#hello I got Extremely In My Feelings about stan rogers songs the other night and drew my bard about it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

themaskedwriter · 5 years

Text

Electricity

A title - Electricity

A pairing - CEO!Thor x PA!Reader, Loki

Great - a crush on the boss. This couldn’t possibly end terribly… could it?

Accurate warnings - fluff. Fluffy, fluff, fluff.

A word count - 3k

CLUES

The MCU actor who portrays Thor hails from the same homeland as the writer.

Song title inspo is big for this writer (and the title for this fic blew her mind as it was the very last song she downloaded)

This writer is writing Thor for the first time, but is more synonymous for Sebastian Stan’s characters and the occasional RPF.

“Good morning, Mr Laufeyson,” you smiled from behind your desk as your boss’ brother wandered into the office, his usual Cheshire cat grin on his pale face, dark hair pushed away from his icy blue eyes and fair features with a consistent overuse of hair gel.

“Good morning, my dear,” he replied. “Is my idiot brother around?”

You scoffed a laugh, always humoured by the cheeky affection the brothers showed each other (and depending on the day, the genuine, extreme loathing). “He’s just on a conference call with Dr Selvig in London, he won’t be much longer I wouldn’t expect,” you informed him as Loki stepped away from your desk. “Can I get you a beverage?”

“No, no. No fuss required,” he insisted, letting his long, lean frame fall into one of the leather couches, hitching his heel on the coffee table before him and picking up an investment magazine, allowing you to get back to your work before you – getting a dinner reservation for your boss and newest conquest – you mean, date. His date. Argh.

Just then, Mr Odinson’s office door burst open and appeared the mammoth business giant, hands splayed on hips and playful smile on his lips. “Good afternoon, brother. Working hard or hardly working today?”

“The latter, of course,” Loki replied. “Selvig?”

“He’s doing some amazing work, one day you’ll appreciate his work on Convergence.”

“I was more impressed with his bare bottom proudly on display at Stonehenge,” Loki snipped, standing to his full height, almost of that of your boss who was as wide as he was tall – and by wide, you meant built like a brick outhouse, with crystal blue eyes, cropped blonde hair and muscles that seemed boundless one on top of the next. His suits straining over his shoulders and relieved at his waist. SPEND LESS TIME STARING AT HIM, you screamed to yourself. “That was some quality footage,” he chuckled as Thor bit back his own smile.

“Agreed, he lost his mind for a while there. But what do I owe the pleasure? Surely it’s not 5 o’clock somewhere already?”

“It well and truly is, brother. And if I remember correctly, ‘tis also your shout.”

“’Tis always my shout,” Thor muttered, rolling his eyes. “But I have plans tonight, I can’t be late,” Thor gave you a side-eye. “How are those dinner reservations going, by the way?”

“Right on that, boss,” you replied. “I’ve just confirmed with Le Coucou for 9pm. The driver will pick up Miss Carter on the way through, around 8:45pm. I’ve just emailed you the details, sir,” you reported, quickly hitting the ‘send’ button on the email and prying your eyes away from Mr Odinson, who was distracted unrolling his shirt sleeves, re-buttoning them and reaching for his jacket to slide over his shoulders.

“And what about you, darling? Can we interest you in a drink also?” Loki pondered.

Blushing, you replied, “I actually have a date,” you mumbled, shyly, dropping your eyes to the keyboard.

“A date?” Mr Odinson smiled. “With who? Do we know him?”

Turning a deeper shade of crimson, you were almost embarrassed with your answer. “It’s a blind date. My friend set us up. He’s in the army apparently.”

“An Army man,” Mr Odinson baulked slightly, checking his phone before he looked up with a wide, forced smile. “Sounds wonderful.”

Dejected, you tried to hide your disappointment at your boss’ reaction and went back to the work before you. Your date wasn’t until 8pm and you still had plenty to tie up before then as the brothers said goodnight to you and not to stay back too late.

—

Repeating the name the booking that your date had been booked under, you were both anxious and excited. You were a couple of minutes early but that was by your own admission – you needed a drink to ease your nerves before your mystery date arrived.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. There was a note left against this cancellation – Captain Rogers has been called off on an assignment and sends his regrets.”

Mortified, that was all you could think as you nodded, trying to hide your embarrassment. “Well, thank you,” you shrugged, not hurt but a little annoyed you found out you’d been stood up by the fucking maître d.

“May I get you a drink on the house?” the maître d asked, obviously feeling for you. “A nice Bordeaux red or a cocktail?” he continued, ushering you towards the dimly lit bar on the other side of the restaurant.

“It’s okay, I can pay,” you told him as he guided you to a stool at the bar.

“No, ma’am. It’s on me,” he motioned for the bartender to come over and instructed, “Whatever the lady wants, please, Jarvis.”

“Yes, sir,” Jarvis replied. “What will it be this evening, ma’am?”

“Just a glass of the house wine,” you answered, taking your phone from your handbag and trying to make yourself look less pathetic as you sat alone, stood up and only feeling marginally worse than usual.

Finding Natasha’s phone number and sending her a gentle text (scathing is what you truly wanted to send but thought better of it), you let her know that Captain Rogers had been called away and you were alone on a Friday night in New York City.

Natasha: Shit. Sorry, babe. Did you lose that reservation? I can come meet you! Clint is rolling around on the floor with the new rescue dog. I don’t stand a chance tonight.

You: No, it’s fine. I’ll just have a glass of wine and order some take out on the way home.

Putting your phone away as the glass of wine was placed before you, you thanked Jarvis and took a welcome sip. Shit, that was good. If this was the house wine, you were being spoiled.

“Any good?” a familiar voice asked you as a shadow kind of formed overhead. Looking up and spotting Mr Odinson was just adding insult to injury. This wasn’t where his date was. He took a seat with a genuine, friendly smile. “Hello, hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Of course not, sir,” you gave him a small smile.

“Where’s your date?” he asked the obvious question first, his blue eyes dancing as he ordered himself ale.

“Oh, he’s conveniently skipped the country on a mission of some sort,” you shrugged, the sting of it all starting to fade. “That’s a true first.”

“Well, he misses out,” he told you as Jarvis put his drink on the bar before him. Mr Odinson raised his glass as did you. “To Friday night’s with the boss.” You laughed as your glass joined his and he smiled again. “Are you going to stay or head out?”

“I will head home after this. It’s been a big week – shouldn’t you be thinking about Le Coucou?”

He shook his head. “No, believe it or not, I am a little too tired. My brother chewed my ear off about some family drama with our half-sister and frankly, I can’t be bothered dealing with some blonde Instagramming every aspect of our night instead of trying to enjoy it.”

“Really?”

“Really what?”

“Is that the kind of girl you were seeing?”

“I do seem have a type,” he said reluctantly. “It hasn’t worked for me though. I guess I’m just a glutton for punishment.”

“I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I always enjoyed Dr Foster.”

He gave a fond grin. “She’ll be the one that got away, I suppose,” he shrugged and took another sip. “I don’t suppose you want to stay for dinner?”

Surprised, you looked up. Sure, Mr Odinson was a great boss, and occasionally you shared a few laughs at work drinks but dining with him seemed a little… peculiar. “What, together?” you managed. Oh, yes. This should surely help this little crush you have on him.

Mr Odinson bit back a smile and leaned forward, a glint of tease in his eye. “Only if you’re happy to have dinner with the boss. I’ll pay.”

“Well, if you’re paying,” you said finally and relaxed a little as he motioned for Jarvis to get someone to get you both a table. Within a few minutes, you were at a table for two and if the candlelight made him look even better, you could cry. A bottle of expensive champagne was ordered as soon as Mr Odinson could and a terrible thought crept into your head, was this a date?!

Taking another sip of your wine, you tried to clear your head. No, of course it wasn’t. Your boss was here having drinks and coincidently, you bumped into each other. Nothing more, nothing less – it would end up a work dinner anyway with Mr Odinson travelling to the Nordic region for meetings over the few countries and you hadn’t caught up to dissect the trip with him as to yet.

“So, about next week, you’ll be flying – ” you tried.

Raising a large palm, Mr Odinson gave an amused grin. “No work tonight,” he instructed as your trap immediately snapped closed. “I’ve got the emails, I’ll be okay,” he said with a soft smile that met his cheeky, dancing eyes. You were positively swooning.

With his sudden laughter, you snapped back to reality. Oh, shit, you realised. You just sighed blissfully out loud. What kind of idiot – fuck, you were going to have to quit because of this – this crush on Mr Odinson was officially unprofessional. “I’m so sorry, Mr Odinson. I don’t know what’s coming over me.”

“It’s Thor, you can call me Thor,” he told you gently. “Have some wine, you look like you need it.”

You took a deep gulp, hoping to liquid courage will soothe your nerves. A deep breath joined it and your pulse rate felt as if it was starting to regulate.

“You okay now?”

“Think so,” you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” Thor smiled wide as the appetisers arrived.

—

As the wine helped relax you, the evening continued a lot easier for you as it continued. The meal was divine – you were suddenly glad Captain Rogers disappeared and Thor had rescued you.

As you ordered dinner, you smiled as Thor eased in his seat. Come to think of it, you don’t think you’d ever seen him anything but cool, calm and relaxed. Incredible.

“So, what are you plans for the rest of the evening?” Thor asked, nodding for the bottle of dessert wine to be left at the table. Spying your watch, you laughed.

“Uhh, bed. This is pathetically late for me on a Friday night.”

“Could I interest you in a night cap? I know this great coffee bar uptown,” he suggested.

Coffee? It was nearly 11pm yet you found yourself saying yes, and after dessert, Thor paid the bill (with a hefty tip you also noticed) and helped you slipped into your coat, taking you lightly by the arm and into the brisk New York night. His town car stopped before you both and he ushered his driver away to open the door for you before sliding in after you. You travelled in relative silence, taking in the city and Thor scaling emails on his phone. You phone occasiaonlly dinging so you knew he was sending directives that also included you but you ignored them – at midnight, you weren’t going to action anything and nor could he blame you.

A few minutes later, the car stopped before…

“This is your building,” you frowned as Thor opened the door and let you join him on the sidewalk.

“Yeah, I have the best coffee machine in the city. Come up, you’ll see.”

At this point, Thor could say to drop your panties on the street and you would likely do it. Who were you? Were was your modesty? You weren’t that drunk. A little tipsy… but as the evening continued, you were thinking, maybe… just maybe this little crush wasn’t one-sided.

Thor offered his hand and willingly you took it. He walked you into the building where he was greeted and went to the lifts. You knew he lived in the penthouse (at last check, you remembered he may have owned this building. Or his father did. You couldn’t remember now and nor did you care). Moving to the corner, Thor did the same, giving you some space before the elevator doors opened to a dimly-lit sprawling living area with floor to ceiling windows, showing off the city.

“Jesus,” you muttered as allowed you to lead him inside. “This view is incredible.”

“Well, I can’t lay claim to that,” he teased, sliding off his jacket and heading to the open-plan kitchen where you noticed his coffee machine was and he collected a couple of espresso glasses. He went to work on the coffee and you were relieved for it – you needed it to wake you up and get out of this daydream. Here you were in the living room of your gorgeous boss Mr Odin – Thor. Thor. You watched his rolled up his sleeves, spying the leather bands that were wrapped around his enormous wrists. God bless the three-piece suit. You hated vests. But not on Thor. They were made for him.

He wandered over, two glasses in hand and nodded towards the couch. “Take a seat.”

You did as instructed and he sat beside you. “I have a confession,” Thor said after a few moments of you both sipping your coffee. You looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “And I think it will affect our professional ties.”

Oh God, he was going to fucking fire you, you realised, sitting up and putting the coffee on the side table. Shit. “Have I done something wrong?”

“You?” he smiled, shaking his head. “No, you’re a wonderful assistant. In fact, I think you’re wasted as my assistant with your potential. But this is where is gets difficult. I would love to give you a promotion of sorts, but at the same time, I don’t want to lose you from my office,” he confided. “Because I believe we work exceptionally well together.”

“I don’t know where this is going.”

“I’d like to ask you something. And you can say no,” he instructed as your heart rate increased. You could feel your whole body sweating. It certainly felt like you were in the firing line. “But for the longest time, I have harboured this little, teeny crush on you and if I follow my heart, I think it may cause problems for us at work.”

He was right, it would. Stunned, you nodded. Shit, were you getting fired?! “I think I understand.”

He nodded solemnly. “If I were to ask you out, I think you would like to say yes. But I can understand if you told me to get fucked and storm out as well. I would deserve and wholeheartedly understand that.”

Nodded, you took the coffee back to use as a distraction, resting it against your lips, hiding a little, as a shy smile appeared. He looked like he was waiting for you to say something, but little did he know your brain was blended mush and words would not seem to compute. “Oh,” was all you managed.

“Have I stepped over the line?” he asked quietly. “I understand if I have.”

“No,” you somehow replied. “I think you know that I might have feelings for you also.”

“I did not know,” he admitted. “But my brother seemed to think that maybe I was missing something that was right in front of me. Of course, Loki is also full of mischief and cannot be trusted. So he could’ve set me up to be his greatest prank,” he added meekly.

Biting back a giggle, it was almost unbelievable that this beautiful man, Thor Odinson, world-renown CEO and playboy, was opening up his heart to you and all you could think of was, “yes, Yes, YES!” so when he put his cup on the table and awaited your answer, you found your voice.

“I love my job. I thrive on how hectic it is, I enjoy ensuring your work life balance is seamless.”

“It is,” he agreed.

“And I think I’m good at what I do.”

“You’re brilliant at what you do.”

“But I need more,” you paused and he raised a curious eyebrow. “I need to know that if we take this step, it won’t ruin everything.”

“It won’t – let’s just try dinner and see how it progresses.”

You gave a gentle nod. “I’d like that, Mr – ”

“Thor.”

“Thor,” you nodded, blushing a little. “Yes.”

“This seems so formal,” Thor said with a gentle grin.

“Way too formal,” you agreed and a giggle escaped.

“Then let’s take it back a notch,” he decided. “We call it a night. When I’m back from my work trip next week, we have dinner again. I’ll even cook.”

“You cook?” you asked surprised, finding yourself standing and he followed. It felt like a good time to collect your things even if you wanted to walk directly to his bedroom.

“I’m pretty good at it – you’ll see that I’m worthy,” he joked as he followed you towards the elevator. He smiled, leaning against the wall. “I’m glad we saw each other tonight. I’m sorry that I’m travelling the next week though. I’ll miss you.”

“You’ll survive,” you teased as the elevator doors opened and Thor laughed heartily. “Thanks for tonight, Thor. It ended up being a lot more fun that what my original plans were supposed to be.”

He chuckled. “I agree,” his giant palm raised and tenderly grasped your chin. “I had a wonderful time. I’m glad we spent the evening together.”

“Yeah,” you said and his lips gently kissed your forehead.

“I don’t want to appear obtrusive.”

“Definitely not.”

The elevator door closed without you though neither of you even noticed.

#fic

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leupagus · 5 years

Text

more musician AU nonsense

Here’s more of the Schitt Records AU because I just want 100K of Patrick trolling David at every opportunity, no matter how wildly inappropriate. (These kinds of auctions exist and they are just as weird and off-putting as you’d imagine. Rich people and fundraisers, I could tell you STORIES.)

There are so many worst parts about having to manage Patrick Brewer — his constant need for tea, his little half-smile that David still has no idea if it’s laughing at him or with him, the absent-minded guitar strumming while David’s trying to have a conversation — but this might be the worst worst part, which is that Patrick in a tux looks fucking edible.

David grits his teeth and says, “So, it’s very important that you not screw this up, all right? You go out there, say hi to the very nice, extremely rich people who are going to bid on you, you play the single with the correct amount of wistful yearning—“

Patrick’s eyebrows go up at that but David’s teeth are probably audibly creaking by now and he wisely stays silent. They’re backstage, which is nothing new, but instead of a concert hall or a music venue they’re in a tiny ballroom at the Hazelton, where a few dozen donors are doing what donors do, which is make up truly ridiculous excuses to give money to causes. The various items up for auction include a Ming vase and that Wu-Tang album that finally got released from the FBI. Patrick is being raffled off as the grand prize.

“—and then they bid, and then I schedule you to have dinner with whatever lucky lady or gentleman has purchased your affections for an evening.”

“Okay, could we make this sound less… prostitute-y?” Patrick says, fussing at the headstock of his guitar.

“Welcome to the music industry,” David huffs. He wants to straighten Patrick’s bowtie, put his hands on his shoulders and tell him to relax. This is awful.

“And when you say ‘extremely rich,’” Patrick says, the question not quite there.

“I mean some of them could probably buy the entire town you grew up in.”

Patrick cocks his head. “So richer than your family was?”

“No,” David says, firm and trying to scowl but failing. Most reminders of what the Rose family had been were painful, or enraging, because they either came from curious idiots or smug assholes. But Patrick talks about it like it’s…just part of the past. Something that happened.

“Well, I guess it’s good you got me at such a bargain price,” Patrick says, just as the very chipper auctioneer announces him.

“Hello, ‘Apollo,’ then shut the hell up,” David hisses as Patrick makes to go out there.

Instead of meekly agreeing, Patrick just smiles some more. “Get out on the floor,” he whispers back. “You know I can’t concentrate if I’m worried you’re going to tackle me from stage left any second.”

David clenches his fists and imagines throwing him off a balcony, or possibly sucking him off on a balcony. It’s hard to say which is more tempting. “Fine,” he says. “Go.”

“You first,” Patrick says, gesturing to the door which will lead to a hallway which will lead to another door at the back of the ballroom, because Patrick is the world biggest dickhead. David spins on his heel and marches out, wanting desperately to slam the door behind him; instead he closes it gently and proceeds to run into a small army of waiters swarming the hall. Apparently it’s the cheese course.

He manages to get to the ballroom entrance after nearly getting beaned with a trayfull of brie; a very security guard is gazing absently at the stage. David is about to show him his pass when he finally hears it.

“—How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now For twenty brave men all fishermen who Would make for him the Antelope's crew God damn them all! I was told We'd cruise the seas for American gold We'd fire no guns, shed no tears But I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier The last of Barrett's Privateers!”

“Oh my fucking God, that fucking asshole,” David screams very, very quietly. The security guard notices him.

“You know Patrick Brewer?” he asks, looking mildly impressed, which is the first time a security guard has ever looked mildly impressed at him, but David’s too busy having an aneurysm to appreciate it.

“I was his manager up until about five seconds ago,” David says, waving his badge.

The security guard shrugs. “They seem to be into it.”

David takes a moment away from his defenestration plan to notice: Patrick isn’t singing so much as he’s leading the entire roomful of bankers and lawyers and movers and shakers into the next verse. There’s a lot of stomping to the beat, although it’s a bit off-tempo. “How is this happening,” David mutters.

“Didn’t think rich people knew Stan Rogers,” the security guard admits.

“I’m pretty sure they revoke your citizenship if you don’t know the words to this song,” David says, because it’s true. He’d lived nearly his whole life in New York or Long Island or Maui before, the entire expanse of Canada nothing more than a reason to use a different passport when he was feeling whimsical, but he still feels a gut impulse to join in as the room roars into the verse about the slutty Yankee ship. Instead he installs himself along the back wall, filching a glass of wine and trying not to break it in rage as Patrick finally hits the final chorus and — goddamn that fucking pied piper, what the fuck — the entire room lurches to their feet, cheering and clapping and red-faced with patriotism. “Every goddamn time,” he mutters.

The bidding is — brisk, he thinks is the right word; a surprising number of people hang on while the price goes from the introductory to the interesting. David’s already trying to work out a tasteful way to phrase how high the bidding went in a press release without making it sordid, although there’s a stunning woman in her 40s with a gleam in her eye who he suspects might try for a little sordid if she wins. David glances up to where the auctioneer is buzzing around Patrick the way she’d been buzzing around the Ming vase; Patrick is starting to look nervous again. The bidding has gone from interesting to extravagant, just like David had hoped.

Before, he could have come in here and named a price so ludicrous that it would have shut the whole room up, ended the party and gotten him what he wanted, and now he just stands here with a drink and a knot in his stomach, planning to brag about how much money other people spent. He should go back to the backstage area and wait for this to be over, so that when Patrick wraps up he can kill him for singing Barrett’s fucking Privateers instead of his single and maybe pin him up against a wall.

The bidding’s now mainly between the stunning woman and a cute guy about Patrick’s age with a shy smile that’s at odds with the way his paddle keeps going up. David wonders about the ethics of putting in some bids, just to nudge up the price a little more. With only two left it’s risky, but a late entry can get people panicking and nobody in this room knows who he is; he could bump the price up another twenty or thirty easily, and Patrick would see him and wonder what the fuck he was doing, and David could smile and put in a bid and—

“Sold!” the hammer comes down and there’s some polite clapping; shy-smile guy won and Patrick makes his way down the steps to shake hands with the guy. David will need to get his name and information so they can arrange the dinner, make sure he isn’t some really sweet-looking serial killer or anything. But Patrick’s already done, working his way through the crowd with exchanges and selfies. He’s getting better at that, the hold-still-and-smile pause that Alexis had drilled into him. He could be good at this, good at being wanted and rich and worth a whole lot of money for just one night. David had never been good at any of it.

“Before you kill me,” Patrick says as he gets close enough, “I’d like to say—“

“Are you actually going to apologize? Because that would be a first,” David says, trying so hard to be furious, but Patrick’s smiling with his stupid guitar slung across his back like he’s some troubadour from a romance novel, he’s already pulled off his bowtie and undone his collar like David had known he would, and people are hovering on the periphery trying to get his attention but he’s ignoring them all to grin at him, unrepentant and joyful.

“David,” he says, stepping closer and grabbing at his wine glass, which David relinquishes without too much protest, “You should never apologize for Stan Rogers.” And he gulps down the rest of the wine and sets it on the nearest table. “Shall we?”

The security guard gives him a thumbs-up as they pass.

#schitt's creek #david/patrick #ficcage of interest #schitt records #I can't decide if Patrick does this because he's really bad at flirting with dudes #or because he honestly does find David delightful when he's on the brink of a rage blackout #honestly it feels in character for Patrick not to know the answer to that either #schittalking

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pastelkunoichi · 5 years

Text

If You Love Me, Let Me Go [Ch. 1]

[Joe!John Deacon x Olivia May]

A/N: So, I feel like I rambled a lot with the whole beginning of this, so I’m going to put my thoughts concise right here: Liv is extremely awkward when it comes to John because she actually likes him and doesn’t want to mess it up, which explains why the two of them can never maintain a long conversation. She’s very forward in her conversations and presence, and she’s afraid that will scare John off, but scaring him off isn’t a concern of hers while she’s drunk. We stan a set of awkward cuties. Also, just so we’re all on the same page, this takes place during right before the second Queen US tour, whenever the hell that was lmao.

There wasn’t a day that went by in which Olivia wasn’t doing something with at least one of the band members. Be it going out to dinner, sitting around listening to them practice or helping them write songs, or simply just getting drunk and/or high while hanging out around her flat.

On this particular day, she was lying upside down on her sofa with Roger, the both of them staring at the ceiling and passing a joint back and forth. It was midday, nothing much in particular going on that day, but the two of them were pretty much inseparable anyway so it was no surprise that the two of them were getting high together.

Roger took a long drag from the blunt before handing it back, his eyes falling shut as he exhaled the smoke toward the ceiling. Liv took it and sighed, hitting off of it quickly before almost starting to choke on the smoke once the phone across the room from her started to ring. Her eyes widened and she pretty much pushed the joint back into Roger’s hand, leaping off the couch and going for the phone immediately.

“Hello?” She spoke as she picked it up, twirling the cord around her finger subconsciously.

“Liv.” It was Brian. “Is Roger with you?”

“Mmmmhm.” She dragged out the first part, resting her hip against the wall casually and glancing over at the man in question. “Do you need him?” Roger perked up from the couch, pointing at himself with a raised brow.

“No, I don’t need him. But the band and I need the both of you. Impromptu writing session in John’s basement, Freddie is insisting on everyone being there. He’ll be pissed if you two don’t show up.” Olivia let out a sigh upon hearing Brian’s words, her head going back now to rest against the wall.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been to John’s, could you te-” Liv was cut off from asking for directions by Brian, who seemed a bit impatient at the moment.

“Roger can get you here. Just show up, please.” And the line went dead fairly quickly after that.

Hanging up the phone, Liv wandered slowly over to Roger, taking his hand and pulling him off of the couch. “We’ve got to go to John’s for some writing session scheduled by Freddie, or the entire band is going to have a conniption fit, it sounds.” Liv muttered to Roger, reaching up to tuck some of his hair behind his ear before making a b-line for the door.

Roger snagged his car keys off of Liv’s coffee table before following her out the door, draping an arm around her shoulder as the two of them walked out of her building.

“Fred’s idea, huh?” Roger broke the silence, earning a nod from Olivia as she leaned against him.

“Guess so. I dunno what’s so important, however.” Arriving at the car, she slipped into the passenger seat and lazily rested her head against the window. “I know Brian was talking about wanting to get some more songs finished before you all went on your next tour, but I didn’t think it would be this urgent.”

Roger made an annoyed sound in his throat, starting the car and heading off in the direction of John’s. He didn’t live too terribly far from Liv’s flat, and they pulled up within a reasonable amount of time. Freddie was immediately at the door when he saw the car pull up, motioning for the two of them to get inside eagerly. Once in, Olivia took a quick look around, before being beckoned over my Mary. Liv plopped down into the woman’s lap casually, looking around at the others.

“Alright, so what’s going on? Why did we have to rush over here?” Roger asked, taking a drag from a cigarette he had lit on the way over.

“Our next US tour has been moved up, and a few more shows have been added because of that.” Brian began with, tapping his fingers against the notepad he held between his hands. Olivia’s eyebrows shot up, before they furrowed together.

“What do you mean, moved up? When do you leave now?” She blurted, leaning forward in Mary’s lap.

“Two days.” Freddie answered, causing both Olivia and Roger’s mouths to fall open.

“That’s why we’ve got to get writing.” John spoke up from his perch on a stool, bass in hand so he could start messing around with rhythm’s.

Liv’s eyes darted to him when he spoke, catching his gaze briefly before he looked away. She smirked softly before feeling Mary pinch her side playfully, causing her to swat at her and slip out of her lap and onto the cushion next to her.

The boys all collectively clustered together, papers being exchanged and pens getting to work. Olivia’s eyes were, of course, glued to John like any normal day.

Mary leaned in, resting her chin on Liv’s shoulder so that she could whisper into her ear. “You’ve got to stop staring at him, you’re going to give him a complex.” She giggled, causing the younger May to elbow her friend in the stomach.

“I am not staring at him!” She protested, only to feel someone come up behind her on the sofa, leaning into her other ear to whisper.

“You definitely are, love.” It was Freddie, shooting her a knowing look before joining the other members of the band again. He had snuck behind the two to grab another pencil when he overheard their conversation, deciding to give his two cents.

“Why don’t you...I don’t know, try talking to him once in a while? You’re clearly interested. You literally never take your eyes off of him. Even Brian’s beginning to notice.” Mary suggested, throwing her feet into Liv’s lap to get comfortable.

She went silent for a while, resting her head against the back of the couch and scrunching her nose up. Liv was about to say something to Mary when both Roger and Freddie walked over, shoving some sort of alcoholic drink into both of the girls’ hands. Mary looked confused, but Liv downed it in one go, needing it if she was going to try to make conversation with John at all that night.

The bassist was quiet, shy even, and Liv wasn’t used to dealing with men like that. How could she even possibly start a conversation with him that wasn’t doomed to fail, considering their personalities were clearly completely different? Awkward small talk was not something she wanted to engage in no matter who she was talking to, at least not anymore, after so man failed attempts.

“I suppose I’ll get you another drink, then.” Roger replied as he watched the one he had just given her completely disappear, seeing the look in her eyes.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Rog?” Liv joked.

“Of course not.” He winked, disappearing back into John’s impressive liquor cabinet to concoct something else.

Mary made a face at Liv. “Getting drunk isn’t going to help your chances of a normal conversation with John.” She mothered her, sipping at her own drink.

“And how do you know that? I do my best talking while shitfaced.” Olivia stood up, only to be met by another drink pressed into her palm. Roger disappeared quickly after that, going to converse with the guys who seemed to be deep into thought about something.

A ridiculous amount of brainstorming and liquor later, it was well past midnight and everyone was either exhausted or completely hammered. Mary had left hours ago, shooed out with promises from Freddie that they would be done soon. That was three hours ago, and finally after the fourth phone call from Mary to John’s house, Freddie was out the door and on his way home to her.

Brian left soon after him, muttering something about having to get up early for a prior commitment and how he should have been in bed hours ago, not spending his time getting nothing done with the band. And by nothing, he meant exactly (1) song, and nothing else.

Roger seemingly forgot all about Liv and the fact he drove her there as he hastily exited John’s house, probably having forgotten about some woman he promised to meet, leaving the fairly drunk girl alone with the man she couldn’t ever figure out how to talk to.

Liv stood awkwardly from the couch, crossing her arms over her chest as she blinked over at John, who was placing his bass away delicately. He turned around and their eyes met, his going a bit wide at the fact that she was still stood in his basement with him. He figured Roger would have dragged her out behind him, but that was clearly not the case. Now he was flustered, unable to avoid conversation.

John has always been interested in Liv, it was just the fact that they could never carry on a conversation past the two minute point. He wasn’t blunt like Roger, couldn’t just tell her that he wanted to learn every inch of her body in the span of the next three hours. Wasn’t smooth like Brian in being able to say all of that without sounding like a complete idiot or getting punched. And he definitely wasn’t as eccentric as Freddie, being able to captivate her attention immediately and keep her interested for the hours to come. No, he was John. Outwardly kind, but slightly sassy when you got to know him, and definitely not great at ice breakers.

Clearing her throat awkwardly as the two of them stared at each other, Liv was the first one to speak. “So, uh, I’m definitely extremely shitfaced at the moment, like so much so I shouldn’t even be able to acknowledge how drunk I am right now, so clearly I really shouldn’t be going anywhere by myself, and since Roger lef-” Liv was clearly rambling on like an idiot, and this caused John’s lips to twitch into a smile.

“You’re welcome to stay here, Liv.” John spoke, blinking at her and crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve not exactly got a guest room, but you could have my bed and I’ll take the couch.” He offered, nodding toward the stairs to take her up to his room.

“Absolutely not, I could never take your bed from you, and definitely not in your own damn home.” Liv protested, following after him slowly. Once she got to the bottom of the stairs she eyed them like they were the most intimidating things in the world, before carefully attempting to go up them. She was successful, right up until reaching the top step.

Liv stumbled face first, completely preparing herself to bite the dust, but a set of hands had darted out to catch her. Being pulled up and coming face to face with John far too quickly for her drunk minds comfort, she stumbled back from him in intoxicated shock.

“Fuck, uhm, thank you.” She muttered out quickly, cheeks flushing in absolute embarrassment. “I don’t mean to be a complete mess, it just comes with the territory.” What exactly that meant was up to his interpretation.

John smiled gently at her, shaking his head in amusement as he continued to guide her toward his room, despite her protests of not wanting to take his bed.

As they entered, she pouted at him and crossed her arms over her chest. “What did I say, Deacon?”

“Well, after that near wipe out you had, I think it’s far safer if you’re cozied up in my bed.” He said matter of factly.

Not exactly having an argument, something flickered behind her eyes. “Cozy up with me, then.”

John’s mouth snapped shut and his eyes widened, nostrils flaring as he tried to think of some kind of intelligent response to that.

When he didn’t respond, Olivia groaned. “God, John, you and I have clearly been beating around the bush with ever talking to each other. This has been going on for several fucking months. So, just man up and sleep with me.” Her eyes widened at what she said, not meaning it in the way it sounded. “Completely clothed. With no funny business. You know what, maybe I should actually just see myself out…” Liv pointed toward the door, beginning to leave, but John’s hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“Do you always ramble this much when you’re drunk?” He asked softly, gazing at her in an amused fashion, removing the jacket he was wearing over his T-Shirt.

“That’s more of a question for Roger since half of the time I don’t remember what I do while I’m drunk, but I’m going to say that yes, yes I do ramble this much. Is it annoying? See, this is why I don’t really ever get drunk in front of people I fancy, because I make a complete fool of myself and wow, I’m still talking, aren’t I?” Olivia felt as if she should punch herself in the face, but the entertained look on John’s face told her that he wasn’t annoyed, instead very amused by this whole situation.

“I’ll sleep with you. Completely clothed, no funny business.” John’s lips twitched up into a smirk as he spoke, pulling back the sheets and patting for her to get in.

“Okay but...maybe a little bit of funny business?” Liv raised a brow, clearly having no idea what she was saying anymore.

“Get in bed and go to sleep, Olivia.” John chuckled, slipping into the bed, making sure that she got in successfully before flicking the lamp off.

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