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evermoreholland · 4 years ago

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in harmony | tom holland

-> singer!reader x tom holland

-> summary: after a nasty break up, you go to london with your two best friends in hope to find inspiration for your upcoming album and a london boy soon became your muse.

-> word count: 5.7k

-> a/n: wow. this is probably my favorite fic of mine. i hope you all enjoy it as much as i do. big thank you to @rainbowrobin for hyping this fic up and being its biggest fan. also thank you to @cali-holland for beta reading this for me! your support means the world to me and you inspire me every day to keep writing. love you to bits <3

~~~

Breaking up with someone you used to care about was never easy. In fact, grieving and eventually getting over that person was the hardest thing to do. You were a singer so relationships that went public usually ended up terribly wrong. The good part about it is that you can write a hit song about the experience.

Breaking up with your past boyfriend was probably the worst experience for you thus far. You thought that he was the one, every move you made was for him and you ended up depending on him constantly. And he broke your heart. He played you like a fiddle and played with the strings of your heart. He cheated on you with someone you were insecure about the duration of your relationship with him, which made everything feel worse.

You decided that you needed a change of scenery in hopes to clear your head. You had been spending time in your Los Angeles apartment moping around, trying to get over your ex-boyfriend. You also had a deadline for your new album and you haven’t even started. Your album was due towards the end of the summer, and it was now spring.

You sat down on your sofa with a pen and notebook in your hand. You were determined to write something. You didn’t want to write songs about your breakup, but that was all you were thinking about. You saw your phone on the coffee table light up and buzz. It was your manager and agent, Cassandra. You picked up the phone nervously, knowing that she was going to ask about your progress or lack thereof.

“Hello?” You answered.

“Hello, Y/N,” Cassandra greeted sweetly. “How’s the album coming along? We need to start recording soon.”

“Funny you ask.” You always tried to make fun out of an uncomfortable situation.

“Y/N.”

“I’m sorry, Cass! I have no idea what I should be writing about for this album.” It’s not like you didn’t want to write. You did, but you had no idea what to write about.

“Maybe you need a change of scenery, dear. You haven’t been out in months,” Cassandra suggested.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Where would you want to go? You can stay there for the rest of the spring and the beginning of the summer.”

You thought about it for a moment. You definitely wanted to leave the country. “How does London sound, Cass?”

“Sounds nice. I’ll book you, Natalie, and Sarah tickets for this weekend and I’ll rent the three of you an Airbnb for your stay,” Cassandra confirmed. Natalie was your personal assistant and your best friend. Sarah was your older sister who traveled with you everywhere and she helped you with many of your songs. She was good to bounce ideas off of. You had the perfect team.

“Perfect. Thank you.” You both said your goodbyes and hung up.

***

Tom got off the airplane and sighed in relief. He was finally home. After many months of filming on another continent, he was back in London. Tom was ready to finally sleep in his own bed and hang out with his brothers and friends once again.

Harry and Tom took an Uber back to Tom’s apartment. It was fairly late and all Tom wanted to do was sleep. In the Uber, Tom and Harry made light conversation.

“You want to go to the new pub by our flat this weekend? Haz and Tuwaine want to hang out,” Harry asked.

“Sure,” Tom mumbled. To be quite honest, Tom had absolutely no desire to go out at all this weekend, but he knew that his mates wanted to see him. He did want to see them too, so he agreed.

“Sounds good.”

***

You packed your suitcases for London at the last minute. In your defense, Cassandra only booked Thursday night’s tickets on Wednesday, so you didn’t have that much time in the first place. You were planning on using your time in London to relax and to create a healthy headspace to write your next album.

You called Natalie to ask her opinion on some of your outfit choices. “Nat, am I going for a casual look this trip? Like sweatpants and t-shirts?”

“Absolutely not, Y/N. Are you insane?!”

“It was just a question, Natalie.” You defended yourself. “What should I pack then?”

“I don’t know, just look hot. You need to get out of the post-breakup sweatpants phase.”

“Fine,” you grumbled. You grabbed some cute spring sundresses from your closet and threw them into your suitcase. You packed some jeans and blouses as well.

You hung up with Natalie and took a look at your bag. “Should be good.”

***

The flight to London from Los Angeles was long and exhausting. You arrived at Heathrow airport in the early afternoon on Friday. You immediately went to the house to rest up from jetlag. Once you woke up a few hours later, Sarah was pressuring you and Natalie to get dressed. “We’re going to the pub! Get up, ladies!”

“What? Why?” Natalie groaned. You and Natalie were laying on your beds in your shared room. Sarah jumped onto your bed and tackled you.

“Sarah, we’re exhausted,” you said. You pushed your sister off of you and sat up. “We can just go tomorrow.”

“It’s the pub’s grand opening! It’s supposed to be fire!”

“Fine,” you mumbled. You got up and began unpacking your suitcase. “But I refuse to wear heels.”

***

Harrison made his way to his best mate’s flat to pick him up for the Cheer Beers grand opening on Friday night. Harrison used his spare key to get into Tom’s place. “Tom,” Harrison called out. He made his way to Tom’s bedroom to make sure he was ready for the night.

“In my room!” Tom exclaimed. Tom sounded upset and agitated. Harrison entered his room anyway because he wanted to hang out with his best friend. He opened the door and noticed Tom laying his bed under the covers.

“Are you alright, mate?” Harrison asked. Harrison noticed Tom in his pajamas while in bed. “Why aren’t you ready to go? Harry already went out with Tuwaine to wait in line.”

“I want to hang out with you all, but I’m just so jetlagged, mate.”

Harrison took his phone out of his back pocket to check the time and noticed an Instagram notification from you. He opened it out of curiosity and it was a direct message. It said that you would be at Cheer Beers tonight with your friends and asked if he was going. Harrison and you had met at an award show a few months back and you became friends. “You know what I just found out, Tom?”

“What?”

“Y/N L/N is going to the grand opening tonight.”

“You’re lying just to get me out of bed!” Tom accused him. Tom didn’t want to admit it, but he fancied you. He has been following you on social media and listening to your music for a while now, so Harrison saying you were going to be at the pub caught his attention.

“I’m not.” Harrison showed Tom his phone with your direct message. “I had no idea she was in town, though.”

“No clue, either.”

“Now will you come?” Harrison asked. “I know you have a huge crush on her.”

Tom eyed him skeptically but then let out a sigh. “Fine, I’ll go.”

***

You waited in line outside of Cheer Beers with Sarah and Natalie. You were wearing a black sleeveless cocktail dress with black slip-on vans. You saw a few familiar faces approach you and you realized that it’s your friend Harrison and his mates. You recognized one of his friends to be Tom Holland.

“Hey, Haz!” You greeted. He pulled you into a hug and squeezed you tightly. You pulled away and said, “Following me, I see?”

“Very funny,” he replied. “We were coming to opening night anyway. We were planning this in honor of Tom’s return from filming.”

“Oh, that’s right,” you said and then turned to Tom. You put your hand out for him to shake. “I’m Y/N.”

He shook your hand and you felt his sweaty palm touch yours. You could assume that he was either unwell or nervous. “Tom. Nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise.”

You introduced Natalie and Sarah to Harrison and he introduced the rest of his friends to the three of you.

“Would you like to share a table with us?” Harry, Tom’s younger brother, asked you.

“I’m sure that Y/N L/N would have much better opportunities than to sit with us, Harry,” Tom interjected.

“Actually, Tom, we would love to.” You all entered the pub and grabbed a table in the back room. Harrison sat between Sarah and Tuwaine. Harry sat by Natalie. You sat between Natalie and Tom, per Natalie’s whisper in your ear to go for it. You all got your first round of drinks.

“So what brings you to London?” Tom asked.

“Needed to clear my head,” you said and then ate the olives from your martini.

“So you flew halfway across the world?” Tom was amused and you could tell. He wasn’t trying to laugh at you particularly, he just thought it was funny that you chose London of all places.

“Shut up,” you teased. “We’re here for the summer. A vacation, or holiday, if you will.”

“Nice, nice.” You could feel the slight awkward tension between the two of you. You were basically strangers so it made sense. You decided to try and break it. “How was filming for the third Spider-Man film?”

Tom’s eyes lit up at your sudden interest in his work. “Can I tell you a funny story?”

***

Three hours passed by and you decided to call it a night. You talked with Tom the entire night. You enjoyed his company but you were also jetlagged. “Tom, I’m tired,” you said as you leaned on his shoulder.

“Me too.”

“Want to walk me home?” You asked.

“Would love to.” You both got up from the booth and Tom paid for your drinks, even though you protested. Harrison, Tuwaine, Harry, Sarah, and Natalie didn’t look like they were ready to leave any time soon so you said your goodbyes to them and left with Tom.

“How far are you away from here?” Tom asked you.

“About a ten minute walk.” You began walking in the cool London air.

“So, Harrison told me that you were writing for your new album. How’s that going?”

“Not well,” you said as you crossed your arms over your chest. “It’s been fucking difficult.”

“I’m sorry, love.” The pet named warmed your heart and body even more. Tom wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer to him. “I wish I can help you out somehow.”

“It’s alright. Getting out tonight helped me get into a good headspace,” you said.

“Glad to hear it.” You arrived at your Airbnb and Tom walked you to the front door. “I had a great time tonight, Y/N.”

You smiled, the first genuine smile that you’ve had in a while. “Me too, Tom.” You opened your door to enter.

“Wait.” Tom stopped you. “Let me get your number.”

“Sure.”

***

Two weeks had passed since you arrived in London and you and Tom have been texting back and forth. He had even taken you on a tour of London. He took you to all of the hot spots. Occasionally, Tom, Harrison, and Harry would come over to your Airbnb to hang out with you, Sarah, and Natalie. You were developing friendships with everyone, but you felt a bit stronger about Tom. He was charming, kind, and really funny. You enjoyed his company and you finally got the chance to start writing for your upcoming album. You realized that you didn’t want to write about your breakup with your ex, but instead write about your crush on the brown-haired London boy.

“How is the album coming along?” Cassandra asked you on the phone.

“Pretty good. I have a killer single coming your way and many other songs too.”

“Remember, we need to start recording at the end of July.”

“You got it.”

“You sound happy,” she commented. She was right. You were happy and finally completely over your ex. “It’s a good look on you.”

“Thanks.”

“What are you writing about?”

“Oh, you know… London, pubs, boys,” you trailed off.

***

Harrison was busy planning his upcoming date with your sister, Sarah. They hit it off extremely well at the opening of Cheer Beers. They got each other’s numbers and planned to go on a date. To be honest, Harrison was stressed out. He scored a date with Sarah L/N, which ultimately shocked him. So, he decided to go to his best mate for some advice.

Tom was sitting in his living room and Harrison entered with two dress shirts in hand. One of them was a white button-down and the other one navy. “Which shirt should I wear on my date with Sarah?”

“Black slacks, right?” Tom asked.

“Yeah, and a black leather jacket.”

“Go with white,” Tom suggested.

“Thanks, mate. Another question,” Harrison proposed. It felt natural for Harrison to ask Tom about his lady troubles, even though Tom had been single for a while.

Tom nodded his head to urge Harrison to continue.

“What if I fuck this up?” He asked nervously. “I really like Sarah.”

Tom got up from the couch to come closer to Harrison and put his hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine, mate. Just be yourself. She’ll fancy you, I promise.”

“How are you so good at giving me advice but you can’t get a girlfriend?”

Tom mocked being bothered. “Rude,” he scoffed.

“What are you waiting for?”

“If I say the perfect girl, will you slap me?” Tom joked.

“Yes, yes I will,” Harrison laughed as he replied. “I think that you already found the perfect girl at Cheer Beers.”

“We’re still getting to know each other. Why must we move so fast?” Tom wondered. He wanted to take things slow. His life had always moved fast and he wanted something to move at his pace, for once. Too many relationships have moved too fast and he ended up hurt.

“Because she’s only here for so long and I have a feeling that she likes you,” Harrison reasoned. Tom was starting to feel the same way about you too.

“Fine. While you go on your date with Sarah tonight, I’ll see if Y/N wants to hang out.” He picked up his phone from the coffee table and texted you asking if you wanted to come over. You replied saying yes and he smiled. “We’re hanging out.”

“Great. Don’t forget to use protection,” Harrison said as he ran away to go get dressed for his date.

“Fuck off, you div!”

***

Tom went to the grocery store to pick up some snacks and beers before you came over to his flat. He tidied up the living room once he got home and made sure to fluff the pillow to make them look nicer. Even though you and Tom were only friends, he couldn’t help but make sure that everything looked perfect for you.

You arrived 30 minutes later. You wore sweatpants and a sweatshirt, along with your slides. Your hair was out of your face and Tom thought that you looked stunning. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Tom blushed. “Nice sweatshirt.” Your sweatshirt was light blue and it had butterflies on it. Tom realized that he loved that color on you.

He led you to the couch and he sat beside you. “So what did you do today?” You asked.

“I worked on a script that I’m writing and then I helped Harrison get ready for his date with your sister. What about you, love?” The pet name made your heart flutter. Tom was definitely charming.

“I worked on some songs for the album,” you answered proudly.

“Care to share?”

“Willing to share what the script’s about?” You asked back, already knowing the answer.

“I’m legally not allowed to share, so no. I’m sorry, darling.”

“Then my answer is the same.”

“Well played, pretty girl,” he flirted. “Wanna watch a movie?”

“Sure, what do you have in mind?”

“Avengers: Age of Ultron?”

“Yes, it’s one of my favorite Marvel movies!” You exclaimed. “I have a feeling that you knew that already.”

Tom smiled at you as he picked up the remote from the coffee table and turned on the television. “I may have, but only because Haz told me. Don’t worry, though. It’s one of my favorites too.”

Tom found the movie and before he hit play he got up from the couch. “May I offer you some popcorn before we start the movie? I have beer as well.”

“Yes to both, please.” Tom went to the kitchen to pop the popcorn and grab some beers. He came back around five minutes later with everything.

“Here you go,” he said as he handed you a bottle of beer. “I know it’s not a martini.”

“It’ll have to do,” you teased. You pat the seat beside you to urge Tom over. “Now, come sit.”

Tom pressed play and the Marvel introduction appeared on the screen. You moved closer to Tom and he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, just like he did that night at the pub. “Is this ok?” He asked.

“It’s perfect.”

Around an hour into the movie, the popcorn was finished along with your first bottle of beer. Tom’s hand was still resting on your shoulder but now your head was resting on his. “Y/N?” Tom called out.

“Yeah?” You asked as you moved your head away from him so you could look at him.

“Can I be honest with you about something?” You nodded so he would continue. “I really want to kiss you.”

“Can I be honest with you?” You asked while smiling.

“Yeah.”

“I really want you to kiss me,” you said as you leaned in. He pressed his lips against yours in a soft first kiss. You kissed back almost immediately. After a couple of seconds, you pulled away from him.

“Wow,” he said.

“Ditto,” you said and then pulled him back towards you. You kissed him again and you knew that from now on, you couldn’t get enough of him.

***

Tom and you didn’t finish the movie the other night. After your many makeout sessions with him, you decided to go home, and you promised him that the two of you would get together again soon. You went home with the biggest smile on your face. Since your kiss, you and Tom have not talked about the status of your relationship. As of right now, you were just friends who have kissed before. No biggie.

It was now the 28th of May and you were sitting on a park bench having coffee with Harrison. It would be Tom’s 25th birthday in four days and the two of you were attempting to plan the perfect party for him.

“You’ll get the decorations, Sam will cook a few dishes, and I’ll provide booze,” Harrison said, listing things off. “We’ll host it at my new flat and I already called everyone.”

“Sounds great, Haz. I just hope he has a great time.”

“I’m sure he will,” he said as he winked at you, indicating something.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You asked, referring to his wink.

“I know that something happened between the two of you last week. Tom hasn’t stopped smiling since the two of you started hanging out. I’m sure he’ll be happy to know that you planned a party for him.”

“We all are planning it,” you corrected him.

“Yeah, but it’s not like he fancies me,” Harrison laughed.

You rolled your eyes at the blonde-haired boy in front of you. “Whatever.” You got up from the park bench and began walking towards his car. “Come on, Harrison. We need to go to the market.”

***

It was the 1st of June; Tom’s birthday. You woke up early to make sure that everything was ready to go for the party tonight. Harrison and Tom’s brothers planned a golf trip with Tom while you set up Harrison’s flat. You brought Sarah and Natalie along with you to help.

“Move that banner a little more to the right,” you told Sarah. She moved it as you requested. The banner said, Happy 25th birthday, Tom! in light blue glitter. “Looks great. Thanks, sis.”

You blew up balloons, set up tables for the food and drinks, got streamers and ribbons, and finally assembled the cupcake tower with the cupcakes you and Natalie baked the night before.

“Red velvet. Nice choice,” Sarah said as she took a look at the cupcakes on display.

“They’re Tom’s favorite,” you pointed out.

“Seems like you know a lot about him.”

“Well, he is my friend.”

Natalie laughed at your response to your sister’s comment. “Is that all he is?” She asked.

“For now.” You pulled out your phone from your pocket to check the time. It was the early afternoon and the party would start in a few hours. “We better get going to get ready. Sam will bring the food and set it up within the hour.”

Before you got into the car, you texted Tom to wish him a happy birthday and he responded with a heart emoji. You smiled to yourself and then got into the car to drive to your Airbnb.

The three of you washed up and got dressed for Tom’s party. You decided on wearing a light blue sundress with daisies on it. You matched it with white wedges and you did your hair to your liking. Once you were all ready you drove to Harrison’s. When you got there, Harrison, Sam, Tuwaine, and a few other friends of Tom’s were already there.

“Harry is bringing Tom in around 15 minutes,” Harrison told you.

“Ok. Everything seems to be going pretty smoothly.”

“We make a pretty great team,” Harrison said in appreciation for all of the work to make Tom’s party happen.

“Tell that to Sarah over there,” you teased him. His date with your sister went well from what she told you, but because of Harrison’s nervousness, they haven’t talked much since. “She’s been dying to hang out with you.”

“Are you just saying that so you can have Tom all to yourself when he gets here?” He tried to joke.

“No,” you said seriously. “Go talk to her, Haz.” You pushed him lightly in her direction to encourage him to go talk to her.

“I see Harry’s car pulling up!” Sam said a few minutes later. “Everyone get ready.”

Harry used Harrison’s spare key to get into his flat and once both of them entered you all yelled, “Surprise!”

“Thanks, guys!” Tom said in shock. Tom made his rounds to greet everyone to say thank you. You waited patiently in the kitchen for the birthday boy. He finally approached you after a few minutes. “Hey, love.”

“Happy birthday,” you said as you pulled him in for a hug. “You look very handsome.”

He pulled away to look at you. “Thank you, but you’re absolutely stunning.”

You leaned in to kiss his cheek and then said, “Thanks, Tom.”

“I should be thanking you,” he said and then grabbed your hands to intertwine your fingers together.

“For what?”

“Harrison told me that you helped him plan all of this, so thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure,” you said genuinely. “You like it?”

“I love it. He looked over to the counter and saw the cupcakes. ��Is that a cupcake tower?”

“A red velvet cupcake tower,” you confirmed. “I baked them.”

“You’re a goddess.” He kissed your lips for half a second and then grabbed a cupcake from one of the tiers. He unwrapped the cupcake and then took a bite. He hummed in delight.

“I’m taking that you like them,” you giggled at the man in front of you. He could seriously make anything look cute.

“They’re heaven,” he moaned. Tom dipped his finger in the frosting and swiped your nose with it. You looked at him in shock. “Aw, you look so adorable,” he said.

You laughed at his antics. “Glad you think so, babe.”

Tom’s lit up at the pet name. “Babe? Hmmm.”

“Yeah, babe.” You took some frosting from what was remaining of his cupcake and placed some on his nose to match you. “You look very cute with frosting on your nose, babe.”

Tom grabbed a napkin from the counter and cleaned the frosting off the both of you. “We’re both very cute.”

“Ok, lovebirds,” Sam called out for the two of you. “Let’s get this party started!”

“Before we go out there, I have something to ask you,” Tom said.

“And what may that be?”

“Will you go out on a date with me?” He asked nervously. You felt your heart skip a beat and you could’ve sworn that you felt Tom’s heart beating rapidly from how close you were standing to him.

“I would love to, Tom,” you said and then kissed him to confirm that you really wanted to.

***

The rest of the night went well and Tom enjoyed his time with his friends. You, Sarah, and Natalie crashed at Harrison’s place along with Tom and Harry. The party ended late and the five of you were too tired to drive home, so Harrison offered to let you all stay there.

You woke up early and made your way downstairs to heat the kettle for tea. As you were waiting, you heard footsteps, and soon enough a pair of arms wrapped around you. “Good morning, beautiful,” Tom said and then kissed your clothed shoulder.

“Morning.” You turned around so you could face him. “How did you sleep?”

“Not so well,” Tom said as he stretched out his arms. “Harrison’s a kicker.”

“Poor baby,” you teased, and then Tom pouted. “Quit pouting, Tommy. I know you’re faking it.”

“Fine,” Tom mumbled.

You turned to the stove and saw that the kettle was ready. “Want tea?”

“Please. A splash of milk and a spoonful of sugar, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” you said as you poured him a cup. “So where are we going on our first date?”

“That’s a surprise, darling.”

***

A week after Tom’s birthday, Tom texted you asking if you were available to go on your first date. You had been working on the album the entire morning so you thought it’d be nice to go out with Tom. You replied yes and he told you to be ready within the hour. Tom knocked on your door around an hour later, with a bouquet in his hand. “These are for you, love,” he said with a smile as he handed them to you.

“Thank you, Tom,” you said and then sniffed the flowers. “Come in while I put these in some water.” Tom entered your Airbnb and you searched for a vase in one of the cabinets. Once you found one, you filled it up with water and put the flowers in. “We should be good to go now.”

Tom held your hand as he led you to the car. He opened the door for you and then got in and started the car. “You ready?”

“Where are we going?” You asked.

“You’ll see in around 15 minutes, angel.” Tom grabbed your hand that was resting in your lap and brought it up to his lips to kiss it. “I don’t think I told you this, but you look ethereal.”

“You’re quite the charmer, Holland.”

“I aim to please,” he joked. “But in all seriousness, you always look gorgeous.”

Tom was by far the kindest man you have ever met in your entire life. You have known him for barely two months but he made you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. You had never felt this way about anyone before.

Tom drove down to a lake. “It’s one of my secret spots,” he told you.

He led you down to the grass near the water and he set up a picnic there for the two of you. “I made sandwiches, cut up some fruit, and some apple cider.”

“It looks good. Thank you, Tom.” He pulled everything out from the picnic basket and handed you one of the sandwiches.

“Anything for you.”

“So this is one of your secret spots, huh?” You asked.

“Mhm,” he mumbled as he took a bite from his sandwich.

“So you bring a lot of girls here?” You teased and you could’ve sworn that you saw Tom almost choke on his sandwich. “Is that why it's so special?”

“Very funny, love,” Tom said. “No, I actually come here alone.”

“I’m guessing because it’s quiet.”

“Yeah, I come here when I need to clear my head.”

You looked around the area and you immediately understood why Tom liked it so much. There was a beautiful, cool breeze and the birds chirping sounded like music to your ears. “It’s beautiful. Thank you for bringing me here.”

“I can drive you here to write songs if you’d like,” Tom offered.

“That would be lovely.”

You and Tom spent a couple of hours at the lake. You talked about anything and everything, and you finally felt yourself get closer to him. You felt him opening up to you too, which you felt good about.

“Would you like to go on a drive with me?” Tom asked once you both packed up the remainder of the picnic.

“Will there be music involved?”

“What would be a nice evening drive without music? C’mon, let’s go.” Tom led you to his car and you began your drive. The sun was setting and it was beautiful. “It’s wonderful outside, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is,” you said.

“I had a great time with you, Y/N.”

“Me too.”

*** Once Tom dropped you off, you began writing another song. His date left you inspired and you were starting to like him more and more. Each time you saw him your feelings for him grew. He inspired you to write your song, London Boy.

Tom wanted a second date. He felt so good leaving the first one and knew that he wanted to pursue a relationship with you. He knew that it would be hard but relationships won’t always be easy. He decided to call you the next to ask when he could see you again.

“Tom, we just went out,” you teased.

“I know, Y/N, but I like you. A lot.” You thought that it was cute how Tom was eager for a second date. You were excited too.

“I like you, too. I would love to see you again, too,” you said.

“Coffee? I don’t drink it but I know how much you like it,” Tom offered.

“How about tea? Know any good spots for a cup of tea and maybe breakfast?”

“I know just the place. See you soon, Y/N.”

***

Many amazing dates with Tom and a bunch of fun days in London later and you know that you’re ready to start recording your next album. People had their assumptions about you and Tom. Rumors had gone around but Tom and you didn’t address them.

London inspired so much of your album that you decided to record there. The rest of your team flew out and you began recording.

You called Tom asking him to come to the studio. “I’m recording one of my favorite songs today. I would love for you to come if you’re free.” You were recording London Boy today and you wanted Tom to hear it since he hadn’t before. It would also be a good way to officially tell Tom that you’re falling in love with him.

“I would love to come. Send me the address.”

“You got it. See you in 20.”

You sent Tom the address of the studio and he was there within 15 minutes. You greeted him at the front. “Hey, babe.”

He kissed you on the cheek and then asked, “Are you excited for today?”

“Very. I’m excited for you to hear the song,” you said as you led him into the studio. You introduced him to Cassandra and the rest of your team.

“Y/N, get your pretty ass in the booth,” Cassandra said. You walked into the recording booth and put on your headphones. “Let’s do this.”

“Tom, sit up in front,” you said and then he took a seat beside Cassandra. “This one is called London Boy.”

The upbeat music came on and you knew that you were skipping the intro for now so you went in with the first verse.

I love my hometown as much as Motown, I love SoCal And you know I love Springsteen, faded blue jeans, Tennessee whiskey But something happened, I heard him laughing I saw the dimples first and then I heard the accent They say home is where the heart is But that's not where mine lives

You heard Cassandra tell you to stop so they could play it back. You saw Tom smiling at you as you were singing and you took that as a good sign that he was enjoying it.

“Now for the chorus.”

You know I love a London boy I enjoy walking Camden Market in the afternoon He likes my American smile, like a child when our eyes meet Darling, I fancy you Took me back to Highgate, met all of his best mates So I guess all the rumors are true You know I love a London boy Boy, I fancy you (Ooh)

You ended up finishing the recording of the song in an hour. You left the booth for your break and you first greeted Tom. “What did you think of it?”

“I love you, too,” he said. You leaned up to him and kissed him with every fiber of your being.

“That’s good because many of these songs are about you.”

“And I can’t wait to hear them all,” he said and then smiled.

“I can’t believe how I’ve only been here for three months and I already feel this way,” you said honestly. You have never fallen so fast for anyone, but it feels right with Tom. Everything feels right with him.

“Well, believe it because it’s real,” Tom confirmed. “Be mine, Y/N?”

“I thought you’d never ask, lover.”

~~~

leave feedback!

tagging: @tomsbabymomma @canwekissforever-hazzy @pinklxmonade @tomsbrina @storybookholland

#this is scheduled so i hope it shows up in the tags #tom holland x reader #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland oneshot #tom holland x singer!reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fanfic

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hangovercurse · 4 years ago

Text

Ice Cold Pool

Part v of the Without You series: Colson and Y/N try to return to normal, but they still don’t know what normal actually is.

Colson x Reader

Warnings: Cursing (as per usual), substance use, people not following social distancing guidelines.

A/N: Seriously guys, wear your masks, social distance, etc. I really wanna go to a concert sometime in the next 2 years.

Word Count: 2743

| i | ii | iii | iv | vi |

masterlist

It had been 4 weeks since you and Colson had made the agreement to just be friends. Obviously, there were some hiccups in this plan. Most notably that hanging around Colson reminded you of all the reasons you loved him in the first place, and thus all the reasons you shouldn’t hang around him.

You were glad to be back to somewhat normal. You could hang around your friends without feeling too much tension, you could talk to Casie (who wanted to know everything that happened), and you could smoke again.

That last one you probably shouldn’t have been so happy about, but after a month without weed, you needed it.

Of course, not everything was back to normal. You and Colson weren’t technically… speaking. Yet.

You said simple things to each other, “excuse me,” “thank you,” and even the occasional “bless you” after a sneeze. But you had yet to have an actual conversation since that night. When hanging around the guys, you tried to be as normal as possible, interacting with Colson as little as possible. You didn’t want anyone else to think you felt awkward, because then they would feel awkward and it would be a whole awkward mess.

Tonight, you were hoping to ease some tension between you and Colson. Trippie was releasing the deluxe version of his new album and was having a “covid safe” album release party. All that meant was they would party outside rather than inside and only invite half the amount of people that they normally would.

Against your better judgement, Slim and Baze convinced you to go.

“There’s not even gonna be that many people there.”

“And Trippie would be so upset if you didn’t come.”

“If I go, will you two shut up?”

“Yes.” “Yes ma’am”

“Don’t call me ma’am ever again, Slim.”

So, you made a plan to talk to Colson at some point that night about something other than all of your problems with each other. If and only if the opportunity presented itself.

So, there you were in an oversized Misfits T-shirt that looked like a dress on you and shorts that no one could see, a beer in one hand, and a blunt in the other. You were sitting at the pool edge, your feet dangling in the water, as you talked to Iann Dior about cheese.

You may have been pretty tipsy, but he was worse.

“Cheddar cheese is the worst possible flavor of cheese.” Iann shook his head, laughing.

“Absolutely not. You can put cheddar in dishes, and they taste great. Cheddar makes things taste better. Brie cheese is the worst cheese. It’s literally fucking moldy.” You giggled, taking a swig of your drink.

“You’re both wrong. Feta cheese is the absolute worse and no one will convince me otherwise.” Colson chuckled, sitting next to you.

“There is nothing wrong with feta cheese, you two are just uncultured.” You laughed, the opportunity you needed apparently presenting itself. You took a quick glance at Colson, who was about to dip his feet in the water. “Colson your shoes are still on.”

He looked at you confused, and you realized just how high he was. “So?” he asked and Iann laughed.

“Dude, if you’re gonna put your feet in the water you gotta take your shoes off.”

Colson broke out laughing at Iann’s comment, his whole body shaking with joy. He slipped his shoes off once he finished and dangled his feet of the edge.

“So, you really think cheddar cheese is the best cheese?” He asked, taking a sip of his beer.

“Noooo.” You whined, “I just don’t think it’s the worst kind of cheese. But obviously there are better cheeses.” You kicked your feet up, splashing Colson on accident.

He looked over at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. He reached his hand into the water, splashing water towards you. “Colson!” You squealed, laughing.

You returned the favor by flicking water at his shirt, at which point Iann left. “You get me wet and you die.” He said with a laugh.

Colson then cupped his hands together, bringing water up to your shirt and pouring it all over you, much to your dismay. Luckily, your shirt was black, but the water was still freezing. “Bro.” You pouted, looking over at Colson. He was smiling, but soon mimicked your pout.

“Aww, I’m sorry. Did the little princess get wet?” Your eyes went wide, and you slapped his chest. He grabbed your hand, pulling it up so you couldn’t hit him and accidentally pulling you closer to him. “I didn’t mean it like that!” He laughed, his hand intertwining with yours as he brought it back down.

“Colson…” You trailed off, warning him. He pouted, a sigh leaving his lips as he unlocked your fingers.

“Sorry, forgot I’m not supposed to do that.” You smiled a little, glad that things were slowly becoming normal. “I wanna go for a swim.” He changed the topic, standing up and pulling his shirt off.

“Colson it’s freezing. You’re gonna get sick.” You looked at him with wide eyes but a giggle falling from your mouth.

“Guess someone has to come in to keep me warm.” He shrugged, tugging his shorts down his legs so he was just in his boxers.

It was only at this point that you realized he was very drunk. A few moments later you felt the cold water splash your face as Colson jumped into the pool near you, coming up and running his hand through his hair.

He made his way back over to you, reaching for the beer that he left on the side of the pool. He half-stood in front of you, a needy smile on his face. “Get in the water with me Y/N.” He dragged out the last syllable of your name, causing you to roll your eyes.

“There is no way in hell I am getting in that water.” You chuckled, taking a hit of the joint in your hand.

Colson pouted, taking the blunt from you and smoking it himself. “I guess I could always just pull you in.” He grabbed your thighs and you moved backwards, fighting him.

“Colson, I don’t have a change of clothes, I’ll be cold.” You tried to squirm out of his grip, giggling.

“You can just wear my shirt or something. Someone will have something.” He shrugged, pulling you into the water.

“Colson!” You squealed before your entire body was encased in the cold liquid.

“Too late.” He said, a cheeky smile on his face. His arms wrapped around you as you turned to face the edge, ready to get out. “Noooo, you’re already in here.” He whined, dragging you towards his chest.

“Colson, it’s freezing. We need to get out.” You said, turning your head to face him.

“I don’t want to. This is the closest I’ve been to you in weeks. I just wanna enjoy this for a moment.” His head rested on top of your head, and you let yourself fall back into his chest.

You had to admit, you did miss his playfulness and his touch, and you really hadn’t been this close to him in a while. But you knew he wouldn’t be doing any of this if he wasn’t both drunk and stoned out of his mind.

You sighed, knowing you needed to end the moment, if not for your own sanity. “C’mon Col, we can’t do this. Let’s get out.”

He groaned. “We did this when we were friends before, how is this any different from that?”

You made your way to the edge of the pool. “It just is Colson.” You sighed, trying to mask the anger in your voice. You tried to pull yourself up to sit on the edge of the pool, but you couldn’t quite make it the first time. Colson, of course, took it upon himself to help you, grabbing your hips lightly to lift you up. He got out and sat next to you, both of you soaking wet.

He reached over and grabbed the shirt he was wearing earlier, passing it to you. “Here, so you don’t get sick.” He seemed to be sobering up, probably due to the cold water.

“Thanks.” Your voice was hushed, your cheeks burning with a blush that you couldn’t explain. It’s just a shirt, you told yourself. You stood up, preparing yourself to find somewhere private to change.

“Where are you going?” Colson asked, looking up at you.

“To change.” You said bluntly. “I can’t exactly strip in front of 40 people.”

Colson nodded, standing up next to you, pulling his shorts on. “Where are you going?” You asked him, a small smile on your face.

“Wherever you are.” He smiled and you rolled your eyes.

“Okay, I guess I can use you to clear my path inside.” You chuckled, starting to walk towards the crowd of people near the doors of the house. As you moved through the crowd you found yourself instinctively reaching back for Colson’s hand, not wanting to lose him as you moved through the crowd. He happily took the hint and moved closer to you, his free hand resting on your hip to help guide you to the doors, though you didn’t mind as much as you should have.

You made your way through the open glass door, suddenly very self-conscious about the clothes you were wearing and the fact that you were soaking wet. “Bathroom is this way.” Colson mumbled into your ear as the loud music blasted around you. The hand on your hip led you down a small hallway until you found the open bathroom.

You went in, turning to close the door when you saw Colson had followed you in. “I gotta change, Kells. You can’t be in here.”

“Woah woah woah.” He started, clearly offended, “You never call me Kells. That’s not allowed.” You giggled, rolling your eyes. “And I’ll just… look away.” He covered his eyes with his hands, moving his fingers to form a gap.

“Colson, seriously,” You laughed, “turn around.” He thankfully did as told, and you quickly removed the Misfits shirt you were previously wearing and replaced it with his long sleeve pink shirt. It wasn’t quite as long as the other one you were wearing, but it still went down to your upper thigh and the sleeves went far enough past your wrist for permanent sweater paws. Unfortunately, this meant you would have to keep your wet shorts on.

Upon realizing this, you let out a sigh of disappointment. “What?” Colson questioned, still facing the wall.

“You can look now.” He turned around. “It’s not as long as mine.” You pouted, stretching your arms out for him to see before flopping them back down to your sides.

Colson chuckled, “I really don’t see the problem, Y/N.”

You glared playfully, “I have to wear my wet fuckin shorts.” You whined, a pout on your lips.

“I meannn, you don’t have to.” Colson said, playfully. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! But I don’t know what to do to help you.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, looking off into the distance. “I’m not giving you my pants, Y/N.” Another dramatic sigh. “Okay fine we’ll just go to his laundry room and through them in the dryer, okay?”

“See, you do know what to do to help me.” You smiled, grabbing your wet shirt and pushing Colson out of the bathroom.

The laundry room in Trippie’s house was surprisingly small, given his house was a small mansion. You were able, however, to close the door and pull off your wet clothes. Colson threw your shirt in the dryer as well.

You hopped up onto the washer, your legs dangling off. “You don’t have to stay, Colson.” You told him, knowing he probably wanted to rejoin the party.

“I’m good. This is much more fun than whatever’s going on out there.”

You laughed, “waiting for my clothes to dry? Whatever, loser.”

He moved towards you, his stomach touching your knees. “I’ve missed this.” He said, softly. You met his eyes with your own. “Just us doing stupid shit. Being friends.”

“We’re still friends, Cols.” You smiled, tilting your head to the side.

He sighed, “Yeah but we haven’t really been friends since…” He trailed off, but you knew what he meant. “Not real friends, at least.”

You sighed, trying to decide what you wanted to say. “I’m sorry about that. I just needed a little bit of space and it never felt like the right time to… talk. Like if we started talking in a group everyone would just think it’s weird.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” his hand reached out to touch your waist. “If anything, I should be apologizing. It’s my fault we’re stuck in this weird limbo shit anyways. I was honestly afraid the guys would kill me if I talked to you.”

“Well, good thing it’s not up to the guys anymore.” Your voice got soft as you realize how close your faces had gotten. “And we can be normal friends again.” You added.

Colson looked down. “Yeah, normal friends.” He tried to hide the disappointment in his voice but failed miserably.

“Colson, we’re just friends, right?” You asked, trying to convince yourself more than him.

He nodded, “Yeah, we’re just friends.” He looked up and met your eyes, and you could see the emotions in his crystal blue eyes. “But I don’t know that I can just be friends.” His voice was soft, making your heart sink deeper.

His head was inches away from yours, his nose almost touching your own. He leaned his head to the side, his eyes traveling your face. His lips were millimeters from yours. “Tell me that you don’t want this, and I’ll walk out right now.”

“I…” You couldn’t form a sentence with his lips so close to your own. “We shouldn’t.” You whispered.

“That’s not what I asked.” He paused, touching his nose to yours lightly. When he spoke, you could feel his words on your lips. “Do you want me to kiss you right now?”

You couldn’t answer him for a few seconds. “I don- I don’t know Colson.” You breathed out, leaning your forehead against his.

Part of you was hoping he would take matters into his own hands and just kiss you, but the other part of you knew you would regret anything that happened right now.

He jerked his head away from you, a frown etched across his face. “When are you gonna make up your goddamn mind? I can never figure out where I’m at with you.” His voice raised slightly, making you jump. “One minute we’re not even talking and the next you’re holding my fucking hand at a party. You say we’re just friends and then don’t say no when I ask if you want me to kiss you. Like what the fuck is this?” He ranted, causing your grip on the edge of the washer to tighten.

“Colson, I told you. I need time to figure all of this out. It doesn’t just happen overnight.” You tried to keep your voice calm.

“It’s been weeks, Y/N. How long do you need?”

Confusion took over your features, and then anger. “Colson do you even realize what you did? Honestly, you’re fucking lucky I even wanted to be friends. You kind of screwed me up, really bad. So, excuse me for needing time to figure out if you’re worth it or not.” Your eyes fell to the floor, suddenly very self-conscious of all the things Colson had said to you 2 months ago.

Colson scoffed, backing away from you, “Well honestly it would be a lot easier if we weren’t friends.” His words were harsh, and you were reminded that he wouldn’t change, not really. “Y/N I didn’t mean it like that.” His voice became soft, but it was already too late.

You hopped off the machine, pushing past him and pulling your damp shirt and shorts out of the dryer. With your back facing him, you pulled your shorts on and then took his shirt off, replacing it with your own.

“Y/N I’m sorry I jus-“

“No, Colson. I’m sorry. I keep forgetting that my existence seems to be the bane of yours.” You shove his shirt into his chest. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore.” You walked out of the small room and through the house, determined to call a cab home.

#mgk #mgk imagine #mgk angst #mgk fluff #machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly imagine #Colson baker #colson x reader #colson baker imagine #colson baker fluff #colson baker angst

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steppedoffaflight · 4 years ago

Text

Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 8

Catch up on Chapter 7 here

The summer tour to promote the album is ready to kick off, and the band is due back in America with a show in Arizona on Tuesday. And while Van has informed you that the other boys will be flying directly from their respective U.K. homes to Phoenix, Van has decided that he would like to fly in to California before road tripping to the venue. In his Range Rover. With you.

Word count: ~11.2k

A/N: I feel like I got more messages this week than ever about how many people love this fic, and it really meant so much to me. I hadn’t realized so many people were following along with Van and Y/N’s journey and it just makes me so excited to put each new chapter out into the world. For everyone who told me how they’re always excited for Wednesdays, know that I am too! This is one of the chapters that really sticks out to me as a favorite, so I hope you love it. Thank you so much for reading. Anyway, I’m done being mushy. Enjoy!

Chapter Eight June 2019

“Shut up,” You say around a mouthful of popcorn.

“I’m being serious!”

“You’re not,” You insist despite Van’s arguing, chomping away.

“I am!” His voice rings out on speakerphone from where you’ve got the phone set on the kitchen table.

You open up a new tab on your laptop, where you’d been putting in some extra time on one of your work assignments. You quickly google Van’s suggestion.

“It’s like a six hour drive, and less than two hours of a flight. Why the fuck would you drive?”

“You think it’s a two hour flight,” Van argues. “But once you take into account checking bags, and delays, and having to be picked up at the airport, it’s still a six hour ordeal.”

He kind of had a point. You’d never managed to take a trip home without being caught in nasty flight delays. But you’d always assumed that was because you flew during the holidays. Still, you’re not caving to Van’s crazy idea.

“I can’t get those days off work,” You tell him.

“Yes you can. I know you can. Your boss loves you.”

He’s right, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Even if I could,” You sigh, “I can’t afford to not work for three days. Some of us live paycheck to paycheck, Van.”

Per usual, Van dissipates a potential argument with humor. “Quit your job. I’ll hire you on as my assistant.”

You choke on a popcorn kernel from laughing. “That’s my worst nightmare. Bending to your whim at all hours of the day. Like right now!”

Van’s voice sounds hopeful when he pipes up, “Are you saying you’re bending to my whim?”

“Absolutely not,” You tell him sternly. “This isn’t how real life works! I don’t have the ability to drop everything and do shit like this just because you want me to.”

“It’s not about me,” Van lies. You roll your eyes. “It’s fun for you, isn’t it? You have vacation time, don’t you? If you’re not taking a big vacation, at least you can have a couple days of fun here or there.”

The most frustrating part of this entire phone call was that Van was right. And now that he’s planted the seed of the idea in your head, you were already becoming hopeful that it would work out and you could slip away to Phoenix for a day. You’d already halfheartedly texted Mary to get her opinion on your predicament.

“It’ll be so much fun,” Van pleads. “You get so caught up in work. It’s good for you to get out.”

You don’t respond, but glare at the phone. You’re so fucking tired of people telling you to get out of your comfort zone. These last two months hanging out with Van have already flipped your comfort zone inside out. You could use a little more comfort in your life, actually.

“I get out a lot, thanks,” You snipe at him.

“You’re welcome, love,” Van says sweetly in retaliation.

Mary’s text notification appears on your laptop. You click it and sigh.

“Well, Mary can’t go,” You tell Van, who’d promised you right off the bat you could bring a guest along.

“Is Mary your only friend?”

“That’s mean!” You pout into the phone.

“M’sorry. I wasn’t trying to be mean, I was genuinely asking.”

“She’s not my only friend,” You huff, “But she’s my best friend.” There were no other friends you felt even vaguely comfortable taking a six hour road trip with. “If she can’t go, I’m not going to hang out in Arizona alone, so just forget it.”

“You won’t be alone, you’ll be with me!”

“Yeah, but I’m just supposed to stand around in the crowd alone? And go to the hotel alone? And hang out while you’re at rehearsals alone? Sounds like so much fun.”

“It won’t be like that. Promise. If you’re my only guest I’ll get you a pass and you can go wherever I can. You can hang out during soundcheck, be backstage during the show, whatever.”

You chew the inside of your cheek. “So if I don’t bring a guest I’m allowed backstage, but if I do then I’m not?”

“Yeah. We’re not big on people hanging out in the dressing room. We try to keep the number of guests small. But the boys know you. They won’t mind.”

“I dunno, Van,” You sigh, rubbing your temples. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“Think about it, please,” He gives his final plea. “It’ll be a good time.”

“Okay, I’ll think about it, whatever,” You lie, only to get him off of your back.

“Okay. Miss you,” Van chirps.

“Miss you.” And then the call is over.

You fold your arms down on the table, nestling your head on top of them.

The thing is, Van always gets his way, doesn’t he?

If he didn’t, you wouldn’t be driving his Range Rover over to his house on Monday morning, your suitcase resting on its side in the backseat.

Van is not ready on time, forcing you to begrudgingly shut the car off and knock on his front door impatiently after waiting for him long enough.

“Sorry!” Van apologizes immediately as he swings the front door open. He’s bustling around in jeans, his belt looped through the waist but not buckled. He’s got socks on but no shoes, and he’s got a t-shirt rumpled around his neck. You’re not sure if he’s trying to wear it or take it off.

“You’re not even dressed!” You groan, as Van races around fussing with the items in his suitcases.

“One of my bags got lost on the flight over,” He explains. “So I’m trying to figure out what was in it and what’s missing.” He stands up straight, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Fuck.”

That’s a pretty good excuse, one you can’t be mad at him for. You sigh, softening. “That sucks.”

Van nods into his hands. When he lets them fall you can see how flushed his face is in frustration and decide to take pity on him.

“First things first,” You march over to him, getting your hands on his belt. “Get dressed.”

You buckle his belt and he sighs, tugging his arms into the shirt around his neck. You spot his usual boots resting by the front door. “Are you wearing those?”

He nods and you head over to the door, tossing them to Van. He slips them on and zips them up, tugging the cuffs of his jeans over them, and now he’s at least dressed.

Now you look around at the mess on the floor. “Do you have some sort of packing list?”

Van shrugs. “Not, like, written out, no. I pack all the time. I just kinda… do it.”

You don’t understand how anyone can mentally keep a packing list when it comes to packing your entire life away in preparation for months on the road. You reach for an unopened letter sitting on the table by the door. “Have a pen?”

Despite not having a list, Van has a pen within reach. He passes it over to you.

“Alright,” You sigh. “Let’s go through this step-by-step.”

After an hour and a half delay Van is significantly calmer, and mostly sure that he’s got everything he needs. The one thing that’s definitely been lost is his handful of adaptors so that his chargers work in America, so you have to stop off at Walmart before the drive can really begin so that he can buy some. Which works for you, considering you needed some drinks and snacks anyway.

You and Van separate as soon as you’re in the doors. You make a beeline for the food aisles while Van heads to find his adaptors.

Your assignment is pretty simple. Van doesn’t want any soft drinks, only water. But not just any water, he’d specified, but the largest water available. Considering that’s not sold in the coolers near the front where you grab a soft drink and an average sized water, you’re held up browsing for a bit. Eventually you find something that you hope he likes nestled amongst the two-liter bottles of juices and fruit punches and teas and any other sugary drink you could imagine. Then there’s snacks. Van wants Doritos, but you like a selection. You get yourself a smaller bag of potato chips, and some different boxes of movie theater candy from a different aisle. By the time you’re done, you’re sure he’s probably already searching for you.

Instead you find him still meandering around the tech area, all six feet of him clearly visible over the shelves.

“I can’t find them,” He mutters when you roll your squeaky shopping cart towards him. “I’ve checked everywhere.”

“Does this work?” You change the subject, lifting the water you’d gotten him. He nods, then goes back to scouring.

“Maybe they’re not over here,” You suggest after you’d abandoned the cart and conducted your own search without luck. “Is there a travel section?”

With that idea you follow Van as he heads for the luggage section.

You find the adaptors in the same aisle as the suitcases and duffle bags, along with other travel items you browse through curiously. There’s coolers as small as a shoe box and ice packs that will apparently stay frozen even in one-hundred degree heat. There’s sets of blankets and pillows rolled into packaging so tight you have no idea how you’d cram everything back in there. There’s a million different wallets that supposedly withstand every sort of natural disaster.

“This is so soft,” You gush as you’re squeezing each and every neck pillow. Van is still examining his adaptors, making sure he’s got exactly the right kind, but he does pause to reach out a hand and give the pillow you’ve held out to him a squish.

“That is soft,” He muses.

You pull it around your neck, rolling your head against it. “Oh my God, it feels so good,” You practically moan.

Van stands up straight, plucking one from the display for himself. “This is amazing,” He agrees, before tossing it in the cart. “I need a new one. You want one?”

You pause where you’re still happily hanging your head limply. “They’re forty dollars,” You point out.

Van only shrugs.

“I don’t need one,” You insist, taking yours off of your shoulders and setting it back on the hanger. “It’s fine.”

Van stares at you. You stare at him.

“I don’t really travel,” You say, putting your hands on the cart, ready to walk away.

As you start to roll away another neck pillow lands in the basket, rattling the things it lands on.

You snap your neck to look at Van, who’s grinning.

“You’re traveling right now, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes to avoid having to think too hard about him spending money on you. And with that you head for the cash register, Van lagging behind you.

It takes over an hour to feel like the drive has really started. Although you’re on the highway, you’re caught in morning rush hour with jammed exits and people refusing to even meet the minimum speed. You can tell it drives Van nuts, who drums his fingertips on the steering wheel impatiently, changes the radio stations obsessively, and switches lanes when there really isn’t enough space for the Range Rover to squeeze over. It feels like a regular drive until the traffic eventually falls away and you guys can really get going, finally speeding away from your homes and towards Arizona.

“So when is everyone else arriving?” You ask after there’s been a bout of focused silence as Van tries to gain some ground, staying quiet as the radio plays.

“I have no clue,” He shrugs. “They could be there already, I dunno.”

“You haven’t spoken to them?”

“Not about flights, no. We talked about the show and how we’re excited to be back in America. But that’s it really.”

You think this over, watching the blur of restaurants and gas stations fly by.

“Do you like shows in the U.K. or U.S. better?” You ask eventually.

“Like ‘em both.”

“Oh, c’mon,” You sigh, turning to look at him. “That’s such an interview answer. You have to have a preference.”

Van licks his lips. “I like playing arenas,” He shrugs. “Arenas are fun. Shows in the U.K. are massive.”

“But you think arenas are the best thing in the world, and you’ll never wanna do a show anywhere else again, and then we do a smaller room in America and it’s class. You connect with the audience in an arena, but you don’t feel like you’re connecting with every single person in the crowd like you do in a smaller room.” He continues, “I don’t care though. I just love playing. As long as there’s a stage I’m happy. It doesn’t even have to be a real stage. I can stand on a milk crate.”

You have to laugh at that. “Okay, whatever. Fine. Where do you prefer living, then?”

Van considers this for a moment. “I dunno.”

“Oh, let me guess, Mr. I-like-everything. You can’t choose.”

“I can’t!” Van laughs. “There’s so many factors that go into it. That’s too hard of a question. I’ll say, I loved New York though. Have you ever been?”

“For one weekend,” You recall. “It was for school. A weekend of workshops and lectures and stuff. I didn’t get to see much, though. There was too much I wanted to do and not enough time after sitting in the convention center all day.”

You realize Van must feel the same way. In beautiful cities with not enough time to explore them. “Doesn’t that happen to you on tour?”

“Sometimes.”

“You don’t seem very disappointed.”

“M’not, really. The most exciting thing about a place to me is usually the music. And when we’re there we’re the music. I do miss a museum or a shop once in a while that I wish I’d been to.”

You sigh. Sometimes it feels like you and Van couldn’t be more unalike. He never seemed to have any anxieties or regrets about anything. Everything rolled off of him but stuck to you like you were flypaper.

“What’s your biggest regret?” You ask him suddenly, sitting up straighter.

“What, are we playing twenty questions?” Van laughs. “Pass me my water, will you?”

His bottle is too big for the cup holders so it’s rolling around by your feet. You pick it up and uncap it for him, handing it over. “You’re the one who wanted to road trip. Are we supposed to drive in silence?”

You watch Van’s throat work as he swallows down his drink before handing it back over to you.

“We can talk,” He replies. “But you go first. What’s your biggest regret?”

You know your biggest regret. It’s the first thing that pops into your mind whenever the topic comes up.

You don’t speak right away, though. You look out the windshield at the sky instead, watching as the car passes under the giant, cotton ball clouds.

“Leaving home,” You finally admit. You fold your legs up, hugging your knees into your chest. It makes the seatbelt cut into the soft flesh of your stomach, but you barely notice. “I’ve never told anyone that, actually.”

Van keeps his eyes on the road. “Never?”

“Never.” You say quietly. “Just you.”

“Why?”

“Why haven’t I told anyone or why do I regret it?”

“Both.”

You take a deep breath and rest your head on your knees so that you’re gazing at Van.

“It was too impulsive. Eighteen is way too young to be leaving behind your entire support system. My girlfriend had a shitty family, and I get leaving when things are like that. Like, if you don’t have anyone, might as well leave and start the life you want. Nothing to lose, sure. But I left a lot behind. My parents aren’t perfect, duh, whose are, but they loved me.”

So many feelings have started to swell up in you. You don’t know how to put them into words, but Van stays quiet, so you try.

“And I never told anyone because… How could I? Things turned out okay, didn’t they? I have a degree from UCLA. How many high school seniors are dying for that acceptance letter? I rent a nice place in one of the most expensive cities to live in in the country. I’ve got a nice job. Nice friends. My parents are so proud of me. They brag about me to everyone. How I left home and did so amazing on my own. I could never tell them I’d do things differently. And you try to say this stuff to people like you, or Mary, and they take it as a personal offense like I wish I’d never met them, you know what I mean?”

Van chuckles, nodding in understanding.

“Sorry, I’m rambling.” You shake your head, wipe your hair out of your face. “I didn’t mean to make this a therapy session.”

“You did ask a pretty loaded question,” Van snorts. But he reaches one of his hands across the console, resting it blindly on your knee in a moment of comfort before bringing it back to the steering wheel. “So lemme ask this, though: Are you happy?”

“Am I happy? Hm. I would say so. Happier than the people I see living on the streets. Happier than the kids that get roped into gang violence every day.”

“So you enjoy your life?”

“I mean. Sure. It’s fine. Yeah. Things could be better, but I like it.”

Saying it outloud, you realize your answer doesn’t equate to being happy. Or enjoying your life. There’s no feeling of satisfaction with what you’ve accomplished. But at the same time, you were only 24. Isn’t this how your twenties go?

Van seems to realize the crack in your answer, but he doesn’t say anything. You’re eager to change the subject off of your existential crisis.

“So what’s your regret?”

“Hm. I don’t have, like, one big one I can pinpoint like yours. But I have a lot of small ones that have kind of… rolled up over time.”

Your heart sinks. Of course you’d just spilled your heart out to someone who’s regret is probably going to be that he didn’t wear more comfortable shoes to drive in. You remember the wine-drunk conversation you and Mary had when you were done taking pictures, when you’d told her how you don’t really know Van.

“You have to have regrets.” Your voice wavers. “Please tell me you have at least one regret in your life, that you weren’t just born a beaming ray of sunshine.”

Van cackles. “A beaming ray of sunshine? I am not! Of course I have regrets!”

“Well, I’m just saying,” You huff. “You’re so calm about everything. It drives me nuts sometimes. Like, is it all an act? Or do you genuinely breeze through life?”

“I don’t breeze through life. At all. I guess I was raised to… not take things so hard, I suppose. So when things are out of my control I do try and shake them off. But I have lots of things that bother me. I try not to dwell on them, that’s all.”

“Like what?”

“Well for starters, I get the same guilt at leaving home.” Van wags his finger at you. “So that’s something we share. I don’t regret it, I knew what I was doing and I wanted to leave my hometown and I’m happy I did. But I know my parents miss me. And considering how hard they tried to have me I do feel a bit bad we haven’t gotten to live together under the same roof since I was… Twenty? I think?”

At Van’s confession you exhale in relief. “They tried hard to have you? Did they miscarry?”

Van shakes his head. “No, my mum didn’t miscarry. She couldn’t miscarry because nothing would take. I think she would’ve rather miscarried and realized her body could at least make a baby than what was going on. Just… nothing. Doctors told her she was barren.”

“And then… Bam? You?”

“Nah. Not even close. She was hit by a car when she was younger, you see. So there was some internal damage. Everyone tried to convince her just to adopt but she wouldn’t do it. Her and my dad tried IVF. They did two rounds, nothing. It was costing them everything. And breaking my mum’s heart. They saved up for one more round. And… here comes me.”

“Bam, you.” You repeat in awe. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone born that way. I don’t even know anyone who’s adopted.”

Van seems happy to tell the story of his conception. “It’s mental to think about, isn’t it?” He changes gears, getting back on topic. “But see, they worked so hard to have me, and then I up ‘n left ‘em. But they’re so proud. It is sad, though.”

“That is kinda sad,” You frown. “What else?”

Van sighs. “I have a ton of, like, love regrets. There’s been a lot of relationships where the thing that really went wrong was just me being young and not putting in enough effort. So I guess all of those. Not trying harder. Leaving someone you love at home while you go tour is tough already, let alone me being a right prick and not bothering to call or text or any of that.”

“Oh, Lord. So you’re saying you were the boyfriend who wouldn’t speak to you for days until you’re wondering if you’re even dating anymore.”

Van winces. “Yeah. I did try, I didn’t think I was that bad! Time differences are hard. Finding time to call in the beginning when it was pushing the band from sun up to sun down was hard. But I could’ve done it if I’d made more of an effort. I’d forget birthdays, that sort of thing. I lost girlfriends I really saw a future with. Which fucking sucks. I know I broke their hearts. I wasn’t out to do that to anyone. I regret that.”

Van’s answer satisfies you. You unfold your legs, resting back in your seat. “And are you happy?”

“I’m very happy,” Van replies immediately. “I love my life. I love the band. I love waking up everyday and getting to do this as my job. Doesn’t mean I don’t hit hard times. And I always grew up around a lotta love. My mum and dad were very in love. Still are. So when I’m single I do tend to feel like I’m missing out on something.”

You don’t have a response for him. You still reach out, same as he did for you, and give his knee a squeeze. He smiles.

You guys give your heart-to-heart conversations a rest, instead taking some quiet time as you approach the Arizona border. You munch on your snacks and feed Van some of his when he asks, and you two take turns deciding what radio station to listen to.

As Arizona approaches so does a thick blanket of clouds, successfully blocking your view of the brilliant blue sky. Eventually you’re caught in a drizzle. You enjoy watching the rain soak the desert, a strange sight you’ve never considered before.

The longer Van drives, the thicker the clouds get. What had started as a thin blanket of light gray clouds with sun peeking through starts to become a more dense, charcoal covered sky, the rain starting to pound.

You persist on your journey as long as you can, windshield wipers whipping away the droplets, but eventually it’s too hard for Van to see. The rain pours down the windows like a curtain, the wipers only creating ripples through the thick layer of water. Cars less suited for the road conditions have veered off to the side, waiting the worst of the storm out. You and Van decide to do the same, pulling into the first rest stop that appears.

You guys had needed a break, anyway. It feels good to stretch your legs out as you and Van gallop into the building and out of the buckets of rain. Other drivers have had the same idea, and inside is peppered with damp people looking for a place away from the storm.

You use the restroom and pick through the pamphlets about everything Arizona has to offer until Van sneaks up behind you.

“Reading something interesting?” He spooks you, making you jump.

“Yeah, look. Have you ever heard of these guys? They’re playing in Phoenix tomorrow.”

Inside one of the tourist booklets is an event schedule. One of the pages is dedicated to Catfish and the Bottlemen, decorated with a dramatic black and white picture of the band and featuring their notorious toucan. You flash the page at Van, who laughs.

“Nobody’s gonna go after seeing my ugly face.” He tries to slip the book through your fingers, but you hold tighter. “C’mon, I need a smoke.”

“I’m keeping this,” You insist, clinging to it tightly. “It’s a souvenir.”

You sprint back to the car with him, trying to keep the book dry. An impossible task, but you hope once the pages air dry it’ll be salvageable. You set it aside on the dashboard, where the vent can blow on it.

Van cracks the window, letting in an obnoxious amount of rainwater as he smokes.

“I’m freezing,” You shudder, soaked to the bone. “Can we turn the heat on?”

Van obliges, but the air still feels cold when it hits your damp skin. Your clothes and hair are soaked, sticking to your skin. You’re glad you hadn’t bothered to put any effort into your appearance.

Between puffs of his cigarette you can see Van looking over at you as you scroll through your phone. It becomes so obvious that eventually you catch him in the act.

“Why are you looking at me?” You ask. Van smiles, so you smile nervously back. “I get it, I look crazy. Leave me alone!”

You flip down the overhead mirror, looking for whatever flaw Van is obviously obsessed with staring at. Your hair is completely parted wrong, somehow both wet and frizzy at the same time. “Is it my hair? Do I have something in my teeth?” You check your teeth in the mirror but they pass the inspection. You flip the mirror back up, looking at Van expectantly.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Van brushes you off, ashing his cigarette out of the crack in the window.

“Something’s wrong. You’re making me self conscious.”

“I’m not trying to make you self conscious. Sorry. It’s nothing.”

You jump on his phrasing. “What is it?”

Van lets his cigarette go out of the window before rolling it up. The space is much quieter without having to hear the rain hit the cement at full volume. “Nothing!”

His eyes are on you again and you squirm, uncomfortable under the scrutiny. “Stop staring at me, then!” You wrap your arms around yourself, shivering.

“I mean,” Van sighs, exasperated. “Look at you!”

You look down at yourself then, and understand. You were wearing a white shirt, which has now dissolved into a transparent layer with the rain. You were practically sitting there naked. The thin bralette you have on underneath is clearly visible, and unable to conceal your nipples that are rock hard from the cold.

“You’re fit. That’s all I was thinking,” Van mutters.

Your cheeks heat up in realization. “Oh.”

Van looks away, fussing with the settings on the different vents to look busy. Now that he’s admitted his desire the air in the car feels thick with it. Your heart is pounding while your mind buzzes.

“Looks like it’s getting worse,” You mention quietly as the rain roars louder outside.

“Yeah. I just checked the weather and it’s supposed to pass over soon. This is the worst of it.”

You nod, still not looking at Van. You watch the water wash over the glass, obscuring your view of the outside. Surely nobody else can see, either. Not to mention the dark tint on the windows.

“I’m gonna change my shirt.” You try for breezy, but you know your voice always betrays your nerves. You look over at him. “You should get in the back and change, too.”

Van’s head snaps to meet your gaze, his eyes dark. He searches your face, clearly trying to decipher if you’re suggesting what he thinks you are. You raise your eyebrows in response, and reach over to click your door unlocked.

“You coming?” You ask him, before swinging the passenger door open and jumping out, trying to clamor into the backseat as fast as humanly possible. You shriek as you’re hit with a fresh douse of icy rain, tugging urgently at the handle. Van opens his door to the back bench at the same time, and the two of you are confronted with the luggage blocking your way. In the pouring rain you both scramble to toss it in the back before climbing in.

No sooner are you drenching the leather seats than Van has his hands on you, guiding you both into a soppy kiss. Your teeth chatter behind your lips and Van is breathing harshly from the shock to his system.

Your only relief is to shed your cold clothes. You get your hands under Van’s shirt, peeling the layer away. He does the same to yours, but struggles with your bralette. You take care of that for him, your chest completely broken out in goosebumps and your nipples unbearably sensitive.

Van’s in charge of peeling away his own boots.

“Is there a condom in your wallet?” You ask while he does that, reaching over the console for the cup holder where his leather wallet is.

“Yeah.”

You open it up, peering curiously in the compartments. “Where?”

“Right there with the cash.”

“There’s none in here.”

Van sighs in frustration, pausing after he undoes his belt to look himself. But you’re right. There’s none in there. “What?” He breathes in frustration, checking again. Still nothing. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

He closes the wallet, tossing it carelessly back up front. “Anyway, there’s some in my suitcase.”

You lean over the seats into the trunk. “What bag?”

“The black one.”

“They’re all black.”

“The one… fuck!” Van runs his hands through his hair. “The one that got lost at the airport.”

You sink into a sitting position, unsure of what to say.

“Do you have any?” Van asks you, his eyes pleading.

You shake your head. “You always have some.”

The mood is slowly starting to disintegrate as you two wrack your brains.

“You didn’t grab any at Walmart?” You ask hopefully.

It’s Van’s turn to shake his head. “I thought I had enough.”

You slump against your seat. “Do you think they sell any in there? They had that vending machine with the Tylenol and stuff.” You hadn’t seen any condoms, but then again you hadn’t particularly been looking.

Van perks up at that. “I think they have a machine in the men’s room.”

“...What?”

“What?”

You both stare at each other curiously. “A machine?”

Van nods. “Yeah. You put the quarter in and twist, ya know?”

“Like a tampon dispenser?”

Van shrugs. “Never seen one.”

You gesture. “Like a box on the wall?”

“Yeah!”

This information blows your mind, but you reach down on the floor and retrieve Van’s soaked shirt. “Go get one!”

Van groans, but obliges. He’s a rumpled mess when he exists the car, and you notice as he jogs away his belt is still undone.

While you sit there alone you finish undressing yourself. When that’s done you peruse the trunk, tugging out a throw blanket you’d packed and wrapping it around yourself for some coverage.

You see Van the second he bursts through the building doors, condom clearly in hand.

“Got one?” You ask when he hops back into the car, even though he clearly does.

“Yeah. Trojans, too.”

“Did anyone see you?”

“Yeah,” Van grins. “There was a lad at the urinal having a right laugh at me. Standing there in my socks with my belt undone.”

You grin at the image. “What’d you say?”

“What could I say? I just laughed with him.”

He’s got a second condom that he sets aside. “There’s one for my wallet. I can grab some more in Phoenix.”

He struggles to kick his jeans off and then adds his shirt and socks to the sopping puddle of fabric on the floor. Finally you’re both naked.

“You’re gonna have to warm me up,” Van says, reaching for you. “I’m way too cold to get wrapped.”

He tugs you onto his lap so that you’re straddling him. The throw blanket around your shoulders encompasses you both, managing to create a space where your combined body heat can warm you up. You get a slow grind going against Van’s clammy thighs.

It’s a strange position to be in, sitting upright chest to chest. Every time you move your nipples rub against his chest hair, the sensitivity making you wince.

Van notices, his palms moving from your sides to roughly cup your breasts. His fingers are cold but his palms are warm, an instant relief against your nipples.

“That feels so good,” You tell him. “Blow into your hands.”

He does as he’s told, heating his palms up with hot air and rubbing them together before he cups you again, helping you warm up. You return the favor by breathing your hot breath down his neck, making him shiver.

“You’re so fit,” Van murmurs when you push the wet hair out of his face, tipping his head back to kiss him. “I don’t think I tell you enough.”

“Stop,” You groan quietly, forever uncomfortable taking even the slightest compliment. “You are too. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“There’s no credit to be given,” Van insists. In retaliation you bite down on his shoulder, making him jump.

Van lets a hand drop from your chest, easing around to touch you for some foreplay. He goes between your legs from behind, the brush of his fingertips making you startle.

“Easy, easy,” Van reassures you as he gently explores. But it’s like an ice cube pressing against you, and you cringe away.

“Quit, you’re so cold.” You tell him. “Like an icicle touching me.”

Van pulls away, bringing his fingers between your bodies. “Do you want me to do the honors?” He asks.

But you grab his wrist, guiding his two fingers into your mouth. You feel his dick jump against your thigh as you take them as deep as they can go, making a real show out of it.

“Oh, Christ,” Van groans, tipping his head back. “You’re trying to fucking kill me.”

You stop sucking with a sloppy noise, leaving him to guide his fingers back between your legs. Now that they’re warm the sensation is pleasant, and he eases them inside of you easily. It’s good, but highlights the ache of his absence more vividly.

“How are you doing?” You ask against his neck as you’re in the middle of pushing back against the pressure of his fingers. You slip a hand between his legs to feel for yourself. He throbs in your palm.

“Good,” He says, voice strained. “Making sure you’re coming along.” He slips his fingers out of you, spreading the wetness on his knuckles over your clit before rubbing in his usual circles.

Something about him considering your pleasure tugs at your heart. You bury your head in his neck, breathing his scent in while you try to push away the strange rush. “Van,” You breathe, but he understands, pulling his fingers away and reaching for the condom.

You have to shift your weight around to give him enough space, but then he’s ready. There’s a shared desperation as you guide him into you, both of you groping for the other, panting and kissing and groaning as you wiggle in his lap.

It’s physically the closest you’ve ever been to someone during sex. You’ve never been in this position, chest to chest with someone while they’re inside of you. The added tight space of the car means that no sound is lost as you two get going. And nothing feels the same as the first time after Van’s been away. You two have finally warmed up, and in this moment everything feels intense and perfect.

Van seems to feel the same, his eyes practically rolling back into his head every time you bounce against him. When he tips his head back in overwhelm you lunge forward, kissing down the column of his throat. You can feel his moan vibrating against your lips.

There’s no words exchanged as you fuck him. Anything that needs to be communicated is done through sharp breaths, groans, his fingertips digging into your sides, your hands in his hair, your teeth grazing each other’s skin, your mouths clashing together. The way your thighs shake and his stomach clenches.

“Let’s flip,” are the first words, uttered quietly by Van.

“No,” You pant. “I’m not going through that hassle.” There was no way Van was going to steal this moment from you. Your whole body was on fire with how incredible everything felt. No way in hell was he going to convince you to let him be in control. No fucking way.

Van whines in disagreement, pouting. You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging hard. A raw noise escapes his lips as you hold his head tightly.

“I am so fucking close,” You pant, speeding up against his thighs for emphasis. “And I know you are too. So chill out, Van.”

When you say his name his eyelids flutter closed, relaxing more fully into the grip of your hand.

You hold him there for a bit longer, loving the access to the underside of his jaw. When you release him he stays put.

Your orgasm comes unexpectedly, something that rarely happens. As soon as you feel the tight tension between your legs Van seems to sense it, too, snapping his eyes open. He sits up straight, wrapping his arms around you and holding you to his chest as you tremble through it, crying out. He squeezes you a bit tighter as you ride the wave of your climax, and loosens his arms as you whimper through the aftershocks. It doesn’t take him too long after, and you cup his jaw in your hands, carefully watching the way his freckles shift as his face scrunches up. Oh how you’ve missed watching him come. You kiss him when it’s over.

When everything is said and done you climb off of him, tugging the blanket tighter around you. All of the windows are completely steamed over, windshield included. You’re trembling head to toe even though you’re not cold.

Van ties off the condom but has no choice but to set it gingerly in one of the backseat cup holders. “Don’t let me forget that,” He tells you.

When he meets your gaze you’re sure he’s mirroring your expression. Something about the encounter has you feeling like an exposed nerve. The intensity of the experience makes your stomach hurt. You’ve got that deep feeling in your bones you get from incredible sex. That feeling when you know that was a moment that exceeds others, a moment you’ll always remember.

“Have I told you I missed you?” Van asks quietly. You wonder if his stomach aches like yours.

“Not yet,” You whisper.

“I fucking missed you,” Van says, getting up on his knees to start searching around for some dry clothes. He struggles to unzip a bag before handing you one of his hoodies. The scent of his laundry detergent as you tug it over your head makes you feel dizzy.

“I missed you,” You tell him, sitting up to dig around in your own bags.

Hours later you finally pull up at the hotel. You feel sorely out of place standing at the front desk next to Van, with your sweats and flip flops and rain damp hair. You’re swimming in Van’s hoodie, the cuffs of the arms hanging longer than your hands, and you fuss with your sleeves as Van speaks to the concierge. Everything is glossy marble and shiny brass accents, rich fabrics. The people look important, dressed in business attire. Van doesn’t look like he belongs either, but he’s so charming you don’t think anyone realizes it.

On your way to the elevators you only pray that you don’t see any of the other boys in your present state.

“Do you know if anyone else is here?” You ask when you and Van are the only ones in the elevator. It’s hard for you to believe it’s only 5pm. This day feels like it’s been eternal, and you’re exhausted.

“Dunno,” Van yawns. “Bob might be. Benji and Bondy usually don’t fly early if they can help it.”

You follow Van down the hall to your assigned room. Someone from the crew is headed to unload the car and bring Van’s bags up here, but you’d felt too awkward to take advantage of that, rolling your suitcase behind you.

It’s a nice room with two beds, a large bathroom and kitchenette, and a small cement balcony with a decent view of the city. There’s a gift basket on the desk like there had been in San Diego.

“Do you always get gift baskets?” You ask, poking around to see what he’s been given.

“Most of the time,” Van says, looking through it with you. “I mean, having a whole touring crew stay in your hotel is a lot of business. So they’re usually eager to make a good impression.”

That makes sense. You continue to look around. You want to open up your suitcase on the second bed, but you’re not sure if Van wants you two to sleep separately. You’ve never been in a situation where you had the option not to share one bed. Maybe he wants some space.

You awkwardly leave your bag standing in the middle of the floor while you poke around the kitchenette.

“What are you supposed to do with this?” You ask, lifting up the kettle on the small counter. There’s no stovetop where you’d be able to boil water in it, and there’s an electric cord attached to it.

“Um…” Van look at you quizzically. “Make tea?”

“But there’s no stove to heat it.”

“It’s electric.” Van gestures loosely at the kettle. “You fill it, plug it in.”

“Is this the hotel’s?”

“No. We each have one. The team leaves it for us.”

You continue to gape at it in amazement. You’ve never heard of an electric kettle.

“You’re so American it kills me,” Van shakes his head. There’s a knock at the door, and he rushes to retrieve his bags. He thanks whoever brought them up graciously before hauling them onto the bed closest to the door. That settled the bed situation, then.

You don’t know how you expected the rest of the evening to go, but you’re surprised at how mundane it is. You shower in preparation for tomorrow and half-heartedly blowdry your hair so that it wouldn’t soak your pillow. When you’re done with your shower Van places a room service order for dinner, and afterwards you two laze on the bed, watching whatever random movie is playing on the TV. Eventually you feel yourself dozing off even though it’s only eight, and snuggle up for an early night. The last thing you remember is Van telling you that Bondy had just arrived and he was going to his room for a smoke before you doze off.

You wake up to an empty bed, disoriented that you’re not at home and confused about what time it is. All of the blackout curtains are drawn but sunlight still manages to seep underneath them, illuminating the windowsill and a square of the carpet by the balcony doors.

You check your phone for any texts from Van, but there are none. You’ve slept later than usual, probably thanks to the blackout curtains, and you’re surprised to see it’s nearing noon. You take your sweet time climbing out of bed and meandering over to the kitchenette to fuck with the coffee maker.

It’s only as you’re reading the laminated instructions the hotel’s left on the counter that you hear Van’s voice, muffled through the glass doors. From where you’re standing you can see a sliver of him through the curtains, shuffling around on the balcony. You wonder who he’s outside with, and why he’d brought someone through the room while you were sleeping instead of just going to their room.

“Yeah…” You hear him say, straining to hear as you fill the machine with water from the tap. “Right. Right.”

You can only hear Van’s voice, and not whoever he’s replying to.

“Maybe. We’ll see. We’ll see, alright?”

You’re unable to hear as the machine gets going with a hiss, making a racket as it heats the water you’ve added and runs it through the grounds in the filter. The noise of it filling the styrofoam cup you’ve put under the machine is even worse, a loud trickle that feels like it takes forever to fill the cup.

There’s a shift in the shadows as Van stands up, and you can hear him pace.

“Ah, don’t be like that,” He laughs, and you realize he’s on the phone. With a sinking feeling it occurs to you that he could easily be talking to another girl. Does he do this same thing to her? Sneak away for phone calls with you?

You have to add an obscene amount of sugar packets to your coffee in order to make it slightly drinkable. You hope Van doesn’t take sugar in his tea, because there’s not much left for him. But judging by the way the kettle has a light on, it seems like he’s already made himself some.

You don’t know what comes over you, but the more you think about Van talking to another girl while you vigorously stir your coffee, the angrier it makes you. Sure you’re not exclusive with him, but at the very least he could have some basic decency and not call them directly after sharing a bed with you. Not to mention he hadn’t even bothered to leave the room, really. Only a thin set of doors kept you and this other girl from knowing about each other. Because really, who else would he be calling? Anyone he could possibly want to speak to is only a room away.

It’s this unexpected anger that carries your feet to the doors before you step out on the patio. You’d expected to startle Van, but that’s an unrealistic goal. He’s got his back to you, one hand holding his phone to his ear and the other wrapped around his mug of tea. He nods to you in acknowledgement before taking a sip of his drink.

“That’s fucking annoying,” He agrees into the phone. “I’d be fuming.”

The mystery person talks for a bit longer, Van humming along in agreement before he speaks again.

“I’ll call you later,” He says, “Someone needs me.” The other person seems to put up a fuss, because he continues with, “Soon! Soon! I know. Okay.”

There are a few more okay’s and platitudes before he finishes the call with a warm I love you that has you digging your fingernails into your palm.

When Van hangs up he’s quiet. It’s not your place to ask who it was, a fact you have to chant to yourself in your mind like a mantra to keep the question from rolling off your tongue.

“They can talk forever, me mum ‘n dad,” Van says finally, turning so that he’s facing you.

You feel the blood drain out of your face as you realize who he’d been speaking to. You try to keep your expression neutral as your irrational anger drops away.

“Talking about them yesterday with you reminded me to give them a call. I was long overdue. They get so excited to hear what I’m up to.”

You sip your coffee. “You don’t text them?” You rarely called your parents. Texting was your primary way of keeping up with them, along with the occasional facetime.

“Sometimes. But they don’t really get texting. They like to pass the phone back and forth so they can both talk to me.” He grins as he explains this. “They love The Balance. Everytime I talk to them they’ve got a new favorite.”

You smile at that. “They love The Balance?”

“Yeah. They love everything we’ve done. They’ve always got the band playing. They play it when I’m not around, tellin’ everyone oh that’s my son, you know.” He lights up as he talks about them, sitting down on the wire chair next to the one you’ve settled into.

“That’s cool. That they support you like that. It’s one thing for them to be proud but it’s not their kind of music,” You say. “But for them to love it… That’s cute.”

“It is,” Van nods. “The only thing I hate is that they start getting on my back about who they’re about.” He shakes his head. “When 7 came out my mum was like, ‘I really like that song, Van. But who are you not calling back?’”

You laugh at that, and Van joins in.

“Do you tell them?” You ask when the laughter’s died down.

Van shrugs. “Depends. They’re my best mates so usually they have a pretty good idea before they even ask.”

The conversation dies down as you think about what Van’s said. It must be strange to have your parents listening to your songs so intently, like having them read your journal, but Van doesn’t seem to mind. Something about his close relationship with his parents sits warm in your stomach with your coffee.

“So…” You speak up eventually, “How do days like this go?”

“Oh, right. I’ve got your pass, by the way. You have to remind me to grab it.”

Just as Van explained, a few hours later the band is rounded up into a car before being escorted to the venue, where you’ll spend the rest of the day. After the initial arrival- with someone from the venue giving a quick tour of where everything is- everyone is left to their own devices, lounging around backstage until soundcheck, which you watch from side stage.

It’s more laid back than you’d thought. The band spends a lot of the time laughing with each other, telling jokes into their microphones in between requests for their instruments to be tweaked. Their guitar tech, Van’s childhood best friend Larry who you’d been introduced to today, jokingly stomps around as if their requests are the bane of his existence. They only play a few songs all the way through, and then apparently that’s the end of it and they’re ready for the show later.

After soundcheck everyone digs into the catered lunch. You’d been expecting some run-of-the-mill cafeteria type food, but instead it’s home cooked food that tastes incredible. Well, the mac and cheese tastes incredible. You shy away from most of the menu considering it’s mostly British foods you weren’t familiar with. But if the amount the boys eat is any indication, it must be amazing.

Afterwards everyone is laying around in the dressing room, with Bondy playing some eclectic music through a bluetooth speaker. You try to come across as relaxed, but truthfully you’re anything but. Van wasn’t kidding when he said they didn’t like guests. There’s no other guests besides you. You’re the odd one out keeping to yourself as they sing along to songs you don’t know and take frequent smoke breaks you’re too awkward to join. Everything is strange, and unfamiliar, and you’re so worried about disrupting any of their pre-show routine that you basically sit on your phone most of the time, taking occasional moments to laugh along politely so you don’t seem like you’re having a bad time. You’re so tense from it all that your neck aches.

The door to the hall is open, a steady flow of people passing the doorway. You’d overheard someone announce that the opening act had just arrived, and the volume of people bustling around was increasing with a second band in the venue. Somewhere in the chaos a little boy suddenly meanders into the dressing room.

He looks to be about three years old, blinking around at the band in shock.

“Hi, lad,” Bondy says. The boy stares at him, speechless, eliciting a laugh from everyone.

“Whatcha doin’?” Van asks. He’d been sprawled out on the loveseat while you’d been tightly bunched against the armrest, but at the arrival of this guest he suddenly slides off of the cushions, sitting down on the floor. He waves.

The little boy waves back, still looking like a deer in headlights.

“Aw, Charlie,” Van pouts. “You’re just gonna stand there?”

You assume the boy’s name is Charlie, because when Van says it the boy giggles, starting to toddle towards where Van’s sitting on the floor. Van stretches his arms out, snatching Charlie up when he’s close enough and plopping him into his lap. Charlie shrieks in amusement.

A middle aged man enters the room, relieved to see the two of them on the floor.

“Scares the shit out of me when he does that,” The guy shakes his head. As he approaches, Charlie stands up on Van’s thigh, throwing his chubby arms around Van’s neck and squealing, a clear indicator he does not want to go.

“Oi, oi,” Van winces, untangling the toddler from around his neck.

“He misses you,” The man laughs. “I could see him looking for you all day, like-” He widens his eyes, imitating a deer-in-headlights expression.

“You miss me?” Van asks, dramatically placing a hand on his heart and looking to Charlie for confirmation. Charlie doesn’t give one, but he giggles.

“Want me to watch him for a bit?” Van asks, shifting Charlie’s weight when he stands directly in his line of vision.

“You don’t have to,” The guy insists.

“Are you kidding?” Van scoffs playfully, before tickling Charlie. “I love hanging out with him! We have fun, right lad?” There’s the ear-piercing burst of baby giggles.

“Alright. When he starts annoying you just bring him back.”

“Annoying me!” Van laughs, eliciting another fit of giggles. “He could never!”

The man leaves the room, and Van nudges your knee from his spot on the floor.

“Come have a smoke with me,” He says before getting up from the floor and hoisting the toddler onto his hip.

You’re shocked when he doesn’t ask any of the other boys along. You get up from the loveseat awkwardly, walking with Van out into the busy hall and following him towards the back door.

“Dave’s one of our lighting guys,” He explains without being asked. “Brings his wife and Charlie out on the road with him.”

“Aw,” You say, offering a friendly smile to Charlie as he gazes at you from where his head is happily resting against Van’s shoulder. He’s got wide brown eyes, dark hair, and dried chocolate around his mouth.

“Yeah. I’ve known Mr. Charles here since they used to haul him around in a sling.”

“I can tell,” You reply. Despite Charlie’s initial shock at wandering into their dressing room, it’s clear he’s comfortable with Van.

Van leads you through the back door. You step out into the back parking lot for the venue, where there’s two large busses parked and a large team of people unloading them.

There’s a man and a woman smoking against the building, and they light up when they see Van.

“You want down?” He asks Charlie, and when he nods Van lets him down on the cement.

“Vaaan,” The woman, who looks older than both of you, greets him. She immediately reaches out for a hug that Van returns enthusiastically, kissing his cheek as she pulls away. The man hugs him, too.

You’re interrupted from watching their greeting by a tug on the hem of your shirt.

“Ball!” Charlie exclaims, and points. You look in the direction he’s pointing in to see a soccer ball jammed between the building and a parking block. There’s nobody using it, so you decide to wander away from the conversation, Charlie following after you eagerly as you pick it up.

“Wanna play?” You ask him, because at this point hanging out with a toddler is better than standing around awkwardly. Charlie nods, clapping with joy.

“Alright…” You hum. The parking lot isn’t ideal, since the cement is hot from baking in the sun and people are moving equipment. You spot a patch of grass. “Let’s play over there.”

“Me and Charlie are going to play ball,” You let Van know as you walk by. He nods, but you’re not sure if he really hears you.

The two of you make it to the strip of grass. Charlie doesn’t look like he’s very steady on his feet, so you sit down, and instruct him to do the same a little ways away. You roll the ball to him with your hands, and he catches on instantly, overjoyed to have someone to play with.

It’s calming to be in the presence of someone too young to judge you. After a long day of worrying about what everyone must be thinking of you, rolling a ball peacefully in the grass is therapeutic. Charlie takes care of the conversation, babbling about the grass and how hot it is and his favorite color (orange).

You don’t know when Van joins you, but it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes later.

“Sorry,” He apologizes, sitting down in the grass with you two. “I got caught up. That’s the opening act, haven’t seen them in a couple years.”

“That’s okay,” You tell him, even though you’re slightly annoyed at feeling excluded. “We’re having a good time over here.”

“I see that. You want a smoke?”

You pluck one out of his box he offers. He tosses you the lighter.

You’re so distracted lighting your cigarette that when Charlie rolls the ball to you it bounces over your shin.

“Hey,” You tell him, pretending to be upset. “You’re too good!”

“Look at you, superstar,” Van marvels, and Charlie glows with both of your praise.

Van gets his own cigarette lit before shuffling so that he’s sitting closer to you. “Are we boring the fuck out of you?”

“No, why?” The question is so random it makes you panic. Had your anxiety been coming off rudely?

“Only asking. A lot of people think these kinda things are so exciting and then once they’re a guest once they hate it.”

“It’s not boring. It’s… weird.”

“Yeah?” Van is purposely turning his head to exhale, making sure the breeze doesn’t carry his smoke straight at Charlie. “How so?”

“I dunno. I’ve never really thought about what bands do before their shows. But if you do take a second to think about it, you don’t really imagine they’re eating catering and babysitting the lighting guy’s toddler.”

Van laughs at that. “Right, right. Fair enough.”

“But I like it. I’d rather do this than watch you pop a handful of pills.” You shrug.

“Oi, pills. Mum would kill me.”

“Vah! Vah!” You’re both pulled out of your bubble by Charlie.

“What, lad?” Van asks.

“Wait, he knows your name?” You gape at Van in surprise.

Charlie rolls the ball to Van, who rolls it back. “He does,” He grins. “I’m ‘Vah’, and Bob, Bondy, and Benji are ‘Bah’.”

“And get this,” Van returns the ball so his hands are free to pluck his cigarette from his mouth. “What’s my band called, Charlie?”

“Cat-sh!” He misses the middle syllable.

“That’s insane,” You murmur in awe.

“It is. I remember when Jess was pregnant. And now there’s a whole human in front of me! It’s hard to wrap your head around.”

You agree, silently pondering the miracle of life.

“And he’s such a champ on the road. Great on planes and long car rides. I hope my kid is as good about traveling as him.”

At that you perk up. “You want kids?”

“Oh yeah,” Van nods. “Love ‘em. Can’t wait to have my own little boy.”

You snort at that. “And what if you have a girl?”

Van winks. “Just something to work at, innit?”

Charlie is tired of rolling the ball, deciding instead playing his own game where he picks the ball up in both of his arms, drops it, and picks it up again.

“How old are you again?” You ask him.

“Be 27 in August.”

“When’s your birthday?”

“It’s my gate code! First of August.”

When he says that you have the epiphany. “That’s what your gate code is? I thought it stood for January eighth!”

“Christ!” Van sighs dramatically, flopping back onto the grass. “You Americans and your weird dates!”

“Oh, quit.” You lightly kick at his outstretched leg. “For someone who hates America so much, you sure do spend a lot of time here.”

Van props himself up on an elbow, checking his phone. He smirks. “I like the people.”

Before you’re able to ask what that means, he starts standing up.

“It’s showtime soon. We should head back in.”

He helps you off of the grass before gathering Charlie up in his arms and heading to return him to Dave.

The dressing room has a television where you’re able to watch the show. You watch the opening act with the boys, their energy becoming more frantic as it gets closer to nine. Bob has a quiet, focused sort of energy, Benji seems indifferent, but Van and Bondy amp each other up, singing along to the set and pacing around the room.

When the lights go down and the crew is changing out the instruments, you follow the boys to a different area backstage, where everything starts to feel real. You hang around Van as someone from the team sets up his in-ears, feeding the wires underneath his shirt and through the collar of his button up, clipping the battery pack onto the waistband of his jeans. Van’s already stepped away a little bit ago to do a full vocal warm up with his coach, but she’s there again with him to do some last minute exercises. He doesn’t have any reservations about doing them in front of you, and it shouldn’t surprise you but it does. He imitates back whatever strange noise she makes with an extreme seriousness.

You can tell his head’s in a different place by the time he’s only a few minutes away from being in front of the crowd. He shifts his weight from foot to foot restlessly. You stay quiet, unsure of this new Van.

“I’ll meet you in the dressing room after this,” He says. You nod, even though it wasn’t a question.

Suddenly his hand is on your back, one side of his mouth quirking up. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” You breathe, relieved at the crack in his intensity. “I’ve never seen you so serious. Don’t wanna mess you up.”

“You, mess me up? Nah,” He pats your back before dropping his hand.

The screams grow louder, the lighting changes.

“That’s my cue.” Van gives a quick wave before he’s ushered on stage. One by one the boys file out, the screams growing with each member.

Once they’re out there, the opening notes of Longshot starting up, you wander back to the dressing room, deciding to watch the show from the comfort of the couch.

You’d been worried that watching Van perform through a screen wouldn’t feel the same as when you’d seen him from the crowd back home, but that wasn’t the case. Something about the performance feels even more intoxicating than the first time.

You shut the door to the hall, eager to have some personal space. This is your first time having a moment alone in two days, and you desperately needed to sort through your thoughts.

As much as you’re entranced by the music, your mind tugs you elsewhere. You replay everything you’ve learned about Van on this short trip: His favorite road trip snacks, his relationship regrets, how close he is with his parents, how he wants to be a father. While watching him become progressively sweatier from singing his lungs out you think of how he’d been there for you after your accident, how he’d never even asked after the Range Rover. You think back to what Mary had said. He acts like he loves you.

You don’t know about that. But what you do know is you haven’t felt like yourself since that steamy moment at the rest stop. That dizzy, hazy feeling has clung to you like a fog all day. Not only did you not feel like yourself, you weren’t acting like yourself. You’d been so angry this morning, working yourself up when he’d only been on a phone call with his parents. And as much as you’d never admit it, for some reason you couldn’t stand being around the rest of the band today. You yearned for alone time with him and resented sharing him with anyone.

You’re interrupted from your train of thought by Van’s line in Pacifier ringing through the room: She said it’s you I detest!

He can’t contain his smile as he leans towards the crowd, smirking as he continues: I said c’mon, love, you’re upset.

The crowd goes wild at his amended line, screaming it right back at him. Something about the way he’s got the whole room in the palm of his hand makes your insides fizz. You’re in awe of how magic he is yet so confused by everything going on inside of you. It feels like your heart swells as you watch him, his passion contagious. It’s like he’s managed to transmit his joy of performing into everyone around him, yourself included. Your body buzzes with it and you wish suddenly you could be jumping around in the crowd with everyone else.

It’s in that moment, your legs practically twitching with the desire to move along to the beat, that all the fog clears. There’s no more confusion over how you feel. It’s crystal clear why you haven’t been acting like yourself. All of the pieces click into place.

The relief of understanding washes over you, settling into your bones and resting in the deepest part of your gut. You actually laugh out loud to yourself as the realization hits you, because of course. Of course.

You were completely- no doubt about it- in love with Van McCann.

#summer's a knife #catfish and the bottlemen #van mccann #van mccann fic #van mccann fanfiction #vanfic #catb #catb fic

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rovewritesit · 4 years ago

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Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 2) John Deacon x Reader Series

Series Summary: After reluctantly joining a band with your childhood best friends, you are thrust into oncoming stardom with no sea legs and an overwhelming sense of anxiety. But you just might find your way, thanks to some seasoned pros by your side. And the interest of one particular bassist.

This series is a work of fiction, and is loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

PART 1 - PART 3 - PART 4

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Cursing, duh. Feelings of anxiety.

Chapter Notes: A wild Deacy appears! Reader was supposed to meet him in this chapter but it got a bit long. I may have awkwardly stuffed in some backstory as well, but I wanted to get through it before we start having more interactions with the members of Queen. I’m a hoe for Hot Space and Cool Cat is such a vibe so I had to throw it in here. If you haven’t heard the original demo with Bowie you should take a listen. The music video concept was sparked loosely by Mitski’s “Happy” video (it’s gory af, be forewarned). I’m aware that the MTV of the 80s definitely would’ve banned anything like that, but it’ll come back around in the plot later on.

Songs Mentioned:

Heart of the Night - Juice Newton

More Than A Feeling - Boston

My Best Friend’s Girl - The Cars

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

Taglist: @yourlocalmusicalprostitute

- - - - - - -

February 1982 - Orpheum Theater, Boston

It’s noisy in the cramped green room backstage at the Orpheum Theater in Boston. Gone were the days of grand arenas while tagging along with Hall and Oates. Now only around 2,000 bodies lined the seats out in the house, but you still feel that familiar bubble of nerves as Dawn busies herself around your hair.

Dawn, your best friend from your two short years at NYU, had agreed to tag along for the short tour to help with your “look.” Not that you ever really had a problem with your usual jeans and t-shirts, but this rock type of glam proved to be a different beast, and Dawn certainly had an eye for style. Her voluminous hair always streaked blonde and crimped to perfection. She’d tried to convince you many times to do something chemical with yours but you held firm to your virgin hair, causing your pre-show routine to run well into an hour and a half to get the desired popular style. You smile up at her as she curls part of your bangs away from your face, truly grateful to have another woman around.

“Babes, please stop moving your head. I’ve had to do the same piece 3 times already.” She tuts at you. “And Eds, I’ve asked you how many times to watch your elbows, jesus christ.”

Eddie tries to cram in even tighter against the wall, keeping to the five tiny spots you’d all wrangled against the mirror. “Ay, I’m trying over here. It takes some effort to get all this together.” He smirks, running his fingers through his already perfectly coiffed hair. A shame really, that it would be utterly destroyed within 15 minutes of being on stage.

“Have we picked a city song for tonight yet? I want to go over it in my head a few times before we go on.” Lawrence calls out, trying to tug on a pair of pants that look a size or two too small for him.

The Limbs had taken to playing one song per show by a famous local artist from the city they were in. Since they only had the one album out, it was a chance to get the audience singing and moving together; to change up the pace. A modified tip from a certain mustached rock legend that the band had started to implement.

“I thought we decided on More Than A Feeling?” Eddie says as he tears his eyes away from his own reflection.

“That’ll be what they expect. I think Bun sounds better on My Best Friend’s Girl,” Rich says simply. He’s attempting some form of stretching routine in the back corner of the room, his extremities bumping up against the walls.

“So Y/N’s taking this one?” Steve asks, lounging across a small loveseat against the wall, his legs dangling off of it delicately. He looks up from whatever song he’s been working on.

“You heard what the label said. They want Y/N more center stage, so to speak, for marketing reasons.” Rich tries folding his body into some sort of pretzel shape. A light “oof,” escapes his lips as he falls backward slightly.

“Ah yes, we need to give the public what they want,” you huff, wanting to roll your eyes if not for Dawn covering your head in a cloud of Aqua Net.

Eddie starts pacing, or at least tries to, “I just don’t get why they’re trying to make her into some Debbie Harry.” He scoffs, “Like that’s ever gonna happen.”

Dawn glares at him. It was a bit of a low blow, but Eddie was still getting used to sharing the spotlight with you, with him singing lead on almost every other song.

You were still struggling to find your presence on stage and were more than happy to take a back seat to the boys for the most part. And while some of the band’s other singles were gaining traction, none were close to catching up to Heart of the Night, which was now getting steady airplay and record sales thanks to the absurd music video that hit TV screens everywhere a few weeks back.

“That’s true, Y/N’s much more of a Linda Ronstadt type if we’re throwing out names,” Lawrence grunts out. Finally able to close the button on his skin-tight pants.

A cold laugh erupts from Eddie. “Exactly. It’s the Eighties now if you haven’t noticed. It’s all about edgy sex appeal, and let’s be honest, even Steve has a better chance of-”

“Enough!” Dawn’s voice sliced through the air, the daggers thrown from her eyes flying towards him. She leans down to your level to examine her masterpiece. “You look as sexy as a goddamn playboy bunny, hun. No pun intended.” Her voice softens as she pinches your cheeks.

The room goes mostly quiet for the next few minutes as the local opening band starts to close out their set with their last two songs. Only Rich’s deep breathing, fitting in time to the beat.

You chew your cherry painted lips, mulling over Eddie’s words. You knew full well that you weren’t exactly the frontwoman the label or the public dreamed of. Hell, you weren’t even supposed to be a frontwoman at all. When you’d finally given in to Rich’s insistent pestering to come have some fun with the boys, you’d been at NYU for two years. You loved your film classes but felt the hole that was left from the absence of playing any type of music. In high school, you’d all show up to a party with a variety of instruments in your grasps. It almost always resulted in a crowd gathering around to listen, joining in with your voices, clicking their beer bottles in time with the beat. It was when you had felt most carefree, and you had ached for that feeling again.

But playing locally turned into recording an album, for which you wrote a song for some dream of a man that only existed in your thoughts. Next thing you knew you were scooped up by Columbia Records, missing classes to attend photoshoots or album release parties. People were listening to your voice, your song, and wanting more. You dropped out of college to the dismay of your parents but were immediately enveloped in your friends' glee, finally reaching the precipice of something they’d only dreamed of. You hated the thought of letting them down in any way but you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all a fluke, that you had nothing else to give. Destined to fade out as a one-hit-wonder and a disappointment to your best friends in the world. The weight hit your shoulders as you slumped in your seat.

None of this was supposed to happen, you tell yourself. It never happens like this.

You’re broken out of your daze when there’s a rap at the door and a muffled “5 minutes” from the stage manager behind it. You all stand, waiting for Rich to spread his wings and engulf you in your usual pre-show pow wow. You slide Dawn in next to you in the now group of 6, needing someone steady as an anchor.

“If you’d please, Reverend.” Steve probes, cheekily.

“We’re gathered here today” Rich begins and Dawn giggles. “To bring immense joy to those 2,000 idiots out there, who so willingly sold out our show for us. They deserve a performance played to 200,000, so that’s what we’re going to give them. In the name of our fathers, John, George, Paul, and Ringo. Let’s go give em’ hell.”

“Amen!” you all shout and disband.

As you follow the boys into the dingy hallway leading to the stage, Eddie catches your wrist. He looks at you through his long lashes with an uncharacteristically shy smile that almost never sees the light of day.

“I’m sorry for being a prick, Bun. I shouldn’t have said all that,” he mutters as you continue to walk, not wanting to miss your cue.

“No worries, Eds. You were right though. I’m definitely no Debbie,” you force a chuckle at yourself while a roadie slips your guitar strap onto your shoulders.

“It’s not alright. And no, you’re not,” he says catching your downturned eyes. “You’re Y/N fucking L/N, and you’re just gettin’ started, baby. All you gotta do is take a little bit of the love we all have for you and give some to yourself once in a while, alright?” A grin forms, showing his adorably asymmetrical teeth as he reaches out a hand to ruffle your painstakingly perfected hair. “That’s better. Now let's get out there so you can show the world exactly what kind of frontwoman you are. And don’t be scared to show them a hint of Bunny while you’re at it.” You move your guitar out of the way to pull him in for a close hug. You hear Steve start banging his snare and pull Eddie on to the stage with you, feeling a bit lighter than you had been minutes ago.

You approach your mic and take a look out at the packed, hazy theater.

“Well hello, Bawston!’ Your accent rings out to the faceless figures before you. “Aren’t you all looking fuckin’ fabulous tonight!”

- - - - - - -

March 1982 - Musicland Studios, Munich

“No, I didn’t say it’s bad, just that it sounds tinny,” Brian argues, crossing his spidery arms over his chest as he leans against the doorframe.

“And it’s as if you’ve shoehorned Bowie in there just to mumble in the background incoherently. A waste, really.” Roger tacks on from beside him.

John sighs and leans his head against the back of the couch in the studio. “Just because it’s not your precious red special or your own magic fingers at work, doesn’t mean it’s tinny,” he counters calmly. Trying his best to keep the annoyance from seeping into his voice, knowing that Brian already had anger stemming from John’s earlier composition for the album.

It was the first time this week that all four men were in the studio together. Finishing up Hot Space was proving to be a strain on all of them and the growing rift had caused the men to nearly finish their songs separately instead of in their usual group dynamic. John’s experimentation into different styles, such as funk and disco, had not been willingly received thus far.

“Well, I sound rather fabulous, if I do say so myself. I’m very proud of us, Deacy.” Freddie states, getting up from his own place on the couch and stretching.

“It’s not that, Fred. It just doesn’t sound like us.” Brian sighs, already sensing the escalation of a row coming along.

“Oh please. Not this again...” Freddie huffs.

“That’s because it’s not us. It’s me and Freddie.” John cuts in with a roll of his eyes, landing them on Mack, their producer, who just shrugs and trains his gaze back to the board.

“That’s for sure.” Roger murmurs out. Now it’s John’s turn to cross his arms as he levels their pointed gazes. He’d worked with Fred for days putting together “Cool Cat,” hoping that the additional vocals from David Bowie would be a selling point for the other two.

With a clap of his hands, Freddie moves about the room. “Why don’t we take a quick break and then give it another listen?” Roger groans. Freddie pats his shoulder as he makes his way over to a radio beside Mack.

John rubs his tired eyes before pushing himself off the couch, eager for a break from the energy in the stale room. “I’m grabbing a coffee,” not offering one to the others as he brushes past Brian on his way out, quickly retreating down the hallway as fast as his legs will carry him.

The remaining three startle a bit as Freddie flips on the radio, Lo & The Limbs hit single pours from it, louder than expected.

“Oh! Oh, yes! Simply marvelous,” he exclaims, jumping up and down lightly. Roger and Brian raise their eyebrows in silent questioning. “This is the band of rascals I was telling you about the other week. They must’ve just broken out here.”

“The yanks you met while in the States?” Roger questions, turning his attention to the song, eager to judge any brimming competition.

“Yes, yes, the wild young lady who swears like the devil and her band of merry giant trees.”

“We have one of those!” Rog nods in Brian’s direction, voice muffled by a cigarette now dangling from his lips.

“Hm, Brain’s more of a willowy spruce, if you will. These ones are giant redwoods. You know American’s. And they have these thick New York accents. I could barely understand a word they were saying at first. What a riot they were.” he remembers fondly.

“I feel as if I’ve heard this before, but I can’t place it.” Brian ponders, almost to himself.

John appears in the doorway, blowing lightly on a steaming mug.

“Probably from that shocking video of theirs, darling,” Freddie waves his hands about. “Oh, you must’ve seen it. They’re all dressed up like they're in Grease or something, and this square of a girl is pinning after the bad boy. But he’s with this slutty little thing. And oh, I can’t recall the details, but in the end, she ends up murdering the slut!” He slaps the table for effect. “But for some odd reason the boy is okay with it all and they run off into the night together, covered in blood.”

“Sounds… spooky?” Roger shrugs. John stifles a chuckle.

“It’s dramatic! And sexy. And obviously working for them.” The wheels already turning in his head.

John tunes out their chatter and trains his ears to said song, which is about halfway through. The instrumentals seem a bit basic for his taste. The soft strum of an acoustic guitar, a slightly heavier electric over it, with a simple bass line. A female voice flits in.

Cool city moon lays its touch on the room,

Your eyes reach to me

It has a rasp to it. Akin to Stevie Nicks, he thinks.

Two shadows fall saying nothing at all,

We know what we need

No, not quite. It’s entirely it's own if he’s being honest. He can feel the soul pulsating through words and the power that’s beneath it. One that could probably fit with any genre it should choose. His interest peaked.

In the release, two prisoners are free from the darkness

One more escape surviving the heartache and madness

The raw emotion erupting from the speakers and the lyrics start to paint a picture in his mind, scrambling to fill in the faceless voice.

In the heart of the night

The chorus starts and picks up steam quickly. Male voices begin to fill in on background vocals, blending together seamlessly.

We run like bandits

Two hungry hearts under the gun

Her voice cracks a bit, in a charming way. It must be radiant when heard live.

In the heart of the night

When we find each other

Were stealing love on the run

In the heart of the night,

Heart of the night

A small smile plays on John’s lips as the song fades out. They’re good, he muses to himself, a bit intrigued by the song and Fred’s colorful description of the accompanying video.

“A great voice indeed. They’ve got a strong sound going.” Brian chirps up.

“That’s her first swing at writing, too. Wish it had been that bloody easy for us.”

“Is she a looker, Fred?” Roger wags his brows.

“Oh please, they’re practically babies! Although that drummer of theirs is certainly something to write home about… Even with the head of hair he has. A bit like a mushroom. A cute one.” Freddie ponders, stroking his full mustache.

John reaches up and pats the tight curls atop his own head, wondering how it would look if he ceased from trimming his current short perm.

“I do hope they catch on here. What fun that would be.” John readily nods along without realizing it.

Freddie switches off the radio and turns back to the other three men. “Alright back to it then. Queue it up, Mac,” placing a hand on the man’s shoulder and raising his eyebrows. “Shall we?”

- - - - - - -

March 1982 - Columbia Records, New York City

“Why are the undersides of my knees sweaty? I’m not a back of the knee sweat kind of guy, alright?” Lawrence fidgets, adjusting his collar for the fourth time in two minutes.

You casually gulp down your third glass of water while staring at the wood-paneled walls of the office. Attempting to avoid the gazes of a number of gold discs lining the walls, the echoes of your musical idols. They seem to be laughing at you.

Steve partakes in his trademark bouncing routine, the chair underneath him squeaking in a violent rhythm. “Do you think it’s the video? It has to be the video or we wouldn’t be in this office. I knew we shouldn’t have taken that big of a risk right out of the gate.”

“You gotta be kidding me. You basically doused yourself in the blood when Eddie pitched it!” Rich cuts in, his usual calm demeanor nowhere to be found.

“What! It was your idea for the--”

The door behind where the group is gathered swings open and in strides a stocky man with a full beard and tinted aviator sunglasses still covering his eyes.

“What are we all standing around for? Sit, sit, sit, c’mon.” His gruff Brooklyn accent ringing out as he moves to sit behind a large mahogany desk.

The Limbs scramble to fit on the couch across from him, with you ending up perched on the armrest, gripping Rich’s bicep for support.

The man, Walter Yetnikoff, CEO and Chairman of Columbia Records, grunts as he eases into a leather chair, finally removing his glasses, revealing surprisingly kind eyes, “Jeez louise, look at you kids. You look as if a nun just caught you all playing with each other’s junk. What’s with the faces?”

“Mr. Yetnikoff, we’d like to sincerely apologize for the backlash that has come from our video. We should’ve known better than that. We could’ve toned it down… a lot.” Eddie rushes out. He wipes his hand over his too-snug tailored pants, probably leftover from days of youth choir.

Walter barks out a laugh. “I’ll admit I was a little shocked to find out that’s what you needed a high school gym for, but relax a little, will ya? You’re not here to be scolded. If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t have fought so hard to get it airtime.”

The Limbs visibly relax- a tad, but their eyes all stay wide.

“Well aren’t ya gonna ask why you’re all here then?”

“W-why are we here?” Rich asks quietly. “Sir.” He adds.

“It seems that the slight PR crisis of a video you made has made its way across the pond,” Walter smirks.

“You mean…” Steve trails off in a voice two octaves higher than usual.

“You kids better like air travel because there’s gonna be a lot of it in your near future. The hit has broken into the London airwaves and they’re not as god fearing as viewers here seem to be. We’re sending you over there next week now that you’ve wrapped up the tour.”

“Holy shit!” Lawrence yells. You feel yourself falling back off your perch as your large friends all jump to their feet. Rich’s gangly arm luckily catches you and pulls you immediately into a suffocating hug. “You did this, Bunny!” He screams in your ear. “You did this!”

“Alright, alright, you can all go celebrate and drink your faces off in a second,” Walter calls out over the group who immediately shut their mouths. “We have a few details to iron out but I’m hoping to send you over there for a full press tour. Photoshoots, interviews, talk show appearances. The works, you got it.”

Steve lets out a squeal of delight, his voice not yet returning to its usual bass.

“You.” He points a stubby finger in your direction. “I’m waiting to hear back about a last-minute cancelation on some game show out there. We’re gonna try to get you in. You know your shit?”

“W-what kind of shit, sir?” You ask from the bear hug that Rich still holds you in.

He holds up his hands, gesturing to the gold discs that surround him. “Music, my dear.”

All you can do is nod, not wanting to think about what that even entails.

“That’s what I like to see. Now get outta here so you can all combust somewhere outside of my office. We’ll call you in a few days. Get those bags ready, you hear me?” He waves you all off.

Before you have a chance to say anything, the boys are sweeping you out of the room. And off to the start of whatever comes next, you guess.

#queen fic #queen fanfiction #queen fanfic #john deacon #john deacon fic #john deacon imagine #john deacon x reader #john deacon series #deaky fic #deaky x reader #deacy fic #deacy x reader #angelofmydreams

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manjuhitorie · 4 years ago

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HITORI-ESCAPE 2020 : Hitorie’s Free Concert Live Stream - December 7th 2020

youtube

In celebration of their newest single, curved edge, Hitorie streamed a full length concert! Setlist: Polaris Senseless Wonder Namid[A]me Garandou Mae Zero Banchi SLEEPWALK Loveless Gekijougai Talkie Dance Unknown Mother Goose Karanowaremono Ao curved edge In it they announced the release of a new album! Named... REAMP! Febuary 17th can’t come soon enough!!! It will even include songs written by not only Shinoda, but Yumao and ygarshy each as well! Concert report below:

Initial Impressions: ＊ SND’s shirt has Andy Warhol’s Marilyn Monroe printed on it. ＊ He has a stageprompter to assist with lyrics as well. He struggles to hit the high notes but he nails the high octane power chords. wowaka used to wing when his would sing, so he would slip on his lyrics, and make silly faces, every other song live. I see SND is playing it safe, now that he’s the one in charge of the crazy lyrics!!! Prelude leading into... Polaris ＊SND gets riled up and turned thhe「誰も知らぬ明日へ行け　誰も止められやしないよ」lyric into a rowdy 「止められやしねえよ」 . Equivalent to “No one can stop us” being turned into “No once can fucking stop us” or so. Shinoda “We’re Hitorie, enjoy the show.” (This ‘Hitorie desu, yoroshiku douzo’ was always wowaka’s stock concert phase.) Senseless Wonder ＊”Woo-hoo”’s or unintelligible noises made in the riff music breaks. ＊Yumao sings the backup vocals. ＊SND wiggles his foot on his Wah pedal to make the wonky sounds.

Intermissional MC

Shinoda “This marks the beginning of Hitori-Escape. We are called Hitorie. Everyone please stick with us.“Heavy breathing “Hold up. I jumping around too much right off the bat.. I jumped around too much... All I did was hip and hop around a little bit... Haah. I’m gonna drink some water, drink some water!” SND walks over to the amp where bottles lie atop then proceeds to take a big sip. Yumao also follows along with a drink. Yu and SND can be seen conversing, but only SND’s “You got that right.” can be heard. SND returns to the mic “Take a gander, everyone. Even Yumao-kun is already sweating as well. This sparkly sweat of ours.. We will try to deliver you guys our sweat at the highest quality we can offer, deliver it as much as possible.” While SND is talking Yumao makes signs, such as 2 fingers up, towards the staff. “Well then, let’s chug along. Enjoy the show everyone.” Namid[A]me ＊There’s bubble popping sound effects in the intro now! Yumao is in charge of this, see his MacBook + mixer (+ a handy setlist printout) setup on the table beside him. All with a music program open primed and ready... Right before the song you can even see Yumao click his computer as well!

＊ Yumao sings backup vocals, the whole chorus has his deep voice echoing. The small amount of notes are so concise and moody live... ＊ SND tops the outro off with a “Wasshoi!” Garandou Mae Zero Banchi ＊ Melodramatic piano bit added before the intro. I wonder where this was sampled from... It sounds like SND uses his stereo chorus pedal for his part as well. Shinoda “Thank you.”

Intermissional MC

Shinoda “Uhm.. At the end of our previous live stream I had said ‘Next time we meet will be at the concert hall.’. Sorry, that was a lie... We’re meeting at a live stream yet again. We’re Hitorie, enjoy the show.” Yumao taps his cymbals gently to create the classic concert mood starter sound. SND “That, that’s good! That’s the stuff! That’s the stuff. Without that stuff I feel the silence responding to me.” He motions at the empty auditorium. “That stuff’s nice, nice. I guess ‘cause, y’know. ‘Cause you two have already been y’know. Performing in front of people.” Yumao, hits his cymbal, cue a “Bwaa~n” sound. SND “You can fool me with that shit. No ‘Bwaa~n’ will work on me. You had 2 whole opportunities in a row, yesterday and the day before.” (Referring to Yumao’s appearance in Touyama Nao’s anniversary concerts.) Yumao hits his cymbal yet again, cue a “Shwaaan” noise. SND scoffs “What a kind and swe~et reaction.” SND “I’m the only one. The only one here who hasn’t stood up in front of people. My only upcoming chance will be at ‘Countdown Japan’, at the end of the year. Then in January I’ll be doing our limited fan club concert at Shibuya WWX. Back to back. What the hell is up with this year? What the hell, huh? Huh!!!” SND playfully pounces in Yumao’s direction. Yumao hits his cymbal again. “You’re saving my butt with that. Thanks, truly. Alright. From here on I’m to bring you a few songs without a guitar, only a mic in my hands.” Yumao “1, 2, 3, 4” SLEEPWALK ＊ SND gets on his knees and wiggles to walk on the floor during music breaks, is he imitating a sleepwalker.. ＊ Ygarshy presses a pedal right after every song ends, presumably his tuner, to mute and prevent static. He strums and slaps with his fingers, no pick, for every song. SND “2020 is slowly nearing its end, but, what’s everyone’s opinion on love?” Loveless ＊BONK

＊ Includes Shinoda flopping around on the floor, squatting like a yakuza, and an outro with SND and yg having a mini string instrument battle! They huddle together! Yumao pounds away! Gekijougai ＊ Additional nebulous intro. ＊ Yumao is really worked to the bone in this banger! Featuring yet another more intense battle between yg and SND. SND “Alrighty! Ah. Where are y’all now? Where are y’all right now? It doesn’t matter where you are, just dance along to Talkie Dance!” Talkie Dance ＊ During the riff breaks SND chants Soi! Yoisa! Soi! Hoisa!” Like wasshoi, these are traditional shouts primarily used by O-mikoshi carriers in JP festivals! SND really seems to enjoy using old-fashioned words in a stylish way. SND “Upon this ending year, this one is with love from wowaka!” Unknown Mother Goose “Sing along with me!” ＊ Per usual, Yumao and ygarshy both pitch in for the ‘Oh oh oh’ harmonies. “Sing, please!” ＊ The background vocals in the Unknown Mother Goose are also confirmed by the man himself to be “Give me love”. He had responded to someone with “Oh! You’re sharp!” when asked about it!

Intermissional MC

“Are y’all having fun? Me, I can’t stop sweating. Help me. I can’t stop sweaaating.” SND changes to a high tone voice, “Ah~ This is awesomeee. Methinks this is awesome but, but I gotta say, I’m the only one here who hasn’t had a chance to perform in front of people, no kap.” He returns to his normal tone. “I hold a grudge. I’m always the only one being fucking left outtt. I can't let go of my grudge.

At least look me in the eyes, guys. Ah, whatever. On New Year's Eve I’m gonna appear in Countdown Japan, I’m gonna! ...What does it feel like anyway, performing in front of people? What does it feel like, may I ask you fine young gentleman?” SND’s voice turns to demonic. “Oiiii. Don’t just fucking nod at me. Don’t make up some new common language. You’re over there using no words, bitch.” His voice returns to normal. “Well, whatever. Enough of that. It’s no use staying jealous forever.” Yumao taps his cymbals... “Don’t just fucking ‘clang clang’ either!” Yumao laughs. “You laughed, you laughed! You laugh: you lose, you!”, they all smile. “Uhm... On December 31st, New Year's Eve, we’ll be at Countdown Japan. Please come if you can, hope to see you there. Now then! Next year, I’m talking about next year, it will be the 7th year anniversary of our major debut. In celebration, and to kick off the new year, we have booked Roppongi’s EX Theater for two days, January 21st and 22nd,. This is all I can say for now. Details will be announced later. ...Now let me drink some water.” ygarshy is all done tuning and at attention. Yumao keeps making cymbal sounds to fill the empty space. “I... Today, here, is uhm, Yokohama’s Bay Hall. It’s the place where ‘Swallowtail’ was filmed. When we arrived this afternoon I saw the windows and practically screamed. It’s Yen Town Band! It’s where Glico sang ‘My Way’! I alone was freaking out. Noone was on board with me.. I’m all alone, yet again.... The camera zooms in on Yumao, “Don’t just smile! Don't just smile at me With that said. Our 7th anniversary hits next year! So, here is our very first song, which represents our beginning....” Karanowaremono Ao ＊ Many emotional spotlights.

Intermissional MC

SND “At long last, this time has come. Huh! Mister Yumao-san!” SND glares at him. “Perhaps I may revel in a sip of water as well. A sip of water!! ... By the way what time is it? Yumao, in reporter voice “It is currently eight thirty seven.” SND “I see, it’s eight thirty seven. That's crazy. So today, our new song released, as you folks may know. Our new song called curved edge was released. Did you give it a listen? If you haven’t then please do, but also, the music video for the song will be public today at 22 o’ clock, please enjoy it. That’s the immediate future. But let’s talk about the faaar future.... On February 17th will a new album be released. We made an album. curved edge is a song written by me, and naturally it will be included in the album as well but, that’s not all.” He wags his finger towards the others, “This wiggly windy head of brown-colored hair and, this other wiggly windy head of black-colored hair have even each written a song for it as well. The title is R-E-A-M-P, REAMP. To be released on February 17th. Keep your eyes peeled.” he tapped his temple as he said this, “Please!” Ygarshy bows. “Ahhh, we made it!” Shinoda starts coughing, “Excuse me. Coughing without covering my mouth is not good. I'll be careful. Ah, I’m so nervous. I’ve grown nervous this far in. Alright, this next one will be the final song. Thank you so much for bearing with us. We are Hitorie. As farewell, here is our new song. curved edge.

Text:

I have also written up the original Japanese quotes! Thank you Tamagotoji for the huge help! ORZ For those looking to follow along with the concert, or learn new words from them, or enjoy!! Please enjoy!

https://www.evernote.com/l/AolVRKvLGRpFN6l0MApPe5xuRXQOI4kFeTg

Bonus tech lore

Disclaimer: Only old photos exist of their pedalboards exist, as the cameramen did a fine job of concealing them. Since there’s no new evidence of change, I’ll assume these old findings will serve as foundation for their current setups as well!

#hitorie #ヒトリエ

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purplesurveys · 3 years ago

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1214

Who was the last person you took a photo with? Was it self-taken? Angela and I took so many photos last Sunday. It was a mixture of selfie shots and photos taken by Hans.

Have you ever tried to learn another language? How did it go? Yeah, I enrolled in the Spanish and Korean courses on Duolingo. Spanish went smoothly for a while until it got to a point where it felt like I was just doing it as a game; the verb tenses eventually got too difficult as well, so it was natural for me to just take an indefinite break altogether.

Korean was way too challenging from the beginning because of how similar the vowels sounded on the app; it was so much easier to just watch Korean shows and learn to read Hangul/pick up Korean from there.

When was the last time you charged your phone? It’s charging at the moment. It was at 2% just a few minutes ago.

So, what are your plans for the near future (a year)? Save money and get better at my job.

Do you prefer questions about trivial things, or more deep and meaningful? You mean on surveys? Trivial things. I like taking surveys so I can take a quick break away from life, not so I can get existential crises along the way.

What can you hear right now? Tell me even the tiniest things. I’m listening to music on my headphones and it’s pretty loud, so this is the only thing I can hear. My fan is also currently on its strongest level so I know it’s being quite loud, but I can’t hear it.

Where did you last ride in a car to and why? I went to the McDonald’s drive thru to pick up my BTS Meal lol

Tell me about a person that comes to your head whose name starts with M. A batchmate from high school named Mavic. We’ve talked like once since graduating, and it was her recommending some GOT7 songs to me since I had mentioned in a tweet that I found their music pretty good.

Do you drink alcohol? How often? Yes. Maybe once or twice a month, I’d say.

Do you have any bills that need to be paid right now? Nopes.

Can you rap freestyle? Or at least sing raps from songs? I can’t do freestyle but yeah I memorize a few rap songs, specifically from Watch the Throne since I had a phase where I was heavily into the album. I can rap some Korean verses but I’ll mostly need my phone as guidance to read the lyrics as I find them impossible to memorize hahaha.

Do you know anyone from the Philippines? Robynnn. < :D :D

What was the last type of soup you ate? Miso soup, from my Yabu meal last night.

Are you more logical or creative, or maybe somewhere in between? Logical.

Do you use bar soap or gel soap? Bar soap.

What colour do you associate with the flavour mint? Hm, either white or green.

When was the last time you had brunch? My family and I usually have brunch on Sundays, so this morning.

Does your bedroom door have a lock on it? Do you have to use it? It does. I use it occasionally during the day so my mom doesn’t just barge in - as she does - during my shift, especially if I have an important meeting coming up. Lately I’ve also been locking my room at night, just because.

How many times a year do you travel away from home? If you mean TRAVEL travel and not just driving to the next city to go to the mall, maybe 3-4 times a year. Obviously we’ve had to put a stop to that for now, but that’s the average.

Describe your go-to outfit to me, please. T-shirt or blouse + mom jeans.

Do you like your job? Why or why not? I do like it as it’s in line with my interests and strengths. It’s just very stressful this month as there are so many big campaigns we have to support in June so I’m not exactly having a very dandy time right now. But I like the job overall.

How about your boss? What's your boss like? I work under two bosses; one is my manager and another is a director. They’re both great and are very helpful guides. It also helps that the three of us are very close in age, so there’s no layer of intimidation that lingers when we work together.

Do you have a credit card? Do you rely on it? I don’t have a credit card per se but I have a credit line on one of my apps that I will use a few times a month. No, I make it a point not to be reliant on it and only use it for emergencies.

Are you bitter about anything at the moment? Tell me about it. Just the fact that it’s Sunday again and I have to work tomorrow when I feel barely well-rested. I love my job and working on the BTS Meal has been sunshine and rainbows, but I need to breathe lmao.

What colour is your bath towel? At the moment, it’s sky blue.

Who was the last person you saw a movie at the cinema with? Who paid? Gabie. We paid for our own tickets.

Do you message friends and family on Facebook regularly? Yes, it’s my main mode of communication.

What is the most played song in your iTunes (or other) library? According to Spotify, it’s Butter for the month of June (so far).

Have you ever shared a house with a significant other? I have not. I don’t even live on my own yet.

Do you have a song in your head? Do you remember how it got stuck there? Just the song I’m currently listening to.

When was the last time you did laundry? Hmm, never? I don’t do the laundry at home.

Do you still have a landline phone in your home? Yep. My grandma still prefers to communicate via landline, so we keep it around for her.

How are you feeling today? Happy, sad, or anything else? Hot and uncomfortable. Kinda crestfallen because it’s Sunday, but at least the worst part of the month aka last Friday is finally over and it’s all post-campaign work stuff from here. Also feeling giddy because some of my orders just arrived :D I guess I’m all over the place today.

What is your favourite brand of shoes? Nike.

If you smoke, what's your brand of choice? I don’t smoke as a habit, so I don’t have a go-to brand. If I do smoke, I just go with whatever brand since I just ask for cigarettes from friends anyway.

Have you ever built a snowman? Nope.

Does it even snow where you live? No.

If you had to volunteer for a week, where would you like to volunteer? A shelter for stray dogs and cats.

Who was the last person you made you upset? What did they do? Just some annoying people on Facebook who seem to find it fun to rain on other people’s happiness.

Do you have a crush on anyone? Tell me about them. Nah.

Have you ever had something signed by someone famous? What and who? A postcard from Sheamus and a poster from AJ Lee. Both wrestlers.

What was the last thing you said aloud? “Awww” after reading a heartwarming post on Facebook.

#survey #surveys

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lifeonashelf · 4 years ago

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COLDPLAY

Let’s get this straight right off the bat: Coldplay is fucking terrible.

We all know this. Designating Coldplay as terrible isn’t a statement of personal opinion, it is an easily demonstrable fact. Just listen to them; Coldplay’s music proves the existence of Coldplay’s terribleness the same way that breathing proves the existence of oxygen. Surely, even the band’s staunchest supporters understand that their songs are pretentious, monotonous, and unimaginative—they’d kind of have to; I assume these people have listened to Coldplay, too. If you like music as superfluous as Coldplay’s, that’s totally fine. I’m not here to tell you that you shouldn’t, nor to convince you to stop listening to Coldplay (you can’t stop listening to them, anyway; no matter how hard you try to escape, wherever you go, Coldplay will find you). But they are unequivocally fucking awful, and I need to make that clear before we continue in case I end up saying anything courteous about them later. And, who knows? I may indeed find something positive to say about Coldplay—I mean, nothing comes to mind right now, but it’s going to take me a few hours to write this piece so it’s possible something will at some point.

Okay, so we’re all clear on Coldplay being fucking terrible, right? Great. But that isn’t the main reason I hate them. I appreciate plenty of terrible bands just as I appreciate plenty of terrible movies. Listening to a really shitty group is sort of like watching a cast of really shitty actors—though they clearly suck at what they do, there’s something oddly appealing about the charming naiveté they demonstrate by giving it the best go they can anyway.

For instance, since I was still filing most of my Warped Tour emo discs in my punk section when I began this venture, I never got around to writing about a band called Adair. If you’re not familiar with them, don’t worry about it; they only existed for a few years in the mid-aughts and their diminutive discography merely consists of a self-released EP and one full-length album, The Destruction Of Everything Is The Beginning Of Something New. Sonically, Adair were so amusingly prototypical of every baby t-shirt screamo band that was thriving at the time, they essentially sounded like they were parodying the style of music they played (although, to be fair, a lot of those squads did). But, Adair were absolutely serious, regardless of what stridently nasal heights the vocals reached, regardless of how faithfully their compositions adhered to their genre’s textbook page by page, and regardless of the sublimely ridiculous realms some of their allegorical angst lamentations ventured into (the line “lock me up in Guantanamo Bay and throw away the key” from the song “I Buried My Heart In Cosmo Park” may very well be the lyrical apex of their entire genus).

Adair’s music is so inane that it makes me laugh out loud when I sing along to it—but here’s the thing: I do sing along to it. I have probably played The Destruction Of Everything Is The Beginning Of Something New a hundred times from start to finish since my copy was sent to me to review for some website back in 2006, and I have cued up individual high(low?)points like “The Diamond Ring” and “Folding and Unfolding” even more times than that. As silly as they sound—and trust me, they sound very fucking silly—I still sincerely enjoy their tunes and have spent enough hours listening to TDOEITBOSN for it to possibly qualify as one of my favorite records ever. Shit, even writing about it right now makes me feel like hearing the disc, so I’ll probably end up blasting it in my truck tomorrow (ed. note: I actually did). If they ever decided to do a reunion tour, I would absolutely go see them, and if vocalist Rob Tweedie did that whole “hold the microphone out toward the crowd so they can finish the lyric” thing which every frontman in every band that sounds like Adair does at least a dozen times per show, I would totally be able to fill in each of those blanks and enthusiastically do so.

Sorry, we were talking about Coldplay. To recap, they’re fucking terrible.

Unlike a frivolous whimper-core ensemble like Adair, the most off-putting thing about Coldplay isn’t their music. They’ve actually managed to excrete a few tracks that I grudgingly enjoy over the years. However, sporadically releasing songs which don’t sound like they were specifically written for Gap commercials actually works against Coldplay in this instance. Sure, most of their output is noxious twaddle, but since they occasionally come across as a marginally decent band, their work isn’t awful enough to at least ironically appreciate it for being awful.

In fact, there’s absolutely nothing ironic about Coldplay—other than U2 and Radiohead (more on them in a minute), I can’t think of another band that seems to take itself as dreadfully seriously as Coldplay does. There isn’t a single lighthearted number in their entire catalog, and the demeanor of their music is so staid and cheerless that it’s hard to imagine the dudes ever cracking a smile while they’re making it. Their approach to songwriting is rigidly Pavlovian—when the music gets louder, ring ring ring, that signals the listener the *really* poignant part of the tune has arrived and cues them to emotionally salivate in kind—yet despite their calculated use of sonic dynamics to manufacture sentiment, the vapid and unspontaneous nature of the delivery saps their tunes of anything resembling genuine soul or passion. Even when thrusting through the more energetic tracks in their litany, the musicians in Coldplay always sound like they’re actively striving to not play their instruments too hard. The result is that they consistently deliver some of the safest and least edgy rock ever created, shaping their ethos around a formula so willfully tepid and cuddly that they barely qualify as a rock band at all. Coldplay aren’t quite the musical equivalent of plain yogurt (that would be Jack Johnson, an artist so comprehensively flavorless that even his name is fucking boring) but the granola in their mixture is always judiciously distributed so as not to agitate anyone’s tastebuds.

And at the center of this slow-motion kaleidoscope, you have Chris fucking Martin (I find it difficult to cite his name without including the “fucking” in there; he’s just one of those guys—like Jason fucking Mraz, Blake fucking Shelton, or fucking Bono). Coldplay’s music may be stagnant, but you’d never know it from beholding the practiced arsenal of slinky paroxysms their vocalist bursts into while that music is playing. In performance and in their videos, Martin’s appendages are incessantly in motion, his hands ever-swaying gently through the air like he’s waving a pair of invisible cigarette lighters or finger painting on the goddamn sky, ostensibly so deeply lost in his band’s reverie of sound that he simply can’t help himself from moving his body in a cadenced pantomime of the way their music is meant to superficially move your spirit.

For the three non-ballads the group has written in their career, Chris usually switches things up by crouching in an incongruous bobbing panther-stance like a battle rapper delivering a diss track about fucking his opponent’s mama in the mouth, until it’s time to freeze in the tried and true messiah-statue pose as the number’s final notes chime into the ether. But it is in the quiet moments when Martin truly shines—which makes perfect sense given that he’s the leader of a group so systematically anodyne they probably should have actually named themselves Quiet Moments. These are the obligatory interims where the frontman takes the stage on his own to sit down at the piano, resplendent in the spotlight, and perform an intimate solo rendition of one of his most tender hits to show everyone in the audience that Chris fucking Martin is a bonafide fucking musician who, if he really felt like it, could totally do the whole Coldplay thing without the other three dudes whose names no one knows. His soaring falsetto croon is custom-feigned for the arenas the band was destined to coldplay from the moment they dropped their breakthrough single “Yellow” and caused a nation of book-sensitive sociology majors eagerly anticipating the arrival of their generation’s U2 to cream their Dockers in unison. When Martin opens his pipes to summon those indelibly contrived choruses about birds and stars and other monosyllabic nouns, it hardly even matters what words he’s singing—the leitmotifs in most of the tunes are basically interchangeable anyway. What matters is that Chris sounds like he really, really, really means it when he says he will try to fix you.

That analysis probably makes it seem like I hate Chris fucking Martin as much as I hate his band. I actually don’t—he’s too benign a character to elicit such a fervid response; hating Chris Martin is like hating turtleneck sweaters, or actual turtles. In fact, I suspect he’s probably a really nice dude. At least, I’ve never heard any creepy stories about him showing his penis to under-aged fans on Skype or anything like that.

Regardless, while I don’t specifically despise either Martin, Dude Who Plays Guitar, or the other two anonymous members of Coldplay, I do gauge their collective as the fourth or fifth worst band of all time. And the reason I loathe them more than any of their neighbors on that list is because they aren’t the kind of prodigiously abysmal group you can just ignore until their moment in the spotlight inevitably passes—which is how I dealt with Five For Fighting from September 2001 through February 2002 and how I’ve been dealing with Twenty-One Pilots for the last four years (seriously, are you fuckers done yet?). Coldplay is a far cagier nuisance because they are massively popular and have been for a ludicrously long time. I’ve been patiently waiting for them to go away for two decades now, yet they continue to pop up every third summer or so to drop a new album and remind us that, yes, they’re still here assiduously mining the middle of the road for new ways to write more tunes about clouds being pretty.

Even worse, I can’t disregard their music because it’s everywhere. I hear “The Scientist” while I’m shopping for cereal at the grocery store, I hear “Talk” when I sit down to eat at any chain restaurant, and I imagine I’ll be viewing that idiotic video for “Adventure of a Lifetime” with the posse of animated dancing monkeys on an infinite Clockwork-Orange-eyes-gaping loop for the rest of eternity when my mortal essence exits this world and I am cast into the fiery pits of Hell. I can’t even watch football without encountering Coldplay, as I discovered with horror in 2016 when they took part in the most fatuous jumbled fucking mess of a Super Bowl halftime show the NFL had ever presented (a zenith of suckery which seemed impossible to eclipse until this past February, when Adam Levine showed up covered with prison tattoos and said, “hold my beer”).

The pervasive level of esteem Coldplay has reached dumbfounds me. This is a group that has sold millions and millions of albums worldwide, even though I have never once heard a single person utter the phrase, “man, that new Coldplay song kicks ass.” I’m sure their most dedicated fans have favorite hits, tracks that are significant to them in some way, etc. But their remarkable success is patently disproportionate to how patently unremarkable the work which garnered that success really is. Nobody ever describes the band’s music as “awesome”, just as nobody ever describes a glass of pinot gris as awesome—the term simply does not apply to their province; actually, in this case, describing the mouthfeel of Coldplay tunes and recommending cheeses they best pair with is probably more relevant than discussing how they sound. Coldplay is as universally popular as they are precisely because they aren’t awesome. They’re not beloved because they’re extraordinary; most people love them because they’re innocuous, functional, and suitable for almost any occasion—Coldplay is akin to a pair of cargo shorts, and no one thinks cargo shorts kick ass. Coldplay isn’t an alternative band (on the contrary, almost every good band is an alternative to Coldplay); they are a lowest common denominator band, undemanding and ubiquitous and safe to like because everyone else likes them. Their work is specifically geared toward people who think appreciating music demonstrates sophistication, but don’t ultimately give enough of a shit about the artform to put any effort into finding music that is actually sophisticated or appreciable. You may assume Coldplay is erudite because they’re British and they cite books you’ve never read when discussing the lyrical themes in their work, but they’re merely recycling the same emotional territory as every other pop act that writes tunes about finding love, losing love, missing love, and the 18th Century French peasantry.

The best thing about being a Coldplay fan is that it’s easy. You don’t have to buy their records, go see them live, or make any concerted effort at all to receive their music. If you listen to the radio for any extended period of time (or eat at an Applebee’s), you will eventually hear one of their songs; all you have to do is not hate it and, voila, you’re officially a Coldplay fan. There, don’t you just love the security of venerating a critically and commercially acclaimed band that will never challenge you or be unpopular?

Okay, I do strive to be fair—even in this arena where I can say whatever I want and no one can argue with me. I gave this a lot of thought, so here are four things about Coldplay that are not terrible:

1) “Clocks”: I resisted it for many years, but I finally had to concede that it’s kind of a pretty song. Notes of red currant and blackberries, and it goes superbly with a nice aged brie.

2) “God Put A Smile On Your Face”: It doesn’t put a smile on mine, but that’s why I enjoy it. Most Coldplay songs sound like they’re aiming to evoke what being hugged by a koala bear feels like, so I appreciate Chris fucking Martin delivering a darker number that seems intent on making me feel depressed instead. Well played, sir.

3) Viva La Vida, Or Death And All His Friends: I sincerely respect their effort to broaden their palate a bit by working with Brian Eno and making Dude Who Plays Guitar buy a distortion pedal to use on one song. This is still an archetypal shitty Coldplay record, but at least it sounds a little different than all of the other archetypal shitty Coldplay records.

4) Nah. They’re still fucking terrible; they were lucky to get three things.

There is one additional facet of the group’s career which has fascinated me over these past several years, even though it relates more to bands that are not Coldplay rather than the band that is Coldplay. Earlier I dubbed them the U2 of their generation, and recent events in particular have coalesced to underscore that comparison. See, when Coldplay came out, the tributes to their Irish brethren in choreographed affectation were far from subtle. Chris fucking Martin’s warbling was plainly modeled after fucking Bono’s, Dude Who Plays Guitar served up an endless cycle of repetitive but hooky high-register licks that were striking similar to the distinctive methodology of The Edge, and both bands’ workmanlike rhythm sections held things down with competent yet discreet backing tracks which militantly fulfilled each song’s basic requirements rather than showcasing the musicians’ dexterity. I don’t think anyone ever disputed the collective homage in Coldplay’s dogma, and no one was terribly bothered by it either; at the time there were a lot of people craving a band that sounded just like U2, because U2 didn’t sound like U2 anymore.

When Coldplay’s debut album Parachutes was released in July 2000, fucking Bono and company’s career was on a downward arc after they largely vacated their signature approach to instead craft a couple poorly-received discs dominated by insipid rave-lite tunes that not even the members of U2 listen to anymore. Though they would temporarily rebound later that year with “Beautiful Day”, the last honestly excellent song they would ever record, U2 had left a gap that needed filling. And the most obvious inheritors of their kingdom, Radiohead, had grown tired of anthemic guitar rock; they were hunkered down creating their demanding but exceptional opus Kid A, which sounded nothing like U2, nothing like Radiohead, and indeed nothing like any other music being made on planet Earth. Kid A still had some anthems, still had some guitar, and still had a little rock, but its oblique delivery clearly demonstrated that Radiohead was chasing a far different muse and had little interest in claiming the crown (of course, this would be abundantly clarified in hindsight when they subsequently slid further down their rabbit-hole, gradually abandoning the anthems and guitars and rock altogether, until finally settling upon their current songwriting formula, which seems to mostly involve Thom Yorke masturbating on his laptop, naming ten of his climaxes, and calling it an album).

So while U2 were busy trying to figure out why they weren’t relevant anymore and Radiohead were busy doing whatever the fuck they were doing, the lads in Coldplay stepped up and said, hey, why not us? They seized the ersatz-earnest arena rock mantle with A Rush Of Blood To The Head and never looked back. Now, 17 years and seven multi-platinum albums later, they can ruin the Super Bowl, collaborate with the Chainsmokers, and even make the same kind of lameass dance music that essentially buried U2’s career with impunity. Even more significant, they have come full circle. A group that started out playing second-rate U2 facsimiles under the moniker Pectoralz (this is absolutely true, by the way) is now one of the hugest pop institutions in the universe, beloved by millions of music and wine connoisseurs across the globe. And the student has eclipsed the teacher; U2’s desperate efforts to play catchup have made their modern work sound unmistakably like second-rate Coldplay facsimiles. Chris fucking Martin and those other three guys are no longer pretenders to the throne—they are Coldplay, and this is their empire now, bitches.

These days, U2 has to reprise their old records in their entirety on nostalgia tours to get anyone to come to their concerts, and Radiohead continues to release unlistenable albums which their fans claim to love while sheepishly casting them aside to listen to OK Computer for the thousandth time instead. But Coldplay has strategically situated themselves for an eternity as the undisputed emperors of rock mediocrity. I think they’ve got another two decades in them, too; I have no doubt that long after Twenty-One Pilots is (finally) relegated to the county fair circuit where they belong, Chris fucking Martin will still be promising sold-out crowds that lights will lead them home and having a series of polite, gently-articulated seizures while he sings “Speed Of Sound”.

It seems I respect Coldplay a little more than I suspected. You know what? I’m going to amend my original valuation right here and now. As of this moment, I am formally designating Coldplay the sixth worst band of all time.

Your move, Godsmack.

May 15, 2019

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hellohellohellobingmetropcs · 5 years ago

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Sum lite 🤨

Zion was ordered by management to apologize to the beanz on your behalf for your breakdown on live.

His jealous fans finally got under your skin after 4 months of officially dating. This being the reason Zion kept his relationship offline. You were no secret to his friends and fam.

Of course he’d subtweet you on the timeline so fans were under the impression there was a lady in his life, but who?

In a state of pure bliss and love you posted a pic of you and Zion from your camera roll, tagging him in the picture on your public Instagram.

The next morning fans poured in with the screenshot, summing up his subtweets and little hints with your picture to confirm the relationship.

Zion being the fan favorite member, making you the most hated girlfriend out the gang. The other guys’ girlfriends got hate but also received much more love from fans than you.

Out of boredom you decided to go live on Instagram, just seeing what was up in the world. You rolled your eyes at some comments, making a mental note to block the accounts later.

“None of you know me. Shit, you don’t even know Zion!”

You sighed in frustration, pulling your hair up in my messy bun. Now they were calling you rude and telling you that you didn’t deserve Zion.

“Everytime he posts a pic of us here comes 50 of you calling me a gold digger— on my life everything I have is because of me. Nobody gave me shit. I don’t ask Zion for shit. Anything he gives me is a gift”

Zion nodded to himself in agreeance as he watched the video with his headphones on.

PrettyMuch were flying back to California from Florida for some promo for their new album. First thing on his mind was to get back to you and shower you with his love which he knew you needed right now.

“Then there’s the ones who think I wanna steal clout. Bro fuck y’all. Honestly”

You reached down to Simba, setting him on your lap. You cuddled him, watching more and more hate comments fill your screen. As easy as it is to just turn off the screen, everyone knew you and Zion to be the outspoken couple. A thing never got past you two without being addressed.

“Y’all are delusional as fuck. You’re like 15 behind a fanpage and only spread hate? Go do your homework”

Zion grew a little angry with his supporters as the tears in your eyes welled up. He couldn’t wrap his head around why people that support him want to make his significant other feel bad. You’ve been nothing but quiet when fans disrespect you online because you understood what it was like to be boy crazy over a boy band in your teen years and not like the idea of your idol dating.

Today was where you’ve had enough because in person you’d never let the disrespect slide like that.

“I don’t even know why I’m upset. I don’t care about what y’all think. That’s my husband .. yes we’re married, don’t ask. I’m not going anywhere”

After the complied clips of the livestream came an old video of you two kissing. In the background Zion could hear himself say he loves you.

The video splattered a hint of blush across his yellow cheeks, making him eager to get home.

Time had crept up on you when Zion’s appearance startled you from your book. It was 11pm already and you knew he had a late flight so you stayed up.

“Are you mad?”

He chuckled, already knowing what you were referring to. “Baby you can’t just go off on fans like that”

“Z I’m sorry. They just ..” you let a harsh sigh, circling the room as the anger re-entered your veins.

“Don’t cry mamas. Talk to me”

You hadn’t noticed the hot tears falling from your eyes until Zion mentioned it, pulling you into a warm hug.

“they make me so mad” you muttered out.

“They’re kids babe. Calm down love” his thumb wiped away your tears, pressing his lips over your swollen pair.

“You’re smart, funny, sexy, crazy .. everything I want in a woman. Fuck them kids! I’m in love with you, not who they think you are on the internet”

“You’re quite the looker yourself kuwonu. I love you too”

“I’m gonna shower I’m tired”

“Tired?” His hands slid down your back, thumbs drawing circles over your back dimples “Baby let me put you to sleep”

You laughed at his devastation to come, spinning out of his grip and making your way towards the bathroom for a hot shower before bed. “My cycle is on you hornball”

He mentally cursed himself knowing he was waiting for this day since the day he left. His favorite hello and goodbye present is always sex. He’d be broke if he was paid to keep his hands off you.

You did as you said, falling right asleep instantly after the wash. Zion was in awe of how you’d mindlessly for for one of his shirts instead of actual pajamas at night.

Before the night was over he wanted to get the whole live situation out the way and under wraps.

He set up his laptop in his desk, heading straight to Instagram for a live session. Fans poured in with their thoughts and opinions on your from earlier, he read a few just to see where their heads were at before going in.

“Hey guys I just wanted to hop on here and say wassup” he waved to the camera, watching as greetings poured in from his devoted fans.

One question about you caught his attention. He stayed quiet as he pondered on how to address the situation.

Looking into the camera he could still see you sound asleep in his bed with his T-shirt on.

“Most of you know this .. (Y/N) is my girlfriend and she’s been around for a while now. Like she said she’s not going anywhere any time soon so get used to her. Also, be nice. The name-calling is childish and if you were a true fan of mine you’d understand she makes me really happy. I’d hate to lose her over something like my own fans bullying her. It makes me sad that I even have to address this .. bullying isn’t ever ok. I’ve talked to her about what she said and she’s really sorry if she offended anyone and if that’s not great enough, I am too. I love you all so much and I love (y/n) too. Okay now that that’s out the way I’m about to shower and hop in bed with my lady. I’m really tired. So much new shit coming to you guys so stay tuned! Bye guys”

On that note he ended the live, doing exactly as he planned. The cool night air whipping around your body as he lifted the covers to slide into bed with you after his shower. The bed sank in on his side making you roll into him, wrapping your arms around him. He smiled to himself, dropping a hand on your ass per usual as his own tiredness took over him.

Masterlist

#zion kuwonu imagines #zion kuwonu x reader #prettymuch imagines

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stormtrprinstilettos · 5 years ago

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“And how should I serve you?” - (1983) Roger x Reader (smut)

Summary: It’s 1983 and Queen is recording their next album at the studio where you work, and things get a little heated between you and the drummer.

Series Masterlist here

In this “episode”: Maybe Montreux isn’t all it was supposed to be.

Word Count: ~5k

Warnings: The usual, smut and language. 18+ please.

[A/N: I know the timeframe is off. I know. I know. Don’t @ me. But one part of this is idea that was discussed with @hannafuckingsucks over a month ago and I am finally to the point in the story where it fits! Amazingly, an anon sent in an idea that also ties perfectly into it, so, this is for you too! And the other big thing in here is per a few anon requests (again, I’m sorry for taking so long to get to it – all of you wanted it to happen sooner, except for one who wanted it to happen now). Unless y’all send me in more ideas, this is going to be the last one in this little series here unless/until I get more in the inbox or something popping into my head. I personally don’t want to let 1983 Roger go, but… Yeah.]

Permatags: @clogwearingspacepoodle @briansfatbottomgirl @culturefiendtrashqueen @jennyggggrrr @shutup-sorry @dontstopmemeow @letmelivetaylor @tommyleeownsme

Tagging: @fixedonroger @a19103 @ginabaker1666 @rogahmeddowstaylah @imaginesandideas @rogertaylorscar @painkiller80 @rogerrhqpsody @quirkydeaky @nicholeh7 @biscuit-barrel @capsparrowtara @benfckinghardy @luvborhap @shhhs3cret

“It’s beautiful here,” you tell Roger as you look out of the window at the nighttime view, the moon full and lighting up everything it’s glow touches with absolute perfection.

“Yeah, and quiet. Quite a retreat from the madness.” “We usually stay in a house when we’re here, but I thought you and I could stay here. Less time between here and the studio, since the studio is downstairs and all.”

“Do you hear that?” You turn and face him, wrapping your arms around his waist and looking up at him “That silence is telling us that we are completely alone.”

“Finally,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” you whisper. Your shared smile and adoration is interrupted by a banging on the door. “Really?” you fuss in a humored whine.

He walks to the door and you turn back to soak in the amazing view of the water and mountains in the distance. You can hear laughter and voices coming from the other room but try your hardest to ignore them, silently wishing for whoever these people are to just go away. But they don’t.

“Hey, babe, come meet the guys,” he says, poking his head around the corner. Not exactly the night you were hoping, but you keep your groaning to yourself and go meet his other bandmates.

They’re nice enough – nothing wrong with them on a personal level, but you wish they would leave. They’re all drinking way too much and being way too loud and obnoxious, even Roger. At 11pm you’ve had enough of this “fun” and excuse yourself to bed. Not that you were going to get any sleep. The walls are surprisingly thin, and you can hear everything. Every footstep. Every cough. Every cigarette being lit. Every word. Everything.

“Does she have any friends, Rog?” you hear one of them ask. “I need to get me one like that.” There’s another one who jokingly asks how much he’s paying for you, and another that cracks a joke about the age difference, and you break down. You think that maybe this was a mistake after all. Or maybe they’re just that drunk, you don’t know. They’re definitely not like the others. Brian, John and Freddie never talked about you like that and never treated you with anything but respect.

They finally leave around 1am and Roger comes sneaking in the bedroom, trying to be quiet but he keeps knocking things over as he’s trying to undress and it’s starting to piss you off more than you already are. But you seethe quietly, because you don’t even want to talk to him. He finally crawls into bed and scoots himself behind you, and pulls you tight to him, but you don’t react. “Are you sleeping?” he whispers loudly, and you stay quiet. “Wake up, Y/N,” he whispers again. “I’m fucking hard and I need you.”

“You smell like a liquor cabinet and cigarette smoke,” you snap, not turning around to face him.

He snuggles his face into your neck and rubs your leg with one of his hands. “But baby, I really…”

“You need help?” you snap again. “You have two hands. Help yourself.” You push his hand away and move yourself to give some distance. He rolls over onto his back and starts laughing. “Go to sleep, Roger,” you groan.

He gets out of the bed and walks to the bedroom door, which he smacks himself in the face with when he opens it. “Fuck!” he yells out with pain in his voice, and you jump up and rush to him. “I hit my fucking nose!”

You know you shouldn’t laugh. He’s hurt. But you can’t help laughing anyway. “Idiot,” you giggle. “Come on.” You guide him out to the living room that is littered with empty beer bottles. “Sit down,” you tell him as you push him to the sofa and turn on the lamp. “You’re bleeding.”

When you walk back in with towels, he’s looking up at you, a pathetic look on his lightly bloodied face. “If you’d have just had sex with me this wouldn’t have happened,” he chuffed.

“I was planning on having sex with you but we were rudely interrupted,” you quip as you sit next to him and hold a towel to his nose. “Did you forget how doors work?”

“It was dark. I couldn’t see,” he tells you with a smile on his face. You roll your eyes and bring his hand up to hold the towel himself. “You’re so pretty,” he slurs slightly. “I’m a fucking asshole.”

“Not always,” you grin. “But right now you’re an asshole with a bloody nose.”

“I think I broke my face,” he groans, moving the towel away.

You look at his face with an amused look. “Nope. Still adorable,” you giggle. “An adorable asshole with a bloody nose.” He’s sorry for what happened tonight. You can see it all over his face. “Hey, it’s alright,” you tell him. “I know I can’t keep you to myself all the time.”

“Not exactly how I wanted our first night here to go,” he murmurs. “But tomorrow night? I promise. You and me.”

… but it didn’t exactly happen that way, because he stayed in the studio until 3am. The next night he was there until 6am. Every single night for that entire first week, he would either be at the studio until some ungodly hour, drunk with “the guys,” or both. You told yourself it was stupid to be angry about it. He’s there to work – he never said he wasn’t there to work. He didn’t bring you there to coddle you. Sure, he told you that you’d have your evenings together, but you know how recording goes. There’s really no set timeframe, and when the music is flowing, you can’t stop making it because you promised your girlfriend dinner and a movie. It doesn’t mean you weren’t annoyed with it all, especially given how today is now Wednesday, and John, Brian and Freddie will be here any minute.

“There she is!” Freddie exclaims when he walks in and sees you reclining in the living room. “Where’s your shadow?”

“Same place he’s been for most of the last week. The studio.”

“Uh oh,” John sings. “Trouble in paradise?”

“No, no trouble,” you say with a smile. “It’s actually nice having no responsibilities.”

“Ah, only responsibility being to be pretty and fuck him whenever he wants it, right?” Freddie jokes. You purse your lips and raise a brow. “Don’t tell me you’ve already started to deny him when he fucks up!” he laughs heartedly.

“Hey! I will have you know I was only denied once,” Roger shouts as he walks in and points to his bruised nose. “And this is what happened, so I don’t think I’m ever going to be denied again.”

“You punched him?” Brian asks you, somewhat horrified but also just a tad amused.

“No, I didn’t punch him,” you giggle. “I wanted to, but the door took care of that for me.”

“You’ll never believe who I ran into about an hour ago,” Roger says, quickly changing the subject. “Bowie. He’s here for a few days. I told him I’d get all of you down to the studio tonight.” He turns and faces you and sees you’re starting to get annoyed. “You, too, Y/N.”

Queen – your favorite band. They always have been. David Bowie? Well, he’s second in your adoration. And when Roger told you that you were going to meet him – not just meet him, spend the night hanging out with him – you were ecstatic. You didn’t want to show it. You tried to keep your cool like you did the day he and the rest of the guys walked in the studio months ago. Roger was amused watching you meticulously fix your hair and take forever to pick out what you were going to wear. “You didn’t bother putting this much effort into your clothes the day you were going to meet me,” he joked. “I met you in jeans and a t-shirt.”

“That’s because I wasn’t trying to impress you,” you joked back, fluttering your eyes.

He – Bowie, that is – was utterly charming when you met him. He held your hand and kissed it like a proper gentleman, his voice soothing and a little deep. His humor was terrific, and although he wasn’t trying to, he had this aura of mysteriousness surrounding him. And when he would talk, you paid very close attention. And when you all went to get dinner, he pulled your chair out for you and helped you sit down. Roger hated it.

Now here you are, in the studio with all of them. You’ve been around these guys long enough to witness their bickering in the studio. Whether it be because of a chord change in a certain place, lyrics being changed, the tempo – didn’t matter. They bickered. Some days the bickering was constant. Sometimes it would explode into an all out shouting match. But nothing you had ever witnessed could prepare you for this moment you’re witnessing right now.

It’s been a few hours, listening to them banter and play music, including you in all of it. But the best was sitting here watching Freddie and David – he insisted you call him that – trying to out-diva each other. Freddie would sing something, and David would have to do it louder. David would sing something, and Freddie would have to do it more dramatically. It was hilarious.

Just as he would do back in Los Angeles, if something didn’t sound right or didn’t seem like it fit, Freddie was on the speaker asking for your input. Not David. He wouldn’t use the speaker. He would walk out and come sit right next to you and discuss what the problem was. It was harmless, but Roger didn’t think so.

He didn’t like the way you’d smile, or the way you’d get smiled at, or how your arms would touch, or how you’d play with the underneath of your hair while intently listening. You knew it was getting to him and you played it up big time. He hasn’t given you much attention since you arrived. He’s barely even touched you. So maybe, you thought, if you’d flirt just a little too much he would give you the attention you’ve been aching for. And David? Well, he didn’t mind the flirting one bit. He ate it up, and he would flirt right back. You were being quite giggly, a bit too much for Roger’s liking. You used to giggle and flirt with him like that when you first met, after all. They were trying to work out a particular drum part for this song they were making you and David were having what looked like a very flirty conversation. You were really only sharing L.A. stories, but he couldn’t hear you from way on the other side of the room behind the glass.

“Rog, concentrate, for fuck’s sake,” Freddie scolds from the desk. He turns and looks back at you. “Go give him a blowjob so he relaxes and stops being so fucking useless,” he laughs.

“Go on,” David jokes. “We won’t watch. Promise.” He smiles and gives you a wink, and that was the last straw for Roger, who throws his drumsticks on the ground and rushes out of the box.

You stand up to greet him, but he says nothing, instead opting to grab your arm and walk out of the studio. You hear the rest of the guys chuckling as you do, making comments about how maybe the blowjob was going to happen. When the door slams behind you, you stop walking and yank your arm away, infuriated with Roger. “What is wrong with you?” you yell. “And who in the hell do you think you are dragging me out like that?”

“Who in the hell do you think you are throwing yourself at him in front of my face?” he yells back. Your forehead wrinkles and your eyes squint as your lips purse together. “Oh, I could see everything. Everything,” he sneers.

You’re seething inside. He’s never acted like this before, and you start to wonder if this is who he really is. Easily jealous and domineering. This isn’t what you signed up for. “Oh, so you saw me when I tore off my pants, got on his lap and fucked the shit out of him?” you snarked dramatically. “Thank god, because I really didn’t know how to tell you it happened!”

“You’re here with me, Y/N, not him!” he yells.

“Yes, I’m here with you,” you snarl. “Although I think you forget I’m here half the time because you’re too busy drinking until you can’t even walk straight when you could be spending just a little bit of your time with me like you promised.”

“Where are you going?” he carps as you start to walk away. “We aren’t finished.”

“We are finished,” you sneer. “Enjoy the rest of your night. I’ll see you whenever you come to bed, as usual.” You storm off in a rage and go back to the apartment.

He eventually comes to bed. You have no idea what time it is, but the sun is up now, and the first thing he does is lay on his back and gets as close as possible to you. You nuzzle up to him, laying your head on one shoulder and your hand on the other, not awake fully. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispers. “I don’t know why…” You bring your hand up to his mouth and cover it, letting him know you want him to stop talking, and he starts to chuckle. “Go back to sleep.” He grabs your leg and wraps it over his waist. “I love you,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head.

“I love you too,” you mumble. “Pull something like that again and I’m going to break your face for real,” you giggle. “Did the song get finished?” You raise your head and rest your chin on his shoulder.

“Mmm hmm.” He looks over at you and smiles. “I’ll play it for you later.” He puckers his lips, beckoning you for a kiss, and you oblige with a soft peck. “I’m sorry you’re not enjoying yourself here.”

“I actually love it here,” you tell him. “It’s beautiful. Just wish I could see you more, that’s all.”

“I know,” he groans. “Me too. I’ve been a complete dick.”

“Yes you have,” you giggle as you kiss his neck. “You owe me.”

“After we get some sleep, I’m all yours,” he smiles. “I am doing nothing today but spending it with my girl.” You give him another kiss before laying your head back on his shoulder and drifting off to sleep.

“Hey,” you hear Roger whisper in your ear. “Wake up.” You hurry and sit up, and he’s sitting next to you on the bed. “You’ll sleep until tomorrow if I let you,” he chuckles as he pats your hip.

You slowly sit up and groan. “I hardly slept, Roger. What time is it?”

“2:00,” he laughs. “Get up. Come on,” he says, dragging you out of bed. “I’ve sent specific instructions that you and I are not to be bothered today by anyone.” A big, toothy grin happens upon his face. He’s obviously excited about something, but you don’t ask.

After getting showered and dressed, he walks you down to a quaint little sidewalk café where you enjoy lunch. The occasional person would stop by and glance, clearly recognizing him, but none would ever stop and bother him. “Word must have gotten around to everyone not to bother us today,” you giggle. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever been somewhere with you where no one is coming up to you.”

Everything was perfect. You strolled around old town, did some window shopping (he wanted to buy you everything you said you liked, but you wouldn’t let him) and walked along the lake. The conversation never wavered – it never did when you were with him. And he held your hand and gave you sweet kisses, in full public view, announcing to the world that you were his.

You sit together by the lake, arms wrapped together, your head on his shoulder, watching the amazing sunset that looked like a perfect painting. “Thank you for bringing me here,” you tell him.

“You showed me the sunset in L.A. I thought it was only nice to repay you for that,” he says.

“No,” you giggle and look up at him. “I mean here, to Montreux. To be with you.”

He sighs deeply and smiles a benevolent smile. “It’s not going exactly as I planned.”

“You mean you didn’t plan on being a jealous, raging bull last night?” you quip. “I could have sworn that was somewhere in the plan.”

“I’m really sorry about that,” he says, quite embarrassed. “I don’t know what got into me.” You lightly pinch the tip of his nose, crinkle yours, and put your head back down on his shoulder. “I take it you don’t want to come to Munich, given how this has been a complete disaster.”

“I never said that,” you say. “And this isn’t a complete disaster, silly. We’re sitting here now, aren’t we?” He chuffs and shakes his head. “I knew you were going to be working, Roger. It’s not like this is a vacation.”

“I promised you time,” he groans. “And I haven’t given you any.”

“I don’t need your time 24 hours a day. Besides, if you’d have been around constantly I wouldn’t have found that bakery that makes the best chocolate croissants I’ve ever had in my life.”

“What else have you been getting up to?”

“Nosing around, pretty much. The lady at this antique shop not too far from here and I have become pretty good friends,” you giggle. “She’s learning English so she likes to talk to me.”

“Antiques, huh? Freddie will love to hear you like antiques.”

“Oh, we already talked about that. I mean, it’s not like I know what I’m looking at. I only went in because she saw me gawking at a ring she had in the window and insisted I try it on.”

He sits there and adoringly listens to you ramble on about the people you’ve met and the things you’ve seen. “And there’s a nice little boutique shop next door that has this shirt I think I’m going to buy tomorrow. It’s a bit more pricey than I usually pay for clothes, but I think I’ll treat myself.”

He clears his throat and quickly changes the subject. “Remember when I asked you what you wanted out of life? What did you say?”

“To be happy,” you reply with a smile.

He holds two fingers under your chin and tilts your head, looking deep into your eyes. “Do I make you happy, Y/N?”

“Yes,” you say softly. “You make me happier than I’ve ever been.”

He smiles lovingly, his eyes reflecting the setting sun. “Do you know what I want out of life?”

“Money. Fame. Fancy things,” you laugh.

“That’s all nice,” he laughs. “But no.”

“Well then,” you say, shifting your body to face him. “What does Roger Taylor want out of life?”

“To make you happy.”

“Well then you have succeeded.” You lean in and give him a quick kiss.

“Ah, I may make you happy now,” he says dramatically with his finger raised before turning serious, “but I want to always make you happy, Y/N.”

“Well, keep up the good work,” you giggle.

He sighs. “I’m trying to be serious here.”

“Ok, ok I’m sorry,” you giggle before taking a deep breath and forcing yourself to stop being silly.

He looks out over the lake, deep in thought. “Where do you see yourself in 10 years?”

“Hopefully wherever you are,” you smile, holding his arm and resting your head back on his shoulder.

“What about in 20?”

“Roger?” you ask with a nervous laugh. “What…”

He interrupts you. “Marry me.”

You start to choke and quickly lift your head up, looking at him. “What?”

He has a huge smile on his face as he turns to look at you. “Marry me,” he whispers.

“Roger…” A happy tear falls down your cheek and he wipes it away with his thumb.

“I know this is crazy and maybe even compulsive. And I know you probably wonder if I’m only doing this because of last night but I promise you I’m not because I got this yesterday…” He holds out the ring you fell in love with at that antique shop, and your mouth falls open. “Fred told me you mentioned it and the lady there said that when you tried it on it was a perfect fit…” You’re genuinely stunned right now. “I was going to wait until we left here. There’s this small town in Germany I was going to take you to when we drive to Munich…”

“Roger,” you hold up a finger to his lips. “You’re rambling.”

“Yeah, sorry. I thought we could drive to Munich from here and…”

“Roger…” You try to stop his rambling again, but he doesn’t hear you.

“… there’s this town that is quaint and quiet and…”

“Roger! Stop talking!” you laugh. “Are you going to put it on my finger or not?”

The big smile comes back to his face and he relaxes. “So you will?”

You jokingly shrug. “I’ve always been crazy and compulsive so there’s no reason to stop now.” But you quickly give him a genuine, adoring smile. “And because I love you and I want to see what happens in 20 years.”

“I love you,” he tells you with a whisper before kissing you while putting the ring on your finger. “Should we go back?”

“Oh, I think so.”

“I’d put on some music, but I don’t want to drown out the sounds of your sexy little moans,” he grumbles, pulling you close to him.

“Mmm,” you murmur as he gives you a deep, passion filled kiss. “I’ve missed you.”

He gives you a deep chuckle. “I have a lot to make up for, don’t I?”

“Absolutely,” you say as you push him away from you. “You better give me whatever I want.”

“I’ll do anything you want me to as long as you keep looking at me like that.”

“Anything, huh?” you smirk and sit down on the bed. “Get those clothes off, then.”

He smiles as he kicks off his shoes and starts to unbutton his shirt, unbuckle his belt and unfasten his pants. You’re already breathing hard just from watching him. It’s been far too long. Sure, it’s only been just over a week, but considering how you’d normally get it almost every night, it’s been far too long. You just know you’re about to get a good one here and now. He looks you in the eye and gives you a 'I hope you're ready for this' look and you start to giggle.

He slides his pants down and steps out of them, standing up straight to give you the best possible view of his swelling cock. He quickly finishes taking off his shirt, and now he’s standing in front of you, completely naked. You look him up and down, inspecting him and smirking as you bite down on your lip. You sit on the edge of the and motion him over, and he reaches out to touch your face. He pulls your face to his and kisses you as softly, licking your lips before running his tongue around your jawline to your earlobe. As he kisses his way lightly around your neck he massages your thigh with his other hand, causing you to instinctively spread your legs before pushing him away. He grins as he takes off your shirt, then your shoes, your pants, and everything else. “Where do you want me to go?" he whispers.

"Don't tease me dammit, you know what I want..."

"I'm not sure, you'll need to give me some directions," he teases. "Tell me, Y/N. Tell me what you want me to do."

You reach up and push down on his shoulders with force and turn his face to yours. "If I have to tell you, I’m going home right now," you giggle.

“Yes ma'am," he says with a chuckle, falling to his knees. He starts at your inner thigh and licks his way up, slowly inching his way to be right where you want him.

“No teasing,” you whisper. “No time for that.” He wasn't about to disappoint you. He reaches around with both hands, grabbing your ass and pulling you to him. He puts his mouth over your pussy and uses his lips to spread yours so he can focus all of his attention on your clit. You weren’t lying when you said there was no time for teasing. You missed the feeling of his tongue on you so much that you almost immediately begin to cum, your fingers digging into his head. That didn’t stop him from sucking on your clit. Every muscle in your body tightens and convulses as your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. The intensity is almost more than you can take, but he doesn't stop. He won’t until you tell him to. You’re speechless. The only sounds you can make are the loud moans and screams he’s making you give. He alternates between sucking your clit and setting it on fire with his tongue. You can't tell him to stop because you’re beyond speechless now. You push his head away, but he pulls you closer, relentlessly continuing his attack on your throbbing clit until you scream one more time and go limp.

He stands up and gazes playfully into your eyes, caressing each of your breasts with his open palms, letting your stiff nipples slide between his fingers so he can tweak them. He circles them with his fingertips, softly, watching your nipples grow even harder. Still looking into your eyes without a word, he slides his arms underneath your legs, raising them to his shoulders as he lines up his cock with your still pulsating pussy. “May I?” he asks, somewhat jokingly.

“You fucking better,” you giggle.

“And how should I serve you?” he asks with a sarcastic smirk.

You grin. “Hard,” you growl as you prop yourself up on your elbows.

He has absolutely no problem with that. He rams himself into you with great force, pulling you to him with his hands on your thighs each time he thrusts into you. You look deep into each other’s eyes; your faces telling everything you need to know. You are both right where you want to be and getting what you both so badly needed. He slows his pace to let you catch your breath, rubbing your tummy and gently massaging your tits, softly brushing over your nipples.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers as he starts to fuck you slowly now, with long, slow strokes. “I love being inside you.”

“Right where you belong,” you coo with gaspy breath and a smirk. You can see in his eyes that he’s getting closer before he even started to pick up the pace of his thrusts. "Give it to me,” you groan. “Give it all to me."

He reaches down with his thumb and begins to rub your clit with firm circles as he gets even closer and closer, feeling you start to spasm. He pushes even deeper into you. “I’m ready,” he groans loudly. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m ready.”

“Do it,” you grunt. “You’re making me cum.” His cock pulses and throbs and your walls constrict around him as his load shoots into you. He keeps thrusting until he’s unable to stand, collapsing his face softly onto your stomach, wrapping his arms around you, his most favorite spot in the world.

Your arms wrap around him as you rub and pat his head. With a soft and sweet giggle, you purr. “Good boy."

He slides up into the bed, and you slide up to lay next to him, still basking in your collective glow, and rest your head on his chest. “I may not be able to do that in 20 years,” he chuckles. “Keep it up and you may even wear me out long before then.”

“I don’t care,” you say. “As long as you can still hold me in 20 years I’ll be just fine.”

He kisses the top of your head and squeezes you tightly. “You’ll really marry me?” he asks, almost as if he’s baffled that you said you would.

“Yes, I’ll marry you,” you say softly as you look at the ring on your hand and smile. You shift yourself to have your face next to his, a tinge of worry washing over you. “You don’t think this is what I was looking for this whole time, do you?”

“Not at all,” he grins. “If I recall correctly, you didn’t want any of this.” You roll your eyes and start to laugh. “Well, you didn’t. You just wanted to use me for sex then toss me in the bin when you were done.”

“Oh like you started all of this with serious intentions,” you laugh and playfully slap his chest. “You didn’t want any of this either.”

“You’re right, I didn’t,” he smirks. “I just wanted you to be my little play thing in L.A.” You roll away from him onto your back, but he rolls over as well and hovers over you. “But now that I’ve got you, I’m never letting you go.”

#1983 Roger #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor smut #roger taylor x you #roger taylor x y/n #roger taylor fanfiction #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor fic

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beyoncesdragon · 4 years ago

Text

A little help, a little love (Harry Styles)

Requested: yes, on my wattpad :)

Warnings: language as per usual

a/n: the one you can find on my wattpad has a slightly different ending, so if you coincidentally read that other one first, maybe give this a try too! I actually wrote this ending first, but somehow decided I would rewrite the whole thing #3amthoughts.

My Masterlist this can be found on my Wattpad

(Gif found on Pinterest)

The smell of green tea and cookies hit my nose when I opened the door to the Shangri-La studios. Harry must be really upset with the song…green tea and cookies had always counted as a distressing sort of ritual Harry and I had practiced, when one of us was seriously stressed out. Though, we had not been able to sit down for tea and talk in a while, due each of our jobs.

Being a singer and songrwriter and traveling around the globe had been both of our dreams since little, but now actually living that life had made us drift apart inevitably. Harry and I had met way back in first grade, when I moved in just next to his house. I had been the new one for quite a while, not immediately hitting it off with Harry. Not that we disliked each other, more because he had his friends and he was a boy and I was new and a girl. That was why, apart from both of us being in the state of utter disgust about the other sex, we had seen no business in talking to each other. I had then quickly found my own people and so we coexisted for quite a while, before we both discovered our shared passion for music and especially, for Fleetwood Mac. That was in maybe sixth grade…we were eleven that time.

From that moment on, we had suddenly spent several afternoons together, talking about music and listening to different kinds. When Harry had joined the school band White Eskimo, he had started to teach me how to play guitar and I had taught myself how to play bass. I remember being quite butthurt when one of his friends and former bandmember “Joshie” refused to let me join the band, even though they were indeed short of a bass player.

Just a few years later, Harry had auditioned for the X-Factor…and the rest was probably written down in historybooks. For me however, had started a rather difficult time as I struggled to find something that I would enjoy doing for living. This frustrating phase of my life had resulted in me writing songs about it and uploading them on YouTube – from where I got soon discovered by the record label Colombia Records. Maybe, and I still haven’t gotten clarity over it, Harry helped with that a little bit. But he refused to say something about it, to this very day.

Whilst he had then toured with One Direction, I had started to produce my own music and also write. I learned several different instruments during that time, adding the piano and keyboard, drum kit and even a little tiny bit of violin to the bass and guitar.

During that whole time, when my career finally took off completely and Harry’s seemed to rise out of sight, he and I had remained close friends. Not the closest of friends, due already mentioned schedule, but as close as possible. However, now that Harry went solo for quite a while, we had seen each other a bit more often – albeit that ended when he went on tour again. Though, we had had a show together, London I believe it was. For both of our fans that hadn’t been too much of a surprise since it was widely known that we were good friends.

And now he already was at his second album and for that, he had called me. Sounding close to devastated on the phone, he had confessed that he couldn’t manage to finish a single song, and that he was even further from writing a new one. So I had decided to pay him a visit in the famous Shangri-La studios where he was recording his album at the moment.

And there I was, slipping out of my shoes and taking off my pair of Sunglasses I had out on because of paparazzi that had unfortunately gotten wind of my visit in the states. Harry had left the gate and door open for me to just walk in, promising that he would be alone in the studio so I wouldn’t have to feel awkward when walking in.

“Harry?” I called out. Hearing how the faint melody of someone playing guitar stopped.

“Princess? Is that you?” I grinned at the pet name and walked towards the direction I meant it coming from. “It is. Where are you?” in this second, the door almost behind me got ripped open and I jumped slightly.

“There you are…how’s the world’s favourite curly doing?” he grinned softly before wrapping his arms around me.

“Terrible. I can’t write music anymore, I am a failure and I don’t deserve to be here.” I laughed into the fabric of his shirt, enjoying the warmth of his hug. “Bullshit m’love. I am sure we can fix this.” He just hummed, staying in the embrace for a little longer, before then stepping away. “Gods know how I’ve missed ye…” he said, and the small, dimply smile he gave me, stole a beat of my heart. “Missed you too Harry. A lot. We should drink tea more often.” I said with a smirk, looking up at him. He hummed in agreement before softly nudging me inside the studio. I let my eyes wander over the variety of instruments and the huge control-panel.

“In-fucking-sane.” I said with a grin and he laughed. “I know right? And despite all of this…” he dramatically pointed at the equipment, “am I not able to produce anything that is anyhow acceptable and I am ashamed.” I laughed and walked over to him, just to wrap my arms around his waist one more time.

“Don’t be. Where is the problem? Or shall we first do the tea part…?” he gave me a soft pout and nodded, carefully dragging me to the little couch area in the corner of the studio.

Someone – Harry – had set up a large tea pot of steaming green tea and a jar of still warm cookies next to it. He dropped down on the couch, immediately pouring some of the tea into two tea cups. I sat down on a fluffy chair on the other side of the table, giving him a thankful smile.

“Thank you H. How’ve you been apart from the writing?” he shrugged slyly, pouring himself a cup of tea. “The thingy with Camille, but I told you about that…” I pulled a face.

“Yeah that was nasty. Anything going on apart from that, of which I don’t know?” he shrugged, before shaking his head slowly. “I have really just been writing songs and making music ever since. Which is why this whole damn…thing is so frustrating.” I could only chuckle, carefully placing the cup down. “Then let’s not sulk around any longer. I can’t drink a proper tea with a man in a fuss.” he got up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and lifting me a few inches off the ground.

“As you command my lady. What do you want to do first?” I yelped at him lifting me up, not really liking the loss of control I experienced at the moment. “I’d start with you letting me down, you annoying asshole. Then, show me a few of your songs you have already written and produced.” Harry obeyed, quickly pressing a kiss on my cheeks before walking over to the computers.

“First one is called Fine Line. I think you will like it, it’s a very…raw song, kinda. You will understand. Ready?” I nodded quickly, sitting down on the chair in front of the control panel.

The song was beautiful, soft and simple and it made my heart bleed, though at the same time it healed it. Harry had faced the ground during the whole six minutes or such, the light from the large windows only hitting one side of his face. It made his eyes shine in two different shades of green: one in a light, with brown and gold specked lime and the other in a dark olive. My eyes trailed further down to the bridge of his nose and to his cupids bow. He had his lips pressed together, making them appear white. From time to time he relaxed them, causing the blood that rushed back, to colour them in a deep raspberry pink. He was just…beautiful.

And talented, Fine Line was a master piece. “How’d ye like it?” he asked carefully, looking up to me again. “I absolutely loved it. What number of songs do you want the album to have?” Harry’s face relaxed slightly before he shrugged.

“I will probably get twelve on the album again…I am toying with the thought of making it the last track of the album.” I nodded instantly. “Yes. That’s brilliant…you’d end the album with “We’ll be alright” then…I absolutely love that.” He grinned proudly.

“Then track #12 it is. Ready for the next one?” I nodded quickly, leaning back again and closing my eyes whilst Harry clicked play for the next song. When I opened them again at the end of the track, I caught him staring at me. “Like what you see?” I teased cheekily and he shook his head with a grin.

“I love it.” I could only smile about that. “How was that one?” he then asked after a minute of silence. “I liked it. ‘Suppose it’s called “She”? or did I get that mixed up?” he grinned, shoving me off playfully. “Yeah it is. Those are the only ones I haven’t sent you…Adore you, Golden, She, Cherry…you’ve heard them all, right?” He then said with a shrug and I nodded. “I have. Even Watermelon sugar by the way. Then which one is the problematic child of yours?” he sighed softly, switching the track.

“That one. I already planned it to be one of the singles to be released, I know the name I know how I want the visuals to look like but…the song itself is one big…construction site.” I nodded slowly. “Play what you already have.” He obeyed wordlessly, starting the snippet of the song. It started with a slow crescendo, an electronic sound mixed with a simple guitar chord. i was surprised by the sudden drums, positively however. Harry’s voice sounded a bit different than before. More hoarse, more scratchy and still very soft and gentle. I nodded slowly with the beat of the song. It was good…but something missed. The refrain started to play, a guitar more provisionally playing a few chords before Harry started with an idea of a strong vocal, not the full blow he could manage to sing. I stopped the song with a quick gesture.

“I really like how the song builds up so far…though I don’t like the guitar with the bridge. It’s not…powerful enough. A guitar is more…plucking and way too playful. We got to replace this…” I started and Harry nodded slowly. “You are right. What would you insert there? A…violin?” I giggled softly and shook my head. “Piano, keyboard, something like that. No more strings Harry!” he grinned, helping me up.

“Then there you go. Do your magic.” I shove him away lovingly, walking over to the set up keyboard, and turning it on. “Okay…play it again please…” and so we started, he played the song and I tried to follow the melody in a soft and easy way, without taking the attention off Harry’s soft voice. And that we did, again and again.

Two hours had passed since we started, the sun had started to set and I was sure that I could sing every lyric in my sleep. But we finally finished it…and I loved the song. Harry and I had ended up with the piano mixed softly with a little bit of guitar and he had added some more percussion. A thing I had done as well, a simple djembe had done the job.

“I feel like…something is still missing somehow.” Harry confessed sheepishly, giving me an innocent look. “What? Spill Harry, you know I won’t be weirded out.” I replied with an eye roll. My feet were drawn up to my chest and I sat on the swivel chair in front of the console again. Harry, who stood behind the chair so we would both have a good look on the screen grinned, before softly wrapping his arms around me. “I don’t think it should be my voice alone in the refrain. You know, that shine-thingy…” I frowned softly.

“You want me on the song?” he nodded, giving me big doe eyes. I sighed and nodded softly. “Yes sure…but can we please do that tomorrow? I am tired H.” Harry nodded immediately, stepping away from the chair. “You have stuff for sleeping over here?” I shook my head. “Nope. I actually planned on going back into a hotel I checked in…my stuff’s there. I didn’t knew that the SL-studios had bedrooms?” he shrugged.

“They have three actually. Do you wanna sleep here and just take some of my clothes?” I nodded quickly, feeling sleepy all out of a sudden. “Then come on up princess. Let’s get you tucked in.” he offered his hand and I pulled myself out of the chair with it. I was just a tad surprised when he held on to my hand for some time, but maybe he was as sleepy as I was – and sleepy Harry is cuddly like no other humanly creature I knew.

Ten minutes, an oversized Harry-tee and a new teeth brush later, Harry and I stood in the bathroom together. I had decided that I was simply too tired to stand, so it sat down on the cold marble floor, earning an amused chuckle from Harry. I shushed him with a slap on his leg, before he dropped down next to me.

“Feels like a flashback t’those nights y’were tipsy after clubbing.” He mumbled through the teeth paste and I snorted. “When we both were drunk. Don’t try and…escape your past Mister.” He laughed quietly before getting up to wash his face and mouth. Just seconds later I did the same.

“What room should I take?” I asked after we both exited the bathroom. “Oh about that…” Harry started, a soft blush suddenly spreading on his cheeks. “Would you mind sleeping over at mine? It’s just because I really missed you and I don’t want to feel lonely…”

“and because you’re a needy, cuddly little baby. It’s okay Harry, as long as I can sleep on the left side.” He threw me a sly grin before suddenly sprinting down the hallway.

“The faster is the quicker.” He yelled and I sprinted after him with an outraged cry. Harry ended up on the left side, what made me pout for an eternity, before he got up with a sigh, dropped down on the other side and wrapped his arms around me.

“Better?” I nodded. “Way better. Good night Harry.” He yawned sleepily, resting his face in the back of my neck. “G’night lovie. I am so glad you’re here.” I chuckled softly, snuggling myself a little closer into my best friends embrace. “Me too. Now sleep, we have work to do tomorrow.” He mumbled something under his breath before sighing. “Mitch, Sammy and Tyler are coming tomorrow. N’ Jeff as well. Maybe Sarah…yeh, Sarah as well. You are okay with that, right?” I nodded softly. “Sure, I love them. Especially Sarah’s fruit salad. Speaking of, can she bring some?” Harry laughed silently, grabbing his phone from the nightstand. “I can ask…”

The next morning I stumbled into the studio in still Harry’s shirt and shorts, not exactly expecting everyone already being present. And if I say everyone I mean everyone, the whole bloody band and some of the writers including Jeff, were present.

There was Sarah, relaxedly leaned back on the couch in the back, Mitch right next to her with a bass in his hands, Sammy and Tyler crouched over the control panel, Clair (the only one from his band I hadn’t really met properly) with a mug of coffee at the broad window ledge and Adam, carefully polishing another bass. The second I entered – mind you, still in a messy bun and sleepy – the conversation in the room died down immediately. Everyone stared at me for a second, before Sarah yelled;

“I got your fruit salad baby!” from the back of the studio and the awkward bubble of “Oh shit what do I do” burst into pieces. Harry, who leaned against the panel, was the closest to me, so he was the first to hug me.

“Morning princess. Have ye slept well?” I nodded, still a bit droopy, before hitting his bicep softly. “Could’ve said something instead of just disappearing! S’embarassing, fucks sake…” he just laughed and shook his head.

“Bullshit babe. Ye looked adorable, like a cute little deer in the spotlight.” I snorted and pushed him away. “Yeah, cute.” I retorted sarcastically, before I went on to hug Claire. “Nice to finally meet you. was a bit of a rush in London back then…but I am glad you made it here.” She greeted me friendly, and I instantly liked her.

“Agree. Sorry I had to leave so quick after the show…couldn’t say goodbye properly to you.” she just waved it off, before stepping aside for me to greet Jeff, Sammy and Tyler. “Look at that A-list celeb in a baggy shirt that’s not even hers, shorts and fuzzy socks.” Sammy immediately teased.

Oh, right. I was not only wearing Harry’s tee, shorts and had a (very) messy bun – I also wore blue and white striped fuzzy socks. Ideal, let me tell you. I snorted, pushing him off me with a frown.

“Just so you know, even Ellie Saab, Gucci, Chanel or Salvatore Ferragamo aren’t comfortable always…not that you could know Sammy. You C-List producer.” I mumbled under my breath and everyone laughed loudly.

“Shots fired! Even sleepy, A-class Pokémon Celebrity number one manages to block a shot fired by C-class Pokémon Producer and finish her opponent with super move: instant kill. Good job Trainer.” Tyler commented sarcastically and I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, Team Rocket blasts off at the speed of light! Surrender now, or prepare to fight!” I quoted drily and Tyler pulled me into a bone crushing hug. “I fucking love that one. We should write more often.” I nodded, breaking into a soft grin. “True. Now move along, you stand between me and my fruit salad.”

After I greeted Sarah, Mitch and the rest of the band and team, I just sat down to munch the delicious fruit salad Sarah had made for me (I loved that woman) and just listened to them talking. They had all listened to the newer version of Lights Up - that was how Harry had called it - and all agreed with Harry that I should sing those few lines with him.

“Get up…” Harry suddenly mumbled, placing himself in front of my unbothered self. I looked up at him, shovelling another fork of fruit into my mouth.

“Wha’?” he sighed before pulling me up, sitting on the chair I sat on before and pulling me back into his lap. “Couch’s occupied.” He then said quietly, resting his head on my shoulder. I just hummed, not paying his actions much thought. It was just Harry being affectionate. Sarah gave me a small smile that I returned thinking it was about the fruit salad, but when Claire did the same I wondered…if it perhaps was because of something else.

“I quickly go and clean that. There’s a kitchen, right?” Sarah and Claire immediately got up. “Yep there is. I come along, need a coffee.” She explained and I nodded. “Same here. Anyone else something?” Claire asked into the group but no one seemed to need anything. I carefully got up, Harry’s arms around me loosening up a little. He slowly lifted his chin from my shoulder so I wouldn’t knock him away, giving me a weird look.

“What?” he shrugged. “Nothing. Would you be so kind and get me a coffee as well?” I nodded before following Claire and Sarah into the kitchen.

“You two are cute.” Claire said with a small smile, handing me a dry towel. “What? Who?”

“Harry and you! who else?” she explained laughing and I frowned. “We aren’t a thing. Just friends as far as I know.” I explained and Sarah crossed her arms over her chest.

“He’s just very affectionate around you.” I shrugged, feeling a little uncomfortable under the drilling of the two. “That’s just Harry? He’s always been that way.” Though it was a true fact, that he really had always been a very touchy guy, my statement came out more like a question. I mean yes, that he was very touchy right now that hadn’t gone unnoticed by me, and yes, he’s been very needy since I came here…but so? To be completely honest, it wasn’t like him being that way wouldn’t affect me, of course it did. It was also hard to not let it or him affect you in general, because Harry Styles just was a man whose presence always left an impact somehow. Be it because of his golden heart and precious persona, because of his undeniable dashing looks or his outstanding talent. And I would also lie if I’d say that his presence made my heart skip several times and his hasty touches and pecks wouldn’t make my pulse quicken. Of course it did – it was Harry.

Claire and Sarah dropped the topic Harry after that, and we talked about the song and the process of the album whilst the coffee machine hummed.

⋆

I refused to let them make a feature out of the song. Even though, Harry almost begged me to let them, I said no.

“I don’t want it! I don’t want to earn money off of this record Harry!” he sighed and shook his head. “But why? Because…because you don’t like it and don’t want to get associated with it?” I laughed and rolled my eyes. “Shut up you twat, I love this song like my own child. It’s because you asked me for help, and I helped. And help in a friendship doesn’t have to be rewarded. This is planned to be your first single of your new album and it is supposed to be just you. Because it’s your song Harry!” this time, it was Harry rolling his eyes at me.

“At least let me give you a writing credit…” I groaned and shook my head. “I don’t want my name on the song. In no possible way. Additionally to this, you have not employed me. I am whether part of your band, nor your production team, I am your friend, and therefore I do not accept any form of payment. Just leave it Harry! It’s not important anyways.”

He just shook his head. “You mad woman…but you do know that your fans probably still pick up your voice, if you like it or not.” I shrugged, pushing myself off the table. The whole team watched us, heads turning between Harry and me like during a tennis match.

“Then so it be. I don’t care about someone recognizing my voice. I just want that this thing stays your song through and through, like any other songs I’ve done touch-ups on for you.” he opened his arms for me to hug him and as I did, he pulled me down on the couch. “You are fucking amazing do you know that?” he mumbled under his breath and I snorted.

“Obviously.”

There had been pictures of us. Lots of them, flooding my twitter and Instagram feed, the most popular one was a snapshot of me eating fruit salad on Harry’s lap. His head rested on my shoulder, the tee that was obviously his very own perfectly well visible.

My notifications went crazy with tagged tweets, and since the fans had caught on to the fact that it was indeed, my voice in Lights up, Harry’s and mine ship name was trending. Mitch that little bastard only fuelled the fire by liking a tweet saying:

“Now I know where Harry has all those fruit references from.”

The picture just described linked to it. It now had been retweeted fifty-six thousand times and I was on the verge of flying over seas and strangling Mitch with my own hands. That bloody twit. That hashtag was now trending for two days already and I had received multiple phone calls from several of my family and friends, asking if I was really dating Harry Styles and when the wedding would take place and if I would go on tour with him and if by chance, I would already be pregnant and if, if I already knew what gender the angel was. Long story short, they were all driving me crazy, even if they weren’t serious and just making fun of the whole situation.

And I had heard nothing of Harry. He had not called, texted, tweeted or written an email and I was too scared to call him again. I had, one time, but he hadn’t picked up and since then I had given it up. I just wanted to know what he thought of this whole thing, of us trending of now two fandoms pretty much shipping us and all that mess that had started, simply because some stupid snap shots of us were leaked.

And when I wanted to know his thoughts about it, at the same time I didn’t. I was anxious, because I wouldn’t know how to react if he disliked us being shipped, if he really just saw me as a friend like I always said I did, or if there had be some truth hidden in Claire and Sarah’s assumptions. Because speaking strictly for myself…I caught myself not bothering about being pictured as Harry’s girlfriend.

And the longer this madness was going on, the more I was convinced that I knew that when he first hugged me as I stepped into the SL-Studios, around a month ago.

And maybe my hopeless romantic heart would’ve had a little bit more confidence about the whole thingy, if there hadn’t been this Late Late show thing with Kendall Jenner, that set the internet in an even greater fuss than before. I read tweets like

“#Hendall coming for their necks”

and

“Omg the way they look at each other! #Hendall is rising again!”

and other tweets that fuelled slight insecurity. But thanks to Mitch’s actions (that knob)…our ship was still trending and I still wasn’t sure if I liked it entirely or not.

Facts however was, that I would have to talk with Harry about it, sooner or later. Because the thing wouldn’t go away until one of us would say something. The question was only how: in person or over phone.

I obviously would’ve preferred it over phone because I wasn’t already ready to confess my feelings that I had tried to hide away from everyone, but one look on my face and he would know that something’s in the bushes. To my displeasure had he the ability to read me quite well. And over phone, that was way harder.

⋆

The clicking of my front door made me flinch and almost spill the hot tea over my fingers.

“Hello?” I asked confused, knowing that there were three people including me, in possession of a key to my house: my manager, me and well…Harry?

“’Ello there love…sorry I didn’t wanted to ring and wait because there were people and I felt like if I don’t step in now, I will get recognised. By the way, how comes that you have the same key for the elevator and the door lock, but not every apartment can be opened with that key? When the elevator is for everyone in the private apartment’s…with key?” I grinned at his flood of question and shrugged.

“I really don’t know, but may I ask what in the bloody hell you are doing here? I thought you’re in LA?” he shrugged, placing a Gucci luggage with colourful Mickey mouse print down.

“Oh ye know…” he said smugly, slipping out of his shoes. “Planning to crash for a few?” I remarked, nodding towards the luggage. He just shrugged.

“Depends. However, to answer your first question: I am meeting a very lovely lady that has stubbornly denied getting any credit of feature on my album. To answer the second question…I was in LA, yes. Then I took that thing they call airplane and…” I got up with a chuckle and wrapped my arms around him. “Yeah shut it, you big fool. I wasn’t planning on sounding rude, I was just a bit startled because I was just thinking of you.” he rose his eyebrows.

“I am flattered. Was it a nice dream?” I felt my cheeks heat up a little. “I haven’t dreamt about you, you narcissistic asshole.” He just winked cheekily. “Sure not…” “and if I would, it would’ve been a nightmare.” I closed off and he grinned. “Rude.”

“Asked for it.” He shrugged, dragging me to the couch before saying another word. “What are you doing?” I asked, letting him pull me down next to him.

“We need to talk.” He explained, suddenly seeming way more serious. “You don’t wanna drink or eat anything…” I asked carefully, but he just shook his head. “Had something on m’ way. Now…” he took a deep breath and scooted back a little so he could rest against back of the couch. “I am pretty sure you are aware of that twitter thing going on…” he said with careful glance at my face…and I couldn’t help but feel my cheeks heat up.

“Obviously.” He hummed quickly before continuing. “What do you think of it?” well, this was not how I wanted it to roll. I didn’t wanted to be the first one speaking up. (but then I should’ve probably done the same thing Harry did – and finally grow a pair). However, right now I felt unprepared and flustered and nervous. I was taken aback by him appearing on my doorstep out of the blue and coming to the point that quickly.

“I don’t…I don’t know really.” I managed to stutter and avoided his eyes strictly. Just calm down, Jesus Christ…breathe.

“That means…?” he asked carefully, eyes expectantly resting on me. “It means that I don’t know. Like, maybe I mind it but probably I don’t because I don’t really mind the thought of us but just maybe and I don’t know.” Harry’s brows were furrowed as he tried to follow my torrent of words.

“I…understand. Partly.” He said, a soft smirk settling on his face. “So you don’t…mind them.”

“Them what?” he leaned forward a bit, supporting his head with his arms on his knees. “Them shipping us.” I gulped. “I guess I don’t.” he nodded slowly.

“Alright. And if I told you that I don’t either, what does that mean for us?” my heart skipped a beat. Well, maybe three or four beats at his words and my eyes grew wide. “Y-you don’t mind?” he shook his head, the hint of a blush covering his cheeks.

“I actually...never really did. I liked the thought of us for a good while now. And the twitter thing…well it only confirmed me.” He then confessed, giving me a nervous chuckle.

“Are you kidding me?” I asked slowly, growing almost smug when I watched his blush deepen.

“I…I am not.” With a swift move I leaped forward and tackled him backwards down on the couch. “And all that damn time you have never called? You idiot!” he laughed bringing his hand up to my face.

“Sorry I let you suffer, but you could’ve called too.” I huffed, obviously being aware of that. “No I couldn’t, because first of all, I am a coward you know that, and second, I was embarrassed because you were supposed to be my best friend and you don’t fall for your best friend and third, the whole interview thing with Kendall…”

Harry laughed out loud. “Kendall? You got jealous because of my interview with Kendall?” I snorted. “I don’t know what you have with putting words in my mouth I never said, I never once said that I got jealous…” Harry cut me off with a quick peck on my lips and a knowing twinkle in his eyes.

“Yeah maybe I got jealous…” I mumbled with a scrunched nose and he laughed. “Yeah maybe ye did.”

Ending from Wattpad here

#Harry Styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #one direction #leave feedback if you want #!#💘#queue like you get paid

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xserpentlife · 5 years ago

Text

Protect You

Request: @dietothemusic - Can I request a Sweet Pea x Male reader where the group is playing truth or dare and has to give Sweet Pea a lap dance? Or how about the reader is part of the northside being Veronica’s cousin and goes to a party meeting sweet pea and they have to hide their relationship until the reader gets tired of hiding?

A/N: If you don’t like Male x Male stories I suggest you get off my blog because on this blog we support everyone regardless. So sorry this is late by the way, again my schedule may be very off this week but I am going to try my absolutely hardest to keep it at least almost on track but fics may be a day late I’m not sure. Thanks to my beta @wayward-river

Warnings: Cursing? I think that is it.

Word Count: 3661

For weeks now you had been dating Sweet Pea the big bad brooding Serpent who always had a bone to pick with everyone. You met him three months ago when you started living at the Pembrook with Veronica, your cousin. It was weird the way you met, almost unconventional but also really told a tale about who the both of you were. Tonight was going to be a reminder of all of that. A reminder of the way it all started with the man you have grown to love.

*Flashback*

“Ronnie I can’t go to this party I don’t know anyone”

“Come on please Y/N”

“Ugh why”

“Because you're my cousin”

“Like that is a reason”

“Please I bet you will have a great time, actually I promise you will. And I am sure you’ll meet Kevin maybe you two will hit it off”

“And why would you think that? Is it cause Kevin is gay?”

“Okay well…” “No V you always try to set me up with these prissy guys and I am tired of it let my love life be okay”

“Fine but tell me you’ll come”

“I have to it is in this apartment and if you forgot I live here too remember”

“Touche cus touche, see you in a bit”

The party started off awkward at first. You didn’t know anyone considering you had just moved in a few weeks ago. You had only been to school a few times due to you skipping a few of your classes. You were usually an outspoken person not afraid of the fights or saying things to people, but the situation you were in now caused you to be scared and timid. Afraid that the people around you would not accept you. Your entire life you were the head dog. No one messed with you because they knew your family name, but when your parents passed away you became a target and moving in with the Lodges granted you that protection that you had lost. You weren’t like your aunt and uncle, hell you were barely like Veronica but you would only be safe with them, you hated living there. Hated the life you now had but you had to stay. You at least knew the Lodges had their own protection. Your life was too dangerous to go anywhere else. You wouldn’t be safe and no one around you would be.

You sat on the couch in your jeans and button up shirt feeling out of place wanting so deeply to just hide when you saw him walk in. He was hard to miss; tall, dark hair, built. You didn’t wanna seem like you were staring so you got up walking into your bedroom changing out of the button up, it seemed almost too formal for your liking. Formality always made you squeamish, remembering the ways your parents always had to be.

After changing you went back out sitting on the couch, and only a few seconds later that man that you saw at the door had made the couch dip as he sat next to you. Your breath hitched as he did so, but it was odd usually you didn’t get that weird stomach feeling for other people, something was different about him. He tapped you on the shoulder as you had been looking away and when you turn your eyes locked a light blush appearing on the stranger's cheek.

“Hello”

“Hey”

“Did you need something” What else were you supposed to say, you didn’t know him.

“Uh, oh nothing I just wanted to say. Figured I'd say hi you seemed bored, or annoyed, maybe pissed off, either way, uh I’m Sweet Pea”

“Oh cool name”

“Huh”

“Your name… it’s cool”

“Thanks most people ask if it’s real”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, haha”

“Well, nice to meet you Sweet Pea” You got up not wanting the conversation to go on any longer where you could ruin it. You also loved leading the mystery. Would he want to know more?

“Wait, where are you going?”

“Why do you wanna know”

“Thought we could talk more”

“What you think I am interested”

“Uh… sorry”

“I’m kidding Sweet Pea, follow me if you wanna get to know me so bad” You led him up to your room

“Oh, so you just wanted me in your room?”

“Shut it, I just was tired of that terrible music the party was playing”

“Yeah that shit was horrible, should we test to see if you have better taste”

“Oh so now I'm being tested”

“I mean if you want”

“Okay, I’m up for the challenge” You turned on your record player and played Y/F/A (Your favorite album).

“Okay, maybe you ain’t so bad preppy” The word, the word you hated. He knew of who you ran with he must have. Something told you to run but the smile he had given told you to stay.

“I’m not…”

“I know it was just a joke. I could tell you weren’t like most of the people at the party when you changed into a t-shirt and at that a band tee. I like your style”

“Thanks, I like the leather”

“Oh do you now” Before anything could continue a yell came from downstairs. Veronica calling you down. She couldn’t find you not upstairs, not like the way you were.

“We, we need to go downstairs, I’m sorry” You started walking out before your hand was grabbed and you were dragged back slightly.

“Are you alright”

“Yeah, yeah I’m good just my cousin needs me”

“Wait Veronica is your cousin”

“Yeah, wait you didn’t know? Isn’t that why you called me preppy cause I live here with her and you know she is?”

“No, not by a longshot. I had no idea you were related to her. I called you preppy for the pure fact that you were wearing the button up. I was just kidding, to be honest. I’m sorry about that by the way”

“Don’t worry about it Sweet Pea, everything is good”

“You sure?” “Yeah now I really gotta go see what she wants or she is gonna come up here”

“Alright let’s go” Sweet Pea walked out the door walking downstairs without another word.

You walked downstairs a few seconds after Sweet Pea had started. Veronica waited was waiting for you in the kitchen with a few other people shouting a follow me as soon as you had entered. A girl you learned to be Cheryl started talking once everyone entered the living room.

“Alright chums. We are going to play a fun little game of truth or dare. But there will be a twist. If you choose truth you will need to take a shot. Fun right! SO either you quit now before we start, or you will be stuck till it is over. So, ladies, gentlemen are you in or are you out?”

Truth or Dare. Were you in? I mean you damn well wanted to play, but could you now after all of that. You waited for the responses of others. When it got to Sweet Pea he had looked to you before looking to the door but ultimately decided to play. And then you had your answer. If he was playing you were definitely going to be there. So with a shot, you were in too. It started out basic, the normal truths being asked and answered but then it started getting juicy with Cheryl daring Toni to take off her shirt and then the bottle spun and it came back to you. Toni was now asking truth or dare but you had already done three truths and you didn’t want another shot, so dare it was.

“Dare”

“Alright, I dare you to give Sweet Pea a lap dance” Sweet Pea looked up his eyes turning to a new look you hadn’t seen.

“Toni what the hell I barely know the dude”

“Eh whatever that makes it more fun”

So you got up slowly sauntering over to Sweet Pea. The nerves in your chest at an all-time high. But why were you getting this feeling, you had giving lap dances during truth or dare with other guys but with Sweet Pea you felt something so different. You slowly brought your hands down to his shoulders bracing yourself against his body so you wouldn’t fall over the slight tipsiness taking hold at that moment. You slowly moved along swaying your hips as you made your way down dragging your hands with you along his body. Your legs made your way over his hips slowly grinding down against them until you were almost seated on his lap. You saw him biting his lip which made you want to go faster, you wanted his reaction, you wanted to be the one to make him react. Your hips grinded down slowly as you began humping his body, your lips slowly making the way to his neck. You brought your lips to his neck lightly hovering over before finally placing them down sucking what you learned to be his sweet spot, and that was his breaking point. As soon as your lips connected to his neck he had pushed you off lightly standing up and rushing out of the house.

You sat there for a second shocked before Toni had tapped you. “Hey don’t worry about him he probably just got pissed he never gave a lap dance that good” You rushed up before responding not caring what anyone would think, all you cared about was him for some odd reason. You craved him you needed to make sure he was alright. You were an ass and you knew it, you knew he was most likely straight, you knew you shouldn’t have done the dare but you did it anyone and probably ruined the slim chance you had at being friends with him. So you followed him rushing out of the house before anyone could stop you. But you couldn’t find him and then you heard the roar of the bike and you looked to the end of the driveway him standing there the smoke from a cigarette drifting into the air. You ran to him, as fast as you could and as he turned around you couldn’t stop fast enough as you crashed into him.

“Woah what the hell!”

“I…”

“What is your problem”

“I… I just wanted to say sorry”

“For what running into me cause that could’ve been prevented”

“No well yeah I am sorry for that too but I wanted to apologize about the dance… the lap dance. I should never have done that. I know you probably are not gay or bi or pan or whatever and even if you were there should have been permission, and I am so sorry to make you run out on your friends I just I shouldn’t have done that and I ju... “ Your voice was cut off as you felt his lips on your own. You melted into the kiss instantly, not caring what it meant, not caring if anyone was seeing. For once in your life, he was the only thing that mattered.

“I… wait. What? I thought you ran out cause you were mad at me”

“I left because well… take a guess” You looked to his cheeks seeing him blush as he looked down, a small chuckle coming from him. “Now shut up” There it was again… his lips felt like fire, hot fire that burned deep inside of you.

“I could get used to that”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah”

“Wanna get out of here”

“Definitely”

*End Flashback*

The party started well just as it had so many times in the past. Sweet Pea stayed away keeping you at a distant knowing that you weren’t out. But you watched him. The party made you reminisce about the times you both shared together. You were scared shitless for anyone to find out, you needed to protect Sweet Pea. You had only ever gone to Sweet Pea’s trailer a few times. He was scared it wouldn’t be enough for you, but it was the exact opposite, you loved the getaway that his trailer offered and he knew that. He would often come up to your room during parties slipping away when people wouldn’t notice and he would spend the night before slipping out earlier in the morning before anyone would see. The only person that probably figured out the relationship was Smithers and maybe Sweet Pea’s best friends Fangs, and Toni. It was hard for you, and you knew it was hard for Sweet Pea as well. You didn’t want to have to hide but you also didn’t want to put Pea in danger either. If anyone from the rival families knew that you had someone who made you soft or someone you cared about they would use it against you in an instant, so you tried your hardest to keep hidden.

The time of the night you dreaded most came the truth or dare beginning. You sat next to Sweet Pea as you always had. You were ten minutes in the game going pretty smoothly no crazy dares and only a few shots. The bottle landed on Sweet Pea Toni being the person behind it. You knew the dare that was coming you saw it in her eyes as she glanced to you and back to him. “I dare you to give Y/N a lap dance” Sweet Pea glanced top you and you nodded as confirmation. If you didn’t let him it would have been a dead give away that something was going on. So you did. He slowly climbed on top of you still holding his weight up so he wasn’t fully pressing against your body. He grinded down his hips slowly connecting with yours. You couldn’t look at him. But at one point the way he landed made you gasp and turn fully locking eyes. Lost there for a moment his lips connected with yours. You pushed him off running away. Everyone would know. They would know that you were together. Others would find out. He would be in danger. You ran outside and kept running until a hand pulled you back.

“Pea let me go”

“No!”

“Drop my wrist now!”

“No Y/N what’s going on?”

“You knew Pea you knew”

“Knew what!”

“You kissed me and you knew I didn’t want anyone to find out, and you did it anyway”

“First of all we kissed each other, and you know it. Yeah maybe I started but you felt it too that moment and don’t say you didn’t because I felt it too. Look Y/N if your ashamed of me that’s fine but…”

“Sweet pea I’m not ashamed of you I just… I’m not out you know that”

“So what everyone knows. Toni, Fangs, Cheryl. We are together all of the time hugging, holding hands and doing so much more. I tried. We tried I mean, to keep it a secret we stopped the hand holdings when we saw someone, but people asked me I told them no but I don’t know if they believed me, does it really matter that much babe”

“Pea” Tears were streaming down your face at that point. “It matters Pea, it matters more than you know”

“I want to be with you Y/N I don’t give a shit if anyone knows hell I’ll fucking scream it right now. Look if you're not ready to come out that is fine, but… but I care so much about you and it’s not fair to me or you being hidden like this”

He thought you didn’t want to be with him and that killed you more. You looked up into his eyes the glistening of a few tears rolling down his cheeks and that made you crack. Tears were falling faster than before as you pulled away from him again. You couldn’t watch him as he broke because of you but you needed to keep him safe you had to.

“If you want to tell people I don’t think we can be together Sweet Pea”. Before you could process you were being turned around his large hand holding your cheek as he looked into your eyes and his lips connected with yours. Softer but more passionate than ever before, like at any second you would disappear from underneath him, but you needed to. To keep him safe you had to go away you had to stop seeing him. “Babe don’t do this. I don’t get it. I don’t get why we can’t just fucking tell people. People will support you like they do Toni, Fangs, Cheryl, and Kevin I mean hell even me. You won’t be in danger”

“That isn't’ the fucking point Sweet pea. I am not the one that needs to worry about the danger”

“What?”

“Fuck can’t you just let it be, I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you. I can’t have you in danger. I would rather leave you and lose you than lose you from you being tortured or killed. I can’t go through that, I can’t let you go through that”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“God I should have told you sooner”

“Told me what Y/N!”

“My life Pea it is fucking dangerous. The shady things that Hiram does well my family did them all to. I mean I was never a part of it, but… but when they died I am the one that became the target. The rivals all came after me. I had to move in with my fucking asshole aunt and uncle because of it. You think I choose to live here. You think this is the life I want. I hate living in luxury while others are down in the dumps. I fucking hate this place, but I have to be here or I would be dead. I don’t have enough to protect myself, I need to be here, but I can at least protect you. The rivals will do anything to get to me, even if that means taking you down so they can do so. I can’t let them hurt you, and… and you being with me means that they will know your my weakness. They will use you to get to me. They can hurt you, hell they could kill you and I can’t have that because I fucking love you Sweet pea. I a, fucking madly in love with you hell I would scream it to the world to but I fucking can’t because I need to keep you safe and protected” And there came the kiss. The way you melted into him automatically happening before you realized and pulled away. “Pea we can’t you’re just making this harder on the both of us.”

“Wait you're telling me that we were doing the same thing, I’m not leaving you Y/N”

“Same thing? Fuck Sweet Pea just listen! Fuck what don’t you get don’t you fucking understand Sweet Pea. What are you not getting about? You could be Taken! Tortured! or worse Killed!”

“Babe I know and I don’t give a fuck, they are not going to touch me.”

“Oh my god”

“You don’t know, do you. I mean I never told you… so I mean I guess you wouldn’t but babe I’m in a gang”

“I’m sorry what now!”

“Ever heard of the Serpents”

“Uh no”

“Didn’t you think it was odd I wore a jacket that matched my neck tattoo, or odd that Fangs and Toni, sometimes Cheryl wore the same?”

“I just thought, I thought they were like friendship jackets or some weird shit. Wait you're in a fucking gang”

“Yeah…” “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me”

“I had to fucking keep you safe. The same reason I kept trying to hide this too but I realized it wasn’t worth it, I cared more about being with you in public and unafraid, and I knew that if… if you were going to be targeted I would protect you. If we were public you would be a Serpent by association and you would be protected to”

“This is insane Sweet Pea” He grabbed your hands in one of his, and his other landed on your cheek.

“Babe, are you okay?” “I’m shocked I just… they can still come after you though we aren't safe Sweet Pea”

“Live with me”

“What do you not you understand about NOT! SAFE!”

“Live with me babe or at least think about it. You will be safe. You will be under Serpent protection. No one will come after you, and plus even if they did you would have a full gang of protection behind you. You will be safe I will make sure of it. I can’t lose you Y/N. I can’t deal with that. I love you. I’m not scared. I am not scared of anything but losing you, and if I let you go that is going to happen anyone so at least let me try to protect you, please.”

“I don’t want to lose you either Sweet Pea, I love you too”

Your lips locked in a kiss that felt like it hadn’t happened in a million years. It felt like it lasted for hours, and it was only interrupted by gasps coming from the front steps. All of your friends watching from afar and clapping as you both looked down blushing. You buried your head into Sweet Pea’s chest as he yelled for everyone to go away, and they did not want to question what was happening.

“Hey it is going to be okay, I promise, now you wanna hop on my bike and go to the trailer, our trailer… I mean if you want?”

“Our trailer?”

“You were always welcome there, always”

“I know”

“I love you Y/N”

“I love you too Sweet Pea”

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