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devilat-thedoor · 6 months

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Smile Pretty

A/N: one of many ideas birthed in the DMs with my bby Li ( @stardustvanfleet ) the way our conversations can get so easily carried away is insane. but i live for it and i love her so so much and this wouldn’t have come to be without her. i do have an idea for a Pt2 if it’s wanted? and i’ll be back to regularly scheduled programming after this. but i hope you enjoy🩵

Word Count: 2.4k

Jake x f!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+ Minors DNI(Striptease, Dirty Talk, Degradation, Oral[m&f rec], Camera use, Spit, Cumplay) If i missed anything, please let me know!

“God, I love that fucking dress…” Your boyfriend murmured to himself as he ushered you through the front door. After locking up, he turned back to you, hands immediately finding your waist, and pulled you in for a kiss.

You held a single finger over his lips and pushed him away. “Sit down… I have a surprise for you, baby.” Spinning around, you stalked deeper into the apartment as he followed behind you.

Jake shrugged his jacket off and slung it over the back of the leather chair in the living room before sinking onto the cushion, “What did I do to earn a surprise?” He asked, watching you slip into the bedroom, and pulled his phone from his pocket.

“You planned a nice date before you leave for tour… I wanted to repay the gesture.” You called from the room and began peeling your dress off to slip into the skimpy, black bra and g-string, trimmed in a cherry red, scalloped lace. You’d purchased the set earlier in the week after Jake told you he’d planned a date night for the both of you and knew you’d want to surprise him with something sweet, after dinner, to end the night. After looking yourself over in the full length mirror, adjusting the cups and situating the thong just right on your hips, you pulled the short, black satin robe over your shoulders and tied it up. Fluffing your hair out, you commanded the echo dot that was sitting on your dresser, “Alexa, play Foxey Lady by Jimi Hendrix.” You poked your head out of the door, seeing Jake’s face looking down at his phone, before leaning against the door jamb in a sexy pose.

When the music began to play, his eyes lifted to see you standing there, wrapped up like a present in the silky, black material. His mouth hung open as you pushed off the frame and gave him a smile before slowly toeing towards him. “Wait- just hang on a second…”

You stopped in your tracks, confusion twisting your features as he fumbled with his phone. “Jake, what are you-.” Your question was answered by the way he lifted his phone, holding it horizontally to record you.

He held his hand up, pointing at you with a hungry stare, “…Aaaand….action…. Let me have my surprise now.” Biting your lip with a playful smirk, you started towards him again, one foot in front of the other. Halfway across the room, you made a show of pulling the tie loose on the robe and letting it fall open, finally showcasing the racy set you’d picked just for him. You smiled when he shifted in his seat, palming his hardening cock with a squeeze. “Goddamn, angel. You look fucking beautiful.” He was watching you on the phone screen and you made sure to look straight into the camera for him as you let the robe slide down your arms into a heap on the floor.

You did a slow twirl, allowing him to see the little red bow that connected the strings at the back of the panties, “Do you want me to unwrap your present, Jakey?”

He gave an eager nod, all but drooling as he watched your hands fold behind your back to unclip the bra. “Fucking hell…” The garment fell to the floor, exposing your breasts to Jake and his phone camera. When you hooked your thumbs into the panties to pull them down, he stopped you, “Leave those on…for now.”

“Okay…” You stood in front of him, leaning down to place your hands on his knees and give him a kiss. He flipped the phone enough to capture the kiss on his little home video as he pushed his tongue into your mouth. Your hands traveled up his thighs, ghosting over his erection, to unbutton his pants. Breaking away from the kiss, you looked at the phone and back to him, “Time to call cut, baby… Turn the phone off.” You dropped to your knees in front of him, giving him an expectant look.

He halted the recording, giving you his big pleading eyes. “Can I just record a little bit? Just enough to get me through the first few tour dates…until you come visit?” He pouted his lip at you in a silent plea.

Your resolve melted, a new excitement forming at the idea of making a film with Jake. “Fine…only a little bit.”

A grin stretched across his face, “Hold this for me.” He passed you the phone and stood up, pulling his zipper down. You took the opportunity to resume the recording and aim the camera at him, taking care to capture the very minute he dropped his pants to reveal his thick length, stiff and bouncing after being freed. He took the phone back, chuckling at the way you gazed at him. Jake turned the lens back on you, pushing your hair out of your face, “Smile real pretty for the camera, angel.”

Looking up, you stared directly into the lens again and flashed a beaming, toothy grin as you reached to grasp his cock. “How do I look, baby?” You used the sexiest tone you could manage, letting your tongue gather the precum from his tip.

Jake breathed out a sigh, his eyes fluttering momentarily, “So fucking pretty when you’re on your knees…hungry for me.” He paused, grabbing your chin and pulling your lip down with his thumb to show your teeth. “Are you gonna take my fat cock down your throat, pretty girl?”

Your eyes widened at his vulgar speech. He was never shy about being vocal, but he was definitely playing up his dialogue for the sake of his film… So you would do just the same, be the star of the show for him. “I am, Jakey… I’m gonna take every inch.” You ran your tongue across the edge of your teeth and locked eyes with him, “You wanna fuck my mouth, baby? Make me gag?” You were stroking him slowly with a firm grip as you held eye contact.

“Look at the camera, babe.” He focused the camera on your face, shuddering as you rolled your fingers over his head, and waited for you to stare back into the lens. “Now suck my fucking dick.” You didn’t need to be told twice, instantly leaning in to pull him into your mouth. You kept your eyes trained on the phone as you took him further, slithering your tongue along the underside. “Fuuuuck…deeper…” He grunted, placing his free hand on the back of your head to push you down, “You said you’d take every inch. Be a good girl and fucking…take it.” Jake held your head in place, rocking his hips against you as he watched you through the screen. Every few moments, his head would fall back or he’d release a guttural groan as he snapped his hips harder. The first gag was mild, just a minor throat spasm, but when he aimed for another with a sharp thrust, you squeezed your eyes shut with a violent cough. He gripped your hair to pull you from his length, admiring the thick string of saliva that kept you tethered to him. “Hmm. My filthy fucking girl.” He gripped himself, tracing your lips with the tip before tapping his cock over your face, “Spit on it, angel…make a fucking mess.” You obeyed, pushing a glob of spit through your lips to coat his length. “Open up and let me cum in that sweet mouth of yours.”

Opening your mouth wide, you let your tongue hang out, ready and waiting for him. Jake slipped back in, immediately finding his rhythm, and began hitting the back of your throat with blunt, pointed strokes. “Look at you, fucking choking on me…” He brushed his thumb below your eye, wiping away the black, streaky tears from your running mascara. You moaned around him, hollowing your cheeks to suck harder, and he twitched against your tongue. “Goddamn, angel…I’m almost there. I- Shit…” His face screwed up as you began to pump his cock while bobbing your head faster, driving him straight to the edge.

“Come on, Jakey. Let me have it, baby. I’m starving for it.” The way he was throbbing in your palm made it clear that he was close, but you were taken by surprise when he let out a deep, strangled groan and painted your lips with the first rope of his release. You took him back into your mouth, allowing him to empty his seed on your tongue with a soft hum.

Just as you were about to swallow, Jake grasped your jaw, demanding through his labored breaths, “Hold it…Show me.” He growled when your brows drew together in question. “Stick that fucking tongue out… and show me what a good little cumslut you are.” He let go of your face and straightened up, making sure the video was in focus to capture the display. You flashed a mischievous smile and rolled your tongue out to reveal Jake’s cum coating it. Pulling your tongue back into your mouth, you pushed his release through your grinning teeth and let it drip over your plush lip and onto your chin, giving a lewd exhibit for the film. “Good girl. Now swallow it.” He watched proudly as you gulped him down before dragging his thumb across your chin and pushing the leftover mess into your mouth, “You’re not one to waste, are you, pretty baby?” You sucked on his digit as you shook your head. He took his thumb back and cupped your cheek with a warm smile.

You grasped his hips, using them as leverage to pull yourself up from the floor, and snatched the phone from his hand. When he opened his mouth to protest, you looped your hands around his neck and jumped, locking your legs around his waist, and pressed your lips to his. Jake held you up, his hands gripping your ass hard, and carried you to the couch. “My turn?” You asked quietly as he laid you across the cushions, “Do I get to make my directorial debut?” You pointed the camera at him as he hovered over you, leaving a trail of gentle pecks between your breasts.

He stopped his path right below your navel to look up into the lens, effectively making eye contact with you. “You wanna film me eating this sweet, little cunt, angel?” He continued to work his way down after you nodded, smiling to himself at the soft whimpers cascading from your mouth. When he made it to your panties, he bit the right string, pulling it and back and letting it snap against your hip with a wicked laugh. His fingers slipped beneath the straps to peel the g-string down your legs. “God. You gotta see what I’m seeing…” He pulled the phone from your grasp and turned it back on you, aiming directly at your pussy as he dragged his middle and ring fingers through your folds, showcasing how wet you were by the amount of arousal coating his digits. Jake flicked his fingers over your clit, drawing a mewl out of you, before giving you phone back. “Hold the camera steady, baby… I don’t want you to miss a second of this.” The second his sentence concluded, he jumped in and began lapping at your clit, thrashing his head back and forth with a hungry groan.

Your hands ached to pull on his chestnut locks, to scratch his scalp, but you kept them still to hold the phone in place. “Fuck, Jake…You- Ohhh.” Your thoughts were cut off when you looked down at the phone screen to catch his eyes, staring deep into your soul as he closed his lips around the sensitive bud and pushed his long fingers into your cunt. The eye contact felt so incredibly intimate paired with the way you watched him devouring you through the screen, like it was a movie made for your eyes only. His fingers curled against your gspot, forcing your eyes to finally roll as you bucked yourself into his face. “Ahh… Baby, please. Don’t fucking stop…”

Jake was pulling out all of his tricks; careful nibbles with his perfect teeth, pressing all your sweet spots with his calloused fingers, the rapid flicks of his tongue turned to flat, slow drags. He was eliciting sounds that you’d never made before, luring them from the depths of your chest as he wound you up. “Sweetest fucking pussy, angel. Cum on my tongue so I can give you a taste, sweet girl.” He removed his fingers, hooking his hands around your thighs to hold you down as he focused all of his attention on your clit.

“Shit. Jake…ohh fuck, Jaaake…” The heat was spreading through your body, burning bright and blinding as your trembling hands dropped the phone. The device clattered to the floor with a thud but neither of you made a move to grab it. It was mere seconds before you were taken by your climax, the world tilting and shifting around you in a dizzying tailspin. You couldn’t make a sound, your jaw hung wide in silence as your vision blurred. Jake pushed his tongue through your entrance, using it to coax you back to reality and bring you down from the high.

Your body went limp, relaxing and melting into the couch as he retracted his mouth and crawled up your body. Holding true to his promise, he pressed his lips to yours, slipping his tongue into your mouth to allow you a taste. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, but he was moving sideways, reaching. When he broke away from the kiss, you opened your eyes to see him picking the phone up and flipping it to the front facing camera. He looked at his reflection on the phone before angling it to fit the both of you on the screen, “We look good on camera, don’t we, angel?”

“Mhmm…” You glanced at the phone and pressed your lips to Jake’s cheek, “We look real good, baby.” You could feel his cock growing again as he began to grind into you with a devious smile.

He turned his head to face you, pecking your lips and catching your bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. “How about we go finish our movie in the bedroom, hmm?”

#jake kiszka #greta van fleet #gvf #jake kiszka smut #jake kiskza x reader #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka one shot #jakedown

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harrisonarchive · 5 months

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Onstage at the HeartBeat charity concert, March 15, 1986.

So sad to hear of the passing of Denny Laine. Deepest condolences to his loved ones. “George was a very special person. I know you all loved him. I loved him. God bless you George.” - Denny Laine paying tribute to George at a Chicago concert in 2001 “We’d go see American bands that came over to England just because we were curious. So, I had pretty much a friendship with him because I was in London at the time. And that’s how I got to know him. George Harrison was also our neighbor when I was in The Moody Blues. ... They (The Beatles) used to come by and play us their demos and their acetates. We were pretty close with them. We were both fans of each other. ... We all started out together as kids, really.” - Denny Laine, Tallahassee Democrat, September 2017 “Well, we knew The Beatles because The Moodies were one of the opening acts on their second tour. I knew George very well, he was a close neighbor, and I became friends with Paul who had seen me performing as an opening act for Jimi Hendrix at the Saville Theatre.” - Denny Laine, MassLive, January 2019 Denny was of course also one of the backing vocalists (alongside Paul and Linda) on “All Those Years Ago.” (x)

#Denny Laine #George Harrison #quote #quotes about George #1980s #in memoriam #The Beatles #Wings #Paul McCartney and Wings #Moody Blues #et al.#fits queue like a glove

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riaaanna · 5 months

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via Doyle:

An important 1969 letter and drawing from Freddie Mercury to Ibex bandmate Mick "Miffer" Smith

MERCURY, FREDDIE

Autograph letter signed and original drawing sent to Ibex bandmate Mick “Miffer” Smith. Paddington, London: 16 October 1969. A two-page autograph letter in dark blue ink from Freddie Mercury, signed "Fred," addressed to Mick Smith as "Miffer." The letter with Mercury's "40 Ferry Rd" address at the head. Each page 6 3/4 x 5 1/2 inches (17 x 13.5 cm). The letter in a framed display with a fine pencil portrait of Smith by Mercury signed "Ponce," this 6 3/4 x 5 inches (17 x 12 cm), the original postmarked mailing envelope in Mercury's hand addressed to Smith in Widnes, and an original ticket to the debut performance of Ibex at Honiton Hall (Penketh) dated 23 May 1969, the ticket with a scalloped edge in gold. The letter with a usual horizontal crease and a few faint spots to the second page, very fine and dark overall, the drawing with a few spots, the whole nicely framed together and the items have not been removed from the frame but does not appear laid-down; Together with the book Queen: As it Began, inscribed for "Miffer" by the fellow Ibex bandmates in 1992 (published after Mercury's death). Publisher's cloth in dust jacket, minor wear but a fine copy overall. Also offered in the lot is a Time Magazine publication offering early photographs of Mercury, Miffer and this early group of friends and bandmates.

A remarkable and rare letter from Freddie Mercury (1946-1991) dated 1969, in the salad days a year before the forming of Queen, with references to seeing Led Zeppelin, sexuality, songs he is writing, and upcoming performances. Freddie Mercury is best-remembered as a singer/songwriter but in the mid-1960s, Zanzibar-born Mercury was an aspiring student at Ealing Art College (Pete Townsend and Ronnie Wood also attended) and is known to have decorated his walls with drawings he made of Jimi Hendrix. Mercury was a very capable draftsman as attested by the detailed drawing offered with this letter which is published in Queen: As it Began. Graduating in the spring of 1969, Mercury bought a guitar, taught himself to play, and began writing songs. That summer he was introduced to the Liverpool-based heavy blues trio Ibex which comprised guitarist Mike Bersin and bassist John "Tupp" Taylor, both of whom have signed the volume here presented to the drummer, Mick "Miffer" Smith, who later recalled: "We auditioned Freddie to take over lead vocals from Mike ... we were all competent players, we could handle our instruments, but none of us was particularly good at singing. Freddie had a great voice, with a terrific range, but he didn't really know how to use it. Once we had Freddie, we were a little rough and ready, but we showed a lot of potential" (Queen: As it Began, p. 28). Ibex's first performance was at Honitan Hall in May of 1969 and a very rare artifact is a ticket to this debut concert framed alongside the drawing and letter. Mick "Miffer" Smith moved to the United States in late 1969 and Mercury briefly joined Sour Milk Sea before rejoining Bersin and Taylor to form Wreckage. Disbanded by March 1970, in April Mercury teamed up with guitarist Brian May and drummer Roger Taylor to form Smile. Joined by bassist John Deacon in 1971, they renamed themselves Queen and the rest is rock 'n roll history.

But just before Queen was formed, in October 1969, Freddie Mercury wrote this remarkable letter to his friend and bandmate "Miffer," who had returned to Widnes to assist his family. The letter is a tour-de-force of descriptive thought and a growing passion for writing music. Penned in dark blue ink in Mercury's distinctive hand with looping letters and neat circles dotting i's and j's, the letter opens with Mercury hoping that "this finds you in the pink of health" and jokes that he doesn't need to ask about Smith's "sexual pleasures of late as your kinky perverted mind will have led you to obscenities and variations never before performed in Widnes." After mentioning moving into his new flat (that at 40 Ferry Road in London) and nearly being "sacked" from his job (possibly as a baggage handler at Heathrow?), Mercury eloquently describes seeing Led Zeppelin at the Lyceum. Robert Plant's performance is described as "orgasmic" and he goes into detail about the masterful drumming of John Bonham which would have appealed to "Miffer," Ibex's hard-hitting drummer. On his sexuality, Freddie Mercury writes that "I hear from several sources that you've informed them that I've turned into a fully fledged queer ... Meanwhile I'm making do with John." Personal statements such as those from Mercury are rife with research potential.

The next two paragraphs are devoted to music. He reports on the upcoming gigs with Wreckage at St. Mark and St. John and most notably another "with Smile on Dec. 6th (Definite)," this one of Mercury's earliest performances with Brian May and the band that would become Queen. Still between the two groups, Mercury mentions entering Wreckage into the "Melody Makers Group contest" noting that the "top group gets loads of equipment and money. So we definitely need a thorough practice." He continues "I've written the words to the new songs, titled 'Green' 'Cancer on my Mind' and 'Without you.' Smile are playing with the Taste on Saturday and I'm going to ponce along." The drawing of Miffer present here is also signed "Ponce," a term used playfully and frequently by Mercury to describe his stage presence although in British slang this term has a multitude of meanings. The letter closes by asking after friends and is signed "All the best, Fred."

We trace few letters from Freddie Mercury in the auction record and none from this pivotal early period, written to a bandmate, and before the success of Queen changed his life forever.

#queen band #freddie mercury

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gotham-ruaidh · 4 months

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Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 14B: Where Do We Go Now?

Soundtrack: “Sweet Child O’ Mine,” Guns N’ Roses, 1987 [click here to listen]

Now and then when I see her face She takes me away to that special place And if I stare too long, I'd probably break down and cry

- Guns N’ Roses, “Sweet Child O’ Mine” (1987)

Tucson || July 1988

It didn’t matter what Colum or the label or anyone else said – all recording studios looked the same on the inside.

Sure, there were always small differences. The really comfortable couches at Sound City in Los Angeles. Electric Lady in Manhattan still had the really cool paint scheme that Jimi Hendrix himself had designed. Muscle Shoals in Alabama oozed coolness.

But this studio, whose name he couldn’t and didn’t care to remember, nestled down a back street in Tuscon was…tired.

Almost as tired as Jamie.

The “quick three week tour” had stretched to eight weeks, with no end in sight. Theater shows had been upgraded to arenas. Playing to thousands and thousands of ecstatic fans. Pouring their hearts out night after night after night, and squeezing in radio promos and sound checks and business meetings during the day.

Fucking exhilarating.

Everybody wanted a piece of Print – their music, their story. Jamie still hadn’t granted too many interviews this tour, but the press ate up every word he said about sobriety and music and forgiveness. Insatiable for details about the woman he had met in rehab, and written all the new songs about, and refused to name publicly.

Print was making more money than they knew what to do with. The label had sprung for a private plane, and nobody in the band missed the rickety and smelly tour bus (except Claire, because it was still all so new to her, which Jamie added to the list of thousands of reasons why he loved her). Their hotel rooms were bigger. Catering in the dressing rooms was much nicer.

Fucking exhausting.

So many people wanted a piece of Jamie every day. Ian and Angus, to run through the new material that just kept pouring out of them. Colum, to talk ticket sales and adding second and third nights in each city. The suits from the label, who kept finding them in Dallas and Kansas City and Detroit, slapping Jamie’s back and pushing terrible ideas for duets with pop stars or contributing to a movie soundtrack or pleading to do the acoustic set in a special for MTV.

And on top of that, some dirtbag reporter from the National Enquirer had figured out who Claire was, somehow got a hold of her personnel file from the hospital, and tracked down her shitty ex-husband for an exclusive interview. Splashed her life all over the tabloids, complete with very grainy photographs of the she and Jamie together, holding hands, on a rare day off in Nashville when he took her to a few honky-tonks. The one saving grace was that thankfully, nobody at The Ridge had said a word about anything about her time there, or the time they shared together.

Claire took it all in stride. She always understood. Holding him in the bathtub of their suite in Denver as he shook from another panic attack. Smiling over a three AM hamburger at a diner in Topeka. Whimpering as he came off stage in Atlanta, sweaty and keyed up from singing about her, hoisting her in his arms for a long kiss against the lighting equipment at side stage, heart stuttering to see his eye makeup smudged against her cheeks.

The man he was on the last tour – unhappy, unfulfilled, so deep in an addition he didn’t care to acknowledge – would not recognize the man he’d become on this tour.

“In ’86, we played seventy eight dates. We had a number one record. I bought my house, and my motorcycle, and my car.” Quietly he sipped coffee in their suite in Seattle, watching the city wake up, running his thumb over Claire’s shoulder as she settled against him in front of the window.

“You had everything you had always dreamed of.”

He snorted. “I was a mess. All I could think about during every show was how to find a girl or a bottle or a baggie as quickly as possible. And the crew would always do that for me.”

The crew respected his – and Claire’s – request for no drugs or alcohol backstage this tour. What the techs and roadies and production crew did on their own time, in their own hotel rooms, with whoever they wanted to – Jamie didn’t care. But for everyone to help with, to respect, his sobriety was a gift. And he never stopped saying thank you.

“If only those reporters could see you now – Jamie Fraser swaggering off stage for an Evian.”

He smiled. “And to kiss this beautiful doctor who for some reason keeps following him around. Because he loves her, more than any man has ever loved any woman.”

He wanted to provide for her. To shelter and protect her. To never leave her side ever again.

She didn’t need him to do any of that, of course. They’d talked about it many times. But she wanted him to do that. And the fact that she chose him, kept choosing him…that was why they kept going. Kept each other sober. Kept holding each other up.

They’d agreed that this time on tour was for her to understand this part of him – and to help both of them decide how and where they would live once the tour was done.

Which is why the radio silence from Boston, four weeks after mailing the letter from Philadelphia asking, politely, just what the hell was going on…was so fucking crushing.

The stress of that – and the grind of touring – did make it just a bit more difficult every day.

Thankfully Colum had scheduled a week-long break at the end of the month. Angus was already planning a trip to Aruba with the two groupies, who truth be told had grown on the rest of the band. Ian was planning to spend the week with his wife, Jamie’s sister Jenny, and their kids.

And Jamie and Claire – well, they’d be getting married.

Only a few people knew, with good reason. Ian and Jenny, of course. Alec and Faith, in New York. Colum. Dougal MacKenzie and his wife Gillian, who had helped both Jamie and Claire so much at The Ridge. Uncle Lamb, who would officiate. And Claire’s friends Joe and Gail Abernathy, who had quite literally saved her life by getting her to The Ridge in the first place.

The service would be simple. Exactly what they wanted – what they needed.

And after that…well. They would truly be husband and wife.

But there was a lot to do – a lot to take care of – between now and then. Not the least of which was, wrapping up this recording session.

The time laying down acoustic tracks in Philadelphia last month was very well spent. They weren't so rusty. But the guys were eager to hear the songs in electric form. And since they were in Tucson, and Colum knew Bobby Higgins – who not only owned this studio, but who had also produced that really killer Ratt album in ’84…

“OK, Jamie.”

Jamie took a deep breath, and looked up through the glass at Bobby, hunched over the console in the control room.

“Ready for take two?”

Jamie looked left, to Angus – and right, to Ian.

“Yup.”

“OK – this is In My Veins, take two.”

Jamie grit his teeth.

Caught Claire’s eye in the control room.

She smiled.

He relaxed.

Angus counted in on his drumsticks, and then started the heavy beat like they’d discussed.

Four bars – and Jamie’s guitar and Ian’s bass joined in.

“That was really, really great, Jamie.”

Claire handed him a new bottle of water, cap already twisted off. He drank it in four deep gulps.

“I know you’re not shitting me. So thank you.”

Quickly she looked over her shoulder – Angus’ cheeks were being loudly kissed by the groupies, and Ian played around with his bass, and Colum and Bobby were deep in conversation in the control room.

“Where are you?”

She had pulled him away before, when the panic attacks were coming, and he knew she’d do it again right now if needed.

He wiped his mouth with the back of a sweaty hand. “About an eight out of ten.”

“Do you need a break?”

He met her eyes. “I need a meeting. Been thinking about my old friend Jack Daniels all day.”

“Did you see something?”

He sighed. “I’ve only played electric a handful of times since I got back from The Ridge.” He looked down at the gorgeous Stratocaster strapped across his chest, fist flexing. “I got this guitar because the black tone and white trim matched the label on the bottle. Stupid, I know. But it’s all I could think about today.”

“Not stupid. We’ll deal with it. You should call Alec. And I can find you a meeting.”

He leaned in, and kissed her forehead. “I love you. I’ll call him. And I need to sell this guitar.”

She nodded. “We’ll find a charity.”

He kissed her again. “I love you.”

She kissed him quickly, and returned to the control room.

Grateful that Jamie had turned away to talk to the guys, when Colum tapped her on the shoulder, and slid over an envelope postmarked Boston.

“Mail call. Do I want to know?”

She shook her head, folded the letter, and slid it into the back pocket of her jeans. “Is there a Yellow Pages I can borrow?”

#outlander #outlander fanfic #jamie and claire #little bit better than i used to be

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thislovintime · 3 months

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Summer of 1967; photo by Micky Dolenz.

“The couple of times that I played with him [Jimi Hendrix]… he was very supportive and an amazing musical mind, just totally capable of asking exactly what a person could deliver. You never felt nervous about playing with him. He was a wonder, an astounding guy in so many ways.” - Peter Tork, The Roanoke Times, April 6, 2006 (x)

“We got high together. We had this DC6 [on the 1967 summer tour], with this lounge in back. There were some reporters on the plane, so we would leave the reporters in the front and go into the back and smoke it up.” - Peter Tork, Eyewitness: Jimi Hendrix by Johnny Black (2004)

#Peter Tork #Jimi Hendrix #Tork quotes #60s Tork #The Monkees #Monkees #Micky Dolenz #Michael Nesmith #Davy Jones #can you queue it

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builtbybrokenbells · 7 months

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Gold Dust Woman | viii

Y/n quickly learns that touring with the brothers she is so emotionally intertwined with is not all that it’s cracked up to be.

Read part seven here

Listen while reading: Money for Nothing - Dire Straits, Voodoo Child (slight return) - Jimi Hendrix, Pride and Joy - Stevie Ray Vaughan

Pairing: sam kiszka x f!reader, jake kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 12k

Warnings: drinking, swearing, smoking, arguing, jealousy/intentional jealousy, insecurity, angst, sad Jake, flirting, making out, brief emotional talks, sorry if I miss any!

finally!! most of this is light hearted fun, but the end is clearly setting the tone for the following chapters. the calm before the storm, perhaps 🥰 sorry for the wait, and sorry if this is not my best work! im just trying to bridge the gap and set the themes before we get into the gritty emotional stuff next. as always, enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes!! (p.s. this is super lightly edited 🫣)

Your bag dropped to the ground with a pathetic echo, the sound barely breaking through the dead air of the hotel room. It seemed just as exhausted as you were, and you found the slump of the fabric on the track bag ironically funny, because you felt like doing just the same. You kicked your shoes off at the door, immediately looking to the bed with longing in your eyes. Before you could get the chance to shut the door and climb under the covers, a surge of voices rang from down the hallway. You made your first mistake of the day as you peeked your head around the corner to investigate. Immediately, you saw your bandmates following behind Danny, who was moving towards your room with mischievous intent written all over his features.

By the time you had registered what was happening, Danny was close enough to reach out and touch you. You took a step backwards, a fruitless attempt at escape, but his hands were already reaching out for you. His fingers closed around your wrist just in enough time to pull you back into the hallway. “Danny!” You exclaimed, feeling a laugh break from your lips despite your disinterest in their antics.

“What do you think you’re doing? Trying to get away from us?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow as he spoke.

“Was hoping to take a nap before the show tonight. You know, so I don’t fall sleep on stage.” You rolled your eyes, but that answer was unacceptable for him.

“Oh come on, you’re gonna sleep away your first day of tour? Don’t let a little travel get you down.” Your two bandmates nodded their heads in agreement, standing guard with their arms crossed over their chests.

“I’m okay with that.” You nodded. It was uncharacteristic of you to refuse a party, but your bones were aching with sleepiness, begging you to rest on a mattress even for a moment.

“Yeah, but I’m not.” He said, reaching into his pocket and grabbing a mini bottle of fireball. “Drink up, sound check is in two hours.” You watched him, hoping for him to change his mind, but he had never looked so serious. You grabbed it, although openly reluctant about doing so. “That’s my girl.” He basked in his victory only for a moment before crouching to the ground.

“Danny, I’m not getting on your shoulders.” You refused. It was a charade the two of you seemed to fancy when you were drunk, but you were far too sober to entertain the idea now.

“Come on, have some fun!” He exclaimed, clearly over your displeasure with his attempts to set the mood. You let out a sigh, but ultimately did as he asked. You were never one to say no to Danny, especially when he seemed so happy. “Aha!” He spoke in triumph as he secured his hands on your thighs. He rose to his feet, and you ducked your head instinctively. The ceilings were high, not near close enough for you to hit your head, but your anxiety seemed to be much worse when you didn’t have any false confidence from alcohol.

“Don’t drop me, Daniel.” You scolded, holding onto his hands secured on your legs.

“Shut up and take the shot.” He chuckled, both of you knowing that dropping you was the last thing he would do, and if he did, he would cushion your fall just to make sure you wouldn’t get a scrape. He was the best friend you had ever had, and you were always a priority to him. He stopped in front of another door, loosening his grip on your leg only for a second to knock on the wood. After a few seconds, shuffling could be heard from inside the room, and Josh popped out from behind the door. He let out an immediate boom of laughter at the sight, clearly equally as thrilled about the first day of tour. Danny carefully grabbed another fireball shot from his pocket and handed it to the boy. He accepted and joined the party without a single exchange of words. You realized that this must be a normal antic for the boys, which also came with the realization that you had willingly signed up for months of the same torture.

“Two more to go.” Danny smiled.

“How many shots do you have?” You questioned, genuinely curious about the collection he was hoarding.

“Enough.” Was all he replied. Another door was knocked on, and Sam joined the party.

“Seems you’ve gotten taller.” Sam noted, looking up at you with a twinkle in his eyes. You wanted to chastise him, to sit back another witty remark, but every time you looked at him for a moment too long, all of the thoughts seemed to disappear from your brain. He always stole the moment, shining brighter than anything else. Instead of waiting for a response, he cracked the cap of the shot and tilted his head back, drinking down the liquid with nothing to spare.

You were hyper aware that the last person to retrieve was Jake, and you were excited to see him, although a bit nervous. Since the fiasco of the tour agreement signing, you and Jake had been distant. Not by an overwhelming margin, but definitely enough to notice. You were withdrawn because of your guilt for pushing him away, and he was withdrawn due to his hurt from you doing so. In your moments and nights spent alone, you could feel the tension in the air. It was minimal, but completely unspoken. Even the sex seemed to be different, definitely still phenomenal but a little less emotionally gratifying. You were both aching for connection, but couldn’t seem to find the right words to express it. You hadn’t seen him much on the plane, and you were itching to catch a glimpse of him, like an addict looking for a fix.

Sam, on the other hand, had grown quite fond of your company after the shared sweetness that night in his car. He felt closer to you than he ever had, and he wasn’t willing to give that up. In the weeks leading up to the start of tour, you had found yourself playing house with him more than usual, spending the night and drifting through the morning in minimal clothing and hearts dancing in your eyes. Morning coffee no longer tasted the same without his company, and the sunrise was a little less pleasant when he wasn’t there to share it with you.

Even with the space in your bed spoken for and the mornings laced with a promise of love, you couldn’t help but miss Jake. Every now and again, you yearned for that first morning spent with him, with his hands around your waist and his sweet nothings whispered in your ear. The serenity of cooking breakfast while he plucked away at a guitar and wordlessly dedicated songs to you; it was a subtle show of affection because, like always, he had been too afraid to speak it into existence. Your heart still ached for Jake, even with Sam loving you so deeply. He could tell; your eyes spoke it louder than any words you could say. You loved Sam, and he knew that even if you had refrained from saying it aloud, but he knew you loved his brother, too. He chose not to mention the pain he felt at the thought.

The debacle the three of you found yourself in had been going on for months, now. All of you were tired, ready for it to be over, but nobody was willing to give up. By refusing to let go, all of you were simply allowing the hurt to grow. If a choice in the beginning was impossible, it had grown into something even more catastrophic than what it started as. You prided yourself on being a levelheaded person, someone who was calculated and well thought out, but this mess was something so uncharacteristic for you. Had you been half the person you viewed yourself as, you would have put a stop to it long ago. You were a fool for both of them, and a fool for thinking you could outsmart them in their own game.

“Open up!” Danny sang as he knocked on the door of the last brothers room.

“M’coming!” He grumbled from inside. Within a moment, he appeared looking just as tired as you were feeling. He paused his movements, head just slight cocked to the side as he took in the sight before him. Slowly, his head upturned to you perched on Danny’s shoulders. You gave him a smile, one that showed him just how happy you were that he decided to join. His eyes softened at your expression, any gruff exterior melting away within an instant.

“Fireball?” You asked, carefully reaching down to hand him your bottle.

“You shouldn’t have.” He chuckled, retrieving the shot from you. He let his fingers rest on yours for a second extra, desperately wanting a moment of closeness with you. “But what about you?” A smirk tugged at his lips.

“Plenty more where that came from.” Danny answered for you, content that you seemed to be enjoying the energy, now. “Onward!” He sounded, turning quickly to go back in the direction you all came from. You grabbed on to him, holding yourself steady in fear of being dropped. He tightened his grip on your legs, a silent reassurance that he had you, and he wouldn’t let you go. “You know, I think we should try beer pong like this.” He theorized.

“I think that’s cheating.” You replied, seeing him near the door of your room.

“I’d let it slide.” Josh said, as if he were the commissioner of the game. Danny let out a noise of triumph, happy that he had someone on his side to disregard your arguments. He led everyone into your room, immediately walking to your bed and leaning backwards. You let out a shriek of terror as you began to lose your balance, but he loosened his grip on your thighs. You fell to the mattress, landing with a thud and a chorus of laughter from the audience surrounding you.

“Asshole,” you grumbled as you straightened yourself out.

“Here,” Danny threw a mini bottle at you. It landed beside you, catching your attention and distracting you from the excitement of the moment. “Drink up.” You did as you were told, cracking the cap and draining the alcohol from the bottle. The burn settled deep in your chest, the cinnamon overpowering and warming your body. Although the burn was not comparable to both of the familiar sets of eyes on you, neither thinking anything wholesome.

Sam was by the door, lost in chatter with Dylan and Riley, but his gaze was only settled on you. It did not matter who he was caught in conversation with, or what he was busy doing, you were permanently in the forefront of his mind. Jake was talking to Josh, small business about the show tonight and the importance of an opening night. Even though the context of the talk was about his passion, his biggest dream in which he’d been working his whole life to achieve, you were still heavily weighing on his thoughts. Jake was not even attempting to hide his stare; Josh was aware, and uncaring of the infatuation between the two of you. He continued speaking despite knowing Jake’s attention was not directed at him.

“Another?” Danny asked, pulling a few more bottles from his pocket.

“Jesus,” you laughed, amazed at the amount of alcohol he had shoved in the pocket of his jeans. “I’d like to make it to the concert, tonight.”

“Oh, you will. Don’t worry about that.” He assured you. “We’re celebrating your first day on tour ever. Isn’t it exciting?” He questioned, taking a seat next to you. You turned to face him, your back to the brothers in hopes to forget about their lingering eyes and wistful thoughts. You have a shrug, plucking another shot from his hand.

“Of course,” you nodded, but your tone was withdrawn.

“You’re nervous.” He stated, narrowing his gaze at you.

“No,” you scoffed, but avoided meeting his eyes at all costs. He could read you like a book; he didn’t need you to say the words for him to know. “Yeah.” You finally changed your stance when he refused to look away. “It’s normal, is it not? I mean, those people are there to see you guys, not us. And your fans… they can be ruthless, sometimes. I’m about to give my entire soul to the public, everything I’ve been scared of for my whole life. I think it’s okay to be a little scared.”

“Of course it is, y/n, but if you’re scared because you don’t think you have the talent, that’s not okay.” He corrected. You drank down the second shot, finally feeling a touch of relief from the anxiety constricting your chest. You took a deep breath as you swallowed down the alcohol, bargaining with your fear.

“I mean, I guess.” You sighed. “Fear of not being good enough is just as normal as anything else.”

“Not when you have as much talent as you do.” His answer was final, no willingness to debate the issue any further. “You’re going to get up there, and they’re going to love you just as much as they love us. You’re going to do fantastic, y/n. I’m not worried and you shouldn’t be, either.”

“Thank you, Danny.” You smiled. The warmth of his sincerity alone was enough to make you feel better, but his company worked even better. “I am excited, but I think the anxiety gets in the way of that sometimes.”

“Trust me, when you get in your stage clothes and they put your makeup on, you’ll feel like a whole new person. It’s a different kind of feeling, like you’re the most extravagant version of yourself and you can take on the whole world.” He assured you, taking a shot of his own. “Plus, we’ll be there on the sidelines cheering louder than anyone else. If you get nervous, just look for me.” He grinned. Sometimes you were overwhelmed by the support and love that Danny gave you. It was more than you had ever felt in your life, and you hoped he never stopped. Friendship with Danny was more beautiful than most simple pleasures in life, and he proved that love existed in many different ways, and even stronger than romantic by times.

“I love you.” You smiled, feeling the tension whither away indefinitely.

“I love you.” He said, glancing past you for a moment. “I think lover boy is jealous that I’m getting a moment alone with you.”

“Fuck, which one?” You sighed, rolling your eyes at the thought.

“Both.” He muttered, laughing to himself. “Any sign of stopping?”

“Plenty, but it seems like I’m colourblind, now. The stop signs look green and the red flags look pink.” You mumbled, twirling a frayed string from the rip in your jeans around your finger. “But the show must go on, right?”

“Not necessarily.” He shrugged. “Effect from cause, remember? If you’re hurting, you can stop it at the source.”

“I think that would hurt worse.” You gave a sad smile, shaking the idea from your head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s my own fault, so I’ll fix it somehow.” You advised, shuffling to your feet. “Thanks for the pep talk. I needed it.” You spoke softly as you moved towards the large glass doors on the other side of your room. Danny watched you walk away, realizing that pre-show anxiety might not be the only thing that was troubling you. He let you slip on to the balcony with no intent to follow. He loved you enough to recognize when you needed to be alone, and solitude was what you were craving. You were fine with the crowd hanging around your room, but you were searching for a moment of peace in hopes to decompress from the days activities.

You broke out into the afternoon air, surrounded by the distant sounds of the city. The sky was blue, cloudless and beholding the type of beauty you couldn’t recreate in a picture. You rummaged through your sweater pocket, locating a pack of cigarettes, and pulled one out. You took a seat on the patio chair, lighting the end and watching the flame from the lighter fizzle away in the wind. The building was tall, taller than any you had ever seen in your hometown, and you were nestled nearly at the top. You’d seen plenty of skyscrapers in Nashville, but upon your arrival in Atlanta you couldn’t believe how many people littered the streets of the cities you had never been privileged enough to visit.

You thought of your younger self, how excited she would be for you now, how thrilled she would be that you had broken free of the generational curses and you were finally living your dream. If only she could understand that implications of dreams were dangerous, and just because you were living the life you had hoped for did not mean you were perfectly content. Ever since the confessional of your broken childhood to Sam, it had been looming over your head like a sinister nightmare. You felt more pain over the memories of your past than you ever had before. You were forever wounded from the scars you had collected from loving the brothers now, and your body was giving way underneath the weight of your wrongs.

You were living your dream, yet you were so worn down that it was painful to enjoy it. You felt guilty for not being able to have fun; you knew you should be joyous, celebrating and drinking with the rest of your friends, but the ache that settled in your chest was almost too strong to withstand. Laughing felt foreign, and you thought that fun could not come without crushing guilt following it. You wished so badly that you could fall out of love as fast as you fell in love, but it just wasn’t possible. For a while, you felt like you were ahead, winning by possessing the ability of control, but they had their teeth in you, and as the days passed, claws, too. They were tearing you apart and you were letting them. The grief was growing, rooting into your bones and metastasizing on your soul while you mourned something you hadn’t even lost yet. But, loss was familiar even if you weren’t aware you were feeling it; you had lost yourself, respect for yourself, and the sense of right and wrong. You’d spent months believing you were gaining something from their love, but it simply wasn’t true. You’d given up so much of yourself amidst loving them that you were unrecognizable, now. The losses outweighed the benefits, and you were finally beginning to understand.

In your journey of learning how to love, you had quickly learned that loving was not easy. You can love and hurt at the same time, just the same as you can die while the sun is shining. As you sat under the sun, cigarette smoking in your hand, you realized that you already were. You were inviting it, welcoming death with open arms just to enjoy the peacefulness as you drifted. You were out of ideas on how to satiate the pain without inviting it back into your life, no idea how to heal the wounds without reopening them. The pain was worsened by them, but healed by them, too, and you were at the end of the road. Your last flame was flickering away, and they were out of fuel to keep it going. Instead of protecting it, you chose to focus on attempting to warm yourself with their fire, ignorant to the fact that their flames were producing a wind strong enough to turn you to dust.

“Hasn’t anyone told you that those are bad for you?” His voice cut through the serenity like a knife, breaking you from your internal brooding. It was so familiar, so comforting, yet left a lasting burn on your skin. He was comfort, but he was also catastrophe. Unfortunately for you, you were so comfortable in chaos that you loved him despite the disaster.

“Woke up a hypocrite, today?” You asked, not bothering to turn and look to him. For once, you weren’t yearning for the moment with him. You were perfectly fine with being upset, and perfectly fine without his help.

“Ouch,” he said, taking the seat beside you. “Just because I do it doesn’t mean I want you to do it, too. Not allowed to worry about you anymore?”

“I think you should stop worrying, Jacob.” You said, still refusing to look at him.

“I thought you quit?” He refused to give up, knowing that being on the receiving of your standoffish nature was better than not speaking to you at all.

“Living the rockstar lifestyle, now. Have to look the part.” You joked, but your tone was flat. You both fell into a silence, listening to the sound of cars passing below. You wanted to touch him, but you were afraid that you would give too much of yourself to him once more. It was so easy to give everything to Jake, even when he wasn’t asking for it.

“I miss you, y/n.” His admission was prompted by nothing but his own heart. The distance between you two was larger than it ever had been, and he was desperate to bridge the gap. He craved that connection he felt with you in the beginning, and he was fearful that all of the time you spent with Sam was locking him into a corner. He regretted pushing you to tell him your troubles, scared that it drove you even further away from him.

“I miss you, Jake.” You finally looked over at him, the sight of his face giving you nothing but pain. He caught your eye, holding your gaze but doing nothing more. He didn’t reach for you, not even expressing a thought that he would. He wanted you to reach for him, he needed to feel like you still wanted him as badly as he wanted you. If only he knew how much you wanted to tell him, he would never have to worry. You wanted to be everything for him; the best version of yourself, one that knew how to love properly and how to be loved by another, one who could give him the entire world, but you were fearful that you would never be that person, that you couldn’t be that person.

“When are you going to let me in, Gold Dust Woman?” He asked, looking back out over the balcony rail. The cloud of emotion radiating from him was so large that it was beginning to fill the sky with confessions and desires.

“I’m trying.” You whispered, flicking the ash off of your cigarette and watching as it fluttered to the ground. “I don’t know how.”

“Do you want to?”

“Yeah.” You admitted. “I really do, Jake, but it’s hard.”

“I think it’s time you let go of the idea that intimacy is easy.” He said, no passion nor desperation in his voice. He was fighting the battle with nonchalance despite every molecule in his body screaming for salvation. He had become painfully aware that emotion was not easy for you, but it was still excruciatingly difficult to contain his own. “You’ve been searching for the simple solution, but you need to understand that it’s not supposed to be easy. If it was, this would have been over a long time ago.” You wanted to be angry, upset that he shoved words down your throat that you didn’t want to hear, but he was right. Simplicity was extremely tempting, but it was not the answer to your questions. If you continued to search blindly for it, you would remain on the same journey until you died empty-handed and alone. “If you want to love me, you can. If you want to love him, you can. Sam and I aren’t strangers to the world we’ve been living in. I know you love him. I can see it. I can feel it when you look at him, y/n. I’m not asking you to stop feeling that way for him. I’m just hoping that you feel it for me, too. I think that you do, but I need to know if this is more than just sex, or if I’m only waiting to get my heart broken.”

“You’re an idiot if you can’t see it.” You were harsh, unbelieving of the fact that he was unsure if you felt that way for him. “It’s never been about sex, Jake. Maybe that first night, but never after that. If Sam gave me the world, and you didn’t, why would I still be here?” You asked, pulling your knees to your chest on the flimsy chair. Your cigarette was long burnt to a butt in your hand, but you continued holding it so you wouldn’t reach for another. You did feel obligated to teach them a lesson, but you never would have subjected him to so much pain if you felt nothing for him. “I don’t know how to let you in. I’ve spent my entire life trying to keep everyone out. Before you and Sam, I never needed to open up. I apologize for struggling, but it’s never been because I don’t want you.”

“There you go.” He whispered, looking back at you with more hope in his eye than before. “I’m not asking to be your hiding place for every secret. I would always keep it safe for you, but I know that’s too much to expect. I just need to know that you care. I think we’ve been doing this long enough for me to ask.”

“Like I said, Jacob. Idiot.” Your words were insulting, but a smile was tugging at your lips. There was one on his, too. “Don’t convince yourself you’re not special, because you know it’s not true. You know what you mean to me.”

“Don’t have to be so mean about it.” He joked, but the tension was nonexistent. You were back in the realm of comfortability that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“I think we’ve been doing this long enough for me to say that.” You shot back his own statement. “In fact, I think you like it.”

“Sadist,” he whispered, hopeful for normalcy. He was rewarded when extended your hand out to him, which he slipped into his own eagerly. Silence became you as you both leaned back in your chairs, fingers interlocked while looking down upon the city. Although normal was not even close to what the current situation was, it was normal for you and Jake, and that was all that mattered.

“Are you excited?” He broke the silence after a long while without conversation.

“Scared.” You corrected. “Seems like fear is the only thing I know how to feel.”

“You’ll blow them away, Gold Dust Woman.” He assured you, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “I didn’t give you that nickname for nothing.”

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.” And you meant it. It was beyond you that Jake was able to persuade you to join them on tour, and although he did not single-handedly convince you, he definitely did the brunt of the work.

“You’ll change your mind after tonight. I promise.” He assured you, still trying to keep his eyes off of you. He felt if he looked in your direction again, he would never be able to look away. “Once the dream comes to life, you’ll never look back. You’ll want to live in it forever.”

“You’re telling that to someone who’s created a life from running away.”

“At least slow down to look at the sights, this time.” You broke, looking over at him in a moment of weakness. Through the storm weathering your brain, he was the moment of serenity. It was like driving under a bridge during a hurricane, loud for so long until you were covered by his shadow and blessed with silence.

“I am.” You promised, the two words strong and full of hope for something better. “I’ve been angry with myself for not knowing how to change, but it’s time to learn.” You explained. “I’m done running, and I’m trying not to be afraid anymore.”

“And I’m proud of you for it.” He finally caught your gaze again, weak from the power you had over him. “I’ll be proud of you forever, even if it has to be from a distance. Even if you don’t pick me, Gold Dust Woman.” He hoped the profession wouldn’t cause another rift between you, but the truth was that you had been waiting years for someone to say something so meaningful to you. When he said it the first time, it was too overwhelming to accept. Now, you could listen to him say it forever. Little by little, he was breaking down the wall.

“I…” Love you. “Like you, Jake. A lot.” You couldn’t muster the strength for the truth, but he knew. Even without the proper word spoken, he could feel the power of the statement.

“I like you, too.” He said, leaning in for a kiss. It was short, but sweet and filled with love. If you weren’t okay with speaking it aloud, he could settle for showing you. “We should probably get ready to head to the venue.” He said, regretful for pulling away. He wished he could kiss you until his lips turned blue and his lungs could no longer remember what oxygen felt like.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” You agreed, but wished you could stay, too.

“I’ll come and see you before you get on stage.” He promised. “Just so you know your biggest fan is cheering you on.”

“You don’t need to be there for me to know that.” You murmured, nose still brushing with his own. He left another kiss on your lips, the sweetness strong enough to last until he could get the chance again.

The two of you filtered back into the hotel room to join the crowd. Your chest felt lighter, like Jake had picked up some of the weight that was dragging you down and put it upon his own shoulders. In a sense, he did. Jake was always willing to carry some of your struggle so you could walk with ease, even if it was a bit too heavy for him to handle. You grabbed your bag from the floor, picking through it to grab your wallet and any other necessities for the night. By the time you collected your belongings, the rest of the company dwindled away, returning to their own rooms to do the same. Jake did not stay to chat, but he did give you a look of longing before emerging into the hallway. He didn’t stay long enough to see it, but you gave him one just the same.

When you arrived at the venue, the sheer size of the building was overwhelming. It was a long journey from playing bars around town to opening for a world tour. A regular crowd for your local shows wouldn’t even fill a single section of this venue. Riley slipped an arm around your shoulder, sensing the return of your anxiety. He was incredibly understanding, mostly because they were both feeling the pressure too. When you entered the back door, event organizers were pointing you in the correct directions. You tried to swallow your nerves, but seeing how naturally the boys responded only made you realize how much of an amateur you were at their craft.

“You guys are up first for soundcheck,” Aaron said, nodding towards the stage. “We do most of the work, so just play a few songs. If something sounds off, let us know.”

“Oh, o-okay,” you nodded, looking to your bandmates. They seemed eager to get out there, like they were counting down the minutes until they could finally play for the world. You wished to dig a hole and hide in it forever; you never felt more out of place than you did in that moment.

“We’re okay.” Dylan assured you. “It’s going to be fine.” You gave another nod, letting the other to lead the way to the stage. Your instruments were set up, ready to go so the sound check could run smoothly.

You grabbed your guitar, throwing the strap over your head. You plucked a few of the strings, caught off guard by the volume. Riley did the same with a grin eating away at his cheeks, wanting to test the volume for himself. Dylan couldn’t contain her laughter at the excitement dancing in his eyes, hitting a few off beats to join in on the moment. It seemed like the sound of the music had struck a nerve in all of you. The sheer excitement from the volume was enough to keep you going. “Give me something to work with.” You broke out of your shell, joking with the drummer. She was pleased with your response, taking your comment and running with it.

She began a familiar beat, the sound ringing through the empty stadium. The noise was so strong that you could feel it in your chest, rattling your bones and overtaking your heartbeat, but it was fantastic. You had never felt more alive; all the fears you had been feeling seemed to float away, replaced with electricity from the booming beat of the drum. After a few moments, you hit a couple chords on the guitar. The clean tone wasn’t good enough for you, though. You took a step towards the pedalboard and engaged one of the switches with your foot. The distortion kicked in, prompting a smile on your lips. Dylan hit a high, her arms moving faster than you could comprehend, and then she stopped completely. There was stagnant air only for a second before you started the main riff of the song. Once you ran through it, Dylan and Riley joined.

“Now look at them yo-yo’s, that’s the way you do it

You play the guitar on the MTV

That ain’t workin, that’s the way you do it

Money for nothing and your chicks for free.”

You stopped playing as you finished, opting not to play the entire song and eager to move onto something a little harder. You looked between the two, your smile never leaving your face. “Let’s pick up the pace.” You teased, breathless and your cheeks stained red.

“Try me.” She challenged.

You turned off the distortion, clicking another pedal to replace the effect. You hovered your foot over the Wah pedal and began an intro to Voodoo Child. The other two joined and Riley began singing the lyrics to the song. You finished without a hitch, all of you giggly and high off the adrenaline rush.

“You want a challenge?” Riley asked. You nodded, listening intently for him to begin a bass line. He plucked a few familiar notes, lighting a fire in you.

“You’re on.” You cut him off, switching your pedals again. He lowered his hand, taking a step away from the mic in anticipation. You took a breath, closing your eyes for a moment to channel the right energy. He had picked a hard song, and you were unsure if you could pull it off, but you were more than willing to try. You took a look over your shoulder before starting, catching the staring eyes of the four boys watching in awe. Jake wasn’t even attempting to hide his stare, falling more in love with you every time your fingers graced the strings of the Les Paul. His eyes flickered to your face, hoping to catch a glimpse of your beauty in the moment. When he realized you were already looking at him, he sent a smile your way. You gave him a wink, but didn’t wait to see a reaction.

Your fingers carried the tune from muscle memory. It was fast, hard to keep up with even when you were the one setting the pace. You took a step to the microphone, Riley already well aware that you were leading the way. It was your favourite song to play, and one of the most difficult to beat in comparison to any other. It was a show stopper, and clearly he was looking to set the record straight with your talent. He knew that you belonged on the stage, but he wanted you to realize it, too. You sang through the first verse, extra concentrated to ensure you didn’t make any mistakes. When the chorus came around, the tension in your shoulders dissipated indefinitely, and you were one with the guitar as you played.

“He’s my sweet little thing,

He’s my pride and joy

He’s my sweet little baby,

He’s my little lover boy.”

You laughed into the mic as you sang and Riley jumped right into the next verse. He sang the second chorus, looking over to you as he led you into the solo. You took a step back from the microphone and towards the bassist, leaning into him as you played. He laughed at your antics, leaning forward as well while his fingers continued to move on the fretboard. Dylan was giggling as she tried to keep time with you both, always finding your performance hilarious. Being on stage seemed to bring out an entirely new side of you, but it was fantastic for them to see. You had a passion for performing, and if you could, you would stay on stage and sing until your lungs gave out. It was getting up there that was the trouble, and never anything that came after.

You both moved back to the microphones to finish the song, singing the lyrics together for the finale. When you plucked the final note, you barely had time to comprehend the loss of the music before cheers erupted from the side stage. You looked over at the group of boys, skin still tingling with the euphoric feeling of playing live music. Aaron gave you a thumbs up, happy with the sound and signalling that you guys were good. You placed your guitar back on it’s stand, rushing off to meet the group waiting for you. “We sound okay?” You asked, looking between them with a hopeful gleam in your eye.

“Okay?” Sam scoffed.

“Try amazing.” Josh corrected.

“Three man band really is all you need.” Danny smiled.

“Stevie Ray Vaughan?” Jake questioned, an eyebrow raised. The entire group turned to look at him, wondering if he was really going to critique the performance.

“Yeah,” you breathed, suddenly feeling nervous. ‘Was it that bad?’ You thought to yourself, shifting your weight on your feet.

“You have to be one phenomenal guitarist to pull that off.” He said, gaze still lingering over your face. He had a far away look in his eye, like his mind was completely elsewhere. “I think that you played it even better than he did. That was fantastic, Gold Dust Woman.” The term of endearment slipped out, like a little secret he’d been burying for a lifetime was finally too strong to withstand. He was too in love with you to notice, and you were too ecstatic to care. Hearing such a compliment from Jake was more intoxicating than any kind of substance you could use. You wished you could live in the cloud of elation from his words forever.

Before you could speak to thank him, you were being pulled in another direction from a set of unfamiliar hands. The event staff was whisking you away to your dressing room, but you weren’t ready to leave. You wanted to tell him how much his compliment meant to you, to stay and admire his beauty for just a moment longer. Looking at Jake was like wishing upon a shooting star; normally, your hopes felt feeble, but the sight of him before you served as a reminder that all dreams could come true if you wished hard enough. Before you were completely out of reach, he managed to reach for your hand and give it a gentle squeeze. Your fingers broke from him while still caught in a plea for more, but you had things to do that did not include his company.

“Gold Dust Woman?” Dylan asked, both her and Riley following along close behind you. The staff directed you into a dressing room, stating that this would be yours and your stylist would join you shortly. “Did the name come from him, or does he call you that because of the name?”

“Lines a little blurred there, honestly. I couldn’t tell you.” You shrugged, stepping inside the room. Riley went his separate way, being led down the hallway to a different area. But Dylan wasn’t one to quit, never leaving your side until you were unable to escape her.

“Come on, y/n.” She pried, a laugh stuck in her throat.

“Yes, the name came from him.” You snipped, taking a seat on the couch. She sat beside you, kicking her feet up on the table sitting in front of her and making herself at home.

“I thought you and Sam were a thing. Doesn’t it bother him that you named your band after Jakes nickname for you?” It was your turn to laugh, the question so incredibly hard to answer that it was more humorous than anything.

“Yes, Sam and I are a thing.” You said, sinking down into the cushions. She watched, waiting for you to continue. When you didn’t, her eyes widened in shock.

“Him, too?”

“Him first, actually.” You muttered. “It’s all so fucked up.

“They’re brothers,” she said, looking off into the distance as she processed the information. “Promiscuous.” She giggled, looking back at you. “Good for you.”

“No, not good.” You chuckled, still finding her jokes funny despite the twisted premise of the conversation. “It’s a mess, and I don’t know how to get out of it.”

“Clearly, if you named the band after him.” She let out another giggle, shaking her head at the new information as she reiterated her point. “You’re a smart girl. You’ll figure it out.” She assured you.

“Haven’t felt very smart lately.” You sighed as you looked up at her. She gave a sympathetic nod, but wasn’t anywhere near ready to end the conversation yet.

“They’re cute, so you have that going for you at least.” You both shared a laugh, unable to refute the fact. “How long?”

“Couple months.”

“And you’ve been keeping it a secret from me for that long?” She feigned a look of hurt.

“Guess I thought if I didn’t talk about it, it would work itself out. I was wrong.”

“It’s okay to be wrong sometimes. Happens to all of us.” She shrugged. “I thought Gold Dust Woman came from your love for Fleetwood Mac. I was wrong. Very wrong.” You both divulged into another laugh, one that made your stomach ache and your lungs desperate for oxygen.

“Which one are you in love with?” She asked, ceasing her laughter but holding her smile. You looked up to meet her eyes, unable to give her the proper answer. “I mean, whichever one you choose should be the one you fell in love with. After this long, you should know that by now.”

“Both of them.” You mumbled, looking to your hands in your lap. “I love them both, for completely different reasons.”

“Ouch,” she winced, not expecting the bluntness of your words. “That makes it tough, then.”

“You have no idea.” You replied, cut off by a body entering the room carrying two large suitcases worth of supplies.

“Alright, y/n?” The unknown woman asked, eyes drifting between you both. You raised your hand, giving her a smile. “You’re up first for makeup and wardrobe.”

“I’ll leave you to it.” Dylan slapped her hands to her thighs before making a move to stand. You gave her an apologetic smile, but she was out the door before she even noticed. You turned your attention to the girl you had yet to be introduced to, giving her a warm grin, excited for what she had in store for you.

She ushered you over to the chair on the other side of the room. You took a seat, but didn’t speak a word until she got a good look at you, familiarizing herself with your face. “I’m your stylist. Specifically yours, but I do work with Greta’s team occasionally. I’m Rachel.” She hummed, running her fingers through your hair.

“Nice to meet you.” You said, looking at your reflection in the mirror while she studied you. You could already tell you were going to like her; she had an exuberant attitude that drew you in, even with her minimal conversation.

“I have lots of stuff planned for you, but I want to hear your thoughts.” She said, pulling another chair up beside you. She took a seat, leaning back and watching your face. “What do you want to look like? Who do you want to be when you get up on that stage?” You pondered her words, thinking hard about the personality you wanted to encase.

“Confident. I want to be me, but just more confident.” You deducted. “Don’t have a whole lot of that normally, so I want something to make me look like I am. Maybe I’ll actually feel it once I get out there.” She nodded as you spoke.

“I like it.” She smiled. “Are you a bold colour type of person, or do you like darker?”

“Darker clothes usually, but I don’t mind a bit of excitement.” She chuckled.

“You’re comfortable with makeup?” You nodded. She repeated your action, standing once again. “Alright, I think I’ve got it figured out.”

She got to work, starting with your makeup. You made as much small talk as the situation would allow, but mostly just enjoyed being pampered. It was something you had never experienced before, and you were enjoying being able to sit back and relax while somebody else was doing the brainstorming for the final look. She was agile with her hands, quick at her job and damn good at it, too. When she finished your makeup, she took a step back for you to admire the sight. You had a black smokey eye, bold and yet elegant looking. It was complimented by a precise wing of gold eyeliner that made your eyes stand out. Deep contour and a dusty blush plastered your cheeks, and your lips shined with a glossy glow. Where highlighter usually sat, she had arranged a few gold star stickers that shimmered under the light. Your eyebrows were done neatly and false eyelashes sat on your eyelids.

You barely recognized yourself; you felt more beautiful than you ever had before. The makeup was heavy, but somehow looked natural, like your face was meant to house such a statement. When you looked to her with a gleam in your eye, you didn’t even have to tell her how good she did. It was written all over your expression. She got you into your outfit next, saving your hair for last. She helped you into the unfamiliar clothes, fixing a shirt on you that would certainly catch attention. It was a metallic gold tank top with only one strap. It was asymmetrical, coming down further on the opposite side of the strap and sitting above your hip on the other. She used a few safety pins to hold the fabric to your bra, ensuring it wouldn’t slip out of place. You out on a pair of black pants that were tight, hugging every inch of your skin and complementing the right spots.

“Heels or no?”

“Yeah, I’m good with heels.” You agreed. You wore them often enough to be comfortable in them all night without worry. She found a pair of black leather boots with a thicker heel to make you as comfortable as possible. You changed from your regular shoes into the new pair before checking yourself in the mirror.

You were baffled at your reflection; you had no idea you could look so enchanting with such little work. It seemed like she completely transformed you into the most stunning version of yourself. “Alright, hair and then we’re done.” She smiled. You took a seat back in the chair and watched as she searched for the tools she needed. She took little time running a curling iron through the locks of your hair with ease. She clipped them as she curled, wanting them to keep their shape while she worked. Once she finished, she brushed through the ringlets with her fingers, breaking them up as they formed into one solid wave. She doused it with hairspray to hold it there, and then spritzed some glitter into the strands so it would glisten under the stage light. “What do you think?”

“I… I don’t even know what to say.” You gave a small laugh, inspecting your reflection intently. “I don’t even recognize myself. It’s… ethereal.”

“It’s all you, Gold Dust Woman. You just look the part, now.” She grinned, making a move to pack up her things. You knew that she had called you that because of the name of your band, but you couldn’t help but feel a tingle down your spine at the term. Jake had done fantastically at sedimenting himself into your thoughts, making himself inescapable even when the situation had nothing to do with him. “I have to get started with Dylan, but if you need me I’ll just be in her room.”

“Yeah, okay.” You nodded, still breathless at the glamorous nature of your presentation. “Thank you.” She filtered out of the room, bags rustling as she struggled to keep them all in her arms. After a few more moment of admiration for her work, you decided to explore the place a bit more.

You stepped into the hallway, peering around for a familiar face. You heard the sound of music lingering through the air, figuring the boys were still amidst their own sound check. Instead of waiting around, you walked towards the door that led to the main building in hopes of locating a bar. You snuck into the next hallway, looking around curiously at the unfamiliar territory. It was silent, seemingly no bodies present in the area, but you continued on your search anyway. You broke into a main entrance, sunlight beaming through the panel windows. Chatter sounded from a distance, and you noticed a sign on the wall displaying directions. You let out a noise of triumph, following the arrow that was pointing to a bar.

When you presented yourself in front of the counter, there were a few people bustling behind it and making small talk amongst themselves. When they noticed your presence, a younger man walked to greet you. “Was hoping there was a bar here. Otherwise I would have looked quite ridiculous walking around for nothing.” You grinned.

“Where there’s music there’s alcohol, right?” He chuckled.

“Right.” You agreed. “Double rum and coke, please.” You pulled a twenty from the back of your phone case, ready to pay him, but he seemed immersed in the details of your face.

“You’re part of the opening act, right?”

“Yeah, that’s my band.” You smiled, nodding your head towards the tour posters splayed across the walls.

“So, was that you I heard singing earlier?” He raised an eyebrow. You scanned his expression, noticing his eyes were laced with flirtatious undertones. He wasn’t bad looking; in fact, he was quite handsome, but you were in no position to entertain a third pursuer. Not that he could ever compare to the two boys you had already fallen for, anyway.

“It was.” You nodded, keeping the smile on your lips. Entertaining was different than enjoying, after all, and you could definitely enjoy it without intent for more. “Did I sound good?”

“Don’t know why you’re not headlining.” He responded, his voice dropping slightly as he poured the liquor into your cup. “Pretty face, pretty voice. You’ve got it all.” Under all of the makeup, you felt your cheeks heat with a blush. He sat your drink on the counter and you tried to pass him the money to pay. “This one’s on me,” he said, refusing to accept the bill. “As long as you come back and say hi before the night ends.”

“I guess I’ll have to.” You grinned, taking a sip from the straw. “Thank you.” He grabbed a pen and quickly jotted something down on a napkin. He slid it your way before speaking again.

“If you’re around town after the show and looking for some sights to see, give me a call. I make a great tour guide.”

“I’ll certainly keep that in mind.” You grinned before uttering a small goodbye. You followed the same path back to the backstage entrance. As you made your way back to your room, your stomach sank with disappointment in yourself for flirting back with the bartender, even knowing how in love you were with Jake and Sam both. Even so, you couldn’t help but notice the carefree nature you had during the interaction; it was nice flirting with someone other than the two boys. It was easy, no crushing guilt nor worry for repercussions about your actions. You’d spent so long tangled within the Kiszka web that you forgot how simple love could be, and the realization was horrible to feel.

Amidst loving both of them so deeply, you had forgotten the ease and carelessness that came before them. You adored them, and knew that what you felt for them was true, but the pain from loving them was hard to handle sometimes. It wasn’t hard enough to want to stop, but it was definitely painful enough to make you wish for something easier by times.

You rounded the corner into your dressing room, stopping with a shock when you noticed the body present on your couch. He looked up from his phone with a smile on his lips as he prepared to greet you. Once his eyes landed on you, he couldn’t seem to find the words he wanted to say. At the sight of him, your previous thoughts dissipated instantly, only leaving a residual sense of guilt behind. The phone number in your pocket was meaningless; no matter how difficult loving them could be, nobody else could ever make you feel the same way that the brothers could. “Hi, Sammy.” You breathed, suddenly nervous just from his presence. Even in his street clothes, completely relaxed and careless, he was stunning.

“Hello, Gorgeous.” He greeted you in the same awestruck tone, a smile tugging at his lips. “Or Gold Dust Woman, rather.” He corrected. You forced a smile onto your lips, worried that his words were hidden with hurt from Jake’s term of endearment, but he didn’t seem to be upset at all. Perhaps he was just referring to the band name. You had gotten yourself in quite a bind by naming the band after Jake’s favourite nickname for you, but it felt so right at the time that you couldn’t seem to refute the idea.

“Like the new look?” You asked, moving towards him. He stood, ready to greet you as you approached. Once you were within reach, you placed your drink down on the table and he snaked his hand to your waist, pulling you into him.

“Love it, actually.” He brought his other hand to your cheek, fingers gently brushing against your skin as they moved under the hair framing your face. Your eyes fluttered closed at the touch, an involuntary reaction prompted by the blissful feeling of his skin on your own. “I think I’d like it more if we took the clothes off.” He added, the hand on your hip tightening more as he spoke. You felt a flutter in your stomach, unable to fight the rush of emotion that arose from his statement.

“Behave yourself, Sam.” You scolded, but a smile was growing on your lips.

“Where’s the fun in that?” He was smiling, too. His face was just hovering over your own, his lips dangerously close to yours. Too close to resist. “I’m sure your stylist wouldn’t mind fixing you up again. If we locked the door, nobody would ever know.”

“Don’t want to ruin her hard work.”

“Can I at least get a rain check for the hotel?” You could practically feel his lips on yours, his close proximity being the only thing you could think of.

“You know my room number.” You said, leaning forward and bridging the gap between you. He responded enthusiastically, happy that you made the move. Although you denied him sex, you weren’t willing to deny him everything all at once. You parted your lips slightly, deepening the kiss. The longer you kissed him, the more you were willing to agree to his suggestion of locking the door. When you parted from him, you were both breathless with stars dancing in your eyes. “Is that my good luck for tonight?”

“You don’t need any luck,” he brushed your comment off. “Not with that much talent.”

“So it was just an invitation for later.” You laughed.

“Yeah, exactly.” He agreed, pulling you in for another kiss. It was short, but sweet and filled with love. You both had become experts at saying I love you without uttering a word. “They opened the doors not too long ago, so you guys will be up soon.”

“Okay,” you heard his words, but didn’t really register the meaning. You were too immersed in his company to care about what was to come next.

“I don’t want to distract you for too long.” He mumbled, letting his thumb drift over the exposed skin on your neck. “Just wanted to tell you that you’re going to do great. The kiss was just a bonus.”

“I think another one would be even better.” You crooned. He let out a low chuckle, agreeing with you but not willing to give in. “Just for a little extra luck.”

“Well, if that’s the case…” he trailed off, leaning down and pulling you into one last kiss. You held him to you, enjoying the moment too much to let it slip away so soon. You let out a hum of pleasure against him, letting him know just how much you appreciated his company.

You were so lost in him that when a sharp knock on the door sounded, you nearly jumped out of your skin in fear. You jumped away from him, much like a kid who was showing guilt for doing something mischievous. Although your entanglement was known to many, you still felt that pestering need to hide it. You turned, nearly vibrating with anxiety, to see who was at the door. When your eyes landed upon the intruder, your stomach sank. Jake was standing in the doorway, face stoney and eyes glossed over with a type of pain that was impossible to conceal. You had forgotten about his promise to visit you before the concert. You had forgotten about your own rule of keeping your relationships with them separate. You had welcomed Sam and disregarded Jake once again, and this time it seemed like it had devastated him even more so than the last.

Sam could sense the tension, also appearing sheepish for being caught. It served little comfort to know that neither seemed like they were in a rush to leave. “Wardrobe, Sam. They’ve been looking for you for ten minutes.” His tone was strong, his sentences short. His chest was aching at the thought of Sam loving you in the same way he did. Knowing it was one thing, and seeing it was another, even more horrible thing.

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat. He omitted any type of goodbye, but did brush hands with you on his way by as a silent show of apology. Jake barely moved out of the way to let him by, causing Sam to bump Jake’s shoulder with his own. When he disappeared around the corner, you were at a loss for words to express your remorse.

“Came by to make sure you were doing okay. Guess he beat me to it.” He gave a tight lipped smile, showing no emotion as he spoke, but you knew how much it was bothering him. “You seem to be doing more than alright.”

“Jake, I’m sorry.” You pleaded, desperate to make up for the mishap somehow. You took a step towards him, but he took a step back. He didn’t want it, and you didn’t want to push him. As he scuttled away from you, his eyes landed on something on the floor. He leaned down and picked it up, eyes dusting over the words written on the paper. The napkin with the bartenders phone number had slipped from your pocket, but the innocent interaction seemed to come back just to bury you within the grave.

“You really have been busy tonight.” He hummed, looking back to you and extending his arm for you to grab the napkin. “Better give the ‘handsome bartender’ a call, just to make sure he doesn’t feel left out, too.” He didn’t intend to sound so rude, but he didn’t know how else to respond to the situation. You snatched the napkin, frantically reading over the message the nameless boy wrote.

“This?” You said, crumpling it and throwing it in the garbage. “Is nothing. If I can swear to anything, it’s that.” You came off stronger than intended, your desperation evident and very unflattering. “I’m not calling him, Jake. I call you, I want to see you, I like spending time with you. I like you.” You hoped that your profession would serve a purpose, but it only seemed to drive him further away. Perhaps if you were able to speak the true sentiments that you had for him, it would have made the difference.

“And Sam, y/n. Can’t forget about him.” He reminded, raising an eyebrow at you. You couldn’t find the words to answer, so instead you said nothing. You had never seen Jake look at you with such contempt, and it was killing you. Any thoughts of the simple nature with the bartender were futile. You were certain you would never care this much about another person. You had never before cared enough to want to stop someone from walking away. You were a lot of things, but never one to beg someone to stay. “And it was enough to get you to take his number, though. Two not enough for you anymore?”

“Oh, fuck you, Jake.” You snapped, feeling a bubble of anger rise within you. “You started this and now you want to chastise me for being stuck in the middle? You don’t get to be mad, Jacob. We’ve been over this.” Your defensive response was not what was needed to diffuse the situation, and you could tell that it did nothing but worsen the tension. Jake gave a slow nod of his head, wondering if you were going to say anything else. When you stood, staring with fire dancing in your eyes, he spoke again.

“You’re gonna do great tonight, y/n.” He said as monotone as he could. He thought if he had the ability to properly express himself, he might be able to put the suffering to an end. The first time was child’s play, a superficial scrape in comparison to the stab that came with this one. Before, it was easy to digest the knowledge of you loving Sam. Now, it was excruciating. Everything was easier to overcome when love wasn’t a question, but once the dreaded feeling settled in and seemed to want to stay, the pain seemed to hurt just a little bit worse each time.

“Wait, I’m sorry. Jake, please.” You took another step towards him, hoping he would stay long enough for you to talk to him.

“You look beautiful.” He added, turning away from you. “You really fit the part, Gold Dust Woman.” He muttered to himself, shaking his head as he walked away. You stepped into the hallway to follow, but instead, you watched him walk away. You knew there was no way to stop his hurt; that ache in his chest was all too familiar, and the only thing that would put an end to it was a decision that you weren’t ready to make. As much as you wanted to take his pain away, you needed to understand that sometimes it was impossible, especially in that moment, because you were the one causing it. It was horrible knowing that you wanted to give him the world, but you were the sole reason he couldn’t have it.

You didn’t have time to dwell because your bandmates had crowded behind you, jittering with excitement and eager to see your outfit. In hopes to tend to your own wounds, you retired to your dressing room with the other two in tow. You drank away your sorrow as your friends expressed their feelings about performing, and after a while, you managed to find the strength to speak, too. When the time to perform drew near, the staff came to explain how it would work and give you instructions and cues to remember. You were so nervous by the time you were supposed to get on stage that your interaction with Jake had floated to the back of your mind. Your stylist came to touch up makeup, and the three of you were sent to side-stage.

You had your eyes closed intermittently as you walked to the curtain, blocking out the world and repeating encouragements in your head to overshadow any doubt. As you opened your eyes and exhaled the breath you were holding, you took a look around your surroundings. When you turned your head back towards the hallway, you felt like you had been punched in the stomach. Jake was placed perfectly against the wall in plain sight. He had a smile on his lips and his arm slung around the waist of an unfamiliar woman. In an instant, you were brought back to your own garage, drunk off cheap vodka and grief over your non-existent relationship with Sam Kiszka. It only took one smile with hidden implications to send you into a downward spiral of despair. One touch that was bordering the line of innocence shattered your confidence, leaving you choking down the suffocating feeling of not being good enough. His fingers lingering on her waist were grounds to drive you to insanity. You felt like you were going to be sick.

As if he knew you were watching, like he knew you were there and hurting over his careless behaviour, he looked up and caught your eyes. He let his stare captivate you for a moment too long before a smile graced his lips, proving that his motive was solely to piss you off. He was intentional about his actions, and covering his own hurt in the only way he knew how: shutting down and pushing you away. It was soul-crushing, the way he protected himself, because it was the exact same thing that you had learned to do. He didn’t break your stare until the woman let out a giggle and wiggled further into his arms.

“You look like you’re going to throw up.” Dylan said, worry evident in her tone.

“I’m good.” You assured her, swallowing down your momentary distaste for Jake. If he wanted to play with fire, he was asking to get burned. “Let’s put on a hell of a fucking show.” You said, staring straight faced at the instruments that awaited your hands.

“You guys are on.” Aaron ordered, cutting your conversation short. You shared a look between your bandmates, feigning confidence as you emerged onto the stage. You pushed the thought of Jake as far down as you could, ignoring the searing sensation left in its place. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, ignited with rage over his childish tactics.

The spotlight beamed down on you, nearly blinding you as it illuminated your face. You picked up the Gold Top, taking your place by the microphone as your friends situated themselves with their own instruments. “Hello, Atlanta!” Riley boomed into the microphone. He was met with cheers from the crowd. Thousands of people were staring up at you, curious about who you were and what you had to offer. “It’s great to be here. We’re new at this, so please be patient with us while you wait for the main event.” Laughter filled the air, easing your erratic heartbeat.

“If you don’t know who we are, I really hope you will after tonight.” You smiled into the mic, eyes drifting over nameless faces. Another wave of applause filled the stadium.

“There’s no better way to introduce ourselves than by honouring the woman who started it all: Stevie Nicks.” Riley said, looking to you. “Take it away, Gold Dust Woman.” You smiled at his introduction, immediately looking down at your hands and plucking the first notes to the infamous song.

Muscle memory guided you through the cover of the song you held so dearly to your heart, but the lyrics served no comfort as you sang. You took the stage by storm, breaking out of your shell and singing the anthem of the band, the anthem perfect for a woman who was as despicable as you, but there was still some habits that you couldn’t seem to break. Every face in the crowd seemed to morph into Jake’s, and your lungs burned with anguish at the sight. No matter how hard you tried to forget him, he seemed to want to invade every possible aspect of your life until there was nothing left to overtake. You loved him dearly, but it was at a cost too high to afford; you were losing your sanity, and he was just happy that it was at his own hands rather than his brothers. Your twisted game only seemed to become more sick as time passed.

But, the blame was not on Jake alone. You would not have taken the name Gold Dust Woman had it not fit the narrative. You would not be a Gold Dust Woman if not for your deepest desires being the exact things that would inevitably destroy you in the end.

Rock on Ancient Queen

TAGLIST: @itsdannysworld @gretavansara @jaketlove @laneygvf @freefallthoughts @psychedelicsprinkles @idontwannabeherenow @joshysgirl @sanguinebats @objectsinspvce @klarxtr @sinarainbows @jakesmustache

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chrisgoesrock · 7 months

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This immaculate Jimi Hendrix poster from Milwaukee was the third show of the 1970 Cry of love tour .

#Jimi Hendrix #Poster #Cry of Love #1970

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hollywoods-angel · 9 months

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stevie <3

stephanie lynn nicks is an american singer/songwriter and producer. she's mostly known for her word in fleetwood mac, but has had an extremely succesful solo career. she's been inducted into the rock n roll hall of fame twice- once for her work with fleetwood mac and then again for her solo career. she's won 2 grammys and had 15 grammy nominations

stevie is from phoenix arizona, but her family moved to california in her early life. her mother sheltered her and gave her a big love of fairy tales. in high school she met lindsey buckingham, who she'd later date and work with. the two toured a little in the late 60s, and stevie was inspired by jimi hendrix and janis joplin. the two made an album in 1973, to little success, but they had their big break after joining fleetwood mac in 1975, and helped the band go down in history as one of the greatest. during her late 20s she started taking russian ballet lessons 4x a week. in 1981 stevie began her solo career alongside working with the band, and she still tours.

stevie is known for being very warm and compassionate. she loves her friends and family and is close to the children in her family. she's people oriented but very introspective. she does charity work too! her style is so beautiful and her look and music is timeless. she's truly a queen of rock n roll! :)

#stevie nicks #coquette #vintage coquette #60s

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matthew-gray-gublers-babygirl · 1 year

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Welcome Home - Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Summary: Okay so I know a handful of people have done this, but I am a sore sucker for hurt Roger. Roger comes home from their first big tour and he's in pain from the constant physical demand of being a drummer. Also a little bit of angst but mainly fluff then soft smut near the end.

Warnings: Swearing, mention of drugs and alcohol, pain (none inflicted by anybody, but if you are not a fan of reading about people in pain then skip this one), anxiety, smut (penis in vagina sex, riding, dirty talk/mention of masturbation, unprotected sex, no aftercare), note: the smut is fairly vanilla/soft, so if you aren't a fan of having the vagina referred to as a 'cunt' then you're fine to read this.

Word count: 4.1k

Enjoy!

The crowd which surrounded you was yelling like you had never heard before. You were so proud of the kind of fanbase the band had attracted for themselves. The boys hadn't appeared on stage yet, and you knew all four band members were freaking out. They were about to perform at The Rainbow Theatre in London. Groups like The Who, Genesis, Jimi Hendrix and David Bowie had played there in the past, all people who influenced the guys. You were nervous for them, but you knew they would do excellent.

Roger sits on a fold-out chair, carefully removing the wraps from his fingers. Luckily his sores had healed since the last show. His back still aches along with involuntary tremors from anxiety. The Rainbow was one of the most famous theatres in London. In their eyes, if you played at The Rainbow, you made it.

“Have a beer, Roger. Might calm you down,” Brian suggested. “Don’t want a fuckin’ beer,” Roger replied hoarsely. Not only were they about to play in front of a sold-out show of 2,802 people, but the whole set was also going to be broadcasted on The Old Grey Whistle Test and the radio, as well. Beer wasn't going to help the nerves.

Brian let out a sigh before taking a sip of his Coca-Cola. “Well, at least you have Y/n to watch,” he said. You haven't been able to watch the entire tour while you were stuck at home in London due to work, so you were glad you were able to watch the last show. “That's the worst part,” Roger mutters. “What if I mess up? I’ll humiliate myself in front of her and half of fuckin’ London.”

“You’ll be fine, Roger. We made plenty of mistakes on stage throughout the tour. And if you make a mistake tonight, who cares? Whos going to notice and print on next week's paper ‘Queens drummer Roger Taylor messed up on stage’?” Brian asks in his fake coach-like tone. “Nobody. And especially not Y/n.

Roger slowly looks up at Brian, removing his face from his palms. “Youre right,” he says. “Now let's go up on stage,” Brian grins as he gives roger a hand and all four head out of the dressing room.

You watch as the house lights begin to dim. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as the camera crew and radio men made sure everything was correct. You watch as a man in a white tuxedo comes out onto the stage, it was Bob Harris. You had spoken to him before, he was kind.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Queen!” he says proudly before you hear the familiar sound of Brian's guitar. You were amazed by the show. The use of colourful lights and smoke was perfect. You hadn't seen the boys play on such a big stage like this. You were so proud of them.

As the show comes to an end, Brian begins playing strong power cords along with some feedback from the amps. Roger bangs hard on the drums, and you watch as he knocks them over. He furiously throws them off the drum risers, Freddie and John getting out of the way just in the nick of time. That wasn't like him. Sure, he had an anger issue and often had tantrums over things, but he never took things out in front of fans.

You feed your way through the crowd, finding the side door which was guarded by a crew member. You flash your VIP card at them and you are quickly let in. You are greeted by Freddie cautiously sipping on cold water, while Brian was icing his fingertips. “You guys were great!” you praise them before addressing the situation on stage. “Thank you, my dear,” Freddie replies through gulps. He finishes his cup before he stands up and gives you a hug. “Roger can’t wait to see you,” he tells you. “About Roger. Where is he?” you ask since he wasn't in the dressing room.

“You saw his little outburst. He might be in the bathroom or one of the dressing rooms down the hall,” he tells you, and you thank him. “Tell me everything about the tour later, I’ll catch up with you guys in a bit!” you say with a smile as you leave the dressing room on the hunt for Roger.

You pass by his roadie and close friend, Chris “Crystal” Taylor. “Crystal, have you seen Roger?” you ask. “He’s in dressing room five. I tried to talk to him but he told me to leave him alone,” he tells you. “Thanks,” you reply and go down the hall to dressing room five.

You knock lightly, unconsciously not wanting your knock to sound masculine so you wouldn't be sent away immediately. You hear a groan from the other side of the door. Roger was sat on a small couch, gripping his hair in anger while his feet stomped. He had already disorganized the entire counter along with kicking any piece of furniture he could find. “Roger,” you say as you slowly open the door.

He perks up at the sound of your voice. “Y/n?” he asks. He stood up, seeing your worried gaze staring back at him. He hugs you with the force of a thousand lost men. “I missed you so much…” he whispered into your ear. His angered and broken voice rang throughout your head, and you hug him back.

“I’m so sorry. I got angry on stage, and- and I broke the kit, and you had to see me like that,” Roger says. “I was just so nervous about playing in front of everybody, and I didn't want to disappoint you and I did exactly what I was trying not to do,” he whimpered into your neck. All his outward anger was gone. All that was in his heart was remorse.

“Roger,” you say, taking his cheeks into your palms and looking at him. You use your thumbs to slowly wipe away the tears. “You didn't disappoint me,” you tell him. “You did amazing. I just knew you would,” you smile.

Roger slowly smiles back at you as tears form in his eyes again. It was so hard to be away from you for so long. His strong and callused hands grip your waist and his shaky breath blew against your lips. He slowly kisses you, tears running down his face as his eyelids meet. You missed his touch. You missed his kisses. You wished that your welcome home to him was under different circumstances. He parts from the kiss, his face returning to the crook of your neck as he begins to cry. You heard his voice breaking as sobs come from him.

“Baby, why are you crying?” you ask as you gently run your hands through his sweaty hair. “I just missed you so much…” he whispered. “And… and I don’t deserve you…” he confesses. Every day he questions why you haven't left him yet.

It takes you every ounce of strength in your body not to start crying with him. “Don't say that, my love” you tell him. You place a kiss on his cheek as you feel his shaky grip become tighter around you. You have seen Roger in emotional states like this, but he had never presented himself to be this vulnerable before.

You bring his gaze to yours, yet again wiping the tears from his eyes. “Let's go home,” you say. “But- the after party,” he says, and you shut him up with a single finger on his lips. “Your well-being is more important than an after-party,”

After a couple of gentle kisses on the lips and forehead, and two or more tears shed, Roger agrees to go home.

You arrive home with Roger. He sighs as he enters the apartment, and he slowly removes his shoes and jacket. “Are you hungry? I can order some food if you’d like,” you suggest, and he nods. “Japanese, please,” he says. “I was going to order that. I know it's your favourite,” you smile and give him a soft kiss on the cheek. “You go get changed while I order it,” you tell him. Roger walks off and enters your shared bedroom. He hadn't been there in months. It was exactly as he left it, maybe a bit cleaner, but still the same comforting bedroom.

He changes into a t-shirt and sweatpants. It had been ages since he wore comfortable clothes. Most nights he ended up sleeping in his leather pants and button-up because he was too exhausted or drunk to change.

You walk into the bedroom, Japanese food in hand and you see Roger laying stomach-first on the bed. “The food is here,” you tell him as you shake him out of his half-awake state. “Oh,” he says groggily and sits up. He takes his portion of the food and begins eating after he thanked you.

“Tell me all about the tour,” you tell him with a smile.

“The fucking tour…” Roger muttered. “I was great and all, but physically it was horrible,”

“What do you mean?” you ask as you slowly place a hand on his back. Roger hisses as you touch the sensitive muscles on his back. “That-” he says. You frown. “My whole body hurts. My back, my hands, my legs. Pretty sure I sprained my ankle. First I tried painkillers, but they only helped for a bit. I tried drinking, and I tried drugs. It helped for a bit, but when I come down from it everything hurts again. Fuck- jerking off didn't even help. Fred said it would but it didn't,”

You could hear the pain and frustration in his voice. “Rog, baby, if you were hurting all tour you should have asked to go home early,” you tell him. “I wanted to, believe me, I did. But I couldn't, the band depended on me, just like I depend on them. Plus every show was sold out. I couldn't leave.

“Why don’t I run you a bath?” you suggest. “The hot water might help ease your muscles, then we can go to bed,” you tell him.

“You think that will help?” he asks. “It should help your muscles, at least. I’ll bandage your ankle up and if your pain gets any worse we can go to the doctor,” you say. “I’d like a bath, then,” he smiles softly. “Okay,” you tell him and gave him a kiss before you stood up and walked to the bathroom to run the bath.

About 10 minutes later Roger looks up from his book when you walk into the bedroom. He rips off his reading glasses and puts away the book he was reading. He hated his reading glasses, you loved how they looked. He never believes you, of course.

“Bath is done,” you tell him. He stands up from the bed and follows you to the bathroom. He sees as you put epsom salt and some bubbles into the water and mix it with your hand. “Thank you, baby,” he smiles and gives you a warm kiss before he undressed and got into the tub. You couldn't help but watch. You hadn't seen him naked in almost 3 months besides the naughty polaroid photos he left behind for you. But, right now was not the time for lust. Your job as his partner was to comfort him.

Roger hisses as he leans down into the scorching hot water. “Too hot?” you ask worriedly. “Little bit, but that’s probably good,” he says. He slowly adjusts to the temperature and leans his head back onto the cold tile.

The two of you had shared baths before. Roger had suggested it once a while back as a bonding moment. He made it quite romantic. There were much more bubbles than the current bath, and he poured you both a glass of wine with candles. Even if it felt a bit cheesy, you loved it.

“I’ll be in the bedroom when you're done,” you tell him and stand up to leave. “Y/n,” he says, grabbing your dry hand with his wet one. “Don’t leave,”

You look down at him, his wide, remorseful eyes staring back at you. “You're doing all this stuff for me, getting food, running me a bath. If I were you I’d be struggling to keep my hands to myself,” he says. “It's nice to have a welcome home like this, so stay. The last thing I want is to not be able to see you, or hear your voice, or smell you…”

If you weren't his girlfriend, you’d be creeped out by the last sentence. But you had to admit, you felt the same. Even just a reminiscing smell that was similar to Rogers's cologne or sweat brought you comfort.

“Okay, I’ll stay,” you smile. You sit down on the floor mat, still holding his hand in yours. “Is the bath helping?” you ask. “A bit. It does feel nice on my muscles,” he replies. “Maybe you could give me a massage after?”

“Is that an excuse to have my hands all over you?” you tease with a smirk. “Partly,” he grins and gives you a superficial kiss as he purses his lips at you. You laugh and nudge him a bit. “Creep,” you joke. “You can't deny it, you love that creep,” he barks back at you. He always made you blush, even with the simplest of words.

Roger slowly brings your hand up to his mouth, kissing your hand gently before resting his cheek against it. “I love you…” he whispers. You smile softly. “I love you too,” you whisper back. You lean over, giving him a slow and loving kiss. “Why don't you join me?” he asks, using his hand to tap the water a bit. “I already showered today,” you tease. Roger groans with a smirk. “You always play hard to get,” he chuckles.

Roger stayed in the tub for almost forty-five minutes before he gave you the queue he was ready to get out. You handed him a towel and he wrapped it around his waist. “Don't forget that massage,” he grins. “Don’t worry, I didn't,” you giggle. He was always so needed sometimes.

You lead him back to the bedroom once you grabbed the massage oil from under the bathroom sink. He lays down on the bed, taking off his towel as he did. You could feel the smirk on his face. “Cover your arse,” you tell him, even if it was cute. “You're no fun,” he laughs and puts the towel back on.

You put the tiniest amount of oil on your hands, rub it between your palms to warm the liquid before gently rubbing it up and down Roger's back. “Where does it hurt, baby?” you ask. “My upper back, near my shoulders, and my spine,” Roger says while burying his face into his arms. You begin kneading his shoulders, digging your thumbs into his muscles. “Fuck-” he groans. “Hurts?” you ask. “Yes,” he mutters. “Sorry,” you reply, placing a gentle kiss on the back of his neck. “It's okay.”

You knead his muscles slower, adding less pressure so you could ease him onto it. You worked on one section, and once Roger gave you the okay, you added a bit more pressure, and then more after. He groans again as you push harder. “I’m sorry,” you say. “No- no, keep going,” he whispers. “Fuck-” he growled.

It felt so good but hurt at the same time. “You’re great with your hands, Y/n,” he tells you. “In multiple ways,” he smirks. “Oh shut the fuck up,” you laugh.

After half an hour or so of massaging, you were finally done, and by the time you had finished, Roger was almost asleep. “You’re done, love,” you whisper to him with a gentle kiss on his cheek. That was able to wake him up from his light sleep. “Thank you, babe…” he mumbled as he pushed himself up. He sighs as he moves his spine. “It feels much better,” he smiles, and you smile back at him. “I’m glad it does,” you tell him, and give him a kiss on the lips.

Roger sits up, taking the towel from his behind and wrapping it around his waist once again. “You know,” he says, looking over at the clock on your nightstand. “The night isn't over yet,” he smirks. You knew exactly what he meant. “You're right, it isn't,” you say. “I have another welcome home gift for you,” you hum before you kiss him. It was gentle and soft. You always played hard to get with him, even if Roger acted as if he hated it, it made the night feel even more erotic.

Rogers' hands make their way to your waist, gripping your shirt before they venture under the fabric. “Somebody is needy,” you tease. “I haven't seen you… in months. Of course, I'm needy,” he says between kisses. You shiver at his touch. Even if you loved teasing him, you couldn't resist him either.

Your hands run down his bare chest as the kiss becomes more sensual. Roger was always the first one to use his tongue, and you didn't mind, especially right now. “You know,” you begin through a small moment of a parting of your lips. “When you were gone…” you whisper, trailing your kisses down his neck to suck hot sores onto his skin. “I used to ride my pillow… pretending it was you,”

Shivers went through Roger's body as you spoke. He held back a moan, letting out a soft groan instead. “Yeah? What other dirty things did you do while I was gone?” he asks against your ear while his hands tried to undress you. “I’d moan your name as if you were in the room,” you tell him, letting the lewd noises of your wet kisses echo through his ears. “I’d touch myself in the shower and pretend it's your hand…” you whisper. “I’d even go as far as touching myself while reading your interviews in magazines,”

“Fuck…” Roger whimpered. He was already hard as a rock at the thought of you doing all those outlandish things just because you missed him. “Well, the real thing is here, now. No need to pretend,” he hummed. He takes off your shirt and shudders as he cups your bra. He bit his lip at the sight of your breasts. He had looked at them in the dirty polaroid you gave him, but finally seeing them in person, even with a bra, felt so rewarding. “I need you, baby…” he whispered.

You push him down onto the bed. You were much more forceful than you had ever been. “I love when you beg,” you grinned. You begin undoing your pants after Rogers's many failed attempts. “Please…” he whimpered. “I jerked off almost every night to that little sexy photo I have of you… just wasn't the same-” he says breathily.

Once your pants were off, which felt like forever for Roger, you straddle his hips. He hisses as your panties rub against his cock. “Baby- please…” he begs. “Please, what?” you ask in your menacing teasing tone. “Please fuck me,” Roger says. He wasn't afraid to beg. If he had to beg you to get what he wanted, he would. You grin. You slowly remove your underwear and toss them to the side. It took every ounce of strength in Roger's body not to grab your panties and smell them.

You lift your hips, letting his tip run through your folds. You were already soaking wet for him. “Shit-” Roger mutters. His tip twitched against your wetness. You reach behind yourself, slowly unclipping your bra and sliding it off. The desperate and amazed look on Roger's face almost made you laugh. He looked like a child in a candy store. Rogers' shaky hands reach up to gently cup your breasts. His thumbs run over your nipples and he watches as they become pointy in his hold.

“Are you ready?” You ask in a similar fashion to how he asked you the first time you had sex. “I’ve been ready,” he huffs. You smirk at the desperate look on his face. You feel Roger's hands slowly run down to your hips, ready in position to help guide you. You slowly sink down onto his cock once you aligned his tip with your entrance. You let out a whine as he finally goes inside you. You have used dildos occasionally while he was gone, but it never felt the same.

“Fuck, baby…” Roger groaned as you squeeze around his length. His hands grip your waist, knuckles on the verge of going white. His hands and your body begin to move in unison. “Oh, Roger…” you whisper between soft moans. Your hips slowly move up and hit down onto Roger's pelvis. The first bounce of many made you whine and made Roger bite back a moan.

“Faster…” Roger begs quietly, and you comply. You needed to be faster, you needed him. His hands helped your hips move as you rode him. You were weak with arousal, and it took great strength to move your hips.

Every movement sent waves through your body, rewarding Roger with the sound of your sweet moans every time his cock hit just the right spot inside you. “You feel so good, baby…” Roger whispers before letting out a groan. His head was swimming. Every time he watched the way your breasts moved with your hips, or how his cock disappeared inside of you, he moaned almost femininely.

By now, you were bouncing on Roger like it was your last day on Earth. And your moans were erotically loud. Roger shouted obscenities that would have his mother fuming from the unholy words, but neither of you cared. You needed each other more than you needed air. You needed each other's body and soul. You knew that after this night, not only would you both be sore, but you would have an angry note from your elderly neighbour the next morning.

“Babe- fuck, I’m close…!” you moan. Your face was unpleasing to you, with your eyebrows scrunched together and your mouth hanging open. Roger loved the sight, but, he could barely look because he was engulfed in pleasure. It was a strain to open his eyes.

“Cum for me, love,” Roger tells you. “Cum,” he repeats. You couldn't feel your body besides the constant pleasuring feeling of Rogers' length plunging in and out of you. You had lost full control of your hips, but the rewarding feeling was too strong to stop. “Cum all over my cock,” it was so erotic to say something like that, although it wasn't the worst of the dirty talk that Roger had in store. But, it was enough for you to finally go over the edge.

You moan loudly as Roger's cock hits just the right spot, and you tighten around him. “Fuck!” you moan, along with multiple other forms of The Lord's name used in vain. Roger groans as your walls squeeze around his length. “Y/n…!” he moaned before his cum spewed into you. You were both wet and sticky with each other's arousal. It felt disgusting but you loved it.

Roger pulled you against his chest, groaning into your neck as he gripped your hair. His arms were around you in a bear hug, chest heaving against yours with a silent promise to never let you go.

“Rog…” you whisper. Roger took a moment to answer, he could hardly breathe. “Y-yes?” he asks. “I love you…” that made him smile. “I love you, too…” he whispers back.

You didn't dare to move, and neither did Roger. “I don't have it in me for a second round, baby…” you whisper. “It's okay, me either,” he huffs. You slowly lift your head from the crook of his neck, you see the weak smile on his lips and you couldn't help but smile back. You kiss him, gently like before. “Want me to-” he hisses as you slowly lift your hips, removing his length from your pussy. “Want me to clean you up?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No,” you tell him. You roll over, resting your head in your hand as your look at him. Roger's hand gently caresses your cheek, twirling a strand or two of hair around his finger. You noticed the sores on his fingers where calluses usually were, but you didn't comment on it.

You were so beautiful, sometimes he didn't believe that you were his. He often questioned his religion because of you. He didn't understand how he could be given such a goddess-like being like yourself without the help of some higher deity to bless him with such a gift.

“Now can you tell me about the tour?” you ask, and he smiles. “Sure,” he says, and he began rambling on about the great time he had in America, leaving out the parts about his pain. You had helped him with his wounds, and he finally felt at peace again.

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