards the piece of furniture. “You don’t mind cuddling a little closer, do you?”

Even though you had been pleasantly sleepy before, suddenly you were wide awake. Share the sofa with Ryan? Not that you would mind, but never in a thousand years would Ryan agree on-

“I don’t mind,” he shrugged, still standing so close to you that you felt the movement of his shoulders, “what about you?”

Curiously he looked down to you, but you just quickly nodded your head, agreeing on the suggestion, while at the same time you wondered what the hell you were getting yourself into.

After Awsten and Josh had called cabs and left, Breezy carried a couple of pillows and a blanket down to the living room. Dallon had pulled out the cushions of the backrest, allowing more space on the sitting cushions for Ryan and you to sleep on. After you had quickly prepared the makeshift bed, Dallon and Breezy bid you good night, and went upstairs to their bed room, leaving Ryan and you alone.

Somehow you could not help but feel like you were more nervous about the whole situation than Ryan. He just grabbed the bag with his pyjama, and started taking off his shirt of. Quickly you turned away, feeling slightly embarrassed, as if you would have invaded his privacy, even though it had been him who had just started undressing.

Grabbing your own bag, you excused yourself to the bathroom, where you dressed in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt for the night, and quickly brushed your teeth before returning to the living room, where Ryan had put on some sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt.

He was sitting on the edge of the sofa, a glass of water in hand, and looked up at you with an unreadable expression. The thought shot through your mind of how wonderful it would be, if you were to see him more often like this, comfortably dressed in a pyjama, waiting for you to come to bed. Little did you know he was thinking the exact same thing.

“I’ll go brush my teeth too,” he mumbled, and got up quickly, grabbing his tooth brush, and walked past you to the bathroom.

Looking around you noticed there were still some of the cocktail glasses standing around, so you carried them into the kitchen, placing them next to the sink. You felt weirdly sobered up already, and with a look to the clock you realised it was no surprise; it was almost 5am, and you had finished your last cocktail at around 3.

When you walked back to the living room, you tilted a window to let in some fresh air, and turned off all of the lamps that was still burning but one, leaving just enough light to find one’s way around the room.

A few moments later Ryan returned from the bathroom. A shy smile was on his lips, as he packed away his tooth brush again.

“Do you want to sleep against the backrest or at the edge,” he asked, while clipping his backpack shut.

“I don’t care, rather at the edge,” you decided, “if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t,” he smiled, and crawled on the sofa, scooting as close to the backrest as possible to make space for you.

Nervously you noticed that even like this there was not much room, especially not if you were trying not to invade his personal bubble. Actually this would be impossible, you realised.

Deciding to ignore that problem, you laid down next to him, allowing him to pull the blanket Breezy had brought, over the two of you.

“Do you have enough blanket,” he wondered, tucking around at the fabric, trying to make sure you were comfortably covered.

“I have plenty,” you reassured him, pulling it a little bit around your arm to demonstrate. “You too?”

“Yeah,” he hummed, “can I turn of the light?” He turned his head just enough to be able to look at you from the corner of his eyes.

“Sure,” you agreed, nodding and cuddling a little deeper into the pillow.

With a click the lights turned off, and you were engulfed by darkness. Now that you could not see anymore, your other senses appeared heightened. Outside the window a cricket was chirping, the fridge was humming in the kitchen, and Ryan was breathing right by your side. The pillow and the blanket smelled of an unfamiliar laundry detergent, and the fabric was a little ridged, probably from drying outside in the sun. For a while you lay in the dark, eyes open. Through the room you noticed the small red light of the turned off TV. You knew you should try to catch some sleep, but with Ryan so close next to you, you were far too distracted.

All of a sudden when you had almost been sure Ryan would have fallen asleep by now, he spoke up.

“(y/n)?”

You hummed quietly, signalling him you were awake.

For a moment there was silence, before he continued.

“I know this is a weird moment, and maybe really unfitting, but I’m tired enough and maybe still tipsy enough to have the courage to say this, but I really, really like you.”

Your eyes grew wider in surprise, not that it would have allowed you to see any more in the dark room, and Ryan could not see your reaction either. Your heart started hammering, and your breath grew quicker, as you turned your head to the side, trying to see Ryan’s face through the dark. He was lying on his back, facing up to the ceiling. A tiny reflection gave away that his eyes were open.

“Actually,” he stopped, “no, scrap that. Fuck, I’ve been in love with you for so long and I’m just scared to tell you how I feel, and too awkward to show you subtly, and definitely not the type who could sweep you off your feet with his charms, but… I just figured we had a lot of fun tonight, dancing and talking and… it all meant so much to me. Like… I know Josh danced with you first, because I was too much of a coward, and I’m really glad you two get along, but I kinda don’t want you to like him more than as just a friend, because I like you more than as just a friend, and I know that just because I want it, doesn’t change anything if you don’t feel the same way for me but… yeah, I know it’s awkward and weird, because you’re actually my best friend, and it’s kind of a real asshole move of me to tell you this while we’re supposed to sleep next to each other when you’ve got nowhere to go but… you know? Before my courage leaves me and all.”

You listened to him, allowed him to spill all his thoughts. It felt weirdly liberating to hear him talk about his emotions, so naïvely honest from lack of sleep. He was saying all the things you had dreamt of hearing him say for so long, and you could not help but smile when he talked about Josh. You wanted him to know that it was okay that he had hesitated to ask you for a dance; wanted to assure him that just because he told you in this weird situation of lying next to you in the dark, you were not mad with him; wanted to laugh at him because of course you did not like Josh more than you liked him; wanted to let him know that you could understand why he had never mentioned anything before. After all, neither had you. But you were too overwhelmed by his confession. This was something you definitely had not seen coming at all, so you were left entirely speechless.

Once you had finally processed his words, you turned to lie on your side. He was still staring up to the ceiling, and flinched in surprise as he felt your soft hand brush against his cheek. Slowly he turned his head to look at you.

“So what do you think,” he wondered, as if asking for your opinion on his feelings.

In the little light it was hard to make out his face, but the way you knew him, you supposed he was furrowing his brows a little.

“Can you kiss me?”

Your words were so quiet that you were not sure if you had even spoken them, not to mention whether Ryan had heard them, especially because for a few seconds he did not move.

When he did, he pushed himself up, supporting his weight on his elbow, and looked at you confused.

“What,” he asked weakly, his expression hidden in the dark.

“Just thought it would make sense, you know, if you like me and I like you…” you explained quietly, suddenly feeling almost ashamed for your boldness.

“No. No, no, no, (y/n), you- you don’t understand,” Ryan protested. “I don’t just like you, I… I’ve been thinking about you every night before falling asleep for… years, probably, I lost count. I don’t just like you. I love you. I love you as my best friend, and I love you as so much more than that. And I don’t want you to just kiss me because you like me, because I’m your friend. I don’t expect you to reciprocate my feelings, but I don’t think I can, or want to, kiss you without you feeling this way too. I just wanted you to know how I –“

You silenced him with a finger to where you assumed his lips were, an apparently you had aimed correctly.

“I wouldn’t ask my best friend to kiss me if I wouldn’t have been in love with him for ages, don’t worry,” you defended, trying to see his reaction in the dark, but failing.

For a moment there was absolute silence, even the fridge seemed to have quieted down all of a sudden. And before you even realised what happened, Ryan had grabbed the wrist of your hand that was reaching up to his face, and had pinned it next to your head, while he leant down, and crashed his lips against yours, finding them even in the dark.

At first it seemed like all air was knocked out of your lungs before you remembered how to breathe again. You turned slightly so you were on your back, Ryan leaning over you, his fingers intertwining with yours from the hand he had grabbed, while he used the other to keep himself propped up over you. Your free hand had wrapped into his nape, weaving into the hair and holding him close. He tasted of toothpaste and orange liquor from the drink earlier, maybe even still a bit of alcohol, all of it strange and intoxicating and so much more than you could have ever imagined. His lips were a dry, but still soft, like the skin on his neck and the hair that wrapped around your fingers. Ryan’s breath was uneven, just like your own, and you could feel his heart beat against your chest in sync with yours.

His kisses were urgent and passionate, as if he could not believe what was happening, as if he had to take as much of the moment as possible should it turn out not to be real. And if you were quite honest, you too felt like you could not believe it. Soon enough he nibbled at your lower lip, asking you wordlessly to open your mouth for him. You complied, earning a quiet sigh from him as he kissed you deeper. Like a lightning the sound went through your body, and a feeling of pride and satisfaction settled in your chest, realising it was just because of you that he had made that little sound.

All too soon your mind was a dizzy mess, and no matter how addicting and intoxicating Ryan’s kisses were, you needed a break. Turning your head slightly, you broke the kiss, but instead of pulling away immediately, Ryan pressed a short kiss against your cheek and then against your jaw, before he brushed his nose against yours, and leant back a little, settling at your side. Since it was so dark, it was hard to make out the details of his face, but you could see the smile that spread over his features. It was the kind of smile he was not even aware he carried, making it all the more beautiful.

For a while you just looked at each other, your eyes finally growing a little more used to the darkness around you, allowing seeing more details; the crinkles around his eyes, the dimples on his cheeks, the hair that fell into his forehead. Slowly his eyes started falling closed, no matter how hard he tried to stay awake, blinking again and again, and you too felt overwhelming tiredness pull you towards sleep.

“Can we cuddle,” he asked suddenly, his eyes already closed. It was a strange question, because you were already snuggled into his side with his arm wrapped around you.

Not answering, you scooted as close as possible, and hugged him around his middle. Immediately, as if he had done it a thousand times already, and in his mind he probably had, he tightened his embrace around you, pulling you so close that your bodies were pressed against each other. His forehead was gently resting against yours, and as he pressed a short kiss to your lips again, you could feel how he smiled, causing you to smile a little brighter as well, before you shuffled around to lay more comfortably, and fell asleep in his arms.

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General: @recommendedattheprice  @robinruns @jayloverthe3rd @lookalivefrosty @butterflycore @starduststyx @angelevansfalls @vamp-void

[sunsetinmyvein]

The Radio Station - Chapter One - Think About How to Think

"I’m still not quite used to these proper radio interviews.” He said as he reshuffled the headset over his clean shaven mohawk. “It all… feels so professional.” She laughed in response to that, “Well, it’s nice to know I’m doing my job right, then!”

Eyyyy, I’m back! A sort of different story compared to what I've done in the past. Small snippets in time, across quite a bit of time, focused around radio interviews. Almost all of Matty's interview answers are verbatim transcribed from various interviews, but it's what happens around those answers that's the important stuff.

Taglist: @dot-writes​ @imagine-that-100​ @robinrunsfiction​ @tooshhhy​ and feel free to give me a shout if you wanna be added :D

6th of December, 2012

Adjusting the microphone in front of her, she watched while the last few seconds of the song played out. “You ready?” She asked the man sitting in front of her. He looked up from picking at the sleeve of his jacket, nodding apprehensively as she switched the microphones back on. “That was Sex by The 1975 - and as promised, we have here Matthew Healy of The 1975 with us in the studio this morning.” She spoke, turning on the radio presenter voice.

He leaned towards the mic slightly before speaking, “Hi.”

“How are you doing?”

“Yeah, erm… good?” He said with a small laugh, sounding unsure of himself. “A bit nervous.” He admitted as an afterthought.

“About your show tonight at Barfly?” She asked, remembering her conversation earlier in the day. Her managed warned her not to drag the interview out too much as they had a gig later that evening to prepare for.

“Uh, yeah, that, and I’m still not quite used to these proper radio interviews.” He said as he reshuffled the headset over his clean shaven mohawk. “It all… feels so professional.” He shrugged, looking around the studio for the millionth time. When he’d come in, the process of actually having to check in through a receptionist and wait before he was ushered through was fairly intimidating.

She laughed in response to that, “Well, it’s nice to know I’m doing my job right, then!”

 She figured it would be best to just get the ball rolling to try and give him something better to talk about than his nerves, “So, you guys have two EPs out now. How many more are there on the cards before an album?” She questioned, glancing down at the sheet of question prompts in front of her.

He appeared instantly more comfortable as soon as the topic switched to something that he had better familiarity with, straightening up in his seat and looking more engaged, “There’s probably another couple to come out before we bring out the full album.”

“It seems that the band is getting some good traction with what you already have out.” She pointed out with a nod. Over the last few weeks at the station she’d had a chance to hear the EPs in passing, and she thought that they were pretty decent. But the station itself had been receiving a fair number of requests for them and pretty good feedback whenever they were on the air.

“Yeah! We’re really humbled that we’ve been given the opportunity to live this past year, and we’re only getting closer as a band.”

  “Is there a strategy with how you’re releasing things?” She asked. “Is this all part of some grand plan,” She saw him smile at that, “or a secret to getting your name out there?”

He thought about that for a second, “Kind of a bit of both? When we wrote the first EP, shortly after we’d written the majority of the album, we kind of… I dunno, we just wanted people to…” He paused, taking a short breath as he recomposed his thoughts. “If we were gonna do it, it’s such a personal endeavour, this band. If people are embracing the music, we wanna do it properly. We want people to fall in love with a band the same way you fall in love with a person – the more you know about somebody over a longer period of time, the more you both invest in the relationship.” She was taken aback somewhat by his statement. For a band just starting their career, that was a pretty profound thought process. “That was kind of…” He continued, clearly debating over his words slightly. “We had ideas for a lot of material. We wanted records that went against the grain of most EPs nowadays that are just a single. We wanted to release these little records that kind of almost culminated in a debut record.”

  “That all sounds pretty well figured out.” She noted, still rather surprised at the extent of his answer. It was intriguing watching him stumble over his choice of words to try and get across exactly what he meant. “Does that mean that the tracks from the EPs are going to be on the full album?”

“There’s a lead track off each EP on the album, yeah.” He nodded eagerly as he leaned forward in his seat. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding that our material works chronologically. We wrote the album pretty much before we wrote the EPs. We took singles off the album and wrote EPs around that to take a bit of the story and embellish it a bit. Create a feel for what the album is gonna be like.” He explained, his hand motions getting more enthusiastic the more he spoke.

She made a soft noise of understanding at his answer. Thinking back to the vibe of the two EPs she had listed to, what he was saying made sense. “From what we’ve heard from you so far, it seems The 1975 has a knack for creating upbeat music with fairly deep lyrics in comparison. Is there a reasoning behind that? Is the album going to be similar?” She asked as she flipped her notepad over.

  He let out a sigh as he stared up at the ceiling of the studio, “I dunno… we’re just a band… for ourselves? We just wrote music for ourselves and have since we started when we were kids.” He started, leaning back into his seat. “Because we grew up in punk and pop punk playing around, we were kind of a bands band? Our music just became very, very personal and very, very kind of…” He made a vague gesture with his hands, “I suppose, it’s our only expression? It’s the only thing we’ve ever known how to do. It’s the only form of honest expression we’ve got. A lot of the time it’s quite self-deprecating for me – lyrically. I kind of find solace in it. But I suppose now it’s been romanticised a little bit.”

She wasn’t entirely sure if that answered her question, but pressed on. “Certainly songs like Sex seem to have a lot of girls romanticising you.” She threw in with a laugh. He cracked a grin at her remark.

“I think that is a reflection of our music – coming across as sexy. Not just because of, y’know, all this.” He shot back with a wink as he held a hand proudly on his chest. Any awkwardness he had been carrying at the start of the interview seemed to have dissipated now.

  “All right, we are gonna play another 1975 song and then we’ll be right back. This one came off of the first EP. This is The City.” She announced, happy to segue away from having to discuss whether she thought Matthew Healy was or wasn’t sexy on live radio. As the track started, she lowered her headphones to sit around her neck, the man across the desk from her following her lead. “You’re killing it.” She reassured him.

“Yeah?” He smiled.

“Yeah.” She chuckled, his enthusiasm now that he was on a roll was contagious. “You obviously know what you’re about.”

“Well, I’ve been fuckin’ thinking about it all for long enough.” He laughed loudly. “We spent ages working out what to do before stuff finally started happening for us.” He added for clarification.

“You’ve been the same group since you were kids?” She asked out of genuine curiosity. He looked like he was in his early twenties now, which would mean that they’d already been a band for quite some time. It seemed odd if that was the case, that they’d only had these two releases.

“Yeah, the four of us since we were fourteen or something. Just messin’ about trying to work out what sounds good.” He confirmed.

“Fourteen? That’s pretty young to start a band.” She said in astonishment.

“Yeah, well… I’d just moved to Manchester; I grew up in the very north of the country…” He started, looking like he was about to launch into another story. Part of her wished she had saved this line of questioning for the interview, but another part of her was secretly mildly honoured he was only giving this information to her. “But I went to high school and there was this kind of thing that was going on where the council were letting old people’s kind of bingo halls be used by kids to start bands. And after a couple of weeks it became this scene and everyone started making punk bands.” He explained.

  “So, you got dragged into it by your mates?” She asked.

“Well, in the end our whole social group oriented around that scene.” He shrugged. “We started there at fourteen just because of how fun it was. The fact that we realised we could be genuinely creative but also really indulgent? It was the most fun we could have.” He had a fond smile playing on his lips as he spoke.

“Plenty of time to experiment and work out what you want to be as a band.” She nodded in understanding.

“Exactly.”

“And clearly it’s starting to pay off.”

“You reckon?” He had a genuine look of disbelief.

“I’ve liked what I’ve heard,” She admitted, “and we’ve had nothing but good things coming in about the EPs.”

He scoffed as he ran a hand through his hair, “That’s a lie and you know it. I’m not oblivious to the critics.” He rolled his eyes, but was still smiling. “Thanks, though.”

  They had some more casual chit chat between them until the song came to an end and she switched the audio back over. “And we are back!” She said into the microphone, pulling her headset back on. “Still here in the studio with Matthew Healy, the lead singer of The 1975. Now, I believe that you guys had a few name changes before you finally settled on this one?” She asked as she crossed that prompt off of her list. In an effort to be prepared, she’d tried her best to find out as much about the band online as she could to form some half decent questions. She hated feeling like her interviews were just the same as everything else out there.

“Yeah, we did, but that was when we were just a live band, really. We didn’t really wanna put any music out officially until we were really ready. There were also issues with the old names that we had picked. One of ‘em there was another band called that already, Big Sleep, in America, so we couldn’t call it that. Another we didn’t really like, The Slow Down…” He said with a shrug. “People like to idealise quite a lot of things… in the end, it kind of became our thing? Changing our name. We didn’t really think people cared about our band, anyway.” He laughed softly.

“They certainly do now.” She smiled across at him, earning what appeared to be a delighted look in response. “So, is there any importance to what you finally settled on?”

  “The date doesn’t have any, no.” He said as he shook his head. “It’s this story, that’s been quite over dramatized, to be honest. When I was like… nineteen? I was on holiday with my family. There was an artist who lived in the village who was kind of a local drinker who befriended everybody. I spent a couple of days with him at his house, and he gave me loads of literature to leave with, like Kerouac and beat poetry, you know. Basically one of the books I ended up readin’ six months later, and it had kind of been treated as a diary by the previous owner. And it was dated ‘first of June the 1975’. The use of ‘the’ I felt was quite interesting.” He answered.  “It just stuck with me as a kind of… why? What made them write the 1975? I don’t know, but I think it really works with the fact that we were discovering a lot about ourselves, and we weren’t really sure who we were.” He gazed off into the middle distance for a second, looking like he was zoning out. “George felt it was a bit long at first, because you know, seven syllable band name. But once a band name becomes a band name it’s just there. It’s like that Pavlovian reaction. But I think when we went in for a meeting with our publisher, we’ve always liked to pitch things left of centre, we said ‘we’re gonna call the band The 1975‘ and they said ‘absolutely no way, it’s too long and there’s never been a big band that’s just been numbers.’ And then we looked at each other like ‘that’s the name.’ so I went and got it tattooed on my arm that day.” He laughed loudly. “Sent them a photo of that-” He held out his arm to emphasise the numbers inked there, “-like ‘that’s the name of the band now!’ As soon as they said there’s never been a big band that’s just numbers, we just thought… excellent.”

“The impulsivity worked in your favour, then.” She noted with her eyebrows raised in surprise. To go out and get something like that tattooed as an act of defiance to your creative project was impressive. “Good thing you’ve not had to change it again since.” He just chuckled.

  “It seems to fit in quite well, though, the name. What with the whole black and white aesthetic that you guys have created.” She continued, eager to hear what he had to say on this image that they had surrounded themselves with. Everything she had been able to find out about their ‘look’, how they presented themselves, it all seemed highly thought out and planned. But thinking back to what he had mentioned before, if they’d been a band since they were fourteen, it probably had been.

“If you’re quite altruistic in personality, that’s normally twinned with a certain amount of self-awareness. Because you’re exposed to many situations where you’re putting yourself out there a lot.” He started as he fiddled with the cord of his headset. “I think if you’re an artist and you’re like that, you find solace in maybe… detaching yourself from reality a bit? Because you’re not as exposed as normal. We find a lot of comfort in everything being in black and white, because… Yeah, that’s it, you’re not fully exposed.” He explained as if he was mostly talking to himself, or trying to sort out his answer as he said it. “But it really works for our band because it makes it… a bit out of reach?”

“How do you mean?” She frowned.

He hummed thoughtfully to himself before speaking, “There’s a great quote by Kafka, which is that ‘a camel is a horse designed by a committee’…” He said with a pointed look. “Which is like… one person’s vision is always going to be a lot more concise than something that’s been diluted or compromised by a committee. If you want to project a certain image it needs to be an individual’s own vision in order to be really palatable and really concise and really consumable. So, it’s all about creating something that isn’t that accessible, because we live in an industry where accessibility is paramount.” She was starting to realise that this man truly had very roundabout ways of answering questions. However, it was fascinating listening to his unfiltered thought process as he tried to work out what he wanted to say. She couldn’t say she’d had a lot of interviews with people are interesting as Matthew seemed to be.

  Taking a quick look at the time, she could see that they had to wrap this up shortly. Between the long-winded questions and the songs, her twenty minutes had gone by quite fast. She’d better start winding this down. “What’s next on the agenda for you guys?” She asked, looking back over to him.

“Uh, let me think…” He racked his brain for what their immediate plans were for the near future. “We’re heading out on tour after Christmas, and then pretty much we don’t stop ‘til sometime next year.” He confirmed.

“Sometime?”

“We’re in high demand, what can I say?” He said with a laugh.

“That’s not surprising, I’m sure it’ll only get harder to get a hold of you guys in the future.” She concurred. “Well, it’s been a pleasure chatting with you, Matthew. All the best for the tour and for the next EP.” She nodded. He looked caught off guard for a second. Glancing down at his phone, he was surprised to see how much time had gone by. “Thanks for coming in.”

“No, no. The pleasure’s all mine, truly.” He grinned. “Thank you for having me on.”

“I’m sure we’ll be hearing again from you soon.” She finished up, switching his microphone off as she did her outro spiel. He took his headset off, stretching his arms up above his head before standing up and heading towards the studio doorway. It took her a second of seeing him linger in her peripheral vision to realise that he was waiting to say goodbye. As she started the next track, she slipped her headset off and spun her chair to face him.

“Erm, thanks.” He said as he scratched at the back of his neck. “I’ll see you around?” He asked hesitantly. It was curious to see him go from charismatic interviewee to nervous guy in her studio so fast.  

“As I said, I’m sure we’ll be hearing from you soon. You’ll be back here in no time.” She assured him. He nodded to himself, looking pleased as he headed back outside.

  It was another twenty minutes after Matthew stepped out before her shift ended. Thankfully, she was able to get out of the office pretty quickly. Sometimes she ended up being held back for up to a couple of hours if there were meetings and such that required her attention. And today wasn’t a day that she wanted to deal with any of that. It had been a pretty shitty Thursday to start with. She’d had terrible traffic on the way in, couldn’t find a parking space, had to trudge her way to work in the cold, dropped her coffee when someone ran into her on the way – she just wanted to end a long day. It was approaching evening as she stepped out into the brisk winter air, letting out a sigh as she looked around the street. She started making her way to her car only to catch sight of a familiar mohawked man standing at the side of the station building, smoking with a few other guys. As soon as he spotted her, he shouted her name and waved her over. She debated whether she should go over and talk to a group of more or less strangers or not, but he seemed pretty keen on her joining them. He turned briefly back to the guys he was standing with and as she approached she heard the tail end of him explaining what had happened in the interview.

“This is the band!” He said excitedly.

“Oh!” Instantly, that made a lot more sense than him larking about with a bunch of random people. She took in the other three men he was standing with, noting that they were all quite a bit taller than he was. “You guys could’ve come in to the interview, you know.” She said as she wrapped her arms around herself to try and block out some of the cold threatening to seep in through her jacket.

“Nah, it’s fine.” One of them with somewhat of a beard shrugged.

“We’d rather let him do the talking.” Another quietly agreed.

“He’s loud enough for all of us.” The last one, that also had a kind of mohawk thing going on, spoke up.

“Hey! Fuck off!” Matthew shoved the last one with a loud laugh.

She stood around with them for a bit while they smoked, listening to Matthew talk about the interview and answering the odd question that the band members had for her. This man seemed far more sure of himself than the uncertain one she kept seeing in the interview. He prattled on excitedly about tour and the next EP and just generally seemed more confident. The band only spurred him on as well, encouraging him and getting into in-depth conversations about the tiniest details. She could see where those long-winded answers had come from in their interview. If he held this level of passive confidence and enthusiasm in a casual environment, it was only a matter of time before that started shining through in his career. And it was truly no surprise after speaking with them that this band was getting popular at the rate that they were. They were obviously talented, and had enough drive and direction to push themselves through whatever challenges they faced. She could tell that The 1975 were only just beginning their music industry journey. It was after about fifteen minutes that she figured she had better excuse herself and actually go home – she didn’t really have any reason to hang around here, even if it was nice to chat with such an interesting group of people.

  She waited for a lull in the conversation (which wasn’t very forthcoming) before finally making her move, “I might get going…”

Matthew’s face fell a little before he recomposed himself. “Why don’t you come down to the pub with us for a bite?” He suggested.

“Ah, thanks for the offer but I’ve got places I need to be, and I don’t usually mix business with pleasure as they say.” She chuckled lightly. “Nice to keep things separate.”

“It’s also nice to make exceptions sometimes.” He shot back; a challenging eyebrow raised. “But it’s cool.” He said with a shrug as he dropped his cigarette onto the ground, snuffing it out with his shoe. “For real, though, thank you for all the kind words about the band and the music in the interview. A station with as many listeners as yours… your words mean a lot.” He nodded, looking pensive about whatever was going on in his head.

“It’s really no problem. I meant everything I said.” She smiled back at him. Before she could get on her way, he pulled her into a tight hug. She hadn’t overly expected that from the man she’d known all of about an hour, but she hugged him back regardless, happy for the brief warmth after standing in the icy street. “I’ll, uh,” She cleared her throat, attributing the heat she could feel in her cheeks to being in the cold for so long, “I’ll see you at the next interview.” She said as she finally headed towards her car, leaving Matthew staring after her before heading back to his band mates.

Next Chapter

[somedayonbroadway]

Have you ever done oe thought about a Bandstand AU? Because I'm now obsessed.

Okay, so I was obsessed with Bandstand for a good six months after they performed at the Tonys. Kid you not, it was the only thing I listened to. For six months straight. And it still hasn’t gotten old.

Quick rant:

Corey Cott deserves a Tony.

Laura Osnes deserves a Tony.

The show deserved to at least be nominated for best musical, if not win the whole thing.

Dear Evan Hansen is great.

But it is nothing compared to Bandstand.

(Also, DEH won best orchestrations against Great Comet… like… what? Did the judges even see that show? DEH had like… a violin, a piano and a couple guitars. It hardly had orchestrations. Great Comet is a ****ing masterpiece of complex, insane music.)

End rant.

Anyways.

Bandstand AU

Characters

Jack Kelly — Donny Novitski (Piano)

Katherine Plumber — Julia Trojan (Singer)

David Jacobs — Wayne Wright (trombone)

Spot Conlon — Davy Zlatic (bass)

Racetrack Higgins — Jimmy Campbell (saxophone)

Crutchie Morris — Johny Simpson (drums)

Albert DaSilva — Nick Radel (trumpet)

Joseph Pulitzer — June Adams

Medda Larkin — Oliver

Bryan Denton — Jo

Specs — Michael “Rubber” Trojan

Okay, so…

Newly back home, Jack Kelly is having difficulty adjusting to life after the war. After losing his best friend from friendly fire, he’s guilt ridden. The minute Jack gets home, he’s bombarded with propaganda that everything would go back to the way it was before. He doesn’t believe that as he is now jobless, is struggling for money, is struggling hard with insomnia and PTSD.

As a composer, vocalist, accordion player and pianist, Jack begins to go to old clubs he used to perform at, only to find he’d been easily replaced. Finding an old friend, Medda, for whom he’d worked with before, he manages to secure gigs at weddings, getting slim money, just enough to eat and pay rent.

After a few weeks, he finds himself slowly losing it. He hears stories of soldiers’ funerals. Those guys came back fine a while ago.

They needed a way to make it stop.

Jack is on the verge of a breakdown. He can’t go a night without a drink. He can’t stop thinking about the war. About Specs.

He can’t get it out of his head.

He’s a genius and he knows it. He’s been musically inclined his whole life. He started playing when he was seven and he started composing when he was nine. And here he is, fifteen years later, still playing weddings. No one’s giving him a job. No one seems to care that he’s struggling or needs to play because if he can’t play, there’s nothing left for him.

But he hears about a contest on the radio. A contest for a swing band to compete in a contest as a tribute to the troops just back from the war.

In a moment of clarity, Jack decides that he’s going to put together a band made up of his fellow vets to shoot for fame and fortune, to show the vets that made it home that there’s hope for them.

So he takes a name that he remembers his best friend mentioned at one time, and he goes out to find a man about to play a gig at a club named Antonio Higgins who Specs had used to call Racer. Racer is a sax player, now studying to be a lawyer. While Race does try to send him away, he realizes that he might need this as much as Jack did and once he finds out that Specs is dead, he can’t say no. He’s doing this for Specs.

Race leads him to find more musicians who served. Spot, David, Crutchie and Albert.

Race doesn’t trust anyone.

Spot is an alcoholic, cracking jokes to get through the day as best he can.

David is OCD. He has clear schedules and plans out every minute of his day.

Albert is a control freak. He’s constantly irritated and just wants everything to be done the right way and for things to work out.

Crutchie lost a leg in the war as well as receiving brain damage in an accident that sent his vehicle flipping three times while he was in the war

Not all of them get along at first. But, for the sack of all of the vets that are losing hope in a post war world where there’s no place for them, they keep it together.

They get through their first gig together. All is well for about two minutes as Race tells Jack he’s glad he decided to play with him and Spot jokes around with Crutchie after Crutchie tells the guys about his meds and how they slow him down, asking him how much slower he can get without being put in reverse. Crutchie is very slow and goofy most of the time, unable to truly remember the events that occurred overseas, but he is a monster on drums. He doesn’t mind the jokes, in fact, he takes a liking to Spot.

It’s after this that Jack tells Albert he needs to come down off the ceiling while playing his solo, claiming that it’s selfish and out of line. Albert argues with him, sparking a bit of tension between the rest of the group. Albert then announced he has a chance to play with Dwight Anson Orchestra. Davey explains that Jack needs to work around his schedule. Albert says that they need to get paid.

Jack shoots back that the gigs they get are where and when they are going to play and he promises to try and give more of an advance in the future.

Once the others leave, Spot with Crutchie, trying to joke with him as he’s taken a liking to the youngest kid of the group, Race approaches Jack and tries to gently explain to him that he needs to learn how to talk to people if he’s gonna be a band leader. This sparks a small argument, almost leading to Race giving up and leaving, only resulting in Jack admitting that he has to do this for Specs.

He explains that Specs’s death was friendly fire and that he’d promised Specs should anything happen to him, he’d check in on his wife. Race advises Jack not to tell Specs’s wife how he died and tells him not to go to trial unless he was prepared to lose. Then he leaves, promising to see Jack for their next gig on Sunday.

So Jack goes to talk to Specs’s wife.

Katherine Plumber.

He knocks on the door before chickening out and turning to leave.

But he’s not quite fast enough.

Katherine laughs at him, accusing him of being too old for ding dong ditch. Jack laughs and shyly walks back, introducing himself as Spencer’s friend. Katherine’s smile fades and she asks him more questions, resulting in Jack telling her he has some pictures that might be of interest to her. Katherine invites him over for dinner.

Explaining to her father the situation, Joseph Pulitzer (yes, he’s very nice in this one. Deal with it.) he agrees to the dinner, telling Katherine that they won’t be great hosts. He tells Katherine to be careful and not to pry, that if Jack wants to tell her more information about Specs, he would.

So Katherine tries to respect the boundaries.

Katherine explains to her father that she feels selfish because sometimes she wishes she could be the same person she was before and that she doesn’t want to be defined as a Gold Star Wife. She used to have a life and she used to be somebody.

She pulls herself together when the knock on the door comes.

Joe welcomes Jack inside and Jack thanks him for his kindness while Katherine jokes that he works hard at being nice and explains that her mother is away visiting her grandparents.

While getting to know each other a little, Jack learns that Katherine can sing but she only sings a church and jokes that if he wanted to hear her sing, he’d have to go to a service. Katherine learns that Jack lost his parents when he was very young and has fended for himself ever since.

Eventually, they get around to looking at the pictures Jack brought. He tries to make the memories light.

But Katherine can’t help but ask if Jack was there when he’d died.

Jack tells her yes.

And Katherine can’t take it. So she excuses herself before dinner has even begun, leaving Jack and Joe to have dinner alone.

That Sunday, Jack finds himself at church, watching Katherine sing beautifully in front of an entire gathering of people.

He catches her afterwards, asking why she didn’t tell him that she got to perform the big finale. He then asks her if she’d like to see him and his band play that night, eventually convincing her that it might be fun.

Joe encourages her to go, telling her that she hasn’t been out since her husband had died. So she goes.

After watching their set, Katherine is surprised to be invited up onstage to sing a standard. She’s incredibly nervous, forgetting the bridge of the song but finishing strong with some encouragement from Jack. She meets the boys. She takes a liking to all of them, telling Davey that his family should be proud, joking along with Spot, immediately wanting to protect Crutchie, much like Spot does.

Jack tells them that he wants to win for the guys who got nothing.

Katherine asks him if he means Specs. And he tries to take it back but she runs off, upset. And Racer tells the guys that she has every right to be a part of this band as she lost her husband in the war. The guys tell Jack that he should try to get Katherine to sing with them.

So he goes to her work the next day. She tries to send him away, claiming she doesn’t need to be saved. Jack counters. “What if I do?” And then he sings her First Steps First before inviting her to rehearsal that night walking away. Katherine tells him on his way out that she’ll be there, on the condition that Jack tells her more about Specs.

At rehearsal, things are a little tense. Katherine quickly finds that Race tries his best to stay out of confrontation, David is constantly questioning Jack’s harmonies and chord progressions, Spot is always drunk, Crutchie is often confused, and Albert is hard to rely on. Katherine loosens up the tension as much as she can, learning the music and getting to know all the boys. She loves talking to Crutchie. She constantly takes Spot’s drinks from his hands and offers him coffee and water. She tries to get Race to open up and Davey to loosen up, while also somehow getting on Albert’s good side.

She finds that once they’re all playing together, things seem a little easier, like they all get along and work well together.

They play at a club in town called Medda’s, playing a song Jack hopes to be a winning song called “You Deserve It”. It’s snappy and catchy and all the boys really enjoy it. After this, Medda asks the band to play the next night and Jack and Kath celebrate with drinks.

Jack then asks Katherine if she’d be willing to take on a stage name, Kathy Pulitzer, saying it had a better ring to it than Katherine Plumber. Katherine doesn’t like this and leaves, unable to handle the idea of losing another part of Specs.

Jack follows her, apologizing after Katherine breaks, crying about how she’ll never see her husband’s body or get to say goodbye.

Jack promises to give her answers if she comes back to the band. So they go tell the guys they have another gig.

The next night, after escorting a very drunk Spot home, Jack expresses his worries that Spot will be wasted on the night of the competition to which Albert replies he has bigger problems and reveals he’d been rehearsing with Dwight Anson and thinks they might have a better song. He leaves, telling Jack he’d be playing with the band that had the better song.

Jack walks Katherine home, angry and scared and exhausted knowing he can’t sleep. He tells Katherine that if it were Specs, he’d be saying how they’d be winning this thing, on their way to New York in some Pullman cars, living the dream.

Katherine shows Jack a poem she’d written that makes Jack feel better. After promising — mostly — not to tease, Jack asks Katherine if he can look through more of her poems. Reluctantly, Katherine agrees.

The next day, Jack returns Katherine’s book with a new song, word for word lyrics to one of Katherine’s poems. He explains that this is the song they need to win. Katherine is hesitant but agrees to sing it.

Going to the contest, the band wins easily, hitting the judges hard with a song with a true story and one that many were too scared to tell.

Ecstatic, the band has a moment of victory before reality sets in.

They’re told that no one is paying for them to get to New York. They’re responsible for travel and getting there doesn’t guarantee them a spot on the broadcast. Jack and Race try to argue, telling them that they have to help them get there because everyone just heard them win, to which one of the producers replies that hardly anyone was listening.

And if no one saw it, it never happened.

(That moment gets me every ****ing time. The lights go out and a spotlight hits every single one of the boys. It hurts so bad.)

Their arguments get nowhere. And they’re left with this crippling news.

Jack falls to the ground in mental and emotional agony. The guys are arguing and getting worked up but Katherine is holding onto Jack, trying to make sure he’s alright.

Jack finally stands and tells them that they’re going to that contest. They have to make it there anyway they can and they’ll take every gig they can get because they have a right to respect.

And all the guys agree.

They’re done fighting for their country. It’s time to fight for themselves.

They take every gig offered to them, writing new songs and winning the hearts of their hometown (Cleveland). They even write a song about their hometown. Everyone adores it.

Jack and Katherine are closer than ever, Jack telling Katherine all the stories about Specs he can remember. He tells her one of his favorite memories of Specs which was when they were playing with some other cats in the army. Specs was playing the drums so fast, telling everyone to go faster and faster until finally he looked at Jack and just told him to sing. And Jack did. It was less of a song than a battle call.

When they write their new song, they begin to perform it everywhere they can as their town loves the song that’s all about them. While they do this, a certain club owner overheard the band talking about making enough money to get to New York. And Miss Medda hatches a scheme.

She asks the band to play more often for more pay and gets the rest of the town in on the game. Jack doesn’t realize what she’s doing.

Davey admits to Albert that his wife kicked him out. Albert offers up his home, igniting the first selfless act any of the others had ever seen from him.

Katherine tried to get Spot to give up the bottle. He refuses.

Spot starts massaging Crutchie’s back every now and then to help him relax and make him feel better after his injury.

In the midst of all of this, Katherine explains to Jack that she has to quit her job in order to make sure she could be at the contest. She says she’d be taking all the overtime and lipsticks as she could before then. She tells Jack how she lied about her mother being away to visit family and how she walked out on her and her father years ago.

And she says she wants to know what happens to Specs.

Unable to keep dodging the question, Jack breaks. He loses it, telling her that she couldn't understand. He’s crying as he recounts every detail in his brain, telling her how it happened, how it was his fault that his best friend was dead.

And Katherine runs away from him, horrified at what she’d just heard.

She doesn’t show up to the gig the next night.

Jack confides in Race who tells him that he’s letting this girl slip away from him. Jack tries to joke about Race not chasing after any pretty girls even though he has plenty of girls lining up to get a kiss from him after shows. Race says that he thought a smart guy like Jack would’ve had him figured out already.

Race lost his partner in the war.

Suddenly, things make a lot more sense.

Katherine stays home with her father, sobbing, explaining that it was Jack’s fault her husband was dead. But Pulitzer tells her that there aren’t reasons for what happens. Everything just happens. He tells her the only thing that matters is what she does next.

Katherine writes a poem and shows it to Jack the next day, apologizing even though Jack says she has nothing to apologize for. She says the same thing goes to him. She explains that she doesn’t know and cannot understand what happened in the frontlines. And this poem was for Jack and the boys.

Jack sets it to music knowing this song is too real and genuine to be played for an audience. So they change the lyrics.

This is the song Katherine would have sung if Specs had come home.

After performing this song for the first at Medda’s, Jack stands up to tell the audience that they won’t make it to New York, getting emotional and telling them that he was no hero and that the wrong guy made it home from the war. Medda stops him and explains to him he doesn’t need NBC when he has Cleveland. She hands him seven tickets to the Cleveland Limited. Pullman Cars. First class.

Jack literally breaks into tears and hugs Medda as tightly as he possibly can.

The band’s going to New York.

Jack gears up the guys for a successful contest while being awestruck and exploring New York City. Jack walks Katherine back to her room after a night exploring. They stop themselves from going into her room together after they both admit there’s more than just friendship between them.

They part ways that night, promising to see each other in the morning.

The next day, they go through preliminaries and are told they’ll be on the broadcast. Jack and Katherine sign the contract and the whole band celebrates until the next night when no one can seem to find Racer.

When Race arrives, two minutes before they’re on, he explains that Jack and Katherine signed away the rights to their own song and would be no more than walk ons if they won.

This just about breaks Jack.

Spot suggests leaving. The rest of the guys agree.

But Jack asks Katherine if she remembers all the original lyrics to Welcome Home, the poem she’d written for her boys.

She says yes.

And they know what they have to do for the soldiers out there to know they’re not alone.

They get on stage and they blow it up.

Crutchie starts the drums. Jack tells him to go faster. Faster. Faster.

Then he looks at Katherine. And he tells her to sing.

Charlie made it home.

Most of him at least .

Had three operations,

But the pain has not decreased .

Al learned to survive.

Means you never trust .

Once you see the worst in man,

Then how do you adjust?

Sean, he cracks a joke.

Claims to be alright .

Drinks a fifth of vodka

In his kitchen every night

And I stand here trying

Like mother Mary

With my private burden

Of grief to carry  

Welcome home my boys

Welcome home my sons

Welcome home my husband

Welcome home my love  

Welcome home

Welcome home

Welcome home  

David’s never free.

Schedules out his day.

Filling every minute

Just to keep the ghosts away .

He could never get

Back the life he had .

Faced with raising kids

Who did not recognize their dad .

Tony made it back to town

Four months ago

Lives to tell the things

No one could bear to know

Keeps his guard up now

A lot goes undiscussed

Focuses on fighting

What he finds unjust  

Welcome home my boys

Welcome home my sons

Welcome home my husband

Welcome home my love  

Welcome home

Welcome home

Welcome home  

Jack, he does his best,

Trying to pretend

What he doesn't talk about

Won't matter in the end

Jack, he made it home

But thinks it wasn't fair

How he made it out

But left his buddy there

Jack, he doesn't sleep

Because the nightmares come

Jack looks for an answer,

Jack, he looks for absolution,

And I'd give up anything

If I could give him some

And I stand here helpless

My arms extended

Knowing full well, darling,

Your war's not ended

Welcome home

Welcome home my husband

Welcome home my love

Welcome home

Welcome home

Welcome home my boys

Welcome home my sons

Welcome home my husband

Welcome home my love

Welcome home

Welcome home

Welcome home

It’s the most honest performance these men have ever given.

Months later, Jack and the band walk out of a movie theatre, joking about how good Dwight Anson Orchestra looked while Sinatra sang their song.

And some girls run up to them, asking for an autograph.

Jack gives them one, telling them to bring their father who served backstage at their next concert.

And then they leave.

They have a gig to get to.

What do you guys think? Wanna see any specific scenes?

For more Mood Boards and AUs, click here!

[ranposlittle]

hi, can i have a matchup? :0 i’m pan and nb (they/them), 5’5, and i’m black with light pink dyed hair and dark brown eyes. i looove to cosplay, draw, sing and dance, and idols like in love live are my biggest inspiration and biggest dream! i work hard at what i care about, and i’m also super goofy! i’ve never cussed (but don’t mind it!), get flustered super easily and can’t flirt well, but i’m still a hopeless romantic! my mbti type is enfp! thank you so much! 💕💕

❴🐰❵┊ I ship you with ➸ . . .

────── 「 𝙾𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚞 · 𝙳𝚊𝚣𝚊𝚒 」 ──────

You're not even in a bar or any place where flirting usually takes place but still, here you are — in the middle of a cosplay convention — getting shamelessly hit on by a beautiful stranger. He doesn't seem intoxicated nor under the influence of any drugs. As a matter of fact, as the richness of your brown eyes gaze at his own, his eyes are clear and even... glimmering. You took notice of everyone's eyes being on you as the stranger (who later introduced himself as Dazai) kneels on one knee, hand in yours like an old school Romeo, and your face immediately heated up beyond the boiling point. You stuttered at your words but eventually was able to agree on his proposed date before a tall blond man dragged your strange suitor away, leaving you to stand in the middle of the wreckage of the situation he caused. The whole ordeal felt like a dream to you, except for the crumpled paper in your hand with the man's name and number jotted down.

Despite numerous days have already passed since the fateful day, it still never fail to make you extremely flustered whenever you're reminded of it: whether it be by the teasing of your friends who witnessed the whole thing take place or the times you look at the piece of paper and contemplate whether to call him or not. But a long weekend approached fast, you were getting tired of staring at your ceiling and waiting for any of your friends' invitation to hang out. After the evening settled in with no such luck, the clumsy way the numbers are scribbled kept appearing in your mind.

You've always been drawn to embracing new ideas and approach things with curiosity because the free spirited ENFP is born to explore. You're in constant search of things that rings true to you and will unhesitatingly work hard for it. This is a chance for you to connect with another soul, you thought. It could be nothing but you also thought about the possibility of all of this having a deeper meaning. You took a deep breath. Gathering your unshakable conviction, you started dialing the number and press the call button before you could even talk yourself out of it. The voice of your doubts became louder and louder with each ring that goes unanswered. He picked up on the fifth ring, and without any prior questions about you, the first words out of his mouth was: “I was waiting for you. You certainly took your sweet time, beautiful.”

He was a big flirt, that you have confirmed after going on just a few dates with him. So he's always successful in making you a blushing mess whenever you are together; in public or in private. And if you attempt to flirt back (as good as you could at least), he'll just tease you even more until your words run dry. You guessed that making you flustered must be his love language.

Despite his antics though, Dazai does have deep feelings for you, it just came through time. Whenever he's with you, there's always a genuine smile on his face, and he just has a lot of fun. You're quite spontaneous and was even successful to pull a few surprises for him, which he greatly appreciates. His day is instantly better when you come to the Agency unannounced, a lunch in hand for the two of you to share. Sometimes, you'll just ask him to dress up because you already have tickets for that movie he once told you about. Dazai can see your commitment to him in small but significant things that you do; the way you never forget to greet him good morning no matter where you are, all the “I saw this and it reminded me of you” moments, even the way your thumb would brush against his whenever your hands are intertwined– he can feel your love all around him. He stopped saying his usual tag line about wanting to go in the afterlife with you a long time ago, because now, he's starting to see the world through your eyes, and it looks like a world that he actually wants to keep existing in.

Overall, I chose Dazai to be your match because I think your relationship will be filled with so much fun but at the same time, with so much love. Your relationship will not be boring and you'll be able to give each other the personal freedom you require. There will also be a lot of opportunities for you two to experiment and experience new things together (even in the bedroom, if you'd like). I also think that Dazai will see you as the cutest person he's ever been with. Aside from the fact that you've never cursed, your height difference is perfect for him. The fashionable color of your hair also adds to your charm. Even other people will find you to be such an adorable couple, freely goofing around with each other. You'll get a lot of compliments with Dazai because he can see how much you appreciate them. A hopeless romantic like you would have a good time with a flirt like Dazai. He will shower you with his affection, in words and in actions, and you'll do the same for him. No one will have a doubt on your love because even a blind would be able to know that you're just head over heels for each other. Because of that, rest assured that Dazai will be your number one fan. He'll be there in every cosplay event, every gig, with a camera in hand and shamelessly cheering you on. He would even often joke about how you should hire him as your own personal bodyguard once you're all famous. You would just laugh it off, but he really is serious about it. Dazai supports you with each one of your dreams and it would be his greatest pleasure to be by your side through it all.

▮ ❝ Hello there, glyxiebear~ Sorry to keep you waiting for so long, but here's your matchup! I hope you like it and please know that I'm also rooting for you! Don't stop working on your dreams and please don't forget me once you're a star (*,,˃ ᵕ ˂ )✰*｡ hehe I'm also an aspiring musician and I know how tough it is, but let's keep going and eventually we'll get there 💗 Take care! ❞

[verai-marcel]

The Light That You Shine (RDR2 Fanfic, John Marston x F!Reader, Chapter 3 of 6, 18+)

Tags, Warnings, & Notes in Chapter 1.  |  Chapter 2

AO3 Link is here.

Chapter 3 - Gravity

Word Count: 2130 

You were absolutely humming and dancing around your shop the next day. The date had gone brilliantly; the two of you talked about the town and how much it had changed in so little time; he hadn’t been back for a year, and you hadn’t been back for two years, only having returned a week ago. He talked about living in the big city, but was vague about where he lived. You were surprised that he’d drive all the way over here to see you.

“40 minutes ain’t that far,” he had said. To you, the 20 minutes to your aunt’s place was an eternity. But you also hated driving. Or being in cars in general. Part of the reason you picked the place you lived was because just about everything you needed was within walking distance.

He had bought you dinner last night at your favorite little burger place. You had decided that if he was going to get to know you, then you might as well be up front about your eating habits. As you happily devoured your double burger cooked with onions and mustard mixed into the patties, you had looked over to see him watching you, a grin on his face.

“What?” you had asked, your mouth stuffed with burger.

“I love a woman who enjoys her food.”

You had nearly choked. Instead, you had taken a sip of your neopolitan shake and continued to eat, ignoring the heat suffusing your cheeks.

Tonight, he said he was going to let you pick the restaurant again, since you were paying. You had argued that since you had picked when he was paying, it was only fair that he picked this time. 

But he was savvy; he told you that you’d know the area better than he did; he trusted your judgement.

So tonight was going to be the flip side of your food habits; a vegetarian place. It was a small place that specialized in veggie bowls with a grain of some kind. You wondered how he would handle it. You knew some guys were picky about this sort of thing, and while you had a fleeting thought that it might not be fair to judge someone based on their eating habits, you also knew that you wouldn’t have fun with someone who wasn’t as adventurous as you were.

When he showed up at 6PM again, just as you were wrapping up your work, he walked inside and looked around, marveling at your work. You had taken today to decorate the shop, put up signs, and make sure everything was beautiful and presentable. When you started, you weren’t sure you were going to be ready in time for your Saturday grand opening, but with John’s help the other day, you had a bit of time to spare.

“Place looks real nice,” he commented as he leaned closer to one of the display benches. You watched as he leaned in and sniffed the peony blossom, closing his eyes. It was such a contrast to how he looked. His biker boots were worn and scuffed, and a green plaid flannel wrapped around his waist. His hair was damp, looking black as if he had just gotten out of the shower. He wore ripped black jeans and a black button down sleeveless shirt that showed off his muscles perfectly. 

“So, where we goin’ tonight?” he asked.

You grinned.

***

To your surprise, he didn’t complain; he only nodded and went with you, walking the three blocks to The Green Grill. You helped him order, and he didn’t try to mansplain or anything of the sort. He was just a down-to-earth, humble guy, and you could feel yourself falling for him more, even though it was only the second date.

Dinner. The second dinner.

Afterwards, like a gentleman, he walked you back to your place, holding your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. He had wrapped his flannel around your shoulders when you had shivered.

“That wasn’t too bad,” John said as the two of you reached your place. “Better than what I was expectin’.”

“And what were you expecting?”

“I dunno, goat food, I guess.”

You laughed at his answer. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t hate it,” you teased. Then you looked at him for a few moments. “You’re not just saying that to be nice, are you?”

He pulled you close. “I ain’t a nice man. But I’m always honest.” He cupped your cheek as he spoke, making sure he had eye contact with you so you knew his words were true.

Your heart beat stuttered at how close he was.

“Can I see you again?” he murmured, his raspy voice sending electric tingles down your spine.

“Of course,” you breathed. “If you want, you could come to my grand opening tomorrow morning.”

He suddenly looked a little sad. “I can’t, I have work.”

You nodded. “That’s alright. So do I,” you said, one side of your lips quirking up in a joking grin.

“Dammit, you’re so cute.”

He tipped your chin up with his forefinger and slowly leaned in. You gravitated towards him, closing your eyes as he closed his.

John’s small moan of pleasure as his lips met yours shot a zing of desire through your body. He stepped forward, pressing you up against the glass door as he kissed you more, his body covering yours, his hand gripping your hip and pulling you against him.

Then he pulled away, leaving you both breathless, pupils dilated with desire.

“Sorry, I got carried away,” he said, even though his face clearly said he wasn’t sorry.

“No, it’s fine, you.. That was nice,” you finished lamely.

He softly smiled at you before he took your hand, raised it to his mouth, and kissed the back of your knuckles. “I’ll call you when I’m free. I promise.”

You nodded, surprised by his touching gesture. He caressed your face delicately with his fingertips. “You get some rest. You got a big day ahead of you tomorrow.” He kissed your forehead. “See you later, sweetheart.”

As he walked away, you realized, with the pounding of your heart, that he could have easily continued to make out with you some more and you would not have stopped him. Instead, he hadn’t even given you the option to ask for more; he had stepped away to let you rest.

You went into your shop and turned in for the night, but couldn’t stop thinking of stormy grey eyes and a wry smile.

***

“That was barely enough to cover the work it took to get those cars,” John grumbled as he stuffed his cash into his wallet. Dutch had come by, dropped off the envelopes of money for the gang, and had taken off, claiming he had more work to find for them.

Arthur shrugged, but his face showed creases of worry on his forehead. “Dutch said it’s gettin’ harder to sell these days.”

“Then maybe we should find regular jobs.”

Arthur stopped walking and turned to John, who had continued to walk to his bike.

“What?” John asked when he finally noticed that Arthur wasn’t next to him.

Deep in thought, Arthur looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “This ain’t the way we was. We used to ride around for fun, took on jobs that helped others. Now, well, now we just use our bikes because they’re good for gettin’ away from the cops.”

They were both silent. They knew that the others had part time work, or worked a series of gigs to make money besides their work with the gang. For John and Arthur, the gang was all they had. Dutch was all they had, for the longest time. They were two orphans with a charismatic man for an adopted father who was changing more and more by the day.

Perhaps the silence was to mourn the loss of the life they had. But it hung in the air like a hangman’s noose, threatening to cut off their air.

John took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. “I’m goin’ for a ride.”

Arthur just nodded. “I’m gonna make a couple of deliveries,” he said as he walked towards the Sprinter van.

John knew what those deliveries were. He didn’t have to like it, but the pay provided for them, so he said nothing. He knew Arthur felt the same.

Hopping onto his bike, John took off to let his mind wander, letting himself ride with no destination in mind.

He found himself in a familiar town, on a familiar street, near a familiar storefront.

***

It had been a few days since you had seen John. He had called you at least once a day, asking you how your day was, asking how you were feeling. You didn’t ask when he could come see you; you didn’t want to seem clingy. He hadn’t said anything about when he’d be coming back; you assumed it was work that was keeping him away, and you understood that.

He had yet to call you tonight, as you sat at your work bench, putting your tools away.

Someone knocked on your door.

You saw a couple of older men in biker jackets, holding their helmets under their arms. Coming up to the door, you hesitated to open it after seeing their stern expressions.

“I’m sorry, we’re closed for the night,” you said through the glass.

“You new around here?” the taller of the two men asked gruffly.

You furrowed your eyebrows. Technically you grew up here, but then you left two years ago. “What do you want?” you asked, ignoring his question.

“Insurance funds. To protect your shop against vandalism.”

“I already pay insurance,” you said, ignoring the fact that this was clearly an extortion attempt.

“This is different. Call it a special insurance.”

“I’m calling the cops,” you said, pulling out your phone to call 911.

“Hey now, no need for that,” the shorter man said. “If you don’t think you need it, we’ll be on our way.” He nudged the other man with his elbow and together they walked off.

You looked at the back of their jackets; in large letters, ODB written across the top, with a green skull inside of a four-leaf clover below it. The letters MC were on the right of the symbol.

A biker gang.

You quickly googled ODB MC, to find that it was the O’Driscoll Boys Motorcycle Club, and they had recently started moving north. They had members known for extortion and money laundering, but the club itself had never been shut down, since it was the members and not the actual organization that did any of the crimes, or so the news said.

Shit. You wanted no part of this.

You called the police station to report the incident. Afterwards, as you attempted to put your phone back into your pocket, you realized you were shaking.

“John…” you mumbled, knowing that you could just call him if you wanted to hear his voice. How had he become the first name you thought of?

In your head, you heard his voice saying your name.

Then you heard a knock on the glass and turned around.

“John!”

You ran to the door and unlocked it quickly, throwing it open.

He looked at you, his eyes taking in your state in a heartbeat. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

You crumpled to the ground and started shaking again.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” he coaxed, kneeling down and holding you in his arms. He rubbed your back soothingly. “I got you.”

***

You told him about the men, about the symbols on their jackets. John’s expression turned dark as you told him everything. 

“They won’t quit, they’ll keep comin’ back. It ain’t safe for you here all alone.”

“I called the cops, they said they’ll put some extra patrols around here for a while.”

John let out a snort. “They’ll just wait’em out, then they’ll come back.” He suddenly gripped your shoulders. “You have any problems, you call me, you hear?”

You nodded. “Okay, John. But you’re 40 minutes away, I don’t expect you to just come riding in if I call you.”

John hung his head. “I know. But I’ll try to be here as often as I can. Alright?”

The conviction on his expression was touching, but you were a practical person. Unless he moved to your town, you were mostly on your own.

“Why don’t you stay with your aunt and uncle for a while?”

The thought had crossed your mind, but you had dismissed it pretty quickly. “I don’t want to trouble them…”

He shook you slightly. “This is your life we’re talkin’ about here! Troublin’ someone is the least of your worries!”

You nodded. “Okay, okay. I’ll call them.”

-------------------

Chapter 4

[twelvefifteencomic]

Bonus Special! - Prologue - 7:00

The sun was skimming low over the city, the warm rays of evening glancing off of skyscrapers’ windows to contrast with the lengthening shadows in the streets below. It was the teetering season between late spring and early summer, and the daylight hours were long. Somewhere in the middle distance, church bells had just finished tolling seven, but it would be some time yet before evening darkened into night.

Neither the time nor the beauty of the day’s end registered to Dee Loveless at the moment. He was busy, partly with lugging a heavy bag out of the backseat of a taxi cab, but mostly with getting shouted at by the driver, who he had nearly forgotten to pay. He’d been lost in his thoughts and now no amount of apologies or assurances seemed to ease the cabby’s annoyance. In the end, it was only after receiving a far heftier tip than he was owed that the driver stopped calling Dee names and left him alone. Hauling the bag over his shoulder, Dee watched the taxi pull away from the curb. He briefly considered tossing a rude gesture into the man’s rear-view, but decided against it. He didn’t particularly fancy being the victim of road rage today. 

Sighing, he turned away from the street. The building that rose up before him matched the address written on the scrap of paper he pulled from his pocket now to double-check. At least, the bronze number by the door and the name of the street sign down at the corner matched what he had been given. When it came to the actual appearance of the place itself… well, he hadn’t really known what to expect. He didn’t know this part of the city well, an eclectic mix of old homes and new businesses. Neon signs and sandwich boards called out their various wares from shopfronts all along the street, but the building in front of him was nothing of the sort. It had the look of a once-magnificent townhouse, with stately stone steps now marred by lichen leading up to a worn oaken door. There was even a large bronze door knocker, like the sort Dee had seen in films. This one was shaped like a lion, a heavy ring clutched in its jaws. Dee stared at it. It seemed to stare back, challenging.

“You’d be much more intimidating if you weren’t right beside a tea shop,” Dee told it as he climbed the steps, pointing at the door knocker’s neighbour. Indeed, in the shadow of the old house was a quaint little storefront, with brightly-lit windows proclaiming a wide assortment of teas and other cheery beverages. “Sorry,” Dee added, patting the lion’s metal mane. It said nothing at all, for it was, in fact, just a door knocker. Dee took a moment to feel a bit daft.

To his mild dismay, this moment was all his brain needed to conjure up all the doubt and unwanted thoughts he’d been doing his best to push to the back of his mind all day. He hesitated on the doorstep. What was he even doing here?

Stop it, he told himself. You know why you’re here.

He’d given himself a talking-to while getting ready that afternoon, the sort that involved a lot of staring at himself sternly in the mirror while engaging in serious internal rationalization. Tabitha would be annoyed with him, he knew. They’d had this get-together planned for ages now, months really, and as much as he had assured her over the phone that he’d still make it in time, a little wheedling voice in the back of his head knew that he wouldn’t. That would defeat the entire purpose of taking this gig in the first place. But Tabitha liked being annoyed, he reasoned (slightly unfairly), so this would just give her fodder for future griping. Hardly the end of the world.

The ring in the lion’s mouth was heavy and Dee, who had never before had the occasion to use a door knocker like this, hesitantly tapped it against the door a couple of times. It made a surprisingly resounding noise. He rocked back on his heels and waited for some sort of response. 

There was a narrow pane of glass set into the centre of the door, allowing the sliver of a view into the house within, overshadowed by Dee’s own reflection staring back at him. While he waited, he looked over his appearance in a final last-minute check:

Hair, looking alright. He ran a self-conscious hand through the dark strands, reinforcing the backward sweep of the quiff. There was just enough gel in it to keep it from getting out of control, without being too obvious. 

Clothes, simple but nice. A plain black shirt and jeans, plus his favourite jacket. Nothing too over the top. He didn’t know how fancy of a party this was supposed to be, but the woman on the phone hadn’t said anything about a dress code, so he’d gone for comfort more than anything. He’d never been big on black tie events anyway.

Face, the same as ever. He’d been told he had a nice one, which was always good to hear. Angular features, clean-shaven at the moment, and sad eyes. He tried on a smile. It didn’t stick. Even in the semi-transparency of his reflection, it didn’t look convincing. He let it fall away and settled for what he hoped was an expression of polite apathy. 

Just in time, too. The sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears and a moment later, the narrow view into the house was blocked by what appeared through the glass to be a mountain of red velvet and hair. The door swung open and Dee had to hop back a step to avoid getting hit by it, nearly stumbling over a potted tree beside the door and backwards down the steps. He caught himself on the iron railing and bit his tongue to keep from swearing. So much for a good first impression.

Standing in the open entryway, the man who had answered the door wasn’t as big as Dee had initially thought. He was tall, to be sure, with several inches of height over Dee (who wasn’t short himself), but not as looming as he had first appeared through the glass. He was broad-shouldered and muscular, though, with a cloud of curly red hair and beard swathing the large majority of his head into hirsute obscurity. He’d made the questionable fashion choice of wearing a full red tracksuit.

“Fuu----uuuh hi!” Dee rallied. He straightened up, adjusting the bag over his shoulder and trying to wish away the flustered colour rising in his face. “Hullo, um, I’m here for a gig?” He had a bad habit of turning statements into questions when he was anxious. Which was often. And, more frustrating still, a habit of being hyper aware of this tic. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m Dee. I’m the singer who was hired for the party.”

“Hm,” said the not-so-giant giant. Dee waited for more. The big man was staring down at him, expression hard to read through all of the hair. Dee got the impression that he’d inadvertently entered a sort of staring contest and after only a few seconds he looked away, uncomfortable.

“Er,” he said. “Is… is this the right place? I’ve the address here--” He started to pull the scribbled address from his pocket again, but the man in the doorway was already nodding. 

“You’re where you’re meant to be,” he told him. He had a deep voice and a rolling, hard-to-place accent. 

“Oh,” said Dee. “Um. Right. Good.” This was turning out to be stressfully awkward. “Can I, er, come inside, then?”

The man stepped aside, allowing him room to walk through the door. The inside of the house maintained the same grandiose, slightly derelict atmosphere as its exterior. Dee looked around. He was in a fairly large entry hall, with high plaster ceilings and a dusty wooden staircase leading away to the upper floors. He’d barely made it three steps into the room before he found himself being pulled up short. A large hand had grabbed the strap of the bag over his shoulder and was holding fast.

“What’s in the bag?” asked the man. His thick brows were now drawn in suspicion.

“Equipment,” Dee explained, perplexed. “Mic, speakers, that sort of thing. The woman who hired me -- Ada? -- she didn’t say whether you lot had any equipment here.”

The explanation seemed to be enough. The hand let go of Dee’s bag, resting briefly on his shoulder before it fell back to the man’s side. “Arden,” he corrected simply. “Good. Follow me.”

Now thoroughly certain he hadn’t asked for enough money for this, Dee followed in the big man’s wake. The stairs creaked under their feet, the only noise as they made their way upstairs. Whoever lived here didn’t seem to put much stock into housekeeping, Dee thought, glancing around. The wallpaper was faded and peeling in places, and everything seemed to be covered in a fine layer of dust. Could be that it was a party house, he supposed, abandoned save for events like this one, when the dwindled grandeur of the place was part of the fun.

They reached a landing on the second floor, but didn’t stop there. As he was led up another flight of stairs, the strains of music and conversation reached Dee’s ears. It grew louder as they reached the third floor landing, where the stairs ended in a long corridor. A grimy stained glass window cast dim coloured light across the carpet at the other end of the hallway, catching the dying sunlight outside. The door closest to the window stood ajar, the music and chatter issuing from within.

“So what’s the party for?” asked Dee, uncomfortable with the contrasting silence there in the corridor. There were unhappy butterflies running amok in his stomach. No matter how many gigs he’d done, no matter the size of the venue, he could never shake the nerves that welled up before a performance.

“Big night,” answered the man in red. “Sort of like a birthday.”

“Sort of--?” Dee was ushered into the room at the end of the corridor by a large hand at his back before he could finish the question. Inside the room, he was greeted by the sight of a larger crowd than he’d been expecting. Normally for things like this he arrived before most of the guests, in order to have time to set up and coordinate with the hosts before the event got underway. If the eclectic group of people already chatting over drinks and swaying to music on the stereo was anything to go by, this party was already underway. The butterflies in his stomach beat their wings harder, unhappy with being caught off-guard. A few people looked his way at the sound of the door shutting behind him and his guide, but no one showed much interest, soon returning to their conversations. Dee felt a brief pang of wistfulness for times past. He hoped that the people here would be a bit more enthusiastic once he started singing. Tonight was already shaping up to be awkward enough, he didn’t need a disinterested audience to top it off. 

“So, uh, any requests?” he asked the big man. It occurred to him that he hadn’t asked the fellow’s name. Then again, he hadn’t been offered it either. “For songs, I mean.”

For the first time since he’d greeted Dee at the door, the other man smiled. Or at the very least, he showed his teeth. “Think you should sing your favourites, mate. The ones you’d sing if it were the last night in the world.”

“Riiiight,” said Dee. 

This was going to be a weird night.

[raidbossmadi]

People Like Us : Chapter 9

9. Devotion

Previous Chapter: Here

The days leading up to the ceremony were a blur of planning and filming as save the dates and promo videos were made and sent out. Sloane couldn’t tell if the Cathedral had always been this crowded or if the influx of priests from the visiting settlements was far more than she had expected when Tyreen had mentioned that a good many of the clans under their banners would be making a pilgrimage this way for the event. They didn’t have nomadic clans on Eden-4 so watching the tent city grow into the surrounding desert and far into the horizon from the twins balcony was a common distraction for her at the moment.

The glass door to the balcony slid open with a ‘fwoosh’ as Tyreen pushed it aside. “Damn girl it’s been hours and you're still watching them?”

Sloane giggled “Yeah yeah, make fun of the poor sheltered forest dweller I know. We couldn’t do shit like that back home you know? Too many trees in the way for a big camp like that.” She explained standing up from where she sat stretching as she did so. She missed the trees to some degree, Pandora only offered cacti and the wayward shrub it was a bit of culture shock to someone so in tune with nature. “Oh Tyreen! I wanted to ask you, what is that thing out there?”

Tyreen followed Sloane’s finger as she pointed to a large dark shape jutting out of the horizon line of the camp.

“That, is actually what I came to get you for. Sloane we have some guests who’d like to meet you.” Tyreen said motioning for the other siren to come back into the room.

Sloane walked back in, grateful to the rush of cool air that greeted her and found two men leaning against the half wall of Tyreen’s kitchenette. One was tall and well built wearing a suit with a pair of circle shades on. The other was a rather off putting looking Tink with wild eyes and several facial piercings wearing a rather worn out vest.

“Ah you must be Miss.Sloane, a pleasure to meet you at last. The God-Queen has told us so much about you.” The taller man said, extending a hand to her.

“Haha, only good things I hope Mister…” She trailed off as she shook his hand.

“Ah, where are my manners, I’m Pain! This my business partner Terror, he’s the silent type. We head the Twins gods entertainment division. Worry not my dear, I haven’t heard a thing about you I wouldn’t tell my audience.” He said with a smile.

“Sorry pardon my surprise Mr.Pain I just thought I’d met all the department heads already.” She cast a glance at Tyreen a bit surprised that she’d never mentioned them until now, but the God-Queen seemed completely unphased.

“Well you see my partner and I run a bit of a traveling show called Carnivora and sometimes that puts us out in the dead zones. Which in fact is where we just came back from after getting a missive from one of the CoV outposts. Our gig is staged in that thing as you so kindly put it.”

Sloane blushed as she realized they had heard her conversation with Tyreen. “I hope I didn’t cause any offence. I do believe you know where I came from then? We don’t have such things back on Eden-4.”

Pain winked at her. “Oh I am aware Miss.Sloane. That brings us to our business now actually. We’re in charge of the after party portion of tonight’s celebration and we wanted to make sure everything was just perfect before the big event. The God-Queen mentioned you have a bit of an affinity for plants, correct?”

“Oh I most certainly do have an affinity for plants sir. One could say I’m rather in tune with nature.” She smirked. She had never been overly proud of her powers but it seemed like she was being sized up and she wasn’t going to back down from it.

“Good,good. We’ve arranged for all kinds of exotic plants to be imported into Carnivora for tonight, I do hope you’ll find them satisfactory.”

Sloane didn’t like the sleazeball attitude she got from the Pain but at the same time she wasn’t about to make a fuss or a fool of herself in front of Tyreen. She instead nodded her head politely and said “I’ll be looking forward to seeing what you’ve done.”

“Oh it’ll be a night to remember for sure.” Tyreen chimed in. “Anyway Pain, Terror, lovely seeing the both of you as always but we’ve gotta get going to deliver Sloane here to the High Priests for the rest of preparations so I will catch you both tonight at the show.”

Tyreen ushered Sloane out into the Cathedral hall where Troy was waiting to join them. Tyreen waited for the door to click close before she spoke again. “Pain and Terror can be a bit much and that’s saying something coming from me.” She said with a chuckle. “But they mean well and I’m sure you’ll see that pay off tonight.”

“Hah yeah totally, you could have told me they were there before I made an ass of myself though.” Sloane hissed still processing the entire encounter.

“Oh don’t get your panties in a twist they won’t say anything, not if they want to keep their cushy positions. Pain was just testing to see if you're a pushover and you’re not so, don’t worry about it.”

“Ugh they talk so much, or well Pain does. Never had much of an issue with Terror, but eh. They bring in the views and our followers love their performances so what can ya do but let them do their thing right?” Troy remarked clearly not having all too high an opinion of the duo himself. However there was not time to press him for more information as Tyreen continued to lead her through the hall until they approached the large decorated doors that lead to the sermon hall where the high priests would be waiting.

The doors swung open from the inside as two lower ranking priests bowed low as they entered. The room was wide and full of pews, decorative metal arches sprawled on the ceiling just below stained glass murals of the twins, hands extended towards the viewer. The smell of incense rose from smoking censers that hung in the corners of the room and while often there were grand sermons being presented the only sound in the room currently was the soft humming of the group of robed figures standing at the pulpit.

As Tyreen, Troy, and Sloane approached the group all kneeled drawing the symbol of the Children of the vault in the air before casting their heads down to the floor. Sloane was fairly certain she could pick out which of the priests were Jaxon and Helios based on height and the more decorative nature of their robes but with their hoods up it was difficult to know for sure which high priest was which.

“God-Queen, Father Troy, Blessed Sister, we are honored to be in your presence.” A voice that was decidedly Jaxons broke the silence with a reverence Sloane had only heard from the lower priesthood until this moment.

“I’m entrusting you all to keep Sloane safe until the ceremony. You know what to do.” There was a veiled threat in Tyreen’s voice that was enough to keep them all in line.

“We’ll see you tonight.” Troy added.

With that the twins turned and left the way she came while Sloane waited for the priests to give her further instructions. Though she could only barely make out outlines of faces under the hoods she felt the gazes of all of them upon her.

“You are in good hands Sister Sloane,” Jaxon said, closing the gap between the two of them. “Our fellows are here to see to it that you are ready to be presented not only to the Twin Gods but all of our children. Please come with us.”

For the first time in awhile a leash was attached to the ring of her collar and she was led in formation through a door at the back of the room. Sloane took stock of the room they had entered; it appeared to be a public bath. Though unlike most public baths the bathing pool was small and circular, the water's surface decorated with flower petals.

“We are going to undress you now, Blessed one.”

Sloane realized now that half of the priests had stayed behind at the doorway and assumed that meant that the priests inside the room were all women. She simply stood there as the priests circled around and gently removed her clothes. They were humming the soft tune again and she felt a bit light headed, like they had been transported to some ethereal plane where it was just her and the priests.

Once she was nude they led her over to the pool and she gingerly stepped in. The water was warm and inviting and she was almost able to tune out the hands of the priests as they bathed her in floral smelling soap. After what felt like an age they prompted her to get back out and wrapped her in a towel before they shuffled to the back of the room where they finished toweling her off. Now dry instead of handing her regular clothes back to her they gave a white cloth gown that looked akin to their robes save for the hoods.

Now dressed and back in the main room of the sermon hall. Sloane looked to the priests who all nodded and Jaxon spoke. “You are ready to be presented to the Twin Gods. Come we will deliver you to the Holy City.”

The group of priests moved again to surround Sloane so that no one would be able to see the siren amongst them. They walked to the Cathedral garage which was emptier than she had ever seen, only a single heavily armoured technical with an enclosed back sat in the middle of the room. Two well armed members of the lower clergy were waiting by the driver and gunners seat while the high priests loaded her in first and then filed in around her.

“Are you nervous, Blessed One?” Helios asked as the car pulled out of the garage.

“Maybe a little, if only because of how many people are going to be watching.” She admitted. Seven billion people was far more than she had ever imagined seeing her in her life. Somehow that was more scary than being in the presence of the two most influential people in the six galaxies, but they were sirens like her and even with their domineering public images they felt safe to her.

“Do not dwell on that Blessed One. Think only of how you are giving yourself over to the family; to the Twin Gods. When you are presented focus on them and nothing else will matter.”

While Sloane didn’t quite think that would work with her the way it might with someone who bought into the idea that the twins were actually gods she couldn’t deny that they did have an effect on her. Feelings that had been growing in her like the roots of a plant, she was only just beginning to understand what they might mean. All she knew was that tonight was more than just cementing her place as a loyal follower of the twins.

As they approached the holy city that had grown in size over taking the patch of desert it normally bordered the sound of Mouthpiece’s music and people partying filled the air. They drove past crowds of revelers , neon lights, and an entire fairground erected in the centre of it all. A large holographic image of Pain was projected in the air as he gave a spiel with all the charm and charisma of a ringmaster.

“Don’t forget dear devoted followers, tonight we have a special Carnivora performance full of mystery and bloodshed. And for all the Eridium tier followers in attendance don’t forget to pick up your commemorative buzz axe and tee shirt.”

The air was almost buzzing with excited energy like the calm before a lightning storm. It was tangible even from the inside of the vehicle, even as their drivers hollered out the windows to clear the way ahead of them Sloane felt no danger. Though she did want to be back in the twins company, this was the longest time she had spent away from them since being taken in by them and it was only now that she realized how safe they made her feel.

The technical lurched to an abrupt stop suddenly and the clergy member in the passenger seat leaned back to look at everyone in the back.

“We’ve arrived, exalted ones.”

“Thank you for your service, may the Twin Gods bless your path.” Jaxon said as the high priests filed out of the vehicle before offering Sloane a hand up.

As she exited the car she looked up and saw with great detail that which had been looming in the background of the Cathedral all week. It was a massive fortress set on even more massive tank treads with enough room underneath to comfortably build another tent city under, which the revelers had in fact done leaving an exclusion zone in the path of the trends. The entrance was that of a giant metal skull complete with stairs designed to look like a tongue as the way up.

Soon as she was led into the complex Sloane was amazed by the sheer number of people milling around in the entrance hall. Some of them noticed the band of priests entering and began to whisper amongst each other but most of their gazes were affixed to the giant screens hanging on the walls. From this angle Sloane couldn’t tell what was going on but she could make out the bottom edges of Tyreen’s boots.

“This way Blessed One.” A priest tapped her on the shoulder and gestured to a scaffolding ladder that led up into the higher levels of the fortress. Sloane tried not to think about how unsteady the metal ladder seemed as she climbed higher the crowd of people blurring together into a swarm of color and movement before she reached the platform the priests who had already made the climb were waiting on.

“We’re so high up.” She remarked as they waited for the last few to join them.

“Surely you didn’t expect us to try and cross that crowd. I don’t think anything less than a direct order from one of the twins could part that sea.” Helios remarked. “I like it up here though, really shows you the bigger picture.”

He was right, from up in the catwalk the entire room was visible from the masses of followers being sorted to their appropriate spots to the massive images of Tyreen and Troy on the screen. It was all a system, this building, a well oiled machine that knew how to run at the most efficient of levels. This was just an entertainment complex yet somehow it seemed to be representative of how the whole of how the Children of the Vault operated.

They exited the room through the catwalk and entered what appeared to be a performers lounge. She could see evidence of the Twins having been there including a couple husked bodies in the corner and a well used ashtray.

“Sit tight Blessed One.” Jaxon said as the high priests all scattered to do various things and left Sloane in front of two screens which played the Twins current stream. Tyreen and Troy were dressed in showier versions of their standard outfits. Troy’s snake emblem motif carried over around the shoulders to the front of his vest, while Tyreen still wore her standard coat; the clothing under it was a deep purple dress with Star patterns scattered across it tastefully. Both outfits drew attention and played well with the twins' siren markings and Sloane was impressed with the craftsmanship of them.

“And that about wraps up the pre-show folks, be sure to leave a comment on what your favourite act of Pandora’s next top slaughter with the hashtag Carnivora for your chance to win an eridium tier membership.” Tyreen said leaning against the railing of the balcony she and Troy stood on.

“We’ll be back after a five minute break to get this show on the road, in the meantime sit back relax and watch the skullcrusher clans fire juggler.”

The CoV logo flashed on screen before the scene shifted to the fire juggler. Sloane jumped as a hand touched her shoulder and as she turned to look she saw one of the high priests put their hands up defensively and take a step back.

“My apologies for the startle Blessed one, there is one more thing we must do before you can be presented to the Twin gods.” They said before attaching a thick chain to the collar.

It was in that moment that Sloane noted the quiet that had descended. Until now there had been a constant thrum of music that she had pushed to the back of her mind as she processed everything, now however it was silent. Helios returned to the room through the curtain partition and gave a nod to the others. They closed around her again, Jaxon taking the chain in her hand and they walked through the curtain.

Troy’s cam bot whizzed into the air space near Sloane’s head immediately and hovered, tracking her as she was led forward across the balcony. The silence felt heavy. She looked to the ground below them and saw hundreds of people sat heads bowed in prayer, the twins standing tall at the end of the walkway waiting to be joined. Hanging from the ceiling were hundreds of baskets of exotic plants, flowering vines as thick as her waist overflowing from their pots. As she walked past some of them swung forward towards her as she reached out with her powers to have a better look.

“Children of the Vault, please turn your attention from your prayers to welcome the newest member of the holy family.” Tyreen announced. Sloane could feel all seven billion eyes across the universe turn towards her as the gap was closed between herself and the twins.

“Kneel before your Gods.” Tyreen commanded locking eyes with her, the steely blue seeming cold and methodic. It was almost like looking into the eyes of a stranger and not the woman Sloane had spent the better part of recent times getting to know. Without hesitation she kneeled and heard the chain jingle as it passed from priest to god.

“You came to us lost and without purpose, but here in our holy family you are useful, you are among people who would lay down their lives to protect you and would expect you to do the same without hesitation. Do you swear yourself to this cause?”

“Yes.”

“Do you Sloane, swear yourself to us, the Twin Gods?”

“Yes, God-Queen.”

“This chain around your neck, it symbolizes the life you lived before we found you. The things and people that hurt you, but no more. Troy would you do the honors?”

Tyreen passed a pair of bolt cutters to her twin who stepped forward as his sister moved to tilt Sloanes head up and out of the way. The chain fell away with a loud thunk as it hit the floor.

“Your bonds are broken. Your path clear, there is but one thing left to cement your place within our holy family. You must wear the mark.” Troy said gesturing to a tattoo gun that sat on a small table to the left of them. He took it in his human hand and approached her from behind, one of the priests pushing the collar and her hair out of the way.

She was surprised as the buzz of the gun got closer to her, Troy’s mechanical arm resting on her back to keep her in place. She chewed the inside of her cheek as she felt it make contact with her skin. The more surprising action however, was when he leaned in close to her ear and whispered “You can get through this, just relax.”

True to his word she zoned out focusing instead on Tyreen who stood proud as ever observing the two of them. The details of her outfit were impeccably highlighted by the lighting of the room and Sloane thought about how much planning she must put into every appearance the twins made. Before she could over analyze the set dressing and lighting of the event Troy gave her a light squeeze on the shoulder and backed off.

“Wear it proudly.” Troy said rejoining his sister while Sloane stayed kneeling before them.

She heard the camera drone whiz around her again before it went back to hovering in front of Tyreen. Tyreen’s boots clicked against the floor of the balcony as she approached and stopped in front of her. A gloved hand caught her under the chin and tilted her head upward to look into those cat-like eyes.

“Do you swear your undying loyalty to us? To the family?Do swear to strike down all those who would stand against us or threaten your family with harm?” She tilted her head like she was scoping out prey, she knew the answer already but she wanted to hear it.

“I swear my God-Queen. I pledge my life to the Twin Gods.” They had rehearsed this scene but now that it was real there was something strangely different about it. Sloane’s throat felt dry as the words left her mouth, there was more to it than just servitude and protection for her. They were Sirens. They were like her and even with the expectations they had for her it was just so nice to feel like she was somewhere with people who truly understood her. People who would see her as an equal instead of someone beyond them.

Tyreen’s lips curved into a genuine smile as if until this moment she had been unsure if Sloane was going to say yes. She released her grip and motioned for Sloane to stand as she turned back to the crowd.

“There you have it brothers and sisters, another member has joined our ranks and a Siren no less. Please give the warmest Children of the Vault welcome to our newest member of the high clergy, Blessed Sister Sloane.”

Sloane felt Troy’s hand catch the front of her outfit as she was pushed forward by the priests. He pulled hard but instead of tearing the fabric off her the plain white robe flipped over a tear away seam revealing that all along it had been a green dress covered in embroidered flower patterns and vines.

The roar of excitement from the crowd was almost deafening. In that moment Sloane was sure the planet itself was vibrating under the energy ramping up from the crowd. Her own fears were cast off in the moment, she was home, she belonged. This was what she had been missing since the day her parents decided they were unwilling to raise a siren. As she looked to either side of her the twins wore grins that were far more wolfish than Sloane would have expected, it seems this was the reaction they were hoping for.

“Silence, your God-Queen wishes to speak.” Mouthpiece’s voice rang out after what felt like an eternity of cheering. The silence that descended almost had a tangible weight to it as Tyreen stepped in front of her again.

“Thank you, all of you. I’m sure Sloane feels right at home knowing how much you love her already. Now this wouldn’t be a welcome party if we didn’t let her spill some heretical blood. Do the honors won’t you Mouthpiece?” Tyreen purred looking down into the ring at her bodyguard.

Sloane watched as a cage emerged from the center of the room. Now the plants made sense, they wanted her to prove she was a killer, a predator. They wanted to prove to everyone watching that she was just as dangerous as the gods she served. Of course, Sloane was no stranger to killing things to survive. She had hunted the creatures in her forest back on Eden-4, she had even killed people who were poaching the wildlife but this felt different somehow. Those had all been private, no one had known she was a killer when she was the witch of the woods she was just an urban legend then. There would be no denying what she was this time. Everyone would see her do it; they would know what she was capable of. They might even fear her after it was done.

She looked at Tyreen again, she was the best example of what Sloane thought a siren should be. She was strong and fearless, she carried herself with the air of someone who knew they were born to lead. She knew Tyreen wouldn’t hesitate in a situation like this, she wanted desperately in that moment to earn Tyreen’s praise. So she couldn’t hesitate either.

She reached out to the nearest group of plants, her siren markings flaring as her fingers caressed the vine. A single touch being all she needed to know what the plant was capable of. This one was a pitcher plant, she could use that. Her powers called out to the others of its type that were hanging around the room and they merged together vines overlapping like a large snake at the end of it a large pitcher erupted easily large enough to hold human bodies. The plant slipped into the cage between the bars, vines grabbing the prisoners as they tried to escape screaming and writhing as they were tossed into the pitcher.

Sloane turned to look at the twins as she released her hold on the plant, still unsure of what she was feeling. Their icy blue eyes seemed to be calculating her performance before the creases of a smile formed on their faces. A tangible weight lifted from deep inside her guts, they weren’t horrified or afraid, she had done well.

“Well wasn’t that a show everyone! You might want to watch out Pain, she might give your little show a run for its money.” Troy praised clapping her on the small of her back with his prosthetic arm.

“We’re going to take the Blessed Sister back to our viewing area to watch the rest of the festivities. Stay bloodthirsty brothers and sisters, and for you newcomers joining us for the first time tonight don’t forget to like, follow, and obey.” Tyreen bowed for the camera and the audience. Her hand then threaded around Sloane’s waist much the same way Troy’s was.

The twins began to walk back towards the back room Sloane guided by their contact, once they crossed the threshold she felt the adrenaline wear off and she sagged slightly.

“If you wanna stay Ty I’ll take her back to the Cathedral; starting to get a headache from all the noise anyway.” Troy said as he caught her in his grasp hefting her into the crook of his prosthetic arm.

“Yeah I’ll pick up your slack as usual. Just don’t do anything stupid Troy.” Tyreen rolled her eyes and Troy didn’t particularly like the tone she had taken but again he was exhausted and not in the mood to argue with her.

Instead he flipped her off and gave a snort fighting back the urge to snark after her not to drink too much. He knew she would, he knew he’d probably be taking care of her hung over ass in the morning but he honestly couldn’t care about that right now. His attention was continuously dragged back to the barely conscious form of Sloane in his arms. He was being very careful to avoid grazing her Siren markings, he didn’t need to feed right now and something inside him was screaming at him to not betray her vulnerability. He very well wouldn’t like it if someone tried to take advantage of him when he was vulnerable, hence why it was such a rare thing to see from him at all. Troy had faced far more betrayal and pity from showing his vulnerability so now he made sure that the only people who saw were the same people he would trust to hold a knife to his throat .

[whirlybirbs]

✶ ┈ PART TWO !

summary: loki meets the grandmaster and you intervene. the agreement (it’s really not an agreement, okay, more of a cause of circumstance) of parading as a married couple happens and neither of you are very excited about it. pairing: fake!wife reader x loki, set in ragnarok. a/n: hehehe here’s another 1.7k of these two. READ PART ONE HERE.

The third time you meet Loki, he’s strapped to that contraption the Grandmaster uses to intimidate the new fighters.

You’ve had a long week.

You’d woken up in a trash heap, bruised and sore and somehow alive. You’d decided, wholeheartedly, not to think too much about it -- not that you had an option. After stumbling over an entire mountain of inter-galactic trash being deposited by the varying collapsing stars around the planets atmosphere, you were quickly descended upon by a terrifyingly pretty woman with a tight braid and white symbols painted down her cheeks.

She smelt like booze and swaggered like a practiced warrior.

You didn’t trust her.

“You a fighter?” she’d called out, tilting her head.

“Where am I?” you’d asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Sakaar,” she chirped, “Now, are you a fighter? Yes or no?”

The moment that followed was tense -- a bit like a standoff.

“... Depends.”

“Hm.”

She’d caught you in the neck with a tracker then, a smirk on her face the whole way. In one swift move, she’d thumbed open the control device in her hand and sent you convulsing to the ground.

“The Grandmaster likes the pretty, clever ones.”

Her condescending smirk was the last thing you saw before you blacked out.

You woke up in the same chair Loki’s strapped to currently, bleary eyed and confused -- that man, The Grandmaster as he called himself, had decided rather quickly that he liked you. Perhaps it was your sudden decision to praise him and his choice of make-up.

(That was a great way to make friends in the bathrooms of bars -- surely compliments are universal.)

“Who are you, then?” he asks with a slow smile.

“I’m a Doctor,” you say slowly, “I study astrophysics.”

The smile drops immediately.

“Boring.”

He’s about to wave his hands, then, send you off to some horrible fate, you’re sure.

“A-And I tell stories!”

(That wasn’t really a lie -- you had a minor in classics. If you recited the plot to Hamlet to any of the colorful people in this penthouse suite, you’re sure none of them would realize it. Perhaps being entertainment would be worth keeping you around until you figured out how the fuck to get back home.)

“Stories, huh?”

So, here you are now, swathed in Sakaarian socialites, faux-smiles plastered to your face as you giggle into your neon colored drink. Your gown is something deemed fashionable for this planet, all colorblocked and tight with high slits and low dips. Along your cheeks is the same stark white branding as the brazenly mean warrior-lady you’d first met on Trash Mountain. You realize, half-way through the application by one of the Grandmaster’s maids, that it’s a mark of ownership. It’s rather disgusting, the whole fact you’re someone’s property now -- but, you suppose that it’s keeping you alive and in this current state? 

You really can’t complain.

Until you see Loki.

You choke on your drink.

You stand swiftly, leaving your martini and the gaggle of others behind as you move quickly upon the center of the room. The Grandmaster reels for a moment at the obstruction amidst his usual induction -- and your jaw drops.

“You.”

Quickly, the look of surprise morphs into one of anger and Loki’s eyes widen. You feel like you’re suddenly had all the words you’d thought about screaming in his face these last seven days pulled from your brain and all you can do is snarl and shriek:

“... You!”

Your finger jabs his chest, prodding at the green and gold armor there with such ferocity it’s no wonder you’re not stabbing him. For the first time, Loki gets a good look at you -- it’s clear you’ve somehow managed to worm your way into this “Grandmaster”’s circle; it’s commendable. For a Midgardian.

The Silvertongue, with every passing moment, is beginning to see his opportunity to do the same slip away.

“What? What’s the matter?” the Grandmaster coos, circling Loki to place his arms around your frame. You stiffen. Loki watches you swallow your anger. If he wasn’t strapped to a chair, maybe he’d find your discomfort amusing. However, Loki can’t help but avert his gaze.

Your anger is well deserved, really. He did throw you out of the Bifrost.

“... Oh, I see what’s going on here.”

Both you and Loki blink at the Grandmaster.

“... I’m sorry?”

“Star-crossed lovers.”

Your face twists into disgust as Loki blinks between the two of you -- confusion splits his features into an attempt of a charismatic laugh.

“Good sir, I believe you’re mistaken --”

“No,” he raises a finger, “I’ve seen this before. And you told me of your crash landing, my pretty little pet -- you said you lost your friends on the way. Lost a love… Raven haired and pale...”

You’d been entertaining the party with a poorly remember retelling of Romeo and Juliet to the Grandmaster’s court, but okay. It’s pretty clear the Grandmaster is making his over revisions as well.

Loki’s brow quirks.

There’s a moment pause. Then, the Grandmaster stops his blinking between the both of you and claps his hands. “But, if not -- I’ll have him executed. Your reaction was warrant enough. Can’t have my best storyteller off her game, can I?”

The maniac’s ability to bounce between party and murder is astounding.

Loki’s eyes are wide. His look is pleading.

You, in that moment, are put in the biggest moral dilemma of your life.

You can, of course, turn the other cheek -- but that means cozying up to the global terrorist who unceremoniously threw you out of the Bifrost to try and save himself from his own sister. On the other hand, you’d be letting Thor’s brother die all while losing your potential way off this planet. But, there’s no guarantee the trickster will help you. However, if there’s anything you remember from that one mythology class in college, it’s that gods tend to honor their debts.

Saving his life is a debt owed, right?

(And honestly? Letting Thor down and never seeing your parents again sounds pretty horrible.)

“It’s just… I thought you were dead.”

Loki, in that moment, is nearly impressed by your acting.

“I was worried sick,” you continue, clearly gritting out the last bit, “I… I was sure I lost you.”

“Fear not,” Loki’s mood swings then into one of pure amusement, smirk brandishing his features, “I apologize for scaring you, my sweet.”

“You know,” the Grandmaster’s face is twisted into a grin, “I have this six sense -- I can just… smell love in the air, or something. I knew it, I mean… Look at you two. God, it’s… adorable. Really. So, what is this, huh? Just a… a fling? Or --”

“We’re married.”

Where the fuck did that come from?

Loki’s got the same look on his face.

“She’s the crowned Princess of Asgard,” Loki says then, slowly. His eyes are glued on the way you shrink away from the Grandmaster’s gaze, “My wife.”

“Ass-gard, huh? Wow.”

He hums.

Loki is suddenly realizing there’s a reason to why you’re doing this. You’d made it apparent in the Sanctum that you weren’t intimidated by the likes of him. Somehow, though, this Grandmaster figure has earned your evident anxieties.

(Maybe it was because you’d watched him roast a guy who made a poorly timed joke about the color blue on your second day here. The smell was awful. But, it’s not like you can tell Loki that -- you just have to hope that somehow this little improv plan works and you and Loki can somehow get the hell off this floating landfill.)

“And… what’s his gig, huh, my pretty?” he’s addressing you now, lips upturned in an expectant smile, “Besides… well.. good bone structure.”

“He’s a Silvertongue, Grandmaster,” you explain slowly, hands clasped in front of you, “In more ways than one.”

Loki suddenly feels a bit like a piece of meat.

You relish in his discomfort as the Grandmaster bursts into an excited bought of laughter.

“Oh, see! This is why I love you! You’re so clever,” he chirps, waving his hands, “Your wife, Mr. Low-key, is lovely.”

“Isn’t she?” he grits.

The Grandmaster is unphased. “Quite! Now, this is good, this is very good -- I mean, it’s evident your… sexual tension is there. I can’t see why you two would lie to me, y’know? That would just be… uh… a bad idea.”

Behind him, Topaz clacks the Grandmaster’s staff on the red and white floor. You swallow thickly.

“I could never lie about my love for him, Grandmaster,” you supply, a delicate hand moving to touch Loki’s cheek. His skin is cold, “It’s simply not in my nature.”

“Nor I,” Loki says sweetly, “We make a better pair than separate, good sir, I promise you that.”

The man claps with glee.

“I love this, two lost loves reunited,” he nearly cries, “Topaz, get these two their own room, will you?”

It works.

Somehow it works.

The penthouse apartment they set you and Loki up in is big -- it’s better than the slave quarters you’ve been sleeping in for the last week. The far wall is ceiling to floor windows. Outside, Sakaar flies by; it’s the first time you’re actually getting a good look at the planetside. It’s bustling and the sun is setting between two twin moons, bathing the capital city in pinks and oranges.

“You are idiotic, bug, to propose this little plan -- had you wanted to sleep with me, you only needed to say so; lest I would.”

You recoil in a snarl. Loki is staring at the room in disdain.

“I just saved your life.”

“That colorful maniac had neither the strength nor gall --”

“Oh?” you chirp, hands flying to your hips, “Really? Sorry -- when did you get here? Ten minutes ago? Yeah, nice, cool, I’ve been here for a week and I’ve seen him toast like, five people for fun. The smell is awful.”

Loki’s mouth snaps shut.

Who in the Nine Realms are you?

“Besides,” you snarl, “I’m not doing this for you -- I’m doing this to get home.”

“And who, pray tell, said I would help you, bug?”

You, then, engage in this game of chess again -- your movements are slow and calculated and predatory and Loki has to admire your ability to dish it out. Your fingers jabs his chest once, then again.

“I did,” you seethe, “When I made sure you didn’t get easy-bake-oven’d, asshole. You owe me.”

He opens his mouth, keen on biting into your argument, when there’s a knock at the door.

“Dinner is being served, Lord and Lady Loki!”

You both save it for another time and exit the apartment holding hands.

The third time you meet Loki, you’re married.

[glamrockmonarch]

Brian wouldn't be amused by the way I start my sentences...but oh well!

So I was browsing as one does first thing in the morning...and I saw this beauty of a post. Which was so short and precise, straight to the point...everything I am not. Naturally, I thought to myself "thats so cute!" And then I got hit by another post by someone else (I cannot find it, my app reloaded AHHH! TUMBLR MOBILE APP HELL!) where I saw some soft pictures of Joe with children...So...

I present to you:

Baby Fever: an AU

Aka a side project for this fine blog to forever be too much for me.

It's a series where I will just let out some steam from my soft soft heart in the form of writing about Daddy!Ben, Daddy!Gwil, Daddy!Rami, Daddy!Joe, and why the fuck not: Mama!Lucy. All in the same AU for my personal enjoyment!

And we're starting with Joe. Enjoy!

Second Time Around

Summary: You and Joe have a complex relationship, friends to lovers? Ah, yes? Now married for four years with a two year old boy to call your own, things lately have been busy for Joe, and you have put a hold on baby no. 2...Or have you?

"Joe?" You somehow manage to open the door while carrying the bag full of groceries.

The day has been menacing with rain since early in the morning and you knew you had very little time to get around your chores before it started pouring. You also had a busy night ahead of you, with the baseball on tonight, you know your husband will definitely want to cuddle with you and watch the game. Hence the beer and frozen pizza still in your car.

"Yes?" You heard two voices, different in their entirety coming from the hall.

Looking up, you felt a little helpless; struggling to keep the bag in your hands as you tried to make your way into the open kitchen space. Peaceful as ever Joe came into view in one of his sweatpants and a shirt, your beautiful little boy perched up on his hip giggling at Joe's beard that he kept playfully rubbing against his son's soft cheek and nose.

"Dada!" He wiggled in his arms.

"Obviously the one that goes to the gym and allegedly carried 70 pounds on Monday!" You huffed on your way past them.

You were just so drained from all energy you really needed Joe's help.

Joe gave baby Joey a look and rushed to say hello to you, as he had been busy that morning and didn't get to spend much time with you other than breakfast and that short moment when you kissed his lips before her drove Joe to daycare so you could get a head start on everything.

"Here, I'll get those," Joe said as he handed you Joe and let you take a breath.

You enjoyed those little moments when everything fit in so well. Joe was your best friend before you started going out romantically. You knew he had his history with other women, and he was a few years older than you...but you came to see him as something else. Joe seemed to realise you were all he ever needed and wanted at about the same time; it was a matter of weeks before you were official, after years of friendship but anyway: you moved quite fast! And it never felt like it was happening that fast at all, nor that you needed to catch to something. It was your own pace and it worked perfectly for you.

Now you ask Joey about his day and smile at him as he goes on and on about what he did at the day care today and what fun he had with Dada after he picked him up.

"Oh, you got invited to a party?" You opened your eyes wide.

Joey giggled and nodded while Joe came in through the door, kicking it closed behind him as he handled every remaining bag. Kudos to him: he didn't drop a thing.

Joe gave his son a smile and turned to you, acting as if he had been smelling around.

"I think we have a visit from Stinky, babe."

Joe pinched his nose once he put everything down on the counter.

You giggled and looked at Joey, who did need a shower but still acted as he was wondering who Joe could be talking about.

"I'll get started," you nodded up at the ceiling and Joe got it, starting to put the groceries in place. "Don't be late, captain!"

You took your son upstairs and ran the bath for him, making sure you had all his toys. After you tied your hair up and you got Joey undressed to put in the bath which he enjoyed very much.

"Mammy, do the thing with the shampoo!" He jumped around in the tub.

It was as if that was Joe's cue, he walked in then and made his way to the two of you.

"Alright, little man...that's Daddy's gig!"

You took a step back and let Joe do his thing, fooling around with Joey during bath time, not that you didn't join in...

And in fact it was a fun part of your day, laughing with your two favourite men in the world as Joey giggled with the towel wrapped around his little body.

It was safe to say that Joey was out as soon as you got him dressed in his pjs, this was maybe one of those moments that were simply yours regardless of Joe being home or not: your baby will always prefer being safely wrapped in your arms as he doses off to sleep. And that's exactly what he did while Joe read a bedtime story to him, which your little one didn't pay much attention to.

Finally, you sat with Joe downstairs in the living room wearing your comfy sweats and a tank top, sighing and laying your head on his shoulder you got around to watching the game. Joe wrapped his arm around you and held you, he could tell there had been something on your mind for the past couple of days but he knew better than to push you onto talking: you would talk to him when you were ready and that was more than okay.

"Joe?" You finally let out.

"Yes, YN?"

Joe played it cool because he didn't want to sound too eager to listen but he was curious and he was starting to get concerned.

"I'm pregnant."

The game was still on when you blurted the words out, regardless, Joe straightened up and turned to you. You sat up right as well, turning to him.

"You...what?"

Joe seemed to go pale, he knew you didn't want to have a baby at the moment, he was working more and he would be away from home for a while that year. You talked about it and agreed you would wait till next year...and yet: here you were sitting next to him looking some kind if way.

Joe examined your expression for a second and he knew what he was seeing. You were not scared, you couldn't be! You've done this before. And you were not mad either, a baby would never be a reason to make you mad... You were worried. You had every right to be, because you knew the struggles of pregnancy and you knew how hard and how easy some things had been even with Joe by your side so knowing now that you would be doing most of the journey without him and with Joey to care for was placing questions and worries in your mind.

"The doctor told me on Wednesday." You explained, "7 weeks."

Joe opened his mouth in astonishment, he didn't expect this news at all, it had only been a few weeks since you switched from the injections to the pill. He expected something else like you wanting to tag along for the five month shoot he was going on in July. He covered his mouth with his hand and then reached out to hold you, his arms wrapped tight and secure around your sensitive frame.

"Babe, that's wonderful!"

Joe kissed the top of your head to sooth you, he was already starting to feel his heart swell with love for your little baby.

"Yeah..." You mumbled on his shoulder and held on to him for what he felt was the longest he held you ever. "But I'm worried you'll miss most of this." You pulled away and put your hand on your still very normal not-pregnant-looking belly.

Joe gave you a side smile and brought his hand on top of yours, his thumb caressing your knuckles.

"YN, I'll find a way. Promise."

You looked into each other's eyes and although you didn't want to, you let out some tears. Which Joe quickly wiped away, kissing your cheeks he grabbed you and held you closer to him so you were almost completely laying on top of him with your head on his chest.

"You looked so pretty in those maternity panties...can't wait till they come back out!"

Strangely enough, Joe really did enjoy touching and holding you when you were pregnant the first time. He would always hold your hand at least, but mostly he loved to spoon you and run his hands all over your baby bumb all the way till the end of your pregnancy. He wasn't going to lie, he also quite enjoyed having sex with you during that time, it seemed something less kinky and more intimate than usual.

"Joe..." he made you giggle, which was his goal.

"Wait, does this mean I get to grow a dadstache?"

"Joe-no." You put your hand on his chest.

"Joe, ah-yes!"

Baby Fever Masterlist《《

[mbavholidayexchange]

To @whatcanisayimgay, from @dxlilith​

Title: So Your Best Friend Is A Spy

Rating: T

Summary: Not Provided

Ao3 Link: N/A

Content

Whitechapel

Sarah lies on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about absolutely nothing. It was pleasant. For the first time in months, she had no homework, no bad guys to fight, not even a babysitting gig. Her summer was free and open to do whatever she pleased and there was no one to stop her.

Knock-Knock

Well, almost no one. Hovering outside her window in an all black leather outfit was her best friend and fellow vampire Erica Jones. Sarah smiles. Erica had told her just that afternoon that she would be in the city and wouldn’t see her until next week. Sarah runs to the window to let her in.

“I’m going to kill him.” Is the first thing that comes out of Erica’s mouth as she throws a large dufflebag onto the floor.

“What did Benny do now?” Sarah eyes the bag, hoping that wasn’t a snack in there.

“Benny? No not him.”

“Rory?”

“No.”

“Ethan?!”

“Sarah, our lives are so much bigger than those three stooges. And it’s Frederick I’m going to kill.”

“Uhhhh…who’s that?”

“Not important. Do you have a overnight bag? What about that PINK one your dad got you for your 15th birthday?”

“Uh, it’s in my closet.”

“We’re going to Italy to retrieve something because Fredrick is useless and now I have to go into the Vatican and steal it back.”

“The Vatican? As in the holy city the pope lives in? Can vampires even step foot in there? Wait why am I going? Why do you…”

“Sarah.” Erica uses her vampiric speed to close the distance between herself and Sarah. She looms over the shorter girl and puts her hands onto either one of her shoulders. “You’re asking a lot of questions we don’t have time for. Let’s pack up, leave your mom a note. We’re catching a red eye in…” Erica pulls out her cellphone from her jacket and checks the time. “Two hours.”

“Two hours!” Sarah pulls back. “Erica you’re going to have to tell me way more if I’m supposed to go across the globe with you in two hours.”

“Fine.” Erica sighs. She heads directly to Sarah’s closet door and opens it. It takes her all of five seconds to find Sarah’s overnight bag and start packing away some articles of clothing. “Do you remember when I told you that I became a recovery agent for the council?”

“No.”

“Well I did.” Pleased with the selection of clothing, Erica leaves the closet and heads for Sarah’s en-suite bathroom. “And I have to recover something from the Vatican and you’re coming with.”

“Why?” Sarah pops her head into the bathroom as Erica dumps her makeup bag into the overnight bag.

“Because when we were six you said you wanted to go where spaghetti comes from.”

“You remember that?” Sarah almost whispers. The very logical part of her brain which had begun to sound a suspicious amount like Ethan, was telling her to not even humor Erica. Wasn’t them being teenage vampires enough of a fictional plot device as is? But the do anything for Erica part of her brain was already in Rome, shopping for cute clothes and flirting with attractive Italian shoe makers.

“Of course I do.”

Italy

“So recovery agent is just another word for spy?”

“No. Spies infiltrate, get disguises, finesse their way into things and stop megalomaniacs from blowing up the world. Recovery agents recover things. In this case, Vlad’s Amulet.”

“And the amulet is special because?”

“It’s not. It’s just one of those, super ancient, super historically significant things that people and vampires will pay millions for.”

“And it belongs to Anastasia?”

“Her family’s organization yeah.”

“Okay but I feel like you lied to me about going to Milan for lattes and authentic Prada wear.”

“What? I would never lie about lattes and fashion, how could you say such a thing?”

“Because we’re currently creeping through an secret tunnel underneath the Pope’s house!” Sarah practically yells but remembers they’re supposed to remain hidden so it all comes out in a rushed whisper.

“I told you, I had to make a quick stop on the way. This is like, the easiest retrieval I’ve ever done.” Erica stops in her tracks and points above her to a small square door and latch. “ Look, we’re already here. Five minutes and I promise you a super cute purse and matching shoes?”

Sarah is skeptical but says nothing as Erica jumps up through the trapdoor. She hears Erica’s footsteps, then a muffled sound.  Soon there’s a scuffle and Sarah is about to jump through herself when Erica’s face appears in the opening.

“Got it.” She produces a necklace and dangles it. It was more like a giant red hunk of ruby delicately laced with gold. “Now for some new shoes.”

London

“When you said we were gonna go to see Big Ben, this isn’t really what I imagined.”

“Yeah, it’s a lot smaller than I thought it’d be.”

Sarah sits on the ledge of the highest chamber of The Elizabeth Tower, the clock face just underneath her. As annoyed as she is with Erica ruining their evening, she was absolutely in love with the shoes she’d gotten her so she tries to focus on admiring them.

Erica is holding up the last of the henchmen by his ankle, searching his pockets for the artifact he was supposed to have. The other seven henchmen were knocked out, sprawled across the ground around her.

“I think I’m gonna eat this guy. He has great skin and hair so he has to be full of vitamins.”

“Ugh, I’ll meet you at The Eye. We’re still doing that right? Or is there another…”

“No, this lead was a dead end. I’m all yours, after this brief snack.” Erica’s eyes turn yellow and her fangs grow out.

“Don’t steal anything from him okay?” Sarah warns before jumping off the ledge.

Budapest

“Now this! This was a great idea.” Sarah sighs as she slips into the lavender milk bath until the water is just under her chin. It was meant as a forgive me for dragging you to more than three retrievals present from Erica.

“I told you. We’ll feel as smooth as silk and smell like sweet dreams.” Erica slips into the tub next to Sarah, the water reaching her collarbone. “Then we can go to the festival and watch the fireworks and have a nice night out.”

“And you promise there’s no retrieval?”

“No retrieval. No intel. It’s radio silence for the Council from me.”

“Then what’s that big vase?” Sarah points to the large stone vase sat behind Erica’s head.

“It’s part of the decor Sarah. Jeez, trust issues much.”

“Erica, it’s literally humming and doesn’t match anything in this room.”

The walls are cream with subtle paintings of lavender plants. The tub, faucets, towel bars, all gold plated and there are small white candles lit everywhere. The vase looked like a kindergartener bowl of concrete with squiggles craved into it.

“Okay so I snagged it while you were getting that facial but pick up isn’t until tomorrow.”

Sarah only grumbles and lowers herself under the sweet water and attempts to wash away her annoyance. She would never admit how much fun she was actually having. She settles for splashing Erica in the face.

Russia

“Wait so that was the Vlad the Impaler amulet?”

“Or so says Anastasia. Don’t really care. Long as she provides me with my next upgrade, I’ll bring it to her.”

“Upgrade?”

“Yeah. She has an ability that allows me to learn vampire powers faster.”

“Like what?”

“Like this.” Erica takes Sarah’s hand in hers and with the other, slips it around her waist. She brings the shorter girl towards her and they spin in a circle.

Suddenly Sarah feels dizzy and weightless. Gone are the cobbled streets of Moscow and in their stead are the marble white floors of a grand ballroom. Soft music plays all around them as twinkling candelabras seemingly float along with the notes. Erica is now wearing a black half mask but her yellow eyes shine brightly through. She’s in a glittering dark blue suit with tails and leading Sarah is a slow waltz. Sarah dances along, realizing rather belatedly that she’s in a massive pale grey gown with tiny butterfly accents that tickle her exposed collarbone.

“Erica?”

“It’s a type of glamour.” Erica smiles, her fangs peeking through her dark red lips. “It actually just started to snow.” As if the word snow was the magic one, the ballroom disappears and both girls are in their normal winter wear, just outside a café. It is in fact snowing and Sarah leans into Erica to stay warm.

South Africa

“Most civilized communities of vampires have councils. Anastasia’s just so happens to be a front for an organization that collect and protect vampiric artifacts. And it spans the globe so sometimes, I get several assignments outside of Canada.”

“That didn’t answer my question about sun block.”

“Oh, vampires under the equator do NOT go out before dusk.”

“Even a top recovery agent?”

“Even me.”

“So what do you wanna do while we wait for the sun to go down?”

“This bed is big enough for two.”

“It is.”

“And there’s a do not disturb on the door.”

“Is there?”

“And I may have retrieved the duty free cargo on our way here.” Erica reaches under the bed and pulls out a giant, airport sealed bag filled to the brim with sweets and snacks.

“Gossip Girl or Pretty Little Liars?” Sarah asks, already snuggling into her blankets.

“Grey’s Anatomy.”

New York

The painting measures floor to ceiling and takes up a third of the room. It’s oil on canvas and like the rest of the pieces in the museum, perfectly preserved. The scene is of a battlefield, drenched in blood, blacken sky, a lone figure riding on a black horse with a head impaled on his spear.

“Wait. I thought you already found the amulet.”

“I did.”

“So what’re we doing here?”

“I got some info about there being an even older artifact.”

“And they’re just gonna let you take it?”

“Nope.”

“You’re going to steal it, aren’t you?“

“Already did.” Erica holds up the small figurine. The same figurine that Sarah had been admiring in the Egyptology room three exhibits ago.

“Erica you’re going to get us caught!”

“Am I? Vampires don’t show up on film remember?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Let’s go get some lattes and head to Bryant park.” Erica leans in and takes Sarah’s arm and leads her towards the exit as armed guards and staff run pass them in a panic.

California

“This is the life.” Sarah sighs to herself. She’s wearing 200 spf in a super cute mermaid green two piece under a massive rainbow umbrella. The summer was almost over and while traveling was definitely exciting, traveling with Erica proved to be a little more stressful than she had ever it imagined.

“Sarah, can I ask you something?”

Sarah removes her sunglasses and looks over to her left. Erica wears a blood red monokini, her water soaked hair sticking to her cheeks and neck and the sunlight glistening off every inch of exposed skin. In other words, she was stunning.

“Go ahead.”

“You know I love you, right?”

Sarah sighs again. “Another retrieval?”

“No. I need to know that you know, I love you.”

“I love you too…”

“No, I love you.” In a blink of an eye, Erica is in her personal space. She pulls Sarah up so they’re both sitting up and almost touching noses.

“I…uh….Erica.”

“I know you love me back.” Erica smiles, her fangs flashing. “I can sense your blood whenever we’re together and you’re not mad at me.”

“Umm, I don’t know how I feel about you just dropping this out of the blue.”

“It’s not out of the blue. I’ve been trying to show you how much I love you this entire trip.”

“I mean, I just thought you were dragging me along your missions.”

“That too. But I can’t hold it in anymore. I love you Sarah and I want to be with you forever and sometimes I feel like you care more about Beevis and Butthead than me so I thought if I took you away…”

“I’d realize how much I actually am in love with you?” Sarah smiles.

“Precisely.” Erica smirks. Sarah giggles but notices how intently Erica is still staring at her. She doesn’t need vampire senses to know she’s waiting for an answer and is at the edge of her seat.

Whitechapel

“So that’s where you guys were all summer?”

“You almost sound jealous.” Sarah takes a sip of her french vanilla latte. After two months of running around the globe, she was finally home, catching up with Ethan. They sat across one another in a booth tucked into the corner of their favorite diner.

“Only a little. It’s not like I’ll ever get outta here. Not any time soon anyway.” He takes a sips of his green tea. In lifting his mug, Sarah notices the ring on his pointer finger. It’s a thick silver band with a perfectly round white opal set in the center.

“I didn’t know you did jewelry.”

“Oh? This?” Ethan holds up his hand to give Sarah a better look. “Benny made it. It stops me from having nightmares and allows me to filter my visions, allowing for better control of my powers.”

“That’s really sweet of him.”

“Yeah…um about that.” Ethan fumbles for the words and Sarah is almost certain what he is about to say. “Benny and I are…well, we’re dating.”

“O.M.G! It’s finally official!?”

“Yeah…wait, what do you mean….finally official? Did you think me and Benny were dating before?”

“You guys are practically married so yeah.”

“Sarah.”

Both brunettes turn their heads towards the door. Making her way over to them was Erica. She had an entirely too smug look on her face as her eyes zeroed in on Sarah’s.

“Hey Erica.” Sarah smiles. She stands up, her arms extended for a hug but instead is swept up into Erica’s arms where she is kissed soundly on the mouth. Sarah feels weightless, she does every-time Erica kisses her. She hopes it stays like that for the rest of eternity.

“You guys should probably get a room.” Ethan coughs.

“Jealous?” Ethan turns his head back towards the door where Benny is standing, hand still on the door. “Cause I can totally sweep you off your feet, if that’s what you want.”

Ethan’s face splits into a crooked grin as Benny takes three long strides towards him. Soon he’s standing over him, taking Ethan’s face into his hands and just staring down at him with those dark green eyes that always make Ethan feel like nothing else matters.

“Who are the ones that need the room now?” Erica smirks, Sarah snug against her side.

[angrylizardjacket]

convenient {Roger Taylor}

Anon asked: can you do a roger taylor imagine where you were just one of his flings but you keep coming back to each other and one night you’re at a show and he won’t stop looking at u and finally u confront him about your feelings like bitch i love u and he’s like o shit same but seriously any fluffy roger imagine would be fine cause i love my mans ajdjjskdj

Anon asked: heyyy, i really enjoyed always been close; i thought it was a beautiful mix of sweet and realistic. i was wondering if you would write something similar for roger with lots of like,, jealousy and elements of pining and sweetness and all that good shit. anywayssss, thank you so much for even reading this, love your work!

A/N: 3228 words. I realised I had only done one male!reader fic and I’m so sorry, I’ll try to correct that imbalance!! Um, light smut?? So yeah, male pronouns for reader.

Roger had never been shy about his sexuality in any sense of the word; he’d lived his late teenage years through the sixties, practically drenched in rock and roll and counter culture, sexuality, and more importantly sex, had never really been a huge moral issue with him.

And that’s how it starts with you.

You catch his eye from behind the drums at a gig, at least when Tim's not blocking his way, and you're hovering by the bar, a drink in hand, laughing at something the person beside you said, and even as he looks away, goes back to concentrating on his drumming, he can't get your smile out of his head.

You're not from around here, dragged here by some friends who swear up and down that the band is worth the trip, and you humour them, comfortable at the peripheries with a revolving door of friends keeping you company when they're not dancing. You're not much of a dancer, which is unfortunate because you're friends are right, the band is really quite good, some of their songs really have the crowd moving, but you're too self conscious in the new environment to even awkwardly bop, like you'd been known to do from time to time. The band is attractive enough, the bassist and guitarist looking like every other pair of rock and roll, uni-band, frontmen you'd seen in the last year, and you can't see the drummer for the drumkit on the stage, but you're pretty sure he's blonde.

"Having a good night?" During the break between sets, you're pulled out of your own thoughts by a voice beside you at the bar. Looking over your shoulder, you see a guy leaning against the wooden counter top, smirking, and 'oh no, he's cute' doesn't even begin to cover it. What's really killing you is probably his choice of open, button-down shirt in the middle of winter, but the doe-eyes and soft-looking blonde hair are also strong contenders.

"Yeah, it's great!" You respond easily, trying to keep your cool, "actually I'm pretty glad I was dragged out, these guys are good." And at that, his smile actually brightens.

"Well fuck, you're nice too, I think I'm obligated to buy you a drink." And he's already ordering you a pint as the bartender places his own in front of him; she doesn't make him pay for either.

"I- sure." You may not be known for dancing, but you're also not known to refuse free drinks from attractive strangers. "What do you mean 'too'?" You ask, and he turns back to you, taking a sip of his drink. There's a moment where he looks you over very pointedly, and you feel your heart beat a little faster as you avert your gaze for a moment.

"You, looking like that, complimenting my band?" After a beat, the bartender puts the drink down between the two of you and the realisation of what he's said sinks in, "you certainly know your way into a man's..." and he takes a very long, very pointed sip of his drink, refusing to break eye contact with you, "heart."

"Your band?" Is all you can think to ask, flustered by his forwardness.

"Roger. I'm the drummer." And it takes you a moment to realise that it's not an affirmation, it's his name, and only because he's holding his hand out to you.

"Y/N." You respond, taking his hand to shake it, before accepting the drink in front of you.

"You sticking around for the rest of the show?" He asked, shooting for casual, and you have to laugh a little at that; somehow his complete lack of subtlety was endearing.

"I think I might; maybe I can buy you a drink after the next set?" You ask, and Roger can't keep the pleased little smile from his face.

"I drink for free during the show," he says bluntly, and your heart sinks a little at the gesture being refused, but he holds out his cup, as if for a cheers, "how about after?"

Despite his earlier confidence, he's gentle, careful even, and it's about the time he's going down on you that you realise he probably doesn't have a lot of experience with guys; he's obviously got some experience, it not even that he's doing a bad job - he's really not - he just fumbles here and there, seems a little uncertain at times.

"Good, you're doing- doing really good." You're a little breathless, and it comes out as a half-moan, hand fisted in his hair.

"Thanks." He replies automatically, a little awkward, made a lot awkward with your dick in his mouth, and you actually have to let go of him to muffle your laughter. He's pulling back too, unable to help the laughter that escapes him, a little embarrassed and grinning brightly.

"Come here," you coax him to you, smiling as you press his lip to yours, moaning against his mouth as his hand takes over where his mouth had left you hard and wanting more despite both your amusements at the situation.

You've got no delusions regarding the night; it's fun, Roger's fun, and the next morning you catch a bus back to your home while he's still mostly asleep. Mostly. When you shift off the bed, pulling on your underwear, he reaches out, fingers grazing down your back, warm, a contrast to the cool morning air.

"Get home safe, okay?" He yawns, and turns over, away from you. You don't take it personally.

You don't think about him much after that, actually no, that was a total lie, you don't admit you think about him a lot after that, the blonde boy who made you laugh despite only knowing each other for less than a few hours, the drummer with energy to spare and a moan like music. Your friends tease you about the whole situation, nothing too mean, usually just about how you hadn't wanted to come out, then it turns out you didn't want to come home, but they're also the first to suggest going to see the band play when they come to your local pub.

It's been almost a month since you've seen him, and you're not exactly nervous, just unsure of what to expect. And you're late, spent too long fretting over what to wear, walking in at the end of the first set.

"Fancy seeing you here." He grins at you like you're old friends and something tightens in your chest at the realisation that he does in fact recognise you.

"I should be the one saying that, this is my local pub after all." You say, thanking the bartender as she passes over your drink.

"Local, huh?" He muses, and you tip your glass towards him in a silent confirmation before taking a sip. He orders his drink with a look on his face like he's saving that information for later. He doesn't stick around for the whole break, heads over to a crowd where you can see someone telling an animated story, and you tell yourself you aren't disappointed.

It turns out the band's gotten rid of the old bass player, and the man telling the story was the new singer. He's a much better front man, would be incredibly captivating to watch if you could ever take your eyes off of Roger.

"You have a crush, don't you." Your friend's voice in your ear breaks your trance, and you jump. She laughs, but it's not unkind.

"Yeah, I slept with him once and now I'm madly in love." You snorted, voice full of sarcasm, and you looked at her through narrow eyes.

"You gonna hook up again?" She asked, and you made a noncommittal noise, hoping she couldn't sense how much you wanted to. "Tonight?" Okay, yeah, she could definitely tell. You make another, more grumbly noise of affirmation in the back of her throat. "Is this the second time you've ever met up with him?"

"I don't think the first time counts as meeting up, we met at the bar for the first time." You tried to reason, words spilling from you before you can register that you're digging yourself into a deeper hole. She just looks smug. Looking back at Roger, you see he's watching your little argument with an amused smirk, and he gives you a wink when he finally has your attention. You both look away, and your friend just gives you a shit eating grin.

He's more sure of himself this time, lets himself relax more, and there's that strangely endearing quality about him again, where he's got you laughing and moaning in the same breath, and he grins like he knows exactly what he does to you. You're definitely not complaining. In fact, part of you hopes he never stops looking at you like that.

He's a late sleeper, it turns out, because when you get up to shower the next morning, you come back to him still there, bundled up and hogging your duvet now that he's the only one in the bed, expression surprisingly peaceful. Going about your morning routine, you fix yourself breakfast and drop in front of the television, uncertain as to whether or not you should wake him. Usually hook ups just left, sometimes if they were awake you'd make them breakfast too, but Roger was just... still asleep. You didn't want to disturb him.

Once you're finished breakfast, you head back into the bedroom to make up your mind about what to do with him, but he's awake, looking at the ceiling, blinking as if to clear the sleep from his eyes.

"Sorry, I'll get going in a minute." He assured, and you shrugged awkwardly.

"I can, I don't know- do you want breakfast?" You asked, and he turned, frowning a little.

"You don't have to do that." He assured, already moving out from beneath the covers, searching around for his clothes.

"Just thought I'd offer; shower's there if you wanna use it." You added, and he gave a nod of confirmation, a murmur of thanks. He heads past you into the bathroom, and after he closes the door, you hear the water turn on.

You're laying on the sofa reading when he emerges, hair still a bit wet, and you say a quick prayer that you don't blurt out whatever comes to mind, because Christ, he looks so clean and soft and his hair is curling a little at the ends where it's drying and you've never wanted to make a mess of something as badly as you do now.

"Thanks, I'll see you around." He grins at you, already heading for the door. You, shooting for casual and not wanting to give away exactly how much you wanted him, didn't even get up.

"'course you will." You tell him, and his grin gets a little bit more sincere as he looks over his shoulder at you.

You see him again soon, but not how you wanted to, and definitely not how you expected to. It's the middle of a pub crawl, almost eleven, and you're already feelings the booze hit a little too hard. There's a side door to the pub that you're grateful to find when the smell of smoke and alcohol is getting too overwhelming, but the moment the door closes behind you and the noise of the pub dims, you realise the alley you'd stepped into is occupied.

After a beat of getting your sluggish mind around the situation, you look over at where the sound is coming from, before it abruptly stops, and you find yourself making direct eye contact with a very startled Roger, blushing, before a pretty brunette stands abruptly from where she'd been hidden out of eyesight behind a trashcan, her cheeks now bright red.

"Hi." Is what your mind thinks is the best thing to say in this situation, but you don't give either of them time to answer, before you're turning, almost falling and wrenching the door open. "I gotta go, don't let me stop you." The words spill from your mouth as your heading back into the bar, looking for a drink, your head suddenly feeling far too clear.

It doesn't hurt, it shouldn't hurt.

The next time you hook up, you're not sure how to feel at first, you're both a little drunk, and he's got his hand on your cock in the back of his van between sets. It's messy and quick, and when you finish, he fishes a box of tissues from the glove compartment.

"Hey, I'm sorry about- about last time." He works diligently to help you clean yourself up, not looking you in the eyes. "Like last time we saw each other, you know?" It was almost a full five weeks ago, and you can see a fading hickey just beneath the collar of his shirt.

"Don't worry about it." You assure him, still a little breathless, head leaning back against the inside of the van. "Hey, hey I can-" And you make to reach for the fly of his pants sitting up once you're cleaned up, and he moves back, fond smile on his face.

"I've still got another set to go." He smiled gently at you, something about the sight makes your heart melt just a little, despite the situation. "But I'm free after that."

You're still seeing a few people here and there, people who aren't him, but it doesn't feel right. It's weird, you've only been with him twice, well three times now, but it feels like the most natural thing in the world. And then it keeps happening. Often. Often enough that you become a regular face around his shared apartment, and yeah sure, sometimes Brian can't make eye contact with you over breakfast, but that's technically Roger's fault.

It's not every weekend, you still have a life to attend to, sleep to sometimes have amid your busy schedule, but maybe once a fortnight you find yourself heading out to one of Smile's gigs (and maybe Roger starts telling you their upcoming gigs, hoping to see you there).

It started out as sex, sure, but the moment you hear Roger call out 'there's my guy' when he spots you sitting at the end of the bar, a little hunched over, when you'd come in late, you realise you might be too far gone for him. It's Summer now, and he's wearing a part of red shorts that show off far too much of his legs, and a tight t-shirt, and your brain stalls for a minute at the sight.

"You can't call me that." You hide your flustered, embarrassed, fond smile in your drink, and he claps you on the shoulder.

"Why not? At this point you're like our number one fan; you're our guy." And he's beaming, high from the adrenaline of performing, bright and excited for the night.

That's not what you said, your mind wants you to tell him, but you can't bring yourself to say it. Because you're his guy, and you're fun and convenient and at their gigs, and in his bed even though he's got scratch marks that you didn't leave, and underwear in the corner of his room that doesn't belong to either of you, and this isn't a crush anymore it's bigger than that but he's still got other options he's trying to follow, and you've got a good thing going here so you can't ruin it.

"You okay?" He's standing so close now, you hadn't even realised, so lost in your own thoughts. He's got his thumb lifting your chin where you're hunching further over the bar, not looking at him. He's become careless recently, casually affectionate even while at gigs, and you relish the attention, forgetting how lonely you'll feel the next day without those casual touches.

He's smiling at you like you're the only thing that matters to him, and you just want to kiss him.

But you think it'll hurt if you try.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You assure him, and he's called away by Brian so he can't dwell on it. You leave during the next set. You're pretty sure he doesn't even know he's leading you on.

It feels like some kind of masochistic torture, dragging yourself to see the shows for a few more weeks, always leaving before the gig ends, always leaving alone. You're still bright when you're talking to him, playing pretend like everything's fine, and he seems none the wiser apart from where you don't go home together anymore, but the moment you head towards the door, you see girls and guys swoop in on him, like vultures, and you know you've made the right decision.

The fourth time you go to leave, you don't even try and say goodbye; it's a lull between songs and he sees you putting on your jacket-

"Hey, Y/N, could you hold up I'd like to talk to you after this set, thanks." He says directly into his microphone, and he expects you to wait, which you do, and he ignores Freddie's snide remark about the interruption.

"What's gotten into you, is everything okay? Are we okay?" The two of you step outside of the pub, into the breezy Summer night.

"Dude, there is no 'we'." You cross your arms over your chest, avoiding his gaze, heart already sinking. But then you hear the words spilling from his mouth;

"Of course there's a 'we', there's been one ever since you first offered to make me breakfast and let me use your shower and didn't just kick me out, okay?" He cried, voice strained with a sudden vulnerability you hadn't heard before. You were silent for a long moment, mouth agape, eyes wide. "But I don't know how to do that, so fucking around was good enough for me. I don't know how to do sappy, real shit." There's silence for a very long moment, and he looks suddenly very nervous.

"I think I'm in love with you." Is what you hear yourself saying, and relief breaks over his face.

"Thank fucking god; I think I'm love with you too." And he can barely finish the sentence before you're kissing him again, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close. It's almost desperate the way he holds you, like he's been holding back and now he can finally hold you as tight as he wants, and God if you aren't feeling the same way.

"I'm glad to see you two kiss and make up," Brian's voice comes from the door and you and Roger break apart, but don't let go of each other, "trust me, Y/N, he's been insufferable, I almost miss hearing you two go at it at three in the morning-"

"Perv." You roll your eyes at him, though Roger just smirks.

"But we've still got a gig to finish." And with that he heads back inside. After a beat, you and Roger turn back to each other, amused and a little hesitant.

"I should head back inside, I hear my boyfriend's in the audience, I wouldn't want to disappoint him." And when Roger says that, your heart soars. He's smirking, but you can't help your bright, sappy grin.

"Yeah, my boyfriend's in the band, I wouldn't want to miss it."