#it's making me miss dive bars and local bands and good times

[mrsjellymunson]

S.A.N.T.A. BABY

[A.KA. Stupid And Nasty Tinsel-Related Activities]

A Festive 5+1 Eddie Munson Fic

Summary: 5+1. Five times reader embarrasses herself in front of Eddie, and one time she doesn’t.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

WC: ~10.5k (oops)

CW: 🔞 18+ MDNI!, SMUT, NSFW. Strangers to sort-of-enemies to lovers. Drinking, smoking, Eddie and reader call each other nicknames, loads of embarrassing situations, swearing, suggestive language, implied birth control, description of and discussion about a sex toy, flagrant and unnecessary use of the number 69, reader has a tattoo but it’s not essential to the story so you can ignore it if you want, bondage fantasy involving fairy lights, lap riding/dry humping, Eddie has tattoos and intimate piercings, fingering, unprotected p-in-v (always wrap it irl!), aftercare, fluff, the Upside Down hasn’t happened. I imagine reader & Eddie to be mid-late 20s and it might be the 90s, but hopefully I left it ambiguous enough that you can choose. I tried to keep reader’s appearance neutral, though I’m still new at this and I may have missed things - let me know if you spot anything (likewise typos or missed tags, etc). The elf outfit in the pic is for costume illustration only and does not indicate reader’s ethnicity or appearance.

A/N: Written for @bettyfrommars’ & @allthingsjoeq’s festive prompt party (thank you, guys!); I decided to smoosh five prompts 6, 8, 12, 14 & 15 together to create… whateverthehellthismutantthingis 😆 It’s my first 5+1, and my first festive fic, please let me know how I did! 🎄 I’ve taken artistic license with the format - if I’ve understood it, it’s way too long for a standard 5+1, and I don’t think they usually have 4+k of unnecessary smut at the end (‘What do you mean, Kittie? Smut is always necessary!’). I couldn’t bring myself to cut it because I’m a deviant and to paraphrase the song, it’s my fic and I’ll add what I want to 😂 Enjoy! 🥂🍷🎁

Christmas was never your favourite time of year. You suppose that your early Christmasses were probably happy, but once your parents split and family politics came into play, the season just became less enjoyable all round. These days your mom and stepdad tended to use the extended break to visit your brother in California, and this year will be the third in a row that you’ve been left to your own devices. Not that you couldn’t go with them, but you just felt a little out of place and in the way, him with his scrapbook-perfect family and kids, you with your alternative interests and a dress sense that your stepdad once described as, “Far too much black for a family dinner. We’re not the Addams Family, you know”.

This year, though, you were optimistic. It’s your first year away at college in Indianapolis, and your roommate, Robin, who you get on outrageously well with, has invited you to spend the holidays not too far away in her home town, Hawkins.

Plus, Robin has taken it upon herself to, in her words, ‘“Christmas Carol the shit out of you”, after you’d told her about your disdain for the holiday season and that Santa stood for ‘Stupid And Nasty Tinsel-related Activities’. She’d declared that this year you’d have the “Best. Christmas. EVERRR!”, and she’s making good on it, despite the promise being made months ago when you were both soaked in tequila at the end of orientation week.

It’s going fairly well so far. You’ve met a couple of Robin’s friends, a nice girl called Nancy and Robin’s ex Vickie, and together you’ve had a shopping trip, a lunch out and a girls’ night in. You’re optimistic that the rest of her friends will be just as friendly and welcoming. Next on the ‘Best Christmas Ever’ agenda? Seeing a local band at a local bar…

“Honestly, they’re, like, really, really good!”

“Really, Robs? This band that your friends started in high school are so good that they’re still playing dive bars in their home town?”

The bar is dingy and grubby, but it’s packed, Robin insisting it’s because the band is great, but you suspect it has more to do with the cheap beer prices.

You’re not averse to live entertainment, you just prefer places with a bit more space. More ambience, less… sweat? Ambiguous stickiness??

Half a beer in, you make the excuse that you need some air, not admitting you’re actually hoping to find someone to bum a cigarette off outside, feeling your most recent attempt at quitting is already on seriously shaky ground.

There’s already a couple of guys around the side of the building when you exit the front door, one in a torn flannel and another, his back to you, in a heavier-looking jacket.

You recognise Flannel as the bartender, a lanky, but not unattractive, somewhat worried-looking guy with a grungy haircut and ripped Clash t-shirt, who’s just finishing his cigarette and flicking it to the floor. As he leaves to go back inside he offers a cheery half-salute to his smoking partner and a, “See you inside, dude.” You assume the other guy must be a regular, and from the subtle glimpses you get as he flicks his ash, he’s about halfway through his cigarette.

Whilst he’s not looking you sneakily take in the view (your excuse being that you are a tourist here, after all). He’s tall, dressed all in black, with broad shoulders draped in worn-in black leather, long dark curls falling about them. You can’t determine the exact colour in the poor lighting of the bar’s neon sign, but they look shiny and well cared for, rather than lank and grimy like so many of your college buddies seem to think is the fashionable way to do it these days (ugh).

Trailing your eyes down his back, you see the hem of his jacket half-obscures a black leather belt that’s just visible sitting on his slim hips. It’s studded with silver rivets and adorned with a variety of draping silver chains that jingle at the slightest movement.

Well-fitting, dark black jeans cover his legs, and a scruffy pair of heavy black combat boots complete the look. They're unlaced at the top and casually flare out, his jeans crumpling, effortlessly stylishly, in the tops.

The belt chains catch your attention again as he shifts from one foot to the other, making them swing, drawing your eyes to the seat of his jeans and showcasing a cute, tight, rounded pair of butto-oh! He’s turning around! Shit, shit, okay, be cool, and definitely don’t look like you were just checking out his ass…

He looks at you with surprise, he obviously hadn’t heard you come out. He’s taken slightly aback, but manages to greet you with a quick, “Hey.”

You reply, eloquently, “Hey.”

Smooth.

Leather Jacket gets out his lighter.

“You, uh, smokin’?”

“I was kinda hoping to bum one, actually. I’m supposed to be quitting, but you know how it is when you get around bars and booze.”

You shrug a little, suddenly feeling sheepish, and more than a little selfish when you realise your presumption.

“Oh yeah, I sure do. Think I’ve tried quitting about, what, five times now?”

He chuckles a little, shaking a stick out of the packet he retrieves from inside his jacket, offering it to you.

“You need a light?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, thanks.”

He leans in to spark his lighter, and you’re briefly engulfed by the scent of him. Old leather, hints of a musky, spicy cologne, whiskey, clean sweat, and, of course, cigarette smoke. It feels like a warm hug, but something else too, something more primal, enticing.

You notice his hands as he holds his lighter close to your face. They’re big, strong-looking and veined, his fingers adorned with chunky silver rings that glint and twinkle in the faint neon glow.

It all catches you off guard. You pull back quickly once your cigarette is lit, not ready to explore that kind of sensation right now.

He’s turned sideways to you again, leaning his back against the side wall of the bar. He smirks in your direction, a dimple popping in the cheek nearest to you, and you feel a little heat rise up your neck.

His gaze flows over your form, taking you in from top to bottom. Is he checking you out?

“I, uh, I like your boots.” He nods down towards your feet, flicking a little ash from his cigarette off to the side furthest from you.

You automatically glance down, like some kind of idiot who didn’t dress themselves less than an hour ago.

Sheesh, way to make an impression on the locals…

“Oh, thanks!”

You smile, genuinely pleased. You’re wearing your favourite pair, laced and buckled black leather New Rocks with a chunky, steel-coloured metal heel. You know the style doesn’t have universal appeal, which is of course part of the reason you love them, but it’s nice to have your taste appreciated by someone as cu- erm, as friendly as he is.

“I haven’t seen you around here before. You new in town or sumthin’?”

“Yeah, kinda passing through, I guess. I’m just here for the holidays, hookin’ up with a friend.”

He nods in acknowledgment, curls bouncing softly around his face.

You continue, “Apparently I’ve been promised the ‘best Christmas ever’, and they think they’re going to achieve that by bringing me to this divey bar to see some schoolfriend in a lame-ass metal cover band. I mean, god, no offence, but this town is hardly Seattle. I can’t imagine they’re gonna be Nirvana-quality, right?”

The guy snorts through his nose and then genuinely laughs. “Yeah, they probably are shit. Towns like this are full of wannabe rockstars straight outta high school, y’know?” You don’t notice how his lips purse as he suppresses a grin, as he continues, “Singers are the worst, always such assholes. Second only to guitarists, of course.”

You answer with an enthusiastic, “I know, right?!”, thinking back to the musicians you’ve dated since high school and how they were all convinced they were destined to be the next Eddie Van Halen or Steven Tyler. Thinking of a couple of guys in particular as you take a drag of your cigarette, as you exhale you mutter, “Christ, guitarists really are the pits.”

He snorts, smiling again, then drops his finished cigarette to the ground, crushing it out with the sole of his heavy boot. “At least with all their equipment and shit it makes them easy to spot.”

You gift him a smile and a small nod. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

“I’m heading back inside. Maybe I’ll see you later?” He quirks an eyebrow at his last comment.

“Yeah, maybe.” As he moves to open the door you add, ”Hey, thanks for the smoke!”

He turns back to you, his distractingly broad grin now fully on display, half-shouting back as he moves through the doorway into the bustling interior, “No problem, all you have to do is ask. I’ll see you later, Boots!”

You finish your smoke and get inside just in time to get to your seat, a tall stool opposite Robin around a high table, your back to the stage, as the band start up.

There’s a few complicated beats from the drums as the guy behind them warms up, and the bass and rhythm guitars thrum a few notes, garnering whistles and cheers from the crowd.

You wait for the cliché of the singer coming up to the mic and introducing the band, but what you actually hear is a low, self-assured, somewhat recognisable voice, that’s both commanding and sultry, that drawls, “You know who we are.”

Suddenly there’s a burst of impressive guitar work and drums, and the crowd erupts as the room is saturated with the opening chords to Black Sabbath’s ‘War Pigs’.

You’re impressed, and intrigued. This isn’t the ‘dodgy 80’s covers schoolkid band’ you were expecting. These guys sound… accomplished.

You turn on your stool, and notice a subtly familiar form at the mic. Less bulky as he’s no longer wearing the leather jacket, a ripped band tee now showing off his pale arms and clavicles, and black ink that you can’t make out adorning solid biceps and veined forearms. Guitar in hand, confident, brash, cute. Chains dangling from a studded belt, silver rings glinting, hair flying as he flicks his head, commanding the stage, readying himself to sing the first lines…

Oh shit…

The band’s cover of ‘War Pigs’ is faster than the original, and they give it their own twist, making it heavier and grittier. After the (irritatingly brilliant) guitar solo Leather Jacket Band Guy even throws in a few lines from Deck The Halls, the audience going wild, and joining in enthusiastically when the ‘Oh Lord yeah’ is replaced with a ‘Fa-la-la’.

The rest of their set is a mix of covers and originals, all in a similar, heavy style, and as they finish to a rapturous throng you realise, flustered, that you couldn’t tear your eyes from the stage the whole time. Robin totally notices. You even let her get in a cheery, “Told ya so!”, as you reluctantly admit they weren’t completely terrible.

You spot the frontman (singer and guitarist, cue internal facepalm) jump down off the low stage, and you feel a little uneasy as you see him start heading in your direction.

You’re at peak embarrassment and can’t bear the thought of having to face him after what you said outside. You hadn’t even heard them play and you dissed the fuck out of them, him specifically. What makes it worse is that they were actually really good. The last thing you need is to have that thrown back in your face, in front of Robin, by their cocky lead guy.

Suddenly you want Spontaneous Human Combustion to be a real thing, turn you to ash so your only presence would be scuffed up on those heavy, unlaced combat boots, going unnoticed and carried out on everyone’s soles into the chilly night. But science and physics are apparently not willing to defy themselves for you this evening. Bastards.

Quickly, you get off your stool, mumbling something about needing the bathroom, and head off in a random direction, in your haste to escape not even asking where it is.

You chance a glance over one shoulder. Oh god, he’s heading straight for you…

As you stumble about in the crowd, you notice a free seat next to a guy at the bar. You hardly register that his coiffed hair and polo shirt don’t quite fit the vibe of the place, so desperate are you to build an alternative narrative that doesn’t involve the guy whose band you just dissed coming to talk to you. You’d said you were visiting a friend, he’s not to know it wasn’t a boyfriend, right? If he sees you with someone he’ll back off and leave you alone, right?? Surely he wouldn’t confront you with a potential Defending Your Honour™️ fight on the table. Right???

So, that’s the plan.

A really good, foolproof one? Um, no. But Band Guy is moving through the crowd, and you’ve gotta do something, fast.

You reach the bar.

“Hey, could you do me a favour real quick? A creepy guy’s been hitting on me, and I need to give him the message that I’m not interested. If I buy you a drink, will you act like you’re my boyfriend for, like, the next 30 seconds?”

He turns to you, and you notice his features. Golden skin, chiselled jaw, stunning hazel eyes, hair to rival the hottest supermodels’, a scattering of moles that look like constellations. Goddamn, he’s pretty. What is it with this bar? Is everyone inside it cute? Why have you never been to Hawkins before??

You give him a pleading look, and tentatively hold out one hand towards where his is resting on his thigh, hoping he’ll take it.

“Well, for a sweet thing like you, how could I say no to that tempting double offer?”

He smiles then, full and beaming, and you almost slip off your stool. A warm palm comes to cup over yours, and you manage to blurt out an order to the barman, saying, “Two of whatever he’s having.”

Just then, Band Guy reaches you. You do your best to swoon at Polo Shirt as your drinks get delivered, lifting yours and clinking it against his with a, “Hey, sweetheart, thanks for bringing me here”.

“Oh, I didn’t realise you were here with someone tonight.”

“Yeah, this is the friend I was telling you about. We’re spending the holidays together. Isn’t that right, sweets?”

Band Guy purses his lips, you hope in consternation, but it’s whatever, you just want him to leave you alone to stew in your mortification.

He backs up half a step, saying, “Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it then.”

Success!

Just as you think your devious plan has worked, Band Guy turns to Polo Shirt, slaps his open palm against his shoulder a couple of times, and saunters off, with a, “Nice to see you, Steve-o. Just checkin’ you're wanting a lift back in the van with the guys, like usual?”

Oh. Oh god. They know each other?!

He turns away, smirking back briefly in your direction to fling a casual, “I’ll see you around, Boots”, before continuing his path to the other end of the bar. You see him greet Flannel with a high five followed by a bro handshake, the latter making exaggerated air guitar movements and clearly congratulating him on a great performance.

If cringing caused bodily trauma you’d be in the ER by now, most likely on life support. What are the chances of embarrassing yourself all to hell in front of a cute guy you’ve only just met, twice in one night?

Also, wait, you totally didn’t just admit that you find him cute. Nope. No siree. Nah. Niet. Definitely not.

Stupid Robin convinced you to take this stupid job in the stupid mall and now you’re stuck here smiling this stupid smile at all the stupid local kids in this stupid elf costume.

Stupid striped tights, stupid short skirt, stupid tight green tunic, stupid fluffy collar.

And yeah, okay, stupid self-induced hangover from stupid drinks last night thanks to stupid Robin’s stupid friends. Actually, they were all really nice, especially ‘Steve-o’ and the barman, Jonathon, neither of whom mentioned your embarrassing faux pas with Band Guy, which makes them total heroes in your book. Plus, Band Guy mercifully gave you a wide berth for the rest of the night by doing Band Stuff™️, so that was a win too.

At least the dress code for this gig stated ‘black footwear’, so you could wear your own boots. You’d never admit it out loud, but you think the combination of the red and white striped tights with your chunky, alternative boots actually looks kinda cute. It’s just as well, because you’d packed light (you and Robin joking that so long as you had your ”Pills and panties” you were good to go), and hadn’t brought any alternatives.

You’ve been at this for a couple of days already, beaming artificially at the kids as you try to corral them into some semblance of an organised line, and handing out stickers and treat bags for the ones who’ve seen Santa, putting your best singsong voice on as you ask for what feels like the millionth time, “So, what did you ask Santa for?”, and, “Have you been good this year?”

Your face has begun to ache with the effort of all the smiling, although the cheery mall Santa (a big, friendly guy called John? Jack?) takes up most of the slack, with a voice deep and gravelly enough to control even the worst-behaved little shits. You hope his day job uses it, it would be a shame for a voice like that to go to waste. He should probably be in sports, or acting, or law enforcement or something.

You can’t deny the money is coming in handy though. It’s reliably supporting your holiday booze habit, and you’ve even treated yourself to a couple of Christmas treats, some silver skull jewellery from a surprisingly well-stocked accessory shop, and something more, um, personal from the ‘specialist interest’ shop you’d found hidden away at the back of the mall’s upper level. The nice lady who worked there, Karen, even kindly offered to drop off your purchase at your staff locker later today.

You’re on the later shift, so Santa’s already here, and as you make your way out to the grotto area (which is essentially just a few old stage props surrounded by a few giant polystyrene candy canes; you surmise this might be one of the first years they’ve done this) you’re greeted by a predictable, “Ho ho ho!”. But today it’s a different voice than usual. Still deep, still booming, but not the one you’re used to.

As you round the glittery candy cane on the corner, the deep baritone gives way to a much higher, cheekier pitch.

“Ho, ho- hoooooly shiiit, I’d recognise those boots anywhere!”

Oh no… It can’t be…

“Heeey, Boots! I didn’t know you’d be one of my little helpers today!”

Even behind the fake beard you can see the smugness spread across his face.

You stop in your tracks, hands coming up to your face in a vain attempt to shield your embarrassed self from the impending, and, you’ll admit, completely justified, teasing.

Realising you can’t hide from it, you huff out a breath and amble over to him. He looks way too comfortable sitting on that ornate throne, like he’s used to such a position, somehow…

As you move closer you see that even beneath the tacky acrylic costuming, he still looks cute (damn him). He’s foregone the white wig and opted to display his own locks, chestnut curls cascading over his shoulders, and the white faux fur of his hat and beard create a subtle frame around his eyes. You observe their colour properly for the first time, and even in the harsh fluorescent lights of the mall they look like swirling pools of liquid cacao, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything quite like them before. They’re fixed on you as you walk to him.

You plonk down on a fabric-covered hay bale next to the throne. There’s no line of kids waiting as yet, and you’re relieved you can get this next part done without too much of an audience. Deep breath, pull off the bandaid, or whatever that stupid phrase is.

“Listen, about last night. I’m really sorry. I not only stole your smokes but also dissed your band before I’d even heard you, and that wasn’t cool. And that thing with Steve at the bar? God, you must think I’m such a loser. And, I know you probably couldn’t give two pebbly shits about what I think right now, but you guys are actually really good.”

He turns to you, looking down his nose and through his lashes at you.

“Hey, don’t sweat it, sweets. I did kinda bait you into that first part. And at the bar? That was… creative. I actually thought it was pretty funny.” Smirking, nodding and turning his face to the front again, he continues, “And for the record, we do play other places, not just this so-not-Seattle town.”

You risk a glance at him. The Santa suit is obviously too big for him, the collar wide enough to show off his pale throat for a moment before he turns back to you and the comically-fluffy beard obscures it again. You can see the outline of his taut, muscular thighs under the loose faux velvet of his pants, and his boots (those boots) are worn just like they were last night, unlaced at the top, casually stylish, the red fabric pooling around the calf and ankle. And to finish it off, there’s what appears to be a large throw cushion stuffed down his front.

It turns out he’s covering for (Jim!) Hopper, who’s apparently the local police chief (nailed it) and has been called out to check on some weird occurrences at an old research facility on the other side of town.

Band Guy Santa continues, sarcastically, “Pfft. Providing the town of Hawkins with security and safety instead of performing the frankly, essential, public service of dicking about in a Santa suit. Inconsiderate, right?”

“Yeah, totally”, you giggle.

“The organisers heard from Hop that I was somewhat… theatrical, so they asked me to fill in.”

You remember how theatrical he looked whilst on stage, and you feel your throat heat up, hoping he won’t notice you subtly pulling at your collar with a finger, or see the perspiration appearing on your décolletage.

“So, you may wreak your revenge now, sweetheart. I’m not exactly in a position to defend my sartorial choices right now, am I?”, he says as he gestures to himself, sweeping a palm up and down his garb. “Gimme your worst.”

You’d feel pretty bad if you laid into him now, not only considering your own current garb but especially with what you’d said last night outside the bar. However, he is giving you an opportunity to even the score for his manipulation, and it would be a shame not to take it. You decide upon a combination of cheekiness and diplomacy. (And not flirty. Definitely not flirty.)

“I dunno, that beard covers most of your face, which obviously does you some favours. But don’t do yourself down, you look… good in red.”

He swallows as you stand to move away from him, and you hardly realise that you’ve rendered him speechless, as you joke, poking at the obvious cushion by his middle,

“Although, I’m totally not buying this padding, you know,”

Suddenly a party of schoolchildren appears from nowhere, and before they get between you and you get too far away to hear, he stammers out, “Uh, I’m Eddie, by the way.”

You half-yell your own name back, adding with a smile,

“It’s nice to meet you. Have fun today, Santa.”

It’s late afternoon and Santa Eddie is on his regulation break. You’re doing your best to herd the over-sugared, post-school crowd into some kind of order, when Mrs Santa (a lovely lady called Claudia) calls your name and says you can go on your break now too, if you want, and to please tell Santa that he needs to get back here and start doling out Christmas wishes.

You jump at the chance for even just a few minutes away from the diminutive hoards (though you could listen to Erica, one kid you do like, diss commercialism and the ethics of lying to kids en masse all afternoon), and make your way to the locker room.

Eddie’s still there, sitting on the central bench, beard pulled down under his chin, and he appears to be holding a package in his hands, though from the look on his face you don’t think it was one he was expecting. As you move closer and peer into the box, you spy the contents, and a bright red, glittery shape becomes visible.

Oh god, no. No-no-noooo…

It’s the order you placed from the shop at the back of the mall, but Karen’s obviously dropped it off next to the wrong locker - Eddie’s is number 69 and yours is 96.

It’s a dildo (of course it is). A Christmas-themed, flexible, long, thick, glittery, red dildo, with a gold lamé ribbon tied artfully around the base.

Eddie’s face is a picture of surprise as he turns to look up at you, eyes and mouth wide and eyebrows practically disappearing into his hairline. He’s holding the packaging, your name visible on the wrapping, nixing any hope you’d had of feigning innocence and pretending you knew nothing about it.

“Uh, I think this is yours. I’m so sorry. I-it was left by my locker and I opened it assuming it was for me, and then I saw your name on it, but by then it was too late…”

He sees you slump down into the bench a few feet away from him, face in your hands. You don’t know him well, but you decide to let him get whatever he wants to say out of his system rather than potentially make everything worse by trying to get him to shut the hell up.

His tone is mocking, but not exactly mean, as he continues,

“It’s a pretty one, really. Y’know, festive. I admire your choice of aesthetics and commitment to the season.

But you know, Boots, if you wanted to feel special inside this Christmas, all you had to do was ask.

Wait, do you also have an Easter-themed one? Is it a rabbit?”

He’s turned to face you now, far too pleased with himself for that final quip. Arrogant bastard.

The tears come in a wave, and you fold in on yourself, trying to hide your face even more. The heat in your cheeks feels about the same temperature as the colour of that fucking dildo.

“Hey, hey. I was only kidding.” He scootches closer to you on the bench. ”Look, there’s nothing wrong with it. Everyone deserves pleasure, it’s healthy. And I get it, Boots, it can be hard for girls to find a guy who actually knows what the fuck they’re doing. And, maybe you don’t even want or need a guy, you just want some special time by yourself, right?”

There’s a short pause, like he could be considering his next choice of words.

“And anyway, I actually think it’s kinda hot…”

This surprises you. You’ve never met any guy who didn’t take the presence of your toy collection as a personal insult.

You risk a glance in his direction, hoping your wet and stinging eyes don’t look as red as they feel. “You really think so?”

“Oh yeah”, he responds, crossing his legs as subtly as he can, shielding his lap. “The one you chose? It’s… sophisticated. The glitter gives it a real nice touch. And,” he drops his voice a little, continuing in an almost-whisper, “I’d love to see what you do with it.” He clears his throat and looks away, finding a convenient patch of plain wall to focus his gaze upon.

Confused, upset, and unable to fathom exactly what’s going on (is this just banter? Or is he flirting? Wait, does he like you??) you grab the box from him and move to stuff it in your locker. Trying to hide the crack in your voice, you call over your shoulder, “Claudia says your break’s over and to get your jolly ass back out there, pronto.”

Oh shit… shitshitSHIT…

Stupid collar, stupid faux fur, stupid cheap zips! Goddammit!

You’re at your locker - the one that should’ve secretly contained your special Xmas gift to yourself - trying to get out of your stupid elf costume, but the zip won’t budge. The top of it is enmeshed amongst the stupid faux fur of your collar, and your frustrated, unsighted and fumbling ministrations appear to be making it worse.

You need help. An empathic soul to come to your aid and diligently untangle you from this costuming hell. But there’s only one other person here, and, even though your last encounter ended better than it could have, he’s still the last person you want to see right now.

Why tonight? Of all nights? How could this happen on the one night where the literal only person left in the entire fucking building is him??

You can only assume you’re on the real Santa’s shit list. Were you really that naughty this year?

Your brain rewards you with a brief, but telling, synopsis of your year so far: smoking blunts behind the library with Robin during study breaks, skinny dipping in a freezing lake on a dare, all that tequila, that brief foray in the back of a Camaro with that guy (Bobby? Billy?). Okay, you were no saint, but this? Come on…

Dejectedly, you drop your chin to your chest and let out a frustrated huff.

Looking miserable, and literally dragging your heels, you shuffle back out to the grotto, steeling yourself for whatever mocking banter Eddie will subject you to this time.

He’s leisurely rearranging the grotto area, and fiddling with the fairy lights behind.

“Hey, Boots. What’re you still doing here?”

Still not looking up, and flicking your eyes everywhere but in his direction, you mumble,

“I, uh, I need your help.”

“What is it? C’mon, you can tell me. We’re quite intimately acquainted now, wouldn’t you say?“

You can hear the smirk in his voice and you want to slap it right off his face. Your response comes out in a rush.

“MyzipisstuckandIcan’tgetoutofthisfuckingcostume, okay?”

“Well, honestly, if you want me to undress you, all you have to do is ask…”

There’s annoyance in your voice as you spit out, “For fuck’s sake Eddie, are you gonna help me or not?”

“Of course, Boots, I’m just messin’ with ya.” His voice drops to an almost-rumble as he instructs, “Turn around for me, yeah?”

His voice is commanding, yet soft and velvety. Parts of your brain turn to marshmallow, and you consider that you’d do almost anything he asked, if he asked you like that.

You do as he requests, your back facing him. You tilt your head down slightly, allowing him better access to the top of the zip, inadvertently also exposing the back of your neck.

He exhales (is it a bit shaky?), and you feel the heat of his breath on your nape, the sensation raising goosebumps along your spine and worrying your legs a little. It’s all you can do to not drop to your knees right there and then. You let out a tiny gasp and try to cover it with a deep swallow.

Eddie works gently on the collar of your garment, fiddling with the fur and disentangling what he can. As he works you continue to feel his breath on your neck, and you wonder if he has any idea what it’s doing to you.

Seemingly satisfied he won’t make it any worse than it already is, Eddie grasps the tag with his fingertips and places the palm of his other hand on your shoulder blade, the heat of it radiating through you so intensely that you have to scrunch your eyes closed and try to ground yourself.

With a quiet, “You ready?”, Eddie begins to slowly lower the zip.

It dislodges under his delicate touch, and although the zip is now completely free-moving he continues to pull it downwards ever so slowly. You feel another frisson of excitement, and even though you could at this stage probably quite easily take over and get out of the garment yourself, you don’t move away.

As the opening reaches your shoulder blades, you feel something else. It’s featherlight, barely there, but you think you can feel the knuckle of one of Eddie’s bent fingers brushing the skin of your back as he pulls the zipper slowly downwards.

Part of you thinks you should be freaked, after all an almost-complete stranger is touching you without your consent, but somehow it doesn’t feel weird. It feels… nice. Safe. Right.

The lower the zip goes the more of Eddie’s breath you feel on your back, and as the sides separate the edges of the colourful tattoo on your shoulder blade become visible.

Eddie's breath stutters at the sight, and as his knuckle passes over your bra strap and connects again with your lower spine you abruptly shake yourself out of your reverie.

Clutching the front of your tunic to your body, you move quickly away from him, stumbling back towards the locker room and mumbling, “I’ll take it from here. Thanks Eddie, you’re a lifesaver.”

Plonking yourself down on the bench in front of your open locker, you take a few deep breaths, trying to centre yourself before you get changed and wondering how on earth you’re going to be able to face him again tomorrow, the (yes, you’ll admit it now) hottest Santa you’ve ever seen...

Back in your own clothes (black, wide-gauge fishnets, an old tee from a punk band that no longer exists, and a flared black skirt - much better) you’re about to scurry out with your head down when you hear muffled grunts and groans from the main floor. What on earth is going on out there?

You amble back out to the grotto area, trying to appear nonchalant and like this is your usual route out of the building.

You see Eddie’s combat boots sticking out from behind a pile of fake snowballs. They seem to be twitching.

You move closer until you can see his entire form. He’s lying on his back, immobile, completely tangled in fairy lights. You can’t help but start to giggle, not least because for the first time since meeting him it’s he who’s the one in a compromising position.

He’s struggling, likely making it worse, and he starts as he sees you, barking out, “Oh god, Boots, you scared me! Well, laugh it up, fuzzball, I guess it’s your turn to rag on me now.”

“What on earth happened? Are you hurt?”

“I said I’d help rearrange these lights, so I was up that ladder, moving them around, when the rung gave way. The lights were the only thing I could grab for when I span, fell, and, well, here we are!”

He gives you a broad but sarcastic grin, realising the absurdity of his predicament, trying to spread out his palms in a jazz hands kind of illustration but only managing to do it with one, the other trapped at his belt line by a string of dazzling pink lights.

“Um, you need a hand?”

“Uh, yes please.”

You take a moment to appraise the situation. You see the broken ladder, the tangled piles of lights, scuffed-up fake grass and unruly piles of snowballs.

As for Eddie, he seems unharmed, if a little bruised in the ego (and, perhaps, the elbows). He’s still wearing the Santa suit. Well, most of it. He still has on the hat for some reason, and the trousers, but he’s discarded the beard and jacket, presumably for reasons of temperature regulation or ease of movement, and his ‘belly’ cushion is nowhere to be seen.

And his top half? Well, his top half is now adorned only in a tight, white tank top.

You swallow as you take in his torso. He looked good on stage that night at the bar, but you never really got to see him this close up. Or this well lit.

His skin is almost as pale as the fake snow that litters the area, but there’s a creaminess to it that just makes him look, well, edible is the only word you can think of. Apart from ’lickable’. Yep, that would work too…

He’s solid, well defined, but he’s not stocky. You imagine that years of carrying amps and band equipment around has toned his muscles rather than bulked them.

And the tattoos… Oh. God.

You’ve always had a thing for people with alternative tastes, but this guy takes the cake. Swirling black ink in a variety of designs and styles covers his pecs and biceps, with smaller but no less elaborate designs adorning his forearms.

You notice a subtle glint under the colourful strings of lights that enwrap him, and spot that one of his nipples is pierced, the ring of metal just barely visible through the taut fabric.

Your eyes drift to his hands (those same hands that entranced you that first night), and although there’s no rings tonight (you guess ‘Badass Santa’ wasn’t the version on the mall’s wish list) his hands are no less attractive, still strong-looking and veiny, and you spot a number of small finger tats that you hadn’t been aware of before.

His position and the fact that he’s still struggling mean his abs are tensed, with his forearms are in front of him, making them, and his shoulders, really pop.

Jeezus.

Your thighs clench and you feel a heat bloom in your core.

He notices you staring, and for a moment seems to revel in it, but eventually breaks you out of your trance, asking, “You gonna help me get out of this, or what?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, um, lemme just…”

You decide to start at his feet, reasoning that’s where the tangles are the least bad, and at least if his feet are free he’ll be able to sit up.

That decision has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you’d like to see him sitting, bound, tied up for you, naked…

Shit. Fuck. Concentrate…

Eventually you free him from the majority of his confines, your fingertips and the backs of your hands brushing his skin and the fabric of his clothes occasionally. As he’s able to sit up, his hair tickles you as you work, his scent invades you all over again, and the two of you share glances and timid little chuckles as you move around him, both aware that you’re closer than you’ve been before.

Eventually he’s completely freed, and as he stands and steps out of the final loop of lights he flops exhaustedly backwards into his golden throne, eyeing the pile of entangled lights and running a hand over his face, mumbling, “Shit, there’s no hope for them tonight. I’ll deal with it all in the morning.”

You stand to the side of the throne, wanting to check he’s ok, and in a bold move that you weren’t expecting he lifts one arm and takes the tips of your first two fingers in his, gently raising your hand in a silent instruction to come closer.

Mirroring your earlier comment, he says, “Thanks, Boots. You’re a real lifesaver”, adding, with a hand against his forehead, “I would’ve been here all night, could’ve starved to death. They'd've found my mummified remains in the morning.”

You find yourself stepping towards him, and with your free hand try to give his pec a playful slap, murmuring, “You’re so dramatic. No, wait, theatrical!”

The slap fails though, as he rapidly brings his other hand up to the back of yours, trapping your palm against his chest. You can feel the heat of his skin, the slight sheen of sweat just noticeable as your fingertips breach the low neckline of his top, the heavy thud of his heartbeat.

You don’t realise how close you’ve become, and you gasp as your knees touch the side of his. He gently grabs the hand that’s on his chest and pulls it to his side, and to stop yourself from toppling forwards you have to step around him, ending up standing astride his legs.

Your eyes lock, and something changes. For a long moment neither of you move, and you feel your breathing rate speed up.

Not breaking eye contact, Eddie slowly moves your arm up to his shoulder, and you find yourself climbing onto the throne with him, straddling his thighs.

He breaks out that low, rumbling voice again, as he murmurs,

“That’s it, Boots, come sit on Santa’s lap.”

As you lower down onto him, you feel the heat of his thighs through your thin tights, and then the contrast of the chill of your metal-coated heels against the backs of yours.

You also feel something bloom in the pit of your stomach. And further down. A warmth, heat, need.

Eddie moves one hand to hold the back of your waist, pulling you gently, moving you further up his lap towards him.

You feel the unmistakable bulge of his arousal between your thighs, and as he moves you closer you gasp as you feel it nudge your mound.

You look at each other for another long moment, aware that this is very new territory. His eyes flick between your eyes and your lips, as he asks, quietly, “Is- is this okay?”

It’s all too much and simultaneously not enough. You definitely weren’t expecting any of this, but at the same time you find yourself desperately nodding, needing more of him, of Eddie.

You answer by slowly rolling your hips lightly against him, your lips parting slightly.

The few layers of fabric between you aren’t enough to dull the sensation of his cock pushing against your centre, and you feel it gradually pressing between your folds, your growing slick making the movements easier.

Suddenly, his bulge nudges your sensitive bud.

You gasp again at the sensation, making Eddie exhale a long low, warm breath over your torso, before he speaks again.

“Boots, can I kiss you?”

You take a breath, considering how this could all go. You could walk away now (albeit with shaky legs and damp thighs) and leave any possible awkwardness or complicated entanglement in favour of a simple, uncomplicated holiday with your friend.

But then you look into his eyes again, as his hips gently buck and nudge you once more, and your decision is made.

Breathing out, you reply,

“Fuck yeah, Santa.”

Wearing a soft, sly smile, he gently brings one hand to the back of your head, bringing you to him as he moves forwards, chocolate eyes roaming your face, scanning your eyes and lips.

Noses bumping and lips millimetres apart, he pauses for a moment before closing the gap, pressing his soft, plush lips to yours. They feel divine, soft and velvety, and this close you can smell everything him now, with the subtle addition of something faintly minty.

You kiss him back, and then you both press forward harder, parting your lips at the same moment, the tips of your tongues touching and dancing before sliding past each other and deepening the kiss, your teeth bumping gently and hot breaths mingling.

It’s wet, hot and needy, your hands grasping his shoulders, and his arms pulling you closer to him.

The rolling of your hips gradually becomes stronger and more forceful, and he bucks harder up into you. You need more. Breaking the kiss for air, you take a couple of lungfuls, toying with the drawstring on his red pants before asking, bold and more than a little cheeky,

“How are you feeling? Still entangled? Do you need a hand getting out of these, too?”

“Yeah, fuck, I’m feeling very… entrapped, kinda claustrophobic. Might be in shock from such a traumatic experience. I might need to loosen my clothing a bit, y’know, for medical reasons.”

You give him a smirk, and untie the cords. Raising up on your knees slightly, you slide your thumbs hands into the waistband of those and his fitted, black boxers (fuck, is there anything about this guy that isn’t sexy?). He quickly takes the hint, lifting his hips off of the throne and allowing you to move his garments down to his thighs.

As you work his member gets caught on the elastic of his boxers, and as it releases from the fabric it springs back onto his abdomen with an audible slap. You can’t help but look, and you’re not disappointed. It’s pleasantly, but not overly, big, thick and veiny, curved slightly and with a large flared head. The tip is shiny and pinky-red, and as you stare it twitches away from his body and a tiny bead of precum leaks from the tip. You’re surprised, but also delighted, to spot a shining pair of steel balls decorating a frenum piercing, and that there’s a few pretty dot and line work tattoos near the base.

It’s beautiful. You want to tell him so, but he grabs you and pulls you in for another deep, passionate kiss, his length trapped between your bodies, hot and pulsing.

You melt into the kiss, tongues slipping and sliding, lips rubbing, noses smooshed against each other and enjoying it for as long as you can both do without air.

Needing another deep inhale, and also wanting to get your hands on his delightful cock, you sit up again, slipping one hand between you and grasping at his length. Eddie hisses, then moans,

“Oh, Boots, you’re gonna fucking kill me.”

You enjoy the feeling of him in your hand for a few moments, relishing the heat and hardness, before you position the palm of your hand behind his cock and push your centre towards him again, trapping his length between your hand and belly.

More thrusts of his hips moves him between you, your slightly adjusted position now pressing him firmly between your clothed folds, his cock dragging the fabric across your clit. You can’t help but let out a high whine, and you feel his cock twitch again.

“Too much fabric. Wanna feel you.”

His voice is gruff, desperate, wanting.

You lean back a little, resting one hand on the arm of the throne, keeping your other hand wrapped around his cock. You’re not sure you ever want to let it go.

His hands move from your ass to your thighs, running over them and squeezing. When he reaches the part exposed by your lifted skirt he growls, feeling the skin of your hips and belly through the mesh of your tights.

Suddenly, his chin dips and he gives you an almost evil grin. His eyes remain connected with yours as the tip of his tongue peeks out of the corner of his mouth as he pushes some of his fingertips through the holes, grabs tightly and pulls.

You freeze as the sound of snapping fabric echoes around the grotto, cool air now gracing your belly and inner thighs. You gasp, not only at his actions but because you packed light and don’t have any other tights with you. But as Eddie’s thumbs trace up to the crease of your thighs, dangerously close to your heated core, all thoughts of packing and capsule wardrobes are erased. You want, no, need him to touch you.

With a smirk, you say, “Please touch me, Santa. I promise I’ve been such a good girl this year.”

His jaw goes slack and he looks at you in awe. You notice how black his eyes have become, the beautiful chocolate hues all but obscured.

He flicks his gaze to your core, black satin panties with lace edging fully on display. He runs one thumb pad up your very centre, feeling the smooth, silky fabric, your heat, the dampness that’s already apparent.

“Christ, baby, is this all for me?”

“All for you, Santa. I’m pretty sure you’ve been a bad boy this year, but you deserve a treat anyway.”

His eyes flick to yours again briefly, his lips curling into a lascivious smirk, before returning to the beautiful display between your legs. He hooks his thumb around one lace edge and, much more gently than he handled your tights, moves the soaked satin to one side.

With a tenderness and reverence that you’ve never experienced before, Eddie parts your folds with his thumb and runs it delicately from your wet lips all the way up to your clit. His eyes are fixed there, jaw slack, and you genuinely think he might drool.

As he connects with your sensitive bud you keen above him, eyes closing and head rolling back.

“That’s the spot, huh?”

You come back to look at him, and manage to breathe out, with a lilting giggle, “Fuck, yes.”

He moves his thumb in a small circle, and your mouth falls open in an O, your brows furrowing slightly.

“You want me to keep going, Boots? All you have to do is ask…”

You’re lost, gone, away in space, and you don’t have the capacity to chide him for his cheek. All you can manage is a breathy, “Please Eddie, please keep going.”

His thumb speeds up slightly and he gradually and gently increases the pressure, and you can feel the coil in your belly tightening already. Fuck, he’s good at this.

Your hand remains clamped around his dick, squeezing it occasionally, his hips rutting up into your fist at a leisurely pace as he watches you fall apart on his lap.

He moves his other hand from where it’s been resting on your hip, and, widening his thighs slightly to create space beneath you, brings the tips of his index and middle fingers to your hole. You’re sopping wet and swollen, lips almost sucking him in just from the slightest touch.

He looks to your face again as he asks, “Is this okay?”

You manage a rapid, shallow head nod and a, “M-hm”, and he slowly plunges two fingers into you, scissoring them and generating a low groan from you, which in turn causes a harsher snap from his hips.

“Jeezus, Boots, you make the most delicious sounds, wish I could record them, listen to them on a loop. Fucking hell.”

“Maybe you can, you’re a musician after a-all…”

That’s the last thing you can say for a while, the combination of Eddie’s smirk, his talented fingers pumping in and out of you, his glorious thumb movements, the feel of his cock in your hand and his hips bucking beneath you all conspire to bring you to your peak.

You grip the arm of the throne hard, nails denting the pile on the velvety fabric. Your eyes close and your vision goes black before becoming a thousand tiny fairy lights, a firework igniting in your core and spreading throughout your body in the most delicious waves as you spasm around Eddie’s fingers.

You don’t notice you’ve been groaning until your senses return, and you feel a slight roughness in your throat. Eddie continues his movements, though slower, and helps you ride out your aftershocks as you pant on his lap.

Only when you start to twitch in discomfort does he remove his thumb from your clit. He slowly pulls his fingers from inside you, and to your surprise brings them up to his lips, pushing them fully inside his mouth and sucking greedily, closing his eyes and humming at your taste. Popping them out with a wet smack, he says,

“My god, Boots. You taste better than sugar cookies and cotton candy combined.”

Your arms feel suddenly weak, and you flop forwards, forehead on Eddie’s collarbone. You feel his warm, broad palm on your back, rubbing gently, soothing you.

“Y’okay there, sweetheart?”

You manage a little squeak, and mumble a tiny, “Mmph, yeaaah…”, as he chuckles lightly.

After a few moments you sit up a little, gazing into Eddie’s blown chocolate eyes through an endorphin haze, and you notice your cheeks are tense, in what must be, given Eddie’s somewhat lovesick expression, a goofy smile.

You realise you’re still holding on to his dick, and give it an experimental squeeze, to test whether your muscles are responding to signals from your brain (yeah, that’s definitely the only reason…). Eddie’s hips buck up, and you sneak a look down to see more precum leaking from the tip. You gather some with your thumb, circling it gently over his slit.

Eddie inhales with a hiss. His strong arm around your back goes to pull you in for another kiss, as his other hand reaches up to the hat atop his head, pulling it off and discarding it amongst the tangled fairy lights.

You move towards him for a deep kiss, releasing the grip on his member and running your hands around his (surprisingly muscular and delicious) neck and into the hair at the base of his skull, tangling your fingers into the curls and tugging gently, earning you another moan.

Shifting your hips along his thighs, you press your soaking folds against Eddie’s turgid cock, and the combination of sensations causes Eddie to break the kiss and emit a loud, low groan. His arms tighten around your torso and he moves his warm mouth down your jaw and neck with wet kisses, then lightly bites the top of your shoulder.

You sigh, knowing what you want.

“You ever fuck an elf, Santa?”

Eddies still mouthing at your collarbone as he mutters into your warm skin,

“Goddammit, you’re incredible.”

You move backwards slightly and Eddie takes the opportunity to reach behind him, grabbing the back of his tank top and dragging it off, dropping it carelessly to the side of the throne to join the lights and his hat.

Fuck, his chest is glorious too.

Bringing a little of your lower lip between your teeth, you run your palms down his solid torso. You want the opportunity to play with that nipple ring and examine each and every one of his tattoos, but right now there are more pressing desires on your mind.

He lets out a shaky breath as you brush his abs with your fingertips, shift your position and line up his swollen head with your eagerly awaiting hole.

“You sure about this, Boots?”

You look up at him, at his blown dark eyes and pink, kiss-bitten, shiny lips, and quirk an eyebrow as you run your fingers into his hair and murmur, “Oh yeah, Eddie. I want you to make me feel… special inside.”

He gasps as you angle your hips and sink down, pushing the head of his cock inside of you, gradually taking his thick length.

He kisses your lips once more, humming, as you acclimatise to his girth, then grins lasciviously as he thrusts his hips upwards, filling you completely. You’re close enough that the moans you let out mingle together and your breaths become shared, eyes locked and mouths agape.

You roll your hips, sliding Eddie’s length in and out of you at a gentle pace. You can feel every ridge and vein as he enters and pulls out, and you’re sure you can feel his frenum piercing dragging against your walls.

You can tell he’s holding back, consciously stilling his own hips and allowing you to set the pace. But this doesn’t last long.

Voice gravelly and ragged with lust, Eddie mumbles,

“Shit, baby, I gotta move. I wanna fuck you so bad, Boots. You gonna let me fuck you?”

Mouth close to his ear, you breathe out a small, “Please”.

It’s all he needs.

Grabbing your ass and squeezing hard but not harshly, Eddie pulls you down onto him as he thrusts up from below. His pace is ruthless as he lifts and drops you, matching his rhythm as he grunts and mumbles incoherent curses. You can’t make out much, but you do hear,

“Fuck, baby, you feel so divine, taking me so well, Jeezus Christ.”

Fuck, he feels amazing.

You remember his cock tattoos, and imagine how they might look, shiny and covered with your slick, disappearing in and out of your glossy lips.

This image, combined with a particularly hard snap of Eddie’s hips causing him to angle slightly differently and start to nudge that special place inside of you, causes you to let out a loud gasp, and your mouth drops open as you try to form a sentence.

“Oh fuck Eddie, I’m- I’m…”

“You gonna cum all over Santa, pretty girl?”

He continues thrusting at that delicious angle and you feel your legs start to tremble.

“Fuck! Y-yes, ye-ess!”

Heat building in your core, you just about hear Eddie mumbling,

“Shit, you’re squeezin’ me so tight, I’m not gonna last much longer. Where do you want…?”

Before he can even finish you’re blurting out,

“Inside me Eddie, please.”

You bounce on Eddie’s lap as his thrusts become deeper, faster, and then harsher and less rhythmic. You grind down onto his pelvis, your clit rubbing against his pubic bone and his thick, dark pubic hair, as his cock continues to bully your most sensitive spot.

Suddenly your muscles tense, thighs clamping around him, your forehead pressing hard into his, as his hips slam up into you. You let out a low whine as you peak again, vision blackening, all your muscles tensing as your walls clench around him.

Eddie follows almost immediately, thrusting harshly upwards and pulling your hips down onto him, and you feel rushes of warmth as he groans and empties himself inside your fluttering cunt.

There’s quiet for a moment, and all you can hear is your panting breaths and the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears.

You sit in silence for a few minutes, foreheads feasting against each other, heartbeats slowing and breathing becoming more regular.

Breathlessly, and without full clarity, you sit up slightly and mumble “Fuck, Eddie, that was…”

Eddie chews a little on the inside of his lower lip, and with the widest, sexiest smile you’ve ever seen, replies softly,

“Merry Christmas, Boots.”

After a few moments spent pecking kisses on various parts of your face, making you giggle, Eddie eventually helps you to lift off his slowly softening cock. He leans over to retrieve his discarded tank top and uses it to help clean the mess you both made between your legs.

You unpeel yourselves from the golden throne, feeling sure the heels of your boots have left marks in your ass, and he aids your passage back to the locker room on wobbly legs, helping you wash and making sure you’re ok.

As you gather your things he changes into his street clothes. They’re not dissimilar to last night, though he’s foregone the chain belt and has chosen a somewhat more fully intact shirt, and he watches you as he slings on his leather jacket.

Almost ready, you look down forlornly at your gaping tights, the hole barely covered by the hem of your skirt. Eddie chuckles, and tries to lighten your hosiery-related mood.

“Perhaps I could buy you a new pair? Maybe at lunch tomorrow we could go visit your favourite shop, and you could pick out something nice?”

The image of Santa and one of his elves nonchalantly browsing the displays in a sex shop amuses you greatly, and you tell him so, but he insists he would totally do it, if you wanted to.

There’s a pause as you retrieve your coat and go to put it on, and as you do he adds,

“Well, I’d call it a Christmas gift, but… I’d actually prefer to get you something a little nicer. If you’re around. And you’d let me, of course.”

You’re surprised by Eddie’s unexpected tenderness, and the implication that he might want to continue… whateverthisis. You don’t want to presume anything, but there’s certainly a little tingle in your belly at the thought.

You reply, sardonically, “Sure, I guess. So long as it’s not red and glittery, I think I've had enough things like that to last me for a little while.”

You both snort-laugh at this.

As you start to walk together to the staff exit at the back of the mall, Eddie offers to take your bag so you can fasten your coat and put on your hat and gloves.

Trying to sound casual, he asks, “Sooo, how’re you gettin’ back to Robin’s?”

“I was gonna take the bus, like usual.”

Eddie looks at you sideways, slightly bashful.

“Could I, maybe, give you a ride? We can stop at Benny’s on the way, if you’re hungry. It's a diner”, he clarifies, remembering that you’re not from around here.

Your tummy flips, and not just from the thought of a milkshake and fries.

“Yeah, sure, I’d like that.”

Eddie smiles that wide smile again, and you see his cheeks turn a little pink. It’s odd, him being all shy and self-conscious after what you two have just done, but somehow it’s also incredibly endearing.

As he walks you through the parking lot, still carrying your bag and toying with a stray piece of tinsel that he found in his pocket, he says,

“Y’know, I’d still really like to see what you do with that Christmas dildo.”

Thinking back to how he looked all tangled up, you smirk back at him as you think of how you’d quite like a redo of him tied up for you.

As you reach his van, you lean against the passenger door and coyly look at him.

“Well, maybe I could show you. Could we, maybe, do something after work tomorrow?”

With the sweetest dimpled smile you think you’ve ever seen, Eddie cocks his head to one side and lifts a hand to run the tip of one forefinger along your jawline, as he replies in that low rumble,

“Oh, Boots, you should know by now. All you have to do is ask.”

🎄You may not yet be completely sold on the whole idea of The Holidays™️, but you’ll have to admit to Robin that this might well be the start of your Best. Christmas. Ever.🎄

Thanks so much for reading! ILY 🥰

Please support your content creators by not only liking but also commenting and reblogging - it’s so important. If you liked this there’s a good chance others will too, and comments and reblogs are the only way posts get seen. Consider it a Christmas gift to your writers and followers 😍🎅🏼 Thank you, and Happy Holidays, however you celebrate!

Resources: Proof that Deck The Halls can be sung to the tune of War Pigs (and vice versa), plus the ‘Fa la la’ 😊🎄

#prompt party #Santa!eddie munson #come sit on Santa’s lap #festive fic #promptparty #festive smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #5+1 #5+1 fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #Christmas fiction #best christmas ever #Eddie munson fan fiction #Eddie munson fanfic #Christmas smut #rockstar!eddie #strangers to lovers #steve harrington #robin buckley #S.A.N.T.A. BABY #boots #joseph quinn

[lovelytsunoda]

cuts like a knife // daniel ricciardo (country singer!au)

summary: he's a local legend in perth, and she's just the girl that works at the dive bar. ( for all intents and purposes, every song that he sings is by bryan adams. )

the bar has been in her family for generations, started up by her great grandfather on her mothers side

neon signs covering every inch of the walls, wedding pictures hanging above the bar

the oldest is great grandpa jack and his wife nichola and the newest is y/n and daniel, cowboy hats on their heads adorned in cheap lettering that read bride and groom

the bar is packed, a buzz in the air about the hometown show, for that bar was where daniel ricciardo, now known professionally as big ricc, got discovered

it was where he played his first show at fifteen years old, where he me y/n for the first time. where they fell in love, where he got his first record deal

he’s been on tour continuously for two months now, in support of his new album and she’s just glad that he’s coming home

the back door to the bar swings open, and daniel comes in, followed by his touring band: lando on guitar, max on the drums and nico on bass

“hey mama ricc!” lando shouts, parking himself at the bar as the crowd cheers for the band

“hey!” y/n shouts, making her way back over to where the band has settled themselves “you can’t call me that until the baby gets here!”

she's standing behind the group, playfully smacking lando in the back of the head before turning to her husband

"welcome back, handsome." she says, kissing him slowly. "i've missed you."

"you could come with me if you sold the bar."

he said it every time but he knew y/n would never seel the bar. the bar was her entire livelihood. she could never do that to her family, she had too many memories associated with it and she loved working there too much

"you know i can't. so much of my childhood was spent here. i used to do math homework at this very bar, and one day, our little girl will as well."

she casually slipped it in there. when danny left for tour, the baby was too small for the doctors to determine a gender. she went for the scan while he was touring, and hadn't told him yet

"a little girl?" the singer's eyes go wide. "we're having a baby girl?"

while the members of the touring band congratulated him and clapped him on the back, y/n circled around to the other side of the bar, extracting the ultrasound picture from a drawer underneath the cash register, passing it over to daniel with a bright smile on her face

she was wearing a tight denim skirt and a white cropped tank top, an oversized flannel over the entire ensemble, but the days of tight skirts and cowboy boots would be over soon, once her baby bump started to show

"that's our daughter. our little girl." daniel said softly, reaching over the bar for his wife's hand, bringing it up to his lips to press a kiss on her knuckles.

"why don't you boys go and get ready to play, i'll run back into the kitchen and get chuck to whip you up some steaks?"

"sounds as good an idea as any!" nico clapped rubbing his hands together

"go get 'em, boys." she turned to danny. "love you, handsome."

"love you more, mamas." danny grins before jogging over to the stage

he opens the show with ‘cuts like a knife’, a local favourite as the entire bar begins to sing a long, clapping in time and waving their lights in the air

y/n is behind the bar, nursing a club soda and singing quietly under her breath

‘who is he baby? who is he and tell me what he means to you’

one hand on her stomach, eyes on the stage

"look, baby. that's your dad. and he loves you so much. we can't wait to meet you.”

danny looks over at her from the stage with pure adoration in his eyes

“this next song is one that I wrote with my wife when we were twenty years old, in this very dive bar. we weren’t together at the time, and she was scared she’d never fall in love. oh how wrong she was. and I’d like her to come over here and sing it with me.”

“dan..” she says with a smile, reluctant to take to the stage

“this one is called it’s only love.”

Lando starts the guitar work, and y/n gives in, bounding over to the stage and taking the extra microphone from nico

“when your heart has been broken, hard words have been spoken. it ain’t easy, cuz it’s only love .”

she has a beautiful voice, one that daniel fell in love with instantly

but this is the first time she’s sung in front of a crowd

and when the song is over?

he kisses her on the stage in front of the entire town, the bar erupting into cheers.

“I love you, daniel ricciardo.”

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #formula one x reader #f1 imagine #daniel ricciardo x y/n #f1 headcanons #lovelytsunodas eclectic music taste #Spotify

[coolasakuhncumber]

Kai inviting Amelia to watch their band play saying 'Temper your expectations - the band is okay, the vibe is good' and the absolute delight on Amelia's face when they start playing is just *chefs kiss*

#grey's anatomy #grey's anatomy s18e12 #amelia shepherd #kaimelia #and can we take a moment to acknowledge how good it is to have some non-binary representation in such a mainstream show #and how Kai while being NB is also incredibly sexy!?!?!! #often nb characters are presented as androgynous and sexless?? at least that's the case in other examples of nb characters I've seen #but this is so good and nice and yay #kai bartley #also E.R. Fightmaster who plays Kai is also nb and is legit in a band called Twin who were asked to write the song Trouble specifically for #this ep #ahhh #i'm just enjoying this so much and have played it a bunch on spotify #it's making me miss dive bars and local bands and good times

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Waking Up Alone

This is for my anon who requested something angsty and fluffy with El Phantasmo- hope you enjoy! The idea is partially inspired by the Cowboy Junkies song "Sun comes up, it's Tuesday morning". (I am the queen of sad lady songs, I swear.)

Pairing: El Phantasmo x OFC

Word count: 3.091

Content advisory: language, sexual references

Sun comes up, it’s Tuesday morning

Hits me straight in the eye

Guess you forgot to close the blind last night

Oh that’s right, I forgot, it was me

The morning sun feels like an assault on your eyes, punching its way through your delicate eyelids and right through into your nerves. Yeah, you definitely had a few too many drinks last night. Gin and tonic with the girls, which you hadn’t done in ages. It ended up with pitchers at the dive you’d been frequenting since you were too young to get into bars, the place that truly catered to everyone. Beer after liquor, never sicker; liquor before beer, in the clear. Why the hell had you switched from liquor to beer?

Doesn’t matter now, you think, wrestling yourself into a sitting position while protecting your eyes with a trembling hand. Wrestling yourself. You sigh a little as you consider the term that immediately springs to mind. You didn’t mention the breakup to the girls. It still feels too strange, too ephemeral. Were you ever really a couple anyway? You suppose that’s the crux of the problem. You didn’t know where you stood, so you’d estimated that you were somewhere it turned out you weren’t close to.

If Riley The Perfidious Bastard were around, he would have made sure to lower the Roman shade you’d fashioned out of an old curtain and some bamboo rods. He was always impressed at your ability to create homey touches from spare parts. Now that he’s not around, you realize how much you’d liked having your abilities praised.

If Riley were here, you’d also be waking up to the smell of coffee, the most wonderful thing in the world for someone in your condition. But there’s nothing. No rich, roasted scent, no happy, burbling noises from the machine in the kitchen. You have to get up and take care of it yourself, which you haven’t had to do in a long time. Goddammit.

You run one hand over the expanse of your king bed, the plump mattress extending almost all the way to the window. Sure, the thing took up most of the room but you didn’t care. The room was only going to be used for sleep anyway. Well, sleep and that other, delicious thing. That thing you missed so much. Well, you missed it the way that Riley had done it. If he was really gone, you were going to have a hell of a time finding someone who could make you want to spend all day in bed the way he had. You still hadn’t made your way back to the center of the bed. Somehow, your mind refused to accept that things were over. You were still making space for him.

With a dramatic effort that has no one to appreciate it, you heave yourself off the bed and make your way towards the kitchen. You’re halfway through the process of making coffee when you realize that you’re wearing one of his shirts, one of the ones with his logo emblazoned on it. You must have just reached for the first thing you could find when you got home and, of course, that would be something from the pile of shirts you’d made next to the bedroom door; shirts to be given to charity because you sure as hell didn’t want to look at them anymore. That pile had been sitting there for three weeks, the dried traces of angry tears still on every part of it, and you hadn’t gotten around to carrying everything to the donation bin less than a block away.

Coffee is more important than anything right now, so you focus on that. You also shove a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster oven. Bread and peanut butter will help ease the seething broth in your gut and allow you to concentrate on the day. Which would be even more useful if your day actually required concentration. Band practice had been pushed back to tomorrow because Kyle and Lily were off in the country visiting her parents. Sure, you could work on the guitar parts by yourself, but it’s not like there was anything to learn. You had a handful of gigs coming up in the next few weeks, mostly local, all focused on your last album. Practice was just a matter of making sure you all kept tight and maybe came up with some new ways to make the live experience a little different for people.

As autumn shifted closer to winter, it was always the quiet season. Students were running short on money, the weather became unpredictable, and going on the road became less and less lucrative the closer it got to the holidays. It was approaching that time of year when people started to nest rather than seek a mate. Or at least that’s how it was for most people. It just wasn’t that way for wrestlers dividing their time between North America and Japan. You cringe at how that thought makes you recall the fights you’d had in the last few days of your whatever the hell it was because apparently it wasn’t a relationship.

It’s a very different feeling than at the beginning of spring, when everything was starting to pick up, when you constantly felt excited about what the immediate future held, and when you’d agreed to go to a wrestling show because Nadia was doing makeup for it. You and Wendy had shown up already drunk and had taken advantage of Nadia’s invitation to come backstage.

You’d stolen beer from kraft services and watched Nadia attending to her work while you tried to distract her by making her laugh. You’d been surprisingly successful but she was such a pro that she had no problems. The women took the longest for her to do, but all the performers had to come in to make sure that they’re coloring and contouring was perfect for tv lighting and that was how you’d met him.

The two of you had locked eyes as soon as he came in the room and had remained that way as he settled into Nadia’s chair. You hadn’t been able to tear yourself away from those huge, shiny orbs with their saucy expression and despite your inebriated state, you could feel that stare lodging itself in your memory forever.

“This is El Phantasmo,” she giggled.

“He’s a what now?” you’d snorted in response, relishing the flare of indignation in his eyes.

“Are we letting just anyone back here now?” he snapped.

“These are my friends!” Nadia assured him, slurring her speech as she motioned to you and Wendy. You’d been feeding her the beer you’d purloined as well.

“Like I said. We’re letting just anyone in.”

At that, you’d given his seat a shove with your foot, despite the fact that Nadia had started to apply bronzer to his cheeks. He was left with a dark streak across one side of his face and nose, which had made you and Wendy crack up.

“Come on,” Nadia chided, “I need to make these guys look good.”

“Good luck with that,” you laughed.

The man you knew only as El Phantasmo flipped you off and you’d returned the gesture, swiveling on your seat a little so that your hips were thrust forward. It wasn’t that he was the most gorgeous thing you’d ever seen, far from it. But something about him just got to you. He had such an effect on you that even as you were mocking him, you let your body move and pose in ways that were intended to resonate with his basest masculine instincts.

You’d been captivated by the show, particularly by his display of athleticism, as well as his bratty defiance to what the audience wanted. You’d booed him with everything you had and you’d been so drawn to him that you’d had to restrain yourself from running to the ring and grabbing his pert ass right there.

Instead, you’d made your way backstage again and insinuated yourself into the group that was going for drinks. You insisted that Nadia come along because Wendy had headed home as soon as the show was over. You wanted someone to hang out with so that it wasn’t totally obvious what and who you were there for. It didn’t really matter, though, because everyone was so friendly and most were so drunk that they didn’t care that they had no idea who you were.

You’d kept an eye on him for a while and then approached the bar when you saw him going for a refill, elbowing your way in so that you were right next to him, bumping his shoulder hard as you got to the bar.

“You wanna buy me a drink?” you crooned.

“No.”

“Fine, I’ll buy you one.”

“Does that mean I have to hang out with you?”

“Yup. Besides, you know you want to.”

“I really don’t.”

He was laughing a little when you said it, and when you leaned over to scream your order at the bartender, ordering him a random drink since you hadn’t even bothered asking, he ran his hand down your back and gave your ass a quick slap. You’d smirked to yourself. You knew you’d seen the spark in his eyes.

“Riley,” he shouted right into your ear.

“Deaf now,” you shot back, pushing his drink at him. “You’re skinny for a wrestler.”

“Don’t need to bulk up when you’re as good as I am.”

“Anything else you’re good at?”

“Fucking women with big mouths until they can’t say anything but my name.”

The two of you had spent the night all over his apartment and, yeah, he’d lived up to his own hype. The sex had been outright feral, biting and clawing and animal-like noises until you were both too exhausted to move.

You thought about dropping a hint that you wanted to sleep there but since it was kind of obvious that this was a one-night thing, you’d waited a while then pulled your clothes back on to go. The two of you shared a surprisingly tender kiss at the door and when you made to leave, he’d looked surprised.

“You don’t want to exchange numbers or something?” He’d sounded legitimately surprised.

“Sure.”

You’d entered each other into your phones and you went home in a cab, reflecting that you did feel more of a connection than you’d realized at first.

Still, you held off calling him so as not to look desperate, but he’d called you a couple of days later. Not knowing what else to do, and not wanting to admit you were broke until your next royalty check cleared, you’d invited him over for dinner. The two of you had cooked some pasta together and drank a couple of bottles of wine and then tore into each other again, gradually making your way to your bed. Once again, it had been mind-blowing, but the real surprise came at the end of the night.

“Mind if I stay here?” he asked quietly.

You’d patted the pillows beside you and grinned. You’d drifted off thinking that, yes, this was something a little special and you’d woken up thinking the same thing.

Craving the crisp air on your reddened cheeks, you grab a sweater, jeans and boots and that wonderful alpaca poncho you’d found when you and Riley went to that farmer’s market. It was a weird thing to find in a place that was supposed to be all about food but it didn’t matter because it was soft and full of deep colours and even though it had been hotter than hell outside, you knew that you were going to get plenty of use from it once the weather turned colder. At the time, you thought that you’d still be going for walks and dinner and drinks with Riley.

As you get ready, your phone buzzes. Wendy sending you a message.

“Never let me do that again.”

You chuckle, remembering that however bad you got last night, she was the one who ended up trying to dance on the bar, refusing to acknowledge that she couldn’t climb up on it. You’ll all have a good laugh about it later but right now, you can’t deal with it. And the reason you can’t deal with it is because for a second, you’d hoped that it was him texting you.

Your body immediately knows where it wants to go, turning the first corner and heading for the hipster diner you eat from too often. They make a mean breakfast burrito but today, you limit yourself to one of those extra buttery croissants you love so much.

Joanne is working the counter, which is kind of remarkable since you remember running into her late into the night, but although her face is flushed the same as you, she’s smiling warmly at every customer.

“Hey there, lady,” she chuckles. “Still walking?”

“Barely. May I please have coffee and a croissant? And may I ask why Peter isn’t working this morning?”

She prepares your order, grinning. “Well he had some of the guys over to watch the game last night and it turns out he’s in worse shape than I am.”

“The bastard.”

“He was totally unconscious this morning. I hope he’s not dead because being a widow would suck.”

Everyone is in a relationship. Everyone you know is in love. It hurts a lot to think that one of those things is still true of you.

Things had gone to shit over an instagram post of all things. Him during a trip back to Japan, posing with a woman who looked straight out of a modelling agency. Immediately, you’d felt in your gut that something was off and although you hadn’t wanted to seem like you were scrutinizing his every movement, you’d been unable to hold back.

“Is something going on with you and that girl in the pictures with you?”

“Going on?” He’d seemed puzzled. “I mean, we hook up when I’m in Japan. No big deal.”

That’s where he had been wrong. It was a very big deal for you. The two of you hadn’t talked about your status but you realized that you had been assuming that because you’d been wrapped up in the romance of it all that he was too. Apparently not.

It had led to a huge fight, then another resentful exchange, and then he was back in Japan for a week. You hadn’t messaged him at all while he was gone. He didn’t contact you when he got back. You’d come home one day to find your spare set of keys in an envelope in your mailbox. No note, nothing. No request to get his set back from you. Giving someone a spare set of keys was supposed to mean something. How many women had keys to his place?

You ponder it glumly for the umpteenth time as you make your way back to the home that always feels strangely empty to you now. You’d been in the place for five years. He’d been coming around for five months and somehow it feels like he belonged there. You see a figure sitting on the front step of one of the buildings and for a second, you think it’s him, waiting for you to get home, like he used to before he had keys and could go in and surprise you with dinner, or flowers, or-

Then you realize that it actually is him, sitting on your step, drinking a beer and staring off into space. He doesn’t even look up when you come to a halt next to him.

“Dude, it’s nine in the morning. Are you starting early or finishing late?”

He shrugs without looking at you and after a long moment of silence, you sit down next to him. You tear the croissant in half and silently offer it to him but he shakes his head.

“For the love of god, eat something.”

He shakes his head again.

“Fine, become an alcoholic and drink yourself to death for all I care.” You bite into the delicious pastry, humming in satisfaction and finally he reaches over and takes the other half from you.

“Good boy.”

“Here’s the thing,” he says quietly. “I thought that since you’d never said anything, it meant that you had other guys in your life. All the guys I work with either lie to their wines and girlfriends or they just have these open things going on and I guess after a while it starts to seem like that’s the normal thing to do.”

“Well I never said that I was opposed to that. I never said that we couldn’t work something out. But you didn’t even give me the chance. You just carried on as if I didn’t even exist.”

“I didn’t, though.” For the first time, he turns to look at you. His eyes are red and swollen and something tells you that it isn’t from drinking. “I said that I’d hooked up with that girl and I had. In the past. Nothing happened when I was there last time.”

“Then why did you let me believe that something had?”

“I have no fucking idea. And that’s been killing me.”

With a heavy sigh, you reach out and place your hand on his. He immediately grabs hold.

“I think,” he says pensively, “that I felt nervous about telling you I was serious about you. I was nervous because I haven’t felt this serious about someone before. And when you got angry, I think I just flipped out and thought it meant that I was wrong.”

“Wrong for having feelings?”

“Wrong for thinking you did too.”

Your stomach flips and you tighten your hold on his hand.

“Well I did.”

He nods and stares off, his face twitching a little like he’s trying to keep from crying.

“I still do,” you tell him.

He turns and stares at you, big eyes surprised and hopeful.

“Really? Because I’m an asshole.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, “I know.”

“I miss you,” he whispers.

“Why don’t you come in and have a cup of coffee?”

“Only if I can make it,” he grins. “You always put too much in.”

“Asshole,” you grunt, standing up and pulling him with you.

As you unlock the door, he leans in and plants a warm kiss on your cheek.

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

The two of you enter your flat, hand in hand again.

#el phatasmo imagine #el phantasmo fanfic #njpw fanfic #njpw imagine #wrestling imagine #wrestling fanfiction #wayward wrestle writing

[scribblelegs]

More writing I wanted to share, been a creative week thankfully which feels good.

Idk how to process grief the best so I have to try to do some thing that helps me so I can start accept things.

I am very nostalgic and sentimental, Writing seems to help.

I’ll see what my doc says to try too.

🦋🌼🦋🌼🦋🌼🦋

Summer sun shines, through the window and into my eyes. Hand-picked flowers left to dry, blue skies, cheap beer till you can taste it in your tears.

Hot asphalt, hand-written letters, spinning rooms and getting wasted. the tunes Of my friend playing her banjo in the front yard. Polaroid photos of us drying in the window.

Swimming in rivers near bridges, warm embraces..the kind that make U happy to be alive.

friends at bon fires and how I miss smell of cocaine mixing with the embers that pop into the nights stars

I miss it. I miss when we were younger, I miss the porch coffee with her and the keys to lost basements of my past.

The impulsive road trips and the skate park down south I took all my friends too every June.

The dive bars we would frequent and the local bands we knew. Every cigarette we split, I miss it.

I visit the last time I saw you inside my mind everyday. Our last hug, last goodbye. When I cried my makeup off into your shoulder, as you reminded me of who I was and not to let others walk all over me. You’d be pretty proud now.

I miss the summer of 2019 and every chaotic thing that spawned from it including the winter that followed, it’s just the sun hasn’t shined the same since you left and I can’t miss it enough.

.& I. Miss. It. I mis s s h e r .

Take me back, take me home. Where everything stays the same and we’re always safe. Where friends don’t die and the sun is always out.

Home is my in my memories with her, inside a time capsule nestled in the crevices of my brain with her I sit on porch still every day. We laugh as the cars Drive by.

.the good times really we’re killing us but I’ll be god damned if those years weren’t the best I’ve seen yet. I just wish the flowers hadn’t grown mold when they dried, and I wish beer didn’t taste stale now.

I love you wherever u are tho.

🦋🦋🦋🦋

.

Life is so beautiful

🌷

[briyourmotherdown]

Give It All For You, Part 1 (Brian May x Fem!reader)

Word Count: 10.45k 

Warnings: Strong language (I’m British, it’s to be expected), slight innuendos???, possible historical inaccuracy, ANGST. 

Description: You have loved Brian May since the first time you met him. Trouble is, he’s nearly impossible to tie down, and you’ve become cemented in the role of the best friend. 

A/N: Okay so I’ve been working on this little mini-series for months. Literally too long. It’s still not even done, BUT I wanted to get the first part out at leAST. Uni and life have made finding creative inspiration a major struggle as of late. I think there will probably be around 3 parts to this?? I’m not quite sure yet, it could be a couple more if I find the motivation. BUT ANYWAY I really hope you enjoy it even though it’s angsty and I can’t write ajdgsdbskjbkdhgs. 

Spring, 1977

 “C’mon,” you slur,  your red dress shimmering in the dim lights of the local pub, “dance with me.”

  The bass is heavy in your chest and you feel alcohol coursing through your veins, but you’re only intoxicated by the man in front of you. His eyes glimmer like stars, hooded, sizing you up before shaking his head with a laugh.

  “You’re drunk.”

 “So are you.” you push yourself further into him in an attempt to push him onto the dancefloor, but more of a reason for you to get closer to him, to feel him.

  “But you’re plastered.”

 You roll your eyes, “Isn’t that the whole point?”

 He rolls his eyes right back, wrapping his arm around your waist to steady you, “Fine, one dance.”

  His hazel eyes are hooded, focussed solely on you, and you bask in his gaze. His hands on your body send electric shocks over your skin, and you tell yourself over and over that he doesn’t feel the same; he is only your good friend. That’s all you will ever be to him.

 “Is that how you ask a lady to dance?” you tease, cocking a brow.

 “You asked me!” Brian laughs, amused, “Alright, m’lady, may I have this dance?”

 He holds his hand out to you, dipping his head like a gentleman, and you take a moment to take a mental snapshot before accepting his hand, tugging him into the centre of the pub to dance.

  So you both danced, and for that night, just for that night with his hands on your hips, you could almost pretend that he was yours. And as he stared into your eyes, you let yourself fall into that false sense of security of imagined love.

   But let’s start from the beginning, from the moment you met on a cold winter’s night in 1972...

  “Christ, it’s cold as a witch’s tit in here,”

  Your best friend, Freddie, shivers as he hops up and down to warm himself up, scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and jaw,

  “Why did you want to open up the stall today, of all days? Even that old git Brutus has closed up shop.”

  You roll your eyes at his dramatics, shuffling the secondhand clothes on their hangers, “I need the money, that’s why. I’m about to be homeless if I can’t pay my rent.”

  Freddie hums, kicking a stray pebble on the floor, “You know, my friend has a spare room in his flat he’s trying to fill. He needs some extra money too. I’m sure he’d offer you the room for cheap.”

  “Which friend?”

  “His name is Brian, Brian May.”

  “Ah,” you wave your hand in recognition, remembering his name being brought up a few times, “the guitarist one, yeah?”

  “That’d be the one! I think you’d like him, actually-”

  “Like who?” your other friend and coworker, this one much more blonde, chimes in as he strides into the small stall, very much late. Roger.

  “Brian.” Freddie answers.

 “Oh yeah, she’d definitely like him.”

  You shoot them both a look, “And what makes you say that?”

  Roger holds up a fringed kimono up to himself in the mirror, “He’s quiet, reads a lot, likes the stars; basically a total nerd. You’d love him.”

  “And he always wears matching socks. It’s bizarre, he literally has a thing about matching socks.” Freddie adds.

  You chuckle, “And when will I get to meet this nerd?”

 “Well, tonight. We have a gig.”

 “Hm,” you pretend to think, “I’ll have to clear a few things from my schedule…”

  Roger nudges you with his shoulder, knocking you slightly off balance,

 “Alright, alright! I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Later that evening you meet your friends at the pub where they're playing for the night. It’s a dingy dive that you never would usually go, but you’d do anything to support your friends on their journey to success.

  You’re dressed up all pretty in your flares and platforms, leaning up against the bar as you wait for Queen’s set to begin. Though the weather outside is freezing, the inside of a pub is always hot, air thick with the scent of ale and sweat, but the moment Queen steps on stage, it’s easy to forget your surroundings. You’d heard Freddie sing, and you’d certainly heard Roger crash about on his drums, but you’d never seen them like this.

  They were magnetic. You were all absorbed. Freddie’s outfit caught the light each time he flounced across the stage, but his voice was what captured everyones attention. He was full of passion and power; he owned the audience, he could control everyone with one simple snap of his fingers.

  Roger was his usual self, exuding sex-appeal and confidence. Girls fawned over his long blonde locks and plushy lips. The thing about Roger was that he was the total package of beauty and intelligence, that is if you could tie him down.

  You’d never met the bassist, John, you think his name was, but he managed to capture your attention in the most unsuspecting way. He was all shyness and modesty, but not radiating an ounce of hesitancy. You can tell, even at first glance, that he would be the perfect fit for Queen. He would bring balance.

 That leaves one final member, the oh-so nerdy space loving boy who Freddie and Roger believe you would adore. But he doesn’t look so nerdy when you see him. He’s pure mystery, almost as though he’s surrounded by a navy blue mist, an aura- or something ethereal. He’s breathtaking, is all you can think. Long legs adorned in velvet, dark curls fall in front of his eyes as he looks down at his guitar. He’s focussed, bottom lip jutting out in concentration, but he takes a moment to glance up. That’s when you know you’re done for. He scans the pub, small enough to make out everyone’s face, and his eyes land on yours. It’s fleeting, but you can swear they linger. Maybe that’s just what you want to tell yourself. Suddenly you want to feel his eyes on you all the time. You want to be in his daydreams, in his thoughts, you want to be his muse.

  You float through the rest of their set, eyes glued to Brian as he plays expertly. You sway to each song, ignoring your surroundings and focussing solely on the music, and when it’s over, you cheer as loudly as you can.

  “I want to have your children, Roger!” you scream, bursting into a fit of giggles as the blonde scans over the room to see the source of the scream, and upon seeing you, chucks up his middle finger with a laugh.

  You make your way to the small stage, well, it’s more of a two feet high platform, and open your arms up widely to Freddie.

  “You,” you tackle him into a hug, “were fucking incredible! You’ve been hiding this side of yourself from me for how long?”

  He blushes, returning to the Freddie you know, “You must have brought it out of me, love,” he turns to the rest of the band, “Y/N, this is John Deacon, isn’t he lovely?”

 Freddie gestures to the bassist as he smiles shyly, offering you a wave and a small, “Hello.”

  “You were amazing out there, seriously!” you compliment him, and he blushes, though his smile widens.

  “Now, darling, this is Brian May!”

  Upon hearing his name, Brian looks up from where he is putting away his guitar, standing up straight and brushing his hands off against his trousers.

  “Brian, this is Y/N, she hangs around Roger and I sometimes.” Freddie shoots you a playful wink as you roll your eyes.

  “Hi, it’s so nice to finally meet you.” you reach a hand out to shake, which you so usually wouldn’t do, and it sends embarrassment right through you. But to your luck, he takes his hand in yours with no hesitation.

  “Likewise,” he smiles, still shaking your hand, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Oh God.

  “All good things I hope?” you realise you’re still holding his hand and let go, letting your hand sit awkwardly at your side.

  Jesus, you’re so nervous.

  “Mostly.” He winks, and it sends you reeling. His eyes are dangerous, and they travel up and down your figure in a way that sets you alight.

  It goes quiet as you stare at each other, Freddie glancing between you two with his eyebrows raised. Though he says nothing about it. Instead, he claps his hands,

  “I don’t know about anyone else, but I need a drink!”

  1977

  The next morning, you suffer through your pounding headache, wanting to just wallow in your loneliness.  

  Of course, Brian went home with someone else last night, sneaking away through the back door to avoid flashing cameras and prying eyes, leaving you to call yourself a taxi back home, where you cried for an hour before passing out.

  It’s not the first time he’s done this, but it still makes you feel pathetic every time.

  There’s a knock on your door, and you heave yourself out of bed despite the spinning in your head and the nausea churning in your stomach. Whoever is at the door will just have to deal with your dishevelled appearance.

  “Y/N? Jesus, you look like hell.”

  Alas, the infamous Roger Taylor stands on your doorstep, mouth agape at your messy hair and leftover smudged makeup.

  “I’ll slam this fucking door in your face, Taylor.”

  “Hostile,” he laughs, hands up in mock surrender, “I’ve just come to pick you up for lunch, or have you forgotten?”

  Feeling like a total ass, you smack your hand to your forehead, “Shit, Rog, I’m so sorry. Come in.”

  He follows you into your flat, eyes scanning over the slight mess. He turns to you, concerned; you’re not usually one to let your flat get so messy.

 “We don’t have to go, Y/N, we can reschedule, it’s not a problem.”

 You scrunch up your face, searching the kitchen for a glass of water and ibuprofen,

 “No, no, I want to go, you’ll just have to bear with me.”

 “Long night?” He teases, leaning his elbows on the kitchen counter to stare at you.

  Shooting him a glare, you slide passed him and into your bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. Roger follows you,  leaning against the doorframe.

  “You know, I think you owe me an explanation as to why you forgot about our lunch date, and threatened me.”

  Clicking your tongue, you turn to him, “I went to a pub with Brian last night, got plastered, now I’m hungover. Simple as that.”

  He raises his eyebrows, almost knowingly, but doesn’t say anything.

“No need to be so sassy with me, I'm only asking.”

You sigh, “I know, I’m sorry,” he smiles, “now get out, I have to piss.”

You slam the door and hear him laugh from the other side, “What a lady!”

 “Bugger off!”

  Finally feeling human again after cleaning up and getting dressed, you slide a massive pair of dark sunglasses on the bridge of your nose and head out to where Roger parked his car.

  “Ready, princess?”

 You shoot him a sickly sweet smile, “You act as if being called princess bothers me.”

  Roger laughs, starting the engine and getting into gear, “You got me there.”

  The drive to your local favourite cafe is short, a totally walkable distance if you didn’t feel like death warmed up. The two of you sit in a comfortable silence until pulling into a parking space, when Roger turns to look at you once again. Your head is pressed against the window, eyes closed beneath your sunglasses, lips slightly parted as you take careful breaths to avoid nausea.

  “Christ, love, you really do look like shit,” he chuckles softly, a hint of concern laced in his insult, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

  With one look at him, tears well up in your eyes against your will, threatening to spill over onto your cheeks. Roger’s eyes widen, and in an instant, you’re pulled into his arms over the console as you begin to cry. He shushes you softly, one hand running up and down your back,

  “Shh, it’s alright. It’s going to be alright,” you’re thankful for having such a good friend like Roger, especially when he puts up with your hungover mood swings. However, you must look like an absolute trainwreck with your puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks, “Let’s go inside and get some food and a cup of tea down you, yeah? Then if you like, you can tell me what’s troubling you.”

  You nod, sniffling and wiping away your tears on the back of your hand. Roger jumps out of the car and rushes to the passenger side, where like an angel, he walks you into the cafe with a hand on your back.

  You attract a few disparaging stares when you both sit down at a table, a small chuckle slipping past your lips. Roger, now across from you, looks puzzled, “What’re you laughing about, hey?”

  “Everyone’s staring.”

  He scans the room indiscreetly, a smile taking over his features, “God, they are, aren’t they? Haven’t they ever seen a hungover girl crying before?”

  You scoff, “Bugger off, they’re obviously staring at your trainers.”

  He gasps, looking underneath the table to examine his sparkly pink converse, “What have you got against my trainers?”

  “Me? Nothing. But a bunch of elederly ladies out for lunch might. I’m sure they think your hair is a disgrace too. You should cut your hair like McCartney had it at the start of The Beatles.”

  Roger scoffs, pulling out a cigarette, “Yeah right. Been there, done that.”

  As Roger lights up a smoke, you look at the menu set out in front of you, deciding on something that won’t aggravate your fragile stomach. Then you proceed to give Roger puppy dog eyes until you persuade him to be the one to go up and order it.

  When he’s gone, you take a moment to think over what you and Roger must really look like to some people. Roger, all bleach blonde hair, brightly coloured clothing and a smirk that could make even a nun go mad. And you, puffy eyed, sunglasses indoors, in an oversized button-up shirt that you’d definitely stolen from one of the boys at some point. You both probably were the most exciting things that some of these people had seen in awhile. Something new to gossip about.

  A glass of water is set in front of you by the one and only roger, while he sips tenderly at a cup of sweet coffee, “Drink.” he commands.

  “But I ordered coffee,” you pout like a child, “You’re kicking me when I’m down here, Rog.”

  He rolls his eyes, “Coffee doesn’t help hangovers, love. Drink up.”

  You frown but nonetheless begin sipping in silence, tapping your nails against the table as Roger stares at you, “What?”

  “Just wondering if you’re going to tell me what got you so upset earlier?”

  You let out a sigh, long and weary, fiddling with an opened sugar packet, “Would you believe me if I said that it was just hormones?”

 “Not in the slightest.”

 You let out a short laugh through your nose, “I just let myself get heartbroken again, that’s all.”

  Roger pretends to choke on his coffee, spluttering dramatically and ignoring all the stares that he attracted, “Someone managed to break Y/N’s cold, dead, heart?”

  “If you were quiet for a moment you’d notice I’m not laughing.” You roll your eyes at him.

  Noticing your demeanour, he quiets down and leans in close to you, “I’m sorry, it’s just that you never let yourself get to the point of being able to be heartbroken,” he puts out his cigarette in the ashtray, “you know, you told me about a year ago that love doesn’t exist, and dating is just a trial period until you decide that maybe you can put up with that person for the rest of your life.”

   “I didn’t say that.”

  “You did, word for word.”

  You stay silent, but your top lip twitches into a smile- it does sound like something you’d say.

  “Anyway,” Roger continues, “who broke your heart? I’ll rough 'em up a bit.”

  “Surely you couldn’t rough up a member of your own band.” You speak under your breath, arms crossed, but Roger hears you.

  “I knew it!” He shouts, and you kick him underneath the table, “sorry,” he blushes, “I just knew it. I had a feeling you were in love with Brian.”

  Your eyes widen, “I’m not in love with him!”

 Roger smirks, “So it is Brian, then?”

 Your jaw drops at his trick, “You bloody asshole.”

  He sits back in his chair with a smug grin on his face, coffee cup in hand, “So, tell me about it.”

  You scoff, “You’re such a dick sometimes, you know that?”

  “You love me all the same.”

  You roll your eyes for the thousandth time, as you always seem to do around Roger. You stare at him, arms crossed in silent defiance and attempt to communicate with your eyes ‘I’m not going to tell you because you were a dick.’

  He sighs, uncrossing his arms to place his elbows on the table, “Come on, I’m sorry! Please tell me what happened?”

  A server comes over with your breakfast, allowing you to torture Roger for a few moments more as you chew a bite slowly. After you swallow, you finally sigh, “Fine. Ask me what you want to know.”

  Roger’s eyes light up, “How long have you loved-” he stops when you gives him the eye, “liked, him?”

  “Almost five years.”

  “Bloody hell, Y/N.”

  “I know! I know. It’s not good. Trust me I’ve tried to get over it.”

  “And you’ve never told him how you feel?”

  You scoff, “Of course not, that’s suicide.”

  “Why?”

  You put down your fork, finishing your mouthful of food, “You act like you haven’t seen the way Brian is,”

  Roger stays silent, waiting for you to continue, “He’s so…elusive. His shyness and sensitivity make him a real fucking magnet if you haven’t noticed. And he has this thing where he needs to constantly be pining after someone, and it’s just never been me.”

  You take a deep breath as your eyes focus on the rim of your glass, “He’s just not interested in me as more than his best friend, and I think that’s okay.”

  “Why do you think that’s okay?” Roger asks softly.

  “Because if I don’t accept that, then I won’t have Brian in my life at all. And that’s worse than the heartache.”

  Roger is silent, looking at you with sad eyes, but they don’t hold an ounce of pity. That’s something you love about him, he never pities you for feeling any sort of way, he’s just there to listen.

  “Well fuck, I can see why you got plastered last night.”

  You laugh, thankful for him shifting the mood to something more lighthearted.

  After lunch, Roger drops you off back at your flat, but not without a comforting pat on the top of your head and a promise to go for a drink soon.

  You smile to yourself as you fish your key out from your bag, twisting the lock and stepping inside.

  “Y/N.”

  You squeal, whipping around to see a lean figure standing up from your sofa, “Bloody fuck- Brian, what are you doing here?”

  Your heart beats rapidly in your chest, partly from being scared half to death, partly because Brian looks so good in a hoodie. He doesn’t often wear cosy clothes anymore since Queen gained more fame. Seeing him looking all soft in a navy blue hoodie makes your heart flutter. It reminds you of the times when you had first met. The both of you snuggled up underneath layers of blankets in his dingy flat when the heating broke (which was often), drinking copious amounts of tea and emptying his kitchen of all his food.

  “You gave me a key.” He scratches the back of his neck. Yeah, he knows he’s guilty.

 “I would have appreciated it if you’d rung me first.”

 Annoyance settles in as you remember last night, when he ditched you at the pub and left you to get a taxi home. If anything, he owes you the fare.

  “I did, you didn’t pick up and I got worried.”

  “I was out.”

  “I can see that now.”

   The room falls silent, Brian rocking back and forth on his heels. You cross your arms, waiting for him to speak. To explain himself.

  “Listen, I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have left you like that last night. I was drunk-”

  “So was I.”

  “I’m-” he stops, sighing, “I’m really, really sorry. I’m a total prick…” he fades off as if he’s lost in thought, bottom lip pulled between his teeth and eyes worried. He looks genuinely troubled, as if he is really upset that he ended up ditching you.

  Against your better judgment, you sigh and uncross your arms, voice softening up, “Look, just don’t do it again, okay? It puts me in a really bad spot.”

  His eyes brighten at your acceptance, rushing over to give you a hug. You stand stiff as a board when his arms wrap around you, head nestled against your neck. Your pulse races, but you know better than to view this in any other way than just a friendly hug. You wrap your arms around him anyway, closing your eyes and just for a moment, pretending it is otherwise.

  “I want to make it up to you,” his voice is muffled against your shoulder, but he doesn’t dare let go, “I packed us a picnic, let’s go to the park. You can feed the ducks.”

  You pause, eyes opening and closing as you take breaths. You battle against yourself. Could you manage doing such an activity with Brian? One that feels like a date? Of course you can. Don’t be silly. He’s your best friend, how could you be casting his feelings to the side because of your own?

  “Can I feed the pigeons too?”

  He laughs, gripping your frame tighter, “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Then you’re back in his car, a newer one, different from the cheap beat up one he had when you had first met. But still, it’s familiar, the scent of him mixed with leather. A basket and a blanket sits in his backseat, bringing a small smile to your face. This is the side of Brian you cherish the most. The side of him that cares so deeply for his friends. You’re not even sure if you could call it a ‘side’ of him. It’s just the way he is. He doesn’t ever intend to hurt or upset you. Suddenly, you feel guilty for being upset with him. He doesn’t owe you anything, he has every right to go home with other women.

  “So, where did you go earlier?” Brian asks, one hand on the wheel as he glances over at you and then back at the road.

  “I went out for lunch with Roger,” you smile at his side profile, the way his hair moves against the breeze through his open window, the way his nose hooks ever so slightly, “he nursed my hangover.”

  Brian’s lips seem to flick into a frown, but shift back into a smile before you could really register it, “Seems as though I’ve been replaced.”

 You roll your eyes, “No one nurses my hangovers as well as you do, Bri, don’t worry.”

 You giggle fondly at the memories of the both of you nursing each other through your hangovers, Brian always better at dealing with them than you were. He’d be up bright and early, pop two ibuprofen, down a cup of coffee and be well on his way to recovery. Whereas you’d sleep until noon and be unbelievably moody until eventually someone forced you to do something with your day.

  Brain somehow always knew how to pull you out of those moods, though, whether it be bringing you a plate of pancakes and cracking stupid jokes until eventually you had no choice but to laugh, or by sitting with you in silence and pushing a glass of water and painkillers in your direction. He just always seemed to know exactly what you needed in the moment.

  “I’d hope not,” he tuts, “otherwise I’d have to find another hobby, and I quite like taking care of you.”

  Your breath catches, skin burning, but you play it off with a scoff, “You make me sound like a child.”

  He laughs, a bellowing laugh that you always love to hear, “A child? Certainly not. Children swear a hell of a lot less.”

  “Fuck off!” you swat his shoulder lightly but can’t help your grin. It feels good to fall back into the rhythm of normalcy with Brian.

  The sun is high when you reach the park, the sky a bright blue except for a few sparse clouds. The two of you walk silently to the pond, laying out the blanket on a soft patch of grass.

  “I know you already ate,” Brian says as he sits down on the blanket, “but I bought a packet of custard creams because I know you like them.”

  The small gesture makes you embarrassingly happy, grinning at him as he passes you the packet, “You can never be too full for biscuits, you know that.”

  “Very true,” he smiles at you almost in adoration, you think, “I also got a bag of bird seed because people still feed the ducks bloody bread.”

  You hum as you bite into a custard cream, staring into space as you get lost in thought. Spring weather in London is one of your favourites, when the sun shines just enough to warm your skin, but you still have to cosy up a bit. And today,  it’s the perfect temperature for a picnic.

  “Hey, so I was thinking,” Brian begins, opening up a sandwich for himself and taking a bite, “Since the band doesn’t have to start recording again for a bit, we should all go on a road trip somewhere.”

  You look over at him, eyebrows raised, “Where were you thinking?”

  “I don’t know,” he shrugs, “Wales maybe? I just thought a change of scenery might help us all write new songs.”

  Nodding your head slowly, your lips twitch up into a smile, “I’d love that. Have you mentioned it to the boys yet?”

  “Briefly, and they seemed to like the idea, but no plans have been made.”

  You hum, “Well, let’s set the date and they’ll just have to clear their schedules.”

  Brian laughs, “Alright, next thursday. We can stay until Monday.”

  “Perfect.”

  The two of you chat for a while longer, before packing up the basket and walking alongside the pond, throwing bird seed for the ducks and laughing as they all fight for the same pieces.

  It feels so idyllic, walking through the park with Brian. It seems to be all couples here today, holding hands or staring at each other with looks of adoration on their faces. It almost makes you feel queasy. Perhaps it’s just eating those custard creams right after eating lunch with Roger. Either way, your stomach twists and leaps with too many indescribable feelings. You wish it would stop.

  Brian tips the last bits of bird food out of it’s bag, before scrunching it up and putting it in his pocket. You both watch as the birds eat the remaining seed, before looking up at you for more. Once they realise there’s nothing else for them, they drift gracefully away, to the opposite side of the pond where someone else may feed them some more.

  Then you continue your stroll, enjoying the feeling of the sun on your faces and the crisp air in your lungs.

  But then Brian looks down at his watch, swearing underneath his breath and turning to face you, “Y/N, I’m so sorry but I’m going to have to cut this short.”

  Your eyebrows furrow into a frown, “Is everything alright?”

  You both begin to walk in the direction of his car, “Everything’s fine, I just forgot I have to meet someone in an hour.”

  Your stomach drops. Brian never usually says ‘someone’. His friends are your friends and you’d always refer to them by name. ‘Someone’ means someone you’ve never met, and almost always it means a girl.

  “Oh, okay,” you try to hide the disappointment in your voice, “that’s totally fine!” you force a wide smile.

  He grins back at you as you both get into his car, “I’ll make it up to you, love.”

  You return his smile, but deep down you know. He said that earlier, too.

  Soon you’re back at your flat, waving goodbye to Brian from your doorstep and letting your smile drop into a frown as he drives away.

  The clock reads 4 o’clock when you reach your bedroom, sighing deeply as you get changed into comfier clothes and slump down on your sofa with a cup of tea.

  God, it’s so tiring.

  The sun is still high outside, your favourite aspect of spring and summertime, the longer days, but tonight you almost wish it was late so that you could fall asleep and not have to think about Brian.

  But alas, he swirls around your brain as you stir your tea, looking down into the cup as it whirlpools. You wonder if Brian could be seeing the girl he went home with last night, or someone else. You don’t want to wonder, you’re not even sure if you actually want to know who it is. It would push you into the deep darkness of insecurity, and you’d compare every aspect of yourself to whomever it is.

  So instead, you flick the telly on and melt mindlessly into the arms of whatever is on, not even really focussing on it.

  Monday morning, you’re at work again, typing up documents all day as you’d usually be doing. The monotony could kill you, and your fingers hurt from the stiff keys of the typewriter. It’s times like these where you feel envious of your best friends’ profession- for the boys of Queen, monotony is never an issue. They can complain about recording studios all they want, but they would never dare to wish for your job, and they know that.

  You asked your boss early if you could get Thursday to Monday off, and by some sheer miracle he had agreed, but not without massaging your shoulders in a way that made your skin crawl. It was one of the biggest downsides about working in an office amongst mostly men. While they spent their days barely working, and instead drinking the day away together while playing mini golf in their offices, you worked until your fingers went numb and the back of your neck felt like it was being jabbed with fifty needles. Yet they still believed they were entitled to touching you whenever they liked.

  Either way, you had managed to get a few days off to go on a road trip with all of your best friends, and that’s what keeps you going throughout the week. You daydream about exploring castle ruins and walking along the beach with Brian, allowing yourself to dip your toes into the idea of a relationship. While you were confined within four blank office walls, the thought of Brian kept you sane.

  He phoned you two days after your picnic, confirming that the boys had all agreed to a road trip and booked a hotel for Thursday afternoon. Things were all going smoothly, even as you packed your bag on Wednesday evening in preparation to set off early the next morning. You float happily around your flat, humming along to your records and planning out outfits for the trip. When you fall into bed that night, you can barely wait for dawn to break.

  But as they always say, be careful what you wish for. Because when you step out onto your front steps on Thursday morning, bags in hand and a grin like the sun, you notice not one, but two cars. Brian’s and John’s. Your smile falters, you thought you were all squeezing into Brian’s car?

  “Y/N!” Freddie exclaims when he sees you, rushing to help with your bags and put them in the boot of Brian’s car, “God, I’ve missed you, darling!”

  You pull him into a tight embrace, “I’ve missed you too. You don’t have time for me anymore with all your wild parties.”

  He scoffs, “If only you’d attend them, lovie, then we’d see each other more!”

 You roll your eyes playfully and look around at the two cars. The driver’s seat of Brian’s car opens, a small but almost seemingly nervous smile on his face.

  “Hey, Y/N,” he scratches the back of his neck, “how are you?”

  You narrow your eyes, and you feel Freddie’s body language stiffen beside you as if he knows something you don’t.

  “I’m alright?” You reply as a question, curious to why everyone seems so nervous.

  “Good, good,” he nods, inhaling before saying, “You wouldn’t mind sitting in the back seat, would you? Natasha already took the passenger side.”

  Your lips part slightly, realisation setting in. He brought a girl.

  You turn to Freddie in silent shock, asking with your eyes what the hell is happening? He leans over to whisper quietly, “I offered to take your place and you sit with Rog and John, but Brian was adamant.”

 You gulp, turning back to where Brian stands, “Sure, that’s fine.”

 He grins, sitting back in the driver’s seat. You turn to Freddie, eyes like a deer in headlights. A five hour drive. With Brian and his possibly girlfriend. He pats your shoulder, giving you another hug before getting into John’s car.

  You have no choice but to slip into the backseat, sighing into the leather. The radio is already on, all the windows down to let in the cool early morning air. You glance to the front of the car where a woman sits in the passenger side. You can see her face in the wing mirror, insecurity eating away at you already as you examine her. She’s gorgeous, with thick auburn curls that frame a sharply defined face. You can even see that her eyes are a taunting shade of emerald green.

  Clearing your throat. You lean forward and hold your hand out, forcing a smile on your face, “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

  She turns to glance at you, but not before giving you a once over, sharp lips not so much as twitching into a smile. She takes your hand into a weak handshake, shaking once before letting go and letting her hand rest back into her lap.

  “Natasha.” She says bluntly. You glance over to Brian as he drives, waiting for him to react in some sort of way at the way you’ve been greeted, but instead you’re met with his usual kind smile and eyes that gleam with blissful ignorance.

  You sniff awkwardly, leaning back into your seat and getting comfortable against the window. You can see Natasha staring at you in the wing mirror, but you try your best to ignore it. It practically sears your skin, making you squirm in your seat. You hated feeling intimidated by people, absolutely despised it, but Natasha was everything you weren’t. She had Brian. And the passenger seat.

  The radio fades into one of your favourite songs, one of Brian’s too, The Air That I Breathe by The Hollies. You’d often drive with the windows down, belting out the lyrics and laughing at who could sing the loudest. The memory brings a smile to your face.

  “I love this song, can you turn it up-”

  “God, I hate this song,” Natasha interrupts, “I didn’t even like it when it came out three years ago.”

  Brian looks torn, eyes flickering to you in the rearview mirror. You challenge his gaze, narrowing your eyes ever so slightly to gauge his next move. Your stomach sinks as he drops your gaze in guilt, flicking to the next station.

 The smug look on Natasha’s face just adds salt to your wound, her eyes like a snake’s, sly and dangerous. In that moment you decide that your best friend must be an absolute idiot. You also decide that you really, really don’t like Natasha.

  Five hours does not go by in a flash, much to your dismay, and you’ve had to listen to Brian gush over Natasha for the majority of the ride. Even when you all stopped halfway to get snacks, Brian came to your side when Natasha went to the bathroom, nudging your shoulder with a dopey smile on his face.

  “Isn’t she something?” He asks as you pull a few bags of crisps off of a shelf. You try your best to bite your tongue. After all, as long as Brian is happy, you’re happy.

  “She’s definitely something.” You reciprocate his smile, albeit forced.

  “I think you and her will be great friends.”

  You refrain from rolling your eyes. Even if you wanted that, Natasha made it very clear that she did not want anything of the sort. How could Brian be so unaware of the dynamic that took place between you and her? Are men really that thick? You can barely believe it. For someone as intelligent as Brian, he’s being incredibly dense.

  But regardless, you nod, “Totally.”

  Natasha steps out of the bathroom and makes her way over to where the two of you stand, completely ignoring your presence, “Let’s go to the car.”

  She grabs Brian’s arm, and before you can so much as complain, the food Brian had grabbed is dropped in your arms, leaving you alone to pay. Your eyes follow them as they leave, hand in hand as they laugh. They look good together, you can admit that. Two perfect people.

  You sigh, turning to glance around the small petrol station shop, shaking your head to yourself and going to pay for yours and Brian’s snacks.

  And then the remaining two hours or so blur by as you lean yourself against the window, blocking out the sound of Brian and Natasha’s conversations and simply watching the world pass you by. You try to think of the green grass, the blue morning sky, the yellow sunflower fields that you pass.

  Brian’s hand rests on her thigh and he looks at her with something like a sparkle in his eyes. Suddenly you wish you stayed home. Maybe if you’d caught a cold or your boss didn’t give you time off this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel like your heart is being torn out of your chest. Maybe then you could have ignored the fact that Brian has got a new woman in his life.

  Once you pull into the hotel car park behind the rest of Queen, you nearly jump out of the car, immediately taking your bags out of Brian’s car, “What’s the room situation?” you ask Roger when he steps out of John’s car.

  “Don’t get too excited,” Roger winks playfully, “Nah, we have our own rooms, apart from them.” he nods towards Brian.

  You lean in to give him a pathetic hug, leaning heavily on his shoulder as you quietly groan, “I don’t even have the energy to tell you to fuck off right now.”

  He laughs, gripping your shoulders tightly, “You look like you need a drink. Or a nap.”

  “Or both.” you retort.

  Brian and Natasha walk up to where you stand, Natasha plastering a fake smile on her face as she greets Roger, “Roger, I didn’t realise that Y/N was your latest fling, how sweet.”

  Roger tenses, as do you. Now she’s insulted both of you in one. But just as you’re about to speak your mind, Roger tightly wraps his arms around your shoulder, “Actually, Y/N’s my girl.”

  You glance up at him in shock, lips parted and eyes wide. You turn back to Natasha, noticing that Brian is staring at you with a look of shock on his face, maybe betrayal? You’re not sure, but he looks angry. His fist clenches at his side absentmindedly.

  And that makes you angry. Even if you were actually dating Roger, what does that have to do with him? So you decide to put a wide smile on your face, lifting your arms to hold Roger’s around your shoulders. You don’t speak, but your actions say it all. You giggle, melting into his embrace. It feels strange, but Roger and you are close enough to know that this is fine.

  Freddie and John walk over, looks of confusion on their faces, but decide to stay out of it when they see the looks on Natasha and Brian’s faces.

  “You’re seeing each other?” Brian asks incredulously, ignoring Natasha’s presence beside him.

  “That’s right,” Roger replies before you can, “Is that so hard to believe?”

 “Yes,” Natasha laughs, “It is.”

  Roger’s grip tightens around you. You recognise this side of him, the fierce protectiveness he feels over his friends. Roger has been known to get into fights if someone speaks badly about his friends. He simply won’t tolerate it.

  His actions are strictly platonic, but he’s not going to let someone speak badly of you. Especially not Natasha, now that he knows about the way you feel about Brian.

   “And why is that?” He grits his teeth, and you squeeze his arm gently to communicate that it’s okay. You don’t need his protection, you can manage.

  “Well,” Natasha begins, and you glance at Brian’s expression. He stares directly at you, gaze unfaltering. He isn’t even hearing what is being said, “You usually tend to go for much more...visually appealing women.”

  Ouch.

 You’re not gonna lie, that hit you right in the ego. It’s not as if you had much confidence before anyway.

  That’s when Brian breaks his stare to look at Natasha, a dumbfounded look on his face, “What-”

  But Roger interrupts, anger prevalent in his tone, “I don’t think you’re one to gauge who’s visually appealing and who isn’t, Natalie.”

 You hold back a giggle, albeit a hurt one, trying to hide your pain behind an unbothered smile. But you fear that your body betrays you as you tilt your head down, hands dropping from Roger’s arm to cross over your stomach.

  Natasha opens her mouth to speak, but Freddie intercepts, “Alright! Okay, we should go find what rooms we are in and freshen up. I need a beauty nap.”

  You’re thankful for Fred, giving him a discreet nod to which he responds with a wink. You take one last look at your supposed best friend, Brian, not a trace of sympathy for him on your face. How could he not defend his best friend of years from his girlfriend he’s probably only known for a couple weeks at most?

  Baffled and dejected, your feet move mindlessly along with Roger as he steers the both of you into the hotel, muttering underneath his breath, “Dick.”

  “Who?” you whisper.

  “Brian.”

  You say nothing. You know it’s true, but it hurts a hell of a lot when your own best friend doesn’t stick up for you.

  Roger follows you into your hotel room when you reach it, watching as you flop into the soft white sheets with a long, weary sigh.

   Roger sits at the end of your bed, “Natasha’s a right pain in the arse.”

  You sit up, hair mussed and eyes tired, “I meant to ask, have you met her before?”

  He nods with a wince, “Unfortunately. She’s like that all the time. It’s baffling that Brian hasn’t noticed it yet. The lad’s usually quite level-headed.”

  You nod with a hum, staring out of the window behind him. You get most in thought momentarily, thinking about the way Brian was so truly oblivious to the way Natasha acted. He’s almost gotten into bust ups with men at bars who have disrespected you, but it seems to be okay when Natasha does it. Maybe love really is blind. The idea of them in love makes your guts churn.

  “Anyway,” Roger starts, standing up, “You should take a nap. I’ll come to wake you up in a couple hours for dinner, alright?”

  You smile, “Thanks, Rog. For everything.”

  He shoots you a cheeky wink, “Anytime, love.”

  So you gladly lay down in the cool white sheets once Roger is out the door, staring up at the ceiling until eventually you let your eyelids flutter closed.

 Two hours later, you’re up, bathed, and dressed, fiddling with the hem of your midnight blue dress in the mirror.

  Insecurity eats away at you each time your eyes scrutinise yet another perceived flaw. As much as you hate to admit it, Natasha’s words echo around in your mind. She’s right, you're not visually appealing. How could you be, when Brian won’t even look twice at you as more than a friend.

 A knock sounds at your door, Roger’s voice coming soon after, “Are you ready, love?”

 You snap out of your trance, pushing all the self-hatred aside to open the door. Plastering a wide smile on your face, you take his arm in yours.

  He raises a brow.

  “I’m not the one who told everyone we were dating,” you lightly pat his arm, “so hold tight, loverboy.”

  You meet the group outside by the cars once again, John leaning up against the side of his car and Freddie perched gracefully on the bonnet. Brian and Natasha however, are nowhere to be seen. You frown and ask Freddie where they are.

  “Not a clue, my dear. If they aren’t down in five minutes I’m leaving without them.”

  As if on queue, the couple in question walk out of the revolving doors. Brian’s face is flushed, Natasha’s smug. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why they’re late.

  You catch eyes with Brian and watch, hurt, as he looks away bashfully. Your chest pangs, just a bit, as you glance down at your dress for distraction.

  Roger squeezes your arm comfortingly, “Do you want to ride with us?”

  You shake your head, “Would it be bad if I said I wanted to keep an eye on them?”

  He smiles, “Cheeky.”

 You force a tight smile.

 In all honesty, you aren’t quite sure if you’ll be fine, but when you take another look at Natasha’s smirk, you let your anger be the driving force that pushes you into the back seat of Brian’s car.

  Luckily, they seem to behave themselves while you’re in the car. Well, Brian does. Natasha often tries to place her hand on his thigh, but he always pushes it off. You notice that something has changed since the drive earlier, a shift in Brian’s mood. He’s more bashful than ever, staying practically silent with his cheeks seemingly tinged pink permanently.

  Eventually, Natasha gives up with a huff, crossing her arms and looking out the window as the radio hums a tune none of you are paying attention to. Brian is looking straight at the road, and you’re watching him as he clenches and unclenches his jaw. The sun is just beginning to set beside him, silhouetting his face like an eclipse. He’s so beautiful, even when you’re annoyed with him, and even when he looks annoyed himself.

  He pulls into the car park, killing the engine and turning around to face you in his seat. You furrow your eyebrows as he stares, “What-”

  “Nat, could you give us a minute?”

  “But-”

  “I’ll meet you in the restaurant.”

  She stares at him baffled, looking at you and back to him, before rolling her eyes and getting out of the car. She slams the door and beelines to the entrance, leaving the rest of the boys no choice but to follow her. Roger shoots you a concerned look through the window, to which you return a reassuring smile. It does nothing to reassure yourself, though, as Brian’s fiery gaze is pointed directly at you.

  The car remains silent as both of you challenge each other to see who will speak first. You stand your ground and hold his glare, crossing your arms in defiance. He speaks up,

  “Why didn’t you tell me that you and Rog were together?”

  Your eyebrows shoot up, so that’s what this is about?

  “Why do you care?”

  He scoffs, turning away from you to look out of the window, “I don’t know, maybe because you’re my best friend and he’s my bandmate?”

  “Why does that matter?” You challenge.

  He just shakes his head with a spiteful chuckle, dodging the question, “Roger doesn’t date.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He’s just going to leave you for another woman, or worse, he’ll just do it behind your back.”

  “And I suppose you’re any better?”

  Your words are harsh, and you regret them the minute they came out. Especially when he turns to look at you with a flash of hurt in his eyes. Brian’s had his own share of infidelity, but he’s always felt guilty over it, as if it haunts him. You suddenly feel sick. He confided in you and you’ve just thrown it back at him.

  Without another word, he opens his door and steps out, slamming the door behind him. You watch as his figure retreats into the restaurant, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. Shit.

  You take a shaky breath, closing your eyes momentarily. You stand on trembling legs and make your own way into the venue, fingernails digging into your palms.

  Everyone is already sitting at the table when you join them, so you take your place in between Roger and John. Both of them look equally concerned, Roger’s eyes flickering to Brian across the table. You dare to glance up to where he’s glaring, fiddling with the tablecloth. His upper lip twitches like it always does when he’s angry, a tick that only you’ve ever noticed about him. His warm hazel eyes seem cold, but you can almost see the flames behind them. He’s pissed. More than pissed.

  Roger unwittingly adds fire to the flame when he leans down to whisper in your ear, “Everything alright, love?”

  You look at Brian once more, his napkin now clenched in his fist, you turn to Roger to whisper, “I think he’s mad.”

  Roger chuckles, “You think? The bloke looks like he wants to castrate me.”

  “I think he probably does.” You sigh.

  Thankfully, always the life-saver, Freddie begins reenacting a run in he had with a fan in a public toilet the other day, and everyone begins loosening up. Well, except for Brian. He’s pretty much silent throughout dinner. Even when Natasha tries to pat his arm or whisper something in his ear, he keeps the same disgruntled look upon his face. You find yourself becoming angrier with every passing moment.

  Who does Brian think he is? How can he let his girlfriend walk all over you, then he insults you, and then he somehow has the right to be angry with you?

  It’s bullshit, and you shoot daggers at him over your dessert. You don’t even want it. It’s your favourite and everything.

  You turn to John, ever the organised one, “Hey, do you know what we’re doing tomorrow?”

  He tilts his chin up and chews on one side of his mouth as he thinks, “I think we planned to visit Conwy Castle.”

  You nod, humming, “Cool.”

  It’s only the first night, and the trip still has five more days, but you find yourself anxious to return home. Especially in the dim lights of a small Italian restaurant as Brian stares at you with that unforgiving gaze, you wish to be anywhere but.

  Brian and Natasha left before everyone else, skipping their coffee and choosing to head back to the hotel. They didn’t so much as question how you’d be getting back. Instead, they left you with the remaining three Queen boys, all of their curious eyes on you.

  They want answers, you can see it on their faces. It’s the first moment all of you have had together without Brian and Natasha there and they want to know what the bloody hell is going on.

  You shake your head at their silence, taking one final bite of your dessert, “Don’t ask me anything, because I don’t have a fucking clue.”

  You huff as you flop back onto the bed. It’s far past sunset, and your hotel room is dim except for the orange glow of the street lights outside your window. Roger, John and Freddie decided to go find some sort of bar to finish the evening, but you asked them to drop you off at the hotel so that you could sleep. Except you couldn’t, your mind wired with so many thoughts of Brian that you couldn’t so much as close your eyes. You decided that staring up at the ceiling wasn’t helping, instead it was making the thoughts worse, so you got out of bed and walked to the balcony and stared out over the sea, letting the cold air of the night nip at your bare skin.

  Just as you close your eyes, there’s a knock at the door, echoing through the sound of the waves in the distance. The tiny clock at the side of your bed reads just past midnight as you pad through the dark to get to the door.

  You open it a crack, “Who is it?” you ask gently.

  “Brian.”

  Your pulse jumps slightly as you open the door the rest of the way and take in his appearance. His eyes are tired and sunken, his hair mussed as if he’d been tugging on it. You wonder if it was him who tugged on it, or someone else, but based on the way his head is bowed, you don’t think anything of the sort happened.

  “Hi,” you gulp, treading lightly, ashamed of the words you threw at him earlier this evening, yet anger still fizzles within you softly.

 “Hi,” he breathes, hand rubbing the back of his neck, “did I wake you?”

 “No,” you shake your head, “couldn’t sleep.”

  “Neither.”

  “Is Natasha awake?”

  He pauses, looking at the floor and then back at you, “She’s asleep.”

  You nod, quiet after his response. What now?

  “Do you...want to come in?”

 You step aside after he nods, quietly walking through the doorway and into the dimness of your room, and then out onto the balcony. You follow, mind racing a million miles a minute, watching his back as he leans against the railing.

  You join him, staring out at the starry reflection of the moon against the sea, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  He turns to look at you, though you don’t return his glance. Instead you bask in his gaze upon your face as the wind flutters through your hair and the moon glitters against your skin.

  “It is,” he whispers, his own hair rustled by the wind as he continues to stare at you.

  Neither of you speak for a while, just watching the water as it shimmers like diamonds, though you’re both aware of the words unsaid and the words that were. But for a few moments the two of you decided to ignore the rift between you, and instead let the soft silver gleam of the moon heal your aching hearts.

 But things must not go unsaid for too long or they will fester, and you’re the first to speak, “Why’d you come see me, Bri?”

  He sighs, looking down at his hands, “I came to say sorry. I shouldn’t have said that stuff about Rog, he’s a good guy.”

  You stare at him for awhile, “He is a good guy,”

 Brian’s eyebrows seem to fall, which causes your own to furrow. You continue, “but did you mean what you said?”

  He looks into your eyes and you know instantly that he did. The only reason he’s come to apologise is because he upset you.

  “I did.”

 Though it angers you, you admire his honesty. You can’t be so frank with him, you’d end up spilling your feelings.

 “Is it so unbelievable that someone like Roger would like someone like me?”

 It feels odd talking about Rog as if he’s actually your boyfriend, but you’re hurt. Natasha’s earlier words cut like a knife, and hearing Brian think the same would cut like no other.

  “That’s not what I meant at all. You’re just…” he trails off and looks back at the sea, shaking his head.

  “I’m what?”

  “You’re...perfect. You’re too good for someone who will hurt you”

  The sound of the wind fills your silence, a sense of confusion and joy fluttering in your stomach. You wish you could tell him that you appreciate his concern, but he’s been the one hurting you all this time. However it’s not his fault, and you remain quiet. He called you perfect.

  You search his face for any sign of anything, any twitch of his brow that might give anything away, but he’s stoic as always.

  “But you can’t be the one to make that decision for me.” you breathe, choosing to ignore what he said. Perhaps you’re scared of him taking it back, or claiming it was nothing. You want to hold onto the very feelings you feel now, after Brian has called you perfect underneath the moonlight.

  “I know.” he sighs, looking down at his hands. You’ve always loved his hands, his long slender fingers that are often adorned with a couple silver rings, usually on his pinky finger. You’d often imagined the way they might feel against your bare skin, but each time you dared to delve into that idea, you quickly shut it down.

  The fact that you’ve been lying to Brian about Roger makes you feel wretched, eating away at your insides as you chew on your bottom lip. It feels as though you’re seeing a bit more of Brian’s private thoughts, and he’s only shared them with you because he thinks you’re dating Roger.

  The confession is right there on the tip of your tongue, a loud exclamation of truth ready to erupt from inside of you, “Brian-”

  “-Y/N” he begins at the same time, and immediately all courage is lost. The boiling truth returns to a simmer, and your racing heart begins to still.

  You both chuckle, a sense of normalcy returning for the first time tonight as he scratches the back of his neck, “You first.”

  Shaking your head, you give him a small smile, “Not important, you go.”

  He nods, taking a breath as if to build his courage back up, turning his body to face you entirely. You do the same, concerned at the sudden seriousness that’s returned to his face. You watch in silence as he takes yet another deep breath, the dread inside of you intensifying.

  “I…” he begins, and you want to grab him by the shoulder and shake, tell him to spit it out already because you feel nauseated.

  “It’s terrible of me to say this, and I know I have no right whatsoever to do so, but...I don’t want you to date Roger.”

  You’re taken aback by his blatant request, baffled at why he is so against the idea of you and Roger being together, “Why not?”

  He looks just as irritated as you, all civility that you’d built up just moments before knocked down like a house of cards. It’s as if the idea of you not listening to his request infuriates him, and in return that makes you equally angry.

  “I told you before.”

  “But we agreed that this isn’t your decision.”

  At this point, you aren’t sure why you’re continuing to act as if Roger is your boyfriend. Perhaps you’ve let it go too far and to confess now would damage your dignity. Or maybe you want to see how far Brian is willing to go with his request. Surely he won’t force the two of you apart.

  “It’s not my decision, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling uncomfortable.”

  “Uncomfortable?!” you raise your voice. This conversation is going in the complete wrong direction, but you can’t seem to stop it, or stop yourself. The two of you are both passionate people always speaking for what they believe in, and in this case you are on opposing sides. Like fire and ice, or darkness and light, the two of you battle against each other.

  “Yes! Uncomfortable!”

  “Go on then, explain to me why it makes you so uncomfortable.”

  “He’s my bandmate-”

  “And why does that matter?”

  “You’ll be a distraction!”

  “I’ve known you all for years, and suddenly now that I’m dating one of you, I’m a distraction? Nice, Brian.”

  He goes to speak, but you interrupt, “And what about Natasha, huh? Is she not a distraction? Or is it just me then?”

  “She doesn’t come to the studio with us like you do.”

  “You were the one who told me that you love when I come to the studio.”

  He looks flustered, “I do, but-”

  “You’re not making any sense,” you say, exasperated, “what is the big deal about me dating Roger?”

  He doesn’t answer, instead staring at you with a burning intensity behind his caramel irises. A siren blares in the distance and a cloud sheathes the moon in a grey cast. It’s as if his answer is in his eyes, but you just can’t catch it. You’re both speaking two different languages.

  “I should go,” he says finally.

 Muddled thoughts race through your head. You want to say so many things but nothing comes out, your mind a jumbled mess of intertwined wires. Goddamnit,  Y/N, say something.

  He turns to walk through the hotel room, and you have no choice but to watch his back as he retreats. But then he stops in his tracks, turning to look at you once more. He has hurt written across his face, you can see it even in the darkness.

  “Where is Roger, by the way?”

  He tilts his head to the side, challenging you to answer him. You stare in silence, no answer on your tongue.

 He nods, his own point proven to himself as he goes to turn back around, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

#omg omg omg #here it is #it's taken too long #part 1 #!!!! #brianmayxreader #Brian May #fem!reader #angst #slowburn #fic #queen #i have no excuses #Give It All For You

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

1998

Summary: Once your brother left for college, it became clear to you that Rami was going to make you Scott’s replacement. And as his replacement, you could expect two things.

One: Rami would continue spending more time at your house than his own.

Two: It was only a matter of time before Rami Malek talked you into doing something that could get you grounded for the rest of your life.

A/N: This fic is basically porn for the best decade EVER: the 90s. @the-real-ramimalekpeen​ I hope this does your request justice 💛

Wordcount: 7106

Warnings: All the characters are underage (17) so I will warn for drinking, smoking cigarettes, and PG-13 making out. Honestly though, by today’s standards, this fic is wholesome as fuck—welcome (back) to the 90s, bebes 💛

Considering it was after 9:00 pm on a school night, Rami Malek had no business being in your bedroom.

 Except that Rami Malek, one half of the legendary Malek Twins, was always at your house.

 His best friend, who also happened to be your brother, had just gone off to college. At first, you thought Rami still hung around so much because he was scared about doing the same next fall, but then, a part of you began to wonder if he really did miss your brother that much.

 Scott was the first real friend Rami made when he and Sami came to your school as freshmen. At first, they didn’t appear to have a thing in common, but after a few months, Rami and Scott were inseparable. By the end of Rami’s first year at Notre Dame, everyone joked that Scott was actually Rami’s twin, not Sami.

 One thing all three of the boys had in common, though, was their penchant for mischief. It wasn’t that they were bad. They were energetic, charming, and had decided to dedicate most of their high school experience to testing the limits placed upon them by authority figures.

 After Scott had left and the time Rami spent at your house did not diminish, it became clear that to Rami, you were now your brother’s replacement. And as his replacement, you could expect two things.

 One: Rami would continue his tradition of eating dinner more times a week at your house than his own.

 This didn’t bother you because your parents loved Rami—they loved him so much they didn’t protest when he insisted on doing the dishes on the nights he ate with you. That was a win in your book because it meant you had one less chore.

 However, Rami’s new focus on you did prompt a rather uncomfortable conversation with your mother.

 One night after he had gone home, she knocked on your bedroom door and fixed you with that look as she took a seat on the edge of your bed. She sharply inhaled then asked if you and Rami were dating. Because if so, she and your father needed to set some boundaries about the times Rami could and could not be at the house.

 The mixed look of shock and horror on your face made her laugh, but that initial reaction was quickly replaced with anger. Scott had girls at the house all the time and your parents had never said a word. In that moment, it became clear that your brother was afforded more freedom just because he was a boy. It was total garbage!

 So, for the next few weeks, you stewed in quiet rebellion, outraged by the clear gender discrimination being doled upon you by your OWN parents, and when you confessed as much to Rami, he flashed you the famous Malek grin and you knew you were in for expectation number two: It was only a matter of time before Rami talked you into doing something that would get you grounded for the rest of your life.

 A few nights later, you were watching TV in the living room and doing homework (you were doing homework while Rami seemed to be practicing his origami skills) when a paper airplane flew directly into your face and bounced off your forehead.  

 “Hey!” you yelled, glaring at Rami while you rubbed at the spot where the point hit.

 He was already leaning forward, an apology tumbling from his lips which seemed pretty insincere considering he was also trying to stifle his laughter.

 “What is this?” you asked as you picked up his paper airplane from the spot where it had landed, the bright colors of the paper catching your eye.

 After you unfolded it and realized it was a flyer for a local band, your stomach began to flutter.

 You looked up at Rami who looked like the cat that ate the canary. He nodded vigorously at the question on your face, then began to talk in a low, rapid voice.

 “Got it all worked out. I’ll come over for dinner. Sami will meet us with the car after your parents are in bed. You don’t have to do anything other than follow my lead—and not get caught.”

At 17, music was everything.

 You loved listening to live music, and as long as the concert was at an all-ages venue, you were allowed to go unchaperoned. That was great, if you wanted to see mainstream music, but since focusing his attention on you, Rami had turned you on to the joys of underground rock bands.

 Instead of listening to another shitty recording, Rami was presenting you with the opportunity to see a live show.

 Feeling giddy, you slammed your notebook shut and you and Rami spent the rest of the evening ironing out your plan. By the time he left to go home, you felt like it was foolproof.

 * * * * *

 The band was playing at a dive bar just outside of West Hollywood. Rami said the crowd would be fun—mostly college kids, partying it up on Thirsty Thursday. The plan was to hang out, watch TV until your dad gave you the look that meant it was time to kick Rami out, but instead of him leaving, you would call out your goodnights and he would sneak upstairs to your room and hide in your closet.

 After you had said goodnight to Rami, you went back into the living room and tried to swallow all of your excitement. After fifteen minutes of fidgeting, you told your parents you had a big test in the morning and wanted to go to bed early.

 They smiled and said goodnight, your mom following you up the stairs to take a bath and settle in with her book.

 You went into the bathroom and followed your nightly routine, making sure not to rouse any suspicion, and when you finally climbed into your bed and turned off your lamp, Rami popped out of the closet.

 “Are they asleep yet?”  

 “Shhh,” you hissed, clambering to the end of your bed and knocking into him as you stood. “Dad just shut off the TV.” “Sami’s waiting,” Rami said glancing at his watch even though it was too dark to see anything more than a blob of black on his wrist.

 “I’m aware of the plan,” you whispered as you ignored his fretting and flipped on the closet light to pick up the outfit you had set aside earlier.

 You paused in your movement and hurriedly flicked off the light. Straining your ears, you heard your dad walk by your room and you only released the breath you had been holding when you heard his door click shut.

 You flicked on the closet light again, and almost pulled your pajama top off in your haste before realizing that Rami was staring at you. When you turned to look at him, he motioned for you to hurry up, his eyes growing larger as if the bigger they got the more hurried your movements would become.

 You threw up your hands and harshly whispered, “Turn around!”

 Rami blinked stupidly, his mouth popping open as he realized you needed to change. If you could have seen his cheeks, you would have seen that they were the same color of red as the squares of plaid on his shirt.

 “S-sorry,” he stuttered as he turned away, his head hanging down as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his oversized jeans.

 With a tsk of dismissal, you shimmied into your favorite LEI jeans with the flared bottoms tattered perfectly from dragging on the ground. You had opted for a fitted, light blue, long-sleeved tee that just showed off a bit of your stomach because the v-neck also showed off your cleavage. You thought about grabbing the flannel you had stolen from your brother, but it was still warm enough out not to need it. Besides, there was sure to be something in the boys’ car if you needed it.

Sitting on the floor, you pushed down the top of your thong, knowing it was peeking out as you settled in to do your makeup.

 “I’m dressed,” you said as you began to swipe on some frosted blue eye shadow.

 As you pumped your mascara, Rami whined, “Can’t you do that in the car.”

 “In the pitch-black car?” you bit back as you scraped a bit of the eye shadow into one of your empty make up containers before dribbling clear lip gloss in to mix it up. As you dabbed it on your lips, you smiled at the perfectly muted but still-frosty compliment to your eye makeup.  

 Smacking your lips together with a pop, you quickly wrapped two small chunks of your hair up in two messy knots and secured them with tight, clear gumbands. You adjusted your chocker, then slipped into a pair of black, chunky shoes.

 You grabbed your wide, black belt and looped it through your jeans as Rami paced, the swishing of his jeans starting to drive you a little crazy as you rushed over to fix up your bed so it looked like a lump of a human was still in it.

 After situating your colorful hemp purse across your torso, you softly said, “Okay. Let’s go.”

 Rami stopped pacing and looked you over before giving you a half smile. “You look good.”

 “Until my parents catch us doing this and skin me alive,” you countered as you flicked off the light.

 Rami grinned, his teeth flashing in the dark. “They won’t—promise.”

 “Your promises have, like, an 83% failure rate,” you argued as you pushed past him and opened the window as quietly as possible.

 “Fine—I swear on Sami’s life we won’t get caught,” he whispered before he scrambled out of the window and on to the roof.

 He held out his hand and you took it while you climbed out after him. Your eyes looked toward your parents’ room, and your heart hammered as you were sure their light was going to flick on at any second.

 “That mayyybe gives us odds in the ballpark of 70 - 30,” you whispered when you turned your eyes back to Rami, quickly pulling away as you realized you were still holding his hand.

 He stifled a chuckle as he crept toward the farthest edge of the roof, and when a ladder appeared, you knew Sami was below.

 “Go ahead,” Rami rasped, holding on to the top of the ladder as you swung your legs over and began to cautiously climb down.

 When you got closer to the ground, you felt Sami’s hand on your calf as he whispered, “Hey, Y/N—you good?”

 “Yeah,” you whispered back, a wave of ease sweeping through you when you finally touched the ground.

 “Cute,” Sami smiled as he gave one of the twists in your hair a little tap.

 You smiled back before turning your attention to Rami as he hopped off the second to last rung. With a practiced ease, he pulled the ladder from the roof without making a sound and laid it flat behind your mother’s rose bushes. The ladder was completely hidden, and you quickly realized that the boys had done this many times before.

 The three of you jogged to where Sami had parked the car, and since you had followed him to the driver’s side, he opened up the back door so you could climb in. When Rami settled into the passenger seat, he let out a whoop of success. The three of you laughed, and you knew you had to ask, “How many times did you two sneak Scottie out of the house?”

Sami snorted and started the engine, while Rami shrugged his shoulders and turned his hands over, feigning ignorance.

 “I see how it is,” you said, narrowing your eyes at Rami’s profile until he quickly turned and shot you a wink that was more like a blink.

 You giggled, “One eye is a wink, you dork!”

 Sami’s shoulders shook with a silent chuckle as he turned up the radio and you settled back in your seat to bask in the joy of being with your friends; it was well worth the trepidation you had felt about sneaking out on a school night, and as you watched Rami’s smiling profile, lit up by each street lamp you sped past, you felt a sudden flush of pleasure that he had gone through so much trouble to give you this night.

 As soon as you were on the 101 heading out of the Valley, the boys both lit up. Rami offered you a cigarette, expecting you to decline, so when you said, “Why not?” he choked as he was inhaling and Sami’s eyes flashed up at you from the rearview.

 “Um, this is my night of rebellion, okay? I may as well do it right,” you explained as Rami put your cigarette between his lips, lit it, then passed it back to you.

 He watched with interest as you smoothly inhaled, then blew a stream of smoke out in his direction.

 “What? You think Scott and I never partied together when mom and dad went outta town? Who do you think got me drunk for the first time?”

 “How old?” Sami asked, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled, his cigarette dangling from his lips as he relaxed back into the driver’s seat having just switched lanes.

 “14. Got me fucked up on screwdrivers of all things. I couldn’t drink OJ for a month.”

 The boys burst into laughter, then Rami explained that Scott had done the same thing to them.

 “Sami was so hungover mom thought he had the flu.”

 “And you weren’t hungover because you puked your guts out in dad’s hedges. I still don’t think he knows why that one turned brown and died.”

 “Shut up,” Rami grinned as he lightly punched his brother’s shoulder.

 “I’m driving asshole,” Sami murmured around his cigarette.

 “At least I don’t look like one,” Rami countered, making you roll your eyes and take another long drag of your cigarette.

 Because you didn’t smoke often, you already felt the sweet lightheadedness that came after a few pulls. You ashed out of the crack in your window and breathed in the cool air that was flowing from the boys’ open windows, contrasting deliciously with the heat of the smoke as it trailed down your throat.

 “Fight nice, boys,” you called up to the front, before immediately regretting your interruption because they both teamed up to rag on you.

Twins, you thought as you countered their attacks as best you could.

 Maybe it was the effect of the nicotine, or the natural high of sneaking out with the Malek brothers, but watching Rami from the back seat, you began to think of him as more than just your brother’s friend, and now, your friend. There was something about him, something about the way he made you feel that didn’t feel like any of your other friends.

 And speaking of other friends, you looked at the back of Sami’s head and watched his eyes in the rearview mirror, but that thing, that chemical pull of attraction wasn’t there. When you glanced over at Rami, you felt it.

 You let your gaze ping-pong between them, testing out your fledgling feelings. With a frown, you turned away from both of them and watched the cars in the parallel lanes, wondering if it was even worth figuring out.

 “Helloooo,” Rami called, squeezing your knee to pull you out of your thoughts.

 “Huh? What did you say?”

 “I asked what you thought of Stacy.”

 “Stacy Browning?”

 “Duh. She’s like the only Stacy in our English class.”

 “What about her?”

 “She’s supposed to be here tonight.”

 “Rami’s got the hots for Staaacyyy,” Sami sing-songed as he signaled and took the exit for West Hollywood.

 Rami didn’t refute his brother and something mean bubbled out of you as an image of Stacy, laughing and pushing into Rami’s side as he wrapped his arm around her waist, his fingers just resting above the pocket on the ass of her jeans, flashed through your mind.

 “Sami has a better shot than you any day of the week. Isn’t that how it usually works, Ram?”

 You watched as the hurt twisted across Rami’s face, but your attention was drawn to Sami’s laughter as he guffawed, “Ooooh—harsh!”

 You laughed, looking anywhere but at Rami, who half-heartedly joined in.  

 What you said made you feel sick, like an aftereffect of a violent action.

 What the fuck, Y/N? you scolded yourself.

 “Is this the turn?” Sami asked, growing serious as he navigated the crowded streets and started looking for parking.

 “Yeah—park anywhere you find a spot. The bar’s like a block, maybe two that way.”

After a few more minutes, Sami found a spot and parallel parked with an easy precision.

 “Good thing Rami didn’t drive,” you teased, trying to get him to look at you like he had before you’d hurt him.

 Instead, he hopped out of the passenger side and slammed the door shut.

 Sami opened your door, and chuckled as he said, “Fuck—there are at least three trashcans that have unclaimed relatives lying in the morgue thanks to him.”

 You laughed and looked over at Rami who had a soft smile on his face. He shook his head, “Fuck you guys.”

 You skipped over to him and poked at his ribs. “Come ooon—we know you didn’t mean to destroy the entire trashcan-family on Woodbridge Street. It was an honest massacre because you forgot which pedal was the break.”

 “Like the first time I drove EVER!” Rami defended, finally turning to smile at you.

 “And who doesn’t even have their license?” he shot back, his face coming dangerously close to yours as he picked on you.

 “Like, excuuuse me for having an older brother! How keen do you think mom and dad were to let me drive after Scottie nearly got arrested for speeding—twice?”

 “Oh, shit,” Sami said. “I remember that second time—”

 The twins launched into a retelling of the story, one you’d heard a thousand times, but it made Rami laugh, his face back to its normal, jovial disposition. As you walked, your head turning between the boys as they spoke, you relaxed knowing it wasn’t in Rami’s nature to dwell on something negative. By now, he had probably dismissed your comment as a joke.

 The bar came into view and there was no mistaking it for a nice place. The neon signs made it look more sinister than hip, and the trashcans outside were overflowing. However, the crowd queued at the entrance was just as Rami had described—college-aged kids, smoking, talking, and laughing as they paid their cover and ducked inside, the noise spilling into the street each time the bouncer opened the door.

 Instead of joining the line at the entrance, Rami led you and Sami down an alley that was a little too dark for your liking.

 “Rami?” you questioned, and he reached back for your hand, linking his fingers with yours.

 After a few more steps, Rami stopped and released your hand. He reached up and banged loudly on the unmarked, steel door.

 An older man, probably in his 50s, pushed open the door and flooded the backstreet with light. You squinted as you were assaulted with the brightness and the smoke that wafted out.

 “Malek. My man,” he rasped as he fist-bumped Rami. “And Malek Número Dos. What’s up bros?”  

 Sami greeted the man in the same fashion as his brother, and then the man noticed you.

“Switchin’ it up tonight, huh? Bringin’ a girl ‘stead of leavin’ with one?”

 You raised your brow and crossed your arms, that same feeling from earlier creeping through your chest and into your gut.

 “Scott’s little sister,” Rami explained, and the older man chortled and gave you a full, lingering look.

 He nodded with what you deemed to be approval and he fished out three paper bracelets from his pocket.

 “Keep her outta trouble, yeah?” he said with a slow, lecherous grin.

 “You can count on it,” Rami answered, giving him a tight, but still friendly smile as he turned to you, instructing you to hold out your wrist.

 You watched as he positioned the neon orange band, then peeled back the tape.

 “Too tight?”

 “Nah. It’s good.”

 Maybe it was nothing, but Rami’s thumb lightly stroked the spot where he had just stuck the band in place and when you looked up, he was watching your face.

 You smiled at him, a slow, sincere grin and when he returned your look, it felt like you were swallowing honey—sticky and sweet, the warm feeling slid down your throat and made your cheeks feel hot.

 Sami cleared his throat.

 “Someone wanna do me?” he asked as he waved his bracelet in front of your faces.

 Rami shot him a vicious look, but Sami just stuck out his wrist and waited.

 “We meet right out front after the show. Not in the alley.”

 You and Rami both just looked at him, and Sami prompted, “Okay?” as if he were dealing with two teenaged idiots instead of also being one himself.

 “Yeah—meet out front,” Rami said dismissively, his eyes willing Sami to get lost, but he was already slipping away down the hall and out into the bar.

 “You ready for this?”

 “Just—just don’t leave me alone, okay?” you said, thinking about the way Rami’s guy had looked at you.

 “Of course not,” Rami said with a reassuring smile. He lowered his voice and continued, “Let’s put some distance between us and Crazy Carlos.

 “Crazy Carlos?” you hissed.

 “No one calls him that to his face,” Rami assured you, then laughed at the way your eyes widened.

Once you were mixing into the crowd, the noise level ratcheted up and you were forced to yell into each other’s ears.

 Rami’s eyes scanned the bar, once, twice, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was looking for Stacy.

“Wanna get a drink?” you asked loudly, leaning into his body to get closer to his ear.

 “Yeah! What do you want?”

 “Just a beer!”

 Rami nodded and led you to the bar. You tried to take up as little space as possible and when you spotted a couple leaving their hightop along the wall, you tugged on Rami’s flannel to get his attention. He turned back to look at you and you pointed to the table. He nodded and watched as you darted over and took a seat.

 Instantly, your hand landed in the waste of someone’s spilled drink and you huffed in disgust as you wiped your hand on your jeans. You looked around for Sami, but it was impossible to see through the throng of drinkers and the haze of smoke.

 “You okay?” Rami yelled, taking the seat across from you and sliding your bottle toward you.

 “Stop treating me like a baby! I’m the same age as you!”

 Rami rolled his eyes, but his lips were drawn into a smirk as he took a swig of his beer.

 You took a drink, too, and watched him comfortably lean back into the wall so he could face the room and check out the crowd, your mind immediately flashing back to that image of Rami and Stacy, laughing, touching.

 “She’s not good enough for you,” you said through gritted teeth.

 “What?” Rami asked, leaning forward as much as the table allowed.

 “She’s not good enough for you!”

 Rami shook his head, still unable to hear you. With a huff, you slid off your chair and rounded the table to stand between his spread legs. You rested one hand on his thigh as you leaned into his ear and yelled, “Stacy! She’s not good enough for you!”

 Rami moved back, raising his eyebrows, as he sat up straighter on his stool.

 “Not exactly what you said in the car,” he answered, your eyes watching his lips so you could make out what he said.  

 Scanning his face, you wondered if he could see that you were sorry.

 Just as you leaned in to apologize, the lead singer whistled into the mike and made you jump. Rami’s eyes danced with laughter as he took another swig of his beer, and both of you turned your attention to the band.

 “Hey, you drunk motherfuckers—you ready to put a little shimmy in your jimmy? A little rock in your cock?”

 The crowd cheered, and you felt Rami stand, his front pressing into your back as he lightly pushed you into the crowd. He kept moving until you could see the stage, then he moved to stand beside you, his arm resting against yours.

 The first two songs were great, and you knew that sneaking out had been completely worth it. The band was good, really good, and you expected you’d be able to say you’d seen them live before they made it big.

 As the songs played, you and Rami both moved along to the music, heads bobbing and bodies shifting as much as the limited space allowed. Every now and then, you’d shoot a grin at each other, and when the third song began, you realized your beer was long gone.

 You thought about shoving the empty bottle in your pocket, but Rami read your mild distress and leaned in to tell you to save his spot.

 He shuffled through the crowd to get rid of your empties, and you widened your stance to save his spot, then refocused on the band.

 Before the third song was over, Rami was back, and you mouthed thanks. He gave your hair twist a tap, just as Sami had done earlier, making you smile and shake your head.

 After the next song, the bassist and lead guitar put their instruments down and the drummer disappeared.

 “You’re fuckin’ animals and I love it! But those guys need a drink so I’m gonna slow shit down with a song I wrote a few years back.”

 When the acoustic number began, you were shocked the lead singer’s gruff voice was so low and smooth. As he crooned, people swayed lightly with their faces trained on the stage. You don’t know whether it was you who moved closer to Rami or Rami who moved closer to you, but somehow, you found yourself standing partially in front of him, just close enough for his hand to creep around your waist. You smiled without looking at him and stepped into his touch, pulling his other arm to wrap around your waist as you leaned back into his chest. He laced his fingers across your stomach and leaned into your hair, both of you swaying in time to the soft music.

 As you stood together, like a couple, your mind began to race. Everything became too much and not enough at the same time. Rami’s grip was too loose and too tight. The singer’s words were too soft and his guitar was too loud. The shadows cast on the stage were too dark and the spotlight was too bright.

 And when you felt Rami’s chest vibrate into your back as he sang along under his breath, it felt too harsh, but when his pinky lightly stroked the exposed flesh on your stomach, it felt too sensitive. Your body was a tingling mess at his touch, so you took back some control. Your arms were already resting over Rami’s, but your thumb found his and you touched him gently, back and forth, in a mirror of the way his little finger was still sliding over the exposed skin of your midriff.

 Rami’s mouth crept closer to your ear and you shivered as his breath rustled your hair. You wanted to crane your neck, turn into his body and give him the angle he needed to kiss you, but you were still at war with feeling too much and not enough at the same time.  

 When the song ended, the singer thanked everyone, then encouraged you all to grab another beer while he took a piss. You felt a profound loss when Rami relaxed his grip and let his arms slide away from your waist and to your hips.  

 “Want another beer?” he asked into your ear as he gave your hips a squeeze before he dropped his hands.

 “Sure—yeah,” you lied.

 You turned to watch him disappear into the crowd and almost immediately, Rami’s warmth against your back was replaced with a new but identical one.

 “Having fun?”

 You whirled around, your mouth popping open slightly before snapping shut.

 “Wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, Sam—are you drinking?” you asked, bending slightly to sniff at his cup.

 “It’s water, dumbass. They only have two more songs.”

 You narrowed your eyes at Rami’s twin as he continued to look at you, clearly waiting for you to confess your secret. You didn’t know if he had seen the two of you during the last song or if he was just acting on a hunch, but you were not about to confess your feelings to Sami before you told Rami.

 Even though that was exactly what Sami wanted.

 The same blueish eyes as Rami’s bored into yours, but neither of you spoke.

 You decided to answer Sami’s original question in a breezy tone, “By the way, yeah, I’m having fun. Are you having fun?”

 He narrowed his eyes in response.

 “Because I think this is the most fun I’ve ever—"

 “Just tell him!” Sami interrupted with a huff.  

 “There’s nothing to tell,” you insisted, crossing your arms and stepping toward him as someone bumped into you.

 “Stop lying.”  

 “There isn’t,” you insisted, hating the way Sami was smirking at you over the rim of his water cup.

 He took a drink, then said, “Guess I’ll let Stacy know she’s free to come ov—”

 “She’s here?!?” you panicked, your eyes darting in the direction Sami had been looking.

 His laughter rang out over the din and you whipped your eyes back to his.

 “Nothing to tell, huh?”

 Your nostrils flared as you pinched at his side, knowing he was ticklish. He jumped away from your fingers, chuckling as he made his way back to his friends. You watched him go, making sure he was lying about Stacy.  

 Right before the band packed back onto the tiny stage, Rami shuffled back into his spot beside you and handed you a beer.

 You greedily drank, thirsty from the smoke and eager to unwind your nerves after Sami’s taunts.

 Rami watched you drink and smiled at you over the lip of his bottle in an identical grin to his brother’s earlier teasing smirk.

 “Easy, killer.”

 Swallowing, you reminded him, “This is still my night to let loose, right?”

 Rami pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and bobbed his head in a slow nod, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t read.

The band started up again, actually playing three more songs so you got to bask in a silent satisfaction that Sami had been wrong about one thing. As the band bid goodnight, you were wired.

 The set had been incredible, and you wanted to say so to Rami, but he was already nodding his head toward the exit. As you navigated through the crowd, you grabbed on to the edge of his flannel. It was last call, and as you passed by the bar, it was almost too crowded to toss your empty bottles on to.

 When you were finally outside, you couldn’t stop babbling to Rami about how great the music was, even though your ears were severely ringing. He punctuated your excitement with several toldja sos, his eyes watching the crowd for Sami.

 “I just love this feeling, ya know?” you exclaimed, bouncing on your toes and taking a cigarette when Rami offered.

 “Imagine how it feels for them—the performers.”

 You looked at Rami through the haze of his exhaling smoke and your eyes danced over his familiar, yet altogether new face. How could you have never seen just how attractive he was?

 “Rami. I . . .” you dropped your gaze and flicked your cigarette nervously, wondering if you should just confess like Sami told you to do.

 “Wanna thank me for draggin’ you out on a school night? Making sure you had a great time? Being the perfect friend? I assure you, all this I know,” Rami finished with a smug look, his round cheeks hollowing as he pulled on his cigarette.  

 “That’s just it. Are we . . . friends? I mean,” you floundered for a moment, your eyes landing anywhere but on his. “Don’t you just hang with me because you miss Scott?”

 Rami laughed.

 “Are you for real? In case you haven’t noticed, you don’t exactly look like your fuckin’ brother.”  

 Your eyes landed on Rami’s just in time to catch the way they dragged over your body, top-knots to toes and back again.

 “You like the way I look?” you asked, your voice so low you almost couldn’t hear it over the ringing in your ears.

 Flicking your cigarette to the ground, you stepped toward Rami, wetting your suddenly dry lips.

 “Yeah. Thought that was obvious,” he said, his eyes half-lidded but still commanding as his blue-grey irises darkened when his pupils grew just a bit wider.

 “Not to me,” you answered, shaking your head slightly as Rami’s hands came up to your waist, his ring and pinky fingers settling against your bare skin.

 His eyes were almost shut. Your faces moved closer and Rami’s tilted slightly to the right—

 “Ready to go?” Sami asked, jangling the car keys obnoxiously next to your ears, startling you and Rami apart.

 “Jesus Sam you fucking cocksucker,” Rami cursed, running a hand through his curly hair as he glared at his brother.

 “Not interrupting, am I? Because there’s nothing to interrupt, right?” he questioned you with an arrogant lilt.  

 “Nope! Nothing at all!” you shot over your shoulder as you stalked off in the direction of the car.

 The boys quickly followed, and Sami snickered, catching you and slinging his arm around your shoulders.

 “Have a good night, Y/N?”

 “For the most part,” you grumbled.

 Sami released you and you fell into step next to Rami.

 His hands were buried in the pockets of his jeans and he kept his eyes to the ground as you walked. You kept checking your peripheral to see if he was looking at you, but he wasn’t.

 The drive back was relatively quiet, Sami turning up the radio to drown out the ringing in his own ears. As you leaned back in the seat and watched the blurry skyline, Sex and Candy came on the radio and you tried not to think about Rami as John Wozniak’s deep voice reverberated through the car; you tried not to think about how close you’d come to kissing him and about how badly you didn’t want this night to end before you did.  

Mama this surely is a dream Yeah mama this surely is a dream

 * * * * *

 “Need help with the ladder?” Sami asked as he put the car in park.

 “Nah. We’ll manage,” Rami answered as he got out.

 “Goodnight, shithead. Thank you for driving,” you snapped before you opened your door.

 “Better kiss him goodnight before Stacy does,” Sami said, looking at you in the rearview, puckering his lips so he could make a loud smooching noise.

 “Stacy doesn’t live on my roof!”

 “You ne-ever knooow,” he sang.

 “Oh my god,” you said, smiling in spite of wanting to slap him.

 Sami cackled as you opened the door, his lighter hissing as he lit another cigarette.

 “I hate your brother,” you muttered on the walk back to your house.

 “What did he say?”

 “It’s not the what. It’s the way. Like he knows every fucking thing there is to know in the world.”

 “Well . . . usually he does.”

 “I know,” you sighed in defeat. “So can I hate him for that?”

 “Absolutely,” Rami chuckled.

 The streetlamps lit your way, but once you reached the edge of your lawn, Rami made sure you stayed on the perimeter of the dusk-to-dawn light. He wedged the ladder out from behind the roses, then set it up, stepping on the bottom rung to make sure it was steady.

 “Go ahead. I’ll follow to make sure you can get your window open.”

 Climbing steadily, you had to stifle a laugh thinking about how often your brother had done this, and done it stinking drunk. The effect of the two beers you had drank were long gone, but the thrill of what you were about to get away with still hummed beneath the surface of your skin.

 That . . . and Rami’s presence.

 As he stood up when he stepped off the ladder, your eyes locked and sent a fresh wave of butterflies to assault your stomach. Clearing your throat, you shuffled to your window. Rami followed, slowly and quietly working it open. As you waited, you were overwhelmed by the scent of him—the remnants of the bar, his fading cologne, the shampoo he used in his hair—all of it swirled together into something that was more intoxicating than a hundred beers.

You ducked into your room as soon as the window was open, and the sleeve of Rami’s shirt brushed against your arm as he helped you, his fingers featherlight on your shoulder before trailing down to the exposed skin of your lower back as you moved away.

 You kicked your discarded pajamas from earlier toward the gap at the bottom of your bedroom door, made sure it was locked, then flicked on the light in your closet, pulling the door mostly shut so there was just enough brightness to see Rami as he stood in front of your window, hands back in his pockets as he crossed and uncrossed his feet while leaning against the window sill.

 “Thanks for tonight,” you whispered, closing the distance and letting the last energy of the band spur you on to make your move.

 “Yeah. Of course,” Rami murmured, his eyes finally meeting yours.

 You were so close now, all one of you had to do was lean into the other’s lips, and somehow, you just knew it had to be you.

 Your hands shaking slightly, you rested them on the top of his chest, the smooth fabric of his black long sleeve shirt warm under your touch.

He shuffled, awkwardly pulling his hands from his pockets so he could rest them on your waist, his fingers nervously ticking over the skin on your lower back.

 You glanced from his lips to eyes, and when your eyes flicked back to his lips, he sucked in a breath.

 Then, you kissed him.

 He was stiff and uncertain at first, but as you leaned into him, your body flush with his, he relaxed, opening to exhale as he kissed you back, his tongue the first to swipe over your lips. You opened for him and when your tongues twined, it was electric—a culmination of everything that had been building between the two of you.

 Moaning into his mouth, you grabbed the sides of his flannel and pulled him toward your bed, backing up until your legs hit against the mattress. You broke free from the kiss with a smacking sound before you pulled Rami on top of you.

 You both silently giggled as he settled between your legs, his weight heavy, warm, and so fucking welcome on top of you.

 Rami’s lips pressed into yours again, and soon you were exploring each other’s mouths with fervor. One of your hands had snaked around his torso while the other was thrust into his thick curls, urging his mouth to keep moving against yours.

 He held himself up with one arm, but his other hand was roaming—sliding under your shirt to clutch at the soft skin of your side, then moving up to cup your breast over your bra.

 With a sighing moan, you wrapped your legs around his waist and slid your own hands under his shirt to clutch at his hot skin. You rubbed across his abdomen and over his chest before moving around to lightly scratch across his back.

 Only when you felt the hardness underneath his jeans grinding into your crotch did you regain some semblance of what the hell you were doing.

 With one final buck of your hips that drew an obscene, entirely too loud moan from the back of Rami’s throat, you gently pushed him away.

 Both of you were panting, swiping at your mouths to clear away the excess saliva.

 Rami sat back and slid off your bed, adjusting himself as he stood.

 “Holy shit,” he breathed.

 “I think we better say goodnight,” you said as you scrambled up.

 Rami moved back to your open window and turned before he ducked out.

 “Goodnight,” he said with a megawatt grin that lit up his entire face.

 “Goodnight,” you said, your face split into the same grin.

 He leaned in and sweetly kissed the smile from your face.

 Your eyes had only just barely opened again, and he was on the roof, ducking down to whisper, “See you at school,” his face lit by that grin again as you watched him shuffle to the edge of the roof and down the ladder.

 When the top of the ladder disappeared, you shut your window then dove onto your bed and gurgled with excitement into your pillow.

 Senior year was definitely going to be a year to remember.

#rami malek #rami malek x reader #female reader #teenage reader #teenage Rami #guest starring #teenage sami malek #duh #rami malek fluff #rami malek THROWBACK #rami malek fic #high school fic #my writing

[rpf-bat]

Celebrate The End Of Things With Cheap Champagne

Pairing: Frank Iero x Reader

Genre: Angst 

Summary: @sirloin-steaks requested a Frank story based on the song “New Year’s Day” by Taylor Swift. 

It’s December 31st, 2006, and My Chemical Romance are ringing in the New Year, performing live in Times Square. Frank invites you to come out, and see the show. But, an after-party at the band’s hotel, takes a turn, that nobody saw coming.

Trigger warning for substance abuse. 

You stood on the deck of the ferry boat, watching the bright lights of New York City draw closer and closer. You used to take this ferry every day, from your hometown in New Jersey, to your job in Manhattan. But, that seemed like so long ago now. 

Once upon a time, your friend and former coworker, Gerard, would catch the morning ferry with you. But, after the September 11th attacks, he’d quit his job at your company, and started a band. His decision had puzzled you at first. But, the first time you saw My Chemical Romance perform live, you had understood. 

That was also the night that you met Frank. His guitar playing was electric, and you told him as much, after the band finished their set. It had been at some shitty dive bar - the only venues that would take them at the time. But, he’d told you that night, that he, and Gee, and the guys, were going to make it to the big time. You’d admired his ambition, and the two of you became fast friends. And he’d been right. 

Now, four years later, My Chemical Romance was one of the biggest bands in the country. Their album, The Black Parade, had just dropped two months ago, debuting at #2 on the Billboard charts. They had gotten popular enough, to receive a prestigious offer. Ryan Seacrest had asked them to play New Year’s Rockin’ Eve, tonight, in Times Square! 

Millions of Americans tuned in every New Year’s Eve, to see the concert broadcast, and watch the ball drop at midnight. It was crazy to you, that your dorky friends from back home in New Jersey, had gotten “big” enough to perform alongside glitzy pop stars, like Christina Aguilera.

You were so psyched for them. It would also be the first time you had seen them in a while. Frank was the only one of the guys who still technically lived in New Jersey. When he was home, and off the road, he would come over to your house all the time, to watch movies, or play video games, just like in the old days. But, the last time that had happened, had been months ago. He, and the rest of the band, had been traveling around nonstop, doing radio and TV interviews, to promote the new album. In February, they were supposed to embark on a world tour. 

“But after tonight’s show, we’ll have a little bit of time off, before the tour starts,” Frank had told you excitedly on the phone, yesterday afternoon, when he’d invited you to the gig. “I really hope we get to spend more time together, Y/N. I missed you.” 

You had missed him, too - more than words could describe. Your heart ached whenever you drove past his house, knowing that he wasn’t in it. You had things you wanted to say to him tonight - things you’d been waiting to tell him for a long time. 

Your heart hammered as you stepped off the ferry, and began walking towards Time Square. The streets were packed with people, all rushing towards the same place you were. You knew some New Yorkers had started camping out at three o’clock in the afternoon, to get the best seats. If Frank hadn’t sent you a VIP pass in the mail, you’d surely have ended up in the way back of the crowd, nowhere close to the stage. 

You showed your pass to the security personnel, who were looking through peoples’ bags at a checkpoint, near the entrance to the Square. They waved you through to a special designated area, in the front row, for friends and family of the performers. You were pretty sure the kid on your left was the fourth Jonas Brother. You felt remarkably out of place. 

But, then your phone beeped, alerting you that you had a text. A smile crossed your face, when you realized it was from Frank. 

We r about 2 head onstage, he said. I will see you after our set, I promise! There’s nobody I’d rather ring in 2007 with :)

You heard the crowd start screaming, and your head whipped around, as you watched the announcer stroll onto the stage. 

“Please welcome our next musical guest - My! Chemical! Romaaaaance!” 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Their performance was amazing. They were one of a dozen artists performing tonight, so they only got to do three songs, before they had to get offstage and make room for the next act (Gwen Stefani, apparently). But, they put their whole hearts into those three tracks. Frank was jumping around like a maniac with his guitar, despite the freezing cold. Ray even had a pair of “2007” sunglasses on. 

You screamed for them, like every other girl in the crowd. At this point, you thought with a frown, there’s probably ten thousand people, with a crush on the same man, that I’ve been pining for since 2002. 

...Then again, you considered, the ten thousand other girls, don’t have backstage passes. 

Your frown disappeared, when you walked backstage, and a pair of arms immediately circled you. 

“Y/N!” Frank grinned. “Thank you so much for coming out and seeing us tonight!”

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” you grinned, hugging your friend back. “You were amazing.” 

“Thank you,” Frank said sincerely, releasing you from his grip. “Are you ready to get out of this cold?”

“Where are we going?” you asked. 

“Back to the hotel,” he explained. “Ray’s not feeling so good.” 

“Oh, no,” you frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“Hi, Y/N!” Ray greeted, waving at you with one hand, while he pulled a tissue from his pocket, with the other. He blew his nose loudly. “....Sorry,” he muttered. “How are you?”

“It’s okay!” you assured him. “I’m fine...I’m sorry you’re not doing so well, though. You sound awful.” 

“It’s this East Coast weather,” he shrugged, throwing the tissue in a nearby wastebasket. “I hate doing outdoor shows, in the wintertime.” 

“You sounded great onstage,” you reassured him. “Nobody could even tell you were sick.” 

“The dorky sunglasses conceal how puffy his eyes are,” Frank confessed. “Poor guy didn’t sleep at all last night.” 

“Well, hopefully, I’ll sleep better tonight,” Ray chucked. “We’ve got two rooms at the Knickerbocker Hotel - one for me and Mikey, and one for Frank and Gerard.”

“Speaking of which,” you asked, “where is Gerard?” 

“Here I am!” chuckled a voice behind you, and you turned and saw your old friend Gerard, beaming at you. “Sorry, I was busy calling our cab. It’s so good to see you, Y/N! Thank you for coming.” 

“Thank you for inviting me!” you smiled back. “I’m really proud of you guys, getting to be part of such a major event.” 

“Oh, it’s surreal,” Gerard confessed. “I used to come up here with my mom and dad, and Mikey, every New Year’s Eve, to watch the show live.  I never thought I’d be in the show.” 

“We’re really lucky,” Mikey smiled, appearing beside Gerard, with a glass of champagne in his hand. 

“Ooh, where’d you get that?” Frank asked. 

“They’re giving them out to all the VIPs,” Mikey explained. “Would you like one, Y/N?” 

“I don’t think I qualify as a Very Important Person,” you confessed. 

“Nonsense,” Frank shook his head. “You’re very important to me.” 

“Yeah,” Mikey nodded. “You’ve been good friends with all of us for a long time. You can have whatever you want.” 

“No time for that,” Gerard shook his head. “Our cab’s here.” 

“C’mon,” Frank said, lacing his fingers with yours. “We have to go out through a secret exit, so that the fans don’t mob us.” 

“Oh, shit, really?” you chuckled. “I feel like a secret agent.” 

“Our lives have gotten so weird, honestly,” Gerard confessed. “I’m kinda glad that we’re gonna put some distance, between us and these crowds.” 

“Yeah, it’ll just be five of us, once we get to the hotel,” Mikey nodded. “Well...four. Ray is gonna go to sleep in our room, as soon we get there. But, the rest of us can party in Frankie and Gee’s room til midnight.” 

“Or later,” Frank grinned mischievously.

You smiled at your four oldest friends. “I can’t wait.” 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

“Ok, question,” you asked uncertainly, staring at the yellow cab in front of you. “How are we gonna fit five people in there?”

“It’s gonna be a tight squeeze,” Frank chuckled. 

“Well, hey, we’ve managed to fit in smaller places before, right?” Gerard pointed out. 

“True,” Ray laughed. “Remember when we were traveling around New Jersey, in our shitty little van?”

“We were all practically right on top of each other,” Mikey recalled. 

When the band had first started, you had gone with them, on weekend trips, to play a gig, in the next town over. You’d squished between the boys, somehow, and helped them carry their equipment into the venue. Watching them rock the faces off the local kids, had been so much fun. 

But, as time went on, they started getting offers to play at clubs across state lines. Day trips turned into months-long tours. You couldn’t commit to that - unlike Gerard, you still had a day job. And so, you started seeing the guys less and less. Then they’d gotten a record deal - and everything had gotten even more complicated. 

“That was….a long time ago,” you frowned. 

“Yeah,” Frank said wistfully. “I wish we had the chance to do that again.” 

“Well, now, most of the time, we don’t have to squish,” Ray pointed out. “We have a nice, roomy tour bus, with bunks and everything.” 

“You’ve come a long way,” you smiled weakly. 

You were quiet as you piled into the car. As the taxi started driving down the street, you stared out at the night sky, and the city lights flying by. Suddenly, Frank gently touched your hand, making you turn, and face him. 

“Hey,” he said quietly, giving your hand a squeeze, “are you alright, Y/N?” 

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.” 

“Tonight’s supposed to be a party, remember?” he teased. “So, try and smile for me, okay?” 

“I’ll try,” you promised. It was far easier to smile, with him around. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You could tell as soon as you walked into the lobby, that this was a five star hotel. A crystal chandelier, cast a soft glow over the pristine decor. 

“We already got our room keys earlier,” Gerard explained. “So, we can go ahead up.” 

You nodded, and followed him and the guys to the elevator. 

“I think I’m gonna crash as soon as we get upstairs,” Ray confessed, sniffling into his tissue again. 

“I don’t blame you,” you said sympathetically. The elevator dinged, as you arrived at your floor. 

“Since I won’t see you guys until tomorrow,” Ray sighed, “Happy New Year, alright?”

“Happy New Year, Ray,” you waved, as you watched him unlock his hotel room door, and head inside. “Feel better soon!”

“Thanks, Y/N,” Ray wheezed, closing the door behind him. 

“Alright, let’s head into our room,” Frank grinned, opening the door to the adjoining room. “What do you want to do first?” 

“Let’s turn the TV on,” Mikey suggested, immediately looking for the remote. “I wanna see the other performances. They’re still broadcasting live right now.” 

“Oh, true,” you nodded. “We can still watch the ball drop tonight, on this flat screen!” 

“I wanna look at the room service menu,” Gerard grinned. “Y/N, you can have anything you want. Just let me know.” 

“Thanks, Gee,” you grinned. “Should we get champagne to toast with, at midnight?” 

“I’ll get it for you three,” Gerard shrugged. “For me? I guess I’ll order a club soda. If they put it in a fancy glass, I can still clink it with yours when the clock strikes twelve.” 

“Yeah, that works,” Frank agreed. “Looks almost the same.”

You frowned. That’s right, you remembered. Gerard is about two and a half years sober now. 

You remembered going to see them, at their Englishtown show, during Warped Tour ‘04. Gerard had been a mess. You hadn’t seen him in two or three months, and you were shocked how much he’d deteriorated. You’d felt helpless. If you’d had more time, maybe you could have talked some sense into him. But, the very next day, he had to get back on his bus, and head to another gig, in Pennsylvania. 

Frank had called you on the phone, maybe a week later, and told you Gerard had decided to get clean, on his own. You didn’t know how, or why. You didn’t know fifty percent, of what went on in your friends’ heads anymore. 

“.....Y/N?” Frank called, his voice stunning you out of your thoughts. 

“Sorry,” you blinked. “Did you say something?” 

“Yeah, I said I’m going out to the balcony, to have a smoke,” Frank replied. “I asked you if you wanted to come with me?”

“Oh….yeah, sure,” you nodded, and followed him out. “Got a light?” 

“Here,” Frank said, pulling a lighter out of his pocket, and handing it to you. 

You took a pack of Marlboros out of your purse, and lit one. “Thanks,” you said, handing it back. 

Frank lit his own cigarette, and took a drag. You glanced over at him as you inhaled the nicotine, watching how the cool night breeze tousled his hair. 

“I thought you said on the phone, that  you were trying to quit,” Frank raised an eyebrow. 

“I should,” you sighed, exhaling smoke. “I know it’s bad for me.”

“Sorry for being a bad influence,” Frank laughed. “I know I got no room to talk.”

“It’s not your fault,” you shrugged, taking another puff. “I guess I’m just stressed tonight.” 

“About what?” Frank asked, looking at you curiously. 

“It’s stupid,” you mumbled. 

“Tell me,” Frank insisted, taking his free hand in yours again. Your heart raced at his casual touch. 

“I just…,” you sighed, unsure how to begin. “I never see you guys anymore.” 

“I’m sorry,” Frank frowned. 

“No, don’t be,” you shook your head. “I’m being selfish. I should be happy for you, right? It’s a good thing, that the band has gotten so successful, that you have fans in practically every city in the world, that want to see you.” 

“Yeah, they get to see me,” Frank groaned. “But, I don’t get to see my friends, or family - any of the people I love most - for months at a time.” 

The people he loves most. Your face reddened. Did you really fit into that category? 

“After tonight,” you asked, “how long will you be in town?” 

“The first night of the tour is February 22nd,” Frank explained. “The gig’s in New Hampshire, so we’ll be flying out the night before.” 

“So we have….slightly less than two months, to spend time together,” you calculated. “And after that, the next time you’ll be in my neck of the woods is…?” 

“Bamboozle Festival,” Frank replied. “That’s in May.” 

“Wow,” you frowned. “Are you playing all three days of the festival, or…?”

“Nah, just one,” Frank said sheepishly. “We’ll be in Jersey for a night….the very next day, we’ll be playing a gig in fuckin’ Maine.”

“The fun never stops, I guess,” you deadpanned. 

“I mean, it is fun,” Frank admitted. “I love being a musician. Playing my guitar, onstage, is all I’ve wanted to do, my entire life.” 

“Yeah, it’s your dream,” you said quickly, “that’s why I should just shut up, and let you…”

“You don’t have to shut up,” Frank interrupted. “Y/N, I want you to tell me how you feel.” 

“How do I feel, Frank?” you repeated, your emotions starting to get the best of you. “I feel like I don’t even know my friends at all anymore! I don’t want you to turn into a stranger, whose laugh I could recognize anywhere. I’m still working the same dead end job I had the day I met you….but your life has completely changed. You’re gone 80% of the year, and yeah, I know you text or call me whenever you can, but when I’m not there face to face, I still miss so much of your life! You used to be just….a guy next door, that I could listen to records and smoke with. Now you’re some….millionaire rock star. That coat you’ve got on right now is probably worth more than my first car, and you’ve probably got girls in every town, throwing their panties at you…” 

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t look twice at any of those girls,” Frank said, looking you in the eye, “if a certain someone, told me, that she wanted me to be hers, and hers alone.”

A certain someone….? you gasped. Did he mean…?

“Hey!” a voice interrupted, and you jumped, as the sliding glass door slid open, and Gerard stepped onto the balcony. “There you guys are!” 

“H-hey,” you stammered, taken aback. 

“Everything alright?” Gerard asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow. 

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s cool,” Frank mumbled, not looking at you at all, as he stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. “What did you need?”

“We’ve got about five minutes til midnight,” Gerard smiled. “Figured you guys would want to come back inside, so we can count down the last seconds of 2006 together.” 

“Oh, right, of course,” you blinked. “Did room service already bring up the champagne flutes?”

“Yeah, they’re ready to go,” Gerard nodded. “....Wait. Where’s Mikey?” 

“We thought he was with you,” Frank said, looking confused. 

“No,” Gerard shook his head. “I went to the bathroom, and when I came back out, he was gone. If he’s not on the balcony with you guys, where did he go?” 

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Maybe he went to his and Ray’s room?” 

“Oh, yeah, that would make sense,” Gerard nodded. “Let’s go get him.” 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Gerard knocked loudly on the hotel room door. 

“Come on, Mikey!” he called. “We got three minutes til midnight, you’re gonna miss the ball drop, dude!” 

The door swung open, but instead of Mikey, a sleepy-looking Ray answered. 

“Mikey’s not in here,” Ray said with a yawn. “It’s just me.”

“Oh, sorry for waking you up, man,” Gerard apologized. 

“Wait,” Frank realized. “If he’s not in either hotel room, then, where is he?” 

“Maybe he went to go get ice?” Ray suggested. 

“Or maybe he went downstairs, to ask the front desk guy something,” you guessed. 

“Let’s split up,” Frank suggested. “You guys go down the hall and see if he’s by the ice machine. Y/N and I will look for him downstairs.” 

“Yeah, we can do that,” Gerard agreed. “Hopefully we’ll find him before the end of the year!” 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

“This elevator’s taking too long to get up here,” Frank said impatiently, hitting the down-arrow button a second time. 

“Wanna just take the stairs?” you suggested. 

“Works for me,” Frank shrugged. 

You followed him into the stairwell, your heart still pounding from the conversation on the balcony. What would have happened, you wondered, if Gerard hadn’t walked in when he did? 

Frank kept his eyes on the flight of stairs in front of you, not saying a word, as you walked past the sign, indicating that you were now on the second floor. 

“Maybe he didn’t go this wa...oh, fuck,” Frank gasped, coming to a sudden stop.  

Your blood froze, when you saw what he was looking at. Mikey’s unconscious body, lay sprawled across the bottom steps. He was face down….he didn’t even look like he was breathing. 

“Mikey, oh my god!” You ran to his side, flipping him over, so that you could see his face. “Frank, we have to help him!” 

The bassist looked deathly pale, and his lips had turned a horrifying shade of blue. You felt for a pulse. It was there, but it was disturbingly weak.

“Come on, Mikey, wake up!” you pleaded, shaking his shoulders. “Oh my god, what’s wrong with him?!” 

“I think he’s overdosing,” Frank realized, kneeling by your side. 

“On what?!” you gasped. 

“On whatever he went downstairs, to pick up from his dealer,” Frank growled. “Goddamnit! We need to call 911.” 

“Mikey!” a familiar voice called, and Gerard and Ray burst into the stairwell. 

“Oh, god!” Gerard gasped, when he saw his brother, lying eerily still in your arms. 

“I’m trying to wake him up!” you explained. “It’s not working...fuck, what do I do?” 

“He needs a doctor,” Ray realized, whipping out his cell phone. “....Hello? Yes, we’re having an emergency…...the Knickerbocker Hotel….umm, Six Times Square….please hurry….my friend isn’t breathing…” 

You shook Mikey’s shoulders again. His eyes fluttered open, but his pupils were like pinpricks. He gasped and choked, like he couldn’t get air into his lungs. 

“Come on, Mikey, hang in there!” you begged. Oh god, what if he died?!

You could see the headlines now. World Tour Canceled After Bassist’s Hospitalization. You’d wanted more time with Frank….but not like this, damnit! 

Since when did your oldest friend’s kid brother do smack?! 

I really don’t know anything about them anymore, you realized, tears clouding your vision as you listened to him wheeze. Minutes felt like hours. 

“Out of the way!” called an unfamiliar voice, and you gaped as two paramedics dragged a stretcher down the stairs. 

“Ma’am, we need to move him,” a uniformed woman barked. “Time is of the essence.” 

You let the EMT scoop Mikey up, and load him onto the gurney. 

“What did he take?” the second paramedic asked. 

“I….I don’t know,” you stammered. “We just found him like this.” 

“Ma’am,” the man pressed, “we’re not here to judge anybody. But, any information you have, can help us figure out what antidote he needs…”

“Here,” Frank said. “I found this next to his body.” 

He handed the paramedic a needle. Oh, god. 

“I see,” the paramedic nodded grimly. “Judith! Get this man two milligrams of naloxone, stat!” 

“Is….is he gonna be okay?!” Gerard gasped, tears in his eyes. “That’s my baby brother….”

“We’re going to try our best to save him, sir,” the female paramedic (Judith) promised. “We need to move him to the hospital, as soon as possible.” 

“We’re only going to be able to fit two extra people in the ambulance,” the male paramedic warned. “Who’s going?” 

“Me,” Gerard said immediately. “He’s my family!” 

“Who else?” the paramedic demanded. “We don’t have time to waste.” 

Mikey gasped for air on the gurney, his face growing bluer by the minute. 

“I’ll go,” Ray decided. “Frank, you stay here with Y/N, okay?” 

“O-okay,” Frank stammered. You clung to him,shaking, as you watched the paramedics drag your friend out of the hallway, to the ambulance waiting outside. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

“.....Happy New Year!” the oblivious voice of Ryan Seacrest rang out from the television screen, as you walked back into the hotel room, wiping your eyes on your sleeve. 

Confetti was falling in Times Square, as the credits rolled. You’d missed the countdown. There had been no toast, no midnight kiss (although perhaps, the latter had been foolish to even hope for.) 

“This wasn’t how 2007 was supposed to start,” Frank sobbed, sinking down onto the bed. “Fuck!” 

“H-he’s gonna be okay,” you stammered. “The doctors are gonna save his life…”

“You don’t know that!” Frank cried, kicking a bottle of Dom Perignon off the coffee table. It shattered, sending broken glass and alcohol all over the floor. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Y/N,” Frank apologized, kneeling to pick up the shards. “I shouldn’t have done that…”

“Ssh, stop, you’re gonna cut yourself,” you warned, grabbing his hands. “We can clean that up later, okay? I understand that you’re only lashing out, because you’re scared…” 

“Of course I’m scared,” Frank wept, burying his head in your shoulder. “That’s one of my best friends.” 

“He’s my friend, too,” you said softly, stroking Frank’s hair. “I’m scared, too, but there’s nothing we can do now, but pray.” 

You sat down on the bed, and Frank sat with you, still sobbing into your shirt. You were choking back tears yourself. 

“I….I didn’t know he was doing that stuff,” you said guiltily. “I’m never around you guys anymore….I….”

“I didn’t realize the extent of the problem, either,” Frank confessed. “And I’m with the kid almost every day. I should’ve noticed, but I was too self absorbed, doing my own dumb shit…” 

“Ssh, it’s not your fault, Frankie,” you soothed. “We got him, to the people that can help him. That’s all we can do.” 

“It doesn’t feel like enough,” Frank sniffed, still clinging to you tightly. 

“No,” you agreed, your heart aching, “it doesn’t.” 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You woke the next morning, to the feeling of warmth against your side. Your eyes fluttered open, and you realized that Frank was sleeping next to you. What?!

Your cheeks reddened as you stared at his sleeping face, so close to your own. “...Frank? Why are you…?”

Reality filtered back into your head, slowly, as you recalled the events of the previous night. Oh god….Mikey! 

Was he okay? You still didn’t know. You and Frank had sat beside each other on the hotel room bed, crying, clinging to each other for comfort. You supposed you had fallen asleep like that. 

“.....Huh?” Frank groaned sleepily. “Y/N…?” 

He shot up, jerking away from you, almost as soon as he realized, that your bodies were touching. “I...I’m sorry!”

“N-no, it’s fine…” you stammered. 

“Fuck….I need to check my messages,” Frank realized, groping for his cell phone on the bedside table. He sat up,and put his feet on the floor. “Owww!”

“What’s wrong?” you gasped. 

“I just stepped on a shard of the bottle I broke last night...fuck!” Frank swore. 

“Oh no,” you winced. “Is it bleeding?” 

“No, it’s just cut a little,” Frank shook his head. 

“Do you want me to call the front desk,” you offered, “and see if they can bring up some Band-Aids?”

“No, it’s not that serious,” Frank insisted, opening his flip phone. His eyes widened, as he clicked through his inbox. “Oh….oh, thank god…” 

“What?” you demanded. 

“Ray texted me, around like two in the morning,” Frank explained. “He said Mikey’s gonna make it. The doctors were able to reverse the overdose in time, and he’s gonna make a full recovery.”

“Oh, thank goodness!” you cried, tearing up from sheer relief. You had been so scared, that Ray’s text, would say that Mikey hadn’t survived. He’s gonna be okay. He’s alive. 

Frank, however, didn’t share your grateful smile. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked. 

“I’m sorry that you had to see that, last night,” Frank frowned. “We ruined your New Year’s Eve.” 

“It’s not your fault,” you shook your head. “I’m glad I was there, to help you find him. I wouldn’t have wanted you to go through this alone.” 

“I hate to ask you for even more help,” Frank grimaced, “but, we need to clean this shit up.”

“You’re right,” you nodded, leaning down to help him pick up the glass shards. “It wouldn’t be fair, to leave it for the hotel staff to pick up.” 

“Some bands dig trashing hotel rooms,” Frank sighed, grabbing a towel from the bathroom, to mop up the puddle of champagne. “Not me, though. I feel bad, making a mess, that some housekeeper is gonna have to deal with.” 

He’s a kind person, you thought to yourself, as you carefully placed the pieces of bottle into a waste basket. Not everyone would take the time to do this, after the night we had. 

“Shit, look at this,” Frank sighed, pointing down at the hardwood floor. “Nobody blew out the stupid scented candle, that Housekeeping lit before we checked in, to make the place smell pretty. Now, there’s dried wax all over the floorboards.” 

“You had bigger things to worry about last night,” you reminded. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even notice the candle was still burning, with everything else going on. I would’ve reminded you to put it out.” 

“That’s not your job,” Frank said, pulling a guitar pick from his pocket. He tried to use it to scrape some of the wax up, but it didn’t seem to want to budge. “None of this is your job.” 

“What do you mean?” you blinked. 

“You said last night, that you don’t see us for months at a time,” Frank reasoned, scraping harder with his pick. “And then...last night, you finally see us again, and this happens.”  

“You couldn’t have predicted something like that,” you assured him. 

“We complicate your life, Y/N,” Frank frowned. “I complicate your life. You don’t need this fucking drama. The best thing I could for you, is probably just leave you alone. Stop inviting you to see us when we’re in town. I’ve grown apart from a lot of friends since I left New Jersey. Why can’t I just let this relationship go, too?” 

“I don’t want you to do that!” you protested. “Frank, our friendship is really important to me. I would be miserable if you suddenly stopped inviting me to hang out.” 

“I don’t just want to hang out with you,” Frank mumbled. “I want more than that.” 

“....Huh?” you cocked your head. 

“But it’s not fair, for me to ask you for that,” Frank signed. “Not when I know damn well, that I’m about to spend the majority of 2007, hundreds of miles away from you.” 

“Ask me for what?” you demanded. You suddenly remembered the words, he had spoken to you on the balcony, before your night had gone straight to hell. 

“I wouldn’t look twice, at any of those girls, if  a certain someone, told me, that she wanted me to be hers, and hers alone.”

“Nothing,” Frank murmured, picking fruitlessly at the wax on the floor again. “It’s stupid. Ignore me.”

“I won’t ignore it,” you insisted. “Frank, what were you going to ask me?” 

Frank looked at his shoes. 

You sat down on the floor next to him, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “....Frank?” 

“I was going to ask you...to be mine,” Frank confessed. 

You gasped, audibly. No way….he really felt the same way about you, that you did about him?!

“But, it’s not right, for me to ask you, to make that commitment to me!” Frank said miserably. “Not when I’m just gonna disappear on you again. And...you saw, last night, what my life has turned into. What my band has turned into. I’m a mess….why would you want to be with someone like me?” 

“Frankie, I love you,” you said plainly. Now that you knew he returned your feelings, there was no point in hiding it anymore. “I’ve loved you for years.” 

He raised his head to look at you. His hazel eyes, swimming with tears again, stared into yours. “You….you mean that?” 

“Yes,” you said emotionally. “I’ve been in love with you for so long….but, you’re a famous rock star now. I’m still just an art school dropout. You can do so much better than me.” 

“Funny,” Frank chuckled bitterly, “I was about to say the same thing, about you.”

“Frank, there isn’t anybody better than you,” you sighed, and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him into a searing kiss. 

His lips met yours, hesitant at first, but then suddenly you were toppling to the floor, as he pressed himself against you, with four years worth of buried desire. 

Life was so short. You realized that now. 

His hands tangled into your hair as he kissed you over and over. “Be mine,” he gasped, coming up for air. “Please be mine, Y/N….even if it fucks up everything…” 

“Frankie, it’s okay,” you assured him, as you gazed up at him tenderly. “I don’t care if you’re gone a hundred nights. You’re worth waiting for. Just promise me, that when you do finally come home, I can….have you.” 

“Oh, you can have me any way you want me,” Frank breathed, leaning down to kiss you passionately again. “I won’t touch anyone else while I’m away on tour….nobody else is as beautiful as you. You’re the only one that I want.”

“You’re the only one that I want, too, Frankie,” you promised him, claiming his mouth once again. “I want you every day. Not just when you’re the toast of the town. Not just when times are good. I want to be there with you, through the bad times, too. I want to help you when you’re scared, or even when something fucked up happens, like last night... because I love you. I’ll stay with you, no matter what….even when it’s hard, or it’s wrong, or you’re making mistakes. I don’t care. I just want to be with you.” 

“I want to be with you, too, Y/N,” Frank vowed, kissing your eyes, your nose, your mouth. It was like he couldn’t get enough. “You’re the woman I choose….because, hey, there might be lots of women who’d love to be my New Year’s Eve kiss. But, you’re the only woman I know, who would stick by my side, helping me clean up bottles on New Year’s Day.”

#frank iero x reader #frank iero imagine #substance abuse tw

[deepslateemeraldore]

goin’ crazy from the moment i met you

for the @itfandomprompts gift exchange! this is my gift for @a-portable-snack who requested “ (college Au) Losers go to karaoke and Richie sings Untouched by the Veronicas to Eddie drunkenly and Reddie Chaos ensues “! hope you enjoy this!!!

   - 4k words   - Mentions of weed and alcohol   - Mentions of Bill’s past relationship   - Talks of crushes

  Sleepy college towns are never really thought of as anything other than that. They’re small, oftentimes quiet communities, with bands of young adults trying to find their places in the grand scheme of things. There’s heartbreak, love, loss, and on occasion, loud drunken nights singing karaoke obnoxiously and proudly in the shitty little dive bars that offered such sad excuses for attention. Who in their right mind would find such an embarrassing pastime enjoyable?  

   The answer: Eddie Kaspbrak. A rising star in the world of local track and field, and often found running wild with his band of misfits on the weekends (though, to him, the fact that they were misfits is what made their bond so strong). He couldn’t help the image that the town had put together about him, trotting at the heels of the other town losers; Bill Denbrough, Mike Hanlon, Stanley Uris, Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom, and last but not least, Richard Tozier (though, calling him anything besides “Richie” was bound to get you an earful unless you were his mother). 

 If only the judging eyes could see Eddie, laughing himself sick amongst said friends, singing songs that hadn’t been popular since his elementary school years. They’d take turns picking their most hated songs to sing at each other while the recipient of that round would make sour faces at the offender (but secretly, they wouldn’t be upset. They’d think it was the most hilarious thing, only to be replaced by the following week's act of tomfoolery and embarrassment).

 In fact, karaoke had become a sort of group therapy for the clan of friends. It fell into routine after everyone’s first year at college ended with Richie using his newly acquired fake ID to load up the back of Bev’s car with enough beer to last a whole winter. The three drank at Bill’s until their knees went numb, and ended up wandering around downtown for a bit, stumbling into a shitty dive when the need for greasy food set in. By mistake, Bev signed up for karaoke, and the rest is history. Ben came the next time with Mike, who invited Stanley who invited Eddie. The latter of the two had stood solid on their stance of karaoke being dumb and childish until they’d decided to duet to “Total Eclipse of the Heart” in homage to changing majors. Eddie had never felt more alive than in that moment. 

 Over time, the song selection had grown from moody teenage anthems to half-time show routines, before settling comfortably in a genre appealing to only the chaotically single and nostalgically lonely. That’s not to say they were sad songs, oftentimes they were very fun and upbeat songs, but lyrically they could bring a drunk Bill Denbrough to his knees (though that was a very easy task that only required a small amount of hard liquor). 

 However, one particular night at the Bleu Jay will forever have a choke hold on Eddie Kaspbrak’s tender heart. 

 It was an average Saturday in late March, and he and Bev had spent the morning at various craft stores hunting for diploma frames. Bev had graduated the past winter with a BA in Textile and Apparel Studies, immediately accepting an offer to work with the Penobscot Theatre (along with several other theatres in Maine). She became impassioned for the art made by local seamstresses, and it was clear the feeling was mutual as soon as she joined the team. 

 Eddie would be graduating at the end of that spring with a Bachelors in Statistics (although it was assumed he would enroll in a new program for Anatomy and Biology the coming fall), becoming the fourth of his friend group to get his degree. And he was proud of himself, little “Wheezie” Kaspbrak, coddled by his mother until he could break free, going to college against family wishes and proving that he had more to him than what was publicly thought. And it was exhilarating in the same vein, existing outside of his mother's (womb) house. 

 And, as almost every Saturday since becoming legal went, they set out to celebrate with drinks. And karaoke. 

 Mike and Stan arrived first, Bill, Ben, and Richie next, and lastly, Bev and Eddie. The agreed upon meeting time was always seven thirty, and like every Saturday, Bev and Eddie were late. 

 “Man, you guys are s-s-so late,” Bill slurred, sitting shotgun in Ben’s car with the door propped open. Bev hadn’t even put the car park by the time the smell of shitty weed had made itself known. Bev giggled as she opened her door, shooting Eddie a look as if to say “this should be hilarious.” Eddie followed Bev’s lead, opening the door of the ‘99 Camry, careful not to slam the door too hard, and checking that the mirror had not fallen off (again. It was a junk car, but it ran like a dream, Bev would say). 

 “I already sm-smoked all Richie’s weed, Bev.” Bill followed up. Eddie took one solid look at his friend and let out his own little laugh. Mike led everyone from the parking lot into the bar, and after having their IDs checked (they came weekly, at this point you’d think the poor old bouncer wouldn’t care) they made way to their table. It was the only horseshoe booth in the place, furthest away from the bar counter, and the best place to be loud without getting any funny looks from other patrons. They were also the largest group to ever set foot in the dive.

 Mike would always sit in the middle, Stan and Bill on either side of him, Ben then Bev sitting to Stan’s left, Richie then Eddie to Bill’s right. Just like always. Stan ordered the first round of drinks, making sure to order Bill’s Bloody Mary with more tomato juice and less vodka (the conversation outside the bar between he and Richie about Bill being a “One Hit Wonder” went right over the accused’s head, making for a good laugh all around) and Eddie’s Appletini sans garnish. Bev chimed in to ask for a basket of fries, making Stan’s eyes shine bright. 

 “I knew there was a reason we’ve kept you around, Marsh.” He teased, clapping a hand on her shoulder. Ben smiled at the interaction, happy to see the most tense member of their group relaxing so soon into the evening. As soon as the waiter stepped away, small talk grew into a medium rumble, and talk about classes and grad school and professors everyone hated began to snowball. It only got worse as drinks made their way around.

 “I thought Richie said Short was a good head for the theatre department?” Mike asked Bev softly. Before Bev could respond, Richie had butted in. 

 “No, Mikey, I said Short gives good head to the theatre department,” Was Richie’s reply as he knocked back a shot of Jameson and winced. “Everyone loves a good gum job from-“

 “Beep Beep, Richie.” That was Eddie, exasperated having to hear about the old guy for what felt like the hundredth time. Richie turned to his friend, mock hurt, and scoffed. 

 “But Ed’s, you love to hear about me getting all the foxy grandpas and-“ Eddie’s cheeks flushed pink. 

 “I said beep beep, Dick. Shut up.” Richie stared at Eddie meekly as Eddie turned back to the group and picked up his martini. Without missing a beat, he spoke to Bill. 

 “So, are you and Audra on speaking terms now?” The table sat quiet as Eddie spoke, partially because the tone he’d just used was borderline frightening, but also because Richie had never shut up that quickly before. Bev would have to commend him on it later. Bill cleared his throat. 

 “We t-t-talked about it on Wednesday. I went to s-see her after her shift and all was f-fine. She said she’d rather see me h-happy with a guy than mi-miserable with her.” He shrugged, taking a sip of the water Stan had slyly moved closer to him. Bev nodded, as did Ben, Richie, Eddie. Everyone took a drink. Richie cleared his throat.

 “I’m happy for you, man. Really. Growth and all that shit. Mazel tov or whatever.” Everyone laughed save for Stan, who groaned, sinking into the booth. 

 “So, are we tipsy enough to start singing or does the Donner Party minus Bill need another round?” Richie asked, looking around the table. He was met with stares of confusion. 

 “Why are we the Donner Party minus Bill?” Ben inquired trying to connect the dots mentally. 

 “Because Bill fell off the wagon after I let him hit BabySpice in the parking lot.”  Ben nodded, not bothering to inquire further. Bill made a noise of protest, but was too eager to make a fool of himself on the small bar stage to say otherwise. 

 And so the night began. They moved as a herd to the DJ booth, signing their names after finding a song (although, Eddie had to sign Bill’s name and song, seeing as the lightweight was a bit too fucked up to hold the pen properly. Seriously, one hit and half a Bloody Mary?), then retreating back to the booth, awaiting their names being called to the stage when it was time. They had a few more sips and laughs in between.

 Mike was called first. Mike usually went first just to ease the tension, but tonight he seemed almost a bit too excited to go first. 

 “Is it just me, or is he skipping up there?” Eddie asked Richie, leaning in and whispering while still keeping his eyes on Mike. He felt Richie lean in a little closer to him, too, making his cheeks flush pink again. 

 “I think he might have a crush on someone,” Richie motioned with his head to Bill very subtly. “But, you didn’t hear that from me.” Eddie’s eyes grew to the size of saucers as he turned to face Richie, who smirked and held a finger up to his lips. “Shhh.” Eddie let out a light chuckle, turning his attention back to Mike on stage. The song started up as Mike waved to his friends, who smiled back and began to sway to the music. 

 Eddie smiled to himself as he zoned out, thinking about what Richie has just said. Mike and Bill. Bill and Mike. It didn’t bother Eddie in the slightest, in fact, he became almost excited at the thought of them two dating. They’d always been close, and they’d always made a really good team. And if Bill thought the same way about Mike, then that’d be just dandy! But Bill did just get out of a relationship, but he also seemed happy to bring up the whole “happier with a guy” thing… who knows? Not Eddie. Not in the slightest. Eddie reached for his drink, bringing it close and sipping it throughout Mike’s song, thinking. 

 He thought about “crushes” he’s had in the past on a few girls from his childhood, then the crushes he had in middle and high school on boys, and the crush that he’s had on the same boy since high school. He felt his neck grow hot and downed the last few sips of his martini. Mike’s song ended and they all cheered, although Eddie wouldn’t have been able to tell you what song he’d even sang. The waiter came by their table as Mike came back, earning a pat on the back from Ben (who was up next) and a thumbs up from Bill who appeared to be… blushing? God, if Bill was blushing then I must look like a damn lobster, Eddie thought, then turned to the waiter and asked for a Long Island Iced Tea, sub the rum for extra tequila. 

 The waiter was back within the first minute of Ben’s song, prompting Eddie to waste no time sucking his drink down. His first sip took a bit more than a third of the glass and burned only slightly on its way down. He took another big sip, the glass now just below halfway, which earned a sneering chuckle from Richie, lightly sipping his fourth Jack & Coke.

 “You got a hot date or s’mthin?” Richie asked, almost a little too close to Eddie’s ear.

Now I probably look like a ripe fucking beet, just peachy. Eddie blinked, turned his head to look at Stan and jeered back:

 “Yes, actually. Stanley and I were talking about bringing a himbo or two back to the condo. Why, you think you qualify?” It was Eddie’s turn to smirk, and the blank look on Richie’s face counted as a victory in his book. Eddie focused his attention back to Ben on stage, clapping for his friend as the song finished, hoping his blush was subtle. Richie sat completely still.

 Bev went after Ben, planting a kiss on his cheek as they walked past each other. Bev sang “Baby Got Back”, much to the surprise of everyone other than Eddie (they’d discussed these important matters on the drive). Bill went after Bev, Richie after Bill (although in everyone’s mind, the “Tequila” song did not count, which earned him a do-over for after Stan went), Eddie after Richie (Eddie was also razzed for choosing “Sweet Caroline” due to its extremely popular nature with the drunk crowd), and Stan following last. Eddie had enjoyed Stan’s song, “SexyBack” but only because once Stan was nearing drunk, he would go all out with his dance moves, getting the entire bar (really, the only 5 others in the bar besides the losers) to clap with him. It was fun! It was all fun! 

 Until Richie got up to perform his do-over song. Eddie had gotten up to let him out of the booth, but the way Richie’s normally swinging gait sagged was cause for concern in Eddie’s inebriated mind. Bill, now far too “drunk” from a grand total of three and a half shots worth of alcohol, was whooping and hollering as Richie talked to the DJ. Eddie was prepared, as was the rest of the table, for Richie to choose something to get off easy, something in the family of “Rolling in the Deep” or “Jolene”, with Stan bidding on “Hand in my Pocket” because “it’s just a karaoke classic!”. 

 The conversation roaring around the table while Richie and the DJ looked for some song that wasn’t coming up in the catalog turned to making fun of Bill, who had claimed his “high was wearing off” and that he had “never been this brunk defore”, earning a hearty laugh from the six. Stan and Eddie worked to prop Bill up so he was at least not head first on the table. In fact, they would’ve all missed Richie starting if it hadn’t been for the tapping on the microphone, followed by:

 “Hello, I am slightly tipsy and extremely sorry for what you are all about to see.” Violins came from the speakers surrounding the stage, and when Eddie looked at the screen behind Richie’s head, the panic set in, surrounding the bar in the sounds of 2000’s pop. 

 Richie began to dance, albeit very poorly, to “Untouched” by The Veronicas. He was a little drunk. Eddie was a little drunk. A man sitting at a booth near the DJ was clapping and cheering, and also probably a little drunk. The losers were clapping and cheering. Eddie felt like he was inside an ice cube, and also like he was going to pass out. 

 “I go ooh ooh, you go aah aah,

Lalalala, lalalala,” Richie began to sing, his voice reaching somewhere between a valley girl and a horrible Britney Spears impression. 

“I wanna wanna wanna get get get what I want, don’t stop,” Richie sang to the man in the booth, who hadn’t stopped clapping. It occurred to Eddie in that moment that Richie couldn’t be drunk. Drunk Richie was funny, aloof, extra clumsy, and could barely mutter out a proper sentence. No amount of alcohol would make him do this.

 Eddie tore his eyes away from his friend on stage, intensely studying the remaining ice in his glass. He tried to bring a hand up to fiddle with the straw, to keep himself distracted, but the way his hand shook was going to give away everything he was trying to keep in. Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Don’t look UP. If he thought about it hard enough, Eddie supposed he could have made himself throw up from the amount of sudden stress (which was code for Gay Panic) building in his abdomen. He could faintly hear Bev and Bill cheering, and out of the corner of his eye caught Stan standing up in the booth to join in the support of his friend. Close your eyes. Close your eyes. Close your eyes. 

  “Cause you’re the only one who’s on my mind, I’ll never ever let you leave, I’ll try to stop time forever, never wanna hear you say goodbye,” jerked Eddie back to reality, but only because he could feel his worst fear currently coming true. 

 Richie had stepped off the stage, and Eddie had looked over at him just as he had made his way through the small crowd of the bar (and as far as the mic cord would allow). Eddie could feel the eyes shift to him, and was certain that if you hooked him up to an EKG, he would be legally pronounced dead. 

 “I feel so untouched and I want you so much, that I just can’t resist you,” Eddie could tell by the look in his eyes, Richie was determined about something. 

 “It’s not enough to say that I miss you,” maybe this was directed at Bill, because Richie had a crush on him once upon a time. 

 “I feel so untouched right now, need you so much somehow, I can’t forget you,” or maybe this was directed at the guy, sitting alone by the DJ who hasn’t stopped clapping. Maybe Richie was being dramatic, building tension. 

 “Goin crazy from the moment I met you.” It was the direct eye contact Eddie had accidentally made with Richie that kick started his heart. This was directed at him holy shit. 

 “And I need you so much,” Eddie could hear Bev yelling for him to get up, he could feel Stan trying to shove him out of the booth, to go up there right fucking now because this is your one fucking chance. And like some miserable, absolute asinine fool, Eddie stood up, betraying every nerve in his body. He couldn’t hear Richie singing anymore, he could hear anyone in the bar clapping or hollering, hell he could barely even make out Richie’s face as he walked towards him. He watched his lips move, god I’ve never wanted to kiss someone more than right now, tip toeing, trying to keep his balance, trying to make it to Richie before someone else takes the opportunity. 

 There were only a handful of times where Eddie Kaspbrak had felt completely in charge of his situation. The most notable being the day the town bullies broke his arm, and instead of letting them win, he got up and laughed in their faces, sending them running for the hills. However, that was about to be bumped down.

 Without breaking the eye contact, without breaking the cadence of his walk, Eddie Kaspbrak reached out to grab Richie Tozier, his crush, his damned high school through today crush, by the collar of his unbuttoned flannel, god it’s so soft, causing Richie to drop the microphone just as Eddie pulled him down to kiss him. Edward Kaspbrak was kissing Richard Tozier right now in the shitty karaoke bar in fucking Bangor, Maine. And it. Felt. So. Right. 

 It was like all was suddenly right in the world, the planets had aligned, and Santa Claus himself has just had delivered the best fucking gift to the both of them. Eddie felt Richie’s hands grab at his cheeks, then fly around his shoulders, trying to get closer, both of them numb to the fact that they we’re making out in front of their friends and a handful of strangers in a shitty dive bar! Who FUCKING knew?!?

 Eddie pulled away first, partly because of shock, partly because he wanted to open his damn eyes and look at this, commit it to memory. Everything around him became more clear. Bev and Stan screeching, the rest of the losers whistling, and a few of the random patrons subjected to this very odd-and-overtly-sexual non-verbal confession of love. Of love. Richie let the microphone fall to the floor, feedback scratching through the speakers. 

 “This isn’t the way I thought this would happen,” Eddie chuckled, letting Richie pull him into a hug, still in the center of the bar. “But it makes too much sense because it’s you.” He felt Richie press a kiss to his hair, then drop an arm to grab one of his hands. 

 “Let’s, uh, let’s get out of here, yeah?” Richie struggled to get out, his smile distracting Eddie from the fact that his hair was matted to his forehead via sweat. Eddie only nodded, leading Richie past the table of their friends (who had begun to chant “Get a room! Get a room! Get a room!”, earning a swift flick of the bird from both Richie and Eddie), out the door of the bar, giggles from both parties ringing out all the way to Richie’s car, then into Richie’s car, and finally as Richie drove away in his car. 

 The losers had gotten up one by one to follow them out, not even upset at the fact that they would have to cram into two cars now. Stan and Bev were out the door first, still wolf whistling as their (lovebird) friends drove off, Bill, Mike, and Ben at their heels. 

 “Wow, now that’s the m-miracle of lo-blargh,” everyone had turned just in time to see Bill barf up soggy French fries and an obscene amount of water. Calls of:

 “Jesus Christ,”

  “Eww, Bill,”

 “And that’s why we give you water, lightweight,” rang out in their circle, the friends taking a step back, Mike motioning for Bill to take a seat on the curb they stood on. 

 “I think that’s our cue to leave,” Bev stated.

“Ben, you wanna run in and pay the tab real quick? Take my card.” Ben nodded as Bev extended her hand with a card to him, disappearing back into the bar a final time. 

 “So, Marsh, where’s that twenty you bet me our Senior year?” Stan joked, helping Mike get Bill standing again, heading towards the cars. Bev laughed, throwing her head back. 

 “Where’s my twenty for saying Eddie was going to be the one to kiss him first?!” Bev shot back, reaching into her bag to pull out a crumpled twenty. Stan reached into his pocket, producing a folded crisp bill. They exchanged cash, laughing. 

 “This made no sense,” Bill offered coherently, stumbling closer to Mike. Stan and Bev turned to face him. 

“Why did Mike sing a Blondie song if he’s not blond?” It was Mike’s turn to throw his head back, letting out a hearty guffaw, before turning to Bill and responding. 

 “It’ll make sense someday,” Mike offered, wrapping his arm around Bill’s shoulder. Bill smiled, and shut up promptly. 

 They all sat around the parking lot for a while talking, sobering up. Bev had had a few cigarettes, sharing with Bill hoping to bring him back to earth. It was just as Mike and Bev got ready to drive off when Richie and Eddie pulled back into the parking lot, swinging between the two cars. Both were smiling messes, giggling and pink with a few new bruises on each of their necks. 

 “Just to put this out there, Eddie Kaspbrak fucks!” Richie yelled, peeling out from between his friends' cars, Eddie laughing and yelling “no! No! Shut up!” Between laughing fits, pulling back out onto the main road once more, riding off into the night. 

 “Let’s make that an extra twenty, Miss Marsh.” Stan smirked, waving at Bev shaking her head. Ben waved back as they pulled out of the lot. 

 “I should’ve thought this through more.” Bev laughed, reaching for Ben’s hand, and joining the other two cars on the road home. 

#itfandomprompts #itfandomexchange #itfanfic #richie #eddie #reddie fic #reddie fanfic #reddieau #college au #reddie #i guess i really wanted to try a different writing style #lemme know if yall like it

[naitiaclo960writings]

Day 10 - Sweet Rides

Dean remembered the first day he was allowed to drive the Impala. It was during a cool autumn morning that he had slipped behind the wheel of the car under the eyes of his father. He was only 13 years old and John had taken them to an isolated vacant lot before giving his seat to Dean. According to his father, he had to learn to drive early if anything ever happened to him. A hunter had to be prepared for all eventualities. Dean didn’t complain, on the contrary. To drive the Impala was to become that fearless hero that was his father every time he went on the adventure of a monster hunt.

That day, however, John did not seem particularly in the mood. His last hunt ended badly and he returned to the motel with a dark, closed face. Dean had done his best to fuel a happy conversation as Sam cheerfully participated while reciting his latest list of high marks at dinner. Today, John still seemed grumpy but more open to conversation. He quickly explained the controls to Dean before guiding his feet on the pedals.

"Good. Now start the car." John said, wedging himself in the passenger seat.

Dean obeyed and turned the key with a mixed feeling of excitement and apprehension. Immediately the engine purred under him and wrapped them in this powerful familiar vibration. Dean couldn’t stop a smile from coming on his lips as he squeezed the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened. The following minutes were devoted to the succinct learning of the Highway Code while John guided him to make circles on the open ground. It was definitely one of the best days he’s had in weeks. The exhilarating feeling of freedom he felt at the wheel of the Impala filled him up as he felt more and more comfortable at driving.

John also seemed to relax next to him until a fine smile lodged on his face, which did not fail to boost Dean’s confidence. Taking a great inspiration, he leaned forward with concentration.

"Wait, look at that!" He exclaimed, pushing the accelerator pedal harder.

"Dean-" John began, suddenly more attentive.

In less time than it took John to get his hands on the wheel, Dean had already inadvertently driven into a ditch. The car lifted up briefly before diving into a cliff, then everything became quiet. John’s smile flew away as fast as Dean’s. Three months later, he was actually driving the Impala to the nearest hospital because John had been shot in the stomach. This time he cautiously avoided all the bumps and other ditches.

The second time he was allowed to touch a steering wheel without being in a life or death situation was when they were on vacation at Uncle Bobby’s. He and Sam were playing quietly in the junkyard when Bobby came to find them behind the wheel of an old car probably rusted to the bone.

"Come on, get your brat’s asses in the car. Dean, take us back to the garage." Grumbled Bobby as he got out of the vehicle that lifted when the man left his seat.

"You want me to drive that?" Dean marvelled at the sight of that tin can, wrinkling his nose with disgust. He was even surprised that it was still working.

"Oh, sorry, is it not good enough for you, Your Majesty? Do you want me to find you a Lamborghini sprinkled with the gratitude maybe?" Mumbled Bobby while crossing his arms on his chest.

Dean rolled his eyes before climbing into the driver’s seat while Sam sat in the back, laughing softly.

"Lamborghinis suck anyway." Dean muttered, waiting for Bobby to join him in the passenger seat.

However, he learned much more that day than with his lesson in the Impala with John. The manual shifts were certainly more complicated, but soon the merry band found themselves doing several turns around the field before returning to the garage as planned. The next morning, when another customer dropped his car off at the junkyard, Dean was already sitting in the driver’s seat.

A few years later, as Dean was barely in his senior year and Sam discovered the joys of puberty, Dean took the wheel of what remained in his eyes the best ride for him and his brother. It was the evening of the 4th of July and the firecrackers were already echoing in the city and around their motel while everyone celebrated this day with great reinforcement of patriotism. John had gone to celebrate the end of a case with a hunter friend at the bar across the street and probably wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning. Also, seeing the Impala still parked in front of their room and Sam wailing in his corner about how much they were "still sitting there doing nothing while everyone was having fun”, had been too tempting not to give in.

Dean had stopped by the local grocery store—which, of course, sold a whole bunch of squibs and fireworks for the occasion—and then drove them out of town into a dark field. He ignored Sam’s protests when he pulled the fireworks box out of the trunk of the car and knew that he had made the right choice when he saw his little brother’s happy face as he lit the first rocket. Sam and Dean spent the night under the stars laughing carelessly. According to Sam, it was fortunate that the field did not catch fire and Dean redoubled his laughter at these words.

On the way back, the exclamations of joys had given way to a serene calm. Sam was the first to break the silence as Dean turned around the corner of their motel.

"Thank you Dean." He said.

After that night, the more the years passed, the more the rides accumulated. Dean still remembered that night when he drove to Stanford because his father hadn’t called him since a few days. He remembered that time when he got behind the wheel of what seemed to be his last moment on earth, on his way to the cemetery to face the Devil himself. Then there was this time he took a human Castiel into town to give him a taste of the burgers from this new diner. And finally, the day he learned Jack how to drive on a hot May afternoon.

His son had looked at him with big, hesitant eyes as he slipped into Baby’s driver’s seat.

"What if I do something wrong?" Jack asked anxiously. "What if I press the wrong button? Or end up in a ditch?"

Dean smiled softly at his words. Although the idea of seeing his Impala in a ditch did not please him, he could not help but think tenderly that it would not be the first time.

"Then I’ll also teach you how to fix a car," He said, shaking his head. "Come on, go ahead. Start the car."

Jack seemed to swallow back his anguish and took a deep breath before turning the keys on the ignition.

* * * @winchester-reload Am I forgiven about my day 9 with this sweet OS? Okay, good xD! See you tomorrow everyone, and thanks again for the great support :)

You can find the whole series on Ao3

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[eisehaus]

Music is never the same after Obey Me. A Headcanon story...

Every song starts playing through as a scenario in your head. Which character is singing it, what's happening for this to take place? Now for this headcanon journey I would like to share this song...

Ruin My Life -- by Zara Larsson

Everytime I hear this song I can't help but have the following scene play through my mind. So I decided to write out the headcanon.

MC is female for this story--

Now let's set the scene. MC was a bartender and part time singer in a local band where she's from that does shows at dive bars before her time in the Devildom. Upon returning to the human world, she finds her way back into her old job. It was an easy enough position to regain, no one even questioned her disappearance for a year. It was a come and go scene after all.

After some time, MC is also able to reconnect with her old band mates to rejoin the fray and once again find the stage. The band books their first gig after the split from MC's disappearance at the bar she works at.

She's excited to get back on stage, her heart was desperately hurting after her departure from the Devildom. Song was her way of coping with everything that she kept bottled up inside. She'd written a new song that the band adored and was eager to debut.

They had seen how she was during rehearsal, knowing that the number came from her soul, telling a story they could FEEL. MC had the tendency to leave her heart on the stage. It was part of what made her so captivating.

The band is setting up about ready to begin their reunion debut performance for the small yet crowded dive bar.

And we begin---

Bandmate: MC, you sure about this? It's been a while after all. But we are glad you're back!

MC: *nods her head earnestly.* Definitely. My heart needs this.

Bandmate: Damn honey, I'm not sure what happened to you while you were away for you to write our opening song but I have to say, it's powerful. Maybe you can tell us eventually about the guy who broke your heart that no doubt was the inspiration.

MC: *remembering the demon brothers* Yeah maybe someday I'll tell you guys the story. It's quite the tale. *Then she giggles to herself as she grips at her chest*

Other Bandmate: *puts a hand on MC's shoulder* Well what do you say we rock this joint?

*The band steps out on to stage and MC approaches the mic*

MC: *looking out over the crowd* Good evening! How is everyone doing tonight?

Crowd: WHOO HOO!! YEAH!!

MC: Now that's what I like to hear! Some of you might know us, *whistles sound from the crowd which makes MC grin* so we're here to say, we're back bitches!! This first song is brand new, enjoy! *Turns to the band* HIT IT!

*The music begins and MC can feel herself melting into the melody. All the pain, all the ache, all the love, radiated from her core and tingled out to her fingertips. Her cue approaches and she brings the mic to her lips*

MC: I miss you, pushing me clooose to the edge --- I miss you... I wish I knew what I had when I left --- I miss you...

*She could feel her song consuming her and she leaned into that urge, letting it drive her*

MC: You set fire to my wooorld, couldn't handle the heat -- Now I'm sleeeeping alone, and I'm staaarting to freeze -- Baby, come bring me hell, Let it raaain over me -- Baby, come back to me --

*Images of her time in the Devildom started flashing behind her eyelids. Each and every precious moment dancing through her mind as she sang. She moved into such power as the chorus cued in, her voice and heart seeming to swallow the room*

MC: I want you to ruin my life -- You to ruin my life, you to ruin my life, yeah -- I want you to fuck up my nights, yeah -- Fuck up my nights, yeah, all of my nights, yeah -- I want you to bring it all on, If you make it all wrong, then I'll make it all right, yeah --I want you to ruin my life, You to ruin my life, you to ruin my liiiife!!

*The room disappeared around her as she let her emotions bleed out into the microphone. Tears begin to form in her eyes, though not enough yet to leave them as she opens into the second verse*

MC: I miss you, more than I thooought that I could -- I miss you... I know you missin' me too like you shoooould -- I miss you...

*Her chest grows tight, as her hearts pounds with such vigor... it's as if it's trying to leap out of her and burst*

MC: You set fire to my wooorld, couldn't handle the heat -- Now I'm sleeeeping alone, and I'm staaarting to freeze -- Baby, come bring me hell, Let it raaain over me -- Baby, come back to me --baby, come back to meeee

*As the second chorus sounds in, MC removes the mic from the stand and let's the passion take her body. The entire stage is hers now and she bellows out, becoming truely and completely captivating.*

*Then the cue for the bridge approaches in the melody and the tears begin to fall from her eyes, trailing down her cheeks*

MC: I miss you, I miss yooooou -- I wish you, I wish yooooou -- Would come back, would come back to meeeee -- Come back to me, come back to meeeeee

*For just a moment before the last chorus begins, MC glances out across the crowd. She could swear she could see seven familiar forms looming at the back of the room. But between the stage lights, the tears in her eyes and the music enveloping her she couldn't be sure. It, wasn't... possible*

*She brushes it off and let's the music recapture her, commanding the stage and the crowd for the closing chorus. Her bandmate chimes in on another microphone to sing the regular part of the chorus while MC takes to the overlaying power notes in harmony.*

*She finishes the lyrics with her head back bellowing the final note, and drops her hand as the music finishes trailing out. The crowd cheers loudly, whistles and clapping all layering over each other. But she swears there are a handful of voices among the cheers that sound, familiar...*

*MC brings her head back up to throw a huge smile out to the crowd and takes a deep bow. When she raises her head again, her heart stops. She hadn't been seeing things....*

*She replaces the mic on the stand and quickly turns back around to her bandmates. They were beeming at her, clearing proud of everything that had just happened.*

MC: I need you guys to switch up the next number and do one without me.

Bandmate: Wait what? What happened? Are you okay?

MC: *glances behind her to the back corner of the room just to double check before turning back to her band* only the greatest possible thing imaginable!

Bandmate: You mean he's here!?!

MC: *nods with visible excitement* Mmhmm! They all are!

Bandmate, confused: wait, ALL?

*The band members eyes follow to where MC had just looked and each of them nearly drop their instruments*

Bandmate: Holy god damn mother fucking shit MC!!! How in the fucking hell? How are guys that look like that even real?? Shit! And they're here for you? You really mean --

MC: *smiles the biggest smile at her bandmates* I'll be right back, I promise! Just do one song with out me, I have some men to tackle!

*And with that MC bounds off the stage, pushing through a confused crowd to leap into the arms of her favorite beings in existence, the absolute loves of her short, sweet, weird little life*

The demon brothers: Hello MC... We missed you too.

FIN

Do you have a song that plays through an Obey Me filter in your head? Let me know!

#obey me headcanon #obey me headcanons #obey me hc #obey me shall we date #obey me fandom #obey me mc #obey me main character #life through an obey me filter #music through an obey me filter #ruin my life #zara larsson #Youtube

[justforbooks]

Little Richard. Prime force of rock’n’roll who made an explosive impact with songs such as Tutti Frutti, Good Golly, Miss Molly, Lucille and Long Tall Sally

Little Richard, who has died aged 87, was the self-proclaimed king of rock’n’roll. Such was his explosive impact that many of the baby boom generation will vividly recall the moment when they first encountered his assault on melody.

Awopbopaloobop alopbamboom! That first hit, Tutti Frutti, released in October 1955, was wild, delicious gibberish from a human voice as no other, roaring and blathering above a band like a fire-engine run amok in the night. We glimpsed a new universe. The Sinatra-sophisticats were slain with a shout. Enter glorious barbarity, chaos and sex. With a few others – Fats Domino, Bill Haley, Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis and Buddy Holly – Little Richard laid down what rock’n’roll was to be like, and he was the loudest, hottest and most exhibitionist of them all.

Richard Wayne Penniman was born in Macon, Georgia, one of 12 children of Charles, a bricklayer, and his wife Leva Mae Stewart. His family were Seventh-day Adventists and Richard learned the piano and sang gospel in the local church choir, but was thrown out of the family home at 13. He performed in medicine shows - with “miracle cures” promoted between entertainment acts – before hitching to Atlanta, where he signed to RCA Records in 1951, using the name Little Richard.

He recorded several undistinguished singles for them, including Every Hour (1951), but none had much impact. His optimism undimmed but his style still unformed, he tried the independent Peacock label in Houston, recording sides on which he began to reveal a delicate, elaborately filigreed vocal style that would resurface years later on slow gospel numbers. This same style would sometimes ornament his rock sides too, as on She’s Got It (1957), where that “got” is twiddled into 10 syllables.

These Peacock sides brought no success, and at the beginning of 1955 – the year that was to end in triumph for him – he returned to Macon and to washing dishes. He sent a demo to another indie label, Specialty, whose owner, Art Rupe, soon became so sure that Little Richard defined the future that he rejected Sam Cooke as too pallid.

Brought to New Orleans in September and given almost the same band as Fats Domino, Penniman went into the studio with the producer Bumps Blackwell, and came out with Tutti Frutti. The single was a hit with black and white audiences and sold 500,000 copies – despite the popularity of Pat Boone’s cover version released shortly afterwards – and reached 17 in the US pop charts and No 2 on the R&B list.

A cascade of frantic but tight hits followed, establishing Little Richard as a prime force in rock’n’roll. His piano work, crucial to his sound, was limited to hammered chords and skitterish riffing (he did not even play it himself on Tutti Frutti) but with that megaphone voice, falsetto squeal, bursting energy and powerhouse band, his records became classics: songs every local group played every weekend for years to come; songs the other rock greats covered; songs that fired the ambition of those artists who would change the 1960s, the Beatles and Bob Dylan.

Long Tall Sally, Slippin’ and Slidin’, Rip It Up, Ready Teddy, She’s Got It and The Girl Can’t Help It were all released in 1956. The following year, Little Richard recorded Lucille, Send Me Some Lovin’, Jenny, Jenny, Miss Ann, and the awesome Keep A-Knockin’. And 1958 produced the last great batch: Good Golly Miss Molly, True Fine Mama and a glorious pillage of the music-hall oldie Baby Face.

It is obvious now from the titles alone that a formula soon set in with these records. Back then though, it was just how Little Richard was: an unstoppable force. Within the flailing combustion of True Fine Mama we now recognise a conventional 12-bar blues; at the time we heard formless galactic meltdown. Similarly, we now see that his presentation was partly “outrageous queen”, his catchphrase “Ooh ma soul” pure camp. But these were cliches from the future. When rock’n’roll and Little Richard were new, his preening, boasting and benign lasciviousness seemed highly individual.

He was an inspiration to younger black musicians with white audiences. The young guitarist Jimi Hendrix learned a lot from backing Little Richard on tour; and as Richard once observed of Prince, “the little moustache, the moves, the physicality – he’s a genius but he learnt it from me. I was wearing purple before he was born; I was wearing make-up before anyone else.”

His sexuality was no simple thing. As he revealed in his candid autobiography, The Life and Times of Little Richard (1984, as told to Charles White), he fancied men and women, but most of all he fancied himself.

However, touring Australia in 1957, he threw his rings off Sydney Harbour bridge, renouncing the devil’s music for God. The performer who had once said of gospel that “I knew there had to be something louder, and I found it was me” now divided his time between bible school in Alabama and the Seventh-day Adventist church in Times Square, New York. He met his wife, Ernestine Campbell, at an evangelical rally in October of that year. They married in 1959 but divorced four years later.

Specialty kept the hits coming until 1959, when the long line ended with a game By the Light of the Silvery Moon. An era was over. Elvis had been drafted, Holly was dead. With God on his side, and Quincy Jones producing, Little Richard made the religious album It’s Real, for Mercury Records, billing himself “king of the gospel singers”. A 1962 single, He Got What He Wanted (But He Lost What He Had), fused old and new, its parables sung in vintage style: a steaming, raging, funny tour de force to equal Long Tall Sally. It was a minor hit.

He returned to rock’n’roll and Specialty, recorded Bama Lama Bama Loo (1964), and played Britain with the Rolling Stones, Bo Diddley and the Everlys. As the rock critic Nik Cohn testified, “he cut them all to shreds”. While in the UK he also made a TV special with the Shirelles (It’s Little Richard, 1964) – one of the rare times when rock was truly exciting on television.

I saw him live in this period, backed by the instrumental group Sounds Incorporated. He never paid them a moment’s attention, and was magnificent. When he stood on top of the piano, took off a ring and threw it into the audience, even those of us at the back with no chance of getting within a 100ft dived forward, hypnotised by this consummate artist.

But while the debut record from the 60s soul king Otis Redding was titled Shout Bamalama, Little Richard himself slid through failed comebacks, vainglorious live theatrics and indifferent re-recordings.

Exceptions included fine versions of Lawdy Miss Clawdy (1964) and Bring It on Home to Me (1966), while 70s covers of the Beatles’ I Saw Her Standing There and the Stones’ Brown Sugar emphasised how much he had inspired those bands in the first place. Attempts to update himself brought small success and in 1976 he retreated back to religion. By the decade’s end he was a late but rapacious convert to drug abuse.

In the 80s, however, the world and Little Richard were ready for each other again, and in 1986 he appeared, smiling with Hollywood good health, in the hit film Down and Out in Beverly Hills. It says much for his unquenchable charm that so soon after his upfront autobiography he could remake himself as a Disney favourite, with an album of children’s songs and a TV series, on which a revisited Keep A-Knockin’ incorporated knock-knock jokes swapped with his new young audience.

In 1993, the 60-year-old gospeller had supposedly found Judaism but was also rock’n’rolling again. In 1996, wavy hair down his back, he was to be seen playing on a truck at the closing ceremony of the Atlanta Olympics, and, as gloriously incongruous as ever, in an episode of Baywatch, performing on the boardwalk, his eerily plastic-smooth face that of a 35-year-old.

Little Richard became embedded in showbiz, appearing frequently on American television, in roles and as himself, including as a judge on Simon Cowell’s Celebrity Duets in 2006. He voiced a Disney World pineapple, saw his hits recycled in ads and films, was the subject of a 2000 biopic, and recorded anew with partners from Bon Jovi to Elton John. As a preacher, he conducted weddings for celebrities including Bruce Willis and Demi Moore, and spoke at the funerals of Wilson Pickett and Ike Turner.

Gaining multiple awards for his pioneering early work, he was among the first to be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, in 1986, and received a lifetime achievement Grammy in 1993. Little Richard needed none of these awards or hall of fame citations to tell him who he was or what he had achieved. He knew that all along. He was one of the gods, and almost the last among them.

His health declined in the 2000s, and he had heart surgery in 2008, cancelling a planned European tour with Berry. In 2009 he had hip replacement surgery, after which he still performed, yet giving audiences the novelty of seeing him seated at the keyboards.

In 2013 he announced his retirement. His last appearance was while attending the ceremony at which he received the Distinguished Artist award at the 2019 Tennessee Governor’s Arts Awards in Nashville.

He is survived by a son, Danny.

• Little Richard (Richard Wayne Penniman), singer-songwriter, born 5 December 1932; died 9 May 2020

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS #Little Richard #Richard Wayne Penniman

[profitinaecho]

So You Wanna Spin Ch 7

Driving back to Roswell that Friday evening to drop off the samples to be tested and pack for the next leg of their journey, Max notices after a while that Liz has stopped dancing in her seat and singing along to the pop songs she insisted on having on the radio. Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, he sees that she has fallen asleep. She looks like an angel when she sleeps. The skin on her arms is covered in goosebumps from the blasting AC and Max flips her vents up to turn the air off of her since she is cold.

When he stops to get gas a little ways later, he pulls out the navy blanket he keeps in the cruiser for emergencies. Gently tucking her in, he smiles when her brown eyes flutter open at him briefly in confusion. Kissing her forehead, Max whispers, “Sleep, Liz. I’ll wake you before we get there.” She lets off a soft sigh and falls back asleep, feeling safe and surrounded by Max’s scent.

————————————-

Max pulls up to the station when they arrive and puts the cruiser in park. He snorts when he realizes Liz is drooling with her mouth wide open, deep in sleep. “Liz. Hey, Lizzy.” He whispers quietly at her, trying not to startle her.

“What? Huh? Max, why is Garth Brooks on the radio? It was MY turn.” Liz pouts, looking around in confusion when she realizes they are in front of the Roswell Police Department. “Oh! Max, how long has the SUV been turned off? My samples can’t get hot or we have to start all over!” Liz frantically unclicks her seatbelt and dives for the isolated cooler containing her labeled DNA samples they had collected to check on them.  

Max smirks at her legs hanging across the console in the middle of the front seat while he tries not to stare at her ass while it wiggles as she tries to pull the styrofoam lid off to check on her samples. “I shut your vents off because you were cold and gave you a blanket. That’s why you’re hot. I didn’t let your samples get ruined, I swear.” Max smiles lopsidedly at her in the rearview mirror and holds his hands up in surrender.

“Oh. Ohhh.” Liz flushes, embarrassed at her overreaction. “I guess I’ll take these home with me so I know they stay refrigerated then mail them off in the morning to my lab.”

“Sounds like a plan. Feels weird being up here in my civvies.” Max shifts in his seat, feeling a bit underdressed even though he is off the clock. Sighing, he rounds the SUV to pull out Liz’s suitcase to help her to her car. His mother would never would never forgive him if he didn’t help a lady with her heavy things- especially one he wanted to court.

“Thank you for being a good partner, Max. I had as good a time as a woman can have collecting spit to solve murders.” Liz glances up at him walking next to her out of the corner of her eye, smiling shyly at him as she carries her DNA samples carefully. She gently places them in her passenger seat while Max picks up her overstuffed suitcase like it weighs nothing and places it in the back seat.

“The pleasure was all mine.” Max smiles so wide the corner of his eyes crinkle and he tips his head at her. Turning once he’s sure she’s safe and has buckled her seatbelt, he heads for his jeep to go to his house.

—————————

The next morning, Liz arrives at the post office when it opens to pack her samples in their cooler in a special refrigerated truck to the lab at the University of New Mexico where the Roswell PD sends it’s DNA samples. Graduate and PHD students will map the DNA in the samples while Max and Liz collect the samples in Las Cruces and El Paso. That way they will only have to wait one week after getting back instead of two. Then she will mail off the samples they collect in those towns while they are analyzing the data from the previous weeks.

When she gets home to pack, Liz finds herself packing cute little chiffon nightgowns with matching lace panties for the last leg of their trip. Just in case someone tall, dark, and handsome should see her in them. As an afterthought, she hurls in an extra disposable razor, condoms and a satin dress as well. She throws in her usual sensible work casual clothes, chaste pajama sets and extra panties and zips her suitcase shut.

She showers and gets ready for bed, glancing at Max’s Collective Soul Tshirt sitting in her dirty clothes pile. She fishes it out and pulls it on to sleep in. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him and she likes the way it smells like rain.

—————————

The next morning, Max picks her up in front of The Crashdown in his cruiser. Before Liz can just throw in her suitcase and go, the front door swings open and her father approaches Max.

“So, you’re my little nina’s partner, huh?” Arturo sizes Max up, who comes around the front of the SUV to help Liz with her luggage. Max firmly shakes Arturo’s hand and makes eye contact then turns to grab Liz’s suitcase before she can try to lift it herself.

“Yes, sir. That’s me.” Max hurls Liz’s suitcase up into the SUV then turns back to her father, leaning casually on the passenger door. “Liz, you’re missing a snack bag or something right? You usually have three things.”

“Oh dios mio! I helped with breakfast this morning and almost forgot the new cooler for our samples!” Liz runs back into the Crashdown as a blur of nervous energy and Max watches her riveted.

“If you hurt her, the buzzards won’t be able to find anything to eat, the pieces will be so small.” Arturo warns noticing how fascinated Max is with his daughter.

“That’s very understandable, sir.” Seeing Liz dart back out of the restaurant breathless and carrying her padded cooler filled with ice packs, Max heads to the drivers seat. “Ready to roll?”

“Yup. I call radio!” Liz bounces once.

“You always do. No Britney Spears it’s too early, ok?” Max looked behind him before merging into traffic while Liz wavesi goodbye to her father.

—————————

Max and Liz sit in the hotel bar after arriving in Las Cruces and dropping off their suitcases, watching couples dance to a local band. Max sips on an IPA beer and she sips on a glass of red wine.

A young good looking guy in a backwards baseball cap catches Liz’s eye and smiles. She saw him earlier at a loud table full of guys drinking beer by the pitcher. They were rowdy and hard not to notice but now it is just him and his blue eyes are placed squarely on Liz. She doesn’t think she encourages him, but the man comes over and takes her hand to ask her to dance.

Liz swears she hears Max growl across from her. She turns to look at Max and is surprised to see a murderous expression in his eyes. He’s never looked this formidable before with his shoulders straight back and his mouth in a snarl staring daggers at the man asking her to dance.

“I’m so sorry. I can’t dance.” Liz smiles awkwardly at the man, trying to pull her hand from the stranger's grasp.

“Aw, c’mon.” The man insists, tugging on Liz’s hand a little.

“She. Said. No.” Max leans forward, his voice so deep he’s practically growling at the other man.

The man scoffs, stumbling back into the table behind him and dropping Liz’s hand like it bit him. “If you change your mind, I’ll be right over there.”

“Ok. Buh Bye now.” Max waves jovially at his competitor as the man struggles to stay upright on his way back to his bar stool.

Liz chugs the rest of her glass of wine and is too embarrassed to look at Max after the display of testosterone she just witnessed. She sees his chair suddenly scoot out from her peripheral vision and glances up at him as he stands and comes around to her side of the table holding out his hand. She gingerly takes his and he lifts her up out of her chair with his. “Dance with me?” He asks gruffly, as if he had to ask, leading her out to the dance floor.

Liz is kind of glad he didn’t really wait for her to answer him because she would have overthought it. But nobody that knows them is here and Max definitely needs the other guy to know that she is off limits. Besides, now that he is drawing her in close and sliding his hands across her exposed lower back sending shivers in their wake, Liz can’t remember why she would want to be anywhere else in the world.

Max pulls her up against him so that their chests brush against eachother with Liz a couple extra inches taller in her black strappy heels. Max rests his forehead against hers and they sway back and forth as they become braver with their exploration of eachothers back’s with their hands. Surprising her, Max brushes his hand across Liz’s ass and pulls her in closer, erasing the last couple inches of space between them as their hips rock into eachother. Liz gasps at the sensation, surprised at how needy she sounds even to her own ears.

Max’s eyes catch hers and it’s like a flame drags across her, heating every inch of her body. “Max?” Liz groans in question. The lines are becoming so blurry. She doesn’t even remember why they were there to begin with. The music is slow and romantic with the type of rhythm they can’t help but mimic with their hips.

Liz takes a deep breath then drags her hands up his broad chest until she wraps them around his neck, looking wide eyed into his brown eyes. She can feel the ground shifting underneath them.

Max glides his hands gently up past her waist, smoothing the satin fabric down as he goes so he doesn’t accidentally expose too much skin in his exploration. He coasts past the edges of her bra and they both suck in a breath. He can’t stop touching her or get enough. Liz hasn’t ever been this close to a man without kissing him before. She tilts her chin up to him and he responds right away as though he was waiting for her cue, dropping his mouth so it hovers just above hers to be sure she isn’t going to change her mind. At her whispered, “Please” Max finally closes the distance between them. He tilts his head and deepens it, sweeping his tongue into her mouth once teasing her.

Liz bounces up onto her tiptoes and Max moans, his hands tightening around her to align them even further. If they were alone, his hands would be going under the slits in her dress and higher up. But since they are not, they show each other what they wish they could be doing to their entire bodies with their tongues. Suddenly, the song ends and all around them, people are clapping.

Max and Liz jump apart guiltily, like they’re two magnets that will just get pulled back together if they get too close together again. Liz looks around confused as to  how she went from innocently sipping her wine to dry humping her partner in public. Max looks like a lion stalking a gazelle. Liz gulps.

He pulls his fingers through his dark hair, spiking it repeatedly before stalking back over to Liz, grabbing her hand and walking briskly towards the elevator.

“Where are we going?” Liz asks, even though there’s only one place they could possibly be going.

“To our room.” Max states, like it’s obvious. He jabs the button for the third floor where their adjoining room is then stands on the opposite wall of the elevator from her, tapping his lip nervously as the elevator slowly climbs upwards. When the door dings, Max is quickly out and Liz follows him down the brightly colored carpet to their room, confused.

Max quickly unlocks the door and swings it open, gesturing for Liz to go ahead of him. Their adjoining living area is dark and quiet but Liz views it from new sexy eyes. He could bend her over that pull out couch or prop her up against that side table if it got her up tall enough. They could even do it up against the sliding glass doors to their balcony or if she was quiet, against the balcony railing itself.

Max is looking around wildly as if he is thinking the same, but instead of pulling her into his arms and picking things back up where they started on the dance floor, he groans as if in pain. Throwing his hands up in the air and striding quickly to his bedroom door, Max calls over his shoulder, “You should go to bed, Liz.”

Bed?

BED?!

“What? Bed? Why?” Liz’s heart is pounding and she’s so confused.

“Because, Liz, you weren’t sure about this yesterday and I don’t want to take advantage of you. I want you to be sure you want this before we do that. Make sure you lock the door to your room tonight.” Max doesn’t give her time to argue before he leaves her gaping after him as he retreats. She hears the sound of his lock turn in the deadbolt and a thump thump thump like something is banging against the door in frustration.

Liz locks the door to her room like he asked, takes a cold shower and sleeps in pink sheep pjs that night since she has no one to show off her nighties to.

#rnm echo #ficlets? ficlets? #rnm fic #roswell nm #So You Wanna Spin the World Around

[shewantedtobeasecretgirl]

10. Bathroom wall a.k.a. a queen bee, Prince in the shower and a backup Casanova (Part Two)

Finally, that Donna Summer song is over… Although disco is not my favorite genre, I have nothing against her generally but now… the part in which she’s repeating “Hot-hot-hot-hot stuuuuff” reminded me of the sound of the rototiller which would break down in every single winter and my grandpa would always have to try for hours and hours to breathe life into it in spring. And the music was also way too loud in comparison to the fact the clientele of this place consists mostly of exhausted truck drivers who only want to chill to Chris Rhea’s Road to Hell. If they wanted noise, they would go to a strip club to see Miss North Carolina ’86 dropping her clothes to something from AC/DC. Probably Highway to Hell. Variations on a theme. But probably this little dump doesn’t even have a proper strip club.

Luckily, this shabby roadhouse has a separate room for pool tables; it’s pretty hidden and easily approachable without being noticed. Not that I don’t like hanging out with the guys… okay, that’s also a part of it, we’ve been basically locked in a tour bus, concert venues and hotel rooms since last September. We’re each other’s company all the time, the only place where I can spend a few hours by myself is basically the ever-changing setting of my incoherent dreams. Only mentally, of course, since basically there’s always someone snoring around. And of course, they also keep showing up in random scenarios and with people they don’t even know but that’s the point of dreams, your brain forces you to put jigsaw puzzle pieces together that don’t match. Or they do, you just don’t know about it… Long story short, there’s no way to get rid of these dudes… Okay, it sounds as if they annoyed me… shit, they do annoy me more and more often and I hate this feeling. We’re basically friends; we wouldn’t be able to play in the same band if we didn’t get on well. But before we started touring, we’d all had our own circles including friends and colleagues, different hobbies, natural habitat… and music and the band had been only the intersection of them. We met when we had to do something as a band, we spent time together to write songs, rehearse, record… and in the remaining time, everybody lived their own life. That we don’t have anymore.

Usually, I try to not see only the dark side of this situation but now, I’m not feeling able to put on a smiley face. Maybe the fact that my whole digestive system is burning doesn’t help either… I bought a cola at the gas station next to the bar and smuggled it in under my jacket. That’s the only piece of advice of the doctor that is also useful under tour circumstances. I mean, I can’t just drop everything and lie down when the pains are coming, I can’t spend my evening sitting on the loo when I have to play a gig and who cares about diet when you can’t even eat or sleep on a regular basis? But cola is always there, no matter where I am. It’s the only thing that eases my nausea effectively and isn’t very conspicuous at the same time. And this one is as cold as ice, it feels good to press the bottle to my stomach as I’m crouching in fetal position in this armchair. Although the doctor probably wouldn’t approve, I spiked it with a few drops of rum. To be honest, they were bigger drops but I finally wanted to empty my flask. I decided to give up drinking spirits, beer makes me unpredictable enough and mixing drinks only fucks my digestion up too.

“Here you are, finally! I knew you were somewhere here too!”

So much for hiding…

“Hi, Karrie…”

“Man, you’re missing the best parts… some local chicks started courting the guys, they even got them to dance…”

“Awesome…”

“Mike, can you hear what I’m telling you? I said the guys were made to dance… I mean, the guys such as Jeff, Dave and Stone… and dance, like, moving the body rhythmically to the music… Although the girl who picked Stone had a difficult job…”

“Let me guess: she failed.” I remark in a bored voice and shake the bottle in small circles not to waste a drop of my drink.

“Mike? Is something wrong with you? Normally, you would basically drop everything and rush there to see the end of the scene but… yes, something’s wrong with you...” she answers her own question with a concerned face sinking down slowly onto the other armchair.

“I’m fine…” I mumble as I embrace my knees and lean my chin against them.

“Mike, I haven’t known you for a long time but I’m pretty sure that sitting alone curled up like a hedgehog is not your normal state. The pains, again, right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t like being taken for an idiot. Ninety percent of my job basically consists of watching every move of yours and trying to figure out your needs before you would even think about them. Do you think I haven’t noticed you’re suffering?”

I should have known. She usually stays in the background, doesn’t meddle in the business of the others but she’s all ears and eyes… she knows everything about us.

“All I know is that it must be something with your stomach or intestines… I don’t know exactly how serious it might be but it seems to be serious enough to be treated…” she goes on ignoring my stubborn silence. “Have you already seen a doctor? Have you already been diagnosed?”

I’ve seen several ones. I have a diagnosis. But I doubt she wants to hear the detailed description of my medical history, in particular the analysis of that delightful feeling when objects are being put up into your butthole.

“Do the others know about it?”

Oh, sure… like the inexhaustible source of Stone’s stupid anal jokes needed any feeding…No, thanks. And enlightening the others about the fact that pissing in the corner and running around naked aren’t the only sorts of accidents happening with me from time to time isn’t one of my top priorities either.

“Look, Mike, you’re an adult. Legally, leastways. I can’t tell you what to do and I’m finished with the heart-to-heart, I promise but… come on, all I’m trying to say is that you don’t have to feel ashamed and you can live a quality life whatever your problem is, for example Effie…”

“Effie?” I try not to sound like a maniac but I almost kick the table over as I jump back in regular sitting position. “You mean she…?”

“Hasn’t Judy mentioned it?”

“What?” I ask so far as I’m able to speak at all due to the lump in my throat that grew out of nothing of the mere mention of her name.

“She’s been waiting for new kidneys, or at least one new kidney for months. It’s pretty difficult to find a suitable donor for her… but she’s optimistic, as always. And also angry a bit but it only helped her move on.”

“May I ask… what happened to her? I mean, I understand if it’s not public or…” I try to form coherent sentences, which is not that easy at all after this shock therapy.

“It’s not a secret, it’s the result of medical mistakes.” she starts telling the whole story. The chain of her ordeals is more than simple misfortune, and honestly, as I’m trying to recall that compelling but still playful voice, it’s difficult to believe her life depends on permanent medical help. “…and that’s where we are now.” she finishes with a deeps sigh.

“Poor girl…”

“She’d cut your throat if she heard you. She hates being pitied and tries to keep her life in the normal track very hard, limits and obstacles have always annoyed her… but she’s not that kind of girl to whom you can explain that life can be complete without sky diving, rock climbing or space travel too.” she shrugs with a bittersweet smile.

“Does that mean she keeps going on with her studies and…”

“That’s the problem. She’s suspended her studies, gave up her student jobs but she’s already regretted it. And Annie, I mean, her mom is overconcerned and wants her to rest and stick around until the transplantation will have been carried out. And that’s one of the reasons why I recommended Judy as my replacement…”

“They need money…”

“Yup. But the point of my coming up with Effie’s case is to make you understand you’re not alone, having an illness is not a shame but I hate clichés so I rather shut up. I don’t want to lecture you, I would just feel guilty if I didn’t even try to talk about it with you.”

“I have already heard so much about her… do you have a picture of her or something? I’m curious… I mean, it’d be nice if I could connect a face to all those awesome stories…” I hear myself talking. Gaah, I don’t want seem to be pushy or a psycho stalker but I need to see her face.

“Uhmm, I used to keep a few family photos in my wallet, if you’re lucky I still have them…” she begins to rummage in her purse. “Ah, here it is. But no, that’s an old one.” she puts the picture back before I could take a look at it.

“NO, I WANT TO SEE IT.” I grab her forearm. “Please…?” I soften my voice seeing her puzzled expression. So much for avoiding deranged behavior.

“She was like seventeen when it was taken, it’s the yearbook photo from her senior year I guess.” she hands it to me.

I don’t know what I was expecting or if I was expecting anything at all but one thing I know: I wasn’t prepared for THIS. Judy mentioned she was blond and had blue eyes and normally, I would pair this combo with a Barbie-type girl in my imagination. But she’s everything but a Barbie-doll, her clear, shining, honest eyes stare into the camera with some cautiousness but if you examine her face carefully enough, you can discover hints of impishness playing around her lips and those tiny freckles around her nose and her skin that was still wearing the last kiss of late summer sun when the picture was taken… Jesus ‘Cready, you’re not a poet, you’re not even sane. Yes, I must have lost my mind, I’m hearing music in my head… “Drea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream…”

“Mike… Mike… Miiiike…” I find myself in the reality again when Karrie snaps a couple times with her fingers in front of my face. And I realize I didn’t grow a DJ in my mind, the song of Everly Brothers is actually playing in the bar.

“I take this now back, I found another one.” Karrie has to basically disentangle my clenched, grabby fingers from the photo but my eyes are still glued to the face in it, greedily collecting the tiniest details until it disappears in the wallet. “Here.” she pushes the other picture in front of me. “It’s from last year, I think, her hair is curlier here but that’s her natural look, she doesn’t have it straightened too often.”

The second photo gives that human tornado, that young woman clearly back whom I’ve imagined so many times since that very phone call and of whom now I know that she’s officially out of my league. It’s definitively confirmed, not that I had any chance to meet her in real life or at least talk to her again…

“You know what? You should consider talking with her about it. I think she’d understand it better than any of us.” Karrie remarks casually while sliding the pictures back into their place.

Oh. Yes. Sure. Why not call this angel to tell her I’m a disgusting pig who doesn’t have the slightest control over his metabolism, lets out disgusting sounds involuntarily and shits in his pants at least once in a week. Yes, that’s something I would totally chat with her about…

“It’s just an idea, I’m sure Judy would help you find a way to get in contact with her… of course, only if you want to…”

“Houston, we have a problem… Karrie… there’s a situation… we need you…” Scully basically falls into the room breathlessly.

“Jesus, what happened?” she jumps up terrified.

“It’s Judy… you should go after her…” he gasps pressing his hand against his right side. “I’ll tell you on the way…”

“Sorry Mike, we’ll talk about it later…” she shouts back on leaving.

At least my interrogation is over and I can spend some time alone since the others seem to be busy with that “situation”, whatever it is… Maybe I could practice pool tricks, I still haven’t given up my goal to beat Stone at least once in this lifetime. Even if we aren’t playing against each other, he keeps bothering me with his sarcastic comments and doesn’t let me try things in my own way, I can’t really improve my pool skills when he’s around.

After playing a few rounds against myself and winning, of course, I realize the pains have almost gone… It’s so weird, you immediately notice discomfort but you’re always unaware of the lack of it for a while, especially if you manage to direct your thoughts on something else. I guess I should look for the others, I hope Judy’s okay…

“Sorry” an unknown female voice addresses me with a short cough “have you got light?”

***

„So… what’s the plan?” Dave asks leaning on the counter with his elbows facing towards the tables.

“What plan?” I ask back positioning myself in the same way to be able to take a look around.

“For the evening… with the ladies.” he winks meaningfully.

“I don’t know… I guess we’re just hanging out. But why are you asking me? It is you and Jeff who are allowed to have any plans with any ladies… I have a beautiful girlfriend at home, remember…” I answer and I feel my lips pulling in a wide grin; I can’t help, I’ve developed this instant reaction that occurs whenever my gorgeous blondie is on my mind.

“How could I forget… you’d never miss an opportunity to rub this fact in our face. Anyway, Jeff doesn’t seem to be interested in them either, for obvious reasons…”

I squint at the pinball machine where the two second fiddles whose names I’m simply unable to recall are trying to break their personal records. I don’t really get why they think screaming helps them keep the ball on the play field but at least they prevent Jeff from falling asleep; he’s suppressing one yawn after another while stealing glances alternately at the basketball match on the TV screen and the table around which Scully, the slightly deranged leader of the girl bunch and our pocket-sized roadie are having an apparently deep conversation.

“He shouldn’t torture himself, his obvious reason doesn’t give a fuck about his awkward performance.”

“You can never know. Maybe she ignores intentionally that he’s ignoring her intentionally. But I guess you’re happy about it, the super professional band leader who’s against within-band hook-ups…”

“You know my opinion…” I shrug. “Just think about Fleetwood Mac and what happened to them.”

“Uhm, they became a world-famous top rock band?”

“You’re right! Come with me in the restroom, NOW!”

We both burst out in a dirty, tipsy laughter and it takes a few minutes until we calm down enough to be able to speak again.

“So, what are your plans?” I nudge him still shaking of warm-down snorts from time to time.

“I guess if the dynamics don’t change very quickly in the opposite direction, Jeff will vanish in less than ten minutes… and I’ll have to sacrifice myself and keep both chick entertained in the rest of the evening. But I don’t mind, they’re both cute.” Dave takes a sip of his beer wiggling his eyebrows satisfied.

“Both chick? What about… Caledonia?” I nod towards the black-haired alpha female of the trio.

“Her name is Claudia, geez man, you’re hopeless… but no, thanks, her behavior reminds me of that psycho woman in Fatal Attraction too much.” he frowns. “Stoney, be a man and do what you gotta do.”

“…which is…? Jesus, I’m not interested in any random girl I encounter and as you said, she’s totally insane, while we were dancing…”

“… while she was dancing…”

“… I felt as if I had been caught by a boa constrictor that was squeezing me tighter and tighter and I swear, it must have been an extended, super long version of Hot Stuff, I thought it would never end, like, it was at least three minutes longer than usual…” I go on since I’m not willing to react to his undisguised reference to my dance talent.

“Just go back to her, have a polite chat with her and say bye in half an hour… maybe I can keep Jeff here and you can use each other as excuse for leaving. I’ll be here and keep an eye on you and in case she gets out of control, I call the local herpers to catch her.” Dave presents his concept about the strategy I should follow.

“Herpers against herpes, it sounds like the name of some non-profit organization... Okay, approved but if I start yelling “red code”, you launch the rescue operation, that’s the signal.”

“Just go finally, the sooner you begin, the earlier you can get out of here.”

I grab my beer and walk to the small company around the table but as soon as I arrive, all its members fall suddenly silent.

“What’s up, Scully? Hi Claudia.” I greet them and get a dark look from the third person whom I’m trying to ignore to get away with the situation as simply as possible.

“Scully… what kind of name is that at all?” Claudia mutters listlessly; for some unknown reason her energetic behavior has gone; she’s playing with her hair bored leaning her face against her palm.

“There are some who call me… Tim.” Scully uses the occasion to crack a Monty Python joke.

“Tim the Enchanter.” I finish the quote basically swallowing the last syllable since I hear the other girl uttering the same words simultaneously.

“Is that some inside joke of yours?” Claudia mumbles unwillingly.

“Kind of.” I answer in the same style. “But his real name is Timothy, that’s the truth.”

“Anyway, these weird nicknames are pretty common in your crew. Scully… Stone… I wonder how you got this one.” she goes on in a monotonous voice. It’s strange, she doesn’t sound like someone who feels like having a conversation at all. Maybe she’s that depressed type of drunk.

“Guess what: from his parents.” the annoying little smartass answers instead of me raising one eyebrow.

“Oh, really? Your name is almost as bizarre as you.”

What. The. Actual. Fuck. I don’t mind if she spares me an uncomfortable talk and leaves me alone before I would ditch her but why is this turnaround?

“Judy, you promised you were going to play foosball with me! Come, the tables are finally free!” Scully jumps to his feet pulling his colleague by her hand.

“What? I didn’t promise anything, I…”

“Come on, you have a mind like a sieve, of course you did! We could invite the others too and you could teach us those mind-blowing tricks!” he drags her enthusiastically in the direction of the foosball tables; she seemingly protests a little but finally gives in and follows him reluctantly.

“Uhm… I hate to admit but she’s a first-class player.” I speak up with a sentence I didn’t want to say at all but the urge to break the awkward silence was strong enough that my mind forgot to look for better topics.

“Wow.”

Gosh, I’ll need anti-depressants, if she goes on like this.

“I everything okay?” I try to look in her eyes. “I mean… you seemed to have fun when you came over, you even danced… but now… I mean, if it’s a private thing, you don’t have to answer…”

“Stone… you are a really nice guy and all, handsome, actually funny but… I don’t think we would match.”

Thank God. But something I can’t explain makes me ask for the reason instead of confessing I’m not available anyway.

“Oh. I see. And… what makes you think we’re too different?”

“I don’t know… there are just so many antagonistic characteristics… For example, I don’t like animals. I mean, I just can’t get on well with them, I don’t even like watching documentaries on them.”

“I love them, I have a cat called Red and I love dogs too, my family has always had dogs. But I know there are people who feel strange when animals are around, I’m okay with that… what else?” I inquire; the suspicious feeling keeps telling me something’s not okay here, something’s FUCKIN’ not okay here. Maybe if I ask further questions, I get closer to the reason of her behavior.

“I don’t eat red meat at all.”

“Haha, then we have something in common. I have vegetarian phases from time to time and I’m right in the middle of one. I have nothing against meat but I only consume them at special occasions.”

“But that’s the point, I hate these special occasions!” she blurts out passionately. “And I loathe even the smell of beef, let alone touching it.”

“I repeat, I can live without it.” I laugh. “And… your concern about differences is really sweet but I have to tell you something: I have a girlfriend at home, we’ve been together for months so…”

“I know! And you’re so lucky to have someone who accepts you the way you are, even if your taste is everything but ordinary and…”

Let’s wait for a second… how does she know about Amber? And what’s this babbling about my quirky style? And what was this madness about animals and meat? My mind switches to replay mode and I try to recall the moments of the evening double-time… I see ourselves arriving, them coming to our table, us dancing to the fast-forward version of Hot Stuff, them disappearing in the restroom, them getting back from the restroom and joining Scully and J…STOP! Her. That. Little. Shit. It could be only her. She must have said something about me, something crazy shit, because that’s what she’s doing all the time, she tries to turn everybody against me and ruin my reputation and… Okay, first I have to get rid of Claudia, it’s not her fault, after all.

“Thanks for saying that, it’s very nice from you. And I’m sure, sooner or later you’ll find a guy who really fits you. I hope I didn’t hurt you but I don’t really like to talk about my private life. But I guess my friends enlightened you about the details to avoid misunderstandings…” I squint at her playing the gentle refusal routine. If my presumption is correct, it’ll turn out here and now.

“Oh yes!” she jumps on my words immediately. “Judy told me everything. She cares about you a lot, she’s such a good friend!”

“She is.” A good friend of cheap tricks and pretended innocence. But she’ll pay for this. “Her problems are usually similar to mine so we are pretty much on the same wavelength.” Whatever it is, I throw the shit back at that viper. “But this is so awkward and I don’t want to waste your time so… I wish you all the best and good luck with guys!” I stand up already thinking about medieval methods of torment I would gladly try on that two-faced dwarf.

“Thanks… and be happy with that lucky girl!” she sends a saddish smile and I feel guilty for a second for leaving her alone right when she stopped playing the role of the tempting seductress. But while I’m walking to the foosball tables, my thoughts are going back to my unfinished business with that hypocrite, mean…

“No, Scully, the point is in the right angle, look, I don’t shoot the ball until… hey, Scully, you’re not even watching… oh.” she suddenly falls silent and flushes as she follows the gaze of the pale, petrified guitar tech in my direction as I arrive to them. He was obviously trying to save her ass but I don’t blame him, he hates fights, he probably feels being between two fires.

“You know what? I’m also dying to learn more about your little tricks.” I stop at the foosball table with folded arms.

“Oh my God, I love tricks.” Claudia’s enthusiastic friend chirps from the other side of the table. “What? I do love them!” she whines not decoding the strict face the third member of their bunch sends at her after nudging her to finally shut up.

“S-sure, I gladly show them to you too…” the manipulative little beast stutters.

“Face-to-face.” I cut her off in my coldest voice and I can basically hear how hard she just swallowed.

“Ugh… let’s look for Jeff and Dave.” Scully steers the two confused, reluctant friends of Claudia out of range basically tossing them towards the bar counter.

“So, what do you want to know?” she asks almost cheerfully; what an acting performance.

“Oh, I want to know a lot of things… if aliens exist… where the other half of my favorite pair of socks might be… what’s the equivalent of blushing at chameleons… why Claudia suddenly started treating me as if I was a leper…”

“They do. Probably in Jeff’s suitcase. You can’t embarrass a reptile. Maybe she has finally seen the light…” she lists her answers shrugging nonchalantly. “But I guess it’s a relief for you, so we’re happy now, huh?”

“It depends. I wonder if someone helped her out with some useful information about me…”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about… not that it matters as for the result…” she starts spinning the sticks in the table for no reason, since no one else is around, it’s probably just a pathetic excuse for avoiding eye contact.

“You know, I like to decide on my own with whom I want to spend my time.”

“Do you absolutely exclude the possibility of other people feeling the same way? What if she just didn’t enjoy your company?”

“That’s not impossible but the marvelous change in her behavior makes me think something happened either in the restroom or at the table… and guess what? You were there the whole time too.”

“Are you stalking me? Jesus, should I have reported what I was doing at the loo? And I’m even sitting at tables, holy shit, that’s a federal crime.”

“She herself told you on. I haven’t figured out yet what you told her but I know Scully like the back of my hand; he’s obviously trying to cover for you but keeping secret and acting aren’t his strengths. Sooo… you can play dumb but it’ll take me less than two minutes to get everything out of him.”

Her hands stop fidgeting in the second she realizes there’s no point in denying.

“If you’re convinced that much, then why are you asking me? Just execute me here and now…” she stretches out her arms playing the role of the innocent, targeted victim.

“Nah, you can’t get away with it so easily. I wanna know why you did what you did.” I stand in her way since I can see her eyes mapping the possible escapes.

“Why do you want to know why I did what you think I did?” she asks back still keeping the poker face. She still thinks she can win, unbelievable.

“Well… it’s just interesting. Jeff and Dave danced with those girls too but as far as I can see, their popularity hasn’t decreased, I wonder why…” I turn around for a second and nod towards our table where the guys are laughing hard at something with Scully and Claudia’s friends, Claudia seems to have been vanished in the meantime, though.

“Because they don’t have girlfriends...” she remarks earnestly staring at them, not even noticing she broke the character.

“So that’s it? That’s why you did it? You think I can’t even look at other girls since I’m not single?”

“You just shouldn’t. I mean, you found a girl who meets your special needs, you wouldn’t have such luck once again in this lifetime.” she sits back on the high horse again.

“What special needs?” I ask eagerly hoping I can finally put the whole picture together.

“I don’t know, four boobs, tiny brain, large bed, I guess…” she goes on with the bullshit.

“That’s you theory about my needs? Wonderful… So you think I would have cheated on my girlfriend without your machination?” I raise my voice.

“I didn’t say that…”

“Did I kiss her?”

“You didn’t but…”

“Did I hug her?”

“You didn’t but…”

“Did I grope her?”

“You didn’t but…”

“Then what the fuck did I do that bothered your sensitive soul so much that you dared intervene in my business?” I lean over her making her back away.

“You laughed and…”

“What?” I scream. “You think me laughing with someone wearing skirt makes you entitled for shit-talking? You’re insane. You know what? You can play the self-proclaimed moral police of the crew or Seattle or the whole fuckin’ universe, I don’t give a fuck. Just leave. Me. Alone. Mind your own love life. Oh, wait? You don’t have one? Maybe that’s the problem?” I cover my mouth with my palm pretending shock.

“Screw you, Gossard.” she whispers hoarsely and tosses me away with her shoulder rushing past me.

***

I catch her at the entrance, in front of the building. Scully was right, she seems to be pretty upset.

“Shit, shit, SHIT!!!” she shouts emphasizing the last “shit” by kicking at full strength in the dumpster standing on the side of the road. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” she bounces with painful groans on one leg until she almost loses her balance and limps back to plop down onto the curb.

“I heard that Converse was planning to launch steel toe sneakers, first I thought the brand managers were tripping on something but seeing you it totally makes sense.” I remark as I take place next to her with the moves and in the pace of a seventy-year-old woman; this position is anything but comfortable for my permanently aching knee.

“Ha, very funny. I should have kicked him in the balls. With steel toe boots…” she mumbles taking her foot in her lap. “I hope I didn’t break my big toe.” she tries to make a diagnosis by palpation.

“If I’m not wrong, you’re talking about the genitalia of Stone Carpenter Gossard.”

To my biggest surprise, it’s not the anatomical term that catches her attention.

“What? Carpenter?” she asks snickering but she also wipes out an involuntary teardrop with the back of her hand from the corner of her eye in the meantime. Whatever happened, it must have actually hurt.

“Yes, that’s his middle name. But: you didn’t hear it from me. And, I know the temptation is huge but try to keep this information until you can use it with cool head.”

“I’m as cold as an icicle.” she sniffles bitterly.

“As a melting icicle.” I stop a next teardrop rolling down on her face with my thumb. “Come on, what happened?”

“Nothing. I’m just so sick of it. So sick of him.”

“What has he done?”

“You mean apart from getting addicted to oxygen twenty-something years ago?”

“Did he say something?” I ignore her sarcastic response.

She laces her arms around her knees and begins to examine her shoes.

“Did he do something?”

She insists on remaining silent and resists my interrogation pretending the patterns on her socks require all her attention.

“Or didn’t he say or do something? That’s the problem? Look, I don’t have to care about your childish quarrel. I just wanted to check if you’re okay since Scully was worried about you. But frankly, maybe too many people are already busy with trying to keep your war over sandbox toys under control.”

“You could finally decide on whose side you are…”

“Obviously on Stone’s. But it has practical reasons, Mike mentioned once he had drunk expired beer during a gig with his previous band and he’d vomited in the amplifier…” I try to ease the tension. “But Jesus, Judy, joke aside, I’m on nobody’s side, of course. I’m just trying to help but if I don’t know what happened, I can’t. And I’m helpless since believe or not, I know he’s a really great guy and I also know you’re an awesome chick and honestly, I have no clue why your arrival has turned him completely inside out.”

“So it’s my fault.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I’m just… so sick of him.”

“You’ve already said that.” I fish a tissue out of my pocket and hand her so that she doesn’t use her forearm to clean her nose.

“You know… he’s not the first smug prick I have to deal with, I met enough of them at Juilliard… but usually, I just ignored them.”

“Then why don’t you ignore him too?” I ask although I know there are several reasons that make this idea extremely difficult.

“I’m not in the position in which I could pretend he’s invisible. And inaudible. I mean, letting it slide sounds like a way that could be even effective, maybe he would get tired of torturing me after a while… but it’s not like high school bullying, I don’t have years to get rid of him, at least you have a glimmer of hope every year there that maybe the bullies find a new victim in the freshman class… But… despite what this whole situation looks like, this is the adult world. This is my job, the management is my employer and if the band is not satisfied with me, I’m going to be fired.”

“But they are satisfied with you…”

Her disbelieving expression makes me correct my sentence.

“They are not dissatisfied with you…”

“Stone is. And he’s the leader and main songwriter of the band so if it came to a dealbreaker… guess who would draw the short straw.”

“Who talks about a dealbreaker? At this point, you’re my trainee. You’re under my protection.”

“And you know what’s the most irritating part? That I’m trying, I’m really trying… I do everything to fulfil his wishes…”

“…which are often ridiculous, let’s be honest. I mean, he’s an immensely talented musician but he… all of them have to learn that being loud and raw isn’t the most important thing…”

“Exactly… I just want to turn up the volume until his monitor box explodes and then just shrug, like “you wanted this, fucker”.“ we both giggle recalling the awkward moments and the looks we exchanged at sound checks. “But what’s your strategy? How can you convince him?”

“Well… I don’t try to convince him with explicit arguments… somehow I learned how to make him believe that my suggestion was originally his idea.”

“Clever… but ah, I couldn’t make it… he disagrees with everything I come up with… it’s like an innate reflex at him.”

“Aaand you’ve just caught the point!” I snap with my fingers.

“…which is… that it’s a reflex and he can’t help it?” she frowns.

“No, the other thing you said… he disagrees with everything that comes from you.”

“…aaand…?” her hands circling around each other urge me for getting straight to the point. “Yes, I’m the problem, I know, there’s nothing new in that.”

“NO! And actually… I’d rather keep you in the dark about it. Namely, we’ve got a plan.”

Two plans actually, in case plan A doesn’t work…

“We? You and…?”

“Schmitty, Brett and Scully. None of them is particularly good at keeping secret but this time they are holding on, I’m very proud of them. But as far as I know you, you’d ruin everything if you knew the details.”

“I can’t wait… if it doesn’t involve a pair of dirty, stinky socks getting stuffed into Stone’s mouth, I’m not interested in it, anyway… whatever… sorry for being skeptical, the guy is smart, he smells plans and tricks from miles… and even if he doesn’t, he ruins your self-esteem and drives you into series of mistakes and then” she claps suddenly making me start ”he gets you and makes fun of you.”

“You don’t need to exaggerate, he’s not Satan itself…”

“Are you sure?” she narrows her eyes meaningfully. “I had finally gained some confidence by the time I graduated from Juilliard, I mean, I finally believed that being admitted and receiving a degree there meant I could really… achieve something… and now... I feel like I’m at the start again.”

“The situation is certainly out of your comfort zone… but you came from a different world… and his world is strange for you too and…”

“If it was only about this!” she cuts me off. “He’s mocking me permanently, at everything. Everything. Like in elementary school, he makes remarks about my look, my dresses…”

“But you mock him back!”

“… my love… life…” she goes on in a thinner voice. “Or… rather the lack of it. Rude remarks.”

Whoa, that’s new. Obviously, I’ve heard him cracking jokes about her innocent look and Jeff’s admiration for her that he rather disapproved than encouraged, by the way… but he hadn’t humiliated her publicly only for being single… I need a context.

“What did he say exactly?”

“He told me not to put my nose into other people’s business… and that I should to stay away from his private life and insulted me by saying I didn’t even have a love interest…” she recalls in a bored voice like she was reciting a textbook.

“That doesn’t make any sense… what happened before?” I inquire. Something tells me that’s only the second half of the story…

“We had sort of a… disagreement.”

“You don’t say…” I squint at her. “Come on, don’t make me pull everything out of you word by word!”

“Can I have a cigarette?” she asks out of the blue.

“But you don’t even smoke!” I protest.

“Do you want me to go on or not? Just give me a cigarette, please.”

“Oookaaay…” I hand her the pack with my lighter in it.

“So… there were those girls who showed up in the bar… they sat down to the guys’ table…” she begins as she hits the pack with her index finger a few times to set a cigarette free.

“Yes, I saw them, they even danced with them, it was hilarious!” I giggle. Honestly, not only the recall of the scene cracks me up, her fumbling with the lighter is hysterical too.

“One of them… Claudia… she hit on him. I mean, on Stone.” she utters with disgust as she succeeds in lighting the cigarette for about the sixteenth attempt.

“Oh yeah… she seemed pretty pushy.”

“Pushy is not the right term, she was just shameless! I encountered her in the restroom, she started asking questions about him, you know, if he’s single, what kind of girls he liked, stuff like that. And I… ahem… I told… ahem-ahem… I told her… ahem… I told he had a girlfriend ahem-ahem-ahem-ahem…”

Even the first drag drives her on the verge of choking.

“Are you sure you want to smoke it?”

“Yes, I am… ahem… I’m okay… I’m just… ahem. Okay. I think it’s over.” her breathing calms down finally. “So” she takes another drag, a perceptibly more cautious one “long story short, she didn’t even care… and that asshole didn’t even resist.”

“I didn’t see him reciprocating her approach… What should he have resisted?”

“Everything? OUCH!!!”

Due to her outraged hand moves, she managed to drop the ash onto her forearm.

“Okay, you give that to me…” I grab her by the wrist and take the cigarette between my own middle and index finger. “When you’re smoking, you have to ash it regularly to avoid accidents like this. It also burns while you’re talking, just sayin’…”

“Damn… but it’d feel really good to hold a cigarette in my hand while I’m flailing…” she whines still rubbing her forearm.”

“Here. But don’t even try to light it. We can pretend you’re smoking it. Go on.” I hand her a fresh cigarette and begin to puff the one I confiscated.

“And I got just… so angry! I mean, how can one be such a slut?” she gestures on with wider moves.

“Well, a lot of girls just want to have fun and…”

“No, I’m talking about him! He’s got a girlfriend… who must be beautiful and smart and perfect and… “

“Wait, you don’t know anything about her…”

“That’s true but guys like him obviously wouldn’t date any girl…”

I’m dying to know what she means by “guys like him” but maybe this is not the right moment to ask it straightforwardly…

“But he didn’t do anything particular with that girl…” I try to defend him effortlessly.

“Were you there too? Because I was. And trust me, without my intervention, a lot more would have happened…”

“Wait, your intervention?” I perk my head but receive no response. “Judy??? What did you do?”

“I… I might have said her a few things… about Stone…” she confesses with burning cheeks.

“Things like…???” I claim a detailed explanation. Maybe she’s not as innocent this time as I thought…

“I told her things about… what he likes…” she answers reluctantly.

“Like beer or dogs or disco music or what the hell? Tell me the whole fuckin’ story or I leave, I swear!” I flare out at her.

“Things… he likes in… bed…”

Oh. The idea of Judy disclosing Stone’s bedroom secrets sounds dangerous enough to make me choose my words wisely.

“But you… you don’t know what kind of sex he likes… do you?”

“Jesus, of course I don’t, I don’t even want to think about the fact that that freak has sex at all! Jesus… not even in my worst nightmares…” she rolls her eyes staring in front of her.

“But then… how did you know…”

“I… used my… imagination…” she sums up with a brief shrug.

I’ve never heard a more euphemistic synonym for lying. “I used my imagination…” Wicked woman.

“Oh my… and what was your intention with that?”

“To make her reconsider her choice… and to defend Stone from her… you know, I wanted to help him getting out of this situation, guys just never have the strength... I basically did him a favor!”

Of course, Judy helping Stone. I could even imagine it but strictly only after the arrival of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

“Thinking back about the beginning of our conversation, he couldn’t be particularly grateful for the helping hand…”

“Well, the thing is that the nature of our relationship sort of… influenced my word usage…”

“Judy, I’ve known you since your birth, you don’t need to use vague sentences… just tell what you told her finally!”

“I told her he liked watching animals, I might have mentioned mating animals. For example, watching David Attenborough video tapes before he…”

“I get it, I get it… but that’s not that extreme, thank God you didn’t say he liked animal porn in which people do it with animals…”

“Maybe I mentioned further preferences too… maybe I said something about him liking eating from the girl’s body…”

“That can even be hot, a lot of people are into it, that’s not that bad at all, Judy…” I snicker.

“…unusual food… like bloody steak with Worcestershire sauce… with knife and fork…”

I immediately stop giggling and freeze because I have the sinister feeling she still has something to confess.

“Uhm… I thought you were talking about potentially erotic food like strawberry and whipped cream but in case the girl likes steak too…”

“…and it’s possible I said things about his… performance too…”

“Oh, no.”

“I remember mentioning… he needs, uhm, special actions to become… motivated.” she fidgets with her shoelaces absent-mindedly, wrapping them around her index fingers.

“Okay, whatever, go ahead, I’m prepared.” I cover my eyes with my hands as if they could prevent me from visualizing her bizarre ideas.

“As far as I can recall… I claimed his main turn-on was watching the girl doing her business…”

“You mean doing the business? Like… pleasing… herself?” I ask back since don’t want to believe what I heard.

“I said doing her business… on the toilet…” she repeats with a miserably groan, reddening and avoiding my gaze.

“Judy… you know I’m always ready to defend you from anything or anybody but… it’s no wonder Stone attacked you again.”

“No wonder? He deserved it! After all that bitching…”

“He deserved it? Helping hand, of course… you basically humiliated him in front of a girl!” I scold her trying to keep a serious face, which is not easy at all.

“Do you think I went too far?” she asks innocently with sincere concern. For a second, she turns back into the ten-year-old version of herself who was scared of everything and everyone and it costs me a lot of restraint not to hug her. “Anyway… thinking back… it was so funny, you should have seen the girl’s face.”

I admit, this is the most hilarious shit I’ve heard in the last few years and Stone does deserve some payback from time to time but I don’t want to confirm her behavior. I’m sticking on my plan about getting them to make up or at least to normalize their relationship.

“Judy…” I begin with a deep sigh “Most guys are very sensitive as for their masculinity and sexual abilities, even if they are not typical machos. When they are joking about themselves – that’s okay, a guy with a healthy amount of self-irony is usually considered funny or even attractive. If another guy teases them with sexual topics – they just fire back, with words or their fist. But if it’s a girl who makes fun of their performance – they just freak out, they can’t hit you, they can’t assert they are sex gods either, their only way to defend themselves is attacking back verbally and they try to be at least as rude as you were. Or even ruder.”

“Oh, please, Karrie, I don’t need to be lectured on the psychology of men. He didn’t even know what I said exactly, he wasn’t there of course.”

“But it was you who said he’s smart, he probably figured out the point of it, the chick didn’t seem to be a rocket scientist and she probably didn’t even realize she got in the middle of your death match…”

“Or he was just taking shots in the dark and had luck. Scully was there and Stone was about to torment him so that he would tell him everything word by word… poor dude… So everything will turn out, anyway. By the way, Stone immediately thinking that I’m the potential reason of him being refused by a girl is insulting but also flattering at the same time…”

“Judy, I’ve never denied that it’s pretty difficult to bear Stone’s remarks without saying a word. But getting a taste of his own medicine only gets him fired up all the more, he always wants to have the last word, he’s simply just like that. And if you want to be the quicker one and make his jaw really drop, you have to get your shit together. But to be honest, I’d be happier if you’d keep your quarrels on the level of innocent teasing…”

“It was already everything but innocent in that very moment he heard my name for the first time. It didn’t depend on me, it’s all his fault and he has to face the music at least once his lifetime!” she declares determined.

I better activate plan A as fast as possible before someone gets killed.

***

I can’t wait this terrible day finally come to an end. I just want to take a shower and have some sleep… but I don’t even know how I could get myself to close my eyes, this place is a mess. What if cockroaches come out of their hideouts in the second I turn off the lights? But I’m so tired… what if I asked the driver to open the tour bus for me? Sleeping in the bunk bed sounds definitely safer… but what if he’s already sleeping? I don’t even know his room number and the reception desk was empty too; I don’t feel like looking for the staff in this haunted house. I better start with a shower, it always helps clear my mind. I’m so busy with my own thoughts that I basically bump into Beth in the hallway who’s walking sleepily towards their room; she must be coming from the shower judging from her wet hair.

“Already back here? It wasn’t a long evening…” she mutters in a tired voice.

“I’ve had enough of it. Is everything okay?” I examine her resigned face.

“Yes… uhm… Ed was typing lyrics the whole evening and then he passed out… so I had a shower and I’m about to go to bed too.” she rubs her eyes. “Carefully with the water tap, I almost scalded myself due to that crap. It’s better to wait at least thirty seconds before standing under the water and be careful when you try to change the temperature, there’s not much transition between ice cold and scalding hot, I had to mess around a lot until I could find the optimal level.”

“If I can’t work it out, I’ll just shower with cold water, that wouldn’t be the first time.” I wave.

“Ugh, if you’re a masochist…”

“It’s not the most pleasant thing I can imagine but at least it’s not dangerous either. It can be even refreshing sometimes.”

“Oookay… as you want... And there are no hooks in the shower either, by the way. But no bugs there so far either… Good night!” she pats my shoulder with almost closed eyes and totters to their door.

As I unlock the door of our room, I reach in with one arm to turn on the light and wait for a few seconds before entering; I don’t want to see my little roommates running in the corners. I lift the blanket on my bed only to realize the bedclothes aren’t the cleanest and there’s no towel prepared for the guests. Thank goodness I didn’t listen to Effie when she tried to dissuade me from bringing my own one; she claimed hotels always offer towels and travel-size personal care products… So much for Effie’s assumptions. Of course I also brought my toiletry bag decorated with treble keys and musical notes containing small bottles of shower gel, body lotion, a tiny tube of toothpaste and… due to the foresight of Effie, my “emergency package” now includes also gratuitous amount of condoms that stare at me accusingly every time I unzip it. I decide to leave my clothes in the room since I don’t like when there’s no place where I could arrange them properly, I don’t want my sleeping shirt and boxers to get wet either. There’s no living soul here, no one would see me walking a few meters only wearing a towel…

But when I pull it out of my backpack, I realize there’s one thing I didn’t take into account: I brought a smaller towel to spare place for other clothes. As I wrap it around my body, I have to trick for a while until I can arrange it in a way that it covers both my chest and my backside at the same time. Since it’s not only narrow but also short, I can forget the ordinary method of walking, I can basically only waddle pressing both arms tight to my body without exposing anything. I try to exercise this ridiculous way of moving pacing back and forth between the two sides of the room a few times and I end up sitting back on the bed hesitating if I should dress up again. I’m at a public place, after all. But fuck it, I’m tired, I had tequila and this day can’t get any worse, anyway. I peek out to the hallway to make sure I won’t get unexpected company and I set off to cover the longest twenty meters in my life. In duckwalk. But my bravery pays off, I encounter no one so on entering the shower, I finally allow myself to relax.

I put the toiletry bag on the classroom chair in front of the sinks in the forefront and fish out the shower gel bottle. I leave my glasses on the bag and head towards the innermost compartments. I decide to hang my towel on the wall separating the opposite compartments and after turning on the water, immediately jump backwards to safe distance. Beth’s advice on the adjustment proves to be useful and a few minutes later, I’m already enjoying the pleasant, warm water. Of course I brought my favorite, rough sponge too, it always helps refresh my blood circulation.

I catch myself rubbing my body stronger and stronger as I involuntarily recall tonight’s events. What a prick. Of course he deserved everything, I don’t have to feel ashamed about anything. It was him who looked for trouble. His girlfriend would have felt terrible, if she’d seen that disgusting scene so I did the right thing. His huge ego just can’t accept, this time someone was smarter than him. It’s so pathetic when a man needs this cheap kind of confirmation to feel his masculinity ensured. But come on, Stone Gossard’s name referred in connection with manliness and masculinity is the most ridiculous idea in the world, he’s got the body and mind of a thirteen-year-old.

I turn off the water and spill a few drops of shower gel into my palm but as soon I touch my shoulder with it, I hear a noise. A squeaky noise. A squeaky noise of an opening door. Oh no. No, no, no. The smacking sound of slippers on the tiled floor leaves no doubts that I have a visitor and the lazy, shuffling steps are approaching. I pull in the corner and don’t even dare breathe, I’m shivering but not only of cold, shit, what if it’s a stranger? What if it’s a man? What if I make some noise only with my mere existence? I got trapped here naked and… The sound of steps ceases and the water starts running right in the shower cubicle next to mine. Luckily, the wall is high enough to hide me although I can’t check the other person without revealing my presence either. A few seconds have gone by when humming gets mixed into the sound of water… Oh shit, it’s a male voice. The humming slowly turns into singing and my blood runs cold when I realize: I know this nasal bleat.

“If you didn’t come to party, don’t bother knockin’ on my door…”

#pearl jam fanfiction #fanfiction #PearlJamfanfic #eddie vedder #stone gossard #MikeMcCready #jeff ament #dave abbruzzese

[ofillyria]

I have been toying around with A LOT of WIP ideas recently and I’m not really sure where I want to focus my energy or which ones I want to add to my WIP list or make intros for. So I figured I’d make a masterlist of all of my ideas that I have a rough plot and character list for so y’all can peruse! If there’s one that jumps our at you, a few you like, or any that you have questions on please please flood my inbox! There’s no better way to get me jazzed about a WIP than to send me asks! I’m putting them under the cut since there’s so many!

NIGHT TWELVE: Vi crashes into enemy territory and is taken in by the army. She's given an assignment: win the heart of the wealthiest woman on the planet to procure war funding. But she's already fallen in love with her superior officer.

DAVID’S PEAK: In the small, Oregon town of David’s Peak people are being mysteriously abducted, and blame is placed on possessed park ranger Diane Atwood. She has a choice: prove herself innocent by finding the real culprit, or say goodbye to the friendly voice in her head.

YOUNG DEMONS: After failing her first spell Cecily Young swore off magic. Her power is building, brewing. The repressed magic is manifesting as a hurricane set to destroy Louisiana in a month's time. She must find a way to expel the magic in time, without tearing herself apart in the process.

THE GODLING TRILOGY: Lea is the firstborn child of Morpheus, making her the most powerful godling in a millennium. Which means she’s the perfect scapegoat for Zeus to send to do his dirty work. Including murdering the ancient being known as Nyx, who’s determined to plunge the modern world into eternal night.

BERSERKERS: Gal pals turned fearsome warriors. When the clique dons their fur coats they gain the strength of the animals they wear. It’s time for revenge on selfish exs, bigoted teachers, and abusive parents,. That is, if the consequences don’t catch up to them first.

THE BLITZKRIEG BREAKER: When Teddy’s clock repair shop becomes both the epicenter of a magical war and the London blitz, he is tasked with keeping a strange device out of the wrong hands. In a world filled with demon dogs, falling bombs, and a mysterious shapeshifting witch it’s hard to know which threat to focus on.

HELL’S EMPTY: Sometimes, the dead get restless. There are a few who manage to slip through the cracks and back into the world of the living. On autopilot, the soul takes the first available body and become a zombie. Over time the body, incompatible with its new soul, will begin to decay. Desperate to live, but falling apart, these creatures seek new fresh bodies to enter, even it means killing to get them. Luckily, hell, like any good business, has a lost prevention specialist. And she’s ready to go hunting.

WASTELANDERS: In a post apocalyptic wasteland, a team of two girls band together to fight to survive. When crossing the desert from ration station to ration station they encounter a man on the side of the road, he claims that his car was stolen with his young daughter inside. The two girls venture to find the lost girl in a no holds barred rescue mission through deadly dive bars, life or death road races, and russian roulette tournaments.

TRAGEDY ANNE: Anne,  a bandit known for terrorizing the rich folks of Round Rock, caught wind of the local mine owner’s plan to blow out the dam. Even if it means washing out Round Rock in the process. Anne wants to save her hometown but no one will listen to a lying, cheating thief.

SOUL: SOLD: Six years ago Jac sold her soul to a demon so that she could say goodbye to her mother. But now her contract is up and she only has a week before she becomes a demon herself. The plan: find the family heirloom, use it to barter with the crossroads demon, and avoid damnation at all costs.

AMELIA BRIGHT PETSITTER TO THE ABSURDLY RICH: Amy loves her job: nice houses, free food, and cute puppies. But when she’s accused of stealing jewelry from a rich client everything falls apart and her reputation is destroyed. She has to prove her innocence. Hopefully, before the super hot CEO she’s dogsitting for returns from a business trip.

THE TEMPEST PROTOCOL: Mira’s mission is to study the defunct pleasure planet which orbits a black hole. But the mission is overturned when the owner of the planet returns and kidnaps Mira’s team. Mira has to rescue her crew before they are all swallowed by the looming void or murdered by the psychopathic resort owner.

THE ELECTRIC PIGHT - Winona is an archaeologist that studies the fallen society of the 21st century. When her brother returns home severely injured, she’s determined to use old world medicine to save his life even if she has to travel for days to find it. But the way to the city of old is guarded by militiamen, cannibals, and rabid dogs. Winona’s attempt to save her brother and prove her theories right might kill her first.

WELCOME TO THE NEIGHBORHOOD - Bee has been demon of the month over nineteen thousand times. She’s assigned a meager corruption mission and saddled with a newbie demon. Now, she’s determined to prove to Satan that she doesn’t need a partner. She has to find a way to kill her ‘husband’ without it looking suspicious. All while corrupting the perfect 1950s suburbia around her.

HELL FIRED - When one of the groundskeepers for the underworld goes on maternity leave her coworker has to find a suitable replacement. So they set up a reality show competition and the last person standing wins the role of right hand man to Hades’ right hand man. Which is sort of an honor.  

ARTEMIS AND APOLLO - Agent’s Artemis and Apollo have been working together for nearly twelve years. He’s the impulsive rogue and she’s the one who actually gets the job done. But now that she’s getting married he’s worried the agency will realize his incompetence. Instead of fighting it, he’s determined to make their final mission together the wildest ride possible.

FUN FUN AT THE BOARDWALK - Daniel works at the Santa Cruz boardwalk and knows for a fact it’s haunted. The giant stuffed animals have started to roam at night and recently, one tried to kill him. He has to round up a team to help him fight back but first, he has to make people believe him.

VIENNA - After being exposed to radiation from the sun an astronaut returns to earth to find that she is imbued with starlight. She’s recruited into an organization of mutants and tasked with rounding up others like her. But the more she uses her powers to render outside threats inert the more she risks burning out and turning herself into a black hole.

10 PERFECT DATES - Katherine Day’s website claims she can set up the most romantic date possible just for a small fee of $200. Rory, an investigative journalist, is determined to prove this offer a scam. So they buy 10 and ask Katherine to be the one to join them on these so-called ‘perfect’ dates. Rory thought this would be a disaster worth writing about, but the only problem is Katherine herself seems like the perfect person for Rory.

SOUL SEARCHING - A witch and her disembodied wife search for a body that can house the wife’s soul. The witch becomes a spiritual guide to people in comas, entering their minds and helping them through to the other side to open a space for the wife to have a body again.

CRITICALLY MISSED. After the death of David’s father he invites all of his childhood friends back to his childhood home for a reunion game of dungeons and dragons. When they start to fight they are interrupted as they are pulled into the game. The old friends are forced to fight off giant spiders, ogres, and long buried resentment. If they die in the game do they die in real life? And is an epic takedown worth risking your brother’s neck?

These ones don’t have titles yet so I’m just gonna give some comps so you get the vibe:

WES ANDERSON x THE HALF OF IT - Mindy’s life is going exactly how she wants. She has perfected her waffle recipe, a successful b&b, and no friends. But when her mom decides to get remarried Mindy is faced with the reality that the world goes on without her even when she constructs an eden for herself. So she enlists the help of a childhood friend to teach her how to deal with change.

STRANGER THINGS x PARANORMAN - Ryann drowned, and was resuscitated minutes after being declared dead. Now the kid sees ghosts: unmoving, unblinking figures staring at a singular location.  Ryann must discover why the spirits are back and what it is they want that’s in the Courthouse.

TOMB RAIDER x UNCHARTED - The Bloodright Chalice is the last unrecovered piece of known treasure, and Kel is determined to find it. With the help of a tagalong history nerd, she must fight off mercenaries, navigate perilous terrain, and withstand the draw of a magical artifact.

KICKASS x DAREDEVIL - Kimberly Price is trying to be the hero her powers deserve, but her moral ambiguity keeps leading her off track. Upon discovering an underground crime ring, Kim discovers her big break and that the mob boss, a mutant like her, can break any bone in her body with his mind.

INCEPTION x ARRIVAL - Dr. Parson has been having dreams recently of waking up next to a woman who he doesn’t know and she claims to be his wife. His new research partner on the particle accelerator is revealed to be the very same woman he’s been dreaming of since the beginning of the project.  He knows more about her than he should and it feels like an abuse of power, but he cannot help but fall in love, or rather stay in love. But how can he be honest when it would paint him as insane and ruin both his relationship with her and his plans for the project?

#writeblr #writers of tumblr #writblr #writing #allwip

[lihikainanea]

On my way to work, I heard this old country song that says “and partner, there’s a tiger in these tight fittin’ jeans,” and listen. She’s visiting him on location and she’s all about experiencing that local life, so they end up in this old school country bar with greasy food and legit cowboys. And she hears this ridiculous song and that line and she immediately thinks it’s the funniest thing (because booze). But the little wiggle she does in her—coincidentally—tight jeans...Bill’s not laughing.

Oh boo, sit down it’s story time. Last year, I celebrated my birthday in Nashville, Tennessee. Now, as a bonafide Johnny Cash fan, I was just....elated that somehow, I needed to be in Nashville for one week at precisely ZERO PERSONAL COST and it just so happened to be my birthday week.

I did it all. I went flying down the highway hanging off the back of a golf cart doing 90 miles per hour on my way to a bluegrass bar. I bought the real nice cowboy boots. I ate the Goo Goo Clusters. I ate the pralines. I line danced. I stomped those boots to the best fiddler in the country in some no name bar with peanut shells all over the floor. And I had the time of my life. I also went home with he fiddler because happy birthday to me.

I’ve always loved this concept, this aesthetic of Bill in really run down, dirty places. Bill has this kind of beauty that is just...ethereal. Even if he wasn’t famous, if you saw this dude in the street, something about him would bring you to a dead stop and you’d stare. And there’s something so incredible to me about taking a beauty like that, this beauty that seems almost transcendent and surrounding it by the doldrums and mild horrors of every day life--surrounding it by broken beer bottles, locals who probably have 8 collective teeth between them, sticky floors, a wet humidity with run down fans that do a piss poor job of circulating anything except a few palmetto bug carcasses. Somehow, ethereal beauty just gets even more amplified in those situations.

And it’s ironic--Bill loves these dive bars in no name small towns because he says they make him feel invisible, he says he feels like he can blend in. And tiger, completely enraptured with this beautiful being who is her best friend, is just like...buddy, the only thing these places do is make you stand out even more.

But yes, let’s put them somewhere in the deep south alright? just because I have a soft spot for it. Bill was kinda lonely and sent for her, and tiger grabbed the bag she always keeps packed and headed to the airport. You know she scoped out the bar scene ahead of time, found the grimiest, dirtiest one. And as soon as she got to his rented apartment, after she gave the sap some good lovin’, she dragged his ass to a bar. And tiger looks every bit the cliché part--tight jeans ripped at the knee, some good stompin’ boots,  a flannel shirt rolled up and tied at her waist. They pound back beers and crack peanuts on the table, tiger gets him to open up about why this shoot has been so hard, what’s been on his mind. And nobody here knows who he is--he knows that, so he can talk a bit more freely, and tiger just thinks he’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. Clear eyes, a kind face, big soft hands wrapping around those peanut shells, murmuring softly about how this is just a bit of a culture shock to him, how he’s exhausted from the night shoots, how he missed her. And there’s not a single thing about him in that moment that doesn’t make her breath hitch, every part of him is just truth and kindness and honesty and tiger is so head over heels in love. But she listens to him, offers him some ruthless advice, leans across the table and kisses him solidly on the mouth. And when she pulls back, he grabs the front of her shirt and pulls her back for more. And when the twang of a banjo comes back on from the live band she grabs him, pulls him up and smack into the middle of a line dance.

And in that moment, Bill is so incredibly head over heels in love, too. Because she’s his rock, this small but forceful tower of courage and strength and grit, of fierceness and loyalty. She would go to the ends of the earth for him, she would fight hell and heaven for him, and Bill knows that. He feels it. He follows her dance steps, stumbling a bit, but before long he’s slapping his heels and grabbing his belt and spinning like a pro and laughing right along with her.

There’s a mechanical bull in the corner that tiger totally rides, and it nearly makes Bill bust on the spot. Because those strong thighs, gripping that thing as it dips and sways and turns and she just holds on, moving with it? She doesn’t get thrown off and Bill’s not surprised because he knows very well how strong those thighs actually are. She makes him get on it too, and then laughs until she can’t breathe when she realizes that his feet still touch the floor, even once he’s on the thing. Him giving a blank stare into her camera is one of her most favourite photos of him ever.

They stop for burgers in the wee hours of the morning, some truck stop with a flickering neon light on a dirt road. She lays on her back on the picnic table and Bill plops his basket with a burger and fries onto her stomach, eats it from there. It’s humid, sticky, the cicadas are yelling and the bullfrogs are singing and there’s bugs that tiger doesn’t even know what the fuck they are but they’re huge. She just swats lightly at them, fans her hand gently until they fly away. They talk about everything--about granny, about the Orion constellation, about life and struggles and small wins. They talk about his work, about how much more his fame has grown since they met, about how it changed him and what he worries it will be like once his next blockbuster comes out. Tiger is nothing but comfort to him in these moments--she is everything he needs and more--tells him at the root of it all, he’ll always be the same guy to her. And how they’ll get through it together. And how at the very worst--maybe they’ll just move to this very same small town, where nobody knows him and the ones who do don’t care. And anybody else? Well, she’ll fight them, too.