#and he remembered me at the fucking end of tour and put his mic over my head
Note
I keep imagining the first time Luke and Mr. D met after Luke's hickeys/scratches went viral
LMFAOOOOO ANON THIS IS SENDING ME
here is how i think that conversation played out (suggestive content ahead):
"shit, five star, your dad is calling me," luke mumbled, eyes wide as he looked down at his phone. "he never calls me."
connor snicked from his bunk in the tour bus, "well, given that the whole internet is talking about you right now after the show you gave them last night, i'm not surprised."
"ha!" travis exclaimed, sitting up on his bed. "put it on speaker. i wanna hear him yell at you."
you rolled your eyes, "he's not gonna yell at you."
luke turned to you with hopeful eyes, "you think so?"
"well, he's probably not gonna yell at you," you scrunched your face up, rethinking your words, "like 55% chance he won't yell at you."
"i don't like those odds, babe."
"answer the fucking phone, luke."
luke clicked the green button on his screen, chewing on the nail of his thumb. he rolled his eyes, pressing the speaker button as travis kept egging him on. chris and clarisse opened the privacy curtain of chris' bunk to listen in on the drama.
"hey, mr. d," luke cleared his throat, ignoring the quiet giggles from the boys when his voice cracked. "what's up?"
"is my daughter with you?"
"say no," you whispered. so you were wrong about the odds. your dad was 100% about to yell at luke and you selfishly didn't want to get your ass handed to you just yet. you were going to avoid your dad's calls for as long as possible.
"uhh... no?"
"oh jesus fucking christ," you sighed, smacking your palm against your forehead, "that was soooo convincing."
you heard your dad type on his laptop before shutting it. there was some background noise that subsided after you heard the shut of a door. it seemed like your dad went into his office to get some privacy.
"hey, kid," your dad said, no doubt addressing you now.
"hey, dad," you rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly, leaning down to speak into the mic of luke's phone. "how are you?"
"don't start with me," he said, "would it kill you both to not do whatever it is you do that results in those pictures? pictures that are all over the internet by the way!"
a snide remark was on the tip of luke's tongue, because yes, it would kill him to not do the things that resulted in the pink marks on his neck and the healing scratches on his back, but that didn't seem like the right response.
"dad, you never had an issue with them taking their shirts off during shows before. and luke has gone out on stage like that before."
luke cringed, remembering one too many instances where he'd gone out on stage with hickeys all over his neck. it felt like a lifetime ago now, as if ever since you walked into his life that past version of him was someone he didn't recognize anymore. he much preferred remembering the name of the girl who left him marked up, especially preferring that it was only you who did that to him.
"that was before he started dating my daughter!" he replied, "i don't want to know anything about your relationship, but i'm in an unfortunate situation where i happen to manage the career of your boyfriend's band so i have to deal with it sometimes. so for the love of god, please please, stop."
"i'm so sorry mr. d," luke mumbled, "i completely forgot about them and by the time i realized, it was too late."
you could practically see your dad pulling at his hair, a habit he had when he was in stressful or awkward situations. he didn't speak for a good thirty seconds and then he sighed, "just keep your goddamn shirt on."
luke gulped, "got it."
when your dad ended the call, the entire bus erupted in laughter, including you. luke's face was as red as a tomato as he groaned and buried his head in his pillow. your shoulders shook as you giggled, laying on top of him. he instantly turned his body to wrap his arms around you.
"that wasn't so bad," you cooed, running your fingers through his curls, "and that was a shit apology, baby. you were smug as hell on stage when people pointed out the scratches."
"i wasn't thinking of the consequences of my actions," he said, "i was caught up watching people connect the dots that my girlfriend is not only hot but a fucking animal in be--"
"okay, that's our cue," travis cut off, closing his curtain. connor followed his head, popping in his airpods. clarisse sent you a wink before she disappeared behind the curtain with chris.
"i'll stop leaving hickeys on you," you kissed his face, enjoying how flustered he got. "but i can't promise too much on the scratches."
"i'm gonna stop taking my shirt off at shows, i think," he mused, toying with the hem of the shirt you wore. "i don't think i can take another surprise call from your dad. i think it took years off my life."
"your fans will be highly disappointed," you teased, leaning over to his ear, "but if you're gonna keep your shirt on, does that mean hickeys on your abs is fair game?"
luke licked his lips, tugging on his own curtain to give you two some privacy, "absolutely."
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𝔈𝔫𝔡 𝔊𝔞𝔪𝔢 - 𝔍𝔐𝔎
jmk x f!reader
first of many, enjoy ;)
THIS BLOG IS 18+ MINORS DNI
warnings: mentions of alcohol, fake dating trope (it's a fave and I not be sorry), bit of angst, josh is a cutie
taylor's version masterpost
reputation masterpost
☮
Young Starlet Caught in Compromising Position!
Your publicist was less than pleased about the headline. Even though you had insisted nothing had happened, and that picture was simply a case of a bad angle. It wasn’t looking great, though. To be fair, the picture was pretty bad. A bruise painted your neck, lipstick smudged around your mouth as some guy grabbed your hips from behind.
It would be hard to explain yourself out of that one, to be honest. Regardless of whether the picture was accurately depicting your actions of the night, the fans had seen it. Your image had already been tainted in their eyes, and it would be nearly impossible to recover.
Big reputation, big reputation
Ooh, you and me, we got big reputations, ah
Rather than attempting to, it was decided that you required a rebrand. It started with the incorporation of darker clothes into your “wardrobe” - quoted only because it was what was chosen for you. Interviews began to shift to questioning the possibility of heavier music, to which you would coyly suggest it was possible.
Then you released a new single. It caught the attention of rock fans everywhere. There was a sudden call for a genre change, which you hoped so desperately for. The last few years of your life had made you feel like a sell out. You traded the humanity and meaning in your music for tracks that would generate streams and ranks on charts.
Within a couple years, no one remembered the popstar you had been. It was all about the rockstar you had become. And you were a big one.
It wasn’t overwhelming anymore. The work you put in was hard and abundant, but it was genuine. It showed in the love that poured from the fans over social media and in the crowds of your sold out shows.
A world tour was in the talks and an opening act was in question. Someone suggested a band you had heard a handful of times before: Greta Van Fleet, not that you ever really had time to immerse yourself in a new band. From the videos you’d seen and the songs you’d heard, you would be lucky to have them on tour with you. They were getting relatively popular and you knew you had to strike fast to get them on the setlist.
“I have a surprise for you!” Gene, your publicist, exclaimed in a sing-song tune.
“Ugh, last time you said that, I had a snake draped over my body. Still mad at you for that, actually.” You only looked up from your phone for the last sentence, otherwise preoccupied with a daunting game of 8 Ball with your best friend.
“Well, this one I’m not sure is much better, if we’re being honest,” he trailed off, “the label loves you, you know that.”
“Uh oh.” You weren’t worried.
“But in a recent poll, they found that fans think you’re …how do I put this …boring?” He strung his words together carefully, as to not offend you. It wasn’t his tone of voice that concerned you.
“Boring?! I’m practically fucking a mic stand every night!”
“Not enough anymore, babe.” He was being rather nonchalant, and you realized that being called “boring” wasn’t even the main issue that was being presented.
You narrowed your eyes at him, “So what are they going to do about it, Gene.” His name came out like the sparking embers of a fire on the forest floor.
And I heard about you, ooh (yeah)
You like the bad ones too
That was how you ended up at an intimate restaurant in Nashville, across from Josh Kiszka. He was nervous and it was actually kind of cute. It reminded you of a real date, something you hadn’t had in ages.
“I like your dress. Green. That’s my favorite color,” his eyes raked over the silk of your dress. It extended to your ankles, a slit daring to expose your leg. The straps were a little tight, and prevented you from wearing a normal bra, and the tape holding up your breasts was peeling from sweat.
“I know,” you chuckled, “everything about this is set up to be as persuasive as possible.”
“Oh. Either way. It looks great on you.” He was genuine, and as the night went on, you found that it wasn’t even his most endearing trait.
Just as the clock was about to hit 11, he was standing on your front porch, wishing he didn’t have to leave. This was an arrangement, a plan to draw attention to the both of you, driving up streams and ticket sales.
As you stood on your porch, hand lingering on the door as if it was a riddle, so close to him that you could practically taste the wine on his lips, you realized something. You realized that you were going to inevitably fall in love with Josh Kiszka, undeniable force meets immovable object. It was almost expected that dread would fill your stomach as you recognized this fate, but it never came. Instead, butterflies flew in its place.
I've passed days without fun, this endgame is the one
With four words on the tip of my tongue I'll never say
A month and half later, and several dates to show, you had proven yourself correct. But, who could blame you? What about Josh wasn’t lovable?
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” you announced to the meeting. There were a few label executives, Gene, and Josh with his team.
“What?” Josh was the first to say anything, and his face portrayed betrayal.
“Yeah, what he said,” Gene added.
You sighed, “I don’t want to pretend to be in a relationship anymore. That’s not what my job is, and I don’t see how it adds any value to my music.”
“B-But, this is what’s going to sell the tickets. A love story, performing together in the throes of romance.” You glared at the executive.
“No, our raw talent and meaningful music will sell tickets. I will not be told who I can date, when I can see them, and especially when I can break up with them. If that’s a problem, I’m sure another record label would have no problem meeting my demands.”
This is what drew Josh to you: your fiery passion. In spite of that, he was upset, especially since you hadn’t even discussed it with him. He was under the impression that you liked him, maybe even liked him. God, he felt like a middle schooler again, paired with the pretty girl for a project only for her to ask for a different partner halfway through.
I don't wanna touch you (I don't wanna be)
Just another ex-love (you don't wanna see)
As it turns out, the label no longer had a problem meeting your demands. You waited outside the board room for Josh, pulling him aside when he came out, head hung low.
“It’s not you, trust me.”
“Oh, then it’s you?”
“No. Listen, I don’t want to be told to date you, or what happens over the course of our ‘relationship.’ I don’t want the pressure of having to pretend to love you.”
“I get it, believe me. You don’t have to explain.”
“I want to do it by myself, on my terms. Love you, I mean. And believe me, I do.”
He looked up for the first time, his eyes were beautiful. But you already knew that.
“I don’t want to have to forget you, and never see you again because the tour is over. I want our love to be ours, and no one else’s.”
Josh smiled, he agreed.
I wanna be your endgame, endgame
〚taglist〛
gvf: @doodle417, @brokenbellz, @gretavanfleas, @pyrojoshy, @greta-van-chaos, @xserenax-13, @hayley1623, @kdarling1, @autumns30, @keighoe, @chalametpwk, @sammysvanfeet, @shawnsthighs, @gretavanbitches, @sammiejane22, @gretavanbestie, @jordierama, @alexxavicry, @spark-my-nature, @rainy-darling
joshy: @prophetofthedune, @loofypoofy, @gretavangracee
#josh kiszka#greta van fleet#jake kiszka#danny wagner#sam kiskza#josh gvf#josh kiszka smut#josh kiszka fluff#jake kiszka smut#jake kiszka fluff#sam kiszka smut#sam kiszka fluff#danny wagner smut#danny wagner fluff#gvf smut#gvf imagine#gvf fic#greta van smut#greta van fic#greta van fleet smut#greta van fleet fan fiction#greta van fleet angst
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(Un)welcome Distraction | Part 3
Nick Folio x female reader
Minors, please DNI
🔞⚠️: spitting, choking, p in v sex, oral sex, unprotected sex, hand job
1,370 words
Part 1 | Part 2
“Thank you, Nashville. We have been Bad Omens. Get home safe, look after each other.” Noah said into the mic as the house lights came back on at the end of the band's set.
The last 24 hours had been awkward to say the least. Nick had told the guys you were coming to Nashville to see that night's show and to spend some time with him the next day before they had to head off to the next city. What he hadn't told them was that he'd invited you to join them for the rest of the tour - at least for the remainder of your vacation time from work. If you were being honest, it hadn't taken much to convince you to pack a bag and take the next flight. You'd taken a cab from the airport to the hotel, arriving a few minutes after them. They were all in the lobby checking-in as Nick dropped his bags and ran over to you, picking you up and holding you in a tight embrace. Nick set you down and took your hand; you looked up and gave the guys a wave as he led you over to them. You could have sworn Bryan grimaced when he saw you had more than an overnight bag with you. ‘Great start’, you'd thought.
You'd stood at the side of the stage during the entire set, your eyes never left Nick. Watching him play was always so mesmerising to you and you'd spent most of the set with your thighs subconsciously pressed together. He climbed down from his kit and all but ran over to you. Ignoring the bottle of water you held out for him, he lifted your chin and pulled you in for a kiss. The open-mouthed kind where your tongues fight against each other as you pull each other in for more until you're out of breath.
“Nick. You were amazing,” you panted as you pulled away from him.
“I swear I play better when you're here. It's like, like, it's like you make me go feral,” he grinned, taking the bottle from you. “Thanks, baby.”
You were interrupted when Jolly walked past, slapping Nick on the back, “C'mon, put each other down. Folio, we gotta get packed up.”
“Sorry, Jolly. I won't keep him,” you uttered.
Jolly made no reply other than shoot you a wink.
You reached up and planted a soft kiss on Nick's neck, inhaling his scent. Musk and sweat and incense consumed you. Your thighs squeezed together again.
By the time you'd gotten back to the hotel, the awkwardness between you and the guys had almost gone. You'd had a chance to talk it out with most of them while you'd helped them pack up the kit and load the truck. Once off the bus at the hotel, hand in hand, you and Nick made your way to your room in a comfortable silence.
You closed the door behind you and leaned your back against it, watching Nick as he took off his cap and jacket. An audible soft groan escaped your lips before you had a chance to stop it. Nick heard and made his way over to you, looking at you like you were his prey. He grabbed the sides of your face dragging you in for another kiss while he pressed the length of his body against yours. You wrapped your arms around him, desperately pulling him in, as you felt him harden in his shorts. You bucked your hips to signal you needed more.
“Do you want to?” He asked when he eventually let you go, nodding towards the bed.
“I hope you don't mean to sleep, Mr Folio. I have plans for you,” you teased as you pushed him off you and walked to the foot of the bed with Nick in tow.
Silently you each removed your clothes, eyes barely leaving the other's. You ran your hands over his tattooed chest and down his torso then back up. His breathing was staggered in anticipation. You looked down at his erection then back to his eyes.
“Spit,” you demanded, holding your hand out under his chin, palm raised.
Nick complied. His eyes were still on yours as you began stroking his cock, covering him with his saliva.
“I want you to fuck my face like we talked about the other day. Do you remember what I said?” you quizzed him, getting to your knees and resting your hands on his hips.
He placed his own hands to the side of your head, “You want to choke on me.”
“That's right. Are you ready?”
Nick nodded while he bit his bottom lip. You moved one of your hands to the base of his shaft and delicately kissed the tip then ran your tongue over to sample his pre-cum. You hummed with satisfaction causing Nick to tighten his grip and mumble something unintelligible. You took him into your mouth, inch by inch, pressing your tongue against his length as you went. He filled your mouth easily and you let your jaw muscles relax as you waited for the first thrust. Nick held on to your head, keeping it still as he began to move his hips, pushing himself deeper into your mouth. The tip of his cock caught the back of your throat. The sound of you gagging only encouraged Nick to push as far into your mouth as he could when he thrust his hips. The taste of his cock and pre-cum combined with the feeling of his cock in the back of your throat had another of your holes ready to be fucked. Nick praised you and began moaning loudly. You choked on his cock for a while longer then he released your head and pulled out of your mouth.
“I don't want to cum in your mouth tonight, baby. I need you to look me in the eyes while I fill you,” Nick said as he helped you up off your knees.
You wiped the saliva from the corners of your mouth with your index finger then instructed him to get on the bed and lie on his back.
Without saying a word you straddled him, hovering your dripping pussy over his hard throbbing cock. He ran his hands over your thighs up to your hips. You were desperate now. Reaching down between your legs, you took hold of his shaft as you lowered yourself. Once he was inside of you, you rested your palms on his chest and began your movements without bothering to give yourself a moment to adjust to his size. Nick moved his hands round to your ass in an attempt to take back some of the control as he guided your movements. The hotel room was soon filled with the sound of heavy breathing and Nick’s cock sliding in and out of your wet hole with your every movement.
Nick could tell you were close. He could feel the tension in your body building. Moving one hand to your breast and the other to your clit, he worked to draw out an orgasm. Your moans got louder and more intense, as his index and middle fingers toyed with your clit and he ran his thumb over your nipple. He started bucking his hips in time with you. You couldn't hold it anymore.
“NICK!” You called out in delight as you came, breathless and glistening with sweat.
“That's right, baby. Keep going for me. Please. Ahhh, that's right,” Nick sighed as you resumed riding him.
He reached up, grabbed your jaw, and pulled your gaze towards his own. He was almost grunting with every breath. Nick squeezed your hip with his free hand and pulled you down further. With a final buck of his hips, he moaned loudly and a moment later you felt his cum inside you.
Utterly spent and exhausted, you fell forward resting your head on his shoulder while you both caught your breath. It felt like the perfect moment. That is until there were three loud bangs on the wall followed by Jolly's voice and Nicholas’ laughter.
“FoLiO! Can you fuck your girl quieter next time? Some of us need beauty sleep.”
Part 4
#nick folio#nick folio smut#nick folio x reader#nick folio x female reader#nick folio fanfic#nick folio fic#bad omens fanfiction#bad omens fic#bad omens smut
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It wasn't very often that he would let himself think it, but sometimes, Jack really hated Dawn Clearly.
"So, do you have any siblings?"
The expectant way that his date cocked her head told him everything that he needed to know about the rest of the evening: the feigned interest in his job as a data security consultant, the all too eager suggestion that maybe they should head back to his place, her number blowing up his phone when he demurred, having learned that lesson a little too well the last time that he'd made the mistake of taking a woman home on the first date.
There wasn't any point to the pretending.
"You know, I really don't think this is working."
"Excuse me?"
"If you want her autograph, just buy it off Ebay like everyone else, and leave me out of it."
He signaled at the waitress for the check. Maybe he could get a to-go box for his tacos. They'd be soggy, but at least he could eat them in the privacy of his apartment without having to worry about everything he said ending up on the front page of People.
Jesus Fucking Christ, it wasn't even like he was the famous one here.
But he was used to it. Mostly.
Donna had made it big back when he was a senior in college. After years of driving his little sister and her garage band of the week around to every Elks Lodge function hall and local bar mitzvah, he couldn't help but be excited for her. Unfortunately, that excitement wouldn't last.
It was a fluke, really, Hiroshima Shadow's first record deal. Some local dj had heard them at an open mic night or something. Jack still wasn't entirely sure of all the details; he'd had midterm to cram for when it happened. But they'd barely even been a real band back then: just Donna, and Paul, and Steph replacing Lizzie, who'd quit to go back to school for accounting. The name had been a work in progress.
But even in those early days, when they still played a lot of covers by the Clash and the Dead Kennedys and sometimes Pansy Division, but with a lot more indistinct screaming, it only seemed like it would be a matter of time before the rest of the world would come to appreciate how good of a guitarist Donna was. How big of a star she would be. The smirking face on far too many billboards.
Hiroshima Shadow's rise had been almost meteoric. Warped Tour and MTV and Rock am Ring in Germany. By then, Donna and Paul had been writing most of their own songs, scathing and funny and haunting, and easier on Donna's vocal chords than the screaming of the early days. They'd broken up before the year was over, and reformed, without their bassist, as the O-Ring, a kind of "fuck you" to Paul's homophobic parents.
Paul had spent that Thanksgiving on their couch, drinking and watching hockey with Jack while Jack's mom fretted about the turkey and the pie and the stuffing. Donna, Dawn Clearly by then, some announcer's drunken mistake that she had just gone with, could never have been accused of being the most supportive of friends. It was the first time that Jack could remember being really, genuinely angry with his sister.
It wasn't the last. Especially not when the first paparazzi photos came out.
Jack had been 25 then, still working as a software developer. Still a little heartbroken from having to turn Steph down, the touring and the fame already too much for him to deal with. Even for someone like Steph.
It was Janice in Administration who had shown him the pictures. Donna, visiting him at his new apartment. Donna and him, grabbing lunch. Donna, borrowing his Rutgers hoodie when it got too cold out.
They were all over the supermarket tabloids and the internet. They'd even printed his name.
It had taken Donna two days to put out a statement. By then, the damage had already been done.
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“A woman got shot not too far away from my club downtown last week—a stray bullet from a shootout in Juarez, which is maybe the equivalent of six or seven blocks away,” says At the Drive-in guitarist Jim Ward over the phone from his home in El Paso. “The violence rarely spills over, but you can feel it, you know. If you want to kill someone, all you have to do is go to Juarez, where the law is all but obsolete and the consequences are either retaliation or nothing at all.”
“It was one of the most fucked up places back then," says Jim of his hometown, where he lives now with his wife. "But it wasn't anger fueling the music. It was just being frustrated from living in El Paso. It was such a clusterfuck. But everybody was in it together. Everybody played with everybody's band; everyone knew each other. It was like a gang." According to Ward, it’s this mentality that brought the band back together for their Coachella appearance. "There's no amount of money in the world that could make this worthwhile if it wasn't for the friendships." he says. "If it didn't feel comfortable, we wouldn't have done it. I mean, I love these guys. We grew up together. And in a way, you're fucking with your history. You're opening your book and starting to write again—and we were fine with our history. We can all sit in a room and get along, but if the music isn't working…
“Anyways, it was only yesterday when we plugged in and started rehearsing. Within a nanosecond we knew it was perfect, and that was it. If that wasn't there, there'd be no point.”
While Coachella also marks other reunion firsts—Swedish hardcore veterans Refused and the Buzzcocks' classic lineup among them—there's arguably few with as chaotic and confusing a past as At the Drive-In.
Listening to Zavala and Ward speak, it’s evident a lot of that chaos and confusion traces back to those formative days in EI Paso. For any band currently laboring through the unforgiving times of Could it be more felicitous that At the Drive-In's sound was birthed a mere few music business ebb-and-flow and the dying throes of AOR rock, the singer says. "I was trying to escape as a kid, and I was lucky enough to tour and travel young," adds Ward. "But kids in those port cities, sometimes they just want to get the fuck away. That’s one reason so many get jobs on ships. When they tell me that, I get it. It's the same now; it really wasn't much better in the mid-‘90s, either.”
“We were basically the black sheep of EI Paso," Zavala recalls of their first few years. "No one was really stoked on us. I think if there are any true fans there; they'll remember that a lot of the time there were maybe three people at our shows—like Omar's dad and two other people."
Ward freely admits to having a love-hate relationship with his hometown. It's where he helped start At the Drive In at age 17, and where the band ultimately agreed to put it on hiatus some seven
Despite playing to small crowds in smaller venues, the band's
determination only grew. "If people hated us, it only incensed that gang-like
years later—a band break that never officially ended. But Ward is also quick to
attitude," remembers Ward. "People would be in the front row, booing us and
credit the town with helping birth their own sui generis brand of rock 'n' roll. It's
telling us we sucked, and we were just like, 'Fuck you, we have the mic, and
*i
a sound that's likely flustered many a fan who would attempt to describe it to a
we don't care if there’s a thousand of you. We're still gonna do what we want."
friend, if only in hopes of categorizing it: post-punk, noise rock. Sewn together
Eventually their on-stage performances caught the eye of fledgling indie label
with Zavala's cut and paste prose, ATDIs music played like a mutant brainchild
Flipside, who signed ATDI the same night the band played to a crowd of only
between latter day William Burroughs and a '90s, ADHD-afflicted youth. A
nine people. Thus followed touring, three albums (the third, Relationship of
Command, on the Beastie Boys' Grand Royal label), some MTV exposure via
counterculture hungry for something not too Blink-182 but also not too Mr.
Bungle. A Frankenstein of sorts, forged from caustic beginnings in both El Paso
their video for "One-Armed Scissor," and still more touring, Soon the road began
to take its toll.
and its violent sister city across the border.
THERES NO AMOUNT OF MONEY IN THE WORLD THAT COULD
MAKE THIS WORTHWHILE IF IT WASNT FOR THE FRIENDSHIPS."
"People kept trying to book shows," remembers Ward scornfully. "There was no
In its own way, none of this intermittent chaos seems surprising to Zavala and
record company telling us what to do, but the frustration came with touring
Ward. Maybe that's because both, in their own respective ways, have been
and the exhaustion that followed. It kept going. No one ever stepped in to stop
surrounded by death and drama their entire lives. Ward lost his cousin to an
it, evon though they could see what was happening to us. No one ever bothered
apparent heroin overdose in 2003. In 1996, Zavala's close friend Julio Venagas
to say, “Slow down.” One day, Omar and Cedric said they were gonna go their
committed suicide, and his friends Laura Beard and Sarah Reisler (both from
separate ways, and I just felt this wave of relief." He’s quiet for a moment. "It
another ElPaso band called Fall on Deaf Ears) were kılled in an auto accident
wasnt hard; we were just kids. It’s not like we had mansions and mortgage
that same yoar. Zavala credits being able to perform live as a primary reason he's
payments to make.
still sane.
"We'd had this ‘six month rule' thing, too," he adds, "which meant that before we
"I guess the affinity comes from the frustration of all those years, and channeling
would break up, we’d take six months off to think about it. That’s where it sort of
it into my live show. Sometimes I'm at a loss for words, and if I can dance it out,
went wrong. Nobody ever really honored that agreement.”
if I can freak out and break stuff and knock shit around, then I'm tapping into that
I'm tapping into myself, and when I’m doing it publicly, that’s when it’s
Zavala doesn't hesitate to address all the rother factors that supposedly led to
the truest form of who I am.”
ATDI's dissolution, including what was, by his own admittance, "just all my
As for those stream-of-consciousness lyrics, how do they hold up 11 years later?
shit-talking and hiding behind things." A chronic pot-smoker back then, Zavala
Do fans ever approach him, relating how they relate to them? The
found band life difficult to adjust to. I wasn’t stepping up to the plate. I became
answer seems to be a resounding yes, if not completely the way Zavala had anticipated.
a completely grumpy bastard, and I couldn’t do anything without pot. You know
Jon Stewart's character in Half Baked? I was like that. It was a great way of
distancing myself from people. All I gotta do is smoke and then I’ll get on stage
“One timel I got a phone call from my manager, who put me on the phone with this
and be fine. Now I believe my choices were my choices. I'm not fully better or
kid who was on a ledge, and I had to talk him down," Zavala remembers. "He
changed, in the sense that I still am dealing with my anger issues."
was calling me trom Sweden after we’d played a show there, and he was about
to kill himself. He kept asking, “does this lyric mean this?' I just had to say to
Zavala insists he's neither condemning or condoning his past behavior. "One thing
him that whatever you can get from it, I nope it’s a positive
I've learned is that I can't put other peoples' ethics in," he adds. "lf that's what
thing. I didn't know what to say to the guy. AIl I could think was that he was
works for them then they gotta reach for whatever level in life works for them. AII I
going to kill himself.There was no negative hidden meaning, but I couldn’t
know is that quitting is working for me, and my wallet says,
explain myselt, really. Just, “Don't make life so short. It’s worth living.”
"Thank you. Now we can spend money on studio time for your records.”
Between the touring and the drugs, however, Zavala admits he had trouble
Few would argue that a breaking polnt for the band came with the band's 2001
making himselt believe that credo. He still sounds unsure as to why. "I had
Big Day Out Festival appearance in Brisbane, Australia. Caught in a violent
to go play on stage, and before I went on, other people would come up and tell
me, ‘This song has spoken to me because I had an abortion, and it helped me
mosh pit during Limp Bizkit's set, 17-year old Jeasica Michalik was crushed by
the crowd and rushed to a hospital. Despite being revived, she died of a heart
get through these things." Now you go back and look at the lyrics and you say,
attack five days later. It was an incident some might say the band was prescient
‘holy shit! What the hell was I thinking back then? It took me ten years to go
back and listen and sort of realize that I'm just an antenna—I'm really just
enough to foresee. "We didn’t want to be the soundtrack to broken bones,"
Zavala says, recalling their set earlier in the day. “There were people surfing on
picking up stuff. I mean, I grew up in the suburbs, my parents put food on the
cach other. I mean, thoy were literally taking boogie boards and surfing off each
, and I just got mad at the things a young man gets angry at.”
other’s skin. It was painful to watch, and so we walked off.I don’t favor the brutal. I
meek, especially in a situation like that."
In addition to that rebellious attitude, El Paso also serves as a source of pride.
"When I think of Texas—when I think of EI Paso—I think of the Butthole Surfers
"We'd always watch out for the kids in the front," adds Ward, "but at that
and Scratch Acid," says Zavala. "I think ot Fearless lranians from Hell, bands likey
festival, people just kept on doing it. After that we had to say fuck it.”
that. That stuff was really extreme. When I was just a teen skateboarding around
EI Paso Zorlad Skateboards were the most sought-after board in the state. And
A month after the Australian Festival, At the Drive-In offiçially broke up, citing
it was mostly because ot theur "Fuck You!" attitude. I remember their logo on a
mental and physical exhaustion. The six-month break passed; Ward, Hajjar and
t-shirt, which read, Fuck You, we're from Texas!” We were coming from a place
Hinojos Conzalez formed Sparta, while Cedric and guitarist Omar Rodnguez-
that broke rules all the time, and that was the feeling that came up when Tony
contacted me last time. Just, “Let's do it."
Lopez formed The Mars Volta (later to be joined by Hinojos in 2005). The five
rarely spoke over the following decade.
"We've done a lot ot growing up over the past 11 years," adds Ward. "Finally you find
yourself surrounded by people you trust and love. Those are these guys, for me.”
Canyon.”
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Fall Out ... at the Disco!
Panic! At the Disco & Fall Out Boy present the setlist for Sunday Night’s Show!
Lights out to a spotlight on Brendon Urie Standing just off center of the stage. Andy begins the drumstick count and Brendon looks up into the crowd, “It’s Brendon, bitch,” he grins as the first song starts with Brendon performing Courtney Love’s original part and joining in with Patrick.
1. Rat A Tat
Pete steps up to the mic, waving. “Hey, it feels like we were just here. Tonight we are here again. Our bands have been together since 2004 when Ryan Ross sent me a demo of his new band. I had decided to start a label and sign some unknown bands only a few years into the business myself. Good idea - right?” He winks at the audience. “Turns out that I drove to Vegas to hear these guys play and wanted them immediately. We brought them East and they started in the studio, got an album out of them, all before they ever played their first live show. They were just out of high school. Between the two of us and one more band, the fans created that thing called Emo. We didn't know what it was, just that we wanted to create a culture for those scene kids that never really fit into a box. What we made together was huge and here we are today, still strong, still together, global in spite of everything that tried to tear us all down. We are still here!” He stands next to Brendon and counts: “3, 2, 1 Let's fucking,” Brendon joins in for the last word, “GOOOOOO!!” they both scream.
2. High Hopes
“This next song is from our 4th album. The reception to that album was a little off, but it took off later. This song was one of the most meaningful things I've ever written and kind of a tribute to everything that we've done, but it was also something else. It's about struggle all in the first verse, about myself, about Patrick, and about a lot of people out there and their mental health.” His eyes close and he looks down, then back up. “It's also a promise to never let those dark places take over again, and that all these things we built came because we made it through. Lastly, it's a reminder that in spite of an outward persona, you never know what is going on inside someone's head, be kind. Let's see the phone lights, This is What a Catch.”
3. What a Catch, Donnie
4. A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More “Touch Me”
5. I Write Sins Not Tragedies (Bonus is this clip of Fall Out Boy singing the first verse and chorus, though they are obviously performing together for the event)
6. 20 Dollar Nosebleed (not ft. a sandwich)
7. Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off
Brendon took the microphone next, skinning at the crowd. "First of all, hey, I haven't said much but welcome to Panic at the Boys, or Fall Out at the Disco. We've been around each other since Pete signed us at Decaydance, toured together, wrote together. They are my good friends and my mentors, and have been for the last 17 years. We've done a lot of collabs, but this one is my favorite song of theirs just because it has this energy and I think it's what we all want in the end. We want to be remembered for what we've done, and the life we had. For all the sweat we put in, all the successes, and even all the failures on the way. This is Centuries."
8. Centuries
"When I first heard this next one, I thought, as Brendon would put it, Dope as fuck," Pete starts. "You have to sing it, or even scream it out. That is the vibe. It's about coming back with no chill and no reserve left. He had been through a lot of changes, and this was the punctuation that said he wasn't leaving again at all. It's been a few years since he's dropped something, but he's taking back the crown next week. This is The Emperor’s New Clothes."
9. Emperor’s New Clothes
10. Wilson (Expensive Mistakes)
11. Time Bomb (Rancid Cover)
Brendon speaks again with a smile, "Now we were wondering what songs we could put together and thank fuck the internet read our minds. We've mashed up a few, so sit back and enjoy the ride all the way out."
12. Sugar, This Is Gospel (P!@tD/FOB Mash Up)
13. This Ain’t Sins, It’s A Tragedy (P!@tD/FOB Mash Up)
14. Miss Jackson Knows (P!@tD/FOB Mash Up)
Pete steps in front of the mic again, "This song was on our post hiatus album of the same name. We didn't really know how it was going to go, but then we got this grand concept that became The Youngblood Chronicles. This song featured Sir Elton John, and man, when you can draw Elton in, that's huge. If you know it, sing with us."
15. Save Rock and Roll
Patrick finally greeted the crowd, smiling into the microphone. “Thanks guys for everything. It’s been fun... you know... we’ve got two more songs to wrap up tonight for you guys. Pretty sure you know the first one no matter who you are, but if you know Fall Out Boy, you’ll know the last one, too. And all us believers still believe, every time we sing two more weeks...” he smiles over at Pete, holding his gaze for a moment before he begins the first of the last two songs.
16. Don’t Stop Believing (Cover)
20. Saturday (have a throw back version!)
@emokingwentz
@brendonisms
@soulpunkstump
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I’m so jealous of you going to so many dates of Believers Never Die. I was a wee 13 year old just getting into ATL who went along since my friend loved FOB, but what I would give to relive the old ATL days. Metro station on that tour was cringe even then tho
I'm jealous you got to experience that as a child! What a time 😭 I know Alex recently walked back some of his Metro Station beef, but it was pretty fucking obvious to me they didn't get along with anyone on the tour when they were the only band with no final show pranks during their set. The whole tour went off for every band and I think someone ran through in a bunny costume once during MS and that was it.
#I think I flipped Trace off in Vegas and then he SAW me in San Jose and I was spooked#and he remembered me at the fucking end of tour and put his mic over my head#lol stupid. I miss youth#answered#anon#atl
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talent that runs in the family ~ machine gun kelly
word count: 2128
request?: yes!
“Being rooks sister and substitute him while he recovers and slowly start to fall in love with colson”
description: she steps in to replace her brother when he is seriously injured and ends up gaining feelings for his friend
pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader
warnings: swearing
masterlist (one, two)
“Thanks so much for doing this (Y/N),” Rook said over the phone. “I appreciate it.”
“Yeah, no problem,” I said. “But does Colson know that I’m...y’know...not a seasoned vet?”
“You’ll do fine.”
I refrained from reminding him that he didn’t actually answer my question.
After Rook’s accident left him out of commission for some time, he came to me to ask if I’d fill in for him. I jumped at the opportunity. Rook had taught me how to drum when I was young and, much like my big brother, it became a passion of mine. How could I turn down working with one of the biggest artists of the year, even if it were just for a short while?
Well, my nerves were definitely telling me I should’ve said no as I walked into soundcheck that day.
“Whatever,” I said. “I’ll call you after the soundcheck.”
“Hey, don’t be nervous. You’re gonna do great.”
I said my goodbyes and hung up. I tried not to focus on how big the venue we were playing in was as I made my way to the otherwise empty stage. I thought I was the first person to arrive until I heard someone calling my name.
“(Y/N), up here!”
I looked up to see the guys sat in a booth in the balcony. Colson was all but leaning over the railing, waving for me to join them. I had no idea how to get up there on my own, but luckily a security guard showed me the way.
The guys were eating pizza and drinking from plastic cups as if they were the ones attending the concert and not performing in it.
“Pre-show ritual,” Colson told me. “Especially when we have someone new joining the band. Sit! Have a slice!”
“Shouldn’t we be practicing?” I asked, but still sat with them. I didn’t want to completely mess up my first day.
“We have hours to practice,” one of the other guys I remembered as Slim said. “And we don’t really need to. We do this every night. A soundcheck is basically just to make sure everything is working tech wise.”
I just nodded, not wanting to point out that I hadn’t been doing this every night. I hoped that I’d have some time to figure out the songs before the shows.
Colson nudged me, bringing my attention to him. “Don’t stress. You’ll do great.”
I smiled at him, wishing I’d believe him.
After our small feast of pizza and beer in plastic glasses, we finally got to our soundcheck. I was so nervous that I kept messing up during the first song. My hands were shaking and I kept hitting the wrong drum by accident. My face was burning with embarrassment as I buried it in my hands and groaned.
Colson walked up to me, a sympathetic smile on his face.
“I’m sorry,” I sighed. “I can get this, I know I can.”
“I know you can, too,” he said. “Just take a breath, relax. We’ll try again when you’re ready. And remember, it’s just drumming. Rook says you’re great at it.”
I smiled at him and nodded. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I pictured myself back in my bedroom from my childhood, playing my drums super loud until my parents had to call out for me to keep it down.
When we started practicing again, it went off without a hitch. We did most of the setlist all the way through and did quick takes on the last few songs before our time was up.
I was proud of myself as the soundcheck came to an end. I was still nervous about performing during the actual show, but I felt confident enough in myself not to make too many noticeable mistakes when we actually had an audience that night.
I was walking to my car when I heard someone calling for me. I turned to see Colson running to catch up with me. Or rather he was taking long strides to catch up with me considering he was so tall.
“I told you you would do great!” he said, putting an arm around my shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. “It’s like drumming runs in your blood or something.”
I chuckled. “That’s what mom and dad always said too, but neither one of them can keep a beat to save their lives and no one else in our immediate family plays either.”
“You and Rook are the start of a long line of drummers then I guess.”
I shrugged in response. We both stood awkwardly for a moment. I wasn’t sure what else to say. His arm was still around my shoulder and I didn’t want to pull away and make it seem like I didn’t enjoy the contact because I definitely was not complaining about it.
I guess Colson also realized that he was still touching me, though, because he pulled his arm away and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.
“Do you need a run to the hotel or anything?” he asked. “We have the tour bus.”
I shook my head. “I’m good, thanks. I have my car, and besides I haven’t even checked into the hotel yet so I should probably go do that.”
“Oh, yeah you definitely should. Get some rest before the show, too. It’s a lot more physically demanding when it’s an actual show, even if you’re just sitting at a drum set the entire time. I’ll see you tonight then I guess.” He turned to walk away, but paused and turned back to add, “What were you planning on wearing tonight?”
I looked at him, confused. “Uh...this I guess.”
I was wearing a hoodie and a pair baggy jeans and my most comfortable pair of sneakers.
Colson raised an eyebrow at my outfit before looking back up at me. “I mean, it’s definitely comfy, but I would recommend something a little less...well, just less. It’s going to be hot as fuck on that stage, especially with all the lights on you and shit.”
I nodded, taking note of this as I got into my car and internally panicked a little because I didn’t know if I even had anything to wear.
~~~~~~
A few hours later, after checking into my hotel room and promptly wrecking it by throwing my clothes everywhere, I was heading back down to the lobby to meet up with the guys. We were going to the show together, which would’ve been my first tour bus ride. I couldn’t lie, I was super stoked for it.
I was the last one to the lobby. All the guys were stood around, loudly talking to one another. You’d think they were just a normal group of guys and not a group about to play a sold out show in a massive arena.
Colson spotted me first. I smiled at waved at him. His eyes widened and his jaw basically dropped, which prompted all the guys to turn. Their reactions immediately matched his as they looked me up and down.
“Rook would kill you guys if he could see you right now,” I teased.
“Damn (Y/N),” Colson dared to say first. “You look...you look hot as fuck.”
I had decided on a loose muscle shirt with a bralette underneath since the shirt showed a little more than what I was used to, a pair of ripped skinny jeans, and kept on the comfortable sneakers I had been wearing earlier that day.
I giggled. “Thanks, but again, Rook would kill you for saying that. Also, it’s not anything super attractive.”
“You got a nice body,” Baze pointed out. “Anything showing it off even a little is hot.”
I could feel my face burning as I waved their comments away. “Okay, enough with this. We have a show to get to.”
We boarded the tour bus and started towards the arena. The guys were distracted amongst one another again, completely forgetting about me and my “hot outfit”. Besides Colson, who had come to sit next to me on the couch while the rest of the guys were already drinking whatever was in the mini fridge.
“Do you guys always get drunk before your shows?” I asked.
“Not always. Usually we get high,” Colson responded.
“Now that I can get behind. I’ll probably be less afraid if I’m high.”
Colson held out the joint in his hand to me. I took it and took a quick puff, the smoke immediately burning my throat and lungs as I tried to inhale it. Colson laughed as I started to cough.
“I still say you have nothing to worry about,” he told me. “You’re gonna do great tonight. You can’t even really see or hear the audience with all the lights and the inner ear pieces.”
“That’s even worse cause then I’ll just imagine how big the audience is.”
He put a hand on my leg, something I assume was just instinct for him to do to comfort someone, but the minute he made the contact I felt a jolt of electricity run through me. Colson quickly pulled his hand away and I wondered if he had felt that too.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that without asking,” he said.
“You can if you want,” I assured him. “I wasn’t mad about it or anything.”
Colson looked at me and I realized how blue his eyes were. Rook had always made jokes about how Colson could seduce any woman with just his eyes because they were such baby blues, but I didn’t really believe him until the moment I was looking in them myself. Now I was lost, completely forgetting everyone around me as I felt myself moving closer towards him.
The bus jerked to a stop, causing Colson and I to nearly be thrown from our seats. The guys started off the bus first, running towards the entrance to the arena as I could hear the waiting fans screaming outside.
Colson stood and offered a hand to me. “It’s showtime.”
~~~~~~
After the first song went perfectly, I stopped feeling nervous. Colson was right, I couldn’t see the audience in front of me, but I could faintly hear their screams of excitement over my inner ear piece. It was weird to have it in and not only hear all of us playing, but also the crew talking backstage. It was almost distracting, but it became easy to tune them out.
During one of Colson’s talking points in the show, I reached for my water bottle to take a sip. Colson was hyping the audience up, which made me smile a little.
“Before we continue the show,” he said into his mic, “you guys may have noticed that we do not have our regular drummer tonight.”
I immediately knew what he was about to do and I wanted to hurtle my drumstick at him before he went there.
“As you’ve probably heard, Rook was in a bit of an accident and is off recovering for the time being,” he continued. “So, we decided to get some family to fill in for him for the time being. Everyone, I want to hear y’all make some noise for Rook’s little sister, (Y/N)!”
The crowd cheered loudly. Colson turned to me and waved for me to stand. I glared at him, which I hoped he could see, before standing and awkwardly smiling and waving at the audience.
“All the cool drum shit you guys have been hearing all night has been (Y/N),” Colson said as he started to approach me. “She’s a bad ass fucking drummer, and she’s a pretty fucking cool chick, too.”
I was confused where he was going with this as he came to stand next to me, slinging an arm around my shoulder the way he had earlier that day after soundcheck.
“Which is why, (Y/N), I gotta ask: will you go on a date with me sometime?”
Slight embarrassment was swelling somewhere inside of me at being asked out in such a public way, but that embarrassment was overshadowed by the fuzzy feeling of excitement inside of me. I looked up at Colson, my eyes wide and a smile on my lips.
He lowered the mic so he could privately add, “I’m being serious. I wanna take you out on a real date. Just the two of us.”
My words were stuck in my throat, but I was able to nod in response. The smile on Colson’s face stretched so wide that I could’ve been convinced he was the one lighting the show.
“Okay,” he said, then lifted the mic to say to his audience, “Let’s get back to the show guys!”
#machine gun kelly#machine gun kelly imagine#machine gun kelly x reader#colson baker#colson baker imagine#colson baker x reader#mgk#imagine#request#one shot#fanfiction#fanfic#fandom
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How To Court A Cryptid: 101 Chapter 3
PREVIOUS CHAPTER or NEXT CHAPTER
Content warning: Cursing, threats of violence, minor violence, transphobia and homophobia, leftist/anarchist views (Not really a warning, but for those who don’t agree with those views), smoking
“Hello chat! How are we doing today!?” Tommy yelled into his mic, talking to chat as he started his stream.
I sat on the side watching him talk to the chat, I couldn’t see chat but I could tell they were questioning why the lights were off, since Tommy kept smiling and trying not to giggle.
“Why are the lights off?” Tommy asked squinting at chat, I then rolled into the camera’s view.
“Well, typically cryptids like dark places where they can’t be seen” I said rolling in and leaning so I could see chat.
Chat then went 1 million miles per second they were all spamming cryptid and being amazed that I was real. I started to laugh really hard because some of the chats messages.
“Well, chat this is the Dream SMP discord cryptid; also known as- Can I say your name?” Tommy asked looking over at me. I smiled,
“Uh, I prefer Bas or bastard here on the innerwebs, but if you want sure you can say my name. Just don’t give like my home address or whatever” I said looking at chat smiling.
“what? Why would I- never mind. Okay chat this is Bastard.” Tommy said smiling looking over chats messages “Hey, can we turn on the lights?”
“UGGGHHHH, I guess” I said getting up and walking over to the light switch. I turned it on and saw Tommy walk over to see and stand next to me. I gave him a confused facial expression.
“Chat wants to see the height difference, you goblin” He said smiling looking down at me. I quickly stood my tippy toes, easy with the boots
“Okay, fit check, as you can see I have the superiors fashion sense chat. Tommy here has none, write that down” I said walking back to my chair.
“I do not! I have a great fashion sense!” Tommy said looking at me offended I started to cackle like a hyena
“Yeah, to be fair though, you are a teenager who live that streamer life style so I understand” I said after catching my breathe from laughing, Tommy rolled his eyes.
“Yeah yeah” He said crossing his arms, I looked over at chat
‘Gamer Bf and Alt s/o goals’
‘Are you a boy or a girl? I really can’t tell’
“Ew, I will punt you straight into the sun you heathens” I said with a face
“HEY! Don’t threaten my chat!” Tommy yelled at me
“They were shipping us. Ew, he is like my little brother. This isn’t sweet home Alabama people” I replied
“Okay fair enough, also chat they use they/them pronouns, respect that please” Tommy said looking at the monitor
“Thank you, so what are we gonna do?” I asked leaning back on my chair and grabbing the container of brownies.
“We could go on the SMP and mess with people” Tommy said grabbing a brownie and popping it into his mouth.
“Cool, give me the grand tour” I said popping a brownie into my mouth
Tommy then booted up Minecraft and got onto the SMP server, he made sure to show on stream
“Okay, lets show the cryptid how to be cool” Tommy said moving his character around
I looked over at the camera unamused, I looked at the stream and saw my face. I started to get uncomfortable and looked down.
“I am being perceived and I don’t think I like it...” I said picking at my nails
“You okay?” Tommy said looking over at me, I smiled and shook my head yes
“It’s okay, I’m just use to being blurry not in 4k resolution” I said chuckling
“Oh hey Dream is on” Tommy said looking on the list,
“He’s the sever owner right?” I asked looking on scream
“yes” Tommy said
“So, he’s like a goverment?” I asked smirking
“what are you thinkin?” Tommy asked looking over at me
I smiled before shrugging and setting down the container
“Well, as an anarchist, I don’t really like the government. So, maybe I could attack him while screaming ‘ACAB’ or ‘Down with the government bitches’ idk. Wait- will that get you in trouble. My bad” I said cutting myself off worried I said something that will get Tommy in trouble. He started laughing, more wheezing
“Omg, yes! Let’s do it!!” He yelled moving towards Dream and others of the server. I smiled,
‘Cryptid says ACAB?’
‘Anarchist? Technoblade might like this!’
Some of the chat said amazed I said something like that,
“Yes, chat ACAB all the way, demolish the government! Consume the rich people!!” I yelled excitedly
“Okay, how do you wanna do this?” Tommy asked
“Okay, I’ll attack while you get us into VC and you scream then I yell ‘ACAB bitches’“ I said scooting him over so I can take control of his character
“Okay good” Tommy said getting into the VC “Here we go!”
“By the way, I’m bad at Minecraft” I yelled before we joined and attacked Dream.
“AHHHHH” Tommy yelled
“ACAB BITCHES” I yelled after him attacking Dream
“Huh? Tommy! What the Fuck?” Dream yelled before he pulled out his own sword and started swinging
“Oh fuck!!” I yelled trying to get away
“Move!!” Tommy yelled before he died
“Uhhh, my bad” I said smiling at him, Tommy rolled his eyes
“Tommy what the hell man? Why did you attack me?” Dream asked
We both looked at each other before I smirked and leaned into the mic
“Tommy is no longer with us” I said deepening my voice
“What!? Tommy did you get hacked? I’ll open your stream” Sapnap said with Dream and George agreeing.
Tommy muted himself, turned off the music, then got up and moved the camera zooming in my face and then ran and turned off the lights. My face was only illuminated my the screen light, Tommy then hid, I was confused before he looked at me and winked. I turned and stared into the camera with a dead look.
“AHHHHHH!? WHAT THE FUCK!???” Was all we heard from the others, as we both started laughing
“The cryptid is real!?” George yelled
“Y’all have Discord Admin energy bitches” I said before we quit the VC and started wheezing. I started coughing and grabbed out my drink from my bag. I opened my Monster and chugged. Tommy kept wheezing so hard,
“Omg, did you guys hear them!? Omg that was so funny!” Tommy yelled, I chuckled
‘Dream: What the fuck!?’
‘Sapnap: GOT EM!’
“Dream is actually our Discord admin” Tommy said between laughing
“Ah, cool. He doesn’t have it actually, but now knowing. HMMMM” I said looking at the camera smirking
“Yeah, and Gogy is his discord kitten” Tommy said putting everything back to normal
“An I oop- Wait, that’s georgenotfound right?” I asked
Tommy leaned back into his chair giggling “yup, he’s the bestest man ever” he said smiling
“I thought that was Philza Minecraft?” I asked having a confused face
“Wait! Phil is on! Do you wanna meet the biggest man? Philza Minecraft” Tommy asked
“I thought you were the biggest man?” I asked smirking
“I am, well- we share the title anyways” Tommy said as he joined the VC
“Tommy, we just had your stream open!” we were met with,
Tommy started wheezing again, I smiled ‘Brothers’ I thought
“You’re going to get banned” A voice said; ‘Technoblade’ I thought remembering his voice from some of Tommy’s streams.
“Chaotic little shit” Philza said laughing
“The cryptid is real! Oh my god I have to tell Quackity, he thought you were using photoshop or whatever!” Wilbur yelled laughing
“God has let me live another day, so, I’m gonna make it everyone's problem” I said snickering, while I felt my face heat up. ‘God I feel like a zoo animal’ I thought smiling awkwardly
I don’t know any of Tommy’s friends really, and they don’t know much about me. Only that I’m Tommy’s scary friend and what they’ve seen from pictures and probably dumb stories he told them.
Tommy took control of the game, making sure the stream was entertained. He answered with giggles.
“Did you really bite a kid in school for picking on Tommy?”
‘FUCK’ I thought, making a surprised face
“Well you see there! Uhh-” I tried to say
“They also threatened a dude with a Selenite knife once!” Tommy chimed in
“Yeah, that’s true, but both fuckers deserved it okay!” I said as I felt my face get hotter from embarrassment
“God your both equally feral” Phil said laughing, Wilbur giggled and Techno stayed mostly silent besides a small laugh. Tommy explained he was ‘awkward around new people’. ‘Social anxiety. MOOD’ I thought smiling.
“I personally prefer ‘unhinged’ but pop off I guess” I said shrugging
“Feral cryptid! Feral Cryptid” Wilbur chanted, soon the chat also spammed it
“So, this is THE Philza Minecraft” Tommy said as if he didn’t just say I bit a person and threatened another with a knife. “An honor right?”
“Hello, pleasure to meet you” I said smiling awkwardly
Phil laughed, Tommy looked offended “This is Philza Minecraft! Creator of Minecraft! Show some respect!” Tommy yelled
“Didn’t that other dude make the game?” I asked confused
“Yeah, but he was a wrongen. So, we joke that Philza made it instead” Wilbur explained
“Oh, yeah he was a fucking bigot right?” I asked, everyone went quiet “Should I have not said that? My ba-”
“no, no” Wilbur said giggling “No, that was perfect. I wouldn’t have said it but you hit the nail on the head”
“Ah okay” I said with a small smile
“They are very radical” Tommy said smiling, I laughed awkwardly
“We heard” Techno said when amusement
I ended up taking off my jacket, revealing all my tattoos on my arms
‘WOAH!’
‘Are those real?’
“Yes, chat they are real, some are done professionally, others are stick and pokes. Don’t do it unless you know what your doing” I said raising my arms to show off my art
“Yeah, they piercing their own nose though!” Tommy yelled
“Oh, my god, that is dangerous.” Phil said worried
“Yeah, most I did myself or my sister did. She wanted to be a tattoo artist at one point so I just let her do whatever on me. Don’t worry they were done safely, mostly” I said laughing
“what does the skull say?” Techno piped up, I smiled, showing the camera my tattoo on my right fore arm. It was a leopard skull with grapes running out of the left eye socket dripping liquid. Under was a chalice, the piece was surrounded by a diamond.
“It’s a piece dedicated to the god Dionysus. One of the first I ever got done professionally. And yes chat it hurt like a bitch” I said showing the tattoo
“Hello!” two voices popped into the call
“TUBBO!” Tommy yelled, I snapped my head towards the screen
“Tubbo? Isn’t that the guy you were calling when you broke your wrist?” I asked, Tommy wheezed
“Oh is that (y/n)?” Tubbo asked, I smiled
“Hey bubbs, how are you?” I asked
“Wait you both know each other?” Ranboo piped in
“Yes, you see some time ago, we were at the skate park. I was skate boarding and Tommy was on the phone with Tubbo. Tommy then wanted to do a trick. So, I take the phone and Tommy then fails miserly and breaks his fucking wrist! We were on call the whole time to and at the hospital” I said laughing
“Ah, sounds about right” Ranboo said
“What does that mean!?” Tommy yelled, Tubbo was laughing
“I’m good (y/n), thank you for reminding me of that” Tubbo said between laughs
“wait your name is (y/n)?” Wilbur pipes in, Tommy looked scared for a second
“Yeah, that is my name. I go by Bas or Bastard on social media though” I said shrugging.
“Bastard?” Phil asked confused
“Can I promote myself?” I asked looking over at Tommy, he nodded smiling
“Yeah, I go by Cryptid_Bastard. I post art or whatever” I said relaxed
“That fits you” Tubbo said, I smiled
“Thanks bubbs” I said smiling
After a few hours we ended the stream and said goodbye to everyone. Me and Tommy leaned back in our chairs and sighed.
“Well, that was fun. I like your friends” I said smiling,
“Yeah, you can come on another stream another time if you want” Tommy said smiling, I nodded my head
“Yeah, well I need a break. I’m gonna go on a walk if you don’t mind. You wanna come?” I asked as I stood up and stretched
“Nah, I’m gonna chat with Tubbo for a bit” He said, I nodded before grabbing my bag and leaving the room. I walked out and said hi to his parents and informed them I was going on a walk. I walked out the door and towards the street. After getting to the sidewalk I grabbed out a cigarette and my lighter. I lit up, and took a deep draw. I ended walking towards the park while smoking,
*VRR VRR* I heard as my phone started vibrating in my bag. I dug around a pulled it out, it was notifications from twitter. I unlocked my phone and opened twitter, I had a whole wave of people following me and commenting on my art. I smiled before getting ready to tweet. I opened the camera and angled it to show me, I had my cigarette in my other hand making sure not to show it. I smiled taking the picture before typing and posting.
Cryptid_Bastard
*insert picture of you*
Welcome everyone, welcome to my corner of the internet! (:
I turned off my phone before walking towards the park.
‘Chaos isn’t so bad’
A/N: I hope y’all liked this. I’ve introduced SOME of the romantic interests! LET’S GO!! I’m gonna go hibernate for like a million years now. Stay hydrated! :P
TAGLIST:
@teenage0jealousy
@smolbox-png
@yourimaginaryfriiendd
@venusliily-blog
@mega-trash-cringe
@jaciahbabes
@ponyboytoddandthebatgreasers
@ahmya-4
If you would like to be added please comment here: Taglist for HTCAC:101 (How to Court A Cryptid: 101)
#mcyt x reader#dream smp x reader#x reader#x gn!reader#x punk!reader#x alt!reader#Technoblade#Wilbur soot#MCYT fanfiction#dream smp fanfiction#Philza minecraft#Tubbo#Tommyinnit#Ranboo#How To Court A Cryptid: 101
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Queen live at Mount Smart Stadium in Auckland, New Zealand - April 13, 1985
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This outdoor show was Queen's first and only concert in New Zealand. According to an early tour itinerary, two other shows were originally planned (on April 11 at Hawks Bay in Tamoana, and on April 14 at Queen Elizabeth II Park in Christchurch), but this show in Auckland didn't even sell out, which is likely the reason why the band did only a single show in the country. It was initially scheduled to be played at Western Springs Stadium.
Queen were a half hour late going on. After soundcheck Freddie Mercury got very drunk with Tony Hadley of Spandau Ballet, sharing entire bottles of vodka and vintage port. Hadley was around only because his band's New Zealand tour dates had been suddenly cancelled while playing in Australia, and later in the evening he would clearly ignore his manager's warning to keep a low profile.
In 2011, Brian May and Roger Taylor recalled the evening in the extras of the Days Of Our Lives documentary. Their intro music (an arrangement of Machines, off The Works album) was already playing and a few people in the backstage area were frantically helping Freddie get into his tights. "You stupid cunts, you've put my tights on back to front!" cried Freddie part way through the proceedings. With the clock ticking, the laces of his boots were untied and his boots came off and the tights were properly put on. Freddie made it to the stage with literally seconds to spare.
After the second song, he shouted, "Hello, New Zealand! We're gonna have one motherfucker of a time!" Both Brian and Roger recall Freddie when started Somebody To Love and forgot what song he was playing. In 2011, Roger added, "The first half hour of the gig was terrifying for the three of us because we were playing like trojans to make up for Freddie's deficiencies." Spike Edney also recalled that Freddie was "ad-libbing, making things up, singing crap" for the first half hour.
Between songs (probably after the medley of old songs), Freddie did his usual falsetto vocal improv and added, "My voice is fucked!" According to a book on Queen, at one point he proclaimed to Hadley who was side stage (into his mic and thus audible to the audience) that he was "pissed."
Before doing Love Of My Life, Brian explained how over the years it had become a tradition for the crowd to join in. However, the song wasn't well known in New Zealand, and even if it were, the locals weren't the public singing type.
Most of the above pictures were taken by Mike Tucker and David Austin, the last of which was taken during Hammer To Fall, which Freddie introduced as, "One for all you heavy metal fans to have a good jerk-off to."
Tony Hadley joined Queen for Jailhouse Rock (as seen in the second picture above). Roger Taylor recalled Tony didn't remember a single word of the song. He apparently ended up singing Tutti Frutti instead. He fondly recalled the day in a 2006 interview. Here's a pro pic taken during this song.
Here are two posters for the show, the second of which indicates the show wasn't yet sold out on the day of:
A video (of indeterminate length) of this show reportedly exists in the archives of a local TV station, but nothing has ever come of the rumours.
The day before the show, the band did an interview for TV.
Fan Stories
“By April in NZ you're well into Autumn, maybe a bit late for an outdoor concert but luckily April 13 was overcast all day without raining. And so it was on this day that Queen played their first and only concert in little ol' NZ to a crowd of 30,000 at Mt. Smart (now Ericsson) stadium. The concert was late starting, Freddie Mercury and Tony Hadley (from Spandau Ballet) got blind drunk before the concert. Few people seemed to notice, although there were a couple of Maori guys in front of me who were laughing like hell when Freddie came on ("Aw man, he is so out of it!!"). Freddie didn't seem to be sparing the four letter words ("Hello New Zealand,we're gonna have one muthaf*****er of a time"). In between songs,Freddie would do his customary vocal excercises, mostly built around the opening notes of "You take my breath away", then dimiss it ("My voice is F*****D!!"). Then later when introducing "Hammer to fall", ("Here's one for all you heavy metal fans to have a good jerk-off to!!"). I heard an interview earlier in the week with the promoter claiming that Queen's set would please both old and new fans. In spite of this I doubted how deep into the back catalogue Queen would go. Imagine my surprise when they dug up a gem from the first album like "Liar". With all the changes in Queen's sound and image in previous years, this song eliminated any doubts I had that this band was in touch with its past. This was one of the last songs I had expected to hear and without a doubt my highlight. For "Love of my life", Brian May explained how over the years it had become a tradition for the crowd to join in. Unfortunately, this song is not as well known here as it is in other parts of the world and besides, NZers are reluctant public singers at the best of times anyway. Freddie's infamous drag act during "I want to break free" was back after it had been unceremoniously ditched earlier that year in Rio. At the end of the song he threw his falsies into the crowd. Tony Hadley joined Queen on stage later on. Spandau Ballet were touring Australia at the time and flew across the Tasman to see Queen. He joined the band for "Jailhouse Rock", I've since heard that he was so drunk that he started singing the first verse to "Tutti-Fruitti" instead (never noticed). The reviews were pretty fair. There were words to the effect that Queen delivered, although it took awhile. Maybe some songs were a mystery to those who had only heard "Greatest Hits", but things really took off in the final third of the show. Almost everybody seemed to be singing along with "Crazy little thing called love", doing the handclap in "Radio Ga-Ga" and swaying to "We are the champions". Roger threw his drumsticks into the crowd at the end of the concert, one has since surfaced. In spite of Freddie's claim to the contary, his voice sounded just fine and no doubt everybody left happy. I, for one, couldn't have asked for more.” - David Austin
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Every Little Thing.
Part 3!! You can find all the info about why this is such a mess in Part 1 and read Part 2 here! This is the last part sort of. I’m planning on an epilogue of sorts though!
Summary: Reader is a famous singer with a murderous stalker. Spencer has to go undercover to protect her.
warnings: mentions of murder, anxious reader, stalker
Word Count: 8681
The next time you open your eyes, the first thing you see is the shadow of an unknown person looming over you. Your instincts are screaming danger and without thinking about it, you start fighting your way out of their hands. They are trying to restrain you, so you fight back harder. You can’t stop hearing the lamp crashing on your head. It’s reminding you over and over of the danger you are in. Your self-defense training kicks in when the person wraps an arm across our chest. Afterwards, you think it should have occurred to you that the person wasn’t really fighting back so much as trying to calm you down, but you’ll blame your poor observational skills on adrenaline. It just all happened so fast.
You form your hands into “large claws” as the instructor called them in class, and swiftly shove them between your body and the arm of the attacker. Gripping the arm, you throw your weight diagonally forward, curling your body in toward your left knee. You end in a one legged kneel, having thrown the person over your shoulder. The thud they made upon hitting the floor was highly satisfying, until you looked down and recognized the face.
Derek Morgan was staring at you from his new found position on the floor, you kneeling over him with a slightly crazed look in your eye. You would start apologizing, but you are so stunned you don’t move until Morgan gets up and guides you back to the couch.
Apparently the team had been trying to reach you or Reid for a while. Neither of you answered, for reasons that were obvious now, so the team rushed over to check on you. Nobody mentions how you just threw Derek over your body as if he were a ragdoll. It doesn’t seem like the time to be joking around.
You tell them everything you can remember, starting with everything you told Spencer about the man you recognized and ending with the sound of the lamp cracking over your head. You’re surprised you didn’t cry through the whole story. Maybe you’re out of tears, physically unable to produce any more because your tear ducts dried up. If Spencer were here he’d tell you some fact about how your tear ducts never really dry out, your body just becomes dehydrated and water is diverted to more essential tasks.
At the thought of Spencer, a few tears do spring to your eyes. “Why would he take him? I was right here! He could’ve just taken me and been done with it. Oh, god. I was right there and I couldn’t stop him. No, no, no no no nonono.” You can feel all the signs of panic setting in, but you don’t have the power to stop them on your own. The team is trying to help you. They are, but you don’t hear them. You’re too worried about what is currently happening to Spencer.
It feels like time has slowed down. It’s like you’re swimming through syrup, desperately trying to stay above the surface, but the liquid is heavy and it’s sticky and it’s pulling you down. You hear what people are saying to you, but the words don’t make sense in your brain. They might as well be talking to a toddler, because all you can do is babble incoherently and point at the pieces of lamp on the ground.
You are relieving the same two scenes over and over. The look on his face when you made eye contact in the park. Then the sound of the lamp hitting your skull in the dark. The look on his face. The sound of the lamp. The look. The sound. His face. The lamp. It’s repeating in a never ending cycle. Your brain is moving so fast, you’re combining the two experiences. Logically, you know it was way too dark to see him holding the lamp, but you can see it clear as day in your head.
He’s walking across the room. He stops to pick up the lamp. He’s got both hands wrapped around it, as if he needed all the force he could possible create. HI lifts it above his head, and crash- wait. He’s holding the lamp like a mic stand. He’s holding the lamp like a mic stand!
“The lamp!” Your exclamation is so loud, Hotch looks as if he could’ve been surprised.
“He hit you with the lamp. We know.” Morgan’s voice is soothing, but your brain is moving through everything too fast to listen. You must look certifiably insane.
“No, the way he held the lamp.” Your brain is moving too fast for the words coming out of your mouth to catch up.
“You said it was too dark to see anything. How do you know how he held the lamp?” JJ looks confused more than anything at your behavior.
“I don’t. I mean, I do. I don’t know.” You’re being pulled back to the couch again. It’s as if the syrup has you in a bubble. You’re moving at a different frequency than the rest of them. You’re in a daze, not speaking as clearly as you are thinking.
“Y/N.” Hotch says your name with such a commanding presence, you’re focus is returned to the team. They’re staring at you with various expressions. Rossi looks so concerned you can’t help but think of the song you started for him. He really is the parental type. The rest of the team wear expressions that perfectly balance confusion, concern, and worry. Except for Hotch. He looks as stoic as ever, but there is a glint in his eye that seems to indicate he’s worried. “What about the lamp?”
“You’re right. I didn’t see the lamp in his hands. It was too dark.” This clears the confusion, but the concern and worry haven’t left their faces. “I can picture it though. And in my head, he was holding the lamp like I would hold a mic stand if I was trying to adjust the height.” You mime the grip in front of you. “That’s a weird fucking way to hold a lamp. So, why would I picture that?” They give you sympathetic looks, but nobody has an answer for you.
You’ve risen from the couch to pace back and forth across the room. The team starts speculating where the unsub would’ve taken Spencer, but you’re not listening. You are so sure there’s a reason you picture the lamp like that. You aren’t paying attention to them, and they aren’t paying attention to you. At least, that’s what you thought. You’re practically muttering to yourself when you figure it out. “I’ve seen him adjust a mic stand.” Hotch must have ears like an elephant because his head instantly swivels in your direction. You make the briefest of eye contact, a small smile forming on your face as you dart back toward the team.
“You’ve seen him before yesterday?” Hotch asks, cutting off the conversation currently going on between the agents. The group turns toward you, just realizing you’re no longer walking in circles talking to yourself.
“Yes. Yes, I’ve seen him adjust a mic stand. That must be why I pictured it like that in my head. The lamp I mean.” Hotch gives you a gentle nudge, encouraging you to reach a conclusion. “He works on the crew. His first show was the Louisville show.” Morgan already has Garcia on the phone, narrowing down the names for newer hires only.
“That’s still 42 names.” You can hear her nerves through the phone, and you’ve only met her once.
“Right, we hire a lot of new people for the US leg of the tour. It’s usually the biggest part.” You try to remember anything else about this man, wishing you had Spencer’s memory.
“Y/N, what else can you remember about him?” JJ’s words are gentle, but the look in her eyes is anything but. It is her best friend that’s missing.
“I don’t know. He’s never talked to me. I tried to introduce myself once and he just awkwardly ran away. The other crew guys he was working with, though they said something though.” You start tapping the side of your head, trying to recall the memory from nearly a month ago. “They said he’s been like that since he started. A little shy, I mean. They thought he was star struck.” You know they said something else, but it feels like you’re trying to catch individual grains of sand. You can just barely see them before they land in the water, fading away. “His name! One of them said his name. Jake or John or something with a J.”
“Three names.” The hope was evident in the way Garcia said the two simple words.
“What are they? I know they said his last name too, it’s just harder to remember because I didn’t talk to him personally.”
“Jacob Hawthorne-“
“No, it’s not him. He works in lighting, great guy. Cute kids.”
“Jordan Crawford”
“No, he’s a set designer. I talk to him all the time about switching things up between shows.”
“Last one, Joshua Gr-“
“Graves! Josh Graves That’s the name. That’s him!”
“Y/N, stay here. Agent Anderson will make sure you’re safe.” You can still hear his commanding voice as he leaves the room with the rest of the team. “Garcia, look for addresses where he-” The door swings shut, cutting you off from the rest of the information.
You gave Agent Anderson a small wave, asking if he wanted coffee or tea. You were still trying to be a good host, even if the room was a crime scene.
Crime scene. Suddenly, the idea of staying in this room any longer made you feel physically ill. You threw on a pair of sweatpants and a baseball hat, grabbing your keys as you headed for the door. Before Agent Anderson, or Grant as he introduced himself, could speak a word of protest, you had the door open.
“I can’t be in that room anymore. We can go wherever you want, I just can’t stay there.” He nodded in understanding, but still looked nervous at the idea of ignoring Hotch’s order to stay put.
The elevator doors opened to a mostly deserted lobby. You instantly walk over to the small café tucked into the corner. The barista recognizes you immediately, reaching for a bag as if you had already ordered.
“Ms. L/N, a man ordered this for you earlier. He said to give it to you as soon possible, but I didn’t want to wake you up since it’s still so early.” She has a sweet smile on her face, one you try to return but fail miserably.
“Thank you.” You’re far too stressed to worry about who ordered you a pastry before 5:45 in the morning on a day you were definitely not planning on being up this early. Agent Anderson, though? He was suspicious.
As you sat down in the arm chairs just outside of the shop, he politely asked for the bag.
“Why?” You said it with genuine confusion, but apparently he wasn’t actually asking. He had the bag open and the contents dumped onto the table in a matter of seconds. A blueberry muffin, you’re favorite, and a napkin topple onto the surface of the table in front of you.
“Are FBI agents trained to waste perfectly good muffins?” It’s hard to hide the slight mirth in your voice as you stare at the muffin that rolled of the table and onto the floor. Grant must not have heard you, or maybe he just chose to ignore you. He was still looking at the napkin. He took a picture on his phone before finally returning his attention to you. Of course, now your attention was trained on the napkin. It was your turn to move quickly, sliding it over to you and holding it out to prevent him from taking it back. The message on it was written in sloppy, rushed handwriting, but it was still legible.
“You belong with me. Not him.”
“His story is bound to have dust on every page when I’m done with him.”
“The slope was treacherous, the path reckless.”
“Do you think there’s enough blank space for him?”
You aren’t proud of the first thought that popped into your head. It was true, but you still would’ve liked to think your first thought would somehow tell you where Spencer was. Or at least be about Spencer, but no.
So rude of him to use my own lyrics for this.
You moved passed it quickly though, ignoring the fear you felt at seeing an unreleased lyric in front of you. There must be some sort of clue in the note. Why would he leave it for me if he doesn’t want me to find him? Grant managed to snatch the napkin out of your hand, but you had already read it. The damage was done.
“Y/N. You cannot leave this hotel. The team will find him. They know what they’re doing.” His words were a warning. One you intended to ignore.
“Fine. I’m going to get another muffin.” You tried to sound normal, but that’s probably what gave you away. Nobody would sound normal in this scenario. It didn’t matter if he figured out your plan though. You had a distraction for him. You waved at the barista as you walked into the shop.
“Hi, can I get another muffin? Accidentally dropped mine, whoops!” You smiled at her in a conspiratorial kind of way before leaning closer. “By the way, my friend over there” you nodded toward the agent who hadn’t taken his eyes off you as you walked away, “he thinks you’re cute. You should go talk to him!” Before you knew it, she was out from behind the counter, waving to her colleague to get you a muffin. She stood right in front of Grant, twirling her hair, but more importantly blocking his view of you.
You didn’t wait for the muffin. You slipped out the side door that lead straight to the main street, repeating the clues in your head. Dust. Treacherous. Blank Space.
Somewhere dirty, dangerous, and empty?
Ideas are flying through your head, but they don’t make any sense. The clues aren’t specific enough to tell you everything. It has to be somewhere you’ve been. Realization hits you as if a piano just fell out of the sky.
The arena. There was a staircase and some back rooms that were closed for construction. Dust, check. Unsafe conditions, check. Empty rooms, check. That has to be it.
You hail a cab, texting Hotch once you are on route to your destination. You know he’s going to tell you to stay put, but you want to make sure he knows where to go.
“The arena. They were doing construction.” You put your phone on airplane mode before returning it to your bag.
You expect to arrive at the arena to see it surrounded by black SUVs and police cars, but everything is eerily quiet. You must have beaten them there somehow. You pay your driver before walking up to the main doors. It seems like the best plan of action is to get inside and then find the construction zone. Weirdly enough, the front door is unlocked.
The sound of your shoes hitting the floor echoes in your mind as you wander through the building. It should be a fairly straightforward path, but you’re all turned around. Everything feels different. It’s no longer the nervous butterflies you get right before you perform. The syrup is coming back, only this time it’s pulling you in every direction except for the one you want to go in. You’re fighting your own sense of self preservation. Your brain is screaming at you to leave. You aren’t trained for this. You’re barely trained for anything that doesn’t involve music. But there is a part of you that still feels like this is all your fault. Maybe if you had just talked to him that day things would be different. You could’ve prevented all of this. Maybe…
The sound of Spencer’s voice pulls you forward. He sounds like he’s in pain, but the words are powerful.
“She’s not going to come. Even if she does get the note, there is no way the FBI would let her anywhere near the building.”
More guilt overwhelms you. It’s as if, all at once, the extreme stupidity of your actions hits you. You are putting Spencer’s life at risk. Hell, you are endangering the lives of any agent who has to walk into this building to protect you. You don’t know what will happen to Grant. You left him behind when all he was trying to do was protect you. You made it so he couldn’t do his job properly.
Your body leans into the nearest wall with a soft thud. You barely heard it, but it was apparently loud enough for Joshua.
“Someone’s hear.” His voice sounds playful, as if he’s really enjoying this. “Let’s hope for your sake it’s her.” You’re frozen in place as the footsteps grow closer and closer. You can’t hide. You can’t run. You can’t do anything except wait for him to walk around the corner and see you standing there.
Seeing him again isn’t like you thought it would be. You thought you’d be angered. Mostly, you’re just tired. Multiple panic attacks in one day could do that to a person. You also probably had a concussion that was influencing how you processed the emotional side of everything going on.
Seeing Spencer was different than expected as well. There was no huge wave of relief at discovering he was relatively unhurt. You felt relief, but it was like a tiny puddle surrounded by an ocean of guilt and sadness. There was mostly guilt, and no matter what anyone said before it felt different now. He was only in this position because of you. If he had not have been the one to go undercover, he wouldn’t have been targeted. And, it was your brilliant idea that landed him undercover in the first place.
He looked so panicked at the sight of you. A flurry of emotions ran across his face before settling back into a carefully controlled blank stare.
You wanted to run to him, but you couldn’t move. Yes, Josh was holding your arm in a grip sure to leave bruises, but your legs also felt like jelly. You kept thinking over and over that you shouldn’t have come. That you are only making everything worse. That everyone else’s jobs are so much harder now that you’ve put yourself here. Spencer must see it written on your face because the first thing he says after you enter the room is “It’s not your fault.”
Hearing it from him, you’re almost inclined to believe it. All you can do is nod, tears springing to your eyes.
Josh isn’t pleased with you sharing any sort of a moment with Spencer. He somehow tightens his hold on your arm, drawing a slight yelp from you. You try to remember what Hotch told you that first night. It feels like it happened months ago, but maybe you can talk your way out of this by remembering something useful. Or at least talk Spencer’s way out of it. You’ve been listening to him talk about profiling for the past week, time to put your skills to the test.
“I’m here now. You can let him go.” You don’t know who is more shocked at your words. Yourself, Josh, or Spencer. You’ve never seen Spencer speechless, but apparently you trying to talk down a psychopath who is obsessed with you and rapidly devolving is enough to manage the feat.
Josh pulls a gun from the waistband of his pants. He throws you into the wall before angrily pacing through the room.
“Josh, look at me.” It takes everything in you to pretend like this is a script. As if you are playing a role in a movie. “You have me. We can be together, but you have to let Spencer go.” He’s staring right into your eyes, trying to read your thoughts.
“You’re lying. He has to die, or he’ll always come between us.” He slowly raises the gun, not quite pointing it at any one, but enough to cause your heart rate to soar.
“Josh, think about it. I’ve known you for so much longer than I’ve known him.” You nearly choke on the next words that come out of your mouth. “He’s not important to me. Not like you.”
“STOP LYING TO ME. I KNOW WHAT I SAW.” Oh no. No no no. He’s frantically waving the gun around the room as you inch closer to Spencer. You notice movement near the door you came in, but you don’t have time to investigate. When Josh aims his gun at Spencer, you don’t think before you act- a recurring theme with you today. With all the grace of a newborn deer learning to walk for the first time, you jump in front of Spencer right as the gun goes off.
You’re not sure if it’s an echo but you would’ve sworn you heard two resounding bangs instead of just one.
Spencer catches you as you fall to the ground, bleeding from the bullet wound in your abdomen.
“Spence,” you take a shuttering breath, trying to gain the strength to talk to him.
“Shh, Y/N. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” He turns to yell at someone out of your view. “I need a medic! Now!” He sounds just as panicked as he looked earlier.
“I’m sorry.” You squeeze his hand when he tries to interrupt you again. “I’m sorry, for coming, but not for sav-saving you. The world- it needs you to pr-pro-protect people. Th-thank you. For every,” you couch a bit as you try to get the words out. “For everything.” You know he is remembering your heartfelt speech to him and Morgan from a few days ago, or at least you hope he is. The last thing you say before your vision fades to black feels so random in comparison. “Don’t blame Grant.”
--
“Spence,” your breathing is choppy and rough, contrasting the smooth skin beneath his fingertips as he assesses your wound.
“Shh. Y/N. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” His thoughts are running wild with everything he wants to say to you, but he can’t get anything meaningful to come out. Instead he’s yelling for a medic, frantically looking at all the faces of his closest friends. “I need a medic! Now!” He can hear the panic in his voice, but no amount of training or profiling knowledge can get him to control his emotions.
“I’m sorry.” He tries to interrupt you. To tell you it’s not your fault. That you did everything right. That Josh’s profile said he wouldn’t back down without a fight. Anything, but you squeeze his hand and he can’t breathe, let alone speak. “For coming, but not for sav-saving you. The world- it needs you to pr-pro-protect people. Th-thank you. For every,” he leans in closer, wishing he could do anything to stop your pain. “For everything.” He can’t help but replay your previous conversation with Morgan. Tears are falling down his face, but he can’t bring himself to care.
“Don’t blame Grant.” It takes him the entire ride to the hospital to understand why you mentioned Anderson. Even with your brain shutting down from a lack of blood flow, you were still trying to make sure nobody was blamed for your actions.
He barely listens to the EMTs and the hospital staff as he watches them wheel you back through the all too familiar ‘Authorized Personnel Only” doors.
Spencer doesn’t bother to hide his emotions when the rest of the team arrive. He doesn’t have the energy in him to muster enough energy to hide how he’s feeling from the group of profilers. They all come to the same realization simultaneously. Spencer is a wreck. There’s no other way to describe it. He spent hours in the waiting room before anyone could even convince him to wash your blood off his hands.
He just keeps thinking about how he didn’t get to say goodbye. Hell, he didn’t really say anything. You were bleeding out in front of him, having just jumped in front of a bullet to save him, and still you had more strength than he did in the moment.
Another few hours later and he still hasn’t said a word. JJ’s tried. Derek’s tried. Hotch, Penelope, and Emily tried. Nobody can get through to him. He’s either pacing back and forth or staring at a wall. Of course, his mind is racing, the words just don’t come out of his mouth.
He thinks about how much he hates hospitals. He goes over how germ-ridden every surface is, how much money is spent on healthcare in America, how many people are pronounced dead in hospitals- and then he cuts his own train of thought off.
He thinks about the statistics of gunshot wounds next. He’s hyper focused on how clean shots with an exit wound are less lethal, but yours didn’t have and exit wound so that meant you were less likely to survive- and again he cuts himself off.
He’s begging his brain for happier thoughts. Anything that won’t lead him down the rabbit hole of statistics and how likely you are to die. He clings to the first memory that pops into his head. The night he first saw you.
Hotch, Emily, and Spencer arrived at the arena while the show was still going, if the fireworks were any clue. Normally, one flash of a badge would get the team through any checkpoint, but security at this place was no joke. They called to confirm the identities of the agents before escorting them to the head of security.
That’s when Spencer saw you for the first time. Hotch was arguing with the head of security, a woman named Carrie. Emily was interjecting, trying to convey how important it was that the three agents speak to you immediately without giving away any details about the case. Spencer, if not for his eidetic memory, would have no idea what had been said. His attention was drawn elsewhere when you ran off the stage.
He knew it was the last song of the night because of what Carrie was saying. It was clear to them she was stalling the team, so you could finish the show everyone was there to see.
You had a bright smile on your face, but it seemed off to Spencer. There was a slight sadness in your eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to ask you why. The feeling perplexed him. He’s never been a social butterfly, but your presence was captivating.
He watched your smile transform into genuine happiness when you slid your arms into a new jacket for the final performance, and he wanted to ask about that to. He wanted to learn everything he could about you.
He would’ve thought his heart had skipped a beat when you made eye contact, but he knew logically he would’ve required medical attention had that actually happened. The moment was brief. Your expression, although still happy, transformed into slightly quizzical when you glanced at the three agents. He watched as you thought about who they could be before discarding all thoughts from your mind to focus on the grand finale. He kept watching as you ran back on stage, the smile only growing in size and authenticity when you looked out at the crowd.
He replays that memory in his mind, all the while ignoring the concerned glances and attempts at conversation from his friends. He desperately clings to the way he felt during that 30 second interaction.
He doesn’t understand the feelings that started in that moment. It’s like as soon as he saw you, something in him shifted. He can’t explain it. He’s not blind. He saw the smirks and subtle glances the other profilers were giving when they saw him interact with you. He was just as surprised by his willingness to comfort you, both emotionally and physically. He’s never been one for touching people he doesn’t know. There’s too many germs. But with you, everything is different... With you, he wants it all. Every little thing.
Spencer has never believed in love at first sight. He’s always been too practical, has always thought too logically. But, after the tenth time reliving that moment, he still has no other explanation for the desire he felt. The desire he still feels to learn everything there is to know about you.
All week, he’s chalked it up to his inquisitive mind. He’s always loved learning, so that must have been what was happening here. He’s never spent any considerable amount of time with a musician before, so it’s only natural that he would want to learn from the experience.
That’s a much easier explanation to accept than love. People can’t fall in love in a week. Even if it was a week spent nonstop with each other. But something in the back of his mind was screaming at Spencer to tell himself the truth.
And so he did. And it only confused him more. He’s a man of science. Proving theories with facts, not emotion. Of course, he’s always wanted to be in love, but life has shown him again and again that it wasn’t probable for him. That’s why he nearly fell out of the chair he was in when the realization dawned on him.
“I haven’t had enough time.” It’s barely a whisper, but all his friends are right there hanging on his every word. They wear cautious expressions, as if he could be easily spooked back into silence.
“Enough time for what, kid?” Morgan’s voice is uncharacteristically soft. Even in his most calming moments, Derek always puts power behind his words. It’s why he’s so good at helping people, but this is different. He can tell Spencer is hurting, and he doesn’t want to spook him back into complete silence.
“I’ve barely scratched the surface. I have so much left to learn.” Although he’s still whispering, Spencer’s voice is growing more frantic as he looks between the concerned and confused faces staring back at him. His brain is moving too fast to really explain the thought process going on inside. He can’t put into words how it wasn’t love at first sight, but rather the desire to love you. He saw you and just knew he could love you. That desire to learn everything about you somehow turned into love in the span of a week. Before he can fall even deeper into the rabbit hole he’s found himself in, Spencer is jolted out of his head by the feeling of Rossi’s hands gripping his shoulders.
“I know, kid. You’ll have more time.” Rossi’s words are so confident, Spencer has no choice but to accept them as fact. His heart slows back down to a normal pace. His breathing becomes more regular. His legs stop bouncing. His hands stop fidgeting. And he accepts the comforting words from his family.
--
You’re running. You don’t know where you are. You don’t know how you got here. But you know you’re running.
You feel at ease. You don’t know why. You know it to be true though. You feel safe. Peaceful.
You try to look around. Try to figure out why you’re running. Are you running toward something? Away from something? For fun? It feels fun.
You hear voices. It sounds like laughter. Slowly, you put the pieces together.
You’re in your backyard. Playing with your children. Yours and Spencer’s children. There’s three of them. All girls. The youngest is 4. The other two 6. Twins. You have twins with Spencer. You bask in the joy of it all.
You’re running because you’re playing tag. With your daughters and Spencer. He’s got the all teamed up against you. It feels unfair, but you wouldn’t change it for the world.
There’s a song playing in your head. One you’ve never heard before. It’s beautiful though. So happy. You’ll have to write it down. Find out if you’ve written it in the moment or if you are simply remembering it from long ago.
You still can’t remember how you got here. All you remember is dark. And cold.
Dark and cold. Dark. Cold. A gunshot.
The memory is foggy, but it’s there. The scene in front of you changes. The song is still playing. Its positivity doesn’t match the scene.
It’s like you’re watching a movie. Spencer is holding you. You squeeze your eyes shut. You want to go back.
Back to your kids.
Back to being happy with Spencer.
Back to running. Playing. Being in love.
Then you hear beeping. It’s quiet at first. Drowned out by the song in your head.
Then the song is getting quieter. The beeping getting louder.
Then the song is gone. You can only hear the beeping.
You remember everything when you open your eyes. It comes back to you like a wave crashing over your head, dragging you back into the ocean.
Instead of focusing on the trauma, you focus on the song.
It only takes 30 seconds for you to find your phone on the table next to your bed, open it to the voice memos app, and start recording.
You sing as much of the song as you can remember. It’s not hard since the feelings behind it are so strong. The first verse comes from the forth night you spent with Spencer. You couldn’t sleep so you convinced him to get coffee with you. It didn’t take much convincing for the coffee part since he’s pretty much addicted to the stuff. It took some convincing for him to agree to where you wanted to go though. You wanted to go back to his favorite coffee shop, but he said you could just get some in the hotel. You managed to convince him to go though. He insisted on driving since he now knew you didn’t like it much. The gesture did not go unnoticed. You knew he didn’t like driving either.
The chorus, second verse, bridge, and breakdown are jumbled, but they’re all there. It’s harder to get it right because it’s not coming from memories of you time with Spencer. It’s coming from what you hope to do with him. After a few tries, you’ve got the whole thing in order.
You lay back in your bed, the song replaying in your mind as you fall back asleep.
--
5 hours and 42 minutes. It’s been 5 hours and 42 minutes since you were wheeled into surgery. Every member of the team has gone up to ask about your condition at least once.
The nurse they’ve been bombarding with questions walks into the room and immediately all eyes are on her.
She escorts the team out of the waiting area into a private room before she says anything. “Since Ms. L/N is a high profile patient, we have a certain protocol to follow. All I can tell you right now is that she’s out of surgery, and she’s stable. Her security team is on the way and will need to approve any and all visitors. Once approved, her doctor can give you more information.” And then she leaves before any questions can be thrown at her.
Everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief when they hear that you’re stable. That relief is replaced by frustration when they realize they have to wait to see you. Especially for Spencer. If he could walk more than two steps in this tiny room, he’d be pacing it. Once he starts rambling, not a single team member dare to interrupt him.
It must have been 25 minutes of fidgeting, mumbling, and checking their watches before Carrie walked into the room, interrupting Spencer’s rant.
“I don’t see why our badges aren’t enough proof that we can- Carrie. Finally, can we go see her now?” Based on the look in Spencer’s eyes, anything other than an affirmative answer would not end well.
“Spencer, of course. I just had to confirm your identity in person. It’s standard procedure when she’s in the hospital. For safety reasons. The doctor should be coming in any minute and she can take us to her room.” As if on cue, the doctor walked in.
“Hello everyone, sorry to keep you waiting. Ms. L/N’s surgery went very well. The bullet was removed and all the internal bleeding was stopped before it got too bad. As you know, we’ve got her in a private room. She can have visitors, but limit it to one or two people at a time. Do you have any questions?”
Spencer knows somewhere in his mind that he should ask the doctor everything about your condition, but he can barely keep it together enough to shake his head no. He doesn’t trust himself with words right now.
“Alright, follow me to her room.” A parade of agents, along with Carrie, follow the doctor down twisting hallways to the private wing. “Now, remember one or two at a time. Last I checked, she was still asleep.” Spencer’s gaze drifts from the doctor to look at you through the window. At first glance, he would’ve sworn your eyes were open, but when he looked back again they were closed.
“Once I go in there, I’m not coming back out until she’s awake.” He turned to the rest of the group.
“Spence, it’s okay. You go in. Let us know when she’s awake.” JJ gave him a reassuring hug before her and the rest of the team wandered back to the waiting room.
Spencer and Carrie walked in slowly, as if any sudden movement could hurt you. For the first time in his life, Spencer’s mind was completely empty.
There were no statistics. No miscellaneous facts. Nothing.
He looked at you, asleep in a hospital bed after you saved his life, and he allowed himself to just feel.
It took a strange amount of concentration for him to only feel. His brain wants to butt in with statistics about the surgery or to count your breathing so he will notice any change in the pattern. But, he blocks it out. For you.
He sits down in the chair beside your bed, grabs your hand in his, lays his head on the side of your bed, and feels everything.
He feels all the love he’s been denying for the past week. He feels all the relief of knowing you are okay. He feels all the pain of watching you slip away from him. He feels everything he’s ever blocked out with numbers and statistics. And it’s exhausting. To feel so much at once.
Without thinking about it, he feels his eyes grow heavier with each added emotion.
Love.
Relief.
Pain.
Sadness.
Greif.
Anger.
Fear.
Gratitude.
Happiness.
Just the prospect of being happy is heavy enough that Spencer falls asleep.
The first thing he notices is that he’s running. He’s chasing someone. But not like he normally has to. No. There’s no unsub. Nobody is in danger. He’s playing a game. With children. His children. His and Y/N’s children. He has three daughters. The twins are older, around 6. The youngest is 4. They are helping him chase their mom. His wife. He’s built quite a future for himself in his head. He listens to the sounds of laughter, memorizing each individual’s laugh.
He feels something squeeze his hand and he’s awake. Groggy, but awake. He wants to go back to the dream. To remember what pure happiness feels like.
Then he remembers where he is. And why he’s there. The grogginess is gone. He’s alert in an instant. He’s looking at you, but you aren’t focused. You’re mumbling under your breath, looking for something in the sheets with your one free hand.
“My phone. Where’s my phone? Was it real? Did I dream it?” You seem so flustered, and he can’t fathom why your phone could be so important, but he finds it for you nonetheless.
“Thank you!” He watches as you rapidly open your phone, intently staring at the screen as if it might disappear.
“What are you-” Before he can finish the thought, a voice- no, your voice is playing from your phone.
“It was real…” You are clearly in a daze, but the happiness in your voice is contagious. Suddenly Spencer is smiling, pulling you closer to him as the lyrics to your song play in the background. He peppers soft kisses over any piece of skin he can reach. Your giggles fill him with even more love. Even more happiness.
When the two of you finally separate, he asks the first question he can think of. “When did you write this?”
You think back to your dream. The love. The joy. The pure happiness. You feel Spencer brushing the tears off your cheeks before you even realized you were crying. “It came to me in a dream. I… I guess I woke up earlier and I wanted to remember it. The dream. The song. It was all so beautiful. So happy. You were there. And then when I woke up I just recorded everything I could remember.”
Spencer is looking at you with such adoration that you almost feel shy. You want more than anything for that dream to be a reality. Not right away obviously, but in the future for sure.
“It’s beautiful.” His words are soft and low.
“It’s about you.” If you weren’t in a hospital bed, you might be inclined to think you were still in a dream. “About us.”
“I love it. I love you.” Spencer whispers the words into your skin. Almost like it was involuntary, it slipped out like a breath.
“I love you too.” He kisses you again, before the sound of the door opening breaks you two apart.
Carrie rushes in when she sees you’re awake, not realizing the moment that had just occurred.
“Oh, Y/N. I’m so glad you’re okay!” She squeezes you lightly in a one armed hug, the other hand carrying a tray of coffees and a paper bag. “I brought coffee for Spencer and a scone for you!”
“Well, I hope you poured a mountain of sugar into it. He likes it sweet.” You turn to smile at the man only to find him already looking at you.
“Only as sweet as you.” You laugh at the cheesiness of the moment, but you blush anyway, squeezing his hand. “Thank you, Carrie, for the coffee. I should go let the team know you’re awake.” He kisses your forehead before he walks out of the room.
“Oh honey, you have a lot to fill me in on.” Carrie is looking at you with the biggest smirk you’ve ever seen. She has been your head of security for 4 years, and the two of you have become close friends through all the crazy experiences. Although, nothing as crazy as this.
“What do you mean? I told you I thought he was cute…” You really have no hope of hiding this from her, but you can mess with her a little bit.
“Yeah, but kissing you on the forehead? Calling you sweet in the corniest of ways? What’s going on? Tell me!!” You could leave her hanging, but you are really feeling the need to gush.
“I wrote him a song. In my dream. I think it conveys everything pretty clearly.” You play the song for her, again remembering how you felt in the dream. When it’s over you’re nearly in tears again.
“It’s stunning. Just so beautiful. I’m glad you’ve found someone who makes you so happy.” You can tell she’s nervous about something, and you’ve got a pretty good idea of what.
“Carrie, don’t worry about me. I really think he’s the one. I’ve never felt this strongly, especially so fast. And I know what you’re thinking, fast might not be good, but we’ve spent so much time together. I mean, think about it. How long does the average date last? 2, 3 hours? At that rate, we’ve already been on roughly 37 dates! And that’s if you don’t count the hours we spent sleeping, which we also did together!”
Carrie snorts at that. “Yeah, sleeping.”
“No, I mean actually sleeping.” You try to stress the point. “He kissed me once, but the rest of the time was spent getting to know each other, writing songs, him working on the case, and sleeping. Eyes closed, pajamas on, sleeping.”
Her eyes soften, the smile on her face widening before she responds. “Okay. I won’t worry… too much.” You’re just about to tell her about the dream when the door opens again.
Penelope comes storming into the room with flowers and a teddy bear, whisper shouting about how happy she is that you’re okay. Just before you turn to give her your full attention, you can see Derek and Spencer talking in the hall.
--
“Come on Pretty Boy, what’s going on there?” Derek’s wearing his usual smirk for whenever Spencer’s love life is concerned.
“What do you mean?” Try as he might, Hell would have to freeze over for Derek to stop this line of questioning.
“I mean, I see how you look at her. Hell, we all watched you fall apart in the waiting room. What’s the deal? C’mon man, fill me in!” Spencer doesn’t know how to describe it. He doesn’t know how to convert the emotions he’s recently accepted into words, so he tries something else.
“She wrote me a song.” Spencer’s words are wistful. He’s transported himself back into dreamland. Back to the kids and the games. Back to happiness.
“Kid, it’s more than that. She wrote all of us songs.” Derek’s words cause the dream to sleep away yet again. .
“No, well yes. Although technically we wrote that song about me together. I mean, she wrote me an entire song. In a dream.” This time, Derek replies too quickly for him to slip back into the dream.
“Reid. You’re not making sense. You dreamt that she wrote you a song?” Derek’s words are comforting, like he’s trying to figure out the best way to help Spencer convey his emotions without pushing him too far.
“No. She said after her surgery, she had a dream. About me. About… us. The song was playing in the background.” Derek nods, finally understanding his friend.
“Okay, so what was the song about?” Again, his words are soft.
“Us. The time we’ve spent together and the time she wants us to spend together in the future.” It’s taken Derek this long into the conversation to realize why Spencer seems so out of it. He’s happy. He’s not faking it. He’s not hiding behind statistics. He’s just happy. Plain and simple.
“And that’s what you want to?” He can’t help but smile, really truly smile, at the pure look of adoration that Spencer wears when he looks through the window at you.
“More than anything.” Derek pulls him into a hug. Normally, hugs like this are typically reserved for when they just saved each other or after a particularly bad case. This case, although involving Spencer���s kidnapping and a trip to the hospital, had a rather positive outcome.
“Good. You deserve it man.”
--
A few days later and you are itching to leave the hospital. You’ve been working to reschedule your tour dates so you can fully recover before performing again, but even with that it’s incredibly boring to be stuck in the hospital for so long.
“Good news. You can leave the hospital tomorrow!” Spencer walks in, followed by the rest of the BAU team. They’ve been taking turns visiting you, something you suspect Spencer asked them to do, but you don’t really mind. You’ve actually become good friends with most of them.
“Yay!” Before too much celebration can occur, you’re passing out USBs to each team member. “I’m glad you’re all hear. I managed to record some preliminary versions of your songs! Listen to them whenever you’d like, or don’t that’s cool too. Either way, I’ll make sure to get you the properly recorded versions when I get a chance to go into the studio. I included some thoughts about other inspirationsas well, so don’t feel bad if there is a lyric that doesn’t really match you.” The majority of the team give you thanks and endless praise before Hotch clears his throat.
“Our songs? Did I miss something?” You chuckle at that. The man clearly doesn’t miss anything ever.
“Nobody told you? The first day I met you all, Pen asked me to write a song inspired by her. Trust me, it wasn’t hard. She’s a fountain of inspiration. Then when I was waiting for Spence to get back so we could go to the hotel, I came up with one or two for everyone!” You can’t tell if Hotch is more or less concerned now than when he was out of the loop.
“So I have a song? What is it?” The rest of the team can’t hide their smirks. It’s clear they never get to see their boss act this nervous.
“Well, it’s on the CD!” He groans at the idea of waiting when everyone else already knows. “But, since everyone else got a sneak peak, I’ll give you one too. Wasn’t it beautiful running wild till you fell asleep? Before the monster’s caught up to you… It’s okay, just wait and see. Your string of lights is still bright to me. Oh, who you are is not where you’ve been. You’re still an innocent.” You give everyone a minute to think about the lyrics before the silence is too much for you to take.
“I’m sorry if that’s weird! It’s just, the first time I saw you, and there was this look in your eyes. In all of your eyes, but yours the most.” You are looking straight at Hotch. “Like you’ve been through some really terrible things, and maybe you had to do some things that can be hard to deal with. But, that doesn’t make you a bad person or anything, ya know? That’s where the inspiration came from…” You can’t tell if your rambling helped or not. The profilers are so hard to read. Pen is subtly crying near the side of your bed, so you pull her in for a hug. Before you know it, the rest of the team is joining in.
“It’s not weird at all. You are pretty good at reading people, ever consider becoming a profiler?” Hotch is clearly trying to lighten the mood, but his expression conveys how much he appreciates the song.
“I think this will be my first and last case. Clearly I’m not that great at talking down the bad guy.” You shudder to think of putting yourself in that position again.
“From what I heard, you did a pretty decent job. The ending was exactly what we expected unfortunately. Plus, you can definitely hold your own. I heard you flipped Morgan over your shoulder like a ragdoll.” Rossi’s comment earns laughs from the entire group.
“Please, I just caught him off guard. Although, I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on his face afterwards.” Again, the groups laughs. “I just wanted to thank you all. For protecting me, but also for visiting me so much. You really know how to see the positive side of things.”
“Anyone willing to jump in front of a bullet for Spencer is definitely a friend of ours.” JJ chimes in.
You can’t help but truly smile at the team. It seems you’ve found yourself another family, and you couldn’t be more grateful.
tag list:
@mac99martin , @wecouldbreakthedistance , @spencerhotchner , @girloncorneliastreet , @itsametaphorbriansblog , @moonshinerbynight , @meowiemari , @justanotherfangirl , @im-so-wonderstruck , @eevee0722 , @raining13lemonade @dilaudidwinchester , @silverdagger69 , @thatsonezesty13 , @ladyravenclaw , @uwucorpse , @dark-night-sky-99 , @thechloethings , @http-cherries , @emilouu
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid#Criminal Minds#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid angst
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1300 miles | chapter one | b.b.
Summary | Bucky Barnes is adjusting to civilian life, living in Brooklyn, visiting Sam in Delacroix when he can, and trying to figure out what he wants. When he meets Jo Landry, the tattooed lead singer of a New Orleans-based band, he thinks he might have found the answer. Too bad they live 1300 miles apart.
Time Frame | post-TFATWS
Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc
Rating | explicit
Warnings | mentions of combat-related injuries, alcohol use, tattoos/body piercings, coarse language, gay male character, bisexual female character, recreational/medicinal drug use (weed), pet names (doll, Sarge), smut (f/m, mutual masturbation, fingering, slight dom!Bucky, praise kink), angst if you squint but not really, and all the romance tropes/fluff because I'm a sucker for it; more warnings to come; 18+ ONLY, minors DNI
A/N | It’s my birthday, so to celebrate I’m sharing chapter one of my new WIP. This started its life as a one-shot but then my enneagram 4 brain took over and now it’s looking like it’ll be a multi-chapter short. Enjoy!
Also, feedback – comments, likes, etc. – is always appreciated, my loves.
AO3 link | 1300 miles playlist
_____
The sun is just starting to sink in the sky as Sam and Bucky finish the latest repairs on the boat. Sam has spent the last hour pestering Bucky about things he’s missed over the last 80 years — things he needs to do, shows and movies he needs to watch, music to listen to, places to go. Bucky is considering the consequences of putting his vibranium fist through the new Captain America’s face.
“You’re telling me you’ve never been to New Orleans?” Sam half-shouts at Bucky in amusement.
“Sam, besides the airport, when would I have been to New Orleans?” Bucky sighs.
“We’re going. Tonight.” He stands up. “But none of that Bourbon Street bullshit. I know a place,” he says.
_____
The bar is crowded on a Saturday night, but they manage to find a table near the small stage where a band is setting up.
“I’ll get drinks,” Sam says, heading to the bar.
“Sam said he knows the owners?” Bucky asks Sarah.
“Jo and Danny. Yeah,” Sarah says. “Danny served with Sam on his last tour. Real young kid when he served. Took some shrapnel to the chest and face in an RPG explosion and got out early. He and Sam kept in touch.”
Bucky watches Sam talk to a man with a mop of curly, brown hair and an auburn beard behind the bar. From where he sits, Bucky can see a jagged scar peeking out from the top of the man’s beard over his cheek, stopping just below his right eye.
Sam returns with three beers. "Danny says hi," he tells Sarah. "Says he'll come over when he has a free minute."
"Jo around?" Sarah asks.
Sam nods toward the stage. "She's playing tonight. Danny says she's in the office rewriting the set list."
Bucky sips his beer and looks around. When they entered, there was a wave of enthusiasm as people recognized Sam as Captain America, but it seems to have died down and now no one is paying them much attention. Bucky prefers it that way, though he’s happy that people are excited for Sam.
“Speak of the devil,” Sam says, smiling and nodding toward a woman emerging from a door beside the bar marked ‘Employees Only.’ She’s wearing a loose-fitting white tank tucked into light-wash jeans cuffed just above a pair of black combat boots. Her wavy, dark hair fans out behind her as she rushes towards the stage. She's clutching a piece of paper in one hand, and the smile on her face makes Bucky's heart stutter for a moment.
Sam catches the way Bucky is watching Jo as she jumps onto the stage. He elbows Sarah and nods at the lovestruck look on Bucky's face, and they share a smirk. Bucky doesn't notice the exchange. He's too busy studying Jo. Her arms are covered in tattoos, from shoulders to fingers. When she tucks a strand of hair behind her left ear, Bucky can see the row of piercings adorning the curve of her ear. There's a gold ring between her nostrils. Bucky's seen some of the kids in Brooklyn with that piercing, but he doesn't know what it's called. He's seen plenty of women like her since moving back to New York — with tattoos and piercings and dark hair — but there's something about the combination with her green eyes and soft smile that makes his mouth go dry and his palm sweat.
He takes another sip of his beer to ground himself.
Jo picks up an acoustic-electric guitar from its stand, swings the strap over her shoulder, and plugs the guitar into a small amp at her feet. She raises her right hand in the air and sets a count with her fingers — one, two, three, four. The band starts, and Jo strums the guitar, smiling at the crowd. When she steps up to the microphone and opens her mouth, Bucky is surprised at how sweet her voice sounds. He was expecting it to be rougher, but it's gentle and warm, and he likes the way her mouth looks as it forms the words to the song.
Next to him, Sam taps his foot along to the music. Bucky can't remember the last time he saw a band play live. God, he thinks, it was before the war, before everything. He takes another sip of his beer before Sarah hands him a fresh bottle. He hadn't even noticed that she'd left the table and gone to the bar. He smiles and nods his thanks.
Sarah leans over and whispers to Bucky just loud enough for Sam to hear, as well, "You should ask her out after the show."
Bucky grimaces and shakes his head. As he told Yori once, there's a dance to these things, and he's eighty years out of practice. Plus, his last date didn't exactly go as planned.
But he can't stop staring at Jo's painted black nails and tattooed fingers as they move across the guitar strings. LOVE is written across the top knuckles of her right hand, HATE on the left. A series of lines and dots decorate her lower knuckles. There’s a snake curling around her left wrist, its inked head resting on her hand, and several large peonies cover the back of her right hand and up her forearm. Bucky wonders what her tattooed hands would look like wrapped around his cock. He also wonders where else on her body she has tattoos and what that voice would sound like when he's between her thighs. Fuck.
The band transitions into another song, and Jo's eyes land on Bucky. She's used to people staring at her, especially when she's on stage, but she's caught by the way his eyes never leave her, never wander to look at the band's female bassist or to Sarah sitting next to him. She's certain his stare could burn a hole right through her, and she wouldn't even complain. He’s fucking gorgeous.
She knows who he is, of course. She’s seen the recent footage of him with Sam in New York and read the Times article detailing his move from assassin to almost Avenger. Plus, her twin brother, Danny, was a bit of a history nerd as a kid so she’s definitely seen a Captain America documentary that mentioned the Howling Commandos. And they may or may not have hidden a fugitive Captain America and Falcon following the Accords.
Jo tears her eyes away from the super soldier and focuses on the rest of the audience. She can see Danny behind the bar, flirting with the man he's been trying to sleep with for the past two weeks. She catches his eye and smiles her encouragement between lyrics. Get his number! she tries to say with her eyes. Danny's usually pretty good at reading her mind. She doesn't know if it's a brother thing or a twin thing or just a Danny thing, but when he holds up his phone in surrender and smiles back at her, she knows he got the message.
The first half of their set ends with a crash of drums and a long guitar riff. Jo takes a swig from the mason jar full of water she keeps on stage. Her eyes meet Bucky's again as she swallows, and he licks his bottom lip. Heat curls in the pit of her stomach at the thought of what else that tongue could do.
Willow, the band's bassist, steps over and whispers in Jo's ear, “If you don’t fuck him after the show, I’m going to."
When Jo looks at her, she can see the amusement dancing in Willow's eyes. She rolls her own eyes and avoids looking directly at Bucky for the rest of the set.
_____
After the last song, Jo thanks the crowd and helps the rest of the band tidy up the stage, unplugging amps and turning off the mics. She's still trying not to look at Bucky, even though she can feel his eyes on her.
"You have to stop staring, man," Sam whispers to Bucky.
"I'm not staring," Bucky grumbles.
Sarah laughs, "You're definitely staring."
“Here," Sam says, "I'll introduce you." And before Bucky can protest, Sam is waving Jo over. "Josephine," Sam says, hugging her.
"Samuel," she returns, smiling. "Congrats on the new gig." She punches his shoulder lightly. "Better you than that John Walker douchebag," she says. Bucky snorts, and she catches his eye and smirks before turning to Sarah. "Hey, Sarah." They exchange pleasantries while Bucky tries to get his tongue to turn back from lead.
Sam points at Bucky, "This is—"
Bucky stands. "Bucky. Barnes."
Jo smiles and shakes his gloved hand. "Jo. Landry," she says, matching his cadence.
Sam was right. Bucky can't stop staring at her. This close, he can see there's a bit of gold in the green of her eyes and a slight gap between her two front teeth. She smells like sandalwood and citrus and just a little bit like pot.
Jo returns his stare. His five o’clock shadow doesn’t hide the dimple in his chin, and she briefly imagines pressing her lips against it. She’s trying to name the exact shade of blue of his eyes when Sam clears his throat.
She’s not usually so easily flustered by attractive people, but Bucky's blue eyes and chiseled jaw have done a number on her self-control. “Let me grab a drink,” Jo says, turning quickly.
“No need,” Danny says, appearing in front of her and handing her a glass. He leans in and whispers in her ear, “He’s cute.”
“Please fuck off,” Jo hisses in return, widening her eyes at him. She’s only half-serious, and Danny knows it. It’s a twin thing.
When she looks at Bucky again, he’s smirking, and she wonders if enhanced hearing is a super soldier trait. Bucky pulls out the fourth chair at the small table for her to sit, and Jo can't remember the last time someone did that for her.
"The show was great," Sarah says, grabbing Jo's attention.
"Thanks," Jo replies. "Took a while to get back to it after…” she snaps her fingers but doesn’t finish her sentence.
"You were snapped?" Bucky asks.
Jo nods. "Yeah. You?"
"Yeah."
"Cheers," she says sarcastically, raising her glass in a toast. She shakes her head again and pushes her hair behind her ear. "Five years just," she holds her hands open, "gone. Danny was still here, holding all this together by himself."
She tucks one leg under the other, and her knee bumps Bucky’s beneath the table. When she moves to pull her knee away from his, he places a gloved hand on her thigh, holding her leg in place.
Bucky surprises even himself with this move. He hasn’t been this forward with a woman since an auburn-haired nurse in Italy during the war. With her, it was all hands and mouths and skin on skin because he was certain he was going to die any day. Now he supposedly has all the time in the world. He just isn’t sure what he wants to do with it.
But in this moment, he's comfortable here, in this tiny bar, with a beer in his hand and Jo's knee pressed against his. He's confident that Sam would never introduce him to someone he couldn't trust.
Bucky's flirted with Sarah, sure, but that was mostly to irritate to Sam. And as much as he doesn't want to admit it, the thought of something happening between himself and Sarah and then ending badly and ruining his relationship with Sam makes his stomach hurt. Pursuing Jo seems safer in that regard. She and Sam are friends, but if — when, he thinks — he ruins things, he can just go back to New York instead of losing his only friend.
Jo asks Sarah about AJ and Cass to distract herself from the butterflies forming in her stomach at Bucky’s touch, and Sam starts a story about the boys' latest interests. Bucky is content to listen to the three of them talk, his eyes barely leaving Jo. When she flicks her gaze over to him every now and then, she doesn't seem phased by his staring, and she hasn't pulled her knee away from where it's softly touching his. After a while, Danny emerges from behind the bar and joins their table, introducing himself to Bucky with a firm handshake.
While Danny and Sam trade updates about people they know, Jo leans towards Bucky and asks, “You want another drink?”
“Sure,” Bucky replies.
Jo doesn’t say anything else, just nods her head toward the bar, stands, and offers Bucky her hand. He takes it, the leather glove of his right hand warm against her palm. He wishes he could feel her skin without the gloves between them. He doesn’t usually wear them around Sam and Sarah and everyone in Delacroix, but he wasn’t sure how the metal arm would be perceived at this bar he’s never been to. Sam told him not to worry about it, but Bucky doesn’t like to draw unnecessary attention to himself.
Jo leads him through the sea of tables to a barstool, then moves behind the bar and grabs him a fresh bottle of the beer he's been drinking all night. "Unless you want something stronger," she says, pausing before she hands it to him.
"This is good," Bucky replies.
She pops the top and hands him the bottle. He takes a sip as he watches her maneuver around the bartender on duty to fix herself another whiskey sour before taking a seat on the barstool next to him.
"Full disclosure; because it's only fair," she says, taking a sip of her drink. "I know who you are, Sergeant Barnes. Not the whole story, but bits and pieces."
Bucky pauses. He searches her eyes for the fear he's expecting but finds none. "And you're okay with that?" he asks.
Jo quirks the corner of her mouth up in a half-smile and says, “If Sam trusts you, I trust you."
“I’m not great with meeting new people, and I was telling myself the same thing about you," Bucky admits, almost sheepishly.
“You know we can never tell Sam about this, right?" Jo says, conspiratorially. "We’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Never,” Bucky agrees, and knocks his beer bottle lightly against her glass in understanding.
They talk for a while, just the two of them alone at the end of the bar. Jo asks him how he likes Louisiana ("Hot, but the people are friendly"); where he's staying ("Sarah's"); when he's heading back to New York ("A week from tomorrow"); what he likes to do for fun ("Still figuring that out"); his favorite place ("Wakanda") and favorite book ("The Hobbit"); and a myriad of other questions — some of which Bucky answers easily and some that make him pause. He makes her give her own answers to each one in turn.
Jo leans close to Bucky so she can hear him over the noise of the room, and he takes the opportunity to study her features more closely. He's practically mapped all of her face when her eyes leave his for a brief second and land on Sam, Sarah, and Danny staring at them from the table across the room.
"Don't look now," she whispers, leaning even closer, "But we seem to have an audience."
Bucky makes a big show of looking over his shoulder at the group.
"I said 'don't look!'" Jo laughs and swats casually at his arm.
Bucky takes the opportunity to pin her hand with his own, holding it tightly and licking his bottom lip before smiling at her. He can see the blush paint her cheeks and creep down her neck and chest.
He likes Jo, likes how easy it feels to be around her. He isn't used to that. He isn't used to feeling comfortable with people. Hell, he thinks, I barely feel comfortable with myself. But there's something about Jo that makes him feel safe and calm. Of course, there's attraction there — plenty of it — but he's sure it's more than that.
For her part, Jo is enamored with Bucky. She likes his hard edges and his snark, but she also likes the small glimpses he's given her of the man beneath all of that. She doesn't usually fall for people so easily, but she's found herself drowning in the sea of blues that make up Bucky's eyes, and she doesn't want to be rescued. How fucking cliche, she tells herself.
"We should probably go back over there," Bucky says, squeezing her hand once before releasing it.
They both stand and make their way back to the table. Bucky pulls Jo's chair out for her again, but this time, he makes sure to pull it a little closer to his chair in the process. This doesn't go unnoticed by Sam who smirks at him. Bucky returns the smirk with a thin-lipped smile of his own before scooting even closer to Jo.
Jo finds it hard to focus on the conversation in front of her with Bucky's warm body so close to her own, and she realizes she misses the pleasant feeling of his gloved hand around hers. She places her own hand on his thigh and hopes he gets the hint.
Bucky’s fascinated by even the slightest movements of Jo's tattooed fingers, and when her hand rests on his denim-clad thigh, he thinks the sight alone might kill him. Before he can second-guess himself, he pulls the glove off his right hand and links his own flesh and bone fingers with hers.
Jo doesn't look at Bucky — she's trying not to draw attention to her hand in his lap — but Bucky watches the corner of her mouth quirk upwards into a smile, and he squeezes her hand in response.
The conversation continues a bit longer before Danny leaves the table to check in with his bartender. Jo excuses herself to get another drink, and Bucky watches her pop behind the bar to fill a glass for herself.
"I need to get home, relieve the babysitter," Sarah says when she finishes her beer.
"We're heading out then," Sam says, then turns to Bucky, "You coming?"
Bucky looks toward Jo and says, "No, I'm gonna stick around. I'll get a cab back or get a hotel room in the city."
Sam smirks. "I don't think you're gonna need a hotel room, man."
Bucky rolls his eyes.
"Just promise me you'll use protection," Sam laughs. "We don't need any little super soldiers running around just yet."
Bucky gives him a sarcastic smile, but realizes Sam's probably right, and he definitely doesn't have any condoms in his wallet. He's not planning on sleeping with Jo tonight — he just met her, and he's not sure he's ready for that yet — but if the army taught him anything, it's to be prepared. As if reading his mind, Sam pulls out his wallet and places a condom in Bucky's palm before pulling him in for a hug and clapping him on the back.
"Have fun, man," Sam says.
Sam and Sarah say their goodbyes to Danny and Jo on their way out, and Bucky joins Jo at the bar, sitting on the barstool next to her where they sat earlier.
"Sticking around, soldier?" she asks. She reaches for his dog tags and tugs them gently. The drinks have been strong, and she's feeling more flirtatious than she would otherwise.
"If you don't mind," Bucky replies.
Jo smiles and reaches for his hand this time. "Not at all."
"Are you gonna finish your interrogation of me?" Bucky asks, amusement apparent in his voice.
Jo laughs in return. “I thought I'd read your palm instead," she says, turning his hand over in her own.
Bucky snorts but doesn't pull his hand away. "Is this a trick you use on all the guys?"
"And girls," Jo says, meeting his eyes. Then she studies his hand carefully, running her index finger across the lines that crisscross his palm.
"Your dominant hand," she continues, "determines your future, while your non-dominant hand is tied to your past."
Bucky snorts again at the truth of it all.
"I'm not making this up!" Jo laughs. "I mean, someone did, but I'm not!" She can see the laughter shining in Bucky's eyes, so she goes on, "Your head line is deep, meaning your thinking is clear and focused, but it's also curved downward which indicates a creative spirit and an appetite for literature and fantasy." She looks up at him, "Explains the love for Tolkien."
"I'm not sure I'm buying this," Bucky says.
"You've literally fought aliens, and you're gonna give me a hard time over palm reading," Jo laughs.
"The aliens were real," Bucky deadpans.
"And in New Orleans, palm reading and psychics and crystal balls and voodoo are real," Jo says, still laughing. "But I promise not to read your palm again or read your aura or get out the tarot cards."
Bucky likes the way her slight accent makes New Orleans sound more like Nawlins. He also likes the sound of her laughter and the way her face lights up when she smiles. She's still holding his hand in her own, so he turns his palm over in hers and brings her tattooed knuckles to his lips.
_____
Meanwhile, the bar closes, and Danny and the bartender clean glasses and close up for the night.
Danny points at Jo as he comes around the bar. "I’m locking up then heading upstairs," he says.
"Thanks, love," Jo replies.
Danny walks the bartender out and locks the front door, then retraces his steps to the back of the bar. On his way past Jo, he stops and kisses her on the cheek, saying, "Be good. And set the alarm."
He turns to Bucky. "And you, Sergeant Barnes," he says, pointing at him now, "I know you're an Avenger or whatever, but if you hurt her, I'll kill you."
"Bye, Danny," Jo says, rolling her eyes as he disappears through the door marked 'Employees Only.' "Don't worry about him," Jo says, turning back to Bucky.
“Older brother, right?” Bucky says. He understands; he was an older brother once.
“Twins, actually,” Jo smiles.
Bucky takes a sip of his beer. "Sarah said Danny served with Sam," he says.
"Yeah. Afghanistan. A lifetime ago," Jo says. “He only had one more mission before he could come home so he switched with someone. An RPG barely missed the helicopter he was in, and he was pretty badly injured in the explosion and the resulting crash. Almost lost an eye. He came home, got out of the Air Force, went to business school. Now we own the bar..." She pauses to take the last sip of her drink. "...and the building. Sam's really helped Danny get past everything."
"He's good at that," Bucky says.
"Another thing we can never tell him," Jo laughs.
"Agreed. So, when do I get to ask about your tattoos?" he questions.
"What do you want to know?" she asks.
Bucky licks his bottom lip. "Anything."
He likes her dagger tattoo the best. It’s inked on the inside of her right forearm, nestled amongst the peonies, the hilt facing the crook of her elbow and the knife’s tip pointed toward her wrist. It’s feminine and dangerous and incredibly sexy. She blushes when he tells her how much he likes it. He doesn't tell her it reminds him of one of his favorite knives, currently tucked at the bottom of his backpack back in Sarah's living room.
"In some ways, they're my armor," she explains. "When I'm on stage, people look at the tattoos, not me, and I kind of like that. It lets me be whoever I want to up there."
Bucky understands the desire to hide better than anyone. But she knows who he is so there's really no point in hiding from her any longer. Plus, he feels like his arm is something she would understand, something she could accept — not just because of her brother's military record but because of her own unique body modifications.
He pulls his left glove off and shrugs out of his leather jacket, revealing the vibranium arm beneath his black t-shirt.
Jo takes in the black metal and gold details. "That," she says, pointing to his arm, "is lovely."
"It's lethal," Bucky warns.
She cocks her head to the side and says, "If you're trying to scare me, it won't work, Sergeant Barnes."
Bucky can't stop the corner of his lip from pulling up in the slightest hint of a smile.
"Okay,” she says, placing her palms flat on the bar top. “You want another beer?" she asks.
Jo stands and turns to move behind the bar, but Bucky's vibranium hand on her arm stops her. She looks at him curiously, and he slides his arm behind her back and pulls her flush against his chest. She settles between his open thighs, her palms resting gently on top of his legs. He's staring at her so intensely she's convinced he willburn that hole right through her, but she can't bring herself to look away.
He leans in, his lips only a breath away from hers.
"Can I kiss you?" Bucky finally asks, his flesh hand moving up to cup her cheek.
"Please," Jo whispers, desperately.
Bucky closes the distance between them, and his lips meet hers. He's hesitant at first, but when he feels Jo respond, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing even closer, he runs his tongue along the seam of her lips until she opens them for him. She tastes like bourbon and lemon from the whiskey sours she's been drinking, and Bucky loves it. His tongue sweeps along the roof of her mouth, and Jo moans. Bucky is determined to hear that sound again.
He kisses across the corner of her mouth and over her jaw. The hand that was cupping her cheek moves to her hair to angle her head backwards and give him better access to the bare skin of her neck. He laves his tongue over the corded muscles there, then nips at the skin with his teeth. She moans again, and Bucky is on fire.
Jo's right hand weaves into his short hair and tugs until his mouth comes away from her neck. He catches his breath while Jo nuzzles his nose with her own and places a soft kiss against the Cupid's bow of his upper lip. His eyes meet hers, and her pupils are blown wide with lust.
The need to kiss her again is overwhelming. Bucky’s lips find hers, and Jo somehow leans even closer into his body, her hands tracing down his chest to his waist. Bucky lets his own hands move to Jo’s ribs, resting just beneath her chest, his thumbs teasing the underside of each breast. Jo gasps when Bucky’s right thumb moves across her taut nipple.
Fuck, he thinks, I need to slow down. While he’s shared kisses with the handful of women he’s met on dating apps, he hasn’t done anything this intimate in a lifetime.
Bucky pulls away, panting. He rests his forehead against Jo's and stares into her green eyes.
"I should leave," he says. “I’m getting carried away. I…I want to do this right.”
And he does. Desperately. He wants to buy her flowers and take her out and learn what makes her swoon. But he also wants to map every tattoo on her body with his fingers and tongue and then fuck her until she can’t walk straight.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
Jo laughs breathily. “We don’t have to do anything, but it’s almost three o'clock in the morning and your ride already left. You can sleep on my couch if you want to be a gentleman.”
Bucky groans. “I should be a gentleman."
She kisses him again, lightly, then moves away to set the alarm and turn the rest of the lights out. She leads him through the 'Employees Only' door and up a set of stairs to her apartment.
"You're not allergic to cats, are you?" Jo asks, as she unlocks the door.
"No," Bucky says. As far as he knows, he's not allergic to anything thanks to the knock-off serum, but he doesn't say that.
Inside her apartment, Jo kicks off her combat boots at the door, and Bucky does the same, leaving them both in their socked feet. There's a fluffy black cat sitting on the back of the green velvet sofa.
"That's Toulouse," Jo says. "Or Louie. He doesn't answer to either, so it really doesn't matter what I call him."
The cat regards Bucky with indifference before standing up, stretching, and leaving the room.
"Guest bathroom’s just there,” she nods. “Let me get you some blankets and pillows for the couch," Jo continues. "Unless you've changed your mind about being a gentleman." She smirks at him.
Bucky laughs through his nose. “Don’t tempt me.”
Jo leaves the room for a moment, which gives Bucky a chance to look around. He's standing in her living room; one wall features a set of French doors that lead to a balcony overlooking the street, and the opposite wall holds bookcases stuffed from floor to ceiling with books, framed photographs, and various knick-knacks. From where he stands, he can see a small room with an upright piano and guitars hanging on the walls. The exterior walls of Jo's apartment are brick, and everything else is set in jewel tones. He likes it. It's dark and cozy, and from what he knows of Jo so far, her living space matches her well.
When she returns, Jo is holding a stack of blankets and pillows. She sets them on the ottoman and moves across the room to close the curtains.
"There are some sweats and a t-shirt there that should fit you" she says, turning to Bucky.
"Thanks," Bucky says, smiling softly.
Now that they're here, in her apartment, Bucky isn't sure what he's supposed to do or say. He can still feel the heat of Jo's lips on his, and he's painfully aware that the condom Sam gave him is still in his pocket.
Jo must sense the hesitation rolling off him because she crosses the room to stand in front of him and takes his hands in hers.
"Get some sleep, Sarge," she says, squeezing his hands in tandem before dropping them.
"Goodnight, Jo," Bucky returns.
_____
Bucky lays on Jo's couch in the dark beneath blankets that smell like laundry detergent. He wishes they smelled like her. He unlocks his phone and looks up the distance between New Orleans and Brooklyn. Just over thirteen hundred miles. He sighs and drops his phone onto the coffee table before closing his eyes and reliving each kiss as he falls asleep.
On the other side of the wall, Jo falls across her bed, deflated. She likes this guy. She wants him — painfully so. But leave it to her to fall for the one guy in her bar who lives half-way across the country.
_____
next chapter
#bucky barnes#james buchanan barnes#james bucky barnes#sergeant barnes#bucky barnes x oc#bucky x oc#bucky barnes x ofc#bucky x ofc#bucky fic#bucky barnes fic#bucky fanfic#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes romance#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes fluff
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you know i’m stupid for you 1/?
author: claire (@sailorsero)
ship: adult kaminari denki x reader
prompt/genre: band/musician!au/poppunk!denki
wordcount: 1483
warnings: swearing (for the moment, this is all)
a/n: • written for the BNHarem Making Beautiful Music Collaboration - check out the masterlist to see everyone elses!) • thank you to @unbreakablekiribaku for the header! • i do not give permission for this (or any of my writing) to be reposted, by anyone, on this or any other website. please don’t do it! • title from ‘stupid for you’ by waterparks
you know i’m stupid for you
part one
***
RIOT! PRESENTS: DYNAMIGHT - A ROTATING HEADLINE TOUR
Combining forces for the second annual Riot! Radio/Magazine empire tour are punk pop staples Chargebolt, indie rockers Plus Ultra! and newcomers Rolling Thunder, fresh off the release of their debut album, ‘Revelry in the Dark’. The tour format of a different running order each night, the mix of genres and an abundance of talent promises a sick show you won’t want to miss!
The tour starts tomorrow night in Fukuoka, ending in Sapporo at the end of the month.
Tickets | Details
Day 1: Fukuoka
***
The past 24 hours had been hectic and overwhelming; the last minute preparations, the packing, the 17 FaceTime calls Mina insisted were necessary for packing, the flight to Fukuoka, the hotel, meeting the approximately 3674 people involved in the tour (okay, really approximately), the soundchecks, the press, making sure Todoroki didn’t get lost (again). It could have been enough to have you considering your plan B vocation of Professional Kitten Cuddler (you’d seen a Buzzfeed article once), if it wasn’t for this feeling, right here and now.
The house lights had dimmed away to almost nothing, causing the steady thrum of chatter from the crowd to surge into a roar of anticipation that matched your own perfectly; waiting sidestage in the dark knowing you were on the precipice of doing what you loved most always made you feel electric.
You’d followed Shinsou onto the stage as the eyewateringly bright lights hit, securing the strap of your bass before looking without seeing out at where you knew the crowd was. You were really here, on this stage, with your best friends, on the biggest tour you’d done so far as a band. You let yourself bask in the joy that brought for a moment longer, before turning towards your bandmates, tilting your head in silent question. Quick nods from Tokoyami and Shinsou and a peace sign from Mina were all you needed before you turned to Todoroki to count in. Everything after that was the most beautiful white noise.
***
8 songs flew by quicker than you could ever remember, Shinsou’s synths fading out as Mina yelled into the mic like she was going for Present Mic’s radio slot.
“Our record is available from the merch table and we are on all relevant social media - @ rollingthunder! Our TikToks are epic! We have been Rolling Thunder, you have been fucking beautiful - goodnight!!!”
“‘Our TikToks are epic’?!” Shinsou rounded on the lead singer as soon as you were all sidestage again.
Mina put her hands on her hips, giving off the energy of an elementary school teacher who had to do this a lot. “They are epic! It’s not my fault you never want to be in them!”
“Maybe that’s why they’re epic?” Todoroki deadpanned, removing the sweat-soaked towel from around his neck.
The snort you gave out at the impossible-to-tell-if-it-was-intended-as-an-insult-or-not-because-it’s-Todoroki insult died off early as you caught sight of him.
Fuck. He’d actually gotten hotter overnight.
Kaminari made a beeline straight for you from the door that lead to the backstage area, 100 watt smile firmly in place. “Hey, you. Great set out there! Totally dope!”
“You were watching?” You were too caught off guard to school your tone into anything less giddy, and you knew you’d be hearing about it until you could hide in your bunk on the tourbus. Maybe not even then if your bandmates didn’t respect the sanctity of the curtain.
“Yeah, of course! We were up on the balcony, in the private bit? You know?” You assumed Sero and Kirishima formed the ‘we’ he was talking about, as they appeared one after another through the same door, grinning widely.
“Yeah, totally, I remember they said there was somewhere to watch the other sets from...cool!”
A part of you died inside as you heard yourself reply and you wondered briefly if there was any chance your whole band wasn’t watching this interaction. Hearing ‘cool!!!’ mimicked in four wildly different attempts at your voice shut that down.
There was no way Kaminari hadn’t heard all four impressions, but he was nice enough to pretend he hadn’t.
“Yeah! So, uh...you could totally watch our set, now! If, you know, you want...” He trailed off, looking hesitantly hopeful and fiddling with one of his many, many earrings.
His golden eyes had been staring into yours for the whole of your conversation so far and you found yourself getting lost in his gaze, all of the noise of the crowd buzzing and the crew swapping the setup over becoming distant to your ears.
Until his bassist slapped him on his back - hard - shit-eating grin all over his face.
“Smooth like silk, Denks!”
“Shut up, Sero!” Kaminari whined, breaking eye contact with you to shove at his bandmate’s arm.
No one said anything for what felt like the longest seven seconds in history. Kirishima cleared his throat politely and smiled encouragingly, but seemed to run out of ideas after that.
“We’ll watch you guys! But only if you tell us how awesome we were!” Mina’s arm slid seamlessly to link with yours as you remembered how much you loved this pink-haired angel. She was a socialising expert and had rescued you all right before the silence had slid past the point of no return into Awkwardsville.
Kaminari seemed to share your sentiment, as it wasn’t with only a little relief he began to shower the rest of your band with praise. It was only when he’d rambled his way to complimenting the way Tokoyami held his guitar that Shinsou decided it was his turn to steer the conversation. “Don’t you have a drummer? Did he not want to watch our set?”
“Nah, he said he ‘didn’t wanna watch a bunch of electro emos with stupid hair sing about going to Hot Topic or what-the-fuck-whatever’,” Sero cheerfully announced, ignoring the choking sound the apparently-direct quote forced out of the blonde you couldn’t take your eyes off of.
“Wow. He’s charming.” Shinsou replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.
“He is, isn’t he?” Kirishima sighed, sounding like he’d have actual stars in his eyes if you could bring yoursef to stop looking at Kaminari and check. Which you Absolutely Could Not.
You’d met Kaminari at 1 this afternoon, and he’d been pretty much all you’d thought about since 1:01.
***
“Okay, so, Chargebolt - Eijirou Kirishima, Hanta Sero, Katsuki Bakugou, Denki Kaminari. Plus Ultra! - Izu...”
You were pretty sure one of the tour managers was still speaking, introducing the other band you were sharing this tour with, but you couldn’t focus on anything else. Kaminari. Denki. Denki Kaminari.
The ear you could see was adorned with multiple piercings, and the one you couldn’t was covered with a sweep of blonde hair with a black lightening bolt dyed into it. Golden eyes, pink lips. Not particularly tall, or jacked, but lean and muscled where you could see. A black Fatgum Records T-shirt over a black and white striped longsleeve, tucked into ripped jeans that fell into laced up boots. Were those fingers tattoos? It was definitely yellow nail polish and a multitude of silver rings. Talk about ‘exactly my type on paper’. Fuck!
You wondered for a second who exactly it was who had given this man the right. Then you realised he was moving - towards you.
“Hey! Y/N Y/L/N, right? I heard you guys on Present Mic’s show, the Live Lounge? That was incredible!”
Had your mouth been wide open the entire time he was talking? You really couldn’t be sure either way.
“Hey! Yeah, that’s uh...me! Thanks, I was really nervous but he was so cool.”
Kaminari nodded enthusiastically, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Present Mic? Yeah, what a legend! We haven’t been on for a hot minute but we’ll probably go back next album cycle.”
You were pretty sure you were supposed to be making introductions to everyone in the room right now, but before you knew it, it had been fifteen minutes and the only person you’d spoken to was Kaminari. A way-too-stressed-for-the-first-day-of-tour looking woman was trying to politely usher Kaminari away to wherever Chargebolt’s schedule had them being right now, but he hesitated after he said a (hopefully) reluctant goodbye.
“Yeah, so...it’s so cool to be working with you! And, y’know, that work is...touring together, so we could like...hang out! Yeah? If you want?”
You ignored your own manager materialising at your side tapping her watch for a moment longer to nod quickly and breathe out a response.
“Yeah, we could, I want.”
Kaminari’s face broke out into a smile as big as the gag Shinsou was doing behind him. “Yeah. Yeah! Great! See you later!”
You’d pretended not to watch them leave the room.
The rest of your band had been only too happy to inform you that you’d failed to pull it off.
***
i have decided to make this a multi-chapter fic and will post/link a masterlist and link to ao3 when i post there so you can follow this story if you would like to!
ao3 • collab masterlist
#my writing#bnha x reader#kaminari x reader#kaminari denki#denki x reader#kaminari#denki#mha x reader#bnharemcollab
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Rarepair week, george&paul? Angst/comfort maybe? Let it be era? Hurt my soul :)
a/n: you’ve got it babe! i actually did some research for the flashback scene so it’s pretty accurate to reality, according to Ringo’s and some crew member's accounts.
Don’t Let Me Down
For as cold as it had been for the last month, the sun was shining high in the sky. A peculiar sight that brought a hint of warmth to Paul’s face but did not extend further than that. He could be in a summer's day desert and still feel the cold churn in his stomach. Looming tall and strong over him was the Abbey Road studio. The uncharacteristic beams of sunlight lit the many windows with a yellow glint. A million-eyed monster ready to tear him to shreds if he dared step closer. And he did dare. He peeled himself off his car and stiffened instantly. He’d been leaning against the passengers' door so long that when the wind hit his back it sent a shiver right through him. Or maybe it was solely his nerves. Either way, he didn’t plan to dwell on it.
A few Scruffs were waiting outside with paper coffee cups in hand and drink carriers stacked against the wall. So George was in. He had really come back. The cold churn rose to his chest. At this rate, he’d be a human popsicle by lunch.
There was a disjointed chorus of “Hi Paul” and “Good Morning” which he replied to with a courteous wave. He’d been largely turned off by the Apple Scruffs for some time now but there wasn’t really any malice. Having your house broken into was more than a bit off-putting, though. So he felt justified. George was the most tolerant of them, buying them coffees and breakfast foods every so often. They must have missed him while he was gone. Yeah. Surely they did. Because I did. Paul pushed the sentiment to the wayside. They still had an album to make. They still had songs to record and a documentary to be part of. He couldn’t let his emotions get the best of him again. That had only led to an explosion.
Preparing himself with a stiffened posture and pushed back shoulders, he walked into the studio with a smile. It was almost painful to keep up but the cameraman was already in his face and he refused to let on to his nerves. He needed some inkling of control here and there was so little of that to grab hold of these days.
When he walked into the recording room, he found people scattered across the room but he didn’t find John or Ringo. It was still early in the morning so it made sense but he was undoubtedly rattled by the realization, becoming more rattled when he noticed George looking at him. Paul didn’t dare meet his eyes, drifting down to his feet. He looked soft, despite his sharp features. Cozy in his furry boots and warm jumper. He missed looking at that face and touching that body and kissing those lips. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d been able to do any of that. Too long.
George gave a thin-lipped smile before turning to Billy Preston at the piano. Was that a good sign or was this small sign of grace feigned for the cameras?
Whatever it meant, it drove Paul mad. He didn’t think he deserved forgiveness but he sure as hell would take it. There was no helping the intrusive memories of the aftermath of George walking out. He had done it so nonchalantly that no one was sure he had actually left until they got to the recording room and found him and his guitar missing.
Something had shifted in the room as soon as the three remaining Beatles looked at each other. John was breathing heavily with an icy glare. There was a glint in his eye that screamed danger. It was focused on Paul. Picking up the bass with a death grip on the neck, Paul just stared John down. There was a mutual understanding in the moment. The rage in both of them was bubbling over more and more by the second.
John yanked his guitar from the rack and they both plugged into the amps. No one seemed to remember the camera crew was still around. They just turned to Ringo, who was already at his drums, drumsticks in one hand, rubbing his eyes with the other. He was pushing so hard it had to hurt. And that was it. John squared up to the mic and began to scream the lyrics to a song they'd already wrapped up but they all threw themselves into it without question. Screaming, banging, and heavy riffs filled the studio. Nothing made sense and every fiber of Paul’s being hurt so much that he didn’t care. He wasn’t alone in the feeling, at least. They all felt some level of hurt.
Ringo was even mad- at the situation or at George or at Paul, it didn’t matter. He banged and slammed away like never before. It sounded so wrong coming from him but at the moment it was the only right thing to do. They sounded perfectly horrible. There was a distinct addition to the vocals and Paul turned to find Yoko sitting on George’s little blue stool, wailing along with John’s screams. Yes. Perfectly horrible.
When the song was up the energy was still poisonous and thick in the air. They weren’t done, not by far. Paul stepped up to the mic and John did not move away. With little notion of what he was doing, he went at the lyrics of another song. The words spat from his tongue with vitriol and fire.
They all needed to scream. Ringo was at the mic at some point, coming up with random words on the spot. Really just to have something to yell about.
When they finished, panting out the last seething breaths, Paul felt empty.
“Way to fucking go,” John yelled, eyes fixed on Paul. “Way to go.” his voice was drastically quieter, more tired and sad and hoarse, eyes drifting to his feet.
Paul’s bass suddenly felt a thousand pound heavier, pulling the strap down against his shoulder painfully. Maybe it was more the weight of his mistakes than the bass. Everything felt painstaking and dreadful for the rest of the day. The anger was gone and the screaming was done. There was nothing else to keep his mind from wandering into a wall of depression.
In the present, sans John and Ringo, he shyly grabbed an acoustic guitar and went to sit in a corner. He worked on one of his own songs, quietly strumming and murmuring. He didn’t like it yet, keeping it to himself. The awkward air in the studio only exemplified his need for privacy. So he stayed tucked away, only speaking when spoken to, like a good little schoolboy. George had even come over to ask about the song but Paul told him it wasn’t right just yet. There was no way he was about to embarrass himself on top of all this.
He went back and forth for most of the day. Playing several takes of various songs before turning back to his own song. There was a part on one of the songs that Paul found needed a quieter guitar part. The thought of addressing this issue to George was met with resistance. Was he really ready to address him? The guitar part could be addressed later, maybe. He could suggest another take tomorrow. But the song. It just wouldn’t be right. And maybe no one would be willing to do another take later. That struck a nerve in Paul that rang louder than the rest of his rationale.
“Maybe,” Paul started, resolving to look directly at George for the first time since he walked in. “The guitar could be a bit quieter next take, y’know? Just sounds a bit heavy.” He tacked on quickly, glancing at Ringo, “The drums too.”
Ringo gave him a pained expression. Paul looked George dead on with a weak smile, though he could see John’s cautioning glare in his peripheral vision. George’s eyes were dark and apathetic. His jaw was set tight.
George Martin came over just when he was about to respond. Oblivious to the tension between them, he clapped a hand on John’s shoulder with a grin. “That was a great take, lads. Why don’t you take a lunch break with the film crew.”
“Wasn’t good enough for Paul,” George huffed, leaving first. “But what is?”
George Martin didn’t hear the remark and walked off to talk with Mal.
“You’re really going to cock it up already?”
“What!” Paul went quickly to his own defense. “It was a suggestion, is all. I’m not treating him with kid gloves just because we had a row.”
“A row? He left the bloody band.”
“Not being a prick for one day isn’t kid gloves,” Ringo suddenly chimed in.
Paul gaped. “Caring about the songs is being a prick now, is it?”
John huffed an indigent laugh. “You’re painfully stupid.” He left with Ringo in tow before Paul could ask for any clarification. Not that he was sure he wanted any.
Stunned by the attacks, he stared blankly at George’s guitar. He had absolutely none of his friends at his side. He had managed to push them all away when all he wanted, so desperately, was to bring them together. They were slipping through his fingers like grains of sand and all he could seem to do was open his hands to quicken the fall. He’d lose them forever. It was all his fault. How long would it take? When would they figure out he wasn’t worth the trouble?
He just wanted them to be alright. He wanted to go back to how they were and just tour a bit. Play on stage like they all used to love. The band couldn’t rip apart. It just couldn’t because Paul would tear apart with it. And yet here they all were, at wit's end with one another. The connecting link to this free fall was Paul, of course. He had made Ritch leave and then George. It was all too obvious that John wanted out - surely Paul’s fault as well.
He couldn’t imagine a world without Ringo, John, and George playing at his side. He didn’t want to. It was something new and terrifying that had no qualms with keeping him up at night, even when three glasses of scotch in. He couldn’t recall the last time he slept without drinking. Even still, nightmares filled his dreams and made sleeping seem worthless and just as tiresome as not sleeping at all. What a poor excuse of a man he was becoming.
With a tight chest and burning eyes, he got up. Thankfully, the film crew had truly gone to lunch. He was mostly alone with a few straggling technicians in the booth.
There was no way in hell he could go to lunch now. Not while it felt like the world was out to get him. Not while he felt on the verge of crying. Instead, he decided to go outside for a smoke. The cold winter wind cooled his hot skin. He fell against the wall with a thud and bit his lip. His eyes were pricked with tears but he wouldn’t let them fall. Not here. Not now.
Dragging a hand down his face, he dove into his pocket and pulled out a spliff he’d rolled that morning for this very reason. His hand was caught on his chin as he eyed the thing. A beacon of hope.
He wasted no more time in lighting it. The earthy taste coated his tongue and warmed his throat. He relaxed on the exhale and repeated the process until his mind was a little numb. The carefree smoke floated high above before disappearing into the brisk wind. It would be so much easier to disappear with it.
“Stay gone too long and they’ll think you quit too.”
Tension pulled at his neck and traveled down his body. With an involuntary jerk of his fingers, the spliff fell to the concrete. He didn’t look at the newcomer and didn’t need to. The calming drawl could only be from one person.
“So?”
Paul reluctantly turned his head to find George’s steady gaze on him. Words abandoned his brain. “So,” he asked stupidly.
George’s features suddenly dropped and Paul noticed there had been a hint of lightness seconds before. Great. Already cocking it up.
“Oh, fuck you, then.”
“George! No, no!” He jumped forward and grabbed George’s wrist. “Please, love.”
There was hesitation in George’s step. He shook Paul’s hand off but did not leave. “Do you even care? Care that I left.”
His brow furrowed and his mind swirled back to life. “Of course. We were all-”
“I didn’t ask about the others. Did you care?”
It seemed like such an absurd question. There was nothing to suggest he didn’t. He was downright miserable. Was that not plain to see? Something inside him made him want to switch back on the defense. Deflect and reject. But he couldn’t let himself slip anymore. Everything was on the line now. His entire relationship was up to bat. He’d just be honest. And honesty wasn’t all that hard when your heart wrenched at the thought of this charade continuing for another second.
“Yes! I cared. I thought you’d never come back and I was terrified.” He was desperately searching George’s face for any recognition of belief. “You didn’t answer my calls for weeks and I thought you wanted nothing to do with me. If you don’t I can't even blame you at this point. Just tell me what I did wrong.”
There was no hint of emotion from George. He had a corked brow that could mean anything. The time passing with no answer couldn’t be good. Maybe he wouldn’t answer at all and just leave Paul standing here like an idiot.
“You want to know what you did wrong?” A look of contempt screwed up George’s features. “I don’t even know where I’d start.”
A weight crushed every bone in Paul’s body. He deserved this. He deserved the heartache and pain. The more it hurt the better George might feel. He just had to hold his asinine tongue.
“You treat me like I couldn’t find writing talent if it bit me in the arse.” Paul tried to interrupt, despite himself, with an explanation. “Shut up and listen!” George moved closer, sizing Paul up. “When’s the last time you took any suggestion I’ve made seriously? You’ve been screaming from the damn rooftop about staying together and getting back to basics yet you sit in your little fucking corner like a punished child, ignoring us to work alone. What’s the point, then? Just to show how much of a pain you can be? You act like you don’t want me- any of us- near your songs and then boss us around on our own.”
George was pulling in unsteady breaths. He leaned forward slightly, really looking into Paul’s soul.
“You weren’t even the one to ask me back. Had Ritch do it for you, you coward.” George pushed him into the wall and Paul took it. “And you have the gall to ignore me! Even when I came to you like a stupid loyal puppy! That’s how you see me, isn’t it? Your little puppy that you get tired of when it makes too much noise. Well, fuck you and your damn songs. Fuck whatever you think you’re doing. You’re not keeping us together and you never could.”
Just punch me. The thought was screaming at the forefront and wouldn’t settle. Too angry with himself to stop, he yelled back, “Don’t you think I know? I see everyone slipping away and turning from me and all I can do is push you further! No matter what I try or how good I think I’m doing, you’ll just leave me out cold.” Caught up in it all, he shoved George back. “And you’re not a puppy! You’re my mate. You’re- I love you, alright.”
His voice cracked and, god, he was crying. He was actually crying and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
“Really just didn’t think you’d come back if I asked. And if that makes me a coward then sure. That’s what I am. If being a coward is what I need to have you near, fine.”
A muscle in George’s jaw tightened. He was stiff and his eyes were damp. His voice was so soft when he said, “Why didn’t you look at me? When you walked in you wouldn’t even really look at me. And when I tried to talk you just buried your head in your notebook.” He laughed mirthlessly. “But as soon as you have an issue with a song you go in with those big eyes of yours and I don’t want to hate you. It’s not fair.”
“You’ve said it, y’know. I’m a right coward. Scared to lose you if I speak and losing you just as fast when I don’t. Shouldn’t have turned you away. I shouldn’t have ignored you. The song- the stupid song. Don’t know if I even cared about how loud your guitar was. I just wanted to look at you, I think.”
“Looking at me now, aren’t you?”
And he was. They had been staring relentlessly and it felt good, no matter how much yelling they’d done. He wiped harshly at his cheeks to clear them of tears. “I’m sorry for being a prick.”
“Aye. You should be.” The words might have hurt if the corners of his mouth didn’t twitch up. He rubbed Paul’s shoulders and arms. “Just talk to me, okay? I won’t disappear, I promise.”
His smile was sad but genuine. All Paul could ask for. He nodded but then realized he already missed the point. “Okay,” he voiced. “Talking. Always been my strong suit.”
George’s smile grew and he pulled Paul into a hug. He hugged back fiercely, balling his hands up in George’s jumper.
“I don’t deserve this.” The words weren’t meant to leave his mind but they seemed to come of their own accord.
George moved him back and Paul almost pulled them right back together. “What do you mean?”
Bringing a hand up to caress George’s cheek, he tilted his head. “I don’t deserve to have you. Don’t deserve to have this band. Wouldn’t you be better off without me? I’m just here to cock it all up.”
“You… really mean that, don’t you?” With a shaky breath, George brought him back into the hug and gently held Paul’s head to his shoulder, petting down his hair. “No matter what happens to the band, it’s not because you don't deserve to have it. It’d be because we all need space, alright?” He held Paul a little closer. “And you don’t get to decide if you deserve me. That’s my decision.”
Paul nestled into the crook of his neck, scared to ask but not willing to keep it back. “And you think I do?”
“No. No. I just fancy hugging people I hate.”
Paul smiled into his neck. “Arse.”
#beatlesrarepairweek#mcharrison#mcharrison fanfiction#the beatles#George Harrison#paul mccartney#John Lennon#Ringo Starr#the beatles fanfiction#the beatles one shot#the beatles rare pair week
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hometown - calum hood
summary: fame changes the lifestyle of a person drastically. but the love for somebody you’ve had beforehand always stays the same.
warnings: none
word count: 2.8k
a/n: hi okay this is my first time doing this kinda thing i’m also really new here so i hope u like it :)
-
“you know we could just sell these tickets to the people waiting outside the venue. we don’t have to go.” denise said to me, as i was pacing around the room.
5 seconds of summer were back in sydney, playing a show for their tour. denise being a fan of them and their music, had bought tickets for her and i. however, i was familiar with these guys, & they were familiar with me.
“no, i’m fine. i shouldn’t even be worried about seeing them again. calum is just a boy i dated when we were young and life goes on. it’s no big deal. at this point he probably doesn’t even remember me.” i tried to convince denise, but to be honest i was trying to convince myself more.
“okay, but the moment we step out this door there’s no going back,” she said to me as we both went down the stairs, walking towards the front door of my house.
“you ready?” she asked me as we were both buckled in. “ready as i’ll ever be.” that was all it took for her
to start up the car and drive to the venue.
we arrived, the line to the entrance not being too long. the moment i saw all the people lined up, my nerves got the best of me.
“den, are we on floor?” i asked her as she finished parking the car.
“y/n, we’re front row.” she responded, causing my eyes to widen. “you have got to be fucking joking me,” i said to her, shaking my head. “is it too late to say i wanna go back home?”
“yes, we’re already here! you even told me yourself you’re gonna be okay. i even gave you a second chance to decline the offer before we left your house.” she scolded me, chuckling. “does he have that much of an effect on you after all these years?”
i thought about her question, which i didn’t know how to answer. my thoughts were cut off by her asking another question — “y/n, what even happened between you two?”
-
it was five am and calum & i were sitting on hill, watching the the world wake up. we were together since midnight, him waking me up with a call, saying he wanted to see me before he left. i obviously accepted, and 10 minutes later i was in the passengers seat of his car, driving god knows where. this is where we ended up.
i leaned my head on his shoulder as he snaked his arm around my waist, holding me closer.
“this night has been amazing, baby.” he whispered in my ear, kissing my jawline afterwards.
“it really has,” i sighed, my heart heavy knowing this will be the last time we’ll ever get to do this. “cal, can you promise me something?” i asked him, my heart beating as the words came out of my mouth.
“anything.”
our eyes met each other’s and i grabbed his free hand, intertwining it with mine.
“c-can you promise me, when you take over the world, and live your dream... you won’t forget me? you’ll keep me in the back of your mind?” my voice cracking towards the end of my sentence. i felt my eyes begin to well with tears, and i turned my head down, breaking the eye contact.
“y/n,” he breathed out, taking his finger and lifting my chin up so that i was now looking at him again. “you are the last thing i’d ever forget.” tears were both running down our faces as he continued to speak.
“you are the absolute best thing that has ever happened to me. you’ve been right by my side these past 3 years. you saw the first time i picked up a guitar, you saw me write my first song — you, my first love, basically saw my dream coming true. i can’t imagine none of this happening if you weren’t with me the whole time it happened. we’ve both accepted that things are going to change from now on, but what will never change is the love i have for you. from the bottom of my heart, i promise that i will never forget you.”
he kissed me passionately, wiping the tears falling from my face.
“i’m going to miss you so much cal.” i whispered, pulling him closer to my body.
“i’m going to miss you so much more. i love you with every ounce of my heart, y/n.”
“i love you so much more than that.”
his phone rang, which meant that the rest of the boys have woken up, meaning that they were about to head to the airport in not too long.
“mornin’ mike. yeah, i’m just with y/n right now, i’ll meet you boys there.” he said into the phone, as we both stood up, walking towards his car. he ended the call and we both got inside, our hearts heavy and our eyes stained with tears. the car ride back was silent, not knowing how to say goodbye.
he pulled up at the front of my house, and the both of us got out of the car, slowly walking towards the door.
“so... this is how it ends.” i said softly, using everything in me not to burst into tears again.
“i love you.” he said, grabbing my waist and kissing me once more.
“i love you too.” i said, pulling away from him and sticking my pinky out, giving him a smile. he chuckled, locking his pinky with mine as he gave it a kiss. it might’ve looked like just a pinky promise — things that 10 year olds do — but the both of us knew that this meant so much more than that.
“now go live your dream, baby.”
“it’ll all be for you.”
-
my heart was pounding as i had finished telling denise the story of when we last saw each other. my heart was pounding, and i leaned my head against the dashboard of the car. “fuck, i haven’t thought about that in over 5 years.” i said to her, referring to the story i had just told her.
“there’s no way in hell he doesn’t remember you.”
“he probably doesn’t.”
“well, there’s only one way to find out.” she responded to me, unlocking the car and the both of us getting out.
we walked towards the lineup, which to my relief, has gotten longer since we got here. i was absolutely terrified, but if i knew it i showed any emotion, i would’ve just looked like a super fan crying because i would see my favourite band in concert.
denise noticed my nerves, and grabbed my arm and squeezed it, which always calmed me down for some reason.
unfortunately, the lineup went by super fast and before i knew it, i was next in line getting my ticket scanned and going through the metal detector.
before i knew it, i was standing at the front row of the pit, waiting for the boys to come on stage.
before i knew it, the concert had started and all 4 of the boys were rocking it, with thousands of fans screaming their song lyrics back to them.
“how’s everybody feeling tonight, sydney?!” ashton yelled into the mic, gaining tons of screaming back. “it’s always a pleasure playing for our hometown. this is one of the shows all of us look forward to seeing the most.” ashton continued on with his speech, as luke walked over to the side i was standing at. he began to interact with all the fans that were nearby, pointing at them or catching the roses they threw at him.
his eyes met mine, and his blue eyes widened as he shot me a smile. y/n?! he mouthed, looking happy, shocked and confused. my heart started pounding as i mouthed a little hi! and waved at him.
“oh my god, y/n!” denise screamed at me as luke walked away. “dude, luke is whispering something to calum.”
my head shot up as i looked to the left side of the stage, seeing the two boys talk to each other. i saw him glance at me, then looking away right after. i turned my head back to denise.
“den, did he just look at me?” i asked, feeling like such a fangirl. she responded with a nod, causing my cheeks to redden and the biggest grin appeared on my face.
“now... we weren’t going to play this one tonight, but since the boys are back, we’ve got to reminisce a little bit, right?” calum’s voice filled the room, causing fans to scream once again.
“this one’s called disconnected.”
denise and i turned our heads towards each other with our eyes widened, knowing exactly why. “den...” i said to her.
-
“baby, i need your help.” calum groaned from my desk. i laughed, getting up and walking towards the boy. he patted his thighs, his way of telling me to sit there. i happily obliged, him burying his face into the crook of my neck. “what’s wrong, love?” i asked him.
“i need help coming up with a line.” he told me, and i looked at the paper with all the lyrics he had written down. i picked it up, scanning each word. “this is really good, cal!” i told him.
“it’d be better if i had a finished chorus.” he responded, my eyes wandering to the place he had just written on
i like the summer rain
i like the sounds you make
we put the world away
“help,” he groaned, causing me to laugh. “i feel so disconnected from this song right now.”
“hey... baby why don’t you add that?” i suggested, looking at him. “add what? how i feel so disconnected from the song right now?”
“no, you doofus.” i lightly smacked him on the head, causing him to wince. “something about being disconnected. how about..... we get so disconnected?” i asked him. he shot the biggest smile at me, writing down that lyric underneath the last one.
he began to sing,
“i like the summer rain, i like the sounds you make. we put the world away, we get so disconnected.... BABY THAT SOUNDS AMAZING!!” he exclaimed, standing up and twirling me around as i giggled.
“you’re welcome.”
“what would i do without you?”
-
denise laughed, putting a hand on my shoulder. “how could you ever think that boy forgot about you?”
we enjoyed the rest of the concert, and soon enough, the boys were saying their goodbyes and running off the stage. there was a slight tang in my heart, wanting to see him once again.
the crowd slowly began to exit the venue, and since we were farthest away from the doors, barely anybody was in there as we were leaving. i turned my head once more to the stage, hoping that i could see his face once more.
and there he was, back on stage, looking right at me. his facial expression was unreadable. his mouth was slightly open, and his eyes looked soft. i gave him a little smile, before turning my head around and leaving the building for good.
denise and i opened the car doors and hopped in, exhausted from the 3 hours we had just stood.
“see now was that so bad?” she asked me, causing me to chuckle.
“no not at all honestly. i really enjoyed it.” i responded back to denise, her smiling back at me.
“i can’t believe they sang disconnected.”
“me too.”
i spent the rest of the car ride home thinking about calum, wondering if he was thinking about me tonight, just as much as i was thinking about him.
-
after a long night, i was finally all cleaned up and changed into my pyjamas, more than ready to hop into bed and fall asleep.
until i heard my doorbell ringing.
“what the fuck?” i whispered, getting kind of nervous. it was 2 am, and i had no idea as to why anybody would be in front of my house at this time. i slowly walked to the front door, looking through the peephole.
what the fuck.
there’s no way it’s him.
my heart started beating out of my chest as i slowly started to unlock the front door.
the door had fully opened, revealing the man i had just seen an hour ago.
“c-calum?” i stuttered out, not knowing what to say.
“that’s me.”
“i, you, the fuck- how’d you find me?” i asked him, as i opened the door wider, allowing for him to come inside.
“i stopped by your parents. they said you’d be here.” he responded, walking closer to me as i closed the door. “you came tonight.”
“yeah, you guys played amazing. denise and i really enjoyed it.” i told him, as he grabbed my hand and intertwined it with his.
his eyes stayed stuck on me, examining every part of my body, “you’re still as beautiful as ever.” he told me, a slight blush beginning to form on my cheeks.
“cal stop.” i chuckled. even after 5 years, he still made me feel like the teenager who fell in love with him.
“when luke told me you were in the crowd... i didn’t know how to react. i thought he was lying to me, then i saw you with my very own eyes and everything just came crashing down on me. it took everything in my body not to jump off the stage and just engulf you in the biggest hug ever.” he confessed, causing my heart to swell up.
“how do you manage to give me butterflies the same way you did when we were 17?” i asked him, causing him to chuckle.
“the love i had for you when we were 17 never faded. if anything, it grew. remember everything i told you the last time we saw each other?” he asked me, me nodding my head in response. “i meant every word. my dream was coming true and you were in the back of my mind as i watched it happen, baby.”
i watched the boy in front of me tear up as he continued speaking. “there hasn’t been a day where i don’t think of you. i’ve missed you so much. this journey has been absolutely amazing, but everyday i wished you were beside me so i could enjoy it with you.”
tears were running down my face as he finished. i was speechless. i didn’t know what to do. all i knew is that the love i had for him had never gone away, and the fact that he was standing right in front of me, confessing that he kept his promise made me want to kiss him so hard.
and that’s exactly what i did.
i pulled his body closer to mine and our lips connected passionately, my stomach filling with butterflies the moment it happened. he moved his hands up to my waist, holding me as if i would break under his touch.
we pulled away, him instantly holding me as tight as he could, as if it were the last time he’d ever get to do that.
“i love you, y/n. i never stopped.”
“i love you too, calum.”
he pulled me into another kiss and i swear i felt like i was floating.
i felt like nothing in this world could ever hurt me, and that’s the effect calum always had on me.
“god, i’ve missed you so much.” he mumbled into my neck as he pulled away, swaying the both of our bodies together.
i sighed, pulling away from his embrace. “you know you’re going to have to leave again.” i said sadly.
“this was actually the last show of the tour. i’m staying here for a couple of months.” he responded? causing me to look back up at him with hopeful eyes. “really?”
“yeah, really,” he chuckled, grabbing my hand once again. “and i would be more than happy spending my time here, loving you.”
“b-but, what about when you leave?”
“baby, we’re not 17 anymore. we’ve grown up, we’re old enough to figure out a way to make it through this.” he answered my question, and i smiled, shaking my head, knowing he was right. “so, what do you say? are you in?”
a part of me was scared, knowing his life had changed drastically while mine had stayed the same. it was a lifestyle that was unknown to me; something i’d never thought i’d have to experience.
but throughout the years, that boy’s personality hadn’t changed one bit. he was still the most selfless, heartfelt person — he was still the boy i originally had fallen in love with. which was why i had no hesitation saying,
“calum hood, i would love to love you once again.”
#5 seconds of summer#5sos#calum hood#luke hemmings#ashton irwin#michael clifford#calum hood imagine#5sos imagines#luke hemmings imagine#ashton irwin imagine#michael clifford imagine#5 seconds of summer imagine#5sos imagine#calum thomas hood#michael gordon clifford#luke robert hemmings#ashton fletcher irwin
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Rocking Out Just For The Dead
Pairing: Frank Iero x Male!Reader
Genre: Romance, Drama
Summary: Requested by @kpopchangedmylifesstuff. You’re playing Download Festival 2007 with your band, Paramore. My Chemical Romance are headlining the festival. After your set, Frank invites you onto his tour bus, for a friendly battle of Guitar Hero 2. But, when the hanging out turns into something more, your bandmate, Josh Farro, threatens to destroy whatever you and Frank have.
You found yourself in Donington, England, playing your band’s brand new single, “Misery Business.” Okay - technically, Paramore wasn’t your band. You’d had no part in composing their new album, which would be dropping at the end of the week. But, their rhythm guitarist, Hunter, had recently quit, to go get married. Your longtime friend, Hayley, had called you up, and asked you to fill in for him, and you had jumped at the chance.
You had done this once before. Paramore’s bassist, Jeremy, had randomly quit in 2005 - right before the start of Warped Tour. You weren’t sure what had caused him to leave, but you played bass and guitar equally well, so Hayley had asked you to join her and the Farro brothers on tour. You had the time of your life that summer. You had been eighteen then, and had felt more than a little star-struck, when you met people in “bigger” bands.
Now twenty, you thought yourself older and wiser. You were determined to be a professional this time around. No petty fights with your bandmates. No acting like a fanboy around the guys playing the Main Stage. Download Festival - the final stop on their Europe tour - was going to go off without a hitch, dammit!
Jeremy, now back in the band, stood to the left of you on the stage. Josh, the guitarist, was on your right. You tried your best to keep your guitar playing in sync with them, as Hayley belted out the final chorus:
Whoa, I never meant to brag
But I got him where I want him now.
Whoa, it was never my intention to brag
To steal it all away from you now.
But God does it feel so good,
'Cause I got him where I want him now.
And if you could then you know you would.
'Cause God it just feels so...
It just feels so good…
Zach played the final drum beat, bringing the song to a close. The crowd cheered. You took Hayley’s hand, and took a bow. She grinned at you, before addressing the crowd.
“THANK YOU, DONINGTON!” she bellowed into the mic. “YOU’VE BEEN AN AMAZING CROWD! GOOD NIGHT!”
“It’s not really ‘night’ yet, you know,” you laughed, as you and the rest of the band walked off the stage. The sun hadn’t even set yet.
“Yeah, I know,” Hayley sighed. “They put us on this super early time slot.”
“Because nobody knows who we are,” Josh pointed out.
“Yeah, the headliners get the later time slots, because they’re more famous,” Jeremy nodded.
“Well, I think the crowd loved us,” Zach smiled optimistically.
“He’s right,” you agreed. “Hal, I think you really killed it out there!”
“Thanks,” your friend smiled, brushing her sweat-soaked orange hair out of her eyes. “I really appreciate you coming on this tour with us, Y/N. I know it was really short notice.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” you smiled back.
“I thought your guitar playing was great tonight, man,” Jeremy complimented you. “A perfect grand finale.”
“Thanks, dude,” you beamed, as you grabbed a water bottle. These summer shows were way too humid.
“I don’t know about that,” Josh mumbled, as he wiped his face with a towel.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” you frowned, setting your water bottle down.
“I thought your timing was off during ‘Emergency’,” Josh said critically.
“Oh….I’m sorry,” you frowned. “I tried to keep up with you…..”
“You should’ve tried harder,” Josh snapped, walking away from you, back towards the bus.
Wow, you blinked. What’s his deal?
The elder Farro brother had been needlessly rude to you, since the tour began. You honestly had no idea what you had done to get under his skin. But, you knew better, than to pick a fight with him. Zach was his brother, and Hayley was his girlfriend. You were just an outsider - a temporary, touring member of the band.
“Are you coming back to the bus with us, dude?” Zach asked, snapping you out of the thoughts you had gotten lost in.
“.....Nah,” you shook your head. “I think I’m gonna, um, walk around for a bit.”
“Oh,” Hayley frowned. “Okay. See you later, Y/N.”
You were pretty sure that she hadn’t heard what Josh had said. You saw no reason to tell her. It would just be starting drama.
She seemed oblivious to a lot of the tension between you and Josh. He was always on his best behavior, when he knew she was paying attention. But, if it came down to it, you doubted she would side with her guy friend, over her boyfriend.
It doesn’t even matter, you told yourself. This is the last show of the tour. On Monday, I’ll be heading home to Nashville. He won’t be my problem anymore.
You began wandering aimlessly around the festival grounds, with no real destination in mind.
‘Hey!” a voice called out to you.
You looked up, and saw a face you recognized - Frank Iero.
You had met him on Warped Tour, two years ago. His band, My Chemical Romance, had been headliners, playing the main stage. Tonight, they were headlining this festival, too. His band had gotten even more famous after the release of The Black Parade.
“Hey!” you greeted.
“Remember me?” Frank grinned. “I know it’s been a while.”
“How could I forget?” you chuckled. Your heart had been racing the first time you met him backstage, but he had just shook hands with you, like the difference between your bands, was no big deal. You’d had to remind yourself that you were there to play a gig, not ask for an autograph.
“How have you been, Frank?”, you asked, trying to play it cool.
“I’ve been good, Y/N,” Frank smiled. “How about you?”
Oh my god, you gulped. He remembers my name.
“I-I’ve been great,” you stammered, hoping he couldn’t tell you were blushing.
“I watched your set earlier,” Frank said cheerfully. “You were really good, dude.”
“I-I was?!” you gasped. “You don’t think I was playing too slow, or….?”
“Huh?” Frank blinked, confused. “No, you were amazing, bro. Your whole band was.”
Ha, you thought. Suck it, Josh.
“Thank you,” you said politely. “I’m probably going to go check out your band’s set, later, too.”
“We’ve still got a couple hours before we go onstage,” Frank shrugged. “Since your band already played, you’re free for the rest of the day, right?”
“Um, yeah,” you nodded, willing yourself to stop thinking gay thoughts about his new haircut. How did he get even better-looking after Revenge era? This is not even fair.
“We have a PlayStation on our bus,” Frank revealed. “I was wondering if you’d like to play some video games with Mikey and I, for a little while?”
“Oh, sure!” you accepted his offer, trying not to sound too eager. You remembered playing a Donkey Kong bongos game with Mikey a couple years back. You’d lost pretty quickly, and he’d gone to find Zach, hoping that the drummer of the group would give him more of a challenge. You were determined to look less lame this time.
You followed Frank to My Chemical Romance’s tour bus. He opened the door for you, and you followed him in. Mikey sat on the couch, holding a game controller.
“Hey, Mikey,” Frank greeted. “You remember Y/N, right? From Paramore?”
“Oh, hi, Y/N,” Mikey smiled. “Long time, no see, man!”
“No kidding,” you laughed. “How have you been, dude?”
“Pretty good,” Mikey replied. “The new record’s doing pretty well.”
This was perhaps the understatement of the year. The Black Parade had sold more copies in its first week, than Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge, had sold in two years. You weren’t sure if your own band would ever have that level of success.
“I bought a copy,” you confessed. “The day it came out.”
“Aw, thanks, bro, we appreciate the support,” Mikey smiled, sounding shockingly humble.
“When’s the new Paramore record coming out?’ Frank asked.
“June 12th,” you replied.
“Oh, wow, so in four days,” Frank realized.
“Yeah,” you nodded. “But, um, I didn’t help compose it.” You were just a touring member - not a full part of the band, as he was in his.
“I’m still gonna buy it,” Frank shrugged.
“Thanks,” you said awkwardly.
“So,” Mikey cleared his throat, “you’re gonna play Guitar Hero 2 with us, right, Y/N?”
“He just finished playing half an hour of guitar onstage,” Frank laughed. “You think he wants to play more?”
“I don’t mind sharpening my skills some more,” you shrugged.
“Whoa, you’re dedicated,” Mikey said, impressed.
Nah, you thought. I just wanna prove that Josh is wrong about my playing being shitty.
“Here,” Frank said, handing you the guitar-shaped controller. He pulled up the game menu, with the full list of songs. “We can do any track you want.”
“You’re going to play against me, in two-player mode?” you realized.
“Yeah,” Frank smirked. “What’s the matter? You scared of a little challenge?”
“No way,” you smiled slyly. “I bet I can take you.”
“Oh, wanna bet?” Frank raised an eyebrow. “Name the song. I’ll show you what I’ve got.”
“How about this one?” you decided, making a selection on the screen.
“Um, Y/N…..” Mikey’s eyes widened. “That’s ‘Dead’.”
“So what?” you smirked.
“So, that’s our song,” Mikey pointed out.
“I know what it is,” you said certainly.
“Wait, Y/N, are you serious?” Frank stared, mouth open in shock. “Of all the songs in the game, you want to challenge me with that one? The one I fucking wrote?”
“What’s the matter?” you asked, staring boldly into his hazel eyes. “You scared I’ll beat you at your own game?”
“As if,” Frank snorted. “I’ll tell you what, Y/N. If you can actually play ‘Dead’, better than the guy who plays it for a living, I’ll give you one of my fuckin’ guitars.”
“Seriously?” Mikey gaped. “You’d give one of those away?”
“He’s not gonna win, dude,” Frank said, with an air of certainty.
“You wanna bet?” you challenged.
“Okay, it’s a bet,” Frank decided.
“If I lose, you can have my guitar,” you wagered. Unlike him, you only had one. But, the tour was over, you considered. It wasn’t like you were going to need it again in the immediate future.
“It’s a deal,” Frank nodded, extending his hand to you. You shook on it.
“Well, this is going to be interesting,” Mikey said warily, as he handed Frank the second controller.
“What level do you want to play on?” Frank asked.
“Expert, of course,” you grinned. “We’re professionals.”
“Alright,” Frank grinned. “Just don’t come crying to me when you lose.”
“You’ll be the one crying when you have to give up your guitar, Iero,” you bantered, feeling cocky. You played Guitar Hero with Jeremy and Josh all the time, and you never lost. It always seemed to drive Josh fucking crazy.
He hit START, and an animated guitarist in a top hat waddled onto the screen. You heard Gerard’s vocals begin the song with a scream.
And if your heart stops beating
I'll be here wondering
Did you get what you deserve?
The ending of your life
And if you get to heaven
I'll be here waiting, babe
Did you get what you deserve?
You focused on the fret buttons on your controller. Your Rock Meter started at yellow, but the dial quickly went up to green. You didn’t miss any notes, but, of course, neither did Frank.
And if your life won’t wait, then your heart can’t take this….
You glanced at Frank. He waggled his eyes at you suggestively. You reddened. If he was trying to throw you off your game, he was succeeding. You told yourself sternly to focus. Then, the chorus kicked in.
Have you heard the news that you're dead?
No one ever had much nice to say
I think they never liked you anyway
Oh, take me from the hospital bed
Wouldn't it be grand? It ain't exactly what you planned
And wouldn't it be great if we were dead?
“Fuck!” you swore. You’d forgotten how fast this part was. Frank’s fingers were, of course, dancing over the “strings” with no problem. You knew you had to catch up to him.
You noticed your Star Power meter was almost full, so you waited for just the right moment.
Tongue-tied and, oh, so squeamish
You never fell in love
Did you get what you deserve?
The ending of your life
And if you get to heaven
I'll be here waiting, babe
Did you get what you deserve?
Just before the second chorus kicked in, you titled the neck of your guitar upwards, activating your Star Power. This meant you would get a quadruple bonus for whatever points you earned. You gave it your all on the chorus, and watched your score go up and up.
“Whoa!” Frank gasped, seemingly thrown off. To your surprise, he missed a note.
“Oh, man,” Mikey groaned, from his spectator spot on the couch.
It was still a pretty close match, when you got to the bridge. But, by the time you got to the outro, Frank seemed to be sweating. As Gerard’s prerecorded voice sang his final “la-la-la”s, the outcome became certain to you.
If life ain’t just a joke, then, why am I dead?
Oh, dead!
PLAYER ONE WINS!, read the screen, in bright, flashing letters. You realized, panting, that you were player one.
“I….I did it?” you gasped.
“Holy shit,” Frank gasped, dropping his controller in shock. “He actually won.”
He sank down onto the couch, like he couldn’t believe it.
“Are you….mad?” you frowned, wondering if you should have talked less trash.
“No, that was amazing!” Frank praised you. “I wasn’t expecting that at all.”
Despite your bravado, you hadn’t really been expecting to win, either. Whatever confidence you’d lost when Josh critiqued you, had been regained tenfold. Mikey gave you a slow clap.
“Well, a bet’s a bet,” Frank said finally, standing up, and walking to the other end of the bus.
“Where are you going?” you blinked.
“Getting this for you,” Frank smiled, handing you a gorgeous, white Epiphone guitar.
“Frank, you don’t have to….” you gasped.
“No, I’m a man of my word,” Frank insisted. “I’ll even help you carry it back to your bus.”
“You serious?” you asked, incredulous.
“Hey, man, you earned it,” Frank shrugged. He put the guitar in its case, and then put the case on his back. “Let’s go.”
“Thanks for hanging out with us, Y/N,” Mikey waved. “That showdown was pretty fun to watch.”
“See ya, Mikey,” you waved back. “Thanks for having me.”
You still couldn’t believe this had happened. They seemed so much cooler than you.
Frank was quiet at first, as you walked back to the Paramore bus. You felt awkward, unsure what to say to him.
“So,” he asked, “do you think that your bandmates are gonna be impressed, when they see the guitar you won?”
“I’m sure Hayley will,” you replied. “Josh….maybe not.”
“Why not?” Frank asked. “He’s the lead guitarist of your band. Wouldn’t that make him more impressed?”
“I don’t know,” you sighed. “I feel like he’s never impressed with anything I do.”
“What’s his beef with you?” Frank asked, looking annoyed on your behalf.
“I’m not sure,” you confessed. “Maybe it’s because he’s super Christian.”
“And you’re…..not Christian?” Frank guessed.
“And I’m gay,” you confessed.
“.....Oh.” Frank stopped in his tracks for a minute, seemingly taken aback by this.
Your face went red. Fuck. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that out loud.
“Do you, umm…..do you mind that?” you asked nervously.
“Pfft,” Frank scoffed. “Dude. You think I ‘mind’ gay guys? Have you missed the part, where I’ve spent half this tour, making out with Gerard, in front of thousands of people?”
“Are you and Gerard…..together?” you asked uncertainly.
“Oh, no,” Frank shook his head quickly. “I’m totally single.”
Your heart began to beat more quickly, as you noticed he said I’m single - not I’m straight. Were you reading him wrong? You wondered if you had the balls to make a move.
This is the last night of the tour, you told yourself. If I don’t say something right now, I won’t get another chance.
“Frank….”, you said, taking a deep breath, and telling yourself to man up. “I, um, I think you’re really cute.”
“Really?” Frank said, stepping closer to you. You felt the hot metal door of the bus against your back. “Y/N, I think you’re pretty cute, too.”
“Y-you do?” you breathed, your cheeks going hot as he leaned in. Was this real life? Or had the June heat made you start hallucinating?
“I do,” Frank smirked. “How about you give me my guitar back, and I give you a kiss instead?”
“Sounds like we have a deal,” you purred, and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him into a kiss hotter than the summer sun. He responded, eagerly, pressing you harder up against the door as his tongue found its way into your mouth. You moaned….
But, just then, you were launched violently forward, as the door swung open behind you. You and Frank hit the ground, as Josh came storming out of the bus.
“You guys are disgusting!” he growled.
“Dude, what’s your problem?!” Frank demanded, getting up, and brushing the dirt off his pants. He gave you his hand, and helped you up out of the grass.
“My problem is the display of perversion, that you two are putting on, in front of God and everybody!” Josh cried. “Do you have to do that in front of my bus?!”
“You think we’re perverts?” you gasped, shocked and hurt by his words.
“All gay men are perverts,” Josh sneered. “What kind of image are you setting for the band? A lot of our fans are Christian. They won’t buy our new record, if they see you behaving like this, Y/N!”
“Not every Christian is a homophobic piece of shit like you,” Frank snapped, putting himself between you and the irate guitarist.
“What did you just call me, you nancy boy?!” Josh hissed, and threw a punch in Frank’s direction.
Frank caught the punch in his hand. “I called you a piece of shit!” he repeated, before throwing a punch of his own. Unlike Josh’s, it connected, sending your homophobic bandmate down into the dirt.
“You’re gonna pay for that, Iero!” Josh yelled, wiping the blood from his nose. He tried to get up, but never made it off the ground, as Frank kicked him in the ribs.
“Frank, stop!” you cried. “That’s enough!”
“No, it’s not!” Frank said angrily. “You said it yourself, right, Y/N? This guy has been being a dick to you all summer, just because of your sexuality! That’s bullshit!”
He aimed another kick in Josh’s direction. You were surprised, how defensive Frank had become of you, despite knowing you for such a short time.
“What the hell is going on here?!” cried a familiar voice. You turned, and saw Zach approaching the bus, with Hayley close behind him.
“Hal and I leave for two seconds to go get snacks, and some asshole starts beating up my brother?!” Zach gasped.
“Josh, oh my god, are you okay?” Hayley gasped, running over to check out her boyfriend’s nosebleed.
“He’s not an asshole,” you explained. “Guys, this is Frank, from My Chemical Romance.”
“I don’t care what band he’s from,” Zach said angrily. “Why is he kicking Josh?”
“Because Josh called me a pervert,” you explained.
“A pervert?” Hayley repeated. “Why would he say something like that?”
“I said it, because this freak had his tongue down Y/N’s throat!” Josh explained.
“Wait, what?” Hayley blinked.
“We, um, yeah, we were kissing,” you admitted, embarrassed.
“You, um…..you like to kiss guys?” Zach asked awkwardly.
“Um, yeah,” you said, feeling uncomfortable. You had never come out to him. You knew he was a devout Christian, too, and had assumed he would hold the same views as his brother.
“That doesn’t make you a pervert,” Zach said, surprising you.
“But, what will the fans think?!” Josh demanded.
“Some of our fans are gay, too,” Hayley pointed out. “And there’s nothing wrong with it. I can’t believe you would call Y/N names, just for something like that.”
“Yeah, Josh, I’m really disappointed in you,” Zach frowned. You were stunned. You never expected him to take your side.
“You don’t think that what he and Frank are doing is a sin?” Josh asked.
“I think God loves everyone,” Zach said plainly. “And only He can judge Y/N. I’m not going to.”
“You guys can’t be serious!” Josh gaped.
“I’m seriously reconsidering your position in this band,” Hayley said, narrowing her eyes. “And in this relationship.”
“What? Babe….come on,” Josh pleaded. “Y-you wouldn’t dump me, and fire me, just because of this stupid fruit…..”
“Call him a fruit one more time,” Frank snarled. “See what happens, pal.”
“Frank, it’s okay,” you said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I have my band on my side now, and that makes….all the difference.”
You were touched by their support. You had stayed silent this whole time, because you didn’t think you would have it.
“Y/N, I’m sorry that my brother treated you like this,” Zach said quietly. “I want you to know, I support you, and your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” you shook your head. “We just kissed for the first time today, and….”
“I could be your boyfriend,” Frank said softly. “If you want me to.”
“Wait, what?”
“Do you want me to?” Frank asked, smirking at you.
“I….I’m supposed to be going home to Tennessee soon,” you hesitated. “And you live in New Jersey, so….”
“I’m in the most famous band in the world,” Frank said smugly. “I have a private jet that can take me wherever you are.”
“......Oh,” you blushed.
“So,” Frank repeated, leaning in closer again, “do you want me to be your boyfriend, Y/N?”
“....Yes,” you breathed. “Yes, I do.”
You pulled him into another kiss, not caring that the rest of your band was watching. Or how much it pissed Josh off. The tour was ending, but your once-in-a-lifetime romance was just beginning.
#frank iero x reader#male reader#frank iero imagine#fuck Josh Farro's homophobic bitch ass#homophobia tw
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