#this scene always stood out to me because ive worked in several different kitchens and NONE of them have ever looked as unrealistically

[from-a-distant-end]

Eleven / Jane Ives | Portrayed by Millie Bobby Brown | Stranger Things

[hystericalrogertaylor]

Reconnecting (Chapter Eleven)

Pairing: Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor X Reader

Word count: 2597

Summary: (Y/n) and Roger have been friends since the cradle. When they’re suddenly pulled apart and reconnected years later, they both can tell that the relationship has evolved. They lead very different lifestyles now. Can they continue what they had, or go for something more, with this gap between them?

Warnings: Verbal and physical abuse, cussing, drinking, one slightly sexual situation? 

A/N: Why do these chapters always seem shorter than they actually are? Whatever, I guess. Enjoy! 

Master list

Spotify playlist

~~~

You refused to go back into James’s room. You didn’t want to see the man you still loved (regrettably) unconscious and suffering. You just sat in the waiting room, crying silently.

You’d called Roger on the hospital’s phone, telling him what happened. He said he was on his way, and that he’d bring food. He arrived with the rest of the band and some takeout Chinese. They all sped into the waiting room, looking panicked and sad.

“Oh, my God, (Y/n).” John was the first to approach you, sitting down next to you and wrapping his arms around you. This only made you cry harder, holding onto him with all your strength.

The rest of the band sat around you, attempting to look sad. None of them liked James, and they wouldn’t care if he disappeared, it was still a horrible thing to have happened.

You sniffled, finally letting go of John. “I’m okay, guys. Just...thanks for being here.”

Freddie set a takeout box on your leg. “We’ll always be here for you. You’re like our sister.”

You slowly took the takeout box, opening it up. The smell and Freddie’s comment made you feel tons better. You took a fork from Brian and dug in, almost inhaling the food.

Once you were done, you took a long, deep breath. “I think I’m gonna go back there.”

“And see James?” Roger asked.

“Yeah.” You stood up, brushing some crumbs off your shirt. “Someone stand outside the room in case anything goes wrong.”

Roger immediately shot up. “I’ll go.” He put his hand on the small of your back, guiding you back towards James’s room.

You stood at the door, hand on the knob, gathering the courage to twist it. Roger had an arm around your waist, holding you close to him for support. You leaned you head onto his shoulder, as if to absorb his energy. After several minutes of standing like that, you broke away from him and opened the door to James’s room.

You were shocked to find him awake. He was sitting up in bed, two IV’s in either arm, looking absolutely livid. When you opened the door, he looked over at you, and you could tell this wasn’t going to go well. You shut the door slowly.

“Hey (Y/n),” he started, “what happened?”

You blinked. You could tell he knew the full extent of what happened. “Um, y--you overdosed on cocaine.”

“Uh huh.” He looked off into space, seemingly deep in thought. “And yeah, whose fault was that?”

“Y-yours?”

“No!” he screamed. You backed up against the door, suddenly terrified. “No! It’s yours! You weren’t there to help me! You were out with friends, likely making a fool of yourself and me!”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, beginning to hyperventilate.

“If you look stupid, it makes me look bad! Hell, maybe you even cheated on me while you were out! Who the fuck knows?! Certainly not me! Certainly not you!” You could tell he still had drugs in his system, because his words were mushy and he wasn’t making much sense. “Why are you here anyway?”

“Because you’re my boyfriend,” you sobbed. “I care about you, you scared me. I thought you were going to die!”

“Like you’d actually care!” he screamed.

“How dare you?!” You stomped over to him, suddenly angry yourself. You stuck a finger in his chest, articulating your words. “I come home every night to take care of your drunks ass. I cook you meals when you’re hungover. I called the ambulance for you! How fucking dare you insinuate that I don’t care!”

James grabbed your wrist, twisting it and pulling you forward so his face was close to yours. You let out a yelp of pain, having to put your other hand on the bed to keep yourself from falling on him. “Don’t yell at me, sweetheart,” he growled, terrifying you. “You have no idea what I could do to you.”

You wrenched your arm out of his grasp, holding the place he’d had his hand on and backing away slowly. In that moment, you were genuinely scared he was about to kill you. “What happened?” you asked, tears falling freely. “What happened to the sweet, American boy I knew? The one who loved me and wanted the best for me? Where has he gone?! Where’s the real James!” You flew out the door when James began shifting to get out of bed.

Roger was still there, leaning against the wall with his ear pressed to it. He looked calm, but you knew that if he’d been listening, it was masking a storm of rage.

“I’m going to kill him,” he said. As his hand reached for the door, you quickly reached out and grabbed it, holding it gingerly.

“Please, just let him be. He’ll come around,” you said softly.

“No, he won’t!” Roger took his hand back, unleashing the storm you knew was there. “He’s had time to get better, to fix himself, and he hasn’t done jack shit!”

“Roger, please just drop it.” You wrapped your arms around him, only in need of some affection. He reciprocated your hug, running a hand up and down your back.

He sighed. “You’ll be okay. I promise.”

You stiffled a sob. “I know. It just doesn’t feel like it.”

---

You were the only “family member” James had in England, so you stayed with him at the hospital for the night. Once visiting hours were over, the band had to go home, albeit reluctantly. Roger had told the rest of Queen about what had happened, but he did it in the cafeteria where you couldn’t hear and, subsequently, relive the moment. None of them wanted to leave you alone with the madman, but they just weren’t allowed to stay.

You sat in the chair in James’s room, staring at his sleeping figure. One recurring thought you’d had for a while was that he looked so peaceful while he slept. You could almost reach across the bed and run your hand through his jet black hair that you loved so much. You could almost pretend it was like the college days. Lunches together, joking around and sharing food. Study dates, which always ended up in the corner of the library, kissing and hoping no one was looking. After sex, how you’d cuddle and he’d run his fingers along your waist, tickling you and making you smile. In his sleeping state, you could almost pretend you weren’t falling in love with your best friend and that this man was still a good person.

But then he’d stir, and the feelings were gone.

---

After another day on watch at the hospital, James was allowed to go home. You’d called Brian to come and get you both, because you knew Roger would cause a scene and you weren’t in the mood to deal with it. James was in a wheelchair next to you as you watched Brian pull up to the curb. You helped James into the back seat and you went and sat in the passenger seat.

James brooded the whole way home. Brian caught you up on what you’d missed at the studio, and you told him about the random things you’d seen in the hospital waiting room and cafeteria. You left out anything related to James.

Brian dropped you off at your house and made you promise to call him if any troubles arose. You thanked him, giving him a hug before assisting James into the house.

Your boyfriend went straight for the fridge, pulling out a can of beer. You came up behind him, yanking it out of his hand. “Hey!” He turned to you, grabbing your wrist. “Give it back.”

“No,” you replied firmly. “The doctor said no more alcohol. You need to see that therapist like he suggested.”

“There’s no way in hell you’re getting me to see that bitchy therapist.” James used his other hand to yank the beer out of your hand, pushing you backwards until you fell. He stepped over you on his way out of the kitchen. “Now leave me alone.”

You stood up, trying to contain your anger. You’d decided that you couldn’t be sad about this asshole anymore; it was time to stop taking his shit.

“James Lewis Mathers, you get back here this instant!” You stormed out into the living room, glaring at him as he sat down in his chair. “If you want to stay in this house, a few things are going to have to change.”

He chuckled darkly. “Nice try, sweetheart. I’m the one with a paying job. I pay the bills and the rent. You have no power to kick me out.”

“Right, and when was the last time you went to work?” you asked.

James looked around awkwardly. “A couple weeks…”

“Mmm hmm.” You shook your head, putting you hands on your hips.

“Oh, and when was the last time you got paid for something?” he asked, standing up. “Last time I checked, your money was being used for coffee for that stupid band.”

“Don’t you dare call them stupid!” you shouted. “Queen has been there for me more than you ever have!”

“Right, which is why you’re still in the same shitty apprenticeship position after almost, what, four years? Five?” he retorted.

“At least I’m able to enjoy myself in the studio!” you screamed. “At least Roger knows how to treat me!”

James blinked, frowning. “I didn’t say anything about Roger.”

You tried to ignore the dump of adrenaline into your system. “The whole band,” you stumbled. “That whole band is more of a family to me than you are.”

James nodded. “All right. Whatever. Think what you want.” He sat back down, opening the beer. You sighed, turning into the bedroom and locking the door. He could sleep on the couch for once.

---

“Don’t tell me how to play drums if you can’t even hold a drumstick properly!” Roger nabbed said drumstick out of Brian’s hand, rolling his eyes. “Let me play my own bloody instrument, you stick to yours.”

“But it sounds clunky and weird!” Brian responded. “It sounds like you’re drumming just to drum, not keep a beat.”

“Oh, go cry about it.” Roger sat down on the couch next to you, drumming the sticks on his knee.

“No, I won’t! We’re working on this together, we have to agree on shit!”

Paul Prenter, who had decided to start showing up to recording sessions, looked back and forth between the men. He refused to look at you. “Maybe if Roger--”

“Butt out!” Roger said, not even giving Paul a glance as he lit a cigarette that hung off his lip. “This has nothing to do with you.” Paul nodded, pressing his lips together.

Sheffield, who was sitting at the soundboard, put his head in his hands. “Boys, we’ve got to release this album in a week. That’s ONE. WEEK! And we’re not even close to done with the finishing touches on recording. So someone get in there and record Roger’s drumming part!”

Roger stood up, handing his cigarette to you. You stuck the thing between your lips, figuring he wasn’t going to want it later. He slowly meandered into the recording room. You wondered why he was being fairly nonchalant (for himself) today. Sheffield groaned, hitting his head down on the switch board. Roger sat down at his drums, playing some random beat.

“See?” Brian shouted. “That sounds better than what he was trying to play!”

“Darling, please just relax,” Freddie said from his position next to Paul. “What Roger’s doing sounds fine and I’m sure you couldn’t do better, so please let him do his thing.” Brian groaned and turned towards Roger, watching him do his thing.

---

Roger somehow managed to convince you to go out again, along with the rest of the band this time...and Paul. But no one except Freddie was paying attention to him.

The six of you sat down at a table in a different bar than from a few nights ago. Freddie ordered a round of shots for everyone, and you politely gave yours to Roger. He downed both in quick succession, not even seeming phased.

You could tell something was bugging him. Brian had picked on him at least ten more times back at the studio and he’d hardly responded.

“Hey,” you said, nudging him with your elbow. “What’s the problem?” When he just shook his head, you let out a sigh. “C’mon Roger. You can trust me.”

“But you apparently can’t trust me.” He grabbed another shot, downing it while you tried to figure out what to say.

“And what the hell does that mean?” you asked.

“It means you don’t trust me enough to not cause a scene around your boyfriend.” Before you could say anything else, he continued, “I don’t know why you didn’t want me to take you two home from the hospital. I mean, we’ve always gone to each other for everything and suddenly Brian is more helpful?”

“Oh look, a...thing...across the room…” Brian stood up awkwardly and walked away before he could be further dragged into the conversation.

“Roger, what are you talking about? I’m not crazy for wanting to avoid a fist fight!” you exclaimed.

“I know! But I can control myself. I’m not just some...violent heathen.” He suddenly looked extremely sad.

“Okay, but you were pissed off, and when you get pissed off, we both know you get violent,” you explained. “I know that’s not your defining characteristic, but--”

“But it’s prominent enough that that’s what everyone thinks about when they think about me.”

You shook your head. “Roger, it was just a car ride home. It’s not like I’m replacing you with him.”

Roger rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He stood up, walking away into the crowd.

“Rog--” you called out, being interrupted by Freddie.

“Darling, it’s okay. He’s just already tipsy and emotional about...something. Just give him a day.” You noticed that Freddie was leaning towards Paul.

You nodded, actually grabbing a shot and tipping your head back, feeling the liquor burn down your throat. You stuck your tongue out; your lack of drinking experience still made shots difficult. But you were more particularly inclined to forget your life for the night.

---

Seven shots later and you were drunk as you’d ever been. But it didn’t make anything feel better. In fact, it just made you cry.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me!” you sobbed, your head on John’s shoulder. “Why is my life so confusing?!”

“(Y/n), you’re drunk,” he said, patting your head. “You need to go home and sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“But in the morning I’ll have to face James and Roger and deal with my problems!” You began to cry harder.

“Okay, well, doing shots isn’t going to help either,” he said.

“Stop making sense!” you yelled, pushing yourself off of him.

Whatever John said next was ignored; you’d caught sight of a certain blond across the room. You leaned over a little to try and see what he was doing. Your heart shattered when you saw a gorgeous, tall, skinny brunette woman in his lap, who was sucking on his neck. He was smirking, completely oblivious to your gaze.

You stumbled out of your seat, heading for the door. “(Y/n)?” John called after you. “(Y/n), please don’t--”

You waved him off, shoving the door of the bar open and walking out into the windy night.

Taglist:

@thessxoxo @roger-bang-the-drum @slavsher  @sabbrriiinnaa  @i-ship-it-ironically @blissfully-queen@oyoke@borhapqueen92@girlpluto @secretsweetscollectionblog@bentaylorrogerhardy @16wiishes @emmieliabedelia @onevisionliz (as always, message me or shoot me an ask if I forget to tag you or you want me to start tagging you) 

[all-hail-the-witcher]

my feet don’t dance like they did with you

ship: race x albert genre: angst ;) warnings: implied breakups and people leaving, also like 3 curse words editing: eh word count: 1560 this is inspired by ghost of you by 5sos ive wanted to write angst based on that song since the first time i heard it _______________________________ The gravity of the situation didn’t hit Albert until he was at rehearsal the following day. The director had paired him with Elmer until she could figure out how to fill the perfectly Race-shaped space in the show. Albert struck the opening pose for the duet, a crouch in the downstage right corner, and Elmer took Races place, a lunge at center stage. The opening notes of the song began and Albert felt his body go on autopilot, completing every leap, jump, and turn with practiced fluidity. That is, until about 32 counts into the piece when he and Elmer stood downstage center. This was the moment where they made eye contact and acknowledged each other for the first time during the piece before doing a complicated lift and turn sequence. Some part of him had known, very deep down, that it would be Elmer’s, not Race’s eyes that he would be meeting. But somehow he was still shocked. Maybe it was the jarring difference of seeing Elmer’s brown eyes as opposed to Races luminous blue ones, or maybe it was the fact that he wasn’t met by Races familiar smell of laundry soap and cheap cologne that caused Alberts brain to short circuit. His dancing become choppy and disjointed. He barely had time to recognize the sudden difference before Elmer morphed into Race and the walls of the studio closed in around them, transporting him back in time to the hallway outside their apartment and the events of the night before. Albert had just ran up the five flights of stairs to their apartment - curse this old building and its lack of an elevator - and had been rummaging around in his dance bag for his keys when he had been greeted by Race exiting the apartment, not even bothering to lock the door behind him. “Hey Race,” Albert had called out, abandoning all hope of finding his keys, “going somewhere?” Race had turned abruptly and stiffened slightly at the sound of Albert’s voice, almost like a kid who had gotten caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Albert hadn’t noticed that originally, but now every detail came back to him, screaming that something was terribly wrong. Race had been wearing one of Albert’s old sweatshirts - the big green one he had a penchant for stealing - and a pair of adidas track pants with his sneakers. His big black dance bag had been thrown over his shoulder and he had a navy backpack on. Albert remembered thinking that he must be going to rehearsal. But, if he had pondered that question a little bit longer he would have remembered that Race never had rehearsal on Thursday nights. “Hey, Albert.” Albert, not Albie or Albo or Al: Albert. Race never called him by his actual name. Why hadn’t he picked up on that? “Romeo wanted to rehearse with me tonight for a few hours, not sure when I’ll be back.” His voice sounded fake, scripted, almost. And, of course now, Albert remembered that Romeo was out of town at an audition so there was no way Race was going to meet up with him. “Okay,” Albert remembered saying, hand on the door knob ready to go inside, “I’ll see you later.” Race had turned to walk down the hall, but stopped at the last second. He had turned around, and strode back toward where Albert was standing. Then, without any warning, he threw his arms around Albert’s neck and kissed him softly on the lips. “I love you, Albie,” he had said. “Don’t forget that.” At the time it had all happened so fast, but now the whole scene played back almost slow motion. Albert could see the tear tracks on Races cheeks and the slight tremor in his hand as he ran his fingers absently through his hair. He could see the glint of sadness mixed with regret and hopelessness in his beautiful blue eyes. If only he had seen it then. “I love you too, Tony,” Albert had whispered back, opening the door to their apartment and stepping inside with a small wave at his boyfriend. Race had given him his trademark lopsided smirk before wandering back down the hall. If only he had known that was the last time he would ever see him. Back in reality, Albert could feel Elmer’s hand on his arm as they moved into the partnering section. He couldn’t help but notice that it was smooth, not callused like Races. It felt wrong. It all felt wrong. Elmer caught Albert’s eye for a second. The look he gave him let Albert know he could tell something was off. Albert knew that Elmer would understand if they stopped, but he willed his body to keep moving in time with the music as his brain drifted back to the apartment. Albert had stepped inside, breathing in the familiar scent of one too many sugared apple candles - courtesy of Race - and thrown his bag on the floor before heading to the kitchen in pursuit of a snack. He had pulled out several bags of chips from the cabinet and was reaching up into the cupboard for a bowl when he had noticed an old pair of Race’s black canvas ballet shoes with holes in the toes laying on the counter. Race was always leaving his things in strange places, so Albert had been about to move them aside when he saw the note. That was when everything had come crashing down. In present time, Albert could feel Elmer spinning him around and around and around and he thought that that was fitting seeing how his head was spinning from remembering the letter Race had left him. Dear Albert, it had said. I’m terribly sorry, but I won’t be coming home tonight. Or tomorrow night, or any night after. You didn’t do anything wrong. Hell, you were the best boyfriend I’ve ever had. But it’s become too much for me. I can’t really put it into words, but I need you to understand that nothing you could have ever said would have changed my mind. Elmer stopped spinning him, and Albert flew into a switch split, but he landed weirdly, a sharp pain running up the inside of his ankle. He winced. He had never had a problem with that jump before. I love you, the note continued. More than I love myself. Which is why I have to go now, when things are good before I screw everything up and we fight and break up the hard and painful way. I’ve been through that too many times Albie, and I don’t want to fight with you. I’m not very good at this love stuff, no one has ever wanted me in that way before, and I can’t fathom that you would be any different, nor do I have the mental capacity to get broken up with again. Albert did a seat roll into a fish flop, but his knees banged the floor painfully. And there was Elmer’s hand, right where Races should have been, pulling him up for the last 8 counts of the dance. I’m leaving you my old ballet shoes. They were what I was wearing the day I met you. Remember that day? It was the first time we ever partnered. It was so magical Albie, we just worked together so well. Everything suddenly made sense the moment we touched. Did you feel that way too? Probably not, I’m being stupid. I knew in that moment I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. But I can’t. So maybe you’ll consider taking these shoes in place of me, or maybe you’ll throw them out, I don’t care. Whatever happens, Albie, never stop dancing. Albert heard the music cut out. He barely registered that he was in his final pose, hugging Elmer, although it should have been Race, it should have been Race, goddamnit. He backed away quickly, like Elmer had burned him. “Are you okay, Albert?” Elmer asked gently. “That run was a little...rough.” “Yeah, I’m okay,” Albert lied, fighting to meet Elmer’s gaze, reminding himself that this was who he had to dance with now because Race wasn’t coming back. Race wasn’t coming back. He was gone, nothing but a mere memory. A memory that would never be brought back. “I’m just not used to dancing with you yet.” Elmer nodded. “Okay, we can work through it. You’re a good dancer, we’ll make it work.” He offered him a smile, which Albert was hesitant to return. “Yeah, okay,” he said, looking down at his feet, which were wearing Races worn out ballet shoes. They were a size too big on him, but he could still see the tips of his toes poking through the holes. He remembered when those shoes had begun to get those holes in them and he’d teased race endlessly for it until he had gotten a new pair. Was the reason he had hung onto them so long because they reminded him of when the first met? He forced down tears as he willed himself to work through the dance with Elmer. He’s not coming back. Race had told him to never stop dancing. Oh, Race, he thought, how is that even possible when my feet don’t dance like they did with you? _______________________________ im kinda low key proud of this ? i love hurting my bois angst is my specialty, so if there’s anything anyone wants to see feel free to hit up the ask box !! feed back is always appreciated !!

[soaimagines]

Near Light

Request: Happy Imagine based on ‘Near Light’ by Ólafur Arnalds.

I highly recommend you listen to this song for this one. You can listen to it on Soundcloud here.

I apologise in advance.

Text in italics is flashbacks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*FLASHBACK* “You been baking, Ma?” Happy’s mother looked up from her spot in her armchair by the large bay window and saw her son walking out of the kitchen, a mouthful of muffin and one more in the grasp of his large hands. “No, the girl next door made them. And what did I teach you about eating with your mouth full?” “Sorry Ma.” He swallowed and smiled at his mother apologetically. “Do me a favour, Happy? Take the basket back to her. Its on the bench.” “Of course.” He shoved the last muffin in his mouth and wiped his hands on his jeans before lifting his kutte off the back of the sofa, where he had left it when he entered the house. He pulled it over his shoulders and crossed the room, leaning down to his mother and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I should head back to TM anyway, but I’ll be back later tonight with some dinner.” She nodded. “Be safe, Happy.” “Always, Ma.” He headed out of the door with the basket in his hand and closed the front door behind him. He placed the empty basket on the chair next to the door as he pulled his boots on. The day was warm and the sun shone down on him as he walked down the path leading to his mothers house and he turned to the left once he reached the gate. The house next door to his mothers had been vacant for a while but someone had recently moved in. It used to be a mess, overgrown yard filled with weeds and flaking paint on the outer walls of the house but over the last few weeks it had been improving. The white picket fence with missing pickets and flaking paint that bordered the property had been given new life with a fresh lick of white paint and rose bushes now ran alongside it, still to young to bloom. The lawns were freshly mowed and the porch was filled with two chairs littered with brightly coloured cushions and woollen throws. The front door had been painted red while the surrounding weatherboards of the house had been painted an egg-shell white. Happy had never paid much attention to the neighbouring property but as he walked up the paved pathway to the front door, basket in his hand he found himself glancing at the pot plants filled with different flowers and the new ‘Welcome’ mat that sat in front of the door. His stepped onto the porch and rapped on the wooden door. He waited ten seconds and there was no answer. Was that more baking he could smell? He knocked again and adjusted his grip on the basket. After another fifteen seconds he heard footsteps running to the door and a woman yanked it open. His jaw clenched as he took in the sight of her. She was beautiful. “Hi!Sorry! I was in the back yard doing some gardening and I didn't hear the door knock.” She wiped a loose strand of hair out of her face with the back of her hand, still clad in her gardening gloves and left a smear of dirt across her forehead. “Well actually I did but I didn't think it could be someone at my door because I’m so new here and I don't really know anyone yet but when I heard it the second time I knew it was for me so I came as fast as I could. Sorry, I’m rambling aren't I? I just never get visitors and I certainly wasn't expecting anyone today. Oh, there I go again. Is that my basket?” A ghost of a smirk played on Happys lips and he nodded. “I hope Mrs Lowman enjoyed them. She's been so kind to me, giving me tips on how to keep my dahlias from drying out in this heat. I don't really know anyone else on the block yet and it was only by chance that I met her cause the postman delivered her mail to my door and- sorry Im rambling again aren't I?” This time Happy did smirk as a blush rose on her cheeks. “Whats your name?” He asked, his gravelly voice taking her by surprise. “(Y/n) (y/l/n). Are you a friend of Mrs Lowmans?” “Im her son, Happy.” She gasped. “Oh Ive heard so much about you! Mrs Lowman talks about you all the time! I wasn't expecting you to look like this though!” Her eyes widened and the blush on her cheeks darkened. “I mean not that theres anything wrong with the way you look, you look great. Like really great, its just I wasn't expecting a bad boy cause you kinda give off that vibe and Mrs Lowman is always saying how good you are and-“ “Here’s your basket.” Happy interrupted, lifting the basket with an amused look on his face. “Thank you.” She gulped and took the basket from his grip. “I need to go, but it was nice to meet you, (y/n).” She nodded and smiled warmly at him. He turned and walked down the porch steps. He was halfway out the gate when he heard her yell after him. “It was nice to meet you too, Happy.” From her window, Mrs Lowman watched with a smile on her face. It had been a long time since she had seen her son smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Babe?” Huh. Usually he was always greeted by her the moment he walked through the doors, her arms throwing around his neck and her strawberry scented lips crashing against his. Perhaps she was out in the garden and hadn't heard him pull up. He twirled a toothpick across his lips and walked to the back door. It was open and the warm breeze drifted through the house, making lights shimmer around in patterns from the ornaments she had hanging off the back porch. The yard was empty though and a frown came to his lips. “Babe?” He called again. No answer. He pulled the gun from his waistband and gripped in his hand as he walked through the house, moving with urgency now. The living room was empty and the hallway. He headed for the kitchen. Broken glass was scattered across the floor and the top drawer was pulled open and a knife was lying on the kitchen tiles. Was that..? Blood covered the knife on the floor. Dread filled his body as he stepped further into the room, lifting the gun in his hands. Glass crunched beneath his heavy boots as his eyes darted around the scene in front of him. He clenched his jaw. Blood was splattered across the white tiles and a smear of blood led to the carpet,suggesting a struggle. A wave of nausea flooded through him. He ran for the front door and bolted down the pathway, his heavy footsteps echoing against the wood of his mothers porch. The front door slammed open. “Ma! Ma!?” He tore through the house, his eyes searching frantically. “Happy? Whats wrong?” His mother stepped out of the kitchen, a cup of tea in her fragile hands. Happy rubbed his hand over his face. Both relief and fear filling his veins. “Stay inside, Ma.” “Whats going on, Happy? Why is your gun out? Wheres (y/n)?” “Stay inside Ma! I’m gonna send someone to wait with you.” He stepped towards her and kissed her cheek. He could see the worry in her eyes and he swallowed deeply, trying to stop his own emotions from showing on his face. “Be safe, Happy.” He nodded and turned away. She watched the reaper on his back as he ran down the steps of the porch as worry filled her, both for the safety of you and her son. Her tea went cold as she prayed that you both come home safely.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Almost there.” She smiled as she held Mrs Lowmans arm as she helped the elderly woman move forward along the grass. Happy smiled as he watched the two woman in his life. Finally they reached the bench and (y/n) helped his mother sit down carefully. “Taa-daaa!” (y/n) stepped away, revealing the yard her and Happy had been working on for weeks. The luscious green grass was freshly cut and rows of flowers edged the garden while the old oak tree provided shade for half the yard. The bird house Happy had built stood in the middle of the yard and already several birds were flying around it. “It looks beautiful,” Mrs Lowman smiled, her eyes gleaming as she took in the sight. (Y/n) smiled widely, flashing the pearly whites of her teeth and she met Happys eye. The afternoon sun was beginning to set and Happy studied the way the golden light illuminated the features of her face. She was so beautiful. “You two make a good team,” his mother commented and (y/n) blushed while Happy smiled. “And look, plenty of room for the kids to run around in, eh?” (Y/n) laughed and Happy rolled his eyes. “Ma!” She chuckled and gestured for him to come forward. “I’m proud of you, my son.” Happy smiled at his mother and she reached for (y/n)’s hand. She squeezed it tight. “Im proud of both of you. You really do make a good team.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jax was sat around the bar at the clubhouse, Opie to his left and Chibs to his right. Tig and Juice sat at the table and the prospects worked behind the bar. Their laughter was loud as they talked, teasing the newest prospect for his earlier mistakes when the door to the clubhouse slammed open. Happy ran inside, his eyes wide and angry. “I need your help.” Jax exchanged a glance with Chibs and both men stood. “Whats going on, brother?” “Shes gone. Someone took her-“ “Who, Hap? Your mom?” “No, my.. “ He realised he had never told his brothers about her. She was so pure and he had been afraid of exposing her to what he did. “My old lady.” “Who are you talking about?” Juice asked. All his brothers looked at him with confusion. Happy was always calm. His expression never changed whether he was cleaning his gun or shooting it. But as he stood in the clubhouse his face was filled with a mixture of emotion. Panic. Fear. Worry. Anger. “Please,I need your help. I need to find her.” “Of course, brother. We’ll get her.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She hummed to herself as she walked along the road,a brown paper bag full of groceries in her arms. A smile played on her face as she walked. Tonight was family night. She had never had much of a family and when she had moved here she never expected to find just that. Mrs Lowman had welcomed her with open arms and she was madly in love with her son. Happy Lowman was just as crazy about her too, yet the three words that constantly played on her mind had never left her mouth. Maybe tonight. She was cooking tonight and she had just finished doing her groceries and was making her way home to start on her recipe. She turned the corner in to the street she lived on and froze when she saw it. The ambulance sitting outside Mrs Lowmans house. The brown paper bag fell to the concrete, the groceries spilling out but she didn't care. She ran as fast as she could, dread filling her heart. Paramedics pushed the trolley onto the porch with a worried Happy following close behind. Mrs Lowman sat in the trolley with an oxygen mask pressed to her face. Her hands clung desperately to Happys as the paramedics rolled her down the path. He looked up as he heard her footsteps on the pavement. Her eyes were wide and she could only stare as the paramedics loaded her neighbour into the back of the ambulance. Mrs Lowman pulled the mask away from her face and just before the paramedics shut the door she spoke, her voice fragile and croaky. “Look after each other. Don’t worry about me.” The doors closed. “What happened? Is she okay?” Happy didn't say anything but his eyes spoke a million words and she was overwhelmed by the pain she saw in his dark eyes. She stepped closer to him and grabbed his hand. His hand was rough and calloused but it was warm and her hand fit his perfectly. Together they watched as the ambulance drove away. Neither of them spoke, there was no need. They only needed the comfort of each other.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Where is she?!” Happy yelled, at no one in particular. Juice gulped and continued working on his laptop, searching desperately for anything he could find that could lead to her location. Happy paced the clubhouse, his panic only growing louder in his mind. Bobby and the prospects had gone to his mothers house and the rest of the club was scattered around the club house. Clay was on the phone to Alvarez while Jax spoke to the chinese. Everyone was doing all they could to find her, but it still wasn't enough. A cell phone rang out and Chibs answered the call. It was a brief conversation and he quickly snapped his phone shut and called across the room to Juice and Happy. “Somebody seen Darby carrying a struggling woman.” Happy was seething, his muscles tensing and his jaw clenched tight. “Im on it.” Juice tapped into his laptop, tracking Darbys phone. Happy was staring at the screen over his shoulder and as soon as the map popped up with the location Happy was out the door. Juice called to the club and they gathered around, looking at the screen before loading up on guns and heading out after Happy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

They walked hand in hand up the pathway to her house, bellies full from the meal she had cooked at Mrs Lowmans. She had been spending more time there and so had he, as they cared for his mother who had fallen ill once again. The night was warm and they reached the front door. They turned to face each other, his hand still holding hers. “Do you want to come in?” Happy nodded and took a step forward, closing the gap between their bodies. She looked up at him, his dark eyes gleaming down at her with a look she had began to see in his eyes when he looked at her. She swallowed as butterflies fluttered in her stomach. His breath was on her lips as his head inched closer. He dropped her hand and lifted his own, cupping her face softly. His ran his thumb across her cheek and lifted her head towards his. Her hands wrapped around his wrists, holding his hands to her face and he rested his forehead against hers. They both closed their eyes. She could smell him, the leather, the ciggarettes, the faint smell of weed. His scent filled her lungs and she licked her lips in anticipation. His lips pressed against hers. it was slow and soft and comforting in a way that words could never be. His hand sat below her ear and his thumb caressed her cheek as his lips moved against hers. Her hands fell to his chest and she clutched at the leather of his kutte. She wanted to pull away before she lost herself completely in his arms but she couldn't bring herself to do so. “(Y/n).” He whispered. She smiled against his lips. Never before had the sound of her name been spoken with such admiration and warmth spread throughout her body. Her hand released the grip on his kutte and she fumbled her way to the handle, her his still intertwined with his. They clumsily stumbled their way inside, unable to break their kiss and when the door shut behind them he lifted her and pressed her against it. She wrapped her legs around his waist and wrapped her hand around his neck, pulling him closer to her. For the first time in forever Happy forgot about the things he had done, the things he was. He savoured her lips and lost himself in the kiss. A kiss like that was a beginning, a promise of more to come. His lips left hers only for a moment and pulled away, studying her face. She blushed under his gaze and his eyes softened as he studied the curves of her lips and the burning in her eyes. “I love you.” She whispered, no longer able to hold in the words. “I know,” He whispered and pulled her in for another long deep kiss. “I love you too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Happy ran every red light and broke every speed limit as he made his way to the old barn. The map on Juice’s laptop had shown the location and Happy recognised the road. It was quiet and the sound of his motorcycle broke through the peacefulness as he rode along the dirt road, a cloud of dust billowing out behind him. Finally he saw it, the old barn with faded red walls. There were no cars around it and Happy pulled up in front of it and jumped off his bike, letting it to fall to the ground in his haste. “(Y/n)!” He ran to the barn door and yanked it open, and the sunlight pooled into the darkened area. His eyes searched desperately as he moved through the barn, his gun gripped tightly in his hand. “(Y/n)?!” He called again. A faint moan could be heard and Happy ran towards the back of the barn. A faint trail of blood led him to her location and for a moment he froze when he saw her. She was laid against a bale of hay, her white blouse stained red and her hands clutching at the stab wound beneath her ribs. Her delicate fingers were coated in her scarlet blood and her face was pale. Her breathing was shallow and her eyes were clenched shut, slow to adjust to the sudden light in the barn. “Happy?” Her voice croaked out. He sunk to her knees beside her, his eyes wide as he took in the nightmare in front of him. Within a second he snapped out of his shock and he pulled her to him. “Im here, baby Im here.” She smiled through her dry and cracked lips. Her face was pale and clammy and her hair clung to her forehead. “Im so sorry, baby. Oh god,” He studied her wound and a wave of nausea washed over him. “Im gonna get you help, okay? Your going to be okay.” She shook her head. It took all the energy she had left to raise her hand and she cupped his face, the blood on her fingers smudging onto his cheek. “Its okay, Happy.” The pain that had burned through her like a raging fire had faded and now she only felt an icy cold numbness. Darkness clouded the edges of her vision and all she could see was the face of the man she loved. “Stay with me baby.” He begged. “Dont leave me.” Tears pooled in his eyes and he rocked her gently, holding her head against his chest. “I love you, Happy.” Her voice broke with every word she spoke and her breathing was becoming more ragged by the second as she fought through her pain. “I love you my baby girl.” Happy sobbed.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Ma? You need a hand?” Happy watched his mother as she rummaged through the drawers of her dressing table. She waved her hand at him, shooing him away. “No, go sit down my Happy.” Happy obeyed and went to the living room and sat on the sofa. Through the window he could see (Y/n), sitting in a yellow sundress, curled up on the rocking chair on her porch and her head buried in a book. He smiled as he watched the woman he loved. too engulfed in her novel to notice him watching from the window. He had never known a love like hers. To be in her company was blessing and to be loved by her.. Happy knew he was the luckiest man alive. His mother shuffled into the room and Happy stood to help her into her chair. Once she was seated she looked to her son. “I have something for you.” She opened her hand,  showing a small box. “It was my mothers. I want you to have it.” Happy gulped and lifted the small box. He opened it and inspected the ring inside. “She is good for you, Happy. I see the way you look at her and she looks at you the same way.” Happy smiled, a rare blush creeping up his neck. “I wont be around forever and-“ “Ma.” “Listen to me. I won’t be around forever. I need to know that you are happy, my Happy.” She smiled at her son as he listened to her every word. “You make her yours.” Happy closed the box and slid it into the pocket of his kutte. He stood and kissed his mothers forehead. She squeezed his hand warmly. “I will, ma.”

~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the club pulled up outside the barn. Happy's bike was lying in the dirt and they hastily got off their bikes, their guns cocked and ready. One by one the brothers entered the barn. Jax was the first to notice the trail of blood and then they heard it. “No! Baby!” They followed the sound of Happy yelling but nothing could have prepared them for what they saw. Happy, knelt in the dirt, covered in blood and clutching her lifeless body to his chest as he sobbed. “Wake up!” Happy sobbed. “Please, baby.” Tears streamed down his face and his body shook. He whispered ‘No’ over and over and his whispers turned into yells as he hugged her body close to his. After a moment Jax stepped forward and he wrapped his arms around his broken brother. Happy lifted his head to the sky as a heart wrenching sob ripped from his chest. There wasn't a dry eye left as the Sons watched their Killer become something so broken, so raw. Silence fell as Happys tears began to dry out and he gently lowered her body to the fllor. He reached in his pocket and pulled the ring out. Carefully, he lifted her limp hand, her warmth already draining from her body. He slid the ring on her finger and brought her hand to his lips. He had to kiss her, one last time. While their was still warmth in her body, still warmth in her lips.. He bowed his head over her body and brought his lips to hers once more. She was so beautiful. And she was his. She would always be his.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’M SORRY.

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