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anabsolutetrainwreck · 4 years ago

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she plays songs i’ve never heard || h. styles

warnings: references to sex, swearing, mentions of alcohol, harry gets a lil pervy (pls don’t watch your neighbours get dressed), kissing, not proofread properly

word count: 1.8k

summary: when you get a new neighbour and his dog breaks into your garden, it sets off a chain reaction of events that might change your life...

The day he moved into the house next door seemed like a normal day for you. Sure, the sound of him actually moving in had woken you up early. The furniture being moved in through the small front door and the busy workers he’d hired banging about as if it wasn’t 8 in the morning. Begrudgingly, you had pulled yourself out of bed, poured yourself a glass of orange juice and buttered some crisp toast. Toast in hand, you watched from your kitchen window as grumpy Mr Bennet from across the road came out to shout at the new man and the workers. You’d managed to make out something about ‘too early on a weekend to be making that kind of noise’. Rolling your eyes, you went back upstairs to get dressed.

And that was that. You’d ordered a pizza for lunch and your mother had rung you during the afternoon to catch up. You told her about your new neighbour. And that was that.

It was, in fact, the day that the tattooed man’s dog broke into your back garden that your life seemed to change. You had been sat in your living room, watching The Sound of Music - a personal favourite of yours. Just as you were preparing to invest three hours of your life into the lives of the von Trapps, there was a loud bang on your door. Huffing quietly to yourself, you climbed off the sofa and left to open the door. And there, on the other side, was the tattooed neighbour. However, his tattoos were covered by a black hoodie but you could see a couple poking out beneath the hoodie’s cuffs. He was wearing shorts, exposing you to the tiny doodles of ink along his legs. His brown curls were hidden beneath a baseball cap. His features were hidden almost entirely in the shadows as it was dark outside and his cap sheltered him from whatever light there was. “Hi?” you said awkwardly.

“I’m so sorry, but my dog got into your backyard. Do you think you can go and get him for me?” he asked.

You were almost taken aback. Though not entirely sure what you’d expected when being confronted with your tattooed neighbour outside your house, you definitely didn’t expect him to be searching for his dog. You didn’t even know he had a dog.

You nodded slowly, “Sure. Come in, if you want.”

He thanked you, stepping in before you closed the door behind him. He shuffled awkwardly into the hallway, knocking your coat off the rack. It landed in a heap on the floor. “Shit, sorry,” he said quickly, bending down to pick it up. “Fuck! Sorry for swearing!”

“It’s okay, we’re both adults,” you smiled softly. You moved forward through the house, unlocking the back door. And there, chasing a wasp around the garden, was a small black dog. He wiggled in your arms as you picked him up carefully. You carried him into your house and back to Harry, who you found in the living room.

The dog licked your face before you place him in his owner’s arms. “Thanks. Sorry for the inconvenience - I know it’s late. I’m Harry by the way.”

He extended his hand for you to shake. “Y/N,” you replied, smiling up at him.

His grip on your hand was strong and firm. While you’d been away finding his little treasure, Gabriel (named after Peter Gabriel), he’d had a chance to explore your living room. The first time Harry saw you was when he happened to catch a glance of you reading in your back garden in your green shorts and sweater. It had been a hot day and you had a pair of sunglasses pushed up over your head. You looked ethereal with the sun highlighting your skin. From then, he’d tried to time his dog walks perfectly so he’d ‘accidentally’ bump into you on the way out. But, his attempts had come with little success. It was rather fortunate that Gabriel had escaped into your garden.

He’d actually jumped at the opportunity to come round and meet you in person. After all, he only knew your name because his other neighbour, Edna, had told him a bit about you after he asked. And when you’d invited him in, he was ecstatic. He couldn’t help but wander into your living room. He noticed The Sound of Music paused on your tv, wondering if he’d get to watch it with you one day. Maybe you’d exchange favourites - he’d watch The Sound of Music and you’d watch The Notebook. He then noticed a stack of books on the coffee table, with everything from Cervantes’ Don Quixote to Murakami’s Norwegian Wood. Your current read, Sally Rooney’s Normal People, was being held open by the tv remote. He wanted to ask what you thought of Norwegian Wood, after all, it was one of his favourites. But he refrained.

There was a glass of wine on a coaster, a half-eaten bowl of cheese pasta beside it. The room was littered with lovely plants - some were hanging down from shelves and others were standing up high beside the sofa. The walls were a soft grey, but they were drowned out by the green of the plants and the subtle pink tones littered throughout the room. “What’s this little guy’s name?” you asked, tickling behind the dog’s ear.

“His name’s Gabriel.”

“As in Peter?” you asked.

“Yep. You a fan?”

“Who isn’t?” you grinned in response. He knew you were a fan of Peter Gabriel. He’d seen your rack of records in the corner and he’d been gardening a few weeks ago and heard you listening to one of his albums in your own backyard. Upon examining your record collection, he’d noticed some Beatles albums, a bit of Lionel Richie, some Taylor Swift, a few ABBA albums, a sprinkle of Bee Gees and a plethora of Elton John albums. Relatively mainstream, but a mixture nonetheless.

“Exactly,” he agreed, before gesturing to the wine. “Special night?”

“Huh?” you’d replied.

“The wine?” he responded.

“Oh,” you laughed, “that’s cranberry juice.”

He flushed bright red as you laughed quietly. You placed a comforting hand on his arm, guiding him out of the room. “I think you’re a bit tired. I guess I’ll see you around then?” you offered a hopeful smile.

“Yeah,” he nodded, holding Gabriel at arm’s length as the dog tried licking his cheek. “I’d like that.”

“Great,” you smiled, closing the door. “What an odd man.”

You couldn’t help grin to yourself. He was strange, yes, but very kind. You resumed your position on your sofa, taking a sip of cranberry juice, and pressing play on The Sound of Music. What a bizarre evening…

Come a few days later, Harry found himself busying himself in his bedroom. Gabriel was sat on his bed, barking at Harry as he worked away at his computer, sending emails back and forth to his boss. It was only when he saw your own bedroom light flick on in the corner of his eye. You wandered in, throwing your phone down onto your bed. A white towel was wrapped tightly around your body and your hair was wet and your skin glistening.

He knew he shouldn’t look. He knew he shouldn’t stare. But he couldn’t help it. He watched as you pulled a silky pyjama set from your dresser. You seemed to examine it briefly before deciding it was good enough. And when you dropped the towel, he knew he was wrong for staring. He knew you’d never speak to him again if you caught his gaze on your naked body. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

You sighed as you stepped into your silk shorts and slipped on the matching shirt. As you finished doing up the buttons, you happened to glance up and catch Harry’s gaze. He’d been staring. Once he realised you’d caught him, he went bright red; redder than when he’d mistaken cranberry juice for wine. You smirked, challenging him to look away.

When he didn’t avert his gaze, you leaned over to grab your notebook from your desk. Embracing your 2009 Taylor Swift moment, you scribbled down: wanna come over? You laughed as you watched him scramble away from the window and out of his room.

It was thirty seconds later that you heard his knocking on your door. You dashed down to open it. There he was. Grabbing his hand, you pulled him into your house and up the stairs. And there you were, standing in your bedroom with your tattooed neighbour. “That was super pervy, you know?” you whispered, your faces inches apart.

“But you’re so beautiful,” he choked out, revelling in the feeling of your hands dancing up his arms.

“What if I told you I did it on purpose?”

“What?”

“Yeah, what if I left the light on so you could see me? What if I wanted you to stare?”

He couldn’t resist you any longer. He pressed his mouth to your own, pushing your wet hair out of your face. He slipped his attractively large hands under your thighs, lifting you into his arms, only to drop you down onto your bed. You squealed as you hit the soft mattress, laughing as he buried his face in your neck, his fingers fiddling to undo your buttons. And that was that.

Before you knew it, you were lying beside his naked figure, panting loudly. Both of your bodies were covered in a thin layer of sweat. “That was amazing,” he whispered, rolling over to face you. “You’re amazing.”

You smiled, kissing his nose, “Thanks. I think you’ll find you’re pretty sensational too. I need another shower now, though… wanna join?”

It was just after 11 when Harry left. The night had spiralled in the most perfect way. You switched off your bedroom light, slipping under your soft bedsheets. You were excited for the day to come - you’d asked him if he wanted to come over for a date. He agreed ecstatically.

The following morning, you woke up as you usually did. You were groggy, unexcited for the uneventful day to come. That was until you remembered your date that night with your tattooed neighbour. Up until 7, you had nothing to do but wait. You watched some episodes of a drama your mother had been raving about. You made yourself a sandwich for lunch. But finally, 6.30 rolled around and you peeled yourself off the sofa to get ready. At 7.02, Harry arrived. He knocked on your door and when you answered, his smile was bright and his eyes were alive with excitement. “Hello,” you grinned until you noticed something behind his back. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

He held out a bouquet of roses, “I got you some flowers… and I brought round a bottle of cranberry juice.”

#harry fanfic #harry fanfiction #harry imagine #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry x you #harry styles oneshot #harry x y/n #harry x reader #harry oneshot

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johns-prince · 4 years ago

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Things I find myself constantly recalling, can't help but find fascinating and telling about John and Paul's relationship:

John never hit Paul. Never. Paul made this known with his criticisms of the movie Nowhere Boy; John never laid a hand on him.

The fucking verse in the song, I Found Out, "I've seen religion from Jesus to Paul." John, John what the fuck. John what is this. I know you're all supposed to be pissed off and bashing on Paul in this song but YOU LITERALLY JUST CALLED PAUL ONE OF YOUR RELIGIONS JOHN HOLD UP--

Paul locking himself away in his studio, blaring Just Like Starting Over and listening to it on repeat for weeks, after John's death.

Paul being in denial of John's death for a couple months after the incident.

Paul talking about John in the present tense on occasion unconsciously.

Paul saying that he and John are soulmates.

Linda ratting out Paul with "He's desperate to write with John again."

John loved Silly Love Songs, and would sit up listening to it, and believed Paul was sending him a message of "I love you" in the song.

Slipping his glasses down the bridge of his nose, "It's only me, Paul." Paul claiming it felt like a way for John to remind him that he doesn't mean anything he says when they argue, that he loves him.

Paul noticed John way before they met at the Fete, and seemed to notice him everywhere. Was nervous about getting caught staring at John when they'd be on the same bus because he thought if John spotted him, he'd go over and hit him.

Paul wrote Dear Friend for John-- "I'm in love with a friend of mine."

John wrote Jealous Guy for Paul-- "I was feeling insecure, you might not love me anymore."

Paul: "... I mean, I couldn’t stand in the way of someone who’d fallen in love. You can’t say, “Who’s this?” You can’t really do that. If I was a girl, maybe I could go out and…"

"I slept with John, A LOT."

If Paul could have John back for a day he'd want to spend it with him in bed.

Teen Paul doodling John in his workbooks or pieces of paper, and writing John's full name along with his (and his concept for The Beatles logo) like some schoolgirl with a crush!

The fact their relationship was/is often compared to a marriage, like husband and wife.

If you said anything bad about Paul, John would take a swing at you. "You wanna talk about Paul? Let's go."

#mclennon #anthology of mclennon #im not dead im just trying to finish this fic it honestly shouldn't be taking me this long but here i fucking am #i just need to write the sex scene and the morning after I CAN DO THIS

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bloodypapercut · 4 years ago

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r.l. headcanons

hello again! i honestly need to pay attention in class but this is more fun. hope you enjoy! don’t forget to drink some water today <3

word count: 1.3k

-when you first started dating he was very reserved, even though you had been best friends before you two got together. when remus does open up he shows you how he feels completely, he doesn’t leave a detail out because he wants you to do the same, he wants to know about every thought that runs through your mind so he can be there for you

-he values communication more than anything, he hated feeling like he was never heard or understood because he never spoke openly about how he feels, so when he opened up to you he felt safer and relieved. it was something you both struggled with, but the two of you together realized it’s okay to open up. despite your silent agreement to tell the each other how you felt, you never forced the other to speak unless they were ready and completely comfortable

-whenever he senses that you’re having a bad day he’ll sneak off to your dorm while you’re in class and he’ll hide little things for you to find in places he knows you frequent (which means a lot since he somehow enjoys most classes and doesn’t want to miss anything)

-he’d hide your favorite sweets in your drawer, his jumper on your pillow and he’ll look for your comfort book and press flowers and notes in between the pages for you to find when you read

-whenever you’re sitting in the common room he likes to sneak up behind you and drape a blanket on your shoulders, then he proceeds to lay his head on your lap, letting your fingers play with his hair

-tracing his freckles and scars (sometimes you’ll try and find constellations that form with his freckles)

-you two will have picnics all the time, usually lasting hours

-you’ll sit on a blanket, sitting cross legged while facing the other and reading. he’ll nudge you with his knee whenever he wants to recite a line to you (usually something from one of keats letters to fanny which makes you blush because the ardour he recites them with is honestly so endearing and wholesome). or you’ll lay down, holding hands while looking at each other letting the breeze flow through your jumpers.

-he loves chocolate, this is a known fact, but if he’s eating it around you he will always make sure to offer you the final piece and he will repeatedly insist because he just wants to give you everything he possibly can.

“remmmmm, stoppppp i don’t want any more chocolate, i'm serious. ” you’ll giggle pushing his hand away

“no i am!”

“shut the fuck up sirius.”

-he’ll send you letters, even though you see each other everyday. he includes poems and little doodles, sometimes you two will have an ongoing conversation through letters, never mentioning it when you two are together

-he’ll always hide his face whenever he wears glasses, he abhors them and claims they don’t suit him, but in reality he looks so ethereal

-you two always study together, whenever you explain something, he makes it his personal goal to kiss you after every sentence

-he’ll be going on and on explaining something for potions and you’ll blank out just listening to his voice, watching him wave his hands everywhere and looking at his face in awe

“i’ve lost you haven’t i? i knew i was horrible at explaining.”

“no no no you’re just so-” you’d cut yourself off and kiss him because you didn’t even know how to describe how much you admire him

“i didn’t quite understand what you meant, mind doing that again so i fully understand?”

-slow dancing in his dorm while listening to records (imagine dancing together the michelle by the beatles, and he recites the lyrics to you softly)

-okay so the song i’ll try anything once by the strokes (even though it didn’t exist in that era), imagine reciting the lyrics back and forth to each other and your smiles would be so wide and it would be so pure and innocent and filled with love

-you two just like being around each other, you could be sitting against his headboard while holding hands letting music play or you can just sit by the black lake while tossing pebbles without saying anything

-he likes tracing the lines on your palms

-he’s always in a trance when he’s around you, he loves you so deeply that he can’t help but compliment you every chance he gets. they’re often very soppy statements but you love hearing them either way.

“you look like an angel.”

“you’re glowing beautiful.”

“your mind is the most brilliant thing ever to exist.”

-whenever you hug, he wraps his arms completely around your waist and he buries his head in your hair. he likes lifting you slightly off the ground and swings you slightly from side to side

-you two make out a lot which surprises people because they didn’t expect remus to be so insatiable, especially in public

-he loves kissing you on the cheek, he does it so much. you’ll be in the middle of talking or chewing or brushing your hair and he just does it and it melts your heart

-when you’re talking to someone he hugs you from behind and kiss your cheek and it’s so sweet

-he. giggles. so. much. sometimes for no reason he’ll start giggling and when you ask why he’ll just shake his head and continue giggling

-he uses so many ornate words whenever he talks, it’s hard to get a grasp on what he’s talking about half the time

-he gives amazing advice because he’s so compassionate, he never wants you or anyone around him to struggle or feel devoid of hope so he does everything in his power to figure out how to help someone, he’s so altruistic he forgets to take care of himself sometimes, but you’re there to look after him like he looks after you

-it had taken some convincing but he finally cracked down and let you join him and the marauders when it was the full moon. he was horrified of you getting hurt and he would never forgive himself if he was the cause of any of your pain.

-after your first night accompanying them you we’re a little roughed up, you had some bruises and cuts but nothing extreme as the other marauders made sure you didn’t get too close to him

-you spent the entire night with him in the hospital wing, sleeping on the stiff side chair

-when remus woke up he smiled seeing you curled up but his smile immediately dropped when he saw the cuts and bruises on your body, he felt tears slipping and the guilt he felt was consuming him. upon hearing his sniffles you opened your eyes slowly and panicked.

“rem, what’s wrong, what happened?” you’d ask while stroking his hair, kissing away the tears that slowly rolled down his cheeks

“i hurt you, didn't i?” he sounded so broken

“no, no, don't say that you didn’t okay? i knew what i was getting myself into, this isn’t your fault.”

“you can’t come anymore, i can’t stand to see you like this knowing i did it.”

“nonsense, you know that’s not true.”

eventually he cracks down and allows it under the condition that you stay in the shrieking shack whenever the marauders notice that he’s being a bit more aggressive

-after his transformation you’d take him to the prefects bathroom and run him a bath. he’ll be so burnt out but despite that he’s so adamant on cleaning you off, which you don’t allow. you both sit in the bath facing each other and you’ll wipe the dirt off him with a cloth, being careful for cuts, and wash his hair. it would be so quiet and intimate, all you’d hear is his breathing and the sounds of the water dripping from the cloth. eventually you’ll finish but he turns his back to you and rests his head on your chest, closing his eyes. you stroke his shoulder lightly, pressing kisses to his forehead as he thanks you and tells you how in love he is with you repeatedly

#remus lupin #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin headcanon #mauraders era #remus lupin x reader #harry potter

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helmetkeeper · 11 months ago

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Hello! Can I have an Aven (Worldless) doodle if that's okay? I'm very canon divergent, so this is a somewhat inaccurate sketch of what I looks like (My ears are a bit thinner and is locate on the side of my head, like elf ears. Plus I do have the scarf, I just doodled myself with a bandana instead.)

Plus everything else is pretty similar to canon Aven's, including colour palette! However, I haven't had any kinmems (Okay, the psychological version of kinmems) as yet, so I have zero clue on just how canon divergent I am.

Thank you in advance!

yeah sure! the design is pretty interesting, i've never really drawn a character / person with parts not connected! very new and funs to draw :].

these ones are digital so i could make 'em cleaner and add some glowy bits to one or two pictures, but let me know if you'd like to see the sketch versions!

i am also running into the image limit but have a few more things, so there will just be an extra post lol :]. i'll tag you in it, but i'll try to post them at the same time anyway.

as always, please don't repost my art!

so i have these four, which are more half and half because they're just different versions. i.. attempted to make it glow but it wasn't working out XD.

transparent backgrounds on the left and colored backgrounds on the right (the glowy ones are first):

then we've got this little waving one :]. transparent background on the left and comored background on the right:

and finally there's the guy sitting down and chillin' 👍. transparent background on the left and colored background on the right:

#octahedral-chaos #worldless #doodles | i want to hold your hand! the beatles #request accepted | applause! lady gaga

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spxllcxstxr · 4 years ago

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hi love! I’m so so proud of you, congrats on hitting 300 followers 🥺

can I pls get a ship with a boy from marauders era?

my pronouns are she/her. I’m a gryffindor.

I would say I’m a cheerful person and loyal. I would do anything for my friends. I set really high standards for myself. I study a lot, however I would like to study more - my education is really important for me. I’m an open-minded person.

I’m an extrovert, I love meeting new people and talking to them. I’m a positive person, I think I have a lot of love to give ;p amongst my friends I’m the one who brings everyone together when there is some kind of conflict.

I fake my confidence 🤪 I think I also underestimate myself. I’m stubborn and overthink a lot. I love music and singing (I can’t sing but shh). I go to a theater class. I like makeup, reading books and partying. I would say I’m a passionate person and I collect Harry Potter stuff 🥰

I’m 5’4, brown hair. Those who met me always told me that I give off a mean vibe, and some say that I actually look really innocent- so there is no in between haha.

hope it wasn’t too long, love you🥺✨

Ahhhh thank you love, I love you too! ❤️🥺 and it was perfect, don’t worry! (Under the cut)

Celebration

I ship you with: James Potter

I read this and automatically thought James

He loves having someone to share his cheerful energy with

You’re his ray of sunshine

“Ah, here’s my sunshine!”

Just seeing your smile brightens his day

He will always smile back when he sees it

James is a giant combination of cheerfulness and loyalty

So he will do absolutely anything for you. Anything!

He loves you so much and he wants to show you

James doesn’t study a lot

In fact, usually it’s all last minute

He still gets good grades of course, but he doesn’t study a week in advance

That being said

He will 100% sit with you in the library while you read up on your notes

He will, however, be an annoying little shit

He’s doing to doodle little hearts on his parchment and show you

James will crack jokes

Probably get kicked out of the library

But he absolutely loves spending time with you

And he is here for you the instant school and work get overwhelming

He is going to PAMPER you

Study breaks are always fun with him

Maybe you’ll even get him to look over his notes???

Wait hold on

REWARD SYSTEM

“James, if you manage to study for fifteen minutes, I’ll give you a kiss”

“Why can’t you just give me a kiss now, dear?”

“Because that’s not how it works”

“Fiiiine. I’m irresistible anyway, you won’t last.”

He pouts the entire time

A child, honestly

Hopefully you love parties

Because man, there’s always a party going on in the Gryffindor common room

And James will be at every single one

He also loves just floating to different groups of people and striking up conversations

Will always hold your hand

He doesn’t want to lose you in the crowd

Likes to casually slip in that you’re his girlfriend

“Have you met my absolutely radiant girlfriend?”

Loves it when you steal his quidditch jerseys so please wear them at all times

A lot of love to give, you say?

James and the rest of the marauders adore you

Your positivity is always welcome, they never find you annoying or too much

Love them because they’ve all got some issues

You are always welcome to hang out in their dorm room

There isn’t always a huge conflict between your friend group, but sometimes Remus will snap at one of you before the full moon or Sirius will push people away

So it’s good that you’re there along with James as the mediator

You and James are totally the mom and dad of the group

You fake your confidence (ayyy same though) and as time goes on, James sees that

But he’s always here for you to talk to him

Or when he sees that your struggling he’ll drop everything to snuggle in the dorm

James acts like a wounded puppy when you’re hurting, he wants his ray of sunshine to be happy again

James is your #1 hype man, though

He will absolutely cheer you on

Even if you’re literally doing nothing

You’re everything to him, honestly everything you do is amazing to him and he will never let you forget it

When you overthink, talk to him!

It doesn’t matter if it’s barely coherent or about how deep the ocean is or about struggling with school work

James is here for you

Always

James also loves music and can’t really sing for shit

Yeah he can sing to the Beatles, but he’s no Paul or John, that’s for sure

James will listen to your favorite music as long as you listen to his as well

Music is super important to him

He loves your singing voice, sing him to sleep on his bad days or when he loses his quidditch match

It’s really comforting to him

DO HIS MAKEUP

He’s always wanted to have a make over

He would be willingly be your test subject for any new products

You guys make a date out of it

You’ll do his make up

He’ll do yours

It’s a disaster

James loves how passionate you get with everything you do, theater, reading..everything!

He can listen to you talk forever

Ok the height difference though

(Just noticing how short all of you are damn)

Piggyback rides all the time. I promise.

James loves running his fingers through your hair

He also loves when you do the same for him

James is your #1 fan and loves you so so so so so much

Hope you like it ❤️❤️ and thank you so much again!

#spxllcxstxr 300 followers

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 years ago

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Baby You Were My Picket Fence [Chapter 5: Paradise City]

You are a first grade teacher in sunny Los Angeles, California. Ben Hardy is the father of your most challenging student. Things quickly get complicated in this unconventional love story.

Song inspiration: Miss Missing You by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter warnings: Language, some sexual content (not smutty).

Link to chapter list (and all my writing) HERE

Taglist: @blushingwueen @queen-turtle-boiii @everybodyplaythegame @onceuponadetectivedemigod @luvborhap @sincereleygmg @stormtrprinstilettos @loveandbeloved29 @ohtheseboysilove @jennyggggrrr @vanitysfairr @bramblesforbreakfast @radiob-l-a-hblah @xox-talia-xox @killer-queen-xo @caborhapch @kimmietea @asquiresofftime @hardzzellos @sleepretreat @ramibaby @jonesyaddiction @ixchel-9275 @omgitsearly @lovepizza-cake11 @deacy-dearest @shishterfackisback @mrbenhardys @deaky-with-a-c If I forgot anyone, please yell at me :)

The blue chalk moves swiftly with shrill little squeaks over the board. You’re dressed in a floral red dress, leggings, sensible sable flats, and fuzzy woolly mammoth earrings. The kids love to see what sort of eccentric accessories you wear each day; there’s even a space on the board reserved for it. Today’s flair is: woolly mammoth earrings! (Please don’t touch unless you ask first!!)

“Okay my lovely children, let’s practice using each of this week’s spelling words in a sentence. Who can remind me what the first word on our spelling list is?”

“Oh! Oh!” Brendyn—who you mentally mix up with Brayden or Kayden at least twice a day—leans out of his chair and waves his arm hysterically. Dear god, please send a plague to wipe the unnecessary Y baby name trend off the face of the planet. “I can!”

“Go ahead, Brendyn.”

“Throw,” he announces proudly, as if he’s just won the Olympic medal for elementary-school writing.

“Awesome job! That’s right!” You transcribe it on the board: 1. Throw. “And who thinks they can come up with a sentence using the word throw?”

Eli, as he’s doodling all over his worksheet, says: “If you don’t like someone, you can throw them out of a window.”

You swallow noisily as you collect your thoughts. The other students are alternately giggling cautiously or gasping, scandalized. “Now, Eli...”

“Yes, Miss Teacher?” he prompts.

“It’s nice to raise our hands and wait to be called on when we have something to share.”

“Oops.” He raises his hand.

You sigh heavily. “Could you come up with a different sentence, please? One that is more school-appropriate? Remember we had a whole talk last week about school-appropriate topics. Right class?”

“Yes, Miss Y/L/N!” they agree in unison. That conversation hadn’t, perhaps shockingly, been inspired by Eli. A chatty, beach-blond, future surfer bro named Dexter had discovered his father, a prominent cinematographer, in a compromising position with the nanny—in the jacuzzi tub, no less—and felt the need to divulge that during Story Sharing Time. Worst parent phone call ever.

“Give it another try, Eli,” you say encouragingly.

“Taking spelling tests makes me want to throw up.”

You drop your face into your hands as the class howls in laughter. “Okay, very funny, but I still think we can come up with something more appropriate. Does anyone else have an idea?”

Maisy raises her hand timidly. Oh, hallelujah.

“Yes, Maisy!”

“Always remember to throw away your trash.”

“Wonderful!” You write the sentence on the board. “No littering. I like it. Save the sea turtles. Maisy, as a reward, you may give Creampuff one pumpkin seed.”

“Yay!” Maisy leaps out of her seat and sprints to Creampuff’s cage behind your desk. It’s your third year teaching with Creampuff, and the poor hamster is decisively in geriatric territory; she’s morbidly obese and her eyes are bluish with cataracts. But the children adore her, and Creampuff has always been wonderfully sweet and never bites. You just hope that when the time comes, she has the decency to kick the bucket over a long weekend so you can dispose of the body in secret and whip up a cheery story to tell the kids about how Creampuff went to live in an organic vegan farm or a hamster sanctuary or a retirement community in sunny Tampa Bay, Florida.

“Okay friends,” you announce. “Go ahead and practice coming up with sentences on your worksheet. Then we’ll chat in five or ten minutes and see what we’ve got. Ready, set, go!”

As students’ heads bow and pencils begin scratching against paper, you circle the room peeking over shoulders and making suggestions here and there. When you reach Eli’s desk, you crouch down so your gaze is level with his.

“Hey, Eli.”

“Hi,” he replies mistrustfully, his blue eyes narrow under dark curls.

“I just wanted to let you know that I thought your sentence ideas were very funny and very, very clever. But they just weren’t the best choices to use in class. Do you understand why?”

“Yeah,” he says, smirking a little. Of course you do, you’re the smartest kid in here.

“And I really appreciated you raising your hand to speak once you were reminded.”

“Thanks.” He’s actually bashful now, his high olive-skinned cheeks flushing.

“Are you still going to help me clap the erasers after class today?”

His eyes light up like wildfire. “Can I?”

The trap’s been sprung. Clapping erasers is like cocaine for first graders. “You betcha. If the rest of our spelling lesson goes smoothly.”

“Okay!” He immediately picks up his pencil and begins jotting down sentences. The handwriting is definitely a work in progress, but Eli’s spelling and grammar are immaculate. You can’t help but smile to yourself as you walk away; you’re feeling triumphant, of course, but there’s something else as well.

I’m proud of you, demon kid.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ben is standing on your doorstep, dressed in black, a potted calla lily in his hands. And at first he’s got that unnerving veneer, he’s serious and intimidating and smoldering; but then you find his eyes and his smile breaks open like cracked glass.

“Hi,” he says meekly.

“Hi.” You point to the calla lily. It’s a vivid green, like his eyes, like the serrated continents of the Earth from space. “Is that for me?”

“Yes, actually. It’s a gift, but it’s kind of a joke too.”

“How’s that?”

“It’s fake.” He grins. “So you can’t kill it.”

You laugh and take the pot, leaning back so the silk calla lily doesn’t tickle your nose, doesn’t rub against your makeup. “Come on in, Mr. Hardy.” Ben follows you, his hands in his jacket pockets, peering around watchfully. You find a temporary home for your new plant on the kitchen counter, right next to your latest purchase; you rest your hand, not-so-subtly, on the brand new, mint green, vintage record player. “Check this bad boy out.”

“Wow!” Ben leans down to examine it, running his fingertips over the turntable. Then his eyes flick to the box of vinyl records. “And you’ve already got listening material!”

“Lots of Queen, you’d totally approve.”

“Zeppelin?”

“Naturally.”

He flips through the records quickly: The Eagles, The Stones, Guns N’ Roses, The Beatles, The Cars, Aerosmith, Cheap Trick, Fleetwood Mac, U2, Hendrix, Elton, Nirvana. “Love it. I’m pumped. How much did all of this cost you?”

You crinkle your nose in lighthearted defiance. “It’s rude to talk about money, Mr. Hardy. Not a lot. Amazon is an amazing thing. And I’ve been collecting records for years. Yard sales, thrift shops, wherever. Some of them were my parents’ before I commandeered them.”

“I’ll ask again.” He takes out his wallet and starts counting bills, the paper shuffling in his hands. “How much for the record player? Estimate the rest.”

“Ben,” you protest, dismayed.

“Y/N,” he teases.

“You can’t buy everything for me,” you say gently.

“I’m not buying. I’m renting. I get to choose what to play whenever I’m here.” He unfolds $300 and lays it on top of the record player. “Will that cover it?”

You gape at the money. Yes, that’s about right. “Ben...I’d let you request music for free.”

“I don’t want requests. I want everything.” And then he grins, and it almost rips the floor out from under you. Oh god, I love this man.

You’ve never said those words aloud. You’ve never talked about his refrigerator magnet confession. But it’s somewhere in the space between you like a circling ghost, like a promise, like shared blood singeing under flesh.

“But,” Ben says, bringing you back into focus. “For now we should probably get going.”

“Right.” You grab your purse and jacket as Ben calls an Uber. “Where are we meeting them, anyway?”

He winks at you, his face illuminated by the glow of his cellphone screen. “Not the fucking Olive Garden.”

The Uber is a BMW with leather seats and a minibar installed in the backseat. As it cruises through downtown L.A., Ben tells you about how Joe has an apartment in the city, how Rami splits his time between his loft here and another in New York, how devout Londoner Gwilym is in town for work. You down a tiny Absolut Vodka to ease your nerves. “And when do I get to see your place, Mr. Hardy?”

He chuckles noncommittally. “We’re here,” he declares, glancing up through the BMW’s tinted windows. Outside is an upscale nightclub called The Edison. Then he turns to you. “Two things,” he says, holding up his index and middle fingers. There’s a gold ring on each. “First, don’t forget about the low profile.”

“That shouldn’t be difficult since we’re...” Air quotes. “Not dating.”

“Good. And secondly, don’t be anxious. They’re going to love you. You’re...”

“Charming?” you suggest, batting your eyelashes. “Blessed with impeccable music taste? Awesome at taming demons?”

He smiles. “I was going to say perfect.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re three shots deep and belting out Sweet Caroline with the electric-fence kid from Jurassic Park. There’s a sentence you never thought would cross your mind.

Joe’s trim left arm is draped over your shoulders, his head leaning into yours, a lager swooping precariously in his right hand as he gestures with it like a microphone. Ben is looking on, grinning as he sips his Sazerac, his eyes flickering in the dim, rusty light. When you first arrived, Ben introduced you as a friend; Joe had quickly shimmied over and started dropping lines.

“Joe,” Ben flared, like it was a warning. “I’m not trying to set you two up. That’s not what this is.”

“Whoops, my bad,” Joe had replied, and dialed down the saccharine charm. Yet you like Joe, you like him a lot, and within thirty minutes you’ve already exchanged numbers and compared astrological signs and agreed that he’s going to teach you how to play baseball next week.

“She’s got a thing for Jeff Goldblum, you know,” Ben says now.

“Stop!” you cry, blushing furiously.

“Do you?!” Joe asks and gulps half his lager. “I can make that happen. I can introduce you.”

“He’s a lot older than he was in his Jurassic Park days,” you sigh, lamenting.

“But also wayyyyy richer!” Joe pitches, waggling his eyebrows.

“She’s a schoolteacher,” Ben notes. “She could use a sugar daddy.”

“Girl, I am going to hook you up!”

Rami and Lucy return to the circular booth from the dancefloor, their fingers interlaced. Lucy is incredibly delicate, even tinier and more youthful than she appears onscreen, and always smiling; Rami speaks slowly and thoughtfully and with a captivating meticulousness, and when he fixes his pale eyes on yours you feel like you’re the only person in the room, in the city, in the world, as if whatever you have to say is the most profound thing he’s ever heard. Rami shouts something to Ben over the blaring music as Ben takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lights one.

“Oh my god!” you exclaim, and Joe jumps beside you, startled. “You smoke?”

Ben takes a draw, exhales smoke through full pink lips, and smirks guiltily.

“What year is this?!”

“2019,” Joe offers.

“Who the fuck smokes in 2019?!” you hurl at Ben. “Do you like breathing? Do you enjoy your internal organs? Do you want to live to spend all your BoRhap money?”

“You tell him!” Joe whoops, clapping. “Yeah baby! Tell him, Y/N!”

You ask incredulously: “They let people smoke in here?!”

“They do in the VIP section,” Joe chimes.

“He’s quite the delinquent, isn’t he?” Gwil says, appearing from the dancefloor and resting his hands on Ben’s shoulders. Gwilym is gentlemanly and eruditions, classically handsome, one of those people whose sincerity reads all over their face. His voice is different than Ben’s, lighter, sharper, less husky; he’s tall and slim and polished. In a phrase, he’s outlandishly lovely.

“I didn’t come here for an intervention, mate,” Ben responds, but his tone is pleasant and at-ease.

“Sorry for loving you, Ben!” Joe yells. “Sorry for caring about your longevity!”

“Sorry for wanting to grow old with you and retire together!” Gwil wails theatrically.

“Oh wow wow wow,” Rami says, shaking his head and smiling. Lucy is clutching a Malibu Sunset and trying to drag him back to the dancefloor, her polka dot dress swirling dreamily around her ankles.

“Wait,” Joe begins, “this is awkward, I definitely already purchased adjacent burial plots for me and Ben and the cemetery has a strict no-Welshmen policy, so...”

Laughing, you turn to Ben, and all at once the two of you are alone in this deafening and pulsing space. He takes another draw, the lit end of his cigarette glowing like embers, his eyes—green like envy, like a snake’s skin, like insatiable greed—all over you: your lips, your neck, your chest, lower. Something deep and shapeless ripples through you, déjà vu or recognition or desire or all of that and more; you want to reach out and touch his flushed flawless skin with your fingertips, you want to make sure he’s real. Gwil and Rami and Lucy are engrossed in some conversation about the best neighborhoods for apartment hunting in London, but Joe’s squinting suspiciously at you and Ben through the veil of smoke. You can’t fool him.

“Right,” Ben says suddenly, crushing the rest of his cigarette in an ashtray. “I’ve got to run. Y/N, do you want a lift home?”

This is just for show, just for the low-profile arrangement; of course you want to leave with him. You’ll follow him anywhere. “That’d be greatly appreciated.” As you climb out of the booth, Ben slips his phone from his pocket to call an Uber.

Joe waves, still thoughtful. “See you soon, Sweet Caroline!”

“Oh god, let’s never talk about that again.”

Rami gives you a sophisticated peck on each cheek, Lucy a spirited hug and a delighted little squeal; her oversized dangling earrings drag along your cheek as you pull away. Gwil takes your hands firmly in his own. “It was wonderful to meet you, love,” he says. “Come along anytime.”

“You’ve all been so kind!” you gush tipsily, and that’s the truth; they’ve been almost preposterously welcoming.

“Yeah yeah, you’ve stolen the show,” Ben says affectionately, maybe even proudly, guiding you towards the front of the club with his palm pressed lightly against the small of your back. “Cheers! We’ll do this again soon,” he calls back to the others. Joe and Gwil dramatically blow kisses after him as you push through the crowds and out into the windswept, luminescent Los Angeles night.

“What’s the hurry—?”

“Can I take you home now?” His voice is rushed and breathless; he’s doing that nervous thing he does where he glances around distractedly and bites his lips and shifts his weight from one foot to the other and runs his thumb over his chin.

“Of course,” you answer, your words hushed like clouds muting the moonshine.

A red Porsche rolls up along the sidewalk and Ben opens the door for you.

“I need you to do something for me,” you say when you’re both in the car and zooming through traffic towards the suburbs.

“Anything.”

Your gaze is devouring his high cheekbones—Eli’s, just like Eli’s—as the streetlights pass overhead, his messy hair and barely-there smile and all that lives under his fierce exterior, kindness and strength and wit and love. Love. “I need you to quit smoking.”

He laughs at you; that’s not what he expected. “Seriously?”

“I don’t want you to die young. I don’t want to lose you.” You can’t stand that thought. You’ve known him for three weeks and you’re hooked like a fucking swordfish; he’s in your bones, your blood, your lungs, he’s dragging you up from the depths and into blinding, open air.

This is too soon. This is way too soon. You don’t know this guy at all.

And yet somehow you do, somehow it feels like you always have.

Ben reaches over and weaves his fingers through yours. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He follows you inside when the Uber pulls into your driveway; he’s not speaking, he doesn’t remove his jacket or his shoes. He begins flipping through your box of records as you lean against the kitchen counter, your arms crossed.

“This is a test,” you say with a smile.

Ben makes a selection at last, drops the record onto the turntable, and places the needle. The music begins, filling your tiny one-bedroom house, reverberating off the walls that you’ve painted mint green and lilac and teal and pastel rosy pink. He still isn’t looking at me.

“Interesting choice.” The song is Save Tonight by a Swedish artist called Eagle-Eye Cherry; it’s acoustic and simple and soulful. “That’s not very classic rock of you.”

“Go on and close the curtains

'Cause all we need is candlelight

You and me, and a bottle of wine

To hold you tonight.”

“The Nineties weren’t all bad.” Ben shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on the kitchen table, kicks aside his shoes, lays his phone face-down on the counter as if he’s just decided to stay. Then he comes to you.

“Well we know I'm going away

And how I wish, I wish it weren't so

So take this wine and drink with me

And let's delay our misery.”

There’s no questioning whether you’re going to let him touch you; there’s no question at all. The thought of not being with him is agonizing, cavernous, unbearable. You’ve never wanted someone like this. You’ve never wanted anything like this.

Ben cups your face in his hands and kisses you like he’s coming up for air, like you’re a high he’ll never get enough of. He tastes like cognac and whiskey and cigarettes and lust. Your back hits the refrigerator, and your magnets pop off and clatter against the tile floor; your fingers are knotting through his hair as his trace a path beneath your blouse. He asks if you’re okay—not with his voice but with his searching eyes—and you nod a desperate yes, yes, yes. Outside the stars are raging through the blackness, those same stars that lit up the sky above the dinosaurs just a few blinks of their immortal lifespans ago.

“Save tonight and fight the break of dawn,

Come tomorrow, tomorrow I'll be gone...”

“Oh shit...” Ben’s patting his pockets, flipping through his wallet. His eyes are wide and frantic. “I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m on the pill,” you tell him. “Wait, I’m sorry, you’re an actor, you probably get psychos trying to have your babies all the time, I totally understand if you don’t trust me—”

“I trust you,” he breathes, as if he’s just realizing it.

“I trust you too, Ben.”

“Don’t say it,” he whispers, almost pleads. “You don’t know me.”

“I do,” you insist, unbuttoning his shirt, lifting all that separates you away, peeling back secrets like layers of the earth.

#ben jones #ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy fic #borhap imagine #borhap fic #bohemian rhapsody #bywmpf #baby you were my picket fence #gwilym lee #joe mazzello

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flipsideds · 5 years ago

Text

“ oh, haha... ” a default response to a very non-default situation –– a little post-show, barside rendez-vous with an older man who insists nour has been singing to directly to him the entire night. “ flirting ? i... ”

gentle eyes gloss over the banquet hall’s dimmed lights, bright smiles, flickering electric candles... “ . . . what’s that ? ” and then he’s off, gin and tonic in hand. three strides and it’s already half-drained. yikes.

or, alternatively : greetings loved ones!! my name is linc ( 21 / est / she/her ) and here is the ever so graceful, ever so unintentionally magnetic nour al-busiri! below the cut you’ll find a messy run-down. i am so excited to plot & write with all of you !!

( i’m scheduled for a tonsillectomy tomorrow so i’m gonna be so grateful for the distraction, y’all have no idea. )

if you want some great mood-setters for this beb’s backstory / insight into his soul, slap on some jacob collier, kevin garrett, or charlie burg ‘n let’s get cookin’ !

so this is all copy-pasted from a discord chat with devon bc i improvised nour’s entire life story over a span of... 10 minutes ?? bahaha pls enjoy i apologize in advance. ( i also put this in normal text size bc it is v long and i don’t want anyone hurting their eyes !! protect dem beautiful retinas <3 )

h i s t o r y .

his parents met in grade school in egypt, but then didn't reconnect until their masters studies crossed paths in london... immediately fell head over heels again ( had they been searching for one another in crowds since being 6-7 years old?? maybe... ). graduated top of their class, accepted job offers in london in the biopharmaceutical realm. but then. when nour was 3...

they were involved in a freak monorail accident on their way back from a science conference in amsterdam. the babysitter paid 80 quid to watch the kids for two nights became their sole protector in this world. british authorities had trouble contacting other kin, but managed to reach mr. al-busiri's mother, rashida, who was still living in dahab with her second husband, zaim.

the al-busiri's came from old money. so off nour goes ( and potentially his older bro if i decide he exists... potential wc with a rami malek fc tbh ) to live in the city which, unbeknownst to him, sparked his parents' storybook love.

so nour grows up in this like... picturesque seaside childhood. collects shells. bonds with his grandmother and her husband. they encourage him with school, etc. but he quickly shows that he excels at maths and... music? wow. that's unexpected. gets his first piano at 5. first guitar at 6. by 8 1/2, he's managed to hodge-podge together a little recording studio for himself in his bedroom, and he's constantly serenading his friends at school.

( death tw / illness tw ) then comes zaim's stroke. he lives for four months after, but he loses his ability to speak. his motor skills deteriorate. nour and his grandmother do their best to tend to him –– she's already about 40% down the macular degeneration path, but hasn't told him yet that her vision's going. so 10 y/o nour does what he does best: unconditional love and support, delivered through the gift of song. zaim dies after requesting his favorite song: 'blackbird' by the beatles, sung in verses alternating from english to arabic.

after, it's just nour and rashida against the world ( maybe his brother too bergorghre if i decide he's a thing ) . rashida's forced to come clean about her vision the day she can't for the life of her find the bloody pen she just put down so she can finish signing off on nour's choir trip permission slip. ( it's right next to her, to her left, just out of her closing field of vision. ) things progress more rapidly after that. by the time nour's 16, his grandmother is legally blind. it's not an uncommon sight to see him at the markets or strolling along the beach with her on his arm. she refuses canes as long as nour's around. ( “ don't rob me of my youth, nuri-nuri [ my light ] ” )

despite her growing dependency on him, she encourages him to apply to unis all over the globe. by the time college apps roll around, nour is somewhat of a local household name: he plays summer concerts, coffee shops, and is even asked to play at his teacher's wedding ceremony –– and his neighbor's cat funeral.

acceptances roll in. julliard. berkeley. chicago school of music. he chooses chicago, because there's someone there. someone he connected with online a few years back, a friend, but... could turn into something more. this hopeless romantic heedlessly ventures off to find out if this boy in chicago might... be someone. something more.

spoiler alert: he gets to chicago, starts music school. and each meet-up they set? gets pushed. sometimes it's traffic. a cold. transit trouble. can't get work off, sorry. things with ma are really tough. the excuses kept coming but... nour's naive. he believes every word. but in his second year of uni, things....... start getting suspicious. by chance, he spots this man in the window of a coffee shop downtown. overjoyed, he texts as much. but ... messages go read and unanswered. phone calls dwindle.

his music suffers. so does his muse. so much so that he's tempted to drop out, to throw in the towel, to just...... go back home. he speaks with his grandmother each day on the phone. she's doing well, stop worrying, nuri-nuri, your uncle is taking good care of me. nour goes on dates. thinks about chicago boy. thinks about him a lot.

he's 20 when it happens. sat on a stage in a little dive bar, tuning his acoustic guitar for an opening number, and there. those eyes. he knows them.

they talk after the show, in the alley. share a cigarette. and it's almost like... maybe things are finally clicking. maybe this is finally their shot.

except chicago boy ( neil ) says they have to stop talking. that he had to just... see nour for himself. see that he's real. hear him sing, and... move on. nour doesn't buy it. pushes back. asks why the hell neil'd come out now only to slink back to the shadows. things get heated. neil yells. and the men... the men who hear and come running ? they think nour is the cause of it all.

( hate crime tw, violence tw ) how many kicks does it take to break to the center of a broken heart ? twelve. how many broken ribs does it take to immobilize a probably terrorist, dude ? four. shattered wrist. snapped ankle. broken arm. cracked skull. and neil scuttles off like nour's bad meat. bad blood. like he asked for this.

chicago school of music receives a call from weiss memorial three days later.

nour never gets his degree. he breaks his apartment lease. flies home after he heals, spends a year with his grandmother and uncle. just... creating. writing, playing, trying to fill that void with something. but then things with his uncle get heated. he wants to put his own mother in a home, sell the estate, pocket the cash. nour fights it, but he's got no legal bearing.

the nursing home concept never takes hold, though, because his grandmother's still sharp as shit and refuses to sign anything nour doesn't read first. eventually the uncle grows tired of fighting and stops trying, just... slinks back to his husband and keeps his mouth shut. nour's grandmother pressures him to go back to chicago, make that city wish he never left. take back his own story. together they work to find a live-in aide they trust. freshly 22, nour ventures back to the city that broke him.

he finds cheap housing, a gig. the malnati, seems legit. good money. good exposure. and then he meets @ryderxmms –– they form one night stand. when not scheduled for malnati banquets, you can find nour providing vocals ( and occasional keys ) in the dive bars / parties the band lands gigs at.

g e n e r a l .

nour creates like food and drink don’t exist, sunlight is an illusion, and all the human body needs for sustenance is sound. he can find his way around just about any instrument under the sun, but his main poisons are piano, acoustic guitar, and digital recording tools –– think jacob collier and you’re right on the money.

actually, i’m stealing a lot of jacob collier discography and pegging it as his creations. this kid’s got an experimental sound and loves it.

he grew up speaking english and arabic equally, but because he learned english in london and then continued in egypt, he does have a mild brit-arab accent. it’s v cute, i promise.

looks like he’d be a total lothario, yeah ?? but. he’s so shy ? so sweet ? get him on a stage and he’s shameless but plop him in a bar and eye him up and he’ll honestly just smile nervously and pretend you’re looking at someone else.

love languages : singing to his succulents and plants before his 5am morning runs. facetime calls at times least convenient for him, but most convenient for you. little notes written on napkins, smiley face doodles included. candy bars. lingering a little longer in doorways after saying hello, just to see you smile.

he’s got major water sign vibes. birthday comin’ up in march, woot woot !!

he often wears very simple statement pieces. he likes rings, crystal pendants, leather bracelets. soft tees layered with embroidered jackets, metallic blazers. somehow he pulls off mixed media and crazy prints that should never go together ? he just... is so easy breezy.

he often wears his hair wild ‘n curly, unless the gig he’s got mandates a more streamlined look.

falls in love.... 14 times a day ?? really.

has a scar across his left temple from the incident with neil. will probably write it off as a bike riding accident. ( he doesn’t know how to ride a bike. )

don’t let him cook ever, okay ?? unless you want him to literally do this.

pls come at me for all the plots ? i’m so open for all the things !!! y’all got me on discord, so feel free to slide on into my dms. i promise i will be so thrilled <3

#intro.#☼ –– gimme that afterglow ! inspo.

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seromreven · 6 years ago

Note

wb a John x male reader where the reader works for something like a record company and John takes an interest in him?

not exactly a record company. i hope that’s alright!

---

1964,

In a small corner of giant London resided a small record shop with the name of Spinning Hits. It wasn’t a very popular shop. In fact, it was rather an unknown location. Hidden in plain sight of a busy street; it rarely got a lot of foot traffic, largely earning its revenue from the senior regulars and broke college students. But it got by. Not earning enough to cause a celebration or a vacation, but neither did it cause starvation.

It was here, in this small corner of the world, you worked.

Spinning Hits had been founded by your grandfather in the late nineteenth century, first massively popular but quickly deteriorated in popularity, and was now owned by your uncle. He was an excited and eccentric man doing his best to get by in a swinging economy. Continually trying to keep up with the times without letting down his regulars who came for what they knew and liked.

You had first been hired in your early teens in an attempt to teach you about responsibility. Or so it was explained to you. Secretly, you had always thought it to be because your parents wanted you out of the house as much as possible. They had never wanted a boy but a girl to prim and pamper. But your uncle had welcomed you with open arms and had quickly made you feel welcome. Accepted. And loved.

The moment you turned eighteen, you moved out of your parents' house and into an apartment of your own. Close to the record store, bought with the money you had saved up from years of dutiful work for your uncle and whatever small jobs you could find.

It was early on a summer morning when you arrived to open up the store for the day. The sun was already high and bright and the short walk from your apartment to the store had been comfortably warm. You would be alone in the store for the next few hours before your uncle would show up around lunch and do inventory work and the like in the back offices of the building.

The day went by slowly as you sat behind the register, hardly doing anything as you listened to the radio as you doodled on loose pieces of paper. The books you had to read for University laid neatly in a satchel on the floor but your concentration for reading them was long gone as you neared lunch and your hunger grew.

It was then the bell that hung at the door rung and you glanced up at the entrance to see the new customer. His back was turned to look out through the glass pane and you raised your brow at that rather odd behaviour but moved on to look down at your paper. You weren’t great at the whole drawing thing but the small birds you had drawn didn’t look too bad.

You glanced up, slightly curious at the newcomer as the only other customer in the store was a daily visitor whom you had come to know quite well.

He was gone from the window and were now looking intently down in the boxes containing new folk releases. He wore a black suit, neat though slightly ruffled in some places as if he’d been running or pulled at. He wore a newsboy cap that matched the suit and shades he also wore. Indoors… okay.

You wore your greatest customer service smile and called out to him; “if you need any help, you just say so!”

He looked to you very briefly with a curt smile and looked back down at the records.

Only a short moment later a loud disorder came from outside and a great big flock of screaming girls rushed by the shop and you shook at the commotion. That was strange. Who could they be chasing? You had heard of something of a mania following a recent band called The Beatles. They sold the most records in the shop too. But, surely, none of them was anywhere near your shop at this time of day.

Your quiet regular came slowly up to the counter, holding hard unto his cane so his knuckles turned white and bought a used copy of a Franz Liszt recording. You wished him a great day and watched him as he gradually made his way to the door. Much to your great surprise; the newcomer opened the door for him and helped him down the steep curve that connected the entrance to the sidewalk. The old man whispered his thanks, it was the loudest volume he could muster, and went on his way home.

Your eyes connected with the younger man, or so you thought as he was still wearing his dark shades, and smiled in silent thanks to him. He gave you a short nod and stepped away from the door with a brief glance out its clean window. He faked interested in the used classical record section as he finally took off the sunglasses that had bothered you so much. They had no real reason to have bothered you; they just had.

He looked briefly at you once they were off and you recognised him immediately but said nothing and continued your business at the register. It was John Lennon, of The Beatles. So the herd of young women that passed by earlier finally made sense. He had gone into your uncle’s shop to escape the rampage. You granted him this moment of solitude in the store for some privacy and silence as you thought it was something he might not have a lot of, deeming from what you had seen moments before.

You hummed along to whatever song the radio played, you didn’t pay much attention to it other than that the melody was familiar enough for you to follow along with, as you continued doodling and letting time pass with the occasional glance cast to the Beatles mulling around the various boxes of records. He did seem to actually have some interesting in the store’s stock and weren’t just there until it was safe enough for him to leave again.

Suddenly; a shadow was cast over you and you looked up to find musician looked down at you and the paper your hand rested on. He was smirking, for whatever reason, and it was then you noticed the song you had hummed along to had been one of his.

You blushed slightly and stood up from your chair to have an ounce of professionalism about you. You had assumed he had come up to buy something but his hands were empty and you blinked confused at him as you looked back from his empty hands and his still smirking face.

“Like what ye hear?”

He asked, still with the smirk, and your blush only intensified. Well, you couldn’t deny the fact. He had could you red-handed with the fact that you did like what you heard. So you just nodded with a half-hearted shrug, suddenly feeling rather bashful as you fought the urge to give in and look away from his brown eyes.

“...’s okay,” it came from you at a low volume. You weren’t used to talking more than necessary to people in the store. And certainly not to someone of his status… or appearance. He was rather handsome. Which was far and few between in this shop as your customers were usually pretty fucking old. And that wasn’t exactly in your tastes.

John looked to be about to say something again when the phone next to the register rung and you quickly took as to not having to say anything more to the handsome singer. It would only get awkward as you were far too unused in communicating with people you got those… warm tingling feelings for.

You did the typical introduction for the store in a chipper voice but quickly relaxed as it was your uncle’s voice that greeted you back. He informed you that he couldn’t make it in for lunch and that you should close for the day and do the paperwork for him. You agreed, always having wanted to take on more serious work. You wished him well, and he equally did so, and hung up.

Now you were only left with asking Mr Lennon to leave. Something you were getting quite nervous about. He didn’t seem the rich entitled type who could get pissy about things not going their way. But you’d never met him before so, who’s to say?

You turned around and looked at him; he had a look in his eyes that made you feel rather warm and you flushed at the sudden thoughts that sprang up in your mind. Willing them away, you informed him of the shop’s closure.

He looked dismayed but did no further and followed you along to the entrance. But before you could open it; he placed himself between you and the door. He stood close to you and you took a sharp intake of his wonderful smelling cologne. He didn’t make it easy for you to keep your mind on track as he looked at you with his hooded narrow eyes.

“You’re a rather cute lad, aren’t ye?”

He asked you as he got closer and closer to you and you blushed at the sudden compliment. Was he hitting on you? Was even he into men? You were but, by God, you had never acted upon it. Not from shame or anything of the like. You were just always an asocial mess when it came down to it.

So, again, you shrugged and moved slightly on your feet. You were unsure of what to do or say and just went with whatever your gut told you to rather than what your mind wanted, (it wanted to yell and hide but that would really just make things worse).

“You’re… you’re not bad yourself,” you muttered and stared hard down at your feet. Shit, was that the right thing to say? The hell did you know?

Well, he snickered and a hand with calloused fingers on your jaw guided you gently up to look at him again.

“...’s okay?”

He asked you in a soft whisper as he leaned in towards you. You weren’t sure what he asked of you but you nodded slightly and were soon met with chapped lips on your own soft ones. He tasted of whiskey and tobacco and you thought one of which was rather odd for the time of day. But it was nice and you closed your eyes as the kiss deepened. You had never before kissed someone you just met but… well, it was very nice.

On hand was still on your jaw while the other had sneaked itself unto you waist as the kiss continued at a leisurely pace.

You still had your eyes closed when he pulled away and opened them up to see a snickering John. You must’ve been quite a sight, all warm-faced and giddy from the kiss. It had been… wonderful. He was wonderful. Gosh.

“Got to get back before the others get their knickers in a twist,” he murmured with his rough hand still on your jaw. You nodded and the hand moved along with it. You didn’t want him to leave, quite honestly, but you were sure he was a busy man. He moved to open the door and you impulsively asked;

“Will I see you again?”

But with a sauve smile; he just shrugged and went out the door with a wave.

You cursed under another your breath and looked up and turned the ‘Closed’ sign. It had been worth asking. Well, if he had any interest in you other than the superficial- he knew where to find you.

#anonymous #ask #request #the beatles #john lennon #male reader #reader insert #beatles fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #lack of activity have been because i had to visit family for a reunion #and i have just been either too tired or too busy to write anything

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likesomekindofcheese · 5 years ago

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Hello! I saw that you were doing ships and I'm interested if they're still open? If so, could I please get ships for The Beatles, Queen and Bohrap? I will be sending a few of these to give a full description so I'm sorry for the spam! I never exactly know what to put in these! So, My name is Jasmine, I'm Australian and I speak English, German, Czech (Gotta love family that doesn't speak English..) and Japanese. I've always been considered the 'artsy' person among my peers. (1/5)

I'm usually rather quiet at first, often the person just sitting in the back and drawing. The main exception of this being if I'm performing, wearing a fashion I love or doing a hobby of mine. I love the arts and have always been a big creative type. I will admit, I'm quite passive/submissive and very indecisive. I'm also kind of insecure. I tend to do whatever I can to make my friends happy due to negative experiences in the past. Also because I love doing things for people (2/5)

I'm 5'7" and pale, I have hair that reaches past my waist and is naturally a honey blonde in colour, I sometimes dye it magenta. My eyes are a blue/green colour and for some issue, one tends dilate more than the other, I have an hourglass body and because of that, I do have some cuves on me. I also have a slight overbite (which got "fixed" with braces). In terms of clothing, I love wearing alt fashion such as Lolita fashion, Cult Party Kei, and my own style which is quite doll-like. (3/5)

For my job, I'm currently studying Primary Teaching and Drama in University and a few years ago in Highschool, I began work as a Professional Mermaid and Princess for hire, as well as working part time in an OSHC. I love the water and I've been an actor since I was a child, For hobbies I love to Draw, Make accessories/clothes/costumes, Cosplay and I'm also a trained Singer, Dancer and Aerialist. (My mum always said " if you want to do something, do it while you're young") (4/5)

I'm actually a Pagan and practise White magick and am starting to learn Green magick, my deities are Poseiodon, Persephone and Aphrodite. Unfortuntely, I also live with a few physical and mental issues such as Endometriosis and Chronic Fatigue, Anxiety, Post Traumatic Dress Disorder as well as being Photosensitive. So that can sometimes make certain things hard for me, but we get past that! I tend to easily befriend all Cats and Birds I meet. Sorry this was so long, I suck at this (5/5)

Of course I can! You seem like such a cool, fascinating person with an incredible life and abilities!! 😯🤩 and don’t worry about giving extra info, I don’t mind.

For the Beatles, I ship you with...

Paul McCartney!

So with your pale skin and dyed hair, Paul basically thinks you are a princess

So when you get your mermaid job, Paul loves to tease you, but he also takes cute little photos and lovingly calls you “me siren!”

Even though he will lightly tease you for your Australian accent, but you tease him back for his Liverpool one!

He loves animals, so he always notices how his sheepdog, Martha, wags her tail and even wiggles on her feet like a tap dancer for you when you come in to visit her. He adores that even animals know they can love you are trust you.

You both often go wining and dining, especially in your beautiful Lolita style dress, enjoying the food, atmosphere, and each other’s company.

Though the first time you went to one of those fancy places, you were intimidated by the menu that was twice the size of your head and half the items were in French. “Paul, what should I get here? I’m not even sure!” “Would you like me to choose for you, Jasmine?” “Please!”

He ordered you a nice dish and you both had a drink and then went walking out in the moonlight, opening up about each other’s souls and insecurities but holding hands and assuring each other’s worth.

Since you are a more quiet, “submissive”’person, Paul loves it when he can “baby” you and take care of you, as much as helping you with your hair and outfits and plenty of times he will order for you at restaurants.

He even made you flashcards and notes to help with University, though sometimes you caught him doodling on your name full of hearts.

He probably composed “And I Love Her” for you if you ever felt sad or insecure

For Queen, I ship you with...

Brian May!!

He loves that you are a bit taller than most, even if he is technically taller, it means he doesn’t have to do a squat to hug you.

He is amazed at your creativity and multiple hobbies! He even loves watching you fly up in arealist in the air, he even took a beautiful stereoscopic photo of you!

When he decides to flirt with you at first, he noticed you were back there drawing so he went over and asked about your art and you showed him and you both were soon smiling and subtly flirting with each other.

He was nervous about asking you out until the whole band pushed him to, they all shipped it from day one.

He loves to hear you sing and he enjoys hearing you practice from upstairs, sometimes he will slowly pluck your notes on a guitar until he gets a song idea. Then he will run up to give you a hug and kiss as a thanks (despite your confusion)

He loves that you know all those languages and begs you to go on tour with him to help translate (and see things like Japenese cherry blossoms and German castles together linking arms).

He makes little lovey comments related to your pagan beliefs

“Jasmine, you bewitch me!” “Well, I didn’t intend to!”

“Jasmine, you’re a goddess of beauty”

“Don’t let Aphrodite hear you! You’ll be in trouble, Bri!” “Not if it’s the truth, sweetheart”

And he understands your PTSD and anxiety and helps to make sure you have counseling, and always leans in with a glass of water and a patient, listening ear

As for BohRap, I ship you with...

Rami Malek!!!

He thinks you are an absolute doll, from your eyes to your figure and calls you it all the time!

Plus you are both the most fashionable couple ever and when there is a premiere and he brings you along, you both grin at each other as the media looks at you both, shooketh to the coreth.

He is so sweet and understanding of your acting life that he comes to all of your premiering shows in the front row with a bouquet of flowers so big it needs it’s own seat. Plus he loves to help you think through characterization with auditions and rehearsals.

He loves to notice how you make beautiful costumes and things and if you need something like fabric or a certain color of paint, he runs and grabs it.

You both paid up when the BohRap cast has a board game night and defeat everyone through teamwork, until you both laugh and kiss each other.

He loves to learn bits of phrases of German and Japenese from you, and he brags about your abilities in interviews.

Gladly flips off anyone who gives you crap about your overbite and is always protective of you, with an arm around your waist.

He admires your strength and determination in spite of your physical and mental problems, it gives him hope to go on.

And he understands anxiety, so he will gladly cuddle you and help you with breathing deep when you’re anxious.

You both have a busy life together, but then you both snuggle into bed, giggling and playing footsie and gently touching each other’s faces.

#carrieships #queen ships #beatles #beatles ships #bohrap ships

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beatleswings · 6 years ago

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rules: answer 21 questions and tag 21 people you want to know better

i was tagged by @mccartneysguitar! Thank you so much, love! 💕

i. nickname?

Gaby (it’s short for Gabriela)

ii. zodiac sign?

Gemini

iii. height?

5′0

iv. hogwarts house?

Not a Harry Potter fan so I dunno. :/

v. last thing I googled?

90s rock fashion. (for doodling ideas)

vi. fav musicians?

I have many but my #1 is The Beatles!

vii. song stuck in your head?

Two at the moment:

Mercury Blues - Steve Miller Band

You Gave Me The Answer - Wings

viii. following?

1155. Not kidding. Half of them are inactive but I love going to those blogs for content I didn’t reblog or want to check out again. I might do some weeding out of the inactive ones. To the active ones whether everyday or in and out and mutuals, I love you guys! 💖💖

ix. followers?

4,263! I’m amazed I have that many followers, however some are p0rn bots. Well done, Tungle dot hell. However to the real followers, thank you so much for following and sticking around! 💖💖

x. do you get asks?

Sometimes. It always makes me smile when I get sweet messages from my mutuals and followers or when I do those ask memes. I am doing my best to overcome my shyness. :)

xi. amount of sleep?

It varies but most always it’s 6 - 8 hours.

xii. lucky number?

I don’t really have one.

xiii. what are you wearing?

Yellow-orange floral print shirt with dark red leggings and sandal flats.

xiv. dream job?

Cartoonist or photographer. Maybe both.

xv. dream trip?

Mexico - The main one. There are so many places I want to check out but I especially want to visit the state of Jalisco, where my parents and my family come from.

Other places want to visit are Canada, the UK, France, Spain, and Japan.

xvi. instruments?

I play a little guitar and piano and only know a few songs. But I want to keep learning. I also want to play the drums. Maybe in the future, I might buy a drumset or just practice with the Guitar Hero/Rock Band drums in the meantime. :p

xvii. languages?

Spanish (first language), English (second), the first two I am fluent in. I know a little French, I took all four years of it in high school and I want to continue learning it.

xviii. favorite songs?

I have a lot believe me and I can write a novel about them. However I will share 3 of them:

I Want to Hold Your Hand - The Beatles

Te He Prometido - Leo Dan

I Only Want to Be With You - Dusty Springfield

xix. random fact?

My siblings and I are all nearsighted and almost all of my mom’s side of the family is too. So it’s genetic. My mom and one of my uncles (her brother) are the only ones with perfect vision and another uncle finally got the surgery to fix his vision. I think we also get that from my dad’s side too since I do have relatives on that side who wear glasses but mostly for reading, including my dad.

xx. aesthetic?

The Beatles and anything vintage like fashion, items, movies, music from the 30s - 70s mostly 60s, pretty pastel colors, cute things like Sanrio, plushies, and dolls like Barbie, flowers, and artsy stuff.

I have to tag 21? Ehhh...I’ll tag: @pinche--pendeja, @leftiststardust @sitting-here-in-bluejay-way @lastpielord and anyone who wants to do this. :p

#tagged memes

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hazzasgayvodka · 6 years ago

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28 * DON’T LET ME DOWN * 28

Impact: Chapter 28

Chapter title song: Don’t Let Me Down - The Beatles

JESS

The bell rings signaling the end of Literature and I realize I can't remember a thing Jason said all class. My mind is in a million places, my hand dragging my pencil across my paper in small lines that form messy doodles across my notes. I pack up my things into my bag and wobbly stand from my desk, my head pounding from lack of sleep. The flood of students going out the door gets me caught towards the back and I feel a shiver come over my body, the feeling of someone watching me.

I find myself looking over my shoulder to make sure for the hundredth time that he's not sat there with his feet propped up, staring at me. I swear I can feel his eyes on me, sending shivers down my spine and goosebumps along every surface of my body.

"Hey Jess."

I jump at the sound of Jason's voice, turning around to face him abruptly, nearly bumping straight into him. He grabs my shoulders, carefully holding me back.

"Woah, careful," He laughs, "Are you okay, you seem a bit off today."

"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks Jason." I falsely smile, wrapping my arms around myself as the shivery feeling returns.

He reaches forward, taking me in his arms and I'm shocked. His embrace is comforting, his arms are strong around my quivering body. He breathes over my shoulder, his body condensing as he sighs, and I recognize the familiarity of the action all too well.

"It's going to be okay, he's-he's going to be okay." He says quietly, his voice cracking and I know that he's saying it more for himself than me.

I don't know what to say as he pulls away and I adjust my bag on my shoulder. His eyes meet mine and I realize now just how tired he looks, the angry red lines running through the whites of his eyes giving it all away. He nods to me in understanding, no words needing to be spoken but I surprise myself when I grab him in my arms again, pressing my head into his chest. He holds me to him, his hand cupping the back of my head. I breathe against his chest, his wrinkled button up quickly becoming stained with tears.

It's been three weeks.

He holds me back by my shoulders, wipes the tears from under my eyes with his thumbs and gives me a look of sympathy, neither of us know what to say. I weakly smile, thanking him for understanding as I adjust the strap of my bag on my shoulder and head to the door. I look over my shoulder one last time before closing the door behind me as he walks back to his desk and collapses in his chair. I watch as he runs his fingers through his hair, sighing, before finally letting his head fall into his hands.

It overwhelms me, makes me wonder why he thought this was all okay. Makes me ask where he is and what he's doing. It's been three weeks and I'm worried. No one has talked to him. He hasn't been in class, hasn't been at work. No, I can't do this. I can't go on worrying over him like this, I'm sure he's fine. I'm sure he's celebrating, finally raking in the payoff, and getting shitfaced with Niall right by his side.

It's then that I decide I need to go, I need to get out of here. I walk through the door and slam it behind me without looking back. Outside the sun is bright despite the cold, lifting my mood and making me squint my eyes. It dries the tear stains on my cheeks and warms me through my many layers of clothes. For the first time in two weeks, I feel a genuine smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

I walk to the coffee shop on the corner and I see his head of blonde hair at the front of the line. He grabs two coffees and turns back towards a booth. He meets my eyes across the shop and smiles, walking over to me and handing me a coffee.

"I already got your favorite." He grins, guiding me to a table and sitting down across from me.

"Thanks Miles." I smile, bringing the cup to my lips and taking a sip.

"Are you okay?" He asks, searching my eyes for any signs of what's wrong.

"Yeah," I lie, just like I've been saying to everyone for the past three weeks, "I'm fine."

HARRY

I wake up to bright light and pain in my neck. The sun is pouring in through the window, scalding my eyelids. I shield my eyes with my hand, sitting up from the floor, my bleary eyes barely able to take in my surroundings.

This floor isn't mine, these walls are not mine, this isn't my house, where am I? I look down to see my body half naked, Ashlyn lying beside me with my jeans and my shirt scattered across the floor. Her hair is a matted mess, her eyeliner streaking down her cheeks, her red lipstick smeared across her face.

I grab my clothes and stand up from the ground shakily, my head swimming, the whole room rocking back and forth like a ship out at sea. I nearly lose my footing as I brace myself against the wall and drag my malfunctioning body in the direction I believe to be the bathroom.

I shut the door behind me once I successfully collapse into the correct room, bracing myself against the sink. I'm hardly recognizable, my eyes bloodshot and my skin much paler than I seem to remember. Ashlyn's lipstick is smeared across my face and all the way down my stomach, red scratches from her claw-like nails mixing with the bluish-purple bruises all down my torso.

I splash my face with water, hoping to uncover the world from the foggy film I seem to be looking through, but it stays the same, covered in a haze. I slip my shirt over my head, the stark smell of tequila invading my nostrils as I do so. I feel sick as I shove my legs through my damp jeans, drenched with sweat and alcohol no doubt. I run my hands through my hair, but it makes no difference, I haven't washed it in days.

My phone rings in my pocket, making me jump and I take it out to see the last person I want to talk to.

"Are you coming?" He asks impatiently.

"Yeah I'll be there in ten."

JESS

We're outside his house in fifteen minutes and walking through the front door to be overwhelmed by the amazingly sweet smell of strawberry cupcakes. I find Eliza almost instantly, rushing around the kitchen in her adorable apron and burnt orange colored dress. I take her in my arms for a hug, relishing in the contact and the way she holds me like a mother should.

"Eliza you look amazing." I smile, holding myself back from her to take in her ensemble from head to toe. The diamonds around her neck make the outfit themselves.

"Oh, Jessica dear, you are too sweet." She grins, holding an apron out to me and welcoming me into the kitchen.

I tie it around my waist as Vance appears around the corner with his briefcase in his hand, fumbling with the tie around his neck. His eyes land on me in surprise and he stops dead in his tracks.

"Oh, Jess, I didn't know you'd be coming by." He smiles warmly.

"I didn't either," I confess, "It was a bit impromptu."

"Well, you're always welcome here." Eliza smiles, glaring at Vance with a look of warning.

He clears his throat and pushes past me, kissing Eliza on the cheek before continuing out the front door. The air awkward now, I know I'm not as wanted as I want to believe I am. This isn't my family, what was I thinking trying to adopt myself into it? It's the only place I've been able to come and feel safe and secure the past couple weeks.

"You kids ready for the homecoming dance tomorrow night? It's gonna be a fun one right after the game." Vance smiles.

Miles meets my eyes immediately, I can tell he's worried that the mention of homecoming is going to throw me over the edge but I won't let it phase me. He grabs my shoulder in solace but I shake him off, turning back to Vance.

"I won't be attending but I'm sure everyone will have loads of fun." I say confidently, holding myself together until I turn back towards the door.

As soon as I'm around the corner I hear the whispered voices of Eliza and Miles scolding him. The tears threaten to spill from the corners of my eyes but I squeeze them closed and take in a breath just as Miles finds me again.

"I'm sorry, he didn't know-"

"It's fine, I'm fine."

He looks at me the way that he does, with that sorry look in his eyes. I can't stay here forever. Every minute I'm here, I feel broken. Miles handles me like I'll shatter at any moment. Vance and Eliza tread on broken glass with every word they say.

My mind is thrown back to the day he asked me, the loving smile in his eyes. His short hair. The way he picked me up and kissed me and kept grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. Even then there were secrets, too many to count.

I know I can't stay here but I don't know where else I could possibly go. My dorm is filled with memories of loud music and him laying on my bed. I can't be in there alone knowing that Sam is with him, in his house, our house.

It didn't feel real until she brought my stuff back, an entire bag of clothes and makeup and a full box of fruity pebbles. I remember her telling me that he was screaming, shouting at the top of his lungs as he trashed the house. He tore the sheets off his bed and threw them away and ripped out all of the drawers of his dresser and dumped them on the floor. He knocked over bookshelves and broke every CD he owns, all because it reminded him of me.

I wish I could do it, break everything. Maybe then I could eat more than toast and coffee. Maybe then I could sleep longer than an hour or two at a time before the memories flooded me and made me wake up in crying agony, reaching for him across the bed. Days feel like years and nights feel like eons. Laying in an ice cold bed without the presence of his tattooed skin feels like Hell on Earth. I want to break it all, I want to tear it all, get rid of it all. Get rid of the feelings that make me nauseous and the cautious looks of everyone around me. Maybe then I could be present for more than a few seconds before I slipped into my sedated state where I'm numb and it doesn't hurt anymore.

HARRY

I walk in the front door with my gym bag slung over my shoulder. I'm still stumbling, my balance still not fully composed. He meets me in the living room with hollow cheeks and dead eyes. I wonder if I'll look like that soon. How long do you need to feel dead inside before it starts to show?

Niall's here, he tells me I'm being an idiot. I shrug him off. I walk to the bathroom and grab a new pair of jeans and a shirt out of my bag. I'm clean for the first time in what feels like forever. It takes a while for the soap to suds up in my hair, to break through all the layers of oil and product covering every strand. I spend ten minutes scrubbing my skin wishing I could get rid of it all, scrape myself down to muscle and bones.

My skin is sore and red and angry but it's all gone, she's gone. Her touch isn't lingering, Ashlyn's lipstick no longer stains every inch of me, I'm not covered in anyone but me, it's just me. It's me covered in scribbly black ink and part of me wonders what I'd look like without it all. I can't remember what my bare skin looked like before I covered myself in memories.

I regret it instantly, I miss the feeling of her skin on mine.

She's gone.

I pushed her away, I scrubbed her away, she's gone.

I'll never feel her fingers trace my skin again, never feel her lips against mine, never hear her voice or see her beautiful eyes. I want it back, I want her back, I never meant to erase her. I pound my fist against the tiled wall, my hands gripping my soaking hair and tugging it from the roots. I can't stand its length. It's overgrown and curling around my ears and the back of my neck. I miss her hands, threading through it and twirling the waves around her fingers. My hands are different than hers, it'll never be the same. I wish the water would come out hotter and faster, I wish it would cascade down my skin, a steaming Hell bath, surrounding my nerves and making me feel like I'm drowning.

I can't breathe, I can't eat, I can't sleep, she's gone.

JESS

"Everyone's going to be here any second you all better be ready!" Eliza calls throughout the house and I'm glad I went ahead and got changed already so she isn't yelling at me.

Miles comes out of his room in nice khaki chinos and a white button up with freshly showered hair. He smiles, his eyes wide when they land on me and suddenly I feel self-conscious in the short white dress.

"Jess you look amazing." He grins.

"So do you." I smile, straightening his collar.

Vance appears next, coming down the stairs in a hurry, his hands fumbling with the tie around his neck, "Liza, can you help me please, I seem to be having amnesia because I can't remember how to tie a bloody tie."

She puts her hands on his shoulders, calming him down and assuring him that it's only because he's nervous. I notice the small tremors in his hands and a tiny bit of sympathy for him becomes apparent in my mind. He rubs the back of his neck the same way that Harry does and suddenly I feel sick.

"Guys," Miles says, breaking away from me to sling his arms over both Eliza and Vance's shoulders, "It's just the first meeting of the wedding party, it's really not that big of a deal."

Eliza smiles, patting Miles' hand on her shoulder and smiling fondly at her son, "You're right, it's not a big deal Vance."

"We've only been planning this for a few months Liza," He sighs, "Is it too soon for all this? We don't even have a venue booked yet-"

"Do you think anyone cares?" She asks him, "It's both of our second weddings, it's not going to be crazy and extravagant, is it?"

"No but-"

"Then why do we care?" She smiles, leaning forward and pressing her lips to his, causing my stomach to flutter with happiness for them.

She pulls away from him, exiting back to the kitchen as a timer goes off for her cupcakes most likely. Vance's smile is brighter, his shaking hands stilled, and I feel a small bit of admiration for him.

"What would I do without her?" He laughs.

The doorbell rings a few minutes later and Eliza nearly jumps out of her skin, gathering everyone together and making sure everything around the house is in tip-top shape. She opens the door with a smile to two tall boys with matching grins who envelop her in a hug almost instantly.

"Jacob! Lucas!" Miles shouts, jumping into the group hug.

It finally clicks when I remember Miles telling me stories of his brothers. One of the boys grabs Miles in a headlock, ruffling his hair, making Miles whine about how Mom's going to kill him. He shoves him away before the next brother grabs him the same as before. Vance joins the hug, clapping both Jacob and Lucas' backs, all of them smiling like a family stock photo.

"Jess, what are you doing standing over there, get over here!" Vance laughs, all five of them opening their arms for me to join and I can't help the smile that spreads across my face.

I slip into their arms, joining the hug and my heart fills with joy, every part of me lighting up like a Christmas tree. I haven't felt true happiness like this in forever, the kind of happiness that makes you smile so hard your cheeks hurt. The brightness of the world increases, the swell of my heart just might cause it to burst through my chest. Miles takes me in his arms and kisses my cheek, his sparkling eyes nearly addicting. It's a kind gesture, nothing too romantic. Just enough to make my heart swell and hug him back.

The doorbell brings me hurtling back to reality and the door swings open revealing Lex holding two bottles of wine. He kisses everyone's cheeks, his face already flushed from alcohol or maybe excitement, who knows? Everyone greets everyone, everyone smiles, everyone hugs and cheers and grins and drinks. Everything is perfect, and I realize that there is only one person that could make me feel better than I do right now.

Just as the thought enters my mind, Harry strolls through the door. He's dressed in trousers and a button up, both all black. I can see him stumbling from here as he leans against the counter to walk himself to the living room. Is he drunk right now?

"Oh my god Jess, I'm so sorry, I really didn't think he'd actually show up." Miles rambles, taking my hand in his and trying to drag me away but I can't take my eyes off him.

His hair is overgrown and messy, curling around his face. It looks like it hasn't been brushed in days. I'm surprised to see his earrings and lip rings all removed. He grabs a short glass from the stack on the counter and fills it with bourbon, stumbling to the living room and collapsing onto the couch beside Lex. I move around the counter to get a better look at him and the sunken purple bags under his eyes.

I gasp as he looks up and his eyes meet mine. Despite the obvious tiredness in them, they're still vibrant, the greenest eyes I've ever seen. I tear my gaze away from him quickly, turning back towards the kitchen. I expect him to charge me, to run up to me and make a scene and beg me to listen to him but he stays put. I turn back around to see his eyes still trained on me, glaring as he stares over the rim of his glass, wincing as he swallows.

It hurts, staring at him. Knowing that he's just right there but he's so far away. It hurts knowing that he's done, that he's not going to get up and scream in my face. I wish he would, I wish he'd run up and smash his glass against the counter and beg me to look at him. I wish he'd do anything but just sit there and stare at me, mocking me because he's so close but so far.

It breaks me, the tears welling up and my throat threatening to close as I realize he's not fighting. The one man who always fought for me till the end, who never gave up despite our differences, he's not fighting anymore. He's sitting on the bench, watching the game go by and I'm getting slammed from every direction. He's not jumping in to help, he's not calling for a timeout, he's been reduced to only a spectator.

I choke out a sob as I put down my glass of champagne and head for the door. I can't be here with him. I never could have imagined that it would be this brutal, this heart wrenching. To stare into the eyes of the man I...I thought I could do it, I thought I could pretend everything was okay but that was before I saw him acting as if he's fine. Is he? Does it hurt him the same way it's hurting me? Has he been the same, going about his days as if we never happened? Lord knows I couldn't do it if I wanted to.

But maybe it wasn't to him as it was to me. Maybe he doesn't miss me the same way I miss him, like someone cut off my right hand. Maybe the sound of my name doesn't knock the wind out of him, maybe he sleeps every night without the empty pit in his stomach.

Miles tries to follow me as I run towards the door, but I hold him back, telling him to have fun as I evade the line of his brutal gaze.

HARRY

When my eyes land on her, my breath is knocked from my lungs. I haven't laid my eyes on her in weeks. My throat wants to close up but I take a sip of champagne to settle my heaving breath. I can't tell what it is, but she looks different. Her hair is more purple now than red, a dark burgundy indigo color. It's shorter, not touching her shoulders at all, and bone straight.

She looks frailer, has she been eating? Surely, she can't transform her body in only three weeks, but I swear her arms and legs are thinner than I remember. Perhaps it's the way her body folds in on itself rather than standing confidently as she usually does.

Her eyes are the same, a burning inferno. A golden brown that sucks you in like quicksand and holds you hostage for as long as you'll let it. She turns away suddenly, ripping my gaze away from her and running towards the door.

She can't do it, she can't see me, it's hurting her I can tell. I wish I could say it makes me feel better but it's anything but. It's a stab to my chest, over and over, the death of an already deceased heart. I want to run to her but I'd only be making it worse, I know. Miles follows her, and it makes me sick to my stomach. Are they back together? Is she happy with him? Is he the one she kisses goodnight and calls to pick her up from class?

Vance sits beside me, the couch beneath me dipping under his weight. I can tell he knows he's treading on thin ice with me, he doesn't know what happened, the torture I've been through.

"You look like hell." He sighs, grimacing.

"I've been through there once or twice this week."

He looks at me with sympathy in his eyes, he feels sorry for me. I haven't slept in all three weeks, the fear of nightmares swarming me after going so long without them keeps me awake. Everything I eat ends up coming back up, so I spend my daily calories on bourbon, jack, and vodka.

"We leave for San Francisco next week," He sighs, and I remember fondly the days I was planning to surprise Jess with the news of the trip, "Are you coming?"

"Is she going?" I ask.

He grimaces, knowing that neither of us will agree to go on this trip as long as the other is attending. I can put on the mask but I know she can't, she has no ability to hide her feelings as well as she wants to make everyone believe she can. She might fool others but I know, I know her.

"I'm not sure, she said she'd give me an answer tonight."

"She just left." I say monotonously, nodding my head towards the door.

He looks at me incredulously as he stands from the couch and shuffles past all of his guests to get outside and find her. I'm sure she's long gone by now, she was always good at running.

JESS

The front door opens, and I turn around expecting to see him, my heart fluttering in my chest but my eyes land on Vance instead. I curse myself for hoping it was him, what's wrong with me? Vance rushes to my side and the tears pour down my cheeks, hiccupping sobs echoing from my body.

I haven't cried since the second week. I thought I finally had him out of my system but seeing him here in the flesh ripped my stitches and reopened a gaping wound.

He crouches down, sitting on the concrete steps beside me without a word. He places his hand on my back and rubs up and down lightly, just enough to ensure me that he's here. I continue crying but it slows, the vicious sobs that were once rocking through my body now replaced with small sniffles and single tears falling down my cheeks.

"Have you thought about San Francisco?" He asks, surprising me.

"Not even a little bit." I sniffle and he laughs.

I know he doesn't want to say what he's really thinking. I know I haven't told him what really happened between me and Harry, he has no idea.

"You know," He starts, his eyes drifting across the street, "When Harry was a baby he cried all the time, we could almost never get him to stop. I remember I used to sing to him and rock him in his crib, there was only one song that could ever calm him down."

"What was it?" I ask, turning to look at him.

His eyes stay staring straight ahead, a small smile finding its way onto his lips, "Don't Let Me Down by The Beatles."

I let out a small laugh, my face finally breaking into a smile. He pats my back and laughs with me, finally turning to meet my eyes.

"He was singing it word for word by the time he was three years old," He chuckles, his eyes glossy as I wipe tears from my own, "He's always loved music, always turned to it for comfort. He has an addictive personality Jess, I think you know that. He's addicted to music because it makes him feel safe and he's addicted to you because you make him feel everything else."

His words make the tears pierce my eyes again and I'm hastily wiping them away with the backs of my hands, wishing I could shove the words out of my mind. I repeat them over and over in my brain and I know that they're true because he does the same to me. He ignites me like I'm the flame and he's the damn gasoline, fueling the fire within me. He has the ability to make me sad, to make me angry, to make me so unbelievably happy and so fucking mad.

I let my head fall to Vance's shoulder as the tears pour from my eyes and he wraps his arm around me comfortably. I haven't been held the way a dad holds you in so long and as soon as he starts rubbing up and down my back the tears come faster.

"Don't let him down Jess, don't let him down." He whispers, and that's when I finally shatter.

HARRY

"Another!" I yell over the loud pumping of the music, slamming my glass down on the bar top.

The bartender gives me a look that makes me want to punch him in the face. The world is swimming again, tilted and fading a bit black around the edges like an artistic vignette.

"Are you sure, sir? I think you've had enough." He says warily.

"I'll be the judge of when I've had enough! Your job is to serve so why don't you do your fucking job you fucker!" I shout, my face becoming hot and I can't tell if it's due to the alcohol or the adrenaline now coursing through my angered veins.

"Um, yes sir, another one right up." He says his voice rushed and sporadic.

"You bet it is, and you better make it quick, I'm not feeling too patient tonight."

He nods his head quickly, not daring to meet my eyes as his shaking hands grab a fresh glass from behind the bar and he pours yet another whiskey coke.

I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket for the hundredth time tonight and I let out a hefty sigh as I finally unsheathe it from my pocket and glance at the many notifications flashing across the screen. Surely, he's got to know by now that I'm simply not answering it. If he wants to talk to me he's going to have to get off his lazy ass and come find me.

The young man behind the bar hands me my fourth whiskey coke with rattling hands and I throw my head back, gulping it down in only a few sips. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and I feel his eyes on me as I slide the small glass back across the bar.

"Dylan, is it?" I ask, straightening up on the barstool I'm sat on.

"Um, yes sir." He says quickly, extending his hand.

"Harry," I say curtly, eyeing his outstretched hand, "Harry Styles."

"As in Styles publishing house?" He asks, his eyes widening.

"Something like that," I muse, "But that's not what I want to talk about."

He nods his head, attempting to seem casual but I can see the gears turning in his head as he eyes me, taking in my unusual appearance due to lack of sleep and abundance of alcohol.

"How old are you?" I question.

"Eighteen sir."

"Stop calling me sir."

"Yes sir-I mean-Mr. Styles." He stutters, his voice cracking due to nerves.

"Have you ever been in love, Dylan?" I ask, seemingly surprising him with my question.

"I um, yes, I have a girlfriend that I love very much."

"Tell her that," I advise, "And mean it. Tell her how much you love her every single day and don't be afraid to lose yourself, because she'll find you. If she runs, chase her. If she pushes, you better pull her right back, do you hear me Dylan?"

He nods his head vigorously, his uneasy eyes still trained on me wondering what I'll say next of course. My stomach feels uneasy as he offers to pour me another drink and I decline. I produce a carton of cigarettes from my pocket and ask him to light it for me.

I inhale carefully, relishing in the calmness that settles over me. Every cell of my body moves slower and allows me to think, relaxation covering me like a cloud and finally I can breathe.

"Why are you telling me this Mr. Styles?" He finally asks, speaking up despite the comfortable silence that had asserted itself between us.

"Because Dylan," I begin, "The perfect woman only comes into your life once, and I let mine get away. She's going to take on the world and I wanted to be beside her when she did, but I blew it. She was brilliant, and I let her go." I gulp, the words coming out shakier than I intended, "Don't let her go, Dylan."

I see him walk in a few minutes later, sighing in relief when his eyes land on me. He walks over and takes the bar stool next to me, collapsing onto the seat.

"I'll have a whiskey coke." He sighs, nodding to the bartender.

I grimace as the words come out of his mouth, I guess it's true, I really have been cursed to be just like him. He looks over at me, but I keep my eyes staring into the brown liquid in my glass. The bartender hands him his drink and he thanks him, taking two large gulps.

"I thought you didn't drink anymore?" I ask, turning to him with glaring eyes.

"To get through tonight, between the two of you," He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I need a drink."

I think back to what I said to the bartender, it's everything I should say to her. I can't believe it as I look over at him, that out of everyone around me, he's the one that's here.

"Thanks," I shrug, swirling the drink in my glass, "For coming."

He nods, not saying a word as he gulps down another sip of his drink, grimacing as it goes down. I laugh as he shakes his head, his mouth puckering. He really hasn't drank for a while.

I drink another and he gets a water. I know he's staying until I leave, he won't let me get in a car in this state and I'm glad. He forces a water into my hand and stares at me the way a father does when he's telling you to eat your vegetables.

"Dad?" I ask, the word falling out of my mouth before I can catch it, "How do you know if a girl is the one?"

He straightens up in his seat, finally turning to face me and meet my eyes. He shakes his head with a chuckle and places his glass on the bar top, folding his hands in front of him.

"Harry," He says seriously, holding my gaze, "When you're sitting in a bar with your deadbeat dad after hardly speaking for years and asking him how to tell if she's the one, she's the one."

JESS

I walk into the office shakily, an uneasy feeling washing over me every time I get off the elevator. I'm always on edge, just waiting to turn around and see him standing there. He hasn't been in for weeks, Lex has been bringing him his work at home apparently, but I don't think he's been doing any of it.

It's crazy how quickly he went from being an absolute workaholic to not showing up in three weeks. It makes me think that all his hours here were just a lie too.

Vance strolls passed me as I head to the break room to grab a cup of coffee and his face is solemn as he waits to see what kind of mood I'm in today.

"Morning, Vance." I sigh, putting all of my effort into a smile.

He pats my shoulder and holds the door open for me. I grab a mug and pour a cup of coffee, it still feels foreign to only make a cup for myself.

"Did you finish up that paperwork I left on your desk?" He asks, taking a sip of his coffee.

"No, I'm sorry, I'll get it done first thing today." I sigh, running a hand through my hair in frustration.

"It's okay," He laughs, "Really Jess, it's not life or death."

I let out a breath of relief as he leans against the counter and I shake two sugar packets into my coffee with trembling hands. No matter how hard I try they won't be still.

"Have you thought about San Francisco?" He asks and my stomach flips.

"Yeah," I say uneasily, "I think I should go."

He looks up at me in surprise, his eyes wide in shock, "You do?"

"Yeah, I need to see this place, I want to explore and see the new building." I say carefully.

"You're thinking of moving there after school, aren't you?" He asks knowingly.

I feel the tears in the corners of my eyes as the words come out of his mouth, but I grip the edge of the counter and steady myself, breathing heavily.

"I can't come here every day and pass him in the hallway and act like nothing happened," I breathe, "I think I need to get out of here."

He nods his head in understanding, pursing his lips as he stands from leaning against the counter. He pats my shoulder, giving me a squeeze as he walks past me and that's when the tears burst, cascading down my cheeks.

HARRY

"What do you mean you're not letting me go to San Francisco? I'm head of editing, you can't just tell me I can't go!" I yell, pointing my finger into his chest with every word.

"Harry, you're off the rails. You haven't come into work sober in two weeks! We made an executive decision based on the future of this company, this is not the time for your antics!" Lex shouts.

"What the fuck are you talking about, mate? I'm fucking fine!"

He's not wrong.

"Harry, I'm really worried about you. What's happened? Something's changed." He says genuinely.

Her face comes surfacing to my mind and I want to rip my hair out. My morning scotch is wearing off and everything I've been trying to bottle up is coming rushing. Her eyes, her skin, her touch, her taste. It's all coming back, sitting in the office we shared one too many intimate moments within. I remember dancing and smoking by the window, tying ties and making out on desks.

I'm going to throw up.

"Harry! Oh my god, are you okay?" He asks a million questions a minute, holding me up from collapsing after emptying my stomach of scotch on his carpet. "Talk to me!"

"Sorry." I mumble, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

He's looking at me like I'm crazy, like I've just been diagnosed with a life-threatening disease. He looks like he's about to tell me that I only have a few weeks to live and the worst part is that I'd believe him if he did.

"Harry, you're not okay, you're not even stable. What's wrong? Are you sick? Do you need help? A doctor?" Lex asks over and over.

I can barely keep my eyes open and the contents of my stomach settled as I nod along to his many questions. It feels like an interrogation, like every part of me is vulnerable and out on display but I know it's the exact opposite. I know I'm not okay, but I refuse to believe myself when I say it, I refuse to believe I've truly done it, gotten rid of her.

But the truth of the matter is, I'm not okay, I'm not even stable.

#harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry

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