#stop fucking asking about the damn setlist

[plushyluke]

i 🩷 ashton

#y’all are so ungrateful when it comes to his livestreams tho #stop fucking asking about the damn setlist #also #sorry i haven’t been active yall. i’ve been writing fics and catching up bc im not a big fan of 5sos american tours #god #i hope he keeps doing these despite the outrageous questions and comments he gets #and then ppl have the gall to be mean #ashtoncore #ashton irwin #somewhere a blonde boy is apologizing for not coming in on the livestream #afi #lashton blog #bottom luke blog #5sos #luke hemmings #lrh #calum hood #cth #michael clifford #mgc #i hate the american fans sometimes

[reysdriver]

Rockstar!James

headcanons of James as a rockstar — rockstar!james x gn!reader

warnings: sexual headcanons (there is a warning before them) so minors dni, 18+, mentions of sex

words: 0.5k

a/n: marauders aus take up sm space in my brain so im making this, and i may make rockstar stuff for all the boys

- In a band called The Marauders of course

- Reminiscent of like rock bands from the 70s and 80s

- James plays the bass, maybe drums, but I mostly see him playing bass or guitar

- Talks about you in concerts and interviews 

- But you also have a secret signal or code word that he uses that only you two (and maybe the other members) know about so he can show he's thinking about you privately

- If it's a modern AU, he'll post you on his social media all the time, and a lot of his fans are in admiration of your relationship 

- Writes songs about you/dedicates songs to you all the time 

- Spoils you with gifts and souvenirs from every stop of their tours 

- Has it in his contract that the dressing room needs to have your favourite snacks and drinks so you can be comfortable backstage with him

- Has personal touches of yours on his instrument like your name and a heart stitched on his guitar strap, stickers of yours on his case, etc

- Asks for good luck kisses before every performance

- You're always the first to hear the band's new songs 

- Has a scrapbook or memory box full of polaroids of the two of you in every foreign city you visit

- Only buys guitar picks (or drumsticks) in your favourite colour because duh

- If this is an AU with Harry, you stay home or in a hotel room with Harry when he's young and you two watch all of James' performances live

- Then he'll write songs about Harry too ofc 

- The band lets you pick setlists and track orders

- James insists it's because you have the best taste, but the other guys don't mind since they often can't agree anyways

(nsfw headcanons below)

- He has a bucket list of cities where he wants to fuck you, and he makes a big deal of checking off places every time they go on tour

- Like imagine him "Babe, this'll be our first time in Australia, that means we'll have to cross Sydney and Perth off the list"

- He has recorded your moans and used them in the background of a song, but it's quite blended in so nobody notices and it's like your little secret 

- He once told you to sit on the amp while he plays iykyk

- A lot of quickies backstage where it ends just in time for him to perform 

- Him kicking the other boys off the tour bus so you two can have some privacy 

- If he's a guitarist/bassist, you know he's good with his hands

- If he's a drummer, you know he has the best damn rhythm

- Take those both however you will

- If he goes on tour without you, the day he returns will be nothing but sex to make up for all that lost time

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter headcanon #james potter hc #rockstar au #rockstar!james #rockstar!marauders #james potter fluff #james potter smut #marauders era #marauders headcanon #marauders hc #marauders fluff #marauders smut

[cleoselene]

🎶✨️when u get this u have to put 5 songs u actually listen to, publish. Then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers ✨

oh yay thanks for sending me this one, I loooove music asks!

gonna pick the songs that are my current obsessions. I definitely go through phases with songs.

Tori Amos - Bang

2018's Native Invader was an album I 100% slept on (mostly because someone who is now an ex-friend really hated it and heard it before me and told me how much it sucked and like the loser follower I tend to be, I took her word for it and only gave the album a cursory listen) and now I am discovering how fucking brilliant it is. Tori has 17 original studio albums, Native Invader is #16, and long past the point when her annoying "fans" claimed she'd lost her touch. But they're wrong. She is still vividly creating even while turning 60 next month -- at this point so many musicians have stopped writing and just go tour the hits. We are BLESSED as fans of hers that she is so prolific. Another way in which she reminds me of Taylor -- both of them seem to have this compulsion to be constantly creating music and have scores of unpublished songs because like, writing songs is what I imagine both of these ladies do with like 90% of their time. Native Invader is a politically-charged album, written in the wake of Trump's election, and "Bang" is about the violent hatred Trump and his election fostered against immigrants. It's really powerful and structured gorgeously. Getting this album on vinyl changed everything for me, because vinyl really allows the instrumentation to shine.

hahaha I'm rambly so putting the other four behind a cut. HOPE YOU DON'T REGRET INVITING ME TO WAX POETIC ABOUT MUSIC

2. Taylor Swift - Maroon

I have been living a Maroon Appreciation Life since October 21, 2022. This is more or less tied for me as the best song that Taylor has written with Jack (tied with Getaway Car for me) and I really wish had been put in the main Eras setlist, because I think the full instrumentation and staging and costuming and lighting for a Maroon performance would have been just 🔥🔥🔥

It is, much to my surprise, my actual favorite song on Midnights. And this surprises me because i am SUCH a ho for when Taylor writes with Aaron Dessner, and don't get me wrong, the Dessner tracks on Midnights on my favorite. It's the Dessner collabs and Maroon that MAKE this album iconic for me. I don't love the production on all of the songs, but the production on Maroon is just PERFECT. It's lush, it's got that sadgirl dance music vibe that I live for. Mark Ronson has a sadgirl dance album called Late Night Feelings that I'm a huge fan of and Maroon reminds me of a track from that album. Just, this smooth electronic vibe that would play well in a club but also plays well as sitting in your room alone wallowing in sad music. Is it my favorite Taylor song of all of them? No, that's still ivy, but Maroon is in the top tier. Like, if all the songs on Midnights are drowning and I can only save one, I'm saving Maroon. That's a real fuckin' legacy.

3. Garth Brooks - Much Too Young (To Feel This Damn Old)

goddammit Garth, i can't drop a youtube or even a spotify link to this one because of your dumb exclusivity contracts. that being said, I recently switched from spotify to amazon music (bought a vinyl from amazon, they gave me 3 free months of amazon music as a gift, and well, why pay 12 bucks a month for spotify when I'm getting it for free from amazon music? And even after the three months it only goes up to like 8 dollars or something, AND, it's Garth Brooks' exclusive streaming platform. SO NOW I CAN LISTEN TO GARTH AGAIN.

My favorite thing about Garth (aside from his music, which is just excellent and classic and such beautifully crafted classic Americana) is that every few years the ignorant conservative segment of the country music fanbase re-discovers anew that Garth is, in fact, as the Fox News pundits say while clutching pearls, "woke." They need to be reminded that he wrote "We Shall Be Free" all the way back in 1990 with lyrics that very explicitly praise racial diversity and support queer people.

At the moment the dummies are mad because Garth won't stop serving Bud Light in his bar, has said transphobes are not welcome, and his reaction to conservatives putting down DEI programs is to say "Diversity and inclusion are what I am all about," essentially. Garth is old school country in the vein of Willie and Dolly and Emmylou and Loretta, just younger, sneaking in at the tail end of the old school outlaw country when it was less about the sort of conservative shit-kickin that emerged in the 90-now and you had Willie Nelson doing Farm Aid and Dolly Parton giving books to all the kids in her state, and Johnny Cash singing for prisoners. Garth is so much more alike that crew even if they're not his generation, than he is with buffoons like Travis Tritt who were his actual contemporaries He's always been a real ally, his sister is a lesbian and let me tell you, as an 11 year old daughter of a lesbian in 1990 when a guy like Garth is singing GAY RIGHTS while you live in the pseudo-South of Florida? Big fuckin deal.

On top of that, his music's just gorgeous. Romantic in all the senses of the word. Conveying yearning in ways that make my chest ache. This song has resonated with me all my life, honestly, I've always felt older than my years, but especially now that I'm a sick person. It makes me cry.

Like my ultimate ultimate dream for Taylor Swift (Taylor's Version) is for one of her collabs on a vault track to be with Garth Brooks, because they are really respectively the biggest country stars of their generations, achieving that huge GLOBAL success that pulls in people who aren't even a fan of the country genre, simply by writing music that really appeals to people's hearts and souls. I love when I can tell a songwriter is a hopeless romantic, and Garth definitely is. There's a vulnerability and tenderness to his ballads especially.

4. Tori Amos - Digital Ghost

there's a lot of theories as to who this song is about, but I really honestly don't care about any of them. Tori songs are poetry more than lyrics, meant to be open to multiple interpretations, and really, no interpretation is necessarily right or wrong. Tori herself says this: she says that when she puts a song out into the world, it no longer belongs to her, and it becomes something different to every listener. She's talked about meeting fans who gush about a song and what it meant to them, and sometimes she's like, "yeah, absolutely, i was thinking the same thing too," but very often her reaction was also "huh. well. if that's how you see it, I'm glad it's useful to you!" She has acknowledged a lot of fans get meaning from her song that were never a part of her meaning, but she also acknowledges that it doesn't make the fans' meaning of a song less valid. Music is like that.

So do I really know what this song is about, specifically, or who? I've read the theories it's about Trent Reznor, a piece in conversation with NIN's Year Zero album, but idk about all of that. Could be true, could be bullshit. To me? The lyrics feel like Tori is singing TO me. I feel like the Digital Ghost. Actually really considered changing my tumblr url to some version of "digital ghost" that is available, but i hate changing my url because I get so confused when other people do it, hahah, but it's like. She sings of reaching out to someone, someone who seems more comfortable communicating with the world through the internet, through technology:

It started as a joke Just one of my lucks to see If somehow I could reach you So I swam onto your shores Through an open window Only to find you all alone Curled up with machines

and the song goes on to discuss the concept of a person fading away, becoming a ghost of a person more comfortable with machines than with flesh and blood people. It resonates for me on multiple levels. As an introvert, I do like to spend a lot of time alone with my machines. As someone whose dearest friends don't live geographically close, my machines allow me to have any communication at all with my loved ones. I spend so much of my time these days, with my stressed out, unhealthy MS and migraine brain, exhausted beyond belief by a trip to the grocery store, on low-dose chemo with a threadbare immune system so even if i wanted to go out more, it's literally not safe. So I don't go out to dinner and i don't go to baseball games as much and i get walmart grocery pick up so i don't have to walk around a store full of germs. Honestly a very very large part of the reason I sold my Eras tickets was because the thought of being around 80k people legit terrified me on a mental and physical level. It sucks. I wasn't always like this. But MS changed my life forever, and then Covid just magnified it all. I don't know that I'll ever be able to enjoy things like going out to eat anymore. I've always wanted to go on a cruise; now you couldn't pay me, I know I'd get so sick.

So i feel like a Digital Ghost. Curled up with my record player and my computer and my smart TV because they're safer, and the me I was has been fading away for some time now. I'm sounding more emo than I feel, hahah, because honestly sad songs are very therapeutic for me and help me process my own pain. Digital Ghost for me right now is helping me process something heavy, and for the umpteenth time in my life, I feel like Tori is my big sister holding my hand and helping me navigate this wild ride that is womanhood. And I find the achingly sad songs very comforting and cathartic. It's actually often really peppy songs that irritate me lol /is goth

5. Peter Murphy - I'll Fall With Your Knife

So. This is actually my favorite song of all time by anyone, and it has been for 25 years now. When I was 18 and had just moved out of the house and was a sweet little babygoth, I lived in Tampa and clubbed goth-style in Ybor City 4-5 nights a week. Get all gothed up from head to do and go dancing to dramatic and sad gothic/industrial and seeing more boys in dresses than an episode of RuPaul's Drag Race. It was my ritual, it was my church, it was my identity for several years. Putting on the costume (because well, it was. I'm a t-shirt and jeans and no-makeup person naturally. Putting on long black skirts and wearing corset tops and fishnets on my arms and caking on loads of make-up and shaping part of my hair into demonic horns made of coiled up braids while wearing my steel-toed Dr. Martens was a lot of stuff do to in order to get ready. I am not a prissy person by nature so spending an hour to doll up is something I find to be a choice honestly, but I thought the style was pretty and I LOVED the music.

Dancing was my favorite part. South Park's depiction of goth dancing is inaccurate and stupid, lol, and it's hard to explain, but it's prettier than that. And it's also a solo dance. You don't dance with other people, you're not grinding or leading someone else. You're connecting with the music on a pure level and it's about that musical connection, not about looking cute or hooking up. That being said, there was this guy who would dance at the club to all the same songs I liked to dance to and I thought he was sexy as hell. Should have realized a good dancer who is also a guy would be gay as the day is long, but Patrick and I became good friends after my thirsty hopes were crushed. Turns out, he had spent the same couple of months thinking I was a good dancer, too! On a platonic level, haha, because he was very much gay, but I liked that we were drawn to each other by something as human and joyous as dancing.

This song. This was the song that had Patrick and me dropping our drinks and bolting for the dance floor the second we heard the first opening note. It was OUR song. And we didn't dance with each other, because again: goth dancing is a solo venture. But we danced next to each other so many times and sang at the top of our lungs together, and never more so than to I'll Fall With Your Knife.

It's just a quintessential goth song. Forget Marilyn Manson, even back in 1996 I knew he was a poser making shit music and trying to pass it off as goth when it was just dumb shock rock that had none of the soul and spirit of real gothic/industrial, and also, tbh, was extremely derivative to the point of being plagiaristic. He was doing exactly what Skinny Puppy had been doing for decades, only Puppy did it much better and with less rape obsession. Brian Warner is a pervert obsessed with Nazis and subjugating and abusing women. Skinny Puppy was a band called that because they're sensitive dudes who love animals and their pet cause (no pun intended) is to stop animal experimentation, specifically vivisection. It makes me sad and angry that the world thinks of Brian fucking Warner as representative of the goths and industrial music, because gothic/industrial is a counterculture genre that challenges oppression. There's a reason Trent Reznor almost immediately regretted knowing the asshole.

But Peter Murphy? The lead singer of Bauhaus? Writing this achingly romantic song about love, goth style? This is what pulled the goth kids to the dance floor. And when it was played at full blast in the big club speakers it was just beyond beautiful. The flood does indeed wash all over you.

Well, if the birds can reach the sky To this land, I'll be with you 'Til the sun bursts from your side With my hands I reach to you Well, you think your chance is passing by Well, you blow your moon away I'll bleed like the reed Fall with your knife It's here, I'll be with you

fucking beautiful words. romance so lovely and scarlet and joyously melancholy.

Incidentally, there is another artist who I absolutely adore who also claims this as their favorite song of all time: Sarah McLachlan. She's a brilliant musician so that makes me feel like i got taste that we have the same favorite song ever lol

#swiftzeldas #THANK YOU AND IF YOU READ IT ALL YOU GET A GOLD STAR #music #tori amos #taylor swift #peter murphy #garth brooks #lol at this mix of musicians but like i see nothing wrong with being a fan of Skinny Puppy Taylor Garth and Tori simultaneously! #it's called having range! lol

[storiesforallfandoms]

talent that runs in the family ~ machine gun kelly

word count: 2128

request?: yes!

“Being rooks sister and substitute him while he recovers and slowly start to fall in love with colson”

description: she steps in to replace her brother when he is seriously injured and ends up gaining feelings for his friend

pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

“Thanks so much for doing this (Y/N),” Rook said over the phone. “I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, no problem,” I said. “But does Colson know that I’m...y’know...not a seasoned vet?”

“You’ll do fine.”

I refrained from reminding him that he didn’t actually answer my question.

After Rook’s accident left him out of commission for some time, he came to me to ask if I’d fill in for him. I jumped at the opportunity. Rook had taught me how to drum when I was young and, much like my big brother, it became a passion of mine. How could I turn down working with one of the biggest artists of the year, even if it were just for a short while?

Well, my nerves were definitely telling me I should’ve said no as I walked into soundcheck that day.

“Whatever,” I said. “I’ll call you after the soundcheck.”

“Hey, don’t be nervous. You’re gonna do great.”

I said my goodbyes and hung up. I tried not to focus on how big the venue we were playing in was as I made my way to the otherwise empty stage. I thought I was the first person to arrive until I heard someone calling my name.

“(Y/N), up here!”

I looked up to see the guys sat in a booth in the balcony. Colson was all but leaning over the railing, waving for me to join them. I had no idea how to get up there on my own, but luckily a security guard showed me the way.

The guys were eating pizza and drinking from plastic cups as if they were the ones attending the concert and not performing in it.

“Pre-show ritual,” Colson told me. “Especially when we have someone new joining the band. Sit! Have a slice!”

“Shouldn’t we be practicing?” I asked, but still sat with them. I didn’t want to completely mess up my first day.

“We have hours to practice,” one of the other guys I remembered as Slim said. “And we don’t really need to. We do this every night. A soundcheck is basically just to make sure everything is working tech wise.”

I just nodded, not wanting to point out that I hadn’t been doing this every night. I hoped that I’d have some time to figure out the songs before the shows.

Colson nudged me, bringing my attention to him. “Don’t stress. You’ll do great.”

I smiled at him, wishing I’d believe him.

After our small feast of pizza and beer in plastic glasses, we finally got to our soundcheck. I was so nervous that I kept messing up during the first song. My hands were shaking and I kept hitting the wrong drum by accident. My face was burning with embarrassment as I buried it in my hands and groaned.

Colson walked up to me, a sympathetic smile on his face.

“I’m sorry,” I sighed. “I can get this, I know I can.”

“I know you can, too,” he said. “Just take a breath, relax. We’ll try again when you’re ready. And remember, it’s just drumming. Rook says you’re great at it.”

I smiled at him and nodded. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I pictured myself back in my bedroom from my childhood, playing my drums super loud until my parents had to call out for me to keep it down.

When we started practicing again, it went off without a hitch. We did most of the setlist all the way through and did quick takes on the last few songs before our time was up.

I was proud of myself as the soundcheck came to an end. I was still nervous about performing during the actual show, but I felt confident enough in myself not to make too many noticeable mistakes when we actually had an audience that night.

I was walking to my car when I heard someone calling for me. I turned to see Colson running to catch up with me. Or rather he was taking long strides to catch up with me considering he was so tall.

“I told you you would do great!” he said, putting an arm around my shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. “It’s like drumming runs in your blood or something.”

I chuckled. “That’s what mom and dad always said too, but neither one of them can keep a beat to save their lives and no one else in our immediate family plays either.”

“You and Rook are the start of a long line of drummers then I guess.”

I shrugged in response. We both stood awkwardly for a moment. I wasn’t sure what else to say. His arm was still around my shoulder and I didn’t want to pull away and make it seem like I didn’t enjoy the contact because I definitely was not complaining about it.

I guess Colson also realized that he was still touching me, though, because he pulled his arm away and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.

“Do you need a run to the hotel or anything?” he asked. “We have the tour bus.”

I shook my head. “I’m good, thanks. I have my car, and besides I haven’t even checked into the hotel yet so I should probably go do that.”

“Oh, yeah you definitely should. Get some rest before the show, too. It’s a lot more physically demanding when it’s an actual show, even if you’re just sitting at a drum set the entire time. I’ll see you tonight then I guess.” He turned to walk away, but paused and turned back to add, “What were you planning on wearing tonight?”

I looked at him, confused. “Uh...this I guess.”

I was wearing a hoodie and a pair baggy jeans and my most comfortable pair of sneakers.

Colson raised an eyebrow at my outfit before looking back up at me. “I mean, it’s definitely comfy, but I would recommend something a little less...well, just less. It’s going to be hot as fuck on that stage, especially with all the lights on you and shit.”

I nodded, taking note of this as I got into my car and internally panicked a little because I didn’t know if I even had anything to wear.

~~~~~~

A few hours later, after checking into my hotel room and promptly wrecking it by throwing my clothes everywhere, I was heading back down to the lobby to meet up with the guys. We were going to the show together, which would’ve been my first tour bus ride. I couldn’t lie, I was super stoked for it.

I was the last one to the lobby. All the guys were stood around, loudly talking to one another. You’d think they were just a normal group of guys and not a group about to play a sold out show in a massive arena.

Colson spotted me first. I smiled at waved at him. His eyes widened and his jaw basically dropped, which prompted all the guys to turn. Their reactions immediately matched his as they looked me up and down.

“Rook would kill you guys if he could see you right now,” I teased.

“Damn (Y/N),” Colson dared to say first. “You look...you look hot as fuck.”

I had decided on a loose muscle shirt with a bralette underneath since the shirt showed a little more than what I was used to, a pair of ripped skinny jeans, and kept on the comfortable sneakers I had been wearing earlier that day.

I giggled. “Thanks, but again, Rook would kill you for saying that. Also, it’s not anything super attractive.”

“You got a nice body,” Baze pointed out. “Anything showing it off even a little is hot.”

I could feel my face burning as I waved their comments away. “Okay, enough with this. We have a show to get to.”

We boarded the tour bus and started towards the arena. The guys were distracted amongst one another again, completely forgetting about me and my “hot outfit”. Besides Colson, who had come to sit next to me on the couch while the rest of the guys were already drinking whatever was in the mini fridge.

“Do you guys always get drunk before your shows?” I asked.

“Not always. Usually we get high,” Colson responded.

“Now that I can get behind. I’ll probably be less afraid if I’m high.”

Colson held out the joint in his hand to me. I took it and took a quick puff, the smoke immediately burning my throat and lungs as I tried to inhale it. Colson laughed as I started to cough.

“I still say you have nothing to worry about,” he told me. “You’re gonna do great tonight. You can’t even really see or hear the audience with all the lights and the inner ear pieces.”

“That’s even worse cause then I’ll just imagine how big the audience is.”

He put a hand on my leg, something I assume was just instinct for him to do to comfort someone, but the minute he made the contact I felt a jolt of electricity run through me. Colson quickly pulled his hand away and I wondered if he had felt that too.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that without asking,” he said.

“You can if you want,” I assured him. “I wasn’t mad about it or anything.”

Colson looked at me and I realized how blue his eyes were. Rook had always made jokes about how Colson could seduce any woman with just his eyes because they were such baby blues, but I didn’t really believe him until the moment I was looking in them myself. Now I was lost, completely forgetting everyone around me as I felt myself moving closer towards him.

The bus jerked to a stop, causing Colson and I to nearly be thrown from our seats. The guys started off the bus first, running towards the entrance to the arena as I could hear the waiting fans screaming outside.

Colson stood and offered a hand to me. “It’s showtime.”

~~~~~~

After the first song went perfectly, I stopped feeling nervous. Colson was right, I couldn’t see the audience in front of me, but I could faintly hear their screams of excitement over my inner ear piece. It was weird to have it in and not only hear all of us playing, but also the crew talking backstage. It was almost distracting, but it became easy to tune them out.

During one of Colson’s talking points in the show, I reached for my water bottle to take a sip. Colson was hyping the audience up, which made me smile a little.

“Before we continue the show,” he said into his mic, “you guys may have noticed that we do not have our regular drummer tonight.”

I immediately knew what he was about to do and I wanted to hurtle my drumstick at him before he went there.

“As you’ve probably heard, Rook was in a bit of an accident and is off recovering for the time being,” he continued. “So, we decided to get some family to fill in for him for the time being. Everyone, I want to hear y’all make some noise for Rook’s little sister, (Y/N)!”

The crowd cheered loudly. Colson turned to me and waved for me to stand. I glared at him, which I hoped he could see, before standing and awkwardly smiling and waving at the audience.

“All the cool drum shit you guys have been hearing all night has been (Y/N),” Colson said as he started to approach me. “She’s a bad ass fucking drummer, and she’s a pretty fucking cool chick, too.”

I was confused where he was going with this as he came to stand next to me, slinging an arm around my shoulder the way he had earlier that day after soundcheck.

“Which is why, (Y/N), I gotta ask: will you go on a date with me sometime?”

Slight embarrassment was swelling somewhere inside of me at being asked out in such a public way, but that embarrassment was overshadowed by the fuzzy feeling of excitement inside of me. I looked up at Colson, my eyes wide and a smile on my lips.

 He lowered the mic so he could privately add, “I’m being serious. I wanna take you out on a real date. Just the two of us.”

My words were stuck in my throat, but I was able to nod in response. The smile on Colson’s face stretched so wide that I could’ve been convinced he was the one lighting the show.

“Okay,” he said, then lifted the mic to say to his audience, “Let’s get back to the show guys!”

#machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly imagine #machine gun kelly x reader #colson baker #colson baker imagine #colson baker x reader #mgk #imagine #request #one shot #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

[negasonicimagines]

Tell Me I'm Not Funny

Request: darkandmysteriousbutheartofgold!ellie and wholesomeanddoesn'tunderstandwhyelliedoesn'tlikeher!reader where they're both part of the friend group but ellie just thinks reader is straight and messing with her pls

Notes: I don’t usually write MCU!Peter, so if he comes up in any future fics (like as the reader’s stepdad 👀 I’ve loved spideypool longer than I’ve loved Negasonic) you can safely assume it’s Andrew Garfield. But, for this time, this is MCU!Peter. Everyone in the friend group is 18-20, just to be clear.

This really isn't my best work, but it's a fun little slice of life piece. A lot of my ideas are pretty cinematic, I can picture them in my head but sometimes those pictures don't really translate into words. I may revisit this one day.

Warnings: D-slur (reclaimed by Ellie in one line), allusions to prior assault (an unwanted kiss that could've been more had another character not stepped in), and that's about it. Oh, and a little swearing, but this is an imagine for a character from Deadpool. If you can't handle swearing, you're on the wrong blog.

Synopsis: You’re into Ellie, but she’s with your good friend Peter. She treats you like you don’t even exist, and in the few instances she does acknowledge you, it’s usually just to make some sarcastic remark. You’re head-over-heels, though, and decide to deal with your unrequited love by writing her a song she’ll never hear.

“Fuck, that movie was terrible,” Michelle groans. “I’m just glad it was a matinee show and we didn’t have to pay as much to see it.”

“The special effects were good, but can’t Disney just leave stuff alone?” Peter agrees.

“Next thing you know they’ll be making a live action Toy Story, as if the original wasn’t traumatizing enough. I don’t want to imagine Watermelon as a sentient being. She’s seen some shit,” you snicker.

“Who’s Watermelon?” Ellie asks with a dark chuckle, and you clam up. How had you forgotten she was here?

“Oh, uh, nobody.”

“Don’t tell me you still sleep with a stuffed animal,” she snarks. “You really do need to grow up.”

“Don’t be mean, Ellie,” Peter protests.

“Watermelon is cute, everybody likes cute things!” Yukio adds.

“I think a live-action Toy Story could be cool,” Ned says. “It’d look really good if they did stop-motion animation.”

“Oh, you’re right!” you chirp. “It’d be quite the undertaking, but it would look badass.”

“I think you’re using that term a little loosely,” Ellie grumbles, and you have to stop yourself from frowning, instead you laugh it off. Why does she always pick on you? Sure, she’s got a witty remark for everybody, but she’s way harder on you. It hurts, she really is so gorgeous and funny and mysterious and everything you want in a woman, but she acts like she can’t stand you.

Ellie and Peter head off together, Peter still hasn’t gotten around to getting his license and Ellie seems happy to give him a ride. You really don’t stand a chance.

You and the others pile up in MJ’s SUV for some late-night band practice.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” you admit to Yukio in the furthest row back.

“You can,” she insists. “You’re a way better singer than Lola, anyways.”

“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to give her the wrong impression, I-”

“For the millionth time, Y/N, you didn’t. If she hadn’t left the band, we would’ve kicked her out. Not just for cheating on me, but for hurting you.”

“I guess,” you sigh. “Why can’t you sing instead?”

“Because I’m flat.”

“Yukio, breast size doesn’t have anything to do with singing ability, you’ve just gotta practice,” you joke.

“Shut up!” she giggles, punching you in the arm. “Plus, when you sing, the songs are being sung as they were written. We’re getting the real feelings.”

“Speaking of… I have something new I’m thinking about sharing tonight. Do you mind if I text you the demo?”

“Ooh, a first look! Hell yes!”

You text her the audio file and she puts in a wireless earbud, nodding along. Her smile gets wider and wider as she listens, and when she’s done, her assessment shocks you.

“Oh my gosh. You’re into Ellie.”

“What?!” you squeak. “No way!”

“You are! But, uh-”

“Don’t even say it. I know I don’t have a chance in hell. She only tolerates me for the sake of you and Peter.” Despite the gloominess of your tone, Yukio gets a mischievous glint in her eye, it confuses you. But, that’s just Yukio. Her thoughts are all over the place; she and Ellie balance each other out that way. They dated a couple of years ago, but it didn’t work out. They decided they were better off as friends.

“Screw that other song, we’re using this as the lead single. Everybody’s gonna love it, do you have the sheet music?”

“Yeah, uh, it’s in my bag.”

“Awesome.” Yukio’s grinning like she’s won something. Is the song that good? “We’ll have to practice this one a lot, we definitely need to have it ready by the concert this Friday.”

Right. Liz’s 19th birthday party. Apparently Peter had convinced her to let the band play, it’d be cheaper than hiring a more established artist.

“Our first paying gig? I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you remind her. She scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“We’re mostly gonna be playing covers of Liz’s favorite songs, and she only has so many. We’ve gotta beef up the setlist with originals, and this is perfect! Has that pop-y fun vibe, it’ll fit right in.”

“Yeah, but if it’s that obvious how I feel about her after one listen-”

“Only because I already had a hunch after Daft Pretty Boys,” Yukio clarifies cheerily, and you sigh.

“Fair enough.”

The gang makes it to Michelle’s house, travelling down to the side door and going into the basement from there. MJ’s parents have encouraged her creativity from day one, and were ecstatic when the band was formed. You speculate that they’re mostly happy that she’s made friends. Writing and photography can be lonely hobbies.

“Y/N has something new for us!” Yukio chirps.

“That fast?” Ned’s surprised as you hand him the sheet music. He skims it. “Holy shit, this is a wicked solo! Thanks, Y/N!”

“Well, I’m hoping highlighting everybody else’s talent will disguise my lack thereof,” you chuckle.

“Don’t be stupid, we’ve all heard you sing backup,” MJ says. “You’re Ryan Ross, she’s Brendon Urie. I’m just glad we booted her out before she decided she was gonna be the only pangolin in The Pangolins.”

Everyone laughs at that.

“Let’s try it,” Michelle continues, and everybody agrees. After a sound check and a few runs of the song, it’s still clumsy, especially on your part. You’re not really used to playing and singing at the same time, outside of backup vocals, which require far less focus.

“I suck,” you mumble, but it happens to be into the microphone.

“You don’t!” Ned insists.

“With that attitude, we’re not going anywhere,” Yukio says. You hate it when she gets to the tough love stage of her support. You wish she’d stay in the shallow reassurances stage, it’s easier to brush off. “You wouldn’t be the lead singer if we all thought you sucked. We would’ve just put an ad in the paper. You’re awesome, get over it!”

You sigh.

“Fine. Thank you.”

“Say it,” she insists.

“I’m awesome,” you huff, it’s hard not to smile when Yukio tries to look serious.

“Damn straight,” Yukio says. “Or, I guess not, considering that was about Ellie.”

“Yukio!” you squeal.

“That’s about Ellie?!” Ned exclaims.

“Obviously,” MJ scoffs, fiddling with her tuners.

“Is it that obvious?!” You can’t help but feel embarrassed. Ellie probably knows exactly how you feel, maybe that’s why she dislikes you so much. Her boyfriend’s stupid friend has a crush.

“Wait, but at the beginning…” Ned trails off, before laughing. “Oh my gosh, I get it.”

“Get what? Oh… Y/N, have I ever told you how much I love you?” MJ asks.

“I- I love you, too?” You’re puzzled by their words, but you’ve got enough on your plate.

“Let’s go ahead and practice some of Liz’s favorites while we’re here,” Yukio suggests. “It’s a pretty big set list.”

You practice until dinner, getting a pizza and deciding to make a night of it since it was a little late for Michelle to be dropping you all off at your assorted residences.

You all sleep on a pallet in the basement, and despite your worries, you manage to get some rest.

Over the next few days, The Pangolins practice at every free moment, until it’s finally time for the party.

“So, just pictures of everything?” Oh, shit. She’s not supposed to be here. How are you supposed to sing that song with her here?

“Yeah! I know with how many people are coming, I’m probably not going to get as much time as I want with everyone, so pictures will be a good way to remember the night.”

“Why not just invite less people?” Ellie wonders.

“I want all my friends to be here,” Liz explains. “How’s the sound check going, Y/N?”

“It’s going great,” you say into the microphone, demonstrating the quality and volume with a smile. “Thanks for letting us play here tonight.”

“Well, Peter said you guys are great. Are you really gonna debut your best song so far tonight?”

“Oh, um,” you stutter, stepping away from the microphone. “Maybe not.”

“What? Oh, come on, please, it’ll make the night even more special! You’re playing covers of all my old favorites, sing me my new favorite!” Liz presses, but she’s not being demanding or bratty, she seems genuinely excited.

“If the birthday girl says so, who am I to say no?” you concede. Hopefully Ellie will be too distracted taking pictures. “You have way too much faith in me.”

“If you don’t quit with the self-deprecation, I’m gonna duct tape your mouth shut,” MJ interjects.

“But, Daddy, how will I say my safe word?” you tease, giggling at your own joke with the rest of the group. Yukio’s laugh seems the loudest. Ellie glares.

“We should practice a song!” Ned suggests.

“Ooh, a private show!” Liz seems excited.

“Any requests?” you ask her. Ellie’s resting scowl intensifies. If she’s more pissed off the more you open your mouth, you’re not sure how she’s gonna survive a night of you singing without going nuclear.

“Oh, oh, Girlfriend by Avril Lavigne, please?”

“You’ve got it,” you agree.

The song goes smoothly.

“What happened to the old singer?” Ellie asks, clearly unimpressed.

“You didn’t tell her?” you ask Yukio, grateful for the excuse to turn away from the sharp-tongued girl you adore.

“Didn’t want her to get the wrong impression,” Yukio explains. “She already makes enough rude comments towards you.” Yukio leans over her drum kit to give Ellie a pointed look.

“Oh, wait, shit, I didn’t mean it like that. You, uh, sound good, Y/N.”

You can’t help but whip your head back to look at her with a flabbergasted expression.

“What?! It’s true,” Ellie defends herself.

“Uh, yeah, but you just said something nice. About me. Liz, do you mind checking her for a fever?”

Liz obliges for the sake of going along with the joke before quickly withdrawing her hand.

“Jeez! I know you were kidding, but she’s burning up,” Liz declares.

“My internal temperature is higher due to my mutation,” Ellie quickly explains, looking a bit bashful. “Besides, I say nice shit about Y/N all the time.”

“No, you don’t,” the whole band says in unison, including you.

“Well, clearly I shouldn’t if everyone’s gonna make a big fucking deal about it,” she retorts, rolling her eyes. “I’m gonna go get some pictures of the decorations before there’s a bunch of fucking people here to block them.”

She stomps off in her heavy boots, and The Pangolins get back to work, putting on the final touches and making sure all the blocking looks right.

Soon enough, guests start flooding in, and Liz zips around to greet them, eventually meeting up with Peter and keeping him with her. He and Liz eventually pull Ellie away from her picture-taking, confident she’s done enough and needs to just relax and enjoy the party.

So much for distracting herself with work, she thinks.

They sit on the couch and eat, the dining room was monopolized by The Pangolins due to its elevation and space.

Ellie’s mesmerized by the way your fingers move until she hears Peter talking to Liz. They really are a cute couple.

“You really do need to hang out with us. Yukio told me Y/N thinks Ellie and I are a thing,” he says.

“Gross, you’re like my annoying little brother,” Ellie remarks.

“And you’re like my bitchy older sister,” Peter retorts with a shit-eating grin.

“Both of you, quiet! They’re about to play the new song. You’re in for a real treat, Ellie.”

“What does it have to do with me?”

Liz gives Peter a confused and slightly irritated look.

“I haven’t said anything to her, I didn’t know how,” Peter squeaks, blushing a little at the look in his girlfriend’s eyes.

“Explain, quickly,” Ellie demands.

But, then you start to sing again.

“Y/N-” Peter starts.

“Shut up.”

“But you asked-”

“I said, shut up,” Ellie insists.

“You know me as your boyfriend's goofy friend. I seem to have this effect on women, and your friends aren't as goofy as I am. I try my best to keep you entertained, always laughing at the jokes you are saying. I nod my head when you make a point, oh oh…

“Kiss me, kiss me with your eyes closed! Whisper that your heart shows all I want is you, yeah, you… Hold me, hold me I'm your bunny! Tell me I'm not funny, tell me I’m legit! ‘Cause I feel weak, in your hands and your feet… A precious end, I’ll never feel your touch…”

Ellie continues to listen to the song, all expression drained from her face. All the yearning in the words and your voice, all you want is…

Ellie looks at Peter, who’s looking at her with a triumphant smile.

“I told you.”

Ellie feels like she’s about to faint. She notices you’re talking to Liz— when did she leave? —your hand over your mic. Despite the knowledge that Liz is taken, Ellie gets jealous. You look so happy to be talking to Liz, to just about any girl you talk to.

She wishes you’d smile at her that way.

You nod at whatever Liz said, and the band starts packing away their instruments. Liz sets up her phone on some Bluetooth speakers, and songs that sounded so much better when you were singing them start to play.

No! Ellie internally protests. Sing for me again, please, sing that stupid song about how you think I don’t like you.

Yukio’s dragging you somewhere. Gosh, Ellie wishes it was her holding your hand.

Suddenly, though, you and Yukio are approaching her. She knows what she has to do.

“So, what’d you think of our- Eek! Finally!”

Ellie parts from the kiss to tell her to fuck off and not ruin the moment before kissing you again.

“Holy fucking shit,” you breathe. “Uh, I thought you were-“

“Dating Peter?! Seriously?! Do I need to write ‘dyke’ on my fucking forehead? I practically already have with the way I dress and act and-”

“I, uh, I try not to make assumptions,” you mumble, fingers touching your lips.

“I’m, uh, sorry for not asking.”

“No, it’s- It was good. I’ve wanted you to do that for a while. It’s just that that was the first time somebody’s kissed me, since, uh…” Your eyes dart to Yukio, who’s ruffling Ned’s hair and laughing.

“Yukio?!” Orange flickers in Ellie’s eyes for a moment, but she keeps it under control.

“No, no, of course not, uh… The old singer, Lola. She and Yukio were dating, but apparently I was the one she really had her sights on, and… She was entitled. Thought that because she wanted me, I must want her. That wasn’t really the case, I was already pining over you. Didn’t stop her from forcing a few kisses on me and trying to go further. If Yukio hadn't shown up early with cupcakes, I don’t know what would’ve happened.”

“I am such an asshole,” Ellie says softly. “Can I kiss you again? The right way.”

“I’d say what you did before was pretty right, but sure,” you consent.

Her kiss before had been rough, needy, and impatient. Just the way you like it. This, though, this is gentle, soft, and exploratory. You tangle your hands in her hair and kiss her harder. She moans into the kiss before pulling away, bewildered.

“That was…” Ellie trails off, trying to find a positive adjective that won’t sound to frilly or lovesick.

“A mistake, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, fuck, no. I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” she corrects you. “Just- Didn’t really know how. Even when you were kinda flirting with me at first, I just thought you were messing with me, so I- I am so stupid.”

“So am I,” you scoff. “I thought you were dating Peter.”

“I was spending a lot of time with him, but… I was just using him as an excuse to avoid you so I wouldn’t embarrass myself anymore. And I was asking him for advice. I figured if he could land somebody as far out of his league as Liz, maybe I stood the slightest bit of a chance with you. But I kept fucking it up. I’d just get so nervous, all of my compliments would turn into insults, all of my teasing turned into straight-up cruelty. I don’t know how you actually like me.”

“I’m a little bit of a masochist, I’ll admit,” you tell her. “I’m really glad you don’t hate me.”

“I’m really glad you don’t hate me,” Ellie replies, but she can’t help but think that what she‘s really saying is ‘I love you, too.’

She takes your hand, and you two rejoin your friends, swept up in a group hug. They wanted this to happen almost as much as you two did.

#negasonic teenage warhead #ellie phimister #x-men #negasonic teenage warhead imagine #ellie phimister imagine #x-men imagine #negasonic teenage warhead x reader #ellie phimister x reader #x-men x reader #wlw x reader #sapphic x reader #wlw imagine #sapphic imagine #lesbian x reader #lesbian imagine #songfic

[santigarcia]

Knockout Blues

a 1940s mob au blue jones x f!reader fic~ 

word count: 8k

rating: m/e - for smut, canon typical violence for sucker punch and mob movies, some slight non con, themes of a abuse and a major character death - pls only read if you are 18+!

summary: You’re hired by the mob to sing at a nightclub, and you fall in love with the devilishly handsome nightclub host~

a/n: this one has been in my drafts for a long time, i’ve worked so hard on it!! i hope you all enjoy it!! thank you to @sergeantkane​ for this header!!! 

The nightclub Knockout Blues is lively tonight. You walk inside arm in arm with your boyfriend Sam Miller. You’re greeted with the smell of smoke and alcohol and strong perfume. There’s a bar along the back wall. The floor is full of round tables with chairs. The stage is on the far right of the entrance. Waitresses are buzzing about, men in fine suits sit at tables as they drink. Scantily clad women dance on the stage, fringe dangling from their breasts and hips, as large feather fans tease the audience.

It was much quieter when you came in earlier this week to audition.

You’re a singer, and the owner of this club expressed interest in hiring you.

You know this club is a front for the mob. Your boyfriend Sam is one of them. You don’t know what it is that he does, but it scares you. You want to end things with him, but you’re too scared to leave. You aren’t sure what would happen to you if you were left to fend for yourself.

You can’t worry about that tonight though. Tonight is your first show.

You part ways with Sam to head backstage. He gives you a sloppy kiss and a smack to your ass on his way to the bar. A nearby patron smirks at you. You can only scoff. Your dreams of being a famous singer will not be ruined. You are determined. You might have to suffer some bad gigs before you’re able to move up the chain.

Tiptoeing backstage, you see a whole other world. Costumes, make-up, wigs, props of all kinds are scattered about. Performers are getting ready, women powdering their noses. You can faintly hear the cheering from the small audience, the sound is drowned out from the bustle back here.

There’s a man in a silky white coat kissing one of the dancers, his hand is grasping her ass and stroking up her thigh. You try not to stare, though you’re not exactly shocked – just intrigued. This isn’t what you were anticipating.

Wandering around like a lost child, you freeze when you see a door with your name scrawled on a piece of paper taped to it. The door is slightly ajar, and you nudge it open. You turn on the light switch revealing a small vanity with a mirror surrounded by lightbulbs. There’s a rack of clothes with a single red sparkly dress on it. There’s also a schedule taped to the mirror with your name circled on each date you’re to perform for the rest of the month.

“You have twenty minutes,” someone with a clipboard pokes in your room and tells you. You’d only just realized you didn’t close the door behind you.

You lock it, and frantically begin to undress and change into this dress. It’s a perfect fit and flattering to your figure. But it’s a little more revealing than you’d prefer.

There’s a light switch on the wall by the mirror and this turns on the bulbs, you flick it on and get one last look at yourself before you are to go on stage.

The same person with the clipboard bangs on your door and tells you to follow them. The dancers who were on stage earlier brush past you on your way up front. You stand on the side now, looking on stage.

The same man who was kissing one of the dancers is speaking, he’s making the crowd laugh. Then you hear your name from his lips. He’s announcing your performance. Nerves shoot down to your toes, and you’re not so gently nudged onto the stage. The man walks with more swagger than you’ve ever seen past you, he gives you a little wink when you make eye contact. His slicked-back black hair, thin mustache and gorgeous smile have you dizzy for a moment before you realize there’s an audience staring at you.

Some men whistle as you step forward to the microphone. When you nod the band begins to play, and you begin to sing.

The spotlight on you is just a little too bright for you to see out in the audience, you can only make out shapes of patrons at tables. There’s a thick layer of smoke high in the air also hindering your view.

You let your voice carry and it’s a release. Release from the stressors and fears. All apprehensions about taking this job are forgotten in this moment.

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

The setlist you’ve been given is short, with a promise of more songs the longer you’re here. You are content with this – a couple songs for your first night at this club isn’t bad at all. In fact, you’re quite proud.

There’s a spring in your step when you head back to your dressing room. You’re all smiles, proud of a good performance. The bustle backstage doesn’t bother you as you breeze into your room.

It’s there you’re met with a shock. The man from before, with the thin mustache and white silk coat. He’s sitting in the chair in front of the vanity, smoothing his eyebrow down as he looks in the mirror. He makes eye contact with you in the reflection. His eyes are dark, but then a genuine kind smile flashes across his face.

“Hey, sugar. That was a hell of a show!” He stands, spinning to face you. He straightens his tie and practically glides over to you. He’s quick to take your hand in his and he plants a kiss to the back of your hand. His eyes flick up to yours, and he grins devilishly at the shy look in your eyes.

“Thank you,” you manage to get out.

“I’m Blue. Blue Jones.”

“You’re the owner?” The double meaning of the word owner is not lost on him, but he shakes his head no with a smile.

“No, no, that’s not me. Demetrius Fontana is the owner, I’m what you’d call a ‘figurehead.’ They call me ‘Blue’ because I’m the host of the show here at Knockout Blues,” he said as if he’s said this speech a thousand times.

“Have you met him? Mr. Fontana?”

“Boss? Course I have. He’s the one who hired me, sugar. He hired you too.”

“Did he?” You don’t remember meeting any mob bosses at your audition.

“Tall guy? Quiet? Scar under his eye? He wouldn’t have spoken. Only smoked a cigar at one of the tables.”

You nod, you remember seeing this man. It fills you with a nauseous feeling.

“Don’t worry,” Blue smiles, reaching to touch your arm, seeing your obvious discomfort. “He must have liked ya or else he wouldn’t’ have hired you.”

You don’t know if that’s better or worse. Somehow you get the feeling it’s too late. You can’t back out now. Dating Sam is one thing, you don’t want to anymore. But this? One of New York’s most powerful and feared men knows your name.

“Should I be scared?” you whisper. You don’t know why you’re asking him this, but he seems to know all the ins and outs of this place.

“Nah. Just don’t piss ‘em off,” he winks. “You’ll probably owe him a favor though.”

“Favor?”

“Yeah. A favor.” He says it so casually, but you don’t like the sound of it. “You didn’t think you got this job just because of your talent, did you? I mean you are damn good and gorgeous. But sugar, when these people do something for you, they expect a little something back.”

If you weren’t filled with dread already, now you really feel sick. You can only imagine what your favor would be.

“So, do I need to take you home or call you a cab?” Blue keeps on talking, as if nothing he’s said is worth fearing.

“Oh, my boyfriend is going to take me home.”

Blue nods, “well it was nice to meet you sugar. I look forward to working with you.” Another little wink.

A tune is on his lips, he whistles as he leaves your dressing room. Then he’s gone.

It’s not long before Sam comes to pick you up. You’ve had time to change into your regular clothes. He comes in drunk and lipstick smudged on his mouth and shirt collar. Another woman’s perfume is heavy in the air.

“Did you even see my show?” you ask.

He must think about it as if he can’t remember. He pushes you out the door and into the hallway. You hit the wall with a grunt. Down the hallway you see Blue with another dancer. The last one was a red head; this one was brunette. But he stops kissing her when he hears you.

“There a problem?” he calls down to you and Sam. The woman is kissing his neck while his hands rub up and down her back. His eyes are checking to see you’re ok.

“No,” Sam snarls, angry that Blue is interfering. “Come on,” he yanks your arm and pulls you down the hall past Blue and the brunette dancer. She’s still kissing his neck, and her knee is sliding up Blue’s inner thigh. Blue looks at you over this girl and gives you yet another wink.

It makes your face warm. His charm and charisma are enough that you’re already looking forward to coming in again despite any apprehensions you might have about favors from the mob.

When Sam fucks you that night, you wish it were Blue. You think about those hands and his eyes. Maybe it’s a foolish fantasy. But fantasy or not – you’re already developing a very real crush on Blue Jones of Knockout Blues.

Weeks pass and your crush on Blue is growing. It’s become quite the infatuation. He’s always pleasant when he sees you, and his touch gives you a thrill. Maybe it’s the idea that you shouldn’t, or that he’s nicer to you than your actual boyfriend.

So, your Blue crush keeps you eager to come back. You come early to the shows now to catch him sing. He’s always the opening act.

And the more time you spend at the club, the less scary it feels.

You’ve even met the…owner. Briefly. He was at the bar one evening. You’d just finished a performance and you stuck around to get a drink. He gave you a nod and bought your drink before he left. You’ll take that as a compliment.

You spend more time here at the club than you thought. Your evenings are busy with performances, but even after you’re done you hang around. In the afternoons you stop by for the occasional rehearsal.

You’re always on the look out for Blue, and he’s always around. Always with perfect hair and an easy smile. You’ve become friends of sorts, he’s always friendly. But you can’t help but want more. You can only assume he doesn’t flirt with you because of who your boyfriend is, which makes you want to break things off with him even more.

At least you have some interactions with Blue.

Tonight, he pops into your dressing room while you’re finishing your makeup.

“You ready for tonight?” He asks picking up your tube of lipstick. He pops the cap and rotates the stick in and out.

“Blue,” you smile at him. “I need that.”

“May I?” he grins.

“Okay,” you shrug casually, but inside your heart is pounding.

With his thumb and forefinger pressing on your jaw, he tilts your head back and opens your mouth in one movement. With his other hand, he sweeps the red lipstick across your lips. Then he reaches in his silk coat and pulls out a handkerchief. He cleans the residue of the lipstick from the corners of your mouth. He folds the small piece of fabric and tucks it back in his pocket.

“It’ll stain!” You gasp, still flustered from how close he was to you just moments ago.

“It’s a souvenir,” he clicks his tongue with a wink. He stops then and his eyes linger on your lips.

“What is it?” you turn with a furrowed brow to look in the mirror.

“I’d love to kiss those lips sugar.” He stays, standing behind you. He’s looking at your lips now in the mirror, then he leans down to whisper in your ear. “I know you want me too.”

“Blue, I can’t!” You stand up to move away from him. “Sam…”

“What about him? He doesn’t treat you right. Let me take care of you.”

“I can’t. He- won’t let me.”

“Let you?”

“I have to finish getting ready Blue. Did you need something?” You sniffle, trying not to smudge your fresh makeup.

“I wanted to ask you; would you sing a duet with me tonight? I know we haven’t practiced but I’d love to sing with you sugar. I’ll pick a song you know.”

“Really?” you look at him, your sad eyes turning bright. “I’d love to!”

“I’ll see you on stage in a few then?” His hand cups your elbow gently, his fingers leaving a heat on your skin.

Then quick as a wink, he’s out of the room whistling cheerfully. He’s always in a good mood, and it’s infectious.

Can this be happening? Are you about to sing with him? You fell deeper in love when you heard him sing. Now to be on stage with him? Seeing his stage presence up close? Your tongue feels numb.

Buzzing, you finish getting ready and dart down the hall to wait your turn. When Blue announces your name, it feels more personal this time. He’s looking right at you when he says it. The way he’s looking at you right now sends a shiver down your spine, it’s carnal.

He offers his hand, and you walk on stage happily, your game face on. Your eyes and small are bright, and the spectators cheer when they see you, you’re a new favorite.

The song begins, and thankfully it is one you know well. You’ve not even practiced with him, but the rawness that comes from it works. He holds you close and twirls you around. It’s an intimate dance, your bodies and voices intertwine as if you’d be lovers for years.

His smile is devilish, and he holds you so close you shiver. There’s a heat of excitement blooming between your legs, especially when his hand rounds your ass for a squeeze.

The song ends too quickly for your liking – but before you can even turn to exit the stage, Blue pulls you to him. He dips you down low and plants a searing kiss on your lips. His tongue delves between your lips, and his mustache tickles your upper lip. Those watching seem to cheer even louder, and when he straightens you back upright, you feel dizzy. The lights and sounds are all a blur. You can only see Blue and that wicked grin.

He lingers on stage to announce the next part of the show, while you float back to your room. You don’t even remember walking in there. Your heart feels like it could pound right out of your chest. You dance, you dance in circles around the room. You wish you could bottle up this happiness.

A knock on the door pulls you from your daydream, and with a grin you turn. Expecting to see Blue. Only you don’t see Blue – it’s your boyfriend Sam. You can smell the alcohol on him from where you stand.

“Sam, I-“

“Nice show tonight. You been practicing that?”

“No. Sam-“ he takes a step closer to you and you back away, there’s an anger in his eyes. The anger burns, and with a backhanded swing his hand hits your cheek. The skin stings and you feel blood trickle down, a small cut left behind from his ring.

He leans back to punch you this time, but you duck out of the way. His fist crashes into the mirror, breaking it, the shards fall with a loud crash.

The sound brings unwanted attention, and in moments you see Blue. Fontana is behind him. When Sam sees who is standing in the doorway, he backs off. He ducks out of the room without an apology, but you’re glad he’s gone.

Blue is at your side in an instant. Fontana is quiet, he gives you another nod when he sees Blue is with you.

“Are you alright?” Blue looks over your face, shushing you when you fall into his arms.

“Get me out of here,” you sob into his shoulder.

Blue wraps his arms around you, shielding you from prying eyes as you exit the backstage door. You leave in such a hurry that you forget your change of clothes. There’s a chill in the alley, and your sparkly red show dress does nothing to keep you warm. Blue shrugs his silk coat and wraps it around your shoulders.

“Come on, sugar. I know where we can go.”

You don’t walk far before you’re at the large hotel near the nightclub. You never even dreamed of staying here it’s too expensive. But Blue walks right in. Several people say hi to him, and it’s the first time you realize how popular his performances are – and how many connections to the mob there are.

He doesn’t even stop at the front desk; he guides you over to an elevator and presses a button. He presses the button to the top floor as if it’s nothing, but he’s puffing out his chest a little – he’s proud.

“The top floor?”

“Fontana suggested it,” Blue shrugs.

“What kind of favor did you do to get this?” you ask with wide eyes.

“I hope you’re not afraid of me,” he looks at you, his eyes softening. You know he must have done something big to get a suite on the top floor, but you do trust him.

“I’m not,” you tell him.

“Good,” he reaches for your hand and squeezes. “This life isn’t what you think it is.” He sounds almost sad, and it tugs at your heart. “I don’t want you to see me as someone in the business.”

You shake your head. No, of course you don’t. He’s been nothing but kind to you and honest.

The elevator bell dings finally, and his hand is on your lower back guiding you to his room. He fishes for his keys in his pockets and smiles at you when he slides the key into the lock.

You gasp when you step inside the room. It’s big and beautiful. So much space! It’s bigger than your apartment.

“Feel free to make yourself at home,” he says warmly.

“You’re not staying?”

“I thought you would want to be alone,” he offers, taking a step towards you.  

“I want you to stay.”

Trembling, you reach for his hand guiding his warm palm to rest on your cheek. His touch is soft, a whisper over the growing bruise on your face. Tears well up in your eyes, the gravity of the situation finally catching up with you.

“I won’t let him hurt you again,” he says smoothing his thumb over the bruise.

Feeling bold, you place your hand on his chest. His eyes flick down and he reaches up to hold your hand.

“What is it sugar?”

“I want you Blue, I need you.”

His eyebrow raises in question, you know what he’s asking. If you do this if you fall into bed with him there’s no going back. An affair of this magnitude will have consequences. But you’re ready to be rid of Sam, you want Blue.

When you close the gap further and trace your knee up his thigh, Blue pulls you in for a searing kiss. The flames lick at your body, his tongue a fierce passionate intrusion into your mouth. His hands are already working on the zipper of your dress, and he hums in delight when he feels the bare skin of your back.

He pushes your dress down then, exposing your breasts to him. You’re truly a sight. He pulls you back in for a kiss and his hand cradles the back of your head – leaning you down on the bed. Fingers dance along your body, his thumbs brush over your nipples as they pass by. He’s quick to slide off the rest of your undergarments, now leaving you naked in front of him.

He’s quick to undress himself, and you gawk as each part of his suit drops to the floor. His cock is aching with need, and he pumps himself lazily – his pinky ring catches the light, and you groan.

Blue crawls over you, kissing his way up to your mouth. His hands are everywhere. One hand cups a breast, the other teases your slick folds. His mouth is all over your neck and jaw and face. He nibbles your ear. His fingers bring you to pleasure embarrassingly quick.

“Sugar,” he bites your neck, “you did need me, didn’t you?” he purrs.

When he finally pushes himself inside after all the teasing, he whines in your ear.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck!”

Your hands slip into his perfectly gelled hair and pull. You kiss at his neck. He growls and thrusts harshly. His rich cologne is in your nose, mixed with a hint of smoke and sweat. His body moves on top of yours in strong fluid motions. You’re coming again quickly, just as he spills into you.

You groan together, the sweet music of you pleasure intertwining.

Blue makes love to you all night. Heated and rough. Slow and sweet. Passionate and electrifying.

You’re overly sensitive and have tear stained cheeks before the night is over.

It’s close to 5 am when you’re finally still and tangled in the sheets with your new lover.

“I want to run away with you.” You tell him. Your fingers tracing shapes on his chest while he holds you.

“I’d love that too sugar. But we can’t.”

“Why couldn’t we though?” you sit up. “Why couldn’t we just run away right now?”

“Too many obligations,” he smooths his hair back. “You know it and I know it.

“What? As a performer?”

“I can at least help you get away from Sam.”

You flop back down on the bed. You know he’s right. You can’t just leave, even though it’s what you want. But you’d never be able to rest, you know they have people everywhere who would find you.

So, you begin to plan. It won’t be easy to end things with Sam. It makes you nervous, and after such a good night with Blue, you can hardly stand to think about it. You fall asleep in Blue’s arms making plans for your future together.

When you wake, you’re alone.

The curtains are closed but you can see the sunlight trying to peek in. The clock on the wall tells you it’s close to noon. With a groan you sit up and stretch. There’s a note on the bed where Blue slept. The ink is dark blue and in perfect smooth cursive.

‘Meet me tonight, sugar. After your show. xx Blue.’

You hold the note to your chest and sigh happily. You collect your things to get dressed, but you pause when you see the giant bathtub in the bathroom. You draw yourself a bath and sink into the tub. You’re sore from last night, not just sex with Blue – but Sam hurting you. But you try not to think about that part.

Hunger and the water cooling pull you from the bath. You take a good long look at yourself in the mirror. There are hickeys and slight scrapes from a certain mustache all over your skin. But Blue was careful to only mark you up in places that would be hidden by your dress. Your bruise and slight cut on your cheek are healing, but still hurt. They can be covered with makeup, but your face is still a little swollen.

Tears well up in your eyes, you try to think about Blue’s tender touch instead.

You get ready as best you can, realizing you need to go back to the club to get your clothes. You’re sure it would be alright if you grabbed a meal then too.

It seems so different now to go down the elevator alone, and to walk alone in the daylight to the club. You make your way in the alley to the backstage doors. Two stagehands are having a smoke break, and the door is propped open. They don’t seem to notice or care that you trot up the stairs and disappear inside.

Returning to your dressing room after last night sends a sick feeling to your stomach. All your make-up is on the floor. The mirror is broken. It’s a complete mess. But you wipe your tears away and change out of your dress into your regular clothes from the night before. Carefully, you pick up the make-up from among the glass.

That’s when you hear two voices. They’re hushed, speaking right outside in the hallway. One of them is Sam. You feel sick. You quiet yourself so he won’t know you’re in here.

The other voice you don’t recognize. But what he says scares you.

“You have to do it tonight Miller. You have to kill him.”

“I know,” Sam hisses back. “I fuckin’ know.”

You can’t catch anymore because their voices fade as they walk down the hall farther from your room. You sigh to yourself, but bristle at the thought of who they are planning to kill. You need to tell Blue.

You forget to stop by the bar to get food, instead you ask around if Blue is in the building. No one has seen him, and you take no comfort in that. The thought of Sam seeing you here fills you with dread, so you make a hasty exit back to your apartment.

You’ll go back to the club early tonight. Warning Blue is all that matters. Even the promise of another night tangled in the sheets is pushed from your mind from the fear.

But you’re exhausted. Your entire night last night was full of emotions and physical moments. Even if your night had not been filled with Blue, you wonder if you would have slept after such a fight in the dressing room.

You sit down on your bed for a moment, and the next thing you know, you wake with a gasp.

It’s after dark.

Panicking, you grab your purse sprinting out the door.

You make it to the club, but you’re late. You gasp a little louder than you intended when you see Blue is alive and well onstage.

You make your way backstage and look for him when he’s done with his act. You see him entering your dressing room before you can catch up with him. You run, scared there might be a trap waiting for him.

“Blue!” you gasp running into the room only to see him standing in front of a new mirror smoothing down his hair. The room is completely clean, it looks nicer than it was before. There’s no evidence of what happened last night.

“Yeah sugar?” he turns with a smile. “Something wrong?”

“It’s Sam,” you run to him, hugging him tight. “He’s going to kill someone. I heard him talking.”

“Where is he?” Blue looks angry. He moves like a man on a mission out of your dressing room. You follow behind him as he makes his way out onto the main floor looking for Sam.

He’s at the bar having a drink. It’s all a blur after Blue grabs Sam’s shoulder. Punches are thrown left and right. You watch in horror as Sam gets his punches in. You don’t know if he’s supposed to kill Blue, or if he’s angry Blue has taken you away from him.

A few men pull Blue and Sam apart, and Blue tells you to go.

“Go to our hotel, wait for me. It’ll be alright.” He slips the room key into your hand, and tears well up in your eyes. “Go.”

As you’re leaving, Sam breaks away and goes at Blue again. A brawl is breaking out in the club. You leave with tears pouring down your cheeks. You’re scared for Blue’s life.

For the second time today you’re alone in that hotel. The walk there is a blur as you’re crying and shaken with fear.

Your hands are trembling when you unlock the door, you can barely get the key in. Being in this room after last night has you feeling comforted and frightened all at once. There’s so much Blue in the room, it feels like him. But what if he gets hurt? What if you don’t see him ever again? About a million thoughts race through your mind for the next few hours.

You grow sick with worry.

Where is he?

It’s late into the night when you finally hear a knock on the door. You jump out of your skin. You look through the peephole and your gasp hurt your chest. Opening the door, you see Blue- standing there with his hands covered in blood.

His white silky jacket is gone, and his shirt has bloodstains on it. His hair is a mess, and blood is splattered on his face. His hands are the worst though, completely red. The blood has long dried and he seems visibly shaken.

“What happened?” you gasp pulling him in the room. “Are you hurt?”

“Your boyfriend, Sam, I-“ he looks down at his hands, “I killed him.”

All the air is knocked out of you. Sam is dead? As in? D-e-a-d? And Blue is the one that did it? What could have happened?? What are you supposed to be feeling right now?

“I’m sorry,” Blue cups your face with his bloodstained hands. You feel the sticky drying blood on your cheeks, a reminder of the life that used to flow in Sam’s veins.

“What happened?” you grab Blue’s wrists, securing his hands to your face. You want to know. You did love Sam long ago, you think. But there’s been so much fear and pain, you’ve grown to despise him. You decide his death now means your freedom, and a future with Blue. You want to know what happened, every gory detail.

So, he tells you.

Blue tells you how he was mingling in the crowd after his performance, trying to act casual. Someone threw a punch at someone, then it was a big blur. That’s when Sam made his move for Blue.

“He was after you this whole time?” you gasp. “Why?”

“Sam was a fuckin’ mole this whole time. He was rattin’ on us, giving up secrets to rival mobs.”

Your hand flies to your mouth in shock.

“Why was he after you?” your lip trembles.

“Hey, shh,” he traces his thumb over your trembling lip. “Don’t tremble, sugar. I’m safe. See?” he spins around showing you that he’s fine.

He continues his story, painting an awful picture of Sam charging for Blue. He had a knife out, ready to stab Blue.

“And he almost did, nicked the sleeve on my shoulder. But I got to him first.”

“How?”

Blue pats his breast pocket, “I keep a small knife in here, you never know.”

Your rational mind tells you this is dangerous, that you should leave. But killing Sam wasn’t murder, just self-defense.

“Then what happened?”

Blue stabbed Sam. Then the mob does what they do, swept the whole thing under the rug.

“Is this our chance? Blue are we free?”

Blue sighs heavily. He turns from you, pacing back and forth in the hotel room. Now you notice the ripped sleeve on his shoulder, and just how much blood is on his white silk suit jacket. His arms and hands are deep red. You feel a little dizzy.

“Boss gave me a bigger job, they’re proud of me.”

That’s the last thing you hear Blue say before you pass out.

When you come to, you’re lying on the bed. Strong, rich cologne wafts into your nose, and you slowly sit up to see Blue. He’s sitting next to you on the bed, wearing a white robe with black trim. His hair is wet and slicked back. His hands are squeaky clean.

“There she is,” Blue whispers and leans down to press a light kiss to your forehead. “You alright?”

You nod, feeling a little dizzy.

“You’re in shock,” he tells you standing up. “Let me draw you a bath? Would you like that sugar?”

“We’re still stuck Blue. Stuck in this life!” You feel like you’re going to be sick.

“Sugar, hey woah, deep breaths for me. I’m in good with them right now, we don’t have to worry.”

“But what if you screw something up?” you gasp at your own words. “I’m sorry.”

His jaw ticks and he looks angry, but then you see a soft smile.

“I understand, I do. But right now, there’s nothing we can do. Let me draw you a bath.”

You know he’s right, so you let him. The bathtub is huge, and the water is the perfect temperature. He sits on the edge of the tub and you let him wash the blood off your face.

“Blue?” you blink up at him. “What if you kill the boss?” You’re too scared to even say his name, as if he could hear you in this room. With the mob, who knows. There could be bugs in here.

“How would that help?” Blue crosses his arms and leans back a little.

“I don’t know,” you shrug and look down. “I just thought, you’ve killed before why not do it again.” You whisper.

“Wait, wait sugar you might be onto something.” He sits up. “If I kill him then I could take over! Damn, sugar. How would you like to be a mob boss’s wife hmm? Oh baby,” he pushes up his sleeve and sticks his hand down in the water between your legs. “I would spoil you rotten,” he grits his teeth on the last word to emphasize, all while his fingers tease your sex.  

He brings you closer to orgasm with his fingers while he fills your mind with promises of your future together.

“I’d kill for you, sugar. I’d burn the world down if I could give you what you want. Tell me, what do you want?” His fingers circle your bundle of nerves harder, and then he thrusts his fingers inside.

“You, Blue. I want you,” you moan as you reach your high. You whine, and he smirks. His eyes raking over your body in the tub.

When you’re done with your bath, Blue helps you out. He chuckles mischievously in your ear when he wraps a plush robe around your body. You surprise him then and nudge him back into the bedroom.

You untie his robe and shove him back on the bed. You shrug your robe and drop to your knees.

“Sugar- “

“Blue, let me. Let me suck the cock of the future boss.”

He lulls his head back at your words, and he groans even louder when you put your lips on him.

“The power you’d have,” you moan and kiss his thighs. “We could do anything we want,” you lick a stripe up to his tip and he jerks his hips. You mingle your praises with the actions of your mouth, teasing him.

He’s loud, desperate. The hunger for power and the hunger for his release have him writhing against your touch. He’s hungry, and he’ll take what he wants. He thrusts up into your mouth and comes with a loud moan.

When he sits up, his hair is disheveled, a wicked grin is on his face. You know the look; he’s got an idea.

“I know how I can become the boss.”

Blue is balls deep in your heat when he goes over the plan one last time. His thrusts are hard, erratic. You’ve come twice already and he’s nearing his end. Your thighs burn and your lungs struggle to catch a breath. This time it’s different, you both know.

Tonight’s the night.

Tonight, is the night Blue takes over the club and becomes the boss.

You’re nervous though. There are too many parts of this plan that could go wrong. But this is the only way that you and Blue will get your freedom – is if he’s in charge.

“No one,” he grunts, grabbing your hips, “Will hurt you again-“ He moans spilling deep inside you. Your walls flutter and you come a third time around him. The rush of knowing you’re going to be part of a murder scheme floods your veins. It feels so wrong, but Blue feels so good.

Blue lets himself collapse onto you, his mouth already seeking yours for a searing kiss. His tongue delves into your mouth and he moans, he twitches inside of you.

“Blue?” you purr and rake your fingers through his hair. “You getting hard again?”

“You’re all mine,” he growls and kisses all over your face and neck. “Don’t forget what I said. Be in the office right after the show ends.”

You want to stay with him, but he pulls out. There’s something on his mind. You wonder if he’s nervous about tonight.

“Stick to the plan,” he says.

The plan.

The plan is to do the show like normal. The boss will be there tonight. After the show, go in his office for a private meeting. Blue will follow behind and while he’s staring at your figure, Blue goes for the kill.

Should be simple enough right?

Wrong.

You’re trying to get dressed in the bathroom but your hands tremble. You just know you’re going to get something wrong tonight.

“I’m scared Blue,” you call to him. You’re looking at your reflection, waiting to hear his reply.

“C’mere sugar,” you hear him. He’s quick to greet you with a smile. His hands reach for your hips and he pulls down your hose. “You were right,” he growls. “I was getting hard again.” You look down between your bodies to see him stroking himself. Loose strands of hair are in his face, the veins in his neck pop from exertion as he jerks himself off over. His cum splatters all over your stomach and your bra.

“That’s my only one!” you gasp but moan, feeling yourself grow slick.

“Guess you’ll have to go without,” he smirks and buries his face between your thighs. His voice comes out in a gravelly whisper, “you���re going to be perfect, sugar. There’s nothing to mess up. You sing, and you look gorgeous.”

Blue’s mouth on your heat distracts you from the nerves. But only for a moment.

Even when you peel off your bra and clean off yourself your hand has a tremble. You can’t even apply your lipstick properly.

“Here, let me,” Blue sweeps in, swiping the red stick across you lips. “Remember this?” he grins affectionately. How could you forget? Though it seems like a lifetime ago.

Blue gives you a wink, an unspoken reminder that it’ll be alright. You want to believe him, you truly do. And you think on this on the short walk over to the club.

It wasn’t too long ago it was your dream to be a famous singer. Now you’re dating a man planning to kill and then become a mob boss. Your dream of fame seems meaningless now.

You remember that singing always calms your nerves, you hope it does tonight.

Your fingers tremble as you get dressed in your dressing room. These clasps have never been easy due to the tight nature of your outfit, but tonight it seems more difficult. Murder. You’ll helping to assist a man with a murder plot. This isn’t you. Or it wasn’t you. You look at yourself in the mirror and see the guilt and shame.

You picture Blue here. What would he say if he were with you? That Fontana is a bad man. He’s killed people. Hurt people. You’re doing the world a favor right?

Then you think about the promises Blue made to you. Being a mob wife, being spoiled with riches and affection from your doting husband.

Your face warms thinking about marrying Blue. You can picture what your wedding would be like. Him taking you somewhere fancy for your honeymoon.

Yes.

This is what you want. You’re going to help Blue with this. Besides, you’re not the one doing the actual killing. Blue has killed before, and he can again.

It’s almost showtime and you’re ready. As ready as you’ll ever be.

The backstage tech comes to get you, telling you it’s your cue. You give them a smile. This show is going to be killer.

You don’t make it a habit to look out in the audience when you perform, but you do tonight. Just to make sure the boss Fontana is there. And he is, sitting quietly near the middle.

You give it your all in this performance, it might be your last one for a while. You’ve not talked to Blue about it, but you wonder if that would be a bad idea.

You sing your heart out, and when the show is over you feel a rush of adrenaline as you head backstage. Blue is waiting for you in your dressing room with a big smile.

“You were fantastic, sugar,” he strokes your arm and gives you a deep kiss. “You ready for the second act? I’ll be right behind you, don’t be afraid.”

It’s hard not to be when you walk towards Fontana’s door. You’ve never been in here before. You take a moment to gather yourself. You smooth down the lines of your outfit and breathe. You knock on the door, and before you can even put your hand down – one of his guards is opening it.

The room is dimly lit and it’s hard to make out Fontana. There’s a window behind him. The shades are drawn but on the other side of the window you can tell is the bar.

You stand frozen, unsure of what to do when a guard puts his hand on your shoulder, pushing you back a little.

“Let her in,” you hear a voice.

It sounded like….

Blue?

As your eyes fully adjust to the light, you can see Blue sitting at the desk. He must have done it! He didn’t need you as a distraction after all!

“Blue?” You take a step forward. “Are you alright? Did you do it?”

“Do what sugar?” He chuckles softly and looks to the man standing to his right. It’s only then that you notice this man is Fontana. You gulp, you feel your blood run cold. Something’s not right.

“I thought-“

“You thought what?”

“Blue! Answer me!” You cross your arms over your chest. He’s not usually one for games with you like this.

“Sweetheart, no one tells me what to do.” He tuts with a frown that turns to a malicious smile. “But I suppose…I should explain to you what’s going on.”

A guard closes the door behind you with a click, and you hear the lock turn. You’re scared.

“You see, sugar-“ his voice sounds poisonous, not the one full of smooth honey and sensuality that you’d come to love. “We knew that Sam was the mole. We needed to get to him see? So I knew pulling you away from him would expose him.”

“You used me?”

He nods with another wicked smile.

“Oh, and I’m the boss. If you haven’t guessed that one yet. Always was. Did you really think they’d name a club after a random nightclub singer?” He laughs and so do his men. “Fontana here was my figurehead. And you fell right into my little trap sweet thing.”

“I-“ you feel betrayed. You were betrayed. You turn to leave, but a guard grabs your arm.

“I did NOT say you could leave. Sugar.” Blue yells and slams his hand on his desk. The action causes his perfectly gelled hair to flip down onto his forehead.

“What use do you have for me?” you feel hot tears pouring down your cheeks.

Blue looks up to Fontana with another wicked grin. “Well,” Blue starts and gets up, walking around the desk to face you. Two of his guards have their hands on you, keeping you still. Blue comes over to the front of his desk and leans on the edge looking at you. “You have two options.”

“Which are?” you sniffle and your lip begins to quiver.

“Aww, look at that lip,” he chuckles. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he claps his hands together and you jump. “You want your two options.” He sighs heavily and his thumb smooths over the edge of the desk repeatedly. “You can either marry me, be a mob wife. I’ll give you anything you want. Remember? When you were sucking my cock?” he chuckles and palms his dick through his pants. “You moaned sugar, you wanted to be my little mob wife. Well, now you have that chance!”

Tears are pouring down your cheeks, your face is hot with embarrassment and you feel like you could throw up all over the floor.

“But the second option…well, that’s not as fun. Since you’ve seen too much….well. I think you can guess your second choice.”

“I don’t-“ you sniffle again. You certainly don’t want to die, but what kind of life will you live if you’re Blue’s wife? Did he ever really love you?

“C’mere, sugar,” he beckons you over and the guards release their grip. You step over to him, he’s fully seated on the edge of his desk now. He reaches for you and smooths his hands up and down your arms like he has so many times. “You’re scared. I know. But you want to marry me right?”

“Did you ever?”

“Love you? No. But I did love fucking you,” he smirks. “It’d be a shame to give that up.” He pulls you forward and hovers over your lips with his own. “And remember, you owe me.”

“Owe you?” You pull back.

He hops up and goes to sit back in his chair. He looks through files on top of his desk and hands you a piece of paper. It’s the paper saying that you were hired by the club.

“I hired you. Yeah, your voice is good, but see we needed you. And hey! You got the gig!” he sits up and pulls you around to him. “But you OWE me.” He says pulling you down on his lap. You can feel him hard between your legs. “Feel that sugar? Do you wanna give this up?” He rubs himself against you and you want to pull away.

“So you’ve made your choice then?” he asks, grabbing your face to look at him.

“Blue, no-“

“You have.” He tsks and frowns. “Such a waste of good pussy. Ah, well. I can find another.” He reaches then in his breast pocket for the knife you know he keeps in there. He’s fast, you see it for a split second before he plunges it into your chest.

“Such a waste. She really was a knockout,” he strokes your cheek gently before you fall limp onto his desk. Your blood trickling over the fallen paper in your hand.

Blue stands and he motions towards his men. He snaps his fingers, “take care of this.” He turns looking out the window and he spots a waitress he’s had his eye on for some time. “Bring her to me, I have an itch I need to scratch,” he chuckles palming his hard dick.

Blue repeats looking at your lifeless body as the men carry you off, “she really was a knockout.”

ps....don’t spoil the ending for those who haven’t read it yet!!

tagging: @punkpascal, @sergeantkane, @pascalz, @wasicskosgirl, @tintinwrites, @velvetmel0n, @huliabitch, @mandoplease, @mylifeliterally, @shadow-assassin-blix, @bisexual-space-slut, @writefightandflightclub

#blue jones #blue jones x reader #sucker punch #mob au #my writing #IT'S FINALLY DONE

[chocoholicannanymous]

If the Spit Hits the Fan (Glee) Part XV

Follows pt I, pt II, pt III, pt IV, pt V, part VI, pt VII, part VIII, part IX, part X, part XI, part XII, part XIII and part XIV.

Being Sebastian's boyfriend really isn't that much different from being his friend. They do a lot of the same things, and talk about the same stuff, only now there's hand-holding and kissing and cuddling with it. Apart from the touching though? Nothing really changes much.

Which kind of makes it sound like how it was with Blaine.

It's not though.

Sebastian will hold his hand in the hallway without worrying about being seen. And yes, Dalton is different from McKinley – so, so much different, and safer – but Blaine even hesitated to hold Kurt's hand in the choir room, surrounded by friends.

Sebastian kisses him in a way that never leaves Kurt doubting there's attraction, and has to stop his hands from wandering too far on a regular basis – yet never making Kurt worry he won't stop.

Sebastian makes Kurt have to stop himself, both from allowing it and from doing his own wandering. They're still too new to go there, no matter how much Kurt's hormones sit up and beg every time Sebastian touches him. (They'll get there, Kurt's sure, just... Step by step, and not yet.)

Sebastian reaches out for Kurt without looking – sometimes seemingly without thinking – to pull him close, and always makes a space for him.

And when Sebastian sings, it's with Kurt, or for him, not at him.

It's a far cry from scheduled make-outs and avoiding even PG13 levels of PDA and being made to feel like his boyfriend is more interested in his own hand than in Kurt.

It's amazing.

There's a rainbow rose hanging on Kurt's door on Valentine's day. He and Sebastian have been dating for two days – a day and a half, if he was to be picky – and Kurt knows from last year's insanity that there's not a flower shop within two hours of Vesterville that carries rainbow roses. They have to be ordered special, and with a lot more warning than two days.

Kurt's not the least bit ashamed about how he squeals, or how he turns on his heel and kisses his boyfriend (!) for long enough to be a little dizzy afterwards.

This isn't to say that Sebastian is a perfect boyfriend. He's not. Then again, neither is Kurt. He's working from romantic movies and the examples from the New directions, and of course from his time with Blaine. Neither is a good road map. Romantic movies have so many flaws Kurt don't really want to examine, and a lot of his favorites are set too far back in time to be useful as guidelines. The loves lives of his old glee mates are...well. They're flawed too, when seen without rose-colored glasses and envy.

As for his relationship with Blaine... Even if he's not counting how it ended that relationship was so very less than perfect, and honestly it was both their faults. Kurt's not without blame, he knows that and can admit it without somehow pretending what Blaine did wrong never happened.

So he's trying to learn from his mistakes, and other people's mistakes, and he does his best to communicate with Sebastian – who does the same in return.

Also, no one can say that they don't argue. They definitely do. They have from the beginning, and they're both opinionated passionate people, so why should they stop now? Their relationship has changed – they themselves haven't.

It's just that they manage to argue in a way that works. That doesn't makes Kurt pull out his claws to eviscerate Sebastian, that doesn't scare Kurt, or make him give in to “preserve the peace”. That, right there, was one of the things that had sent his relationship with Blaine down the wrong turn. When he'd first told his dad that he'd begun dating Blaine Burt Hummel had told him never to go to bed angry with his partner. He'd meant to sort out arguments and disagreements, but Kurt had interpreted it as needing to back down and push down his anger or hurt. With Sebastian he doesn't.

They argue, because that's who – and how – they are, but they do it in as mature and healthy way as they are able to, being teenagers. And they apologize if they step over the line. Not Kurt apologizes, regardless, with Sebastian pouting until he does, but both of them.

If Kurt had to, he'd call it damned near perfect. Instead he'll just say it's good, and he's happy.

That's never something to look down on.

The week of Regionals is weird. Kurt's never felt as prepared or as calm with a competition approaching, which is rather telling. The rest of the Warblers are a different story though. Kurt has made it clear that his primary goal is to beat the Troubletones, and his friends are feeling the pressure. They even ask if Kurt and Sebastian won't reconsider singing 'Human Nature'.

“Look, guys, I'm honored, really, that you would trust me, us like that. But I want to win more than I want that solo. And even if we ignore the fact that Ohio doesn't seem ready for a gay duet, I really do think the setlist we have is stronger as is. The Troubletones have a great presence, and both Mercedes and Santana are awesomely talented. However, everything about the Troubletones are built around them. The rest of the girls are background and dancing. If we go on with a number that's the same they are going to win, for no other reason than that most people find girls prettier and nicer to look at.

“But if we go on as an actual choir, for a show choir competition? We'll win. I'm sure of it. We've worked so hard with our songs, and I wouldn't change a thing about our setlist.”

And it's true. They have an amazing setlist, and everything flows in a way that makes Kurt feel practically professional, and he's not giving that – and its chance to win – up to stare longingly at Sebastian while singing a song that exposes them to the core.

No. Kurt's going to have quite a lot more time in the spotlight than he'd expected when turning down a proper solo. He's going to sing with his friends, and his boyfriend, and he's going to show McKinley what it means to be a team onstage.

The Troubletones are just as amazing onstage as Kurt thought. They've done a good job picking their songs, and Mercedes still has the best voice he's ever heard live. Santana's not quite as talented, but give her the right song – which these are – and she'll blow your mind. Their choreography showcases the girls poached from the Cheerios without making Mercedes look too far behind, and their clothes look good.

Kurt would vote for them any day, even with Rachel being given a place in the background, except this one. This is going to be his day. He meets Sebastians eyes as they line up and nods.

Showtime.

'I want You Back' does exactly what it's meant to, namely getting the audience in a party mood. As the last notes flows into the first from 'Man in the Mirror' the mood shifts and Kurt feels his own shift with it. His solo feels a little raw, because in no way can he sing those lines without being reminded of all the crap he's gone through over the past 6 months.

“...a willow deeply scared, somebody's broken heart and a washed out dream...”

Well. His heart might have been broken, and his dreams about Blaine did wash out. But he's got new dreams, and his hearts healed, and no matter the scars he's whole where it matters. And even if he wasn't? He's looking in the mirror, and he's changing.

They bring the party back with their last song, giving their all transforming the sounds of 'Beat It' to sounds that can be reproduced by the human throat. The dancing is the most demanding Kurt's ever done onstage, and he knows he will definitely be beat after. But they look and sound awesome, and that's all that matters.

Or maybe not, he ruefully thinks as he sees Finn on his feet, jumping up and down and whooping as the Warblers are proclaimed the winners and Rachel looks like she's been pelted with eggs again.

“You stole our songs!”

Of course. All Kurt wants to do is get on the bus, go back to Dalton and celebrate. Okay, shower, then celebrate. So naturally Rachel is waiting to ambush him. Well, that's not going to go the way she's probably thinking.

“Really? Really Rachel, you're going there? You know very well that we didn't steal anything. Oh, I know that there was a suggestion that the New Directions do Michael for Sectionals, but I also know that you were the one who refused to accept it.

“You really blew it there. Michael is a great choice for Sectionals or Regionals, what with the Ohio mindset, and I'm pretty sure you would have won with the setlist the guys suggested. I'm not surprised you put a stop to it though.”

Rachel draws back, looking first shocked, then insulted, then finally like an angry goose, complete with hissing sound. He's not letting it touch him though, lets it run over him, one might say, like water over a goose.

“There are no songs in Michael Jacksons discography that's a given for you, no certainty that you'll be featured. And in the end, that's what mattered, wasn't it? Not that the New Directions won, but that you won. You wanted to beat the Troubletones, didn't you? Wanted to show that you were better than Mercedes, wanted to prove that her beating you when auditioning for Maria was just a fluke. Wanted to prove what everyone knows, that's she's every bit as good as you, and sometimes better, is wrong.

“Well, congratulations. You got what you wanted in terms of the setlist and the spotlight, but you fucked up everything else. And not just for you, but for everyone.”

An expression of pain flies across Rachel's face, and he pushes the knife in a little bit further.

“We weren't as blind though. The minute Finn told me about the Michael setlist I knew it was a winner. As did the other Warblers. I asked Finn first, and Sam and Puck. They didn't think we needed their permission, as you didn't use the songs, but they gave it any way.”

Kurt looks at Rachel, looks at the way she's still fuming, still refusing to see any other side than her own. It won't matter what he says – she'll keep ignoring any and all arguments against her. Once he might have tried harder to make her understand, but as things are he just wants to leave. His boyfriend's waiting and that makes Kurt out of time to spend on his former friend.

“Your loss, our gain.”

He starts to leave, but thinks better of it. He's got one more jab in him.

“Oh, and Rachel? Don't worry. Going to Nationals is a privilege, and we won't waste it. We've already gotten started on a setlist.”

It's petty, but. So's she.

That evening the Warblers celebrate as thoroughly as a bunch of uniformed boys in a well-staffed boarding school can. This means that it's late when Kurt drags Sebastian to his room (unlike him Sebastian's in a single), but neither of them is under the influence of anything but happiness.

That's important to Kurt as they tumble into Sebastian's bed while kissing, because he doesn't want there to be any doubt in Sebastian's mind that when Kurt pulls off his shirt and then goes for his fly it's because he wants to.

Having Sebastian stop him is frustrating, to say the very least.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

It's only the fact that it's Sebastian, and that he's shown himself trustworthy in so many ways over the past months that stops Kurt from storming out.

“I thought we... You know?”

It's so hard to say, to open himself up like this, years of being told he's a predator, or ugly, or plain wrong getting just as much in his way as the fact that he's never done this, and the only time he's been even close wasn't even about him.

Apparently he's going to have to use his words regardless, because Sebastian's not taking the opening.

“I thought we could have sex.” There. Words. Consent. Door wide open.

And yet Sebastian's still not taking the opening.

“What's the hurry?”

Kurt pulls back a little, hurt blooming.

“No, no, don't. Talk to me, okay? I'm a bit surprised I guess. We haven't even been dating for two months yet, and I know this is new for you.”

“So? It's not like I'm waiting for marriage.”

Kurt knows he sounds a bit snippy, and he has sort of been waiting – not for marriage, but for something, some feeling of more. He's got that feeling with Sebastian, so what's the point of waiting any longer? Everyone else his age (or so it feels) is having sex so why can't he?

Some of it must bleed through because Sebastian gets that “aha” look, and nods a bit.

“Look, regardless of what I might have said or implied when chasing Blaine, I'm actually not the whore of Babylon. I have, however, rounded a few bases and enjoyed them. I think you'd enjoy them too, and I would love to find out first hand. But that doesn't have to mean we go straight to fucking.” Kurt blushes, because he might be ready to do it, but those words...

“So. I'm not going to push, and I'm not going to rush. I am more than interested though, I'm just happy to take it a bit slow. To build up to every step. As far as I'm concerned you've earned that.”

Sebastian's looking so earnest it kills Kurt annoyance, and then lightning-quick it's replaced by a vicked look than makes him shiver all over.

“I wouldn't mind showing you the first of many, many bases now though. How about it, babe?”

Kurt doesn't mind either, neither then nor the next day.

#chocoholic fics #kurt fic #kurt hummel #sebastian smythe #a wild sebastian appears #kurtbastian

[lazyangeltreemoney]

Emergency Contact

Oneshot, Rich Kid AU

Description: James Barnes has been Y/N’s best friends since they were kids, even though they seem to come from completely different worlds. So much so that Bucky lists Y/N as his emergency contact, but the spoiled rich kid has to learn the hard way that Y/N has a life too.

Pairings: Rich-Kid!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 5991

Warnings: swearing, Bucky being a brat, car crash, hospitals, character injury, police stations, ANGST

A/N: this one is angsty AF and involves two idiots being in love. also gotta love a little bit of feisty!reader, hope y’all enjoy.

“So Y/N the demo sounds amazing-” 

RING RING RING

Y/N almost jumped out of her seat trying to silence her phone. Sat in the big office, the man sat opposite her with lots of big gold records in frames behind him gave her a judgemental stare. 

“Sorry about that, as you were saying, Mr Graves,” Y/N spoke, trying to sound as professional as possible. 

She was so close, this could be it, her big break. Finally, she sat in the office with Mr Jimmy Graves, one of the biggest music producers on the scene. All the fame and fortune, she could almost taste it. It would make all those nights singing in shitty bars worth it. 

“As I was saying, the demo is amazing, your voice, out of this world, but I’m afraid that you’re not the look we’re going for at the moment.” Mr Graves finished on a low note. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Y/N choked out, no, no this couldn’t be happening. 

Just as Mr Graves tried to downplay crushing her dreams by offering her a role as a backing singer on some other artists track, her infernal phone rang again. 

RING RING RING

No longer caring about anything the man had to say anymore, she answered it. 

“Hello, who is this?” Y/N seethed out, she tried her best to not sound pissed off but she was not having a good day. 

“Hello, is this Miss L/N, I’m calling from the 87th precinct, you’ve been listed as James Barnes emergency contact, I’m sorry ma’am but you’ll have to come down to the station,”

It probably wasn’t a good idea to be speeding on the way to a police precinct but when it came to Bucky Y/N didn’t care. Parking her car up by the sidewalk, she rushed out into the precinct. When she walked in one of the detectives practically swept her up and led her to where they were holding Bucky. 

The detective looked tired and was holding a cup of coffee. As Y/N followed him down the halls towards the interrogation room he seemed to look more and more pissed off. Y/n could only assume he had been interrogating Bucky, god he could be an ass when he wanted to. She even felt sorry for the detective. 

They eventually reached a room at the end of the hall. The detective opened it to show Bucky handcuffed to the desk. The room had dark walls and a blinding white light directly over Bucky. Behind him was a one-way mirror where Y/n could see some bloody marks on Bucky’s back. His face was bruised, along with his hands looking bloody. 

“Jesus Buck.” Y/N sighed at the sight of him. 

Bucky raised his head to look at her. He was so focused on her that he didn’t even look at the detective that uncuffed him. 

“Looks like Daddy’s bailed you out, my superiors have told me to let you go… don’t let me see you again, Barnes.” The detective warned him in a low tone. 

“And I was about to add you to the Christmas card list.” seethed sarcastically as he got up out of the chair. 

Bucky knew the drill and knew where to collect his stuff. He walked past Y/N and down the corridor, completely blanking her. It’s fine, not as if I’m here to pick your ass up away. Y/N looked back at the detective who was giving her an apologetic stare. 

“You his girlfriend or something?” The detective asked. 

“Nope, do I dare ask what he was taken in for?” Y/N winced as if she was bracing for impact. 

“Assault and destruction of property, it was a bar fight that got out of hand apparently.” The detective explained. 

“Thank you, Detective.” Y/N sighed and went to follow after Bucky. 

“Ma’am if I could offer some advice, rich boys like Barnes take everything for granted, don’t let him take you for granted as well.” The detective’s wisdom, however, didn’t sit right with her. 

She wanted to argue back at him, tell him that he didn’t know Bucky but Bucky was calling her from down the end of the hall telling her to hurry up. The detective only flashed her a look of ‘I told you so’ before Y/n went racing out after Bucky. 

When Y/N got outside Bucky was smoking a cigarette. He looked a little more cooled down from earlier but still relatively annoyed. The orange embers at the end of the cigarette seemed to illuminate him in an amber glow. Even bruised and bloodied he still looked beautiful. Y/n had known Bucky since they were children and she had always thought he was beautiful. Bucky glanced up at Y/N and took one long drag on the cigarette before stubbing it out. 

“How the hell did my Dad even know I was here?” Bucky groaned as he walked with Y/n to her car. 

“You’re Dad probably knows one of the officers, still it’s nice of him to bail you out for what, the tenth time this month?” Y/N argued with him, she really didn’t want to fight with Bucky right now but sometimes it was the only way to get anything through his thick skull. 

“What does it matter to you?” Bucky argued back, stopping dead in his tracks. 

Because I care about you, you idiot.

“You know listing me as your emergency contact doesn't mean I’m at your beck and call at any point.”  Y/N tried to remind him that she had a life as well. 

“Please, I’m not taking you away from much, your nights of singing in dirty bars and songwriting for cheesy commercials are oh so important to you all of a sudden?” Bucky questioned in his ever sarcastic tone. 

“God, could you stop being such a spoiled rich kid for two seconds.” Y/N groaned

“I’m just saving you some time Doll, you really think you’re gonna make it big one day like this?” Bucky’s sarcastic questions were cutting through her like a knife. Every harsh word from him was another stab at her. How could he say such things? Had he always been this harsh and Y/N was just blind to it? 

“Just because I have to work for what I want doesn’t make it impossible Barnes, I haven’t been gifted everything I want like you.” Y/N was trying to hold back the tears, god she really hated fighting with him. 

“Y/N, that’s the only way you get anything in life, but I’ll tell you what, if you want to spend the rest of your life singing in the same bars uninterrupted then I’ll take you off my emergency contact, hell I’ll take you off my whole contact list,” Bucky yelled at her. 

Maybe it was the fact that she had just had her dreams crushed once tonight already made Bucky’s words sting so much. The fact that she had been told she doesn’t have the right look, the fact that Bucky, who had once believed so heavily in her dreams, was now trying to tear them down. Spite is an excellent motivator, however. 

“Fuck you Bucky,” Y/N wasn’t sure what came over her but she shoved Bucky into the lampost, she felt god damn feral and Bucky could only watch her in shock. “I’m going to make it so fucking big, my names going to be in lights, in every talk show hosts mouth, my songs are going to be on the radio and I’m going to sing in the biggest arenas on this planet and I’m going to earn every second of it, meanwhile you will just be some spoiled rich kid who is only known as George Barnes’ brat.” Y/N’s words dripped out of her like venom as she walked away from Bucky. 

It was only when she had her back turned could she let the tears finally escape her. She didn’t care that she was meant to pick him up, he could walk home for all she cared. Right now she needed to be as far away from him as possible. As she drove herself home could think of Bucky and how things had become so messed up. 

He was once such a sweet and kind boy, being her best friend and supporting her for as long as she could remember. She remembered the nights when Bucky wouldn’t miss a single one of her performances, always insisting every time she sang was better than the last. Now, he was almost unrecognisable. It was as if time had taken the kind boy and replaced him with a selfish and cruel man. Y/N decided that night that she didn’t need Bucky, that she was going to make it big without him and it was going to be glorious. 

The crowd applauded as Y/N bowed slightly and bid the crowd goodnight. Stepping down from the stage another singer walked up on the stage and introduced themselves. A year had passed since Y/N left Bucky outside that police precinct and she was actually doing pretty well for herself. 

Less than a month after the fight she had managed to get a job at a classy club in Manhattan full time. It was owned by a wealthy man named Loki who seemed to love Y/N’s voice more than anything else in the world. He paid her well and let her have her pick of the setlist, luck seemed to suddenly be in her favour. For nine months it was bliss… until James Fucking Barnes brought the club off Loki and became the new owner. 

Y/N had no proof but she was convinced Bucky had brought the place purely to spite her. That he was desperate to make her feel as if she couldn’t do anything without him. It’s not even as if Y/N could have left, where else was she going to get a job she loved that paid her this well? So for the past three months, she had been avoiding Bucky like the plague. Only talking to him when absolutely necessary, not caring that he was now her boss. 

Every night that Bucky knew Y/N was performing he was there at the club. Every night he would listen to her angelic voice, watch her take the crowds breath away as she sang and every night he would realise how wrong he was. Y/N would walk on stage in a beautiful dress that would always leave him tongue-tied and make his heart stop. You would think six months away from her would have given him time to figure out what to say to her… but it didn’t. How do you apologise for being an ass to your best friend for years? 

He didn’t mean to become such a monster, but power had grown on him like a tumour. He felt untouchable, nothing he did matter anymore. Any problem he had he could simply throw money on and it would disappear. Anyone he wanted usually wanted him just as much. Soon he became as cold as his money. Even his childhood best friend couldn’t make him come back to reality. 

Y/N leaving also made Bucky have another heartbreaking realisation… he loved her. When Y/N walked away from him that night at first he tried to not care. He still went out, got into fights, danced with whoever he liked and drank as much as he wanted. But none of it filled the hole in his heart. It was in a noisy night club with a girl trying to climb on his lap that he realised that he would much rather be in Y/N’s small apartment and having Y/N cuddle up against him. He missed the nights where they would talk about everything and nothing all at once. The nights where they would drink and Y/n would get the courage to show him the new songs she’d been working on. 

When he found out that Y/N was singing at the Heimdal, a club that his Dad was looking to buy, he leapt at the chance. He hoped that by becoming her boss she would have to talk to him, they would have a heartwarming reunion and somehow fall in love. However, Y/N had been cold and curt to Bucky the second he walked back into her life.

Y/N waltzed over to the bar, feeling absolutely parched after her last set. Sam, the bartender, handed her a glass of water and then handed her another drink. This one looked like some kind of fruity cocktail, definitely not what she’d ordered. Y/n shot him a confused look. 

“It’s from him again,” Sam sighed giving her an apologetic look, “It’s here if you want it.”

“I won’t.” Y/N grimaced. 

Bucky’s new tactic to get her to talk to him wasn’t even talking to her, but to have Sam always give her some fancy drink after her set. Guess he’s still just throwing money at his problems. Annoyed, Y/N sat down on one of the bar stools and took another sip of water. She knew she shouldn’t have but briefly looking over her shoulder she saw Bucky sat in one of the clubs’ booths. He did look a little better than when she last saw him. He'd cut his hair shorter and shaved his beard, that combined with his navy suit made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. 

However, the sight of a girl sat next to him, clearly trying to get in his lap made Y/N cringe. One second he was buying Y/N drinks and the next he was getting off with other girls. A small amount of jealousy boiled in her stomach… but she couldn’t say why. Y/N had watched him go on plenty of dates during college, she never felt jealous then but now she can’t stand the sight of Bucky and this bimbo. 

Y/N was pulled from her thoughts by a stranger sitting next to her. He called over to Sam asking for a scotch and gestured to Y/N.

“-And another round for the Lady when she finishes her drink.” The man spoke. 

“What’s the occasion?” Y/n asked cautiously at him with a raised brow. 

“Nothing much just heard the most angelic voice in America, is all.” The man said nonchalantly with a smirk on her face. 

A slight blush appeared on Y/N’s face and she moved a strand of hair behind her ear. No one had complimented her on her voice like that before, not even Bucky. Trying to not seem too fluster, Y/N sat up a little straighter.

“So what brings you here tonight, Mr…?” Y/N asked, giving a genuine smile. 

“Tony Stark, a friend of mine kept saying that they had an actual angel perform here, turns out he wasn’t wrong.” He took another sip of his drink and winked at Y/N. 

“Wait, Stark as in Stark Records…” Y/N whispered the last part as the realisation hit her. 

Tony Stark, the owner of Stark Records had just brought her a drink and said that she liked her voice, called it angelic in fact. 

“Yes, don’t tell me you’re going to faint.” Tony teased 

“No promises.” Y/n let out a faint laugh, still in shock.

Tony and Y/N had been chatting briefly, he asked her about what music is liked, the conversation moved onto Y/N’s original music and Tony was practically begging to hear some demos. Y/N matched his excitement, this was the happiest she had felt in so long. Tony listened to one of her songs through her headphones and he knew that she was going to be his next star. 

“So, what do you say that you stop singing for Barnes and start singing for me, I’ve been looking for a new star and honestly Y/N, you’d be perfect.” Tony offered. 

“Are you serious, you sure I don’t have the wrong look or something?” Y/N asked meekly, her insecurities getting the better of her.

“Sweetheart, anyone who doesn’t like looking at you has something wrong with them.” Tony smiled back at her. 

Many of his current stars were once like Y/N. Immensely talented but scared they weren’t the right look. Tony, however, knew from experience that someone as talented as Y/N didn’t need to follow some look. 

Y/N was about to accept Tony’s offer when she heard a giggle behind her. 

“James, at least wait till we’re back at yours.” The girl seemed to squeal. 

Even now, James Fucking Barnes seemed to be taking her spotlight. It was childish, the jealousy and silent treatment but Bucky seemed to bring out the worst in her. Y/N let out a frustrated huff and then she saw the fruity cocktail Sam had given her.

“Actually Sam, I'll take that drink,” Y/N smirked, grabbing the tall glass. “If you’ll excuse me for one second.” 

Bucky had decided to have another drink, telling himself that after this one he would finally work up the courage to talk to Y/N. That was the plan, it was the plan he had made over three hours ago, now he had some random girl by his side who was causing a scene. Bucky knew these types of girls all too well, the ones who wanted the tabloids to be going nuts with seeing a girl hanging off his arms. Bucky was trying to make it clear that he wasn’t interested but this one was persistent and the drink was beginning to catch up with him. 

Just as he was about to tell the girl to go far, far away he felt a splash of cold water on his face. He jumped out of his chair in shock and was ready to call security when he looked up to see it was Y/N who had thrown the drink of him. 

“You can keep your drinks,” Y/N began, placing the now empty glass on his table, “and I quit.” A satisfied smirk appeared on her face as she waltzed away from him. 

Bucky was gobsmacked, the whole room was staring at him, even the band had stopped playing. Bucky could only watch Y/N walk towards a man by the bar. He desperately wanted to chase after her but the girl who had been on his lap most of the night was now whining non-stop. 

“Ugh James I think some of it got on my dress, this is PRADA you bitch, JJaaammmess call security on her!” She was like an angry chihuahua. 

Y/N could hear the girls whining at Bucky and it only made her pride swell. Have fun with her tonight ‘James’. She sauntered towards Tony who could only chuckle at Y/N’s actions. 

“You’re going to be a handful aren’t you.” Tony raised a brow at her. 

“Well, there’s nothing like a good bit of publicity,” Y/N smirked. 

With that Y/N left the club for the last time on Tony’s arm and with Bucky left hopelessly behind. To her, it seemed like a fitting start to her new life. 

Five years had passed since she first met Tony. He had become her mentor, teaching her how to truly make a lasting impression on audiences and how to act now that she was under the media's watchful eye. 

With every new song Y/N released, her fame only grew more and more. In a mere five years, she had become an icon with her voice and ‘angelic’ style of dress. Tony’s words the first night she met became something of a mantra to Y/N. True to her word, she was bigger and better than she ever believed she could be. She had proved Bucky wrong at every chance she was given… even if he wasn’t around to see it. 

Y/N had just finished tonight’s performance and was cooling down in her dressing room. No matter how many times she performed to thousands of people, she still needed some quiet time after to make all the adrenaline leave her body. She’d changed out of her costume and simply had on a silk robe as she removed her makeup. The silence of the room was a stark contrast to the screaming crowds Y/N had been in front of earlier but she liked it. It was something to keep her grounded. 

Just as Y/N finished removing her makeup her phone rang. Tony made fun of her for being one of the biggest names in America and still having the same phone from five years ago. Something about the nostalgia of it was comforting. Despite her fame and fortune, Y/N never wanted to forget everything she had because she worked for it. She didn’t recognise the number but nonetheless, she answered the call. 

“Hello?” 

“Is this Y/N L/N… the actual Y/N L/N speaking?” A voice asked on the other line. 

“Yes, who is this?” Y/N replied, there weren’t many people these days who had her number.

“I’m a nurse at St. Andrews hospital, we’ve recently had to admit James Barnes and he’s listed you as his emergency contact,” 

By some miracle, Y/N had been touring in the same state where Bucky was. Tony had warned Y/N against it, telling her that the paparazzi would be on her like vultures and ‘wasn’t Barnes the same guy you threw your drink on.’ But she couldn’t just ignore him, she never could. 

Y/N tried to dress as casually as possible and wore a pair of sunglasses in hopes that she wouldn’t be spotted. As she walked up to the reception she felt like cursing whatever cruel God was going to bring James Barnes thundering back into her life. 

It just had to be from a hospital, I haven't had one phone call from him in years and when I finally do it’s because he’s hurt himself… I guess something will never change. 

Y/N told herself she would just see if he was okay if he was then she could simply walk away and never see him again. The lady on reception told her that he was in room 104, so Y/n walked down the corridor trying to hold her head high. No matter how hard she tried, there was an uneasy pit of worry forming inside her. What if Bucky was seriously hurt? What if he was dying? All the worst possible scenarios seemed to be forming in her mind. She needed to find Bucky and she needed to find him now. 

Before she knew it, Y/n was running towards his room. Acting almost on impulse she heaved the door open to see Bucky lying on the hospital bed. At first glance, Bucky seemed to be fine with only a couple of scratches and bruises on him but then Y/n looked at him properly. Maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me? But they weren’t… Bucky’s left arm was gone. 

Bucky looked up to see some girl standing in his room. She was wearing a cream trench coat and sunglasses as if she was from old Holywood. There was a second of uneasy silence when Bucky was about to explain that she had the wrong room when she finally spoke up.

“Bucky,” Her voice quivered as she walked closer to him. She removed her sunglasses and Bucky could have sworn his heart stopped beating then and there. 

He had seen so much of her, in the papers, magazines and on almost every billboard in the country. True to her word she had become a star, bigger and brighter than ever. However, no matter how many times he saw her on paper it didn’t come close to seeing her in person. 

“Jesus Buck,” She sighed when she was finally right next to him, “What happened to you?” 

Bucky looked down to where his arm should’ve been but instead all he could see was disgusting scar tissue peeking out from his bandage. There wasn’t much to say other than he had been his usual self and this time it nearly killed him. He was speeding down a dark country road without a care in the world when the car spun out of control and hit another car driving the other way. By a miracle, the other driver hadn’t been hurt but fate wasn’t going to let Bucky get away scot-free. Bucky looked back up to Y/N, he didn’t want to admit to her that after all these years he was still being an idiot. 

“You were right you know, you made it bigger than anyone ever thought you could be and you did earn every single bit of it all by yourself,” Bucky began to speak. His voice sounded rough and strained as he talked. Every word that came from his mouth seemed to break Y/N’s heart. 

“You were right about me as well… I’m nothing more than some spoiled rich kid.” Bucky seemed to hang his head in shame. 

“Oh, Bucky, you’re so much more than that,” Y/N instantly felt the guilt from their argument wash over her. In all these years she never considered that what she said might have hurt Bucky. 

“No I am, I’m pathetic... I can’t even hold you in my arms… I always thought the next time I saw you I would get to hold you-” Bucky choked up, tears beginning to well up in his eyes. 

Y/N’s heart broke at the sight. Acting as if no time had passed, Y/n kneeled down next to him and took his head in her hands, wiping away his tears. 

“I’ve felt so numb for so long Y/N, I haven’t felt anything in five years until you walked through that door,” Bucky admitted. 

“You have no idea what it was like to hear your name for the first time in five years, pretty sure my heart stopped.” Y/N’s face carried the same pained expression as his. 

That was when it dawned on Bucky, he never did remove her from his emergency contact. Part of him was beginning to wonder why she had suddenly appeared in the hospital. An awkward silence fell between them. They hadn’t seen each other in so long and they didn’t part on the best terms but right now Bucky needed Y/N. He needed the girl who became his friend when he was 11, the girl who cared for him more than words could say but also called up out for all his bullshit. So that’s when he asked her,

“I know I have no right to ask you, but please don’t go, please?” Bucky begged. 

At that moment Y/N released how broken Bucky was. In all of her life Bucky seemed to demand everything, so used to having everything at his beck and call. This was the first time in her life she could recall Bucky actually asking for something.

“I’m not going anywhere Bucky, I’ll always be here for you when you need me.” Y/N told him. 

She meant it with every fibre in her body. There was some cruel silver lining in this whole story. That this tragic night needed to happen to bring them back to each other. Y/N stayed with Bucky all night, even when they tried to kick her out after visiting hours, Y/N merely dropped her name and they let her stay all night. 

Bucky had been given some heavy pain meds and was fast asleep but still, Y/N refused to leave his side. He could have died tonight. Those words played over in her mind like a bad record. It’s what made her realise that she had spent over six years without her best friend. That she had abandoned him when he needed her the most. Y/N didn’t even have a good reason for abandoning him other than pettiness and stubbornness. 

Then Y/N’s phone rang, it was Tony and Y/N already knew he was going to be pissed. 

“Hey, Tones,” Y/N answers trying to sound as sweet as possible. 

“Well if it isn’t my Darling protege, tell me Y/N in all teachings have you truly learnt nothing?” Tony’s sarcastic tone made Y/N pull away slightly from the phone. As badly as she wanted to hang up on him then and there, it would have only made him angrier. 

“Tony,” Y/N sighed down the phone, hoping she could calm him down. 

“Oh no you’re not talking your way out of this, there’s currently about 100 reporters and paps outside the hospital as we speak and they’re sure as hell not leaving without some answers,” 

Y/N tried to cut in but Tony was very clearly not finished with his rant. 

“-Answers as to why The Y/N L/N suddenly ditched her own after-party for some random guy in a hospital bed, what Bonzo story are you going to try and float here?” Tony groaned down the phone. 

“I don’t know, okay!” Y/N yelled back, her sweet exterior finally broken down, “He just called and I came running, it’s always been the same old schtick… it’s like I can’t fucking help myself,” Y/N’s voice wasn’t as harsh as Tony’s there was still a magnitude in the words she said. 

She could have simply not come and told the lady that Bucky was trying to pull a fast one but she didn’t. Instead, she put everything in her life on hold just to make sure he was okay and the worst part? She would do it again in a heartbeat. 

“Look I can take care of the reporters, claim that it’s a close family friend but I need you to do something for me,” Tony sighed, “I need you to promise me that you won’t give everything up for him… whatever you two have isn’t worth losing everything you worked for.” 

Y/N didn’t have the strength to keep arguing with him or anyone else. Going through the motions, Y/N simply hung up and looked back up at Bucky. He was fast asleep, the pain meds kicking in at last. That was when an awful thought hit her, she could leave now… he’s alive, you’ve done your duty… but then what? Wait another five years until he gets hurt again? She wanted to stay for him but it couldn’t be like last time. Things needed to change. 

When Bucky woke up it was nearly 10 am, man the pain meds must’ve knocked him out cold. He glanced around the room, there were nurses, monitors and IV drips all around him but no Y/N. Had she snuck out in the night? Bucky couldn’t have blamed her if she had, one night wasn’t going to make up for the near-decade he had spent being an ass. 

“Rise and shine, Handsome,” A nurse called over to him as she checked over his vitals. 

Bucky could only give her a small nod of acknowledgement, his mind too preoccupied with Y/N. 

“Something on your mind there, handsome,” The nurse kept pestering him. 

“His name is James,” 

Bucky pushed himself up to see it was Y/N standing by the door holding a coffee and a couple of bags. Her tone towards the nurse was flat and unamused. Something that made Bucky smile properly for the first time in years. The nurse finally left but not before telling Bucky he could simply ‘buzz’ for her at any time, in a sultry voice, a voice that made Bucky feel like spiders were crawling up his back. 

Y/N was giving the nurse a death glare until she had finally left the room. Letting out a small huff, Y/N placed the cup of coffee down on the table and started going through the various shopping bags she had, silently. 

“You don’t have to be jealous,” Bucky spoke, 

“I’m not jealous,” Y/N muttered as she continued to go through the bags. 

“Yes you are, you’ve got the same look on your face as you did when you saw Cindy Schatt’s kissing John Rider,” Bucky chuckled at the memory of that pool party at his house decades ago. 

Y/N just remained silent, trying to not make eye contact with him. Bucky knew that she only did that when she knew he was right but didn’t want to argue. To be completely honest, Bucky didn’t want to argue either. He felt that they had wasted too much time arguing and swallowing their feelings, far too much time. 

“I love you,” Bucky stated, his voice calm, clear and confident. 

Y/N’s hands suddenly stopped moving. All the cogs in her brain stopped working as she tried to comprehend what Bucky had just said… he said he loved her. Slowly, she glanced up and allowed her gaze to meet him. 

“Y/N, I love you so please don’t waste your time being jealous over some nurse,” Bucky repeated, making it clear to Y/N that he had no hidden agenda. 

“How should I spend my time then?” Y/N murmured. 

“Tell me you love me back,” Bucky breathed

“I’ve always loved you, that’s the problem,” Y/N sighed, why did it always seem to end in a fight with him. 

Bucky felt like the oxygen in the air was suffocating him. God, with every other girl in his life it had always been so easy bit with Y/N he never seemed to be able to find the right words to say. What annoyed Bucky the most was how simple things could be, she loved him and he loved her. This was supposed to be where they would finally get their happy ending, the boy finally confesses his love for the girl and they crash into each other and kiss while the credits roll. 

Y/N looked up at Bucky trying to gauge his reaction. Surely her confession couldn’t have surprised him so much. Was Bucky that clueless? All those nights she came rushing to his side when he was being a reckless idiot? Did he just assume she would do that for anyone? Bucky, however, looked completely at a loss. That was when Y/N said fuck it. 

She walked over to Bucky and kissed him. Y/N cupped his cheeks and kissed him like it was the last time she would ever see him… she hadn’t quite made up her mind yet if it was going to be. Bucky kissed her back so desperately, convincing himself that her kiss was more vital to him than breathing. When Y/N finally pulled away slightly for air, Bucky couldn’t help but reach up for the taste of her lips again. 

But then he noticed Y/N pull away slightly further, her hands still cupped his cheeks as if she never wanted to let go. But at the same time, she didn’t want to give all of herself to him, not anymore. 

“Doll,” Bucky whispered. 

“I just- I just can’t let it be like last time, James,” Y/N whispered back. 

“Never, I will never be like that again, it’s already cost me far too much and I’m sure as hell not losing you again,” Bucky’s eyes were just as glassy as her’s, tears threatening to spill at any moment. 

Y/N wanted to tell him how he never truly lost her but Bucky didn’t give her the chance. He kissed her, somehow even more feverishly than last time. They parted panting and forehead resting against one another. It wasn’t the kindest of reunions but it was certainly the sweetest.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #ceo!bucky #ceo!bucky x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #avenegrs #marvel #winter solider x reader #richkid!bucky #singer!reader #tony stark x reader

[passable-talent]

what about,,, modern au,,, punk mucisian au,,,, anakin with tattoos pLEASE

may I introduce u to my new favorite gif...

also. plot twist! what if,, and hear me out,, you’re the musician, and he’s the fan?

i made an entire setlist for this fuckn au of my taste in punk-ish rock-ish music to base certain lines, moods, and lighting off of. it exists. i’ll hand it over if you ask.

stumbled over this headcanon as i wrote but,,,, modern au anakin absolutely grew up in nevada. desert. middle of nowhere. close to vegas and the racing. automobile industry. thank u for ur time  

This whole ‘music’ thing was actually working out. Imagine that. 

You were gaining fame slowly- your record company still didn’t get you big gigs, but you got something. 

Something like this, in fact. A small, dingy laser tag place, but it was perfect nonetheless. Perfect for you. You felt right at home- it was too hot, and the audience was still loud, since the music hadn’t started. The stage was small, but the lights were bright, and you were standing behind the curtains that had been hung barely a foot from the wall. 

“Ready?” you heard Padme ask- Padme, the lead guitarist, your best friend. She was on stage, currently, hidden from the crowd by a blanket of black. On the other side of the stage, you knew, was Ahsoka, the drummer, a little tiny teenager you’d picked up last summer when your original drummer quit, and beside her was undoubtedly Aayla, your bassist. You were lucky- you were surrounded by such great friends that you could pull your weight without having to play the guitar. Which was good for everyone- you were an awful guitar player. 

“Anytime, loves,” you said, a smile lighting your lips. You’d almost overdosed on the anti-anxiety pills this morning- the feeling of playing a gig still unfamiliar and nerve wracking. 

But you heard the music start, and started to sing. 

Only when this particular song really kicked into gear did you toss open the curtain, and the cheer went up, almost drowning out the music. You were certainly the fan favorite of the band, only because you were the most expressive. You didn’t have an instrument, so you got to run around on stage, and kneel down to reach out, brushing your fingers to the crowd’s as you sang, like God to Adam. 

It really wasn’t a looks thing- for some, it might be, but not to most. Hey, if there was anyone that should really get the attention, it was Padme. She was unfairly beautiful. 

The great thing about being a punk artist was that most of your fans were, too. They came with their tattoos and snuck in their weed, their ripped jeans always leaving with a few more holes than they arrived with. A band like yours, so dominated by women, had really caught on with a female crowd, but there were always guys here, too. You never really cared to know if it was their dicks or their ears that brought them.

There was a little bit of a problem, though. You were well known for trying to make connections with as many fans as you could- not for your sake, but for theirs. You loved taking selfies, touching their fingers, winking at them during a particularly suggestive lyric, guys and girls alike. Which lead to a little problem, one that Ahsoka loved to refer to as your ‘wattpad fantasy’. 

Growing up when you had, you’d all been all over the internet, into each of its corners. You knew the common trope that teenaged fans had with their favorite artists- that they’d catch the eye of the main singer, and get dragged backstage after the show.

You had the opposite fantasy. Too many times did one or another audience member catch your eye, and yeah, sometimes you did consider catching them before they left after the show. It never worked- either you lost track of them, or you didn’t have the guts to go through with it. 

When you laid eyes on him, though, you wanted so desperately to go through with it tonight. 

You tried not to be obvious, you really did try to be subtle- but whenever the multicolored lights caught his hair, your gaze was pulled back to him, no matter how much you wanted to give equal attention to every audience member brave enough to wrestle their way to the front row. 

But you also wanted to make sure he knew. That you’d noticed him.

With one or two lyrics, lines like “tell me that you love me, even if it’s only for tonight”, you let your eyes catch his, hoping to whatever powers there might’ve been that he’d be looking back at you. 

The halftime break, the intermission, came faster than expected, and you dropped into the one room the laser tag place set aside for you, and tried to clean as much sweat from your scalp and hair as you could. 

“Alright, what is it?” Padme asked from behind you.

“What to you mean?” you asked, glancing at her through the mirror you were using to try to artfully smudge your eyeliner. 

“You’re favoring the left side of the audience. What, find a wattpad boy?”

“Another one?” Ahsoka called from the other side of the room, rubbing sore callouses on her palms.

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved them off with a laugh, “let me dream.” 

Act II came around, and back to the stage you went, trying to be even more subtle this time around. Still, you kept track of him- he hadn’t moved far. Maybe, if you watched him carefully enough, you’d get to meet him before he left. 

It was hard to do, and you hadn’t yet been successful. You really weren’t supposed to offer fans any ‘free’ attention, or at least, that was the way your manager had put it. If you let everybody take a picture with you, then no one will buy backstage passes. 

A sentiment that your anarchist side absolutely resented. Fuck capitalism, you wanted to chill with your fans. 

But hey, back on topic! It was amazing how you could totally tune out during a song, and tune back in, still strutting around the state, still singing perfectly. Luckily, you’d brought yourself back to reality, right when the second to last song was about to end. 

When it faded away, you stepped to the center of the stage, readjusting your mic quickly and letting a real smile come over your face. 

And this- this was it. No matter how fantastic any show was, it would never top this. You always went out with the same song, way back from your first album, one of the first you’d ever written. You heard Padme start to strum.

“And with that, we’re coming to the end,” you said over the guitar, speaking to the audience like you knew every person there. “So I want you to all sing along with this one. Every damn word. Because tonight- this is a night none of us are going to forget.” You’d said it a hundred times, and yet, you meant it every time. When you stopped speaking, you started singing, abandoning your strutting and stomping for just standing at the front of the stage, looking at them all. 

“It was a fall night, late night-” There was a reason you always ended with this song. It was so beautiful, and so sensual. It was a promise, between you, and your band, and your fans, a promise that it was all for them, not for whatever rode in their wallets. A promise that you would keep looking out for them. 

And when you began the chorus, you dropped to your knees, getting that much closer to them, your smile so genuine, because you could hear them, every single one of them, like they were performing for you. It was their night as much as yours, it was their music more than it was yours. 

A hundred voices welling up around yours was always what kept you awake at night, kept you coming back, pushing through the looks that people gave you when you said you were trying to make it in the music industry, pushing through the late nights where you couldn’t make it through that lyric. This song, right here, this was what brought you back, kept reminding you what mattered. 

You stopped singing, and they continued without you. They always did- they would see how you just looked at them all, with the realest smile they’d ever seen, and they sang for you. 

You couldn’t help it. You watched him- and he was singing, too. 

This time, you knew for sure. You knew he was watching you, too, and when your eyes locked, the voices around you all swelled to a crescendo, like a soundtrack to the scene you were living through. 

You had to snap yourself back into the world to pick up the second verse. It stayed just as intimate, just as amazing, all the way to the end of the song, when you sang the final note, and just stood there, basking in it, in a world made just for you. 

The stage lights flickered out, and you disappeared into the dark. 

Over your earpiece, one of the roadies informed you that your mics were off, and that’s exactly the way you liked them. You dropped onto the stage, hanging your legs over the front of it. You were still a few feet from the closest little fence, but it was closer than you’d been to them yet. 

“Hey, guys,” you hissed toward anyone within earshot. That alone, in the dim light, gathered a crowd of twenty or so who had noticed you. You always did this at the end of the show- just to let them hear their name on your tongue. 

And maybe, today, to find him. 

You looked to a girl who had her hand outstretched to you, and you took it briefly.

“Hey, what’s your name?” you asked, and she shouted back “Oran!”

“Oran, almost like the color, huh?” You were so much more at ease now than you were, before the show. “I bet you hear that all the time.” You turned to someone else, always trying to make it through as many people as possible. 

How many could you touch base with before turning to him, so that it wouldn’t be suspicious? Was three enough, or should you do one more?

No, when you caught his eyes, there was no turning back. 

“Hey, what’s up,” you said, fighting to keep your heartbeat under control. 

“Anakin,” he said, then pulling a bright yellow card out of his jacket. That, you’d recognize anywhere- that was a backstage pass. 

Like the universe was aligning for you. 

“Well, Anakin, if you’ve got a pass, I’ll see you later, yeah?” As you usually did from a person who had a pass, you moved on quickly, giving this time to others who wouldn’t get more. You heard six or seven more names before Ahsoka was tugging on your shoulder. 

“Alright, alright,” you groaned, throwing your legs over the stage again and standing up, but not before blowing one last kiss toward the small crowd you’d gathered. 

As soon as you made it back, into where the speakers cluttered up all of the space, you collapsed against Ahsoka, laughing as she struggled to hold you up.

“What, thinking about your wattpad boy?” she said, throwing you to your feet.

“Oh, not again,”  Aayla whined, “he’ll be no different than every other one that you dream of finding at next week’s show, and then never see again.”

“No, no, this one’s different!” you insisted, grabbing onto Padme’s shirt. She brushed you off with a laugh.

“Oh yeah? How?” 

“His name is Anakin,” you said, rubbing your lower lip between your teeth. “And he’s got a backstage pass.” 

“What??” Came the collective cry, and you shushed them all before your manager appeared. 

It was showtime, baby. 

There were two or three of them, in total. The passes tended not to sell too well, and there were only a few available, anyway. The band just wasn’t quite big enough to pull that kind of fandom, save for a few die-hards who would one day get to pull out a photo and say ‘see? I was there at the beginning.’ 

Anakin was the last of the bunch. 

“Great to meet you,” you said, shaking his hand for real this time. His eyes were damn intense- no wonder you’d been mesmerized by them. 

“You too,” he said, and introductions went just as seamlessly with the others. Padme hugged him, and Ahsoka, little firecracker, gave him a playful punch for telling her that she looked taller when she was on stage. 

Now- there’s a reason Padme’s your best friend in the world. 

“Hey, it’s getting late,” she informed you, as though she were telling you to wrap it up. But she was smarter than that, and had set up the perfect trap.

“Oh,” Anakin said, looking slightly guilty and quite disappointed. “Well, I-” 

“Nah,” you cut him off, smacking the back of your hand against his chest, “You paid for fifteen minutes, you’ll get them. We’ve just got to start packing up. You can chill with us, if you want.” No matter the fame difference between the five of you, he was just another guy in his early 20′s, the same as the rest of you, save for eighteen year old Ahsoka. He meshed well with the lot of you, and even helped load ‘Soka’s drums into the truck. 

And, hey- he knew what he was getting into when he climbed into the back of the van with the four of you.

And what he was getting into was a bumpy-ass ride to one of the shittiest hotels the area could offer. It wasn’t even midnight, and you didn’t feel like climbing into bed just yet, so you let him follow the four of you upstairs so you could grab your phone and room key before leaving them to entertain themselves for the evening. 

“Come home alive!” Aayla called as a farewell, and Ahsoka snorted from where she was laying on her bed. 

“Come home capable of walking,” she said, and Padme saved you by slamming the door shut. 

“So what’s there to do around here?” you asked him, shoving your hands into your pockets. You walked close to him, shoulders almost brushing with each step, and his smile was just for you.

“Are you kidding? Absolutely nothing. You’re lucky you found the laser tag place.” You looked toward him with a laugh, the ugly carpeting of the hotel hallway stretching on forever in front of you.

“Seriously? How could you survive?”

“Hey, not every town is downtown LA.” 

“I’m flattered you think I’m famous enough to live in LA.” You stopped at the elevator, punching the down button. He nudged your shoulder playfully, those piercing blue eyes flicking over your face. 

“You’re gonna be. You guys are really good.”

“Good to know I have your blessing for my career.” 

“I’m serious!” he said with a laugh, and when the elevator door opened, he let you inside first. 

“Yeah, yeah. So if there’s nothing to do around here...” You tilted your head at him, watching as he rested his shoulders back against the buffed metal wall. “What do you do?”

“Find a friend’s basement to smoke in,” he said with a laugh, and you couldn’t help but join him. “Mostly we go see movies, or sneak onto a roof, if we’re lucky.” You narrowed your eyes, letting your gaze slide to the elevator buttons. 

“A roof, you say?” 

“I don’t want to get you in trouble-”

“Anakin, answer me this-” You pulled out your phone to check the time. “Do you think the lobby security agent of this Comfort Inn is going to be dedicated enough to check the roof at 12:23 AM?” The world outside this elevator didn’t exist as his lips turned up into a smirk.

“No, I don’t think they will.”

“In that case-” You slipped your second knuckle against the highest number on the wall- 6. Not very impressive, but it would do.

Once the elevator went down to the lobby, and back up again, you stumbled your way to the stairwell and up, finding the door that said ‘roof access- do not enter’. Since when do you ever listen?

If you listened to some red sign on a door, you wouldn’t have your head on Anakin’s shoulder, looking up at more stars than you’d ever seen in your entire life. 

You’d grown up in California, too close to some of the largest cities in the country to ever see the night sky like this. He’d grown up here, where there were warehouses for shipping to Reno, or Vegas, or Salt Lake City, but none of those cities were close enough to steal the sky.

“See those two, right on top of each other?” He asked, pointing to an area a few degrees up from the horizon.

“Yeah, I think,” you said, and he lifted his left arm, where he had a constellation pattern tattooed between his elbow and wrist. 

“It’s this one. The phoenix. The first constellation I actually saw in the sky.” You reached out, taking hold of his elbow, and positioning his arm, from your perspective, just next to the constellation. “My mom took me out to a field and showed me the stars,” he said, and though you couldn’t see his face, you could hear the fondness in his voice. “For a long time, I wanted to be an astronaut.”

“Me too,” you said with a laugh, “but I wasn’t good enough in math.” 

“My mom’s friend Watto says I’m too good with cars to fly a ship.”

“Wouldn’t that make you better?” You asked, readjusting so that your shoulder pressed to his. It was a little cold.

“You’d think so, right?” You were such a loud person, that all too often you fought against silence- not tonight. You let it envelope you, bringing with it peace. You could hear Anakin breathing, and it was so calming, your eyes slipped closed.

“You’re going to fall asleep up here,” he said, a hint of playfulness in his voice. 

“Shut up,” you groaned, “I had a long day, and you’re warm.” 

“You should go back to the room, then.” You rolled over onto your stomach, then, taking a good look at him. 

“But that would mean that this night has to end.” He lifted his chest up by planting his elbows down, bringing himself closer to you. 

“You said it yourself,” he said, voice smooth and quiet, “this is a night we’re not going to forget.”

“But that doesn’t mean I want it to end,” you breathed, unable to look away from him. You barely noticed it when he begun to lean forward, but then his lips were on yours, and that you certainly took notice of. 

Your eyes fluttered closed, thanks to the shock and the welcome nature of it, and you leaned into it. He brought his furthest hand up and let it slide to the back of your neck, as though he could keep you from pulling away. You wouldn’t.

Your lips were still parted when he pulled away, your mind struggling to catch up. He’d- he’d just-

Calloused fingers brushed your hair back, and you opened your eyes to their touch, being drawn right back to his gaze. 

“Then it doesn’t have to.” 

-🦌 Roe

part 2

#anakin x reader insert #star wars anakin #anakin imagine #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker #punk!anakin #modern au #musician au #star wars #fics

[suituuup]

Could do where Beca actually joined Barden two years later than she should’ve because she initially joined the army, but was sent home after she lost both her legs in a horrific battle. She meets Chloe but is reluctant to have any kind of a relationship because she is so insecure about her body.

so this is what it feels like

rating: m

word count: 3,6k

ao3 link

*

Barden University. 

Beca looks at the sign and heavies a deep sigh as the car rolls forward, stopping at the curb a few minutes later. The driver steps out and takes her wheelchair out of the trunk, setting it up next to the open passenger door. 

“Need any help?” 

“I got it,” Beca mutters, shuffling to the edge of the seat and easily transferring to the chair. “Can you just hand me my bag? Thanks.” 

She sets it on her lap and starts rolling away towards the main building, catching people staring. “What are you lookin’ at?” Beca spits out, glaring at a group of boys who instantly glance away. 

She doesn’t want to be here. She was perfectly happy across the world, working for the Army. She had friends there, a family. A landmine took that away from her, as well as her two legs.

She was flown back to the States after an emergency amputation and moved in with her dad and the step monster. The following year was rough, as Beca dealt with both depression and PTSD. Numerous therapy sessions helped her figure how to live again and slowly dragged her out of her grieving state. She eventually agreed to her dad’s suggestion about going to college, figuring she couldn’t stay hauled up in the house forever. 

She picked English as a major, as she’s sort of a book nerd, but she’s got no idea of what kind of job she wants to do. 

She likes music and enjoys messing around on her computer making mixes but… it won’t ever be good enough for her to actually make a living out of it. 

The first few days of classes are uneventful, except for the way people keep looking at her. Beca figures they’ll get used to it sooner or later, but for now, she glares.  

She hangs out at the library a lot or at the coffee shop on campus to work on her mixes. 

She’s at the library one afternoon, rolling up an aisle to get the book she copied the reference from on one of the computers.

“Damn it,” she mutters when she realizes it’s on one of the higher shelves, which are out of reach. 

“Need any help?”

Normally, Beca would say I got it, because she hates relying on other people, but one, she really doesn’t have it and two, the words die in her throat when she takes a good look at the stranger. 

A redhead, with the most vibrant eyes and smile Beca’s ever seen. 

Her brain eventually reboots and she blushes slightly out of embarrassment for taking so long to reply. “Um yeah. Could you grab me that green book on the top shelf?” 

“Sure thing,” the stranger chirps, standing on the tips of her toes to grab it. “Here you go.”

Beca takes it, setting it on her lap. “Thanks.”

She’s about to roll away, when the girl speaks again. “Would you be interested in joining an acapella group?”

Beca’s eyebrow shoots up. “Aren’t you supposed to be able to dance, too?”

“Not necessarily. I mean, we could figure something out, if you’re interested.”

“I’m not. I don’t— I don’t even sing.”

“Oh. Okay. Too bad.” She winks. “See ya around.”

She continues on her way, and Beca on hers. 

Beca sees her again two weeks later, at the Barden Beanery. She’s stuck outside because the damn automatic door won’t work and of course it’s starting to rain. 

“For fucks sake,” she grumbles, hitting the button once more. 

“I’ll get it for you.”

Beca looks over her shoulder to see that same girl from the library heading over. “Oh. Hey there, acapella nerd,” she teases as she manœuvres her chair to roll into the coffee shop. “Thanks.”

“No worries,” she replies, smiling softly. “Wow, this place is packed.”

Beca nods towards a table in the corner. “I think those guys are leaving.”

“Nice catch. Mind if we share?” 

Beca shrugs. “Yeah, sure.” 

She tucks her chair in the free space at the table and opens her backpack to pull out her laptop, ordering a black coffee and a slice of carrot cake when the waitress comes by. 

She and the redhead work in silence for a while, Beca with her headphones on (one ear left uncovered) as she messes around with her mixes. She soon loses herself into the music, bopping her head up and down to the rhythm.

“What?” She asks when she catches the other girl staring, blue-grey eyes peering at her above her laptop. 

“Nothing,” she murmurs, a serene smile on her features. “I was just wondering what your name was.”

“Oh, right. I’m Beca.”

“Beca,” Chloe repeats, nodding. “I’m Chloe.”

“Cool to meet you, Chloe the nerd.”

“I’m not a nerd!” She cries, laughing.

“You’re in an acapella group, so you’re a nerd by definition.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Fine.”

They work together for another hour, Chloe bidding her goodbye when she has to get to rehearsals. Beca sticks around until 7, heading back to her hall to head dinner.

“Hi!” 

Beca looks up to see Chloe popping down on the seat across from her at that same table as three weeks ago. It’s a week later, and the place is near empty this time around, so Beca’s confused as to why she decided to sit with her. 

“Um, hello?” It looks like Chloe’s here to stay, and Beca can’t say she minds? Weird. “You look happy.”

“I am! The Bellas and I are competing this weekend.”

“Competing?” Beca cocks an eyebrow. “So this acapella thing is pretty serious, then?”

“Totes!” Totes? “Our plan is to get selected for the National championships in NYC.”

“Wow. Well, I hope you guys make it.”

“Thanks! You should come check us out if you don’t have anything planned.”

Beca scrunches you her nose. “I don’t know how I feel about being in the same room as so many nerds.”

A laugh flits past Chloe’s lips. “What are you working on anyway?”

“Um, mixes. I mix music.”

Chloe’s eyes adorably pop wider. “You mix music?? That’s so cool. Can I listen?”

The normal Beca would have said no in a heartbeat. She didn’t plan on making any friends, the last year’s events making her more withdrawn and more of a loner. But there’s something about this Chloe, something Beca can’t pinpoint, that makes it impossible for her to say no. 

“Yeah sure, if you want to.”

Beaming, Chloe switches chairs to sit next to Beca as Beca takes off her headphones to hand them over. She selects her Titanium + Bulletproof mashup and hits play, taking a sip from her drink as it starts. 

The look on Chloe’s face as she listens, one of pure enjoyment, makes Beca’s chest swell with something unfamiliar. 

“This is amazing!” Chloe nearly shouts, shrinking in her seat when people’s heads turn towards her. In a lower tone, she adds, “Sorry.”

Beca chuckles. “Yeah? You like it?”

Chloe takes off the headphones. Her eyes are sparkling, the same way Beca’s do when she listens to something she’s really into. “I really do. Have you thought about making a career out of music?”

Beca shrugs. “I did, yeah. I thought about going to LA, but my dad didn’t like that idea because he doesn’t believe there’s a career to be made. He wants me to try college first, for at least a year. I think he’s still pissed about me enlisting in the Army without telling him.” 

“How long were you in the Army for?” 

“Only a couple years,” Beca says, motioning towards her legs next. “Then this happened.” 

Chloe grimaces. “I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah, well…” her shoulder lifts in a half shrug. It took her while to reach that state of mind; to stop being angry at the world for what she was going through. She learned to accept her handicap and to live with it, even if some days prove to be really fucking difficult. “It is what it is.” 

She doesn’t know why, but that weekend, she finds herself attending that acapella competition to check out the Bellas. The songs suck big time and the outfits are questionable, but Beca is too enthralled by Chloe’s beautiful voice to really care about the rest. 

“You came!” Chloe exclaims in surprise when she spots Beca at the end of the show. She’s bending down to hug Beca before Beca can protest, and Beca feels her face heat up as she awkwardly pats her back. 

“Congrats on being selected,” she says when Chloe pulls away, her lips stretching in her first genuine smile in a long while. 

“Thanks! What are you doing later?” 

“Um… nothing planned. Why?” 

“Wanna order pizza and watch something on Netflix?” 

Chloe’s question makes Beca hesitate for a few beats. She truly doesn’t know what Chloe sees in her, as it’s not like Beca has made any efforts to strike up a friendship, but she has to admit that spending time with Chloe is nice. 

“Sure, yeah.” 

The night turns out to be one of the best Beca’s had in a while. She doesn’t remember laughing that much since before, and it’s all thanks to Chloe and her dorky sense of humor and positive energy. They hang out more over the next few weeks, either at the coffee shop or at Beca’s dorm, and Beca quickly develops a crush on her new friend, berating herself as soon as she acknowledges her feelings. 

Even if Chloe does feel the same way, which is unlikely, it’s not like she’d go out with someone like Beca. 

“I need your help,” Chloe blurts one day, plopping down across Beca at their usual table. 

“What’s up?” Beca asks, glancing up from her book. 

“Our set list sucks. There’s no way we’ll make it through to the ICCA’s.” She sighs, then nibbles on her bottom lip for a couple seconds. “I was thinking… maybe you could make us a setlist? We’ll totes pay you.” 

Beca rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to pay me. But would Aubrey be okay with me helping?” 

“She will be, I’ll talk to her.” 

They spend the next few hours brainstorming songs, eating pizza and drinking root beer on the floor of Beca’s room. 

“How ‘bout Don’t You Forget About Me? It’s a cool song,” Beca suggests; they’ve been stuck on the third song for over thirty minutes. “So while a few of you sing the end of Price Tag, the lead could start singing Won’t you, come see about me, I’ll be alone, dancing you know it baby,” Beca sang, faltering when she caught Chloe’s weird look. “What?” 

“You can sing!” She nearly shouts, her jaw dropped as she shoved Beca’s shoulder. “What the fuck, you told me you couldn’t!” 

Beca chuckles. “I was afraid you might harass me if I told you I could,” she pauses, eyeing Chloe. “Am I wrong?” 

Chloe grimaces, blushing slightly. “No. We were really desperate at the start of the year.” She shakes her head. “I can’t believe how good you sound.” 

Embarrassment wrinkles the bridge of Beca’s nose. “I’m pretty rusty. Your voice’s beautiful, though.” 

“Thanks, Becs.” 

They work on the arrangement for another two hours, and just like that it gets past midnight, but it’s done. 

“We did it!” Chloe cheers, throwing her arms up. She hugs Beca tightly, almost making her topple over from the force of it. “You’re the best.” 

“Jesus, Chlo,” Beca laughs, hugging back and momentarily melting into the soothing embrace, kind of never wanting to let go. 

Chloe’s eyes flicker down to her mouth when she pulls away, and Beca barely has time to inhale before Chloe’s lips are on hers, soft and tender and just… right. Beca loses herself into the kiss for a second; a blissful second where her mind goes blank, before her insecurities slam into her brain at once and wrench her out of the liplock. 

“I’m-- I’m sorry, I thought--” 

“Well you thought wrong,” Beca mutters, gaze fastened on her thighs. She can’t. She can’t start something and have Chloe change her mind when she realizes she could do much better than Beca. “Can you go, please?” 

“I… okay.” 

Chloe swallows and hastily gathers her stuff, the door soon clicking shut behind her. 

Beca doesn’t see her for a week; she doesn’t go to the coffee shop, preferring to stay hauled up in her room to work through her frustration. 

A knock at the door cuts through her thoughts one night as Beca is chilling on her bed messing around with more mixes.

“One sec,” she calls out, shuffling to the edge of the mattress and transferring herself into her wheelchair. She rolls to the door and unlocks it, pulling it open as she backs up to make room. Chloe is standing on the other side. “Hey.” 

“Hi,” she says, her greeting uncharacteristically quiet. “Can I come in?” 

Beca nods and backs up some more, waiting for Chloe to slip inside. 

“Aubrey loved the setlist,” she murmurs with a soft, albeit nervous smile. “She says thank you.” 

Beca nods. “That’s good, I’m glad.” 

A sigh puffs past Chloe’s lips. “I’m really sorry about the other day. I shouldn’t-- I shouldn’t have kissed you.” 

Beca wets her lips, finding the courage to meet Chloe’s eyes. “I shouldn’t have snapped. You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just--” she sighs, struggling to find the right words. 

“Just what?” Chloe presses gently. 

“You don’t-- you don’t want this.” 

Chloe tilts her head to the side. “What are you talking about?” 

“Look at me,” Beca raises her voice, motioning towards her amputated limbs. Tears burn behind her eyes as the frustration that’s been bubbling up inside of her finally bursts out. “I don’t have legs, Chlo! I can’t walk, I can’t dance, I can’t-- do normal person stuff.” 

“Beca…” Chloe whispers, taking a few steps forward and kneeling in front of Beca’s chair. Beca averts her eyes, hating that she’s on the verge of crying. “Look at me,” she coaxes gently, reaching up to cup Beca’s cheek. “It breaks my heart for you that you don’t get to do those things anymore, but it doesn’t change how I feel about you, or the fact that I want to be with you.” 

Beca blinks, the shield surrounding her heart splitting open and vulnerability shining in her eyes. “You… want to be with me?”

Chloe simply smiles. “I thought that was pretty obvious.”

Beca’s eyes flutter shut for a few beats as she puffs out a breath, trying to tame down her insecurities about her body and letting people in in general. 

“Hey,” Chloe murmurs, squeezing her hand. “I don’t want to make you do anything you’re not ready for, alright? If you do feel the same way, we can take it slow. You set the tone.”

Chloe’s words soothe the anxiety swirling in Beca’s belly and her heart swells; she trusts Chloe and her intentions and god, she really wants to be with her, too.

Leaning forward, she cups the side of Chloe’s neck and brushes her lips across hers. Chloe hums, smiling against Beca’s mouth before she kisses back. 

“I’m taking you out on a date tomorrow night,” she says when they eventually pull away. 

Mind still tipped upside down from that kiss, Beca blinks and nods, a dizzy smile spreading across her lips. “Alright, nerd.”

The next few weeks turn out to be amazing as they easily fall into a relationship dynamic. They hang out even more, texting whenever they’re not together. It’s kind of gross, how happy Beca feels, but she figures she deserves it after everything. 

“Can we um— pump on the brakes a little?” She asks breathlessly one evening, squeezing Chloe’s waist as she straddles Beca’s lap.

“Yeah, of course,” Chloe rasps, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I liked that, I just— I’m not there yet.”

She’s terrified Chloe might not find her attractive or worse, be grossed out when she finally sees Beca completely naked. 

“That’s okay,” Chloe assures her, pecking her lips. “You set the tone, remember?”

“Thank you,” Beca murmurs, truly appreciative of Chloe’s selflessness. “Hey, so um, I have my first physical therapy session with my prosthetics next week and uh, I guess I would like it if you could be there?” 

She’s had countless appointments over the last few months to get measurements and fittings for her prosthetic limbs, and she would finally see whether or not she could walk in them next week. While she’s been wary so far about including Chloe to that part of her life, she knows she’ll need someone there for emotional support, and she can’t think of anyone better than her amazing girlfriend. 

Chloe’s eyes widen. “Yeah? That’s exciting!” Softening, she adds, “Of course I’ll be there.” 

Beca is a nervous wreck by the time her appointment comes around. After much internal back and forth about whether she wanted Chloe to be in the room while they set up the prosthetics and for her to see her stumps, Beca eventually figured she would sooner or later anyway.

Chloe doesn’t show any signs of being grossed out once Beca’s pants are off, and she even grabs Beca’s hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles, as though reading Beca’s mind and guessing she needed some sort of reassurance. 

Once the technician slipped the sleeves and liners on Beca’s residual limbs, she straps the prosthetics on. “How does that feel?”

“So far so good.”

“Alright, ready to take some steps?” 

Anticipation and slight nerves swirl in Beca’s guts as she nods, moving her wheelchair in front of the metal bars. She puts the brakes on and with the technician’s help, rises to her feet. 

Her trembling hands reach for the bars as the technician holds onto her waist with a belt in case she loses her balance. 

“Let’s try a couple stationary steps first,” she advises, and Beca manages to lift one foot after the other, familiarizing herself with the feeling. “Great job. Let’s try a couple steps?” 

Beca nods, exhaling slowly and gripping the bars tighter as she moves her right foot ahead, then her left. It’s wobbly and the sockets are a bit uncomfortable, but she knows it’s just a question of getting used to. Tears sting her eyes because she’s walking again, and while she knows the road ahead is still long, she also knows she’s going in the right direction. 

“Doing okay?” The other woman asks as Beca takes another two steps. 

“Yeah, I just need a small break.” It’s much more exhausting than she thought, sweat beading on her forehead already. 

Chloe’s grinning from ear to ear when Beca glances back at her. “You’re walking, babe.” 

“Yeah,” Beca exhales with a disbelieving laugh. “I won’t take you out dancing right away, but someday.”

Someday. 

Chloe takes her out for a celebratory dinner after and once they’re back to Beca’s dorm and on her bed to watch something on Netflix, Beca doesn’t reach for her computer, capturing Chloe’s lips in a yearning kiss instead. 

Their make out session quickly turns hot and heavy, and Beca whips her top over her head at some point, staring at Chloe with darkened eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“I love you,” Beca murmurs instead, cradling Chloe’s cheek tenderly. “I’m so sure.”

Chloe’s eyes soften, and a dazzling smile spreads across her lips as she kisses Beca. “I love you, too.”

Time slows down after that as they explore this new window in their relationship, and Beca doesn’t feel one bit uncomfortable about her appearance, not when Chloe is showering her body with so much love. 

The next couple months are pretty much perfect. Chloe and the Bellas win the ICCA’s, Beca continues making progress in physical therapy, to the point where she’s able to walk short distances with just the help of a cane. 

On Chloe’s graduation day, she shows up not in her wheelchair but on her feet, intending on surprising her girlfriend, who has no idea she got that far. She spots Chloe talking with her family across the room after the ceremony and slowly but surely makes her way over, gripping the bouquet of flowers in her right hand tighter as nerves over meeting Chloe’s parents sprout in her belly. 

“Oh my god,” Chloe croaks, her eyes widening and a bright smile lighting up her features when she finally sees Beca. 

“Hey you,” Beca greets with a lopsided grin, laughing softly when Chloe shakes her head in awe and tucks herself into her arms. Beca inhales her scent, closing her eyes as she basks in the closeness. “Congratulations. I’m so fucking proud of you.” 

Chloe kisses her softly, taking the bouquet from her to slip her hand into Beca’s now free one and gently tugging her to the older pair. 

“You must be Beca,” Chloe’s dad says, his eyes the same vibrant blue as his daughter’s as he extends his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” 

“You too, sir,” Beca replies, accepting the handshake. 

“Please, call me Mike.” 

“And I’m Alice,” Chloe’s mom introduces herself next, her smile warm and genuine. 

“You’re joining us for lunch, right?” Mike asks, offering a matching smile. 

Beca smiles and her heart warms, not having expected an invitation. “Um, yeah, sure. I’d love to.” 

Chloe kisses Beca’s cheek once her parents start to make their way to the car, walking slowly to match Beca’s pace. 

“What?” Beca asks when she notices Chloe is staring at her profile. 

“Nothing,” Chloe murmurs, squeezing Beca’s hand. “I’m just really happy.” 

The Beca from a year ago would have never thought she’d know what it felt like; to be loved and loving someone like she did Chloe. Yet, here she is, the happiest she’s ever been, and she’s got the feeling it’s just starting. 

“Me, too.” 

#bechloe #bechloe fanfic #chloe beale #beca mitchell #pitch perfect fanfiction

[heli0s-writes]

It’s my personal headcanon that chaoticdumbass!reader pulls a jake peralta when interrogating difficult hydra operatives by playing the guitar and screeching at them. She prefaces it by telling them she’s had two 5 hour energy shots and gives zero fucks as to how long it’s gonna take. The field where she grows her fucks is BARREN.

YOU WANT IT, YOU GOT IT.

-

Interrogation 101

The metal door crashes open, rattling the steel cage of the room. You spin in—triple axel with no clear trajectory—and barely stick the landing.

Handcuffed to the reinforced table is Someguy Whatshisface. A Hydra waterboy or something.

“Close the door.” The intercom buzzes with Steve’s voice. Two-way glass and all, this guy’s gone through the ringer with Natasha and she got fuck-all. Bucky already pulled out the cyanide capsule embedded in his incisor, so…

Now it’s your turn.

“Another pretty girl?” He asks, left eye welded shut by bruising.

“Wrong.” Bucky’s voice crackles overhead.

You slam one boot high onto the table, hands on your hips, leaning into a stretch. “Damn, my groin is fucked up today.” Crossing your arms and shaking your head, you look to the glass, “I’m gonna redo my entrance.”

Steve yells no and you can hear Bucky cursing your arrival before he gets cut off.

A roll of your eyes before you place your hand behind your back. A smooth cream staff is revealed and Someguy raises his eyebrow.

“Hey,” you blink, waving it in front of his face, “Did they teach you “Hot Cross Buns” in Soviet Russia?” The recorder isn’t even to your lips yet when Bucky sprints up, panicked, and slams the door shut.

-

It only takes about twenty minutes. Eighteen renditions of “Hot Cross Buns” with your semi-functioning fingers and your single audience member is screaming bloody murder for you to stop. The recorder shakes in your hand— a result of shooting two 5-hour energy drink three minutes before your appearance. Your teeth are vibrating.

“HeyIgotlikesixtymoresongsleftinme–” a shallow breath, “andthenthe—” gasp, “THE ENCORE—” a blaring E flat you don’t even get to finish because he starts to knock his forehead into the table and crying in Russian.

Bucky kicks the door open, claps his hands together and cackles. “Alright, get outta here.”

You throw your hands up in the air, “What the fuck, man? I’m in the middle of my setlist. This guy is Mclovin’ it.”

Bucky snatches the recorder above your head and flings it down the hallway, “He called you the devil and apologized for not talking sooner.” He does a double take when it’s magically replaced by a different instrument—metal, compact.

The cowbell is shaken so violently Bucky thinks his ears might fuck right off. He’s half a second away from spinning his head 360 like an owl because he is only mortal and you really are the devil. One more rattle and he snatches it out of your hand, and it goes flying down the hallway, too.

When the harmonica is pulled out—where the hell are you keeping these things—he does it again, and you’re fresh out of devices to torture the world with.

So, with a huff and a furious tapping of your foot that is practically uncontrollable by now, you take a deep breath and scream. And scream. And scream. Steve is pleading in the background for you to stop, but even the intercom is drowned out by your caterwauling.

For the third time in half an hour, the door bangs open again, and Steve is gasping for air, arm full of various items. Cowbell, triangle, harmonica, recorder, bagpipes, a washboard, and no less than seventeen spoons.

He calls your name slowly, eyeing the trove in his hands, “If you come with me, and if you are good and quiet, I will give your toys back.”

You shut your mouth and skip away.

-

At three in the morning, Bucky jolts awake to the screech of a million off-tune sounds. You stand at the edge of his bed, bagpipe tucked under your arm, harmonica strapped around your head, foot kicking the hell out of a hand drum.

His head spins 360 and you don’t even bat an eye.

-

Bag of Tricks Masterlist

#marvel #mcu #bucky barnes x reader #fanfiction #bucky barnes #reader insert #crack #ask

[cherryonigiri]

Hello! May I ask headcanons for Kiseki no Sedai? Their reaction to their girl being cool and sexually dancing (something like k-pop girl group cover dance, if you know it) with her dance team at a school festival (or something like that).

A/N: Since my character limit is five I chose to do hcs for Akashi, Aomine, Kise, Murasakibara and Midorima, hope that’s fine with you! I immediately thought of Loona’s dance cover of Cherry Bomb by NCT 127 (https://youtu.be/s7kxoMYg3l8) which is so BADASS (both the song and choreography) and Move by Taemin (inspired by Twice’s cover: https://youtu.be/QTfzryUBlO0). Reader is in a group that dances to both in one set! Also I’m assuming the reader is in the school’s dance club/group that decided to do a cover of a lit K-pop song for some kind of school festival!

Akashi Seijuro

Since he is president of the student council, he is backstage helping ensure the performances/festival runs smoothly

Has timings of each performance down to the second — and he knows exactly when you and your dance group is slated to perform

Since your dance group had to submit the songs + a short clip of your performance to the student council, Akashi already knows what songs you are going to perform

Was going to do some more research on what the choreography involved, but you begged him not to because you wanted to surprise him at the festival

Doesn’t stop him from listening to the songs and familiarizing himself with the melodies and lyrics - k-pop is something you are passionate about and he always want to learn more about his girlfriend

While you and your group are on deck and getting ready to go on stage (he knows there are still two more acts before you) he stands next to you

Maybe kisses your forehead I AM SO SOFT FOR FOREHEAD KISSES FIGHT ME

“I’d say good luck, but I don’t think you’ll need it darling” afjaofe;ja;feka

You’re Akashi fucking Seijuro’s girlfriend - he has high standards and probably would date someone who is equally as hardworking + high achieving as him 

Besides, outside of basketball he knows Rakuzan has an equally formidable dance program so the boy knows you are talented

Is so impressed when you start dancing to Cherry Bomb - the choreography is intense and requires so much synchronization as you switch between all the complex formations - he thinks you could teach the basketball team a thing or two about teamwork

You go HARD with the tutting at the end before you start doing edging your feet out until you’re almost doing the splits - Akashi respects how much strength and training went into performing the dance break + ending flawlessly

When the music changes to Move he is STARING at you - eyes are glued to your form as you perform

The moves are so sensual and he can see how you intensely look out into the audience - he can sense the sexual tension that fills the room 

At the same time is awed by how much control you have over your body - he can see how every movement is planned, from the position of your hands to the way you shift your weight between each dance move

As your hands glide along your body, he can’t help but get slightly turned on

Also glares at all the male members of the student body who are looking at you a little too intently

When you finish your set he calmly hands you a water bottle while smiling proudly

May ask you for a private encore later

Aomine Daiki

You mention the performance in passing, probably while you and Aomine are having lunch on the roof 

Despite his nonchalant response, Aomine remembers that you’re performing in the back of his mind - although he does get the occasional reminder from Momoi or teasing remark from Imayoshi 

Doesn’t really want to get too involved in the school festival - it’s far too rowdy and he thinks the idea his class came up with for the festival is a hassle (imagine if it was a butler cafe LMAO poor Aomine) 

Probably sneaks away from his shift managing his classroom’s booth or to find you and wish you luck (or uses you as an excuse to ditch his shift for a couple of minutes)

He knows you’re good at dance - he’s seen how many hours you spend rehearsing and how much you love dancing (and Kpop) 

Will sneak into the auditorium and probably stand in the middle of the crowd - probably doesn’t see the point of cramming in the crowded area right in front of the stage

Impatiently waits for you to come up on stage, he’s bored and is sick of the skits that other groups are putting on 

When it’s finally your turn he’s focusing intently on the stage. The instant you come out in a badass outfit with dark makeup and a black crop top he grins because you look AMAZING

The music starts and you launch into an intense sequence of tutting and formations shifts that has his eyes widening in surprise 

now he understands why you always felt the need to drill the choreography into your muscle memory, because remembering moves on top of switching spots with everyone else makes the performance that much more impressive

Proud of his badass girlfriend

When Move comes on he smirks - although you can’t see him, he watches you move your hips and trace the outline of your figure 

Can appreciate the sensual yet serious expression on your face that makes you look gorgeous, but definitely does not appreciate the dumbass boys in the audience who are drooling over your body 

After the performance he finds you and kisses you before wrapping his arm around your shoulders

Scowling at the now intimidated boys from before, he says “Gotta remind those idiots that you’re mine”

Will definitely invite you over to his place to spend the night for some “quality time” 

Kise Ryouta

Kise knows you’ll be performing a kpop dance at the school festival and is super excited

He probably helped style you and your team for each song - pulling out some leather jackets and ripped jeans for Cherry Bomb and picking out a diverse all black ensemble + accessories for your cover of Move

He hypes you up all day about the showcase: sends you good luck texts and gives you a hug before you have to go backstage + will keep you company when you do your make up before hand

Is not afraid to elbow his way through the audience so he can have a front row seat to your performance

Made the entire Kaijo basketball team come with him and instructs them to cheer loudly for your performance 

He’s pretty up to date with current music trends and listens to a fair amount k-pop himself so he’d probably recognize the songs you were dancing to + be somewhat familiar with the choreography

When you come on stage he’s already shouting “Go y/n-chii!!!” which makes you smile and you manage to make brief eye contact with him right before you get into your starting pose

It’s like a switch is flicked - you went from being his cute and smiley girlfriend to a serious BADASS - your expressions are so intense and serious Kise can’t help but be drawn in

When he hears the opening line of Cherry Bomb he’s thinking oh shit because damn that choreography is tough

From the tutting, to moving in sync with all the other members, to all the different formation changes - he knows this is a challenging piece to perform

Gave you his leather jacket (he probably got it from a modelling gig or something) to wear and seeing you dance in his jacket is just *chef’s kiss* stunning 

and it lets all the other annoying boys in the crowd know that you’re his because it has his jersey number embroidered on the back 

If people start shouting the fanchants he’ll join in because anything to support his amazing girlfriend

When you all change outfits and switch to move he is dying

He’s right in front of you and you are making very direct and SENSUAL eye contact with your boyfriend while you move your hips into another body roll

Kise smirks back and will pin you with an equally intense and lustful stare

When he sees you after the performance he immediately strides towards you and pulls you into a fierce kiss 

Spends the rest of the festival with his arm around you, bragging about his amazing girlfriend to anyone who will listen, then he’ll take you home and ;) 

May take advantage of perfect copy and learn a duet/routine with you sometime in the future

Midorima Shintaro

MY CARROT BOI — I swear I am taking this seriously

Midorima probably doesn’t listen to too much kpop - he prefers being able to enjoy the lyrics of a song and listening to Japanese music means he won’t have to look up lyric translations

Maybe has heard some Japanese versions of kpop songs on the radio, but is overall unfamiliar with the genre (context: Since Japan has such a huge market for K-pop, it’s not uncommon for groups to release Japanese albums where they sing the the in Japanese) 

When you first mention that your club is going to be performing at the school festival, he probably pictures some cutesy, bubblegum pop girl group song 

Is putting this into his calendar and making sure he sets reminders because he is NOT about to miss his girlfriend’s performance

Secretly happy because you are putting in extra practice for the rehearsal which means you stay late at school. Since basketball practice always runs late he’s glad he now has the chance to walk you home

Day of: checks your Oha-Asa horoscope and makes sure that you have your lucky item - he will buy it himself if necessary 

Knows you worked super hard on this performance so he knows you’re going to be fine

This tsundere carrot shyly wishes you good luck before you head backstage: “Good luck y/n, not that you’ll need it! Nanodayo…” with a slight blush on his cheeks 

Makes his way back to the audience - he made Takao save him a spot

Somehow Takao got his hands on a setlist/hear rumors and figured out what you were performing and is secretly filming Midorima’s reaction because your boyfriend is about to COMBUST

Cherry Bomb comes up and Midorima immediately realizes this is NOT the cute girl group dance he was envisioning

Is probably watching your performance intently - he never realized that your choreography would be this intense and physical 

Probably not as blushy during this one, just entranced and absorbed into your performance (will refuse to admit that he stared at you the entire time, even though Takao teases him about it later)

But when you transition to the cover of Move, oh gosh, this boy goes from stony faced to bright red tomato

Is 100% blushing and gaping at you while you perform the sensual routine, especially when your hands move across your body and you purposefully make eye contact with him

Realizing holy shit my girlfriend is so sexy holy shit you thought he was staring at you during Cherry Bomb his eyes are glued to your figure during Move

Probably rushes up to you awkwardly and gives you a surprise hug before whispering “Give me a little warning next time y/n.” 

You giggle a bit, not mentioning the routine you’re learning on your own (Dally by Hyolyn: https://youtu.be/b75eENj0WCQ) surprise him with it in the future hehehehehehe)

Murasakibara Atsuhi

Murasakibara is hanging out in your dorm room when you mention that you have an upcoming performance

“Ohh y/n-chan that sounds fun”

Lowkey pouty baby because he wanted to laze around during the festival and just spend the day trying all the food with you

Now he won’t have his girlfriend to keep him company for the whole day 

When you ask him if he’s going to come and watch, he’ll agree, because it’s at the school and it isn’t too much of a hassle and he knows you put in a lot of practice so he wants to support

Tatsuya probably still has to remind him about the performance on the day of

On the morning of your performance you wake up to find a bag of your favorite snacks and candies hanging on your doorknob

Murasakibara probably went to the nearby convenience store and bought you a bunch of “good luck” snacks to surprise you

Tatsuya and him walk into the auditorium, is kind of disappointed to see that it’s already packed so he has to settle for a seat farther away than what he liked

Thankfully he’s tall AF so he still gets a clear view of the stage 

Snacks through the other performances/skits and gets pretty bored, he’s here to see you and you only

Finally, they announce your club - Murasakibara immediately perks up with interest

Your group has a badass entrance before you start performing Cherry Bomb

You decided to temporarily dye your hair red for the performance and Murasakibara is surprised when you whip off the hat you were wearing to reveal bright cherry tinted hair

He’s watched you practice the moves several time and knows you struggled to master some of them - super proud when he sees you slay those hard bits of choreography on stage

Move comes on the speaker and he immediately can sense that this is definitely a very sensual dance

Like damn, watching you move your hips to the beat and confidently gazing into the crowd, he is very turned on definitely wants an encore from you in private

When you hit the last pose and the lights dim he is IMMEDIATELY walking out of the auditorium to find you 

Sees that you’re surrounded by some newly acquired fanboys and casually steps in behind you to wrap an arm around your waist

Towers over the guys surrounding at you, a scowl from him scares them off

You giggle at his antics because he’s cute when he’s jealous: “You don’t need to be that mean to them Atsushi” 

“Y/n-chaaaan, can we go get food now?” - probably buys you all the snacks you want because he is proud 

Also suggests that you dye your hair to match his purple locks just because

#kuroko no basket #knb #knb imagines #knb hcs #akashi seijirou #akashi x reader #akashi seijurou x reader #kise ryouta #kise x reader #kise ryouta x reader #aomine daiki #aomine x reader #aomine daiki x reader #midorima shintarou #midorima x read #midorima shintarou x reader #murasakibara atsushi #murasakibara x reader #murasakibara atsushi x reader #kiseki no sedai #rakuzan #touou #kaijou #shutoku #yosen

[nosferatyou]

If I Can Be So Bold: Chapter 2 (Jack White x OC)

Summary: The Girls first detroit show continues on with their headliner, the white stripes. And Lee gets to know our handsome stranger.

WC: 2.1k

Warnings: Nicotine use and mentions of alcohol.

Notes: I know this is shorter but that felt like the best place to stop the chapter. Keep you on your toes you know. More notes at the end.

Chapter Three

If you’ve ever been to a house show or a show in a small venue, you know its standing room only, which means limited views of the artists. Which means most people are pushing to the front to get as close as possible. And it is our first Detroit show we had to get as close as possible. 

Sure, I might have pushed a little too hard and made a small enemy, but it is always worth it for music. 

You will feel it in your chest, and you’re probably going to have the most fun upfront. The only exception is the mosh pit, but the chances are good that you’ll be thrown in by accident at one point or another. 

The girls and I had fully pushed and fought our way to the front; the only thing separating us from it was a group of assholes who didn’t understand what the sharp elbow jab meant.

The moment our newfound friends entered the stage, people lost their shit, and understandably so. They were Detroit’s little secret, so to say. Everybody loved them and thought they were the only ones to love them. Still, all the cheering was enough for us to get kicked for a noise complaint.

They both were wearing red and white, which I'd noticed earlier but had thought nothing about. It now seems to be their “thing.”

 I first saw meg, all smiles and adorning a kick-ass pair of coca-cola pants. Now Jack, what appeared to be a simple white shirt and bright red pair pants, was so striking. Maybe it was the bright lights, or perhaps he was just strikingly handsome, and I was using the clothes as an excuse. Either way, his face read that he was ready to do anything. Very sharp, very focused, and all the while looked prepared for anything. 

Harriet elbowed me and quietly said, “Quite the blues band they are.”

“Oh, hush up Harry, let them have their fun.”

Then played his guitar, no introduction words, no hello. He’s straight to the point.

While their whole look was one of grandeur, which was impressive for such a small band, what truly caught me off guard was their cover of “Moonage daydream” by none other than David Bowie. 

An already hard enough to cover song by any professional band. They somehow did it, and well too. They were keeping that Detroit garage sound and Bowie’s twang still in it. 

Said assholes from before had a tape recorder in their hand, already recording their set. 

Ezra spoke up.

“Sounds like a weirdo.”

“Not everyone is gifted with vocal chords as good as mine, Z.” Harriet said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“You guys need to learn show etiquette, lordy.”

They all eventually shut up, though, and started to get into it, Including me.

Throughout the energetic set, we started to realize how close our music was. Full of blues and heavy sound. The way they played with each other was just like how we did. They even had an overexcited frontman who ran the show. 

Two things were for sure. He was incredibly talented, as much as he was attractive. Maybe Harriet was right with the whole rebound thing.

By the second song, we all were dancing with the music. Jumping along to the sparse chords of “Screwdriver,” every time he played the three magic chords, we all hopped in unison. 

By “Let’s shake hands,” we all had been dragged into the mosh. All laughing our asses off and picking up any fallen comrades in the process. Harriet got a pretty gnarly bruise from that one. 

Long story short is that we all were having way too much fun.

There was this slow song, though, gave the two of them more room to look around and see the crowd. They both were both so invested in their playing that they’d hardly looked past the stage. 

Everyone in the crowd was just as enamored with watching them. 

I caught a particular man’s eye. Just as he had mine earlier. Every time he'd sing he'd look up at me. Eyes filled with something completely different. They weren’t pissed off. They weren’t dark and brooding. He was just watching me, and he seemed so invested in it too. Maybe it was narcissism, but they almost seemed lustful? As dumb and cliche as it sounds, I saw it. The way he looked at me was with genuine interest. I, of course, returned it. 

While I also had his gaze, I felt two more eyes on me. Which was, of course, was Harriet, noticing what was happening. Giving me the same dumb eyebrow wiggle as before. 

I returned my gaze to the stage. Sadly our exchange of glances had ended, hed turned his back to the crowd to grab another guitar that was just laying on the ground. On the back of his shirt was a crudely written setlist with song names like “Bob Coffee” and “Sugar good.” Which I can only assume (And hope) are abbreviations.

For the last song of the set, they played an incredibly upbeat slide song. Which I much appreciated, no one used a slide anymore. 

He gave an incredible performance and an even better solo(s) with the small piece of brass on his finger. 

Once they finished, they quickly made their way off the stage, and we did the same, bouncing through the sea of people to grab another beer from our shared van. 

“All I’m saying, Z. Is that if Timbuktu were real. Why have I never met anyone who's been?” said Harriet nursing her billionth beer.

“I swear to god you’re losing brain cells, Harry. Go check a fucking map.” Argued back Jo

“Josephine. That does not convince me of anything. It’s in all the stories! Take me to god damn Timbuktu, and i'll believe you.”

Jo groaned and threw her head into her hands. “Okay, firstly, my name isn’t even Josephine, it's Jolene, You know this. Secondly, you’re a lost cause.”

I grabbed my cigs, done listening to their dumb argument, And made my way to the back alley behind the venue. 

As I came upon it, I saw tonight's man of the hour. Leaning against the broken wall of the venue, cigarette already in hand. 

I had half a mind to turn around out of spite for Harriet’s sake, but was too far gone,

“Well, hey there, stranger.” I said jokingly, breaking the silence of the night.

He looked up, not startled by the noise. He didn’t seem bothered by the company either. 

“Well, hey yourself.”

I took a spot next to him and grabbed a cig out of the pack, tapping the top of the box on my hand before. Almost instinctively, he was ready with his lighter. Id leaned in and breathed it in, 

locking eyes with him in such close contact. Both of us Making the same eyes as before. 

“Quite the show you played tonight.” I said after taking a long drag from my cig, he repeated the 

action.

“Likewise,” he took another drag. “I'd have half a mind to think  you’re copying us.” He said with a wink.

“Likewise.” I mimicked, wink included. 

We both couldn’t seem to look at each other, eyes locked on the dark horizon. You know, that awkward stage of knowing somebody, but prolonged eye contact was just a no go.

“I haven’t seen you around here, and you have a face I wouldn’t forget. You passing through?” He asked

I gave a small laugh, “No, actually just moved here. Just me and the girls now. Taking over the southwest side.”

“No shit, huh? It seems we share a postal code.” He looked over to me with a small smile on his face.

“No shit. What street?” I asked, my excitement way too present.

“Ferdinand. Small shitty house, porch painted white and red. You can’t miss it.” He finished his cig, quickly grabbing another.

“Oh, I remember that! It was the first thing we noticed when we got here. But you’re a block over neighbor.” I bumped his arm, returning his small smile.

We went silent for a moment, just looking over the Detroit skyline, still in the stages of not knowing how to start conversations.

“So tell me, stranger. I want to get to the bottom of this mystery of our shared music. Who are your influences?” I asked, taking another drag and entirely putting my attention on him.

He laughed and put out his cig, stomping it into the ground. 

“Well, it’s the blues. You know Son House and muddy waters. That and Iggy Pop.” 

“Well, there’s the correlation. The same goes for me. Though I am more privy towards Taj Mahal and Howlin wolf Myself.” I stomped out my cig as well.

“You’re dad listen to them all the time?” He asked

“Oh, all the time.” I moved a little closer, not enough that he’d notice, but enough. “But country rules my house. It's law in Tennessee, you know.” I said, a small smirk falling on my face. 

“More the reason to go then.” 

 I very dramatically rolled my eyes. “Eh, more the reason to leave you mean.” 

He fake scoffed, covering his heart with his hand. “Are you telling me you don’t like country? Judging by your dad’s taste, it’s probably the good country you don’t like too.” 

“Overplayed and over appreciated is what I always say.”

He moved closer, just as I did, and his goofy smirk grew. “You’re telling me you don’t like johnny cash?” He asked.

“Not a bit.” I crossed my arms matter of factly. 

While we were in an “Argument,” I couldn’t stop thinking about Harriet’s words. Rebound. Plus his whole damn family wasn’t here to watch me shamelessly flirt.

“But I’m open to a certain handsome stranger changing my mind.”

He was unphased. In fact, it only made his smile grow.

“Well, I’ll just have to do that, Rosie.” 

“Hm. Rosie. I like that.” I said, moving even closer to him. Were less than a foot away from each other’s face, and Though I exchanged so little words with this man, I was ready to kiss the hell out of him. 

“Though I’m only going to let you call me that because you’re acting so nice. You know, lighting my cigs and all. Very gentleman like of you.” 

“I aim to please, Rosie.” He said simply. He drifted even closer.

I could feel his hot breath on my face. My heart was beating out of my chest. I couldn’t stop my actions if I tried.

I pushed forwards and met my lips with his. My already booming heart felt like it was about to explode. Why Was I so nervous? Guess I half expected him to pull away.

He didn’t, though, in fact, his hand came up and cradled my face, and his other made its way to my hip. Pressing me against the brick. 

Our bodies pressed together heatedly against the wall, us breathing heavily as our lips pressed together, heat radiating off the both of us. I could taste our shared breath, prominently cigarettes; I could feel the thud of our combined heartbeat as we fumbled to put our hands wherever we could. Both us acting like it was the one thing keeping us alive. 

Everything about him was dizzying, the way his hands gripped me like his life depended on it, how passionately he was kissing me despite how soft lips were. It made my stomach dance; it made warmth consume me.

I so desperately held onto him, my hands finally settling around his neck, nustling into his long unruly hair. It scared me how much I felt that I needed that. How addictive he felt.

From the van and out of sight, I could hear the girls asking where I was. I slowly broke away from our kiss, not wanting to be found out by the others. Not yet. I wasn’t ready for their incessant grade school teasing. 

We stayed close, still in each other’s arms. I closed my eyes and let out a sigh. Not wanting to let go. Still hungry for his touch.

“I think I have to get the drunk children home.” I said with a sigh.

“It’s the responsible thing to do.” He said with a goofy smile.

I kissed him again, this time just being a small peck. It was still just as good. 

I moved out of his grasp and went to grab a cig. He was ready with the lighter.

“Well, Rosie, if you ever want to..” His face tinted pink. “Jam. We will say jam. You know where I live.”

“I might just have to take you up on that offer.” 

“Well, See you around, stranger.” I said with a wink.

“See ya around, Rosie.” He leaned against the wall and repeated my actions. 

Turning around, I made my exit, cooly of course, but my whole body was buzzing.

Quick End notes: 

Firstly, ooh that smooch. This series is not what you guys think this will be. This is only the beginning. And i mean it really is just the beginning, but chapter two.

Secondly, If you didnt catch it this is set in 1998. And unfortunately while in my planning, I didnt catch that he had the worst fucking haircut ive ever seen that year. So Im just gonna pretend he looks 2000 era jack white. (see below for a visual of what is and what should have been)

What is

What should have been

#jack white #jack white fic #if i can be so bold #the white stripes #jack white x oc #nosferatyou writes #series #meg white #ben blackwell #nashville #detroit #jack white x reader

[daddy-ul]

9, 10, 29 & 38 for the v-tallica asks :D

Ehya, dude!! Fancy meeting you here, eheh. Hope you are in for a ride bc you chose some questions.

9. You meet Lars in the backstage, he is (as usual) mumbling about the setlist for tonight, he asks you what song would you like to hear, and you say...

FML, said Past!Me, apparently.

First and foremost, IF I WAS IN THE BACKSTAGE, coherence would leave my body, head empty, heart happy. That said, if Lars spoke to me, I’d start calling him “Mr. Ulrich” bc my italian ass would take control and be very formal. But startstruck as I would be, I think I would try to keep the conversation going, so I would be all “oh, Mr. Ulrich, sir, that depends on WHERE on the setlist we are including the song”, and we would chat about that, bc mpft at the beginning of a concert you cant put anything “slow” or too depressing, “deaf and blind them” as Queen used to said. So... where, Mr. Ulrich? Which song are we swapping out? dhjadhajkdhasjdhak my machiavellian mind aside, there are really two possible outcomes that I see myself taking. In an ideal state of things, where time and space and ability don’t count, I think that I would request Fixxxer, swapping it with Fade to Black or something like that. I think Fixxxer would be intresting to talyor for a live reendition and BY GOD LET ROB PLAY THE BASS INTRO AND LET ME FEEL THE NEEDLES  IN MY CHEST BY VIBRATION. *coff*

But.... honestly? Hand to heart? I would ask for Am I Savage?. Why? Because I like to live in the now, now we are talking, now it’s 202x, now there is this album out. Finally I have the opportunity of living metallica at the same pace of metallica, so I’m gonna enjoy it to the fullest. It’s not that that song is my fave of the album or whatever but... but the record was almost called Inheritance bc of it and other songs, so I want that. Yes, gimme a HTSD never played live song DURING HTSD era. I wish we could get to hear the whole album live by the end of this (derailed) tour.

10. Fave Metallica cover in Garage Inc.

AAAAAAAAAAAAA shit. Do not overthink it, do not overthink--

Crash Course in brain surgery (A GOOD BASS); the a national acrobatic bit in Sabbra Cadabra and then my basic ass has to say Mercyful Fate (bc it pumps me up so much) and Astronomy (I’m a BOC fan but DAMN, Metallica covers them so well!!!! and the ending of the song with the ‘astronomyyyyyyy the staaaaaaars’ eases my soul in such a soft way)

29. What’s your favorite story about Cliff?

I’m gonna cheat and you can’t stop meeeeee: one story for every bond

-just Cliff: when at the airport security found his hammer in his luggage and they were like “what is it for?” and Cliff was “You’ll never know when it might come handy” and they were, fair enough AND LET HIM KEEP IT JSADGSGADHGAJ

-Kirk and Cliff: when they were faboying over this metshirt design and decided to call it Abominog. I LOVE ABOMINOG.

-James and Cliff: that time when playing football James accidentally hit Cliff in the balls (am i remembering it correctly? anyway, he hit him very HARD) and Cliff started CALLING HIM NAMES while in pain shajdhajkdha and James was really nervous bc “you don’t call me that, you call OTHERS that, but not me”, oh sweet child, nervous that his first real big bro might not love him the best hsjaddh

-Lars and Cliff: the last paragraph of Back To The Front. If you read it, you know what I’m talking about. 

38. Talk abt something Metallica related that you mentally link to something that happened in your life

uhmmmm, there are many things, not only bc I’ve a very good memory but bc it’s been 9 years since I impulsively bought a random dvd in a bookshop bc the cover looked cool (yes, yes, it was SKOM, it was 2011 and it was only 3.99 euros).

I will pick one, no more, no less important: 2 years ago i fucked up my knee, it’s kinda ok now but i cant do all the stuff I did before and I have to be careful bc if i force it too much it.... comes out of its own (which, for a karateka like me is kinda of a problem). Again, now it’s ok, I learned how much i can ask of it, how prevent injuries etc but at the beginning.... 

Where metallica comes into this? Well, my first met concert was in 02/2018, I fucked up my knee in December and I stayed in bed for a month and a half. So When the date of the concert approached I was already walking but I was still weary and... kinda depressed. Staying put and fixed in bed was not good for my head and karate is one of the most important thing in my life, at that point i didn’t even know if I could do it again + university exams where KILLING ME. Anyway, I was really really down and on the day of the concert I realized I couldn’t even risk to jump, bc what if???

But you know what? The fears, the weariness, the insecurities... just slowly melted. And not only I enjoyed the concert, not only I rocked tf out of it, jumping on my only good knee bc fck everything, but I came out recharged, cleansed and with my shoulders a little lighter. It was not a revelation, an epiphany or a life changing night, on the contrary! It was a simple night. A night that could happen again and again and again, you just have to be there for it.

There is nothing better that simple joys that need no explanations.

#hello bud ♥️ #ask #i rambled again oh well #jinn contemplates life. metallica and life. #i kinda got sappy at the end but sjdjdjdjdj whatever #tysm :)))) #(d)jinn all'opera

[samwrights]

Growing Pains - Punk!AU [Makki]

Here is the last of the “first chapters” for each route. Each chapter is released in the order of the setlist which I will leave a link to down below. If you haven’t read the prologue, you can click right here to read Elixir. A link will also be provided at the end of the chapter. Artwork is not mine so if we find the artist, can someone let know so that I can properly credit them?

Lyrics that are italicized are sang by you and lyrics that are bold are sang by Makki.

WARNINGS: language, cheating, consumption of alcohol, use of nicotine and marijuana.

Word count: ~4.5k

Song(s) used: Growing Pains as well as one stanza of In Bloom by Neck Deep.

A complementary playlist can be found  »  here

I would give my left arm for Makki. I’m left-handed.

“Can we run Growing Pains again? I wanna try something different.” You ask hesitantly, looking at Hanamaki with a quirked brow. As the writer of the song, as well as a couple others, Makki made it a point to sing the songs he wrote. At first, you took offense to it, thinking that he didn’t have faith in your skills. Even to this day, he never did tell you why he preferred it as such, but he swore up and down that it had nothing to do to you.

“Oh yeah?” The tone of his voice isn’t suspicious, but almost full of wonder. Or as close as he could get to it with his lackluster drawl. “Watcha thinking?”

“Do you trust me enough to at least take more than twenty three fucking words in this whole damn song?” Makki gives a roll of his eyes before swatting at your head, goading you to just get on with it. “Just back for me until the second verse? After that, it’s all yours.” His left eyebrow, donning two, black hoops, shoots up in confusion but nevertheless, he shrugs its off. Of course he trusts you.

“Alright, Growing Pains it is,” Kuroo looks over to Terushima to make sure he’s ready to move before tossing a lazy, knowing grin to the bassist just to rile him up a tad. “Stupid name, by the way.”

“Oi, shut it, discount rooster.” Before the banter can continue, Kuroo starts with the opening shrill riff before the boys join in. Makki’s eyes are focused on you solely, watching to make sure you’re keeping time, giving you little tells to keep you on track with the pace by backing the tail end of every line. The way the bassist’s beady eyes lock onto yours is enough to make you lose focus for a moment, your mouth running the slightest bit too dry, causing your voice to waver slightly. Makki catches it, no matter how well you try to hide, his lips turning upward at the corners in a smirk. In an attempt to recover, your tongue just barely peaks out of the counter of your mouth before you swallow air back into your lungs.

I’ve got skeletons I hide In the back of my mind where I question myself I dwell on the past just like everyone else

It’s a challenge, trying to focus on the task at hand. You knew the words and the tempo, your surroundings and who is present in the room. Yet the only thing you can focus on is how Makki is looking at you with this glassy, stone grey eyes. Despite the bruising bags around them, thanks to the lack of sleep he’d been suffering lately thanks to his job, Hanamaki was truly a pretty man.

It takes everything in the fibers of your muscles to try to not read into his expression so as to fuel even more fantasies that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t unrequited love. But it’s a challenge considering he’s staring so intently as if he’s trying to tell you something through a telepathic link that’s been long severed. Quickly, you push down the thoughts again as the two of you round the chorus, layering over each other’s voice for a subtle drop of depth, worried that your mind will start to warp and you’ll delude yourself into thinking he’s singing directly to you.

When I’m away and you can’t sleep Just know that it’s the same for me.

What a ridiculous notion, you think, as Makki takes over the primary vocals and you switch to backing. And while you would never tell him this, you intentionally had Hanamaki take control back over the verse that you knew was written for his girlfriend. It wasn’t a challenge to figure out, considering he had included a sort of time stamp in the verse. But maybe, just maybe, as you harmonize the bridge, you can trick yourself for a moment that the one of the first ever romance-esque songs he’s ever written is about the woman to his right as opposed to the woman on the couch.

They don’t know what he share in the briefest of moments I’m head over heels for the smallest components

With Makki in control, your mind wanders again, along with your eyes as they finally pulled away from gloomy, glittering glaze. There’s a mix of emotions displayed on his girlfriend’s face—both pleasant and nonplussed at the same time—but you’re having difficulty pinpointing exactly what the expression is. Confusion passes at one point, as if she had never heard the song before and it was making her the slightest bit uncomfortable. All you can assume is that this is her first time actually hearing his words, despite having attended every practice since they first started dating back in December nearly a year ago. Her muddled expression clears a little, as if she was slowly letting go of silent resentment line by line, but her face fades out of your line of vision as your attention is brought back to Makki. You had a job to do and, unfortunately, the job doesn’t include staring at your best friend’s girlfriend, trying to psychoanalyze the emotions she’s experiencing.

Since we’ve meet it seems like we’ve crossed paths at the right time.

Instead, you avert your eyes to look back at your bassist, mimicking what he had done earlier by parroting the last word of every line to add some form of layering. You’re keeping up the with pace, or at least you think you are. Truly, you can’t tell because the only thing you’re focused are the beautiful, shale stones he has for eyes boring into your own like molten lava and the way his pearly whites that peek from behind his thin, pale lips in a subtle smile. It’s intense and bright, two traits that typically are not associated with the bassist at all. But you’re all too familiar to this look when it comes to Takahiro, regardless of how rare the momentous occasion.

The first time you saw it was when you announced to the boys that were you going to stay behind for two years to work and save money so that the four of you could attend university together. It was a distinct memory for you, as he was the first person you told about your plan. At the time, the two of you were laying together on the floor of your room back in your parent’s house—the only trouble plaguing you was the dichotomy of wanting climb the corporate ladder and wanting to chase your freedom and happiness with the boy to your left.

The only other time it showed was when the two of you went for a blunt cruise, something that had become a thing of the past, listening to songs that featured both a male and female vocalist that way the two of you didn’t even have to spare a second thought to harmonize, and he’d smoked just a little bit too much. Enough that you didn’t feel safe having him drive home for the night and he would crash at your parent’s house or your apartment, depending on the time frame. Sometimes you’d share a bed, trying to ignore the fact that the love of your life was inches away from you. Trying to ignore the fact that he always wound his arms right around you like you’d disappear into thin air if he let go. Sometimes, you’d end up sleeping on your couch for the evening, solely based on the fact that Makki’s head was resting in your lap and he was KO’d.

As Growing Pains comes to an end, you realize what a stupid decision it was for you to choose that song to re-rehearse. Sure, you’d had made small adjustments to it so that you were a bit more preoccupied in the beginning, but that did little for you to stop your mind from wandering. Hell, by the last chorus, when your mind had began to float into the metaphorical clouds, you had given up on looking at Makki and his stupid perfect lips serenading his girlfriend, and just laid on the floor between your friends. It was quite peaceful, actually, allowing the vibrations of all the amplifiers quaking your bones, lulling you in and out of your daydreams. “Sound better that time, princess?” Kuroo jokes, staring directly over you, allowing droplets of sweat to roll off of him onto you.

The way your guitarist looked at you was all knowing, his hazel eyes silently telling you he knew your truth—that you just wanted to hear Hanamaki sing a song that he wrote for a woman, whether it was about you or not. Rather than commenting on that, you spluttered obnoxiously as his sweat dropped over you, pretending to be disgusted though you didn’t actually care. “Gross, Tetsu!” You jeered, scrambling to your feet and pulling the bottom of your tee to wipe off both yours and now Kuroo’s sweat. It’s all jokes and theatrics, as always.

“Pfft, you’re so dramatic, [name].” The guitarist chided.

“Word, I’ll drink to that,” adds Makki, grabbing his beer can off his amp and stepping behind you to clink cans together with Kuroo.

“Ya know, I could just skip the entire song and let Makki do the whole thing. It wouldn’t sound any different.” It’s a light hearted dig at most and very typical of you. However, a glower pulls over the bassist’s expression, his gaze turning hard, but you keep going. “Maybe I’ll go run around in the crowd or something.”

“Yeah, it’s not like we need you to anything.” He didn’t mean it the way it sounded, you knew that he didn’t—there were very few things in his life that Takahiro Hanamaki was serious about and in the ten plus years you’d know him, genuinely rude comments to you was not one of them. But something was off, not that you could determine what—maybe his tone or how quickly he said it? Like he had wanted to say it for some time and he had just taken the opportunity and ran with it. Regardless of the reason, it stung.

Even more so when you were reminded that it was not just the four of you in the room as the girls sitting on the couch not ten feet from you laughed wholeheartedly at your expense. Rather than quipping back, you sucked on your teeth while bobbing and nodding your head. “Okay,” you started off slowly, searching for the words to say. “Okay, uh, fuck you, first of all.” You bit out sourly, all humor gone from your face. Before you can stop yourself, you hook your microphone back on it’s stand and quickly check your pockets to ensure your pack of smokes and lighter were still there. “Second off, I’m gonna go smoke. Feel free to carry on with practice since you don’t need me.”

“Hey, get back here!” Makki calls out with a hint of urgency, but it’s too late. You’re already over halfway up the stairs and you’re not turning back around until there’s chemicals and tar coating your lungs. Alone in the backyard, you make your way to the dead firepit, sitting once again on the dividing brick wall, the flame from your lighter making a crinkling noise as it lit the dried leaves.

What the fuck was that? Maybe a dose of reality, you figure. Maybe this was the nature of your guys’ relationship now. It made you angry. However, you couldn’t entirely blame everything on Makki, even if you wanted to. As much as you wanted to. But it wasn’t his fault you were such a coward and couldn’t tell him that you’d been pining over him pathetically for nearly ten years. It wasn’t his fault that, eventually, he was going to want companionship that you just couldn’t quite offer. It wasn’t his fault that he just didn’t see you that way.

Meanwhile, the boys remain inside, dumbfounded that you had just all but bolted out. “Goddammit, I hate how sensitive she is sometimes.” Kuroo rakes his inked fingers through his already messy mop, contemplating over whether or not he should go try to console you because he knows. He knows why you’re upset and he knows just how in love you are with Hanamaki and he knows that having the girls in such close proximity always bothered you and their presence certainly wasn’t helping your situation. Being the friend that he is, Kuroo makes the decision to start clearing house, looking back knowingly at his drummer while shifting his eyes towards the three women on the couch. With a nod, the two of them make their way over, telling the girls that they need to have a private band meeting and that it was probably best they left.

Hanamaki is upset, far too upset to say anything to his girlfriend who is now being gently ushered out of Terushima’s home. The only thought that’s going through his head is what the fuck?

You’d been so goddamn testy lately, he can hardly joke with you any more without you getting your feelings hurt. As much as he wants to be upset over the fact that you just stormed out in the middle of practice, he’s more concerned than anything else. Typically, you hardly crumbled or cracked from being teased or goaded, you were used to it, enjoyed it even. It was the foundation of this band for fuck’s sake! But he also knew that you only succumbed to pressure when it’s been building for long periods of time, similar to a volcano on the brink of eruption or the way pressure makes coal turn to diamonds. Makki likes the diamond analogy better, he decides. Diamonds were much prettier.

The bassist hears heavy thudding pounding down the stairs to reveal two of the three missing band members, Terushima and Kuroo harboring tight-lipped grimaces. Every cell in the skin of their face reeked with knowing. “Alright, spill.” Makki deadpans.

“What are you talking about, man?” Despite the question, Terushima sits a few steps from the bottom of the staircase, resting his elbows on his knees and he fidgets with his hands. He’s anxious.

“You two know something that you aren’t telling me.”

“Sorry, Makki. It’s not our place to tell.” Kuroo says firmly, folding his fully inked arms over his chest. Everyone held protective qualities over you, especially after a certain incident in college that was never to be mentioned again, and Makki was no different. However, he comes to the realization that they’re protecting you right now and he’s not and it sets him off.

“Just fucking tell me, dude.”

“We can’t.” Terushima presses.

“The fuck you mean, ‘you can’t’, [name] just threw a fucking temper tantrum—“ the creaking of the stairs in front of him stops Makki in his rant, his eyes locking with yours. He sees the rush of defeat wash over you and the way your shoulders slump and he knows that he never should have opened his mouth.

“Go fuck yourself, Takahiro Hanamaki.”

“Wait, [name], that’s not what I meant!” But Makki is calling out to nobody but the shutting of Terushima’s front door closing for the second time in just a matter of moments. “Shit.” The strawberry-brunette hisses, winding his thin, ring clad fingers in his hair out of frustration. What the fuck was going on? It’s quiet in the basement, each remaining member of Elixir wrapped up in their own thoughts before Makki let’s out a sigh, piquing the interest of the other two. “Guess this is good a time as any, but could you guys do me a solid?”

You weren’t sure what upset you more: the fact that Takahiro called you out on having a temper tantrum or the fact that you actually did have one? How embarrassing to be twenty-seven years old, throwing a fit because your muse made a fucking joke. Pathetic. Now you were left in your empty apartment, looking over old lyric sheets in a futile attempt to get some form of rehearsal in, considering you walked out. You’d need to apologize to Teru and Kuroo at some point tonight, but at the moment, the only thing you felt like doing was sitting on your stoop and chain smoking until either your wrist falls off or your teeth fall out; you can’t decide which option sounds more appealing, so you move to sit outside until you find out which is more pleasurable.

Before exiting your apartment once again, you grab a thick leather bound journal that always resided on your living room coffee table and a pen, knowing that all of the thoughts going on in your head were one day going to form a pretty stanza for a song. It was a vicious cycle in which you lived in—bask in what semblance of relationship that you had with Makki, get hurt over the fact that he didn’t return the feelings he didn’t even know you had, lash out because you’re hurt, go home and write potential lyrics down, and pretend it never happened. Lather, rinse, repeat.

With a beer resting on the same step as your feet, a freshly lit cigarette in your non-dominant hand, and the pen in the other, you opened to the next blank page in your leather lyric book. Nothing you’re writing even makes sense, you’re sure of it. Just spilling your guts and heart out with paper the being the only thing to catch the mess. A beat comes into your head—typical for you when it came to the songwriting process—and before you know it, you’re gently humming along to the words you’ve written down.

Stop calling me out, we’re never going to Put the pieces back together if you won’t let me get better

“It’s pretty.” The voice startles you, throwing you into a frenzy of shutting your journal and trying not to drop it in the process. Unfortunately, the buildup of ash on the end of your cigarette wavers at the sudden movement, throwing the burnt filter and cherry onto your arm. You hiss at the sudden burning of your skin.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Hanamaki?” More like how did he get here, considering his car was nowhere in sight. But for now, that wasn’t your concern. You knocked over your beer. “Ah, shit.” You mumble, grabbing whatever’s left of the can and the rest of your belongings before trying to head inside, choosing to not hear whatever explanation he had.

“Come on, [name], talk to me.” No, you think to yourself as you retreat into your apartment, closing the door on the bassist. Preemptively, you tucked your journal away with your movie collection, thinking it was hiding inconspicuously among the dusty cases. You knew what he was going to do next and you had enough. Hadn’t you wasted enough of your life wishing he would look at you the same way you thought you looked at him? What was the point of it all?

The turning of your deadbolt signals you that Makki did in fact do what you thought he would, using his spare key to open the door you locked seconds ago. Hearing the clinking of more beer bottles, he takes long strides to your kitchen after he takes his shoes off. He knows you hated it when people left them on. “I’m not in the mood, Hanamaki.”

“Yeah, I’ll fucking say.” The aforementioned man isn’t playing games anymore—he’s tired of it. But he’s never been one to fight fire with fire, no. Makki’s always been the one to smoke his problems away, letting them dissipate along with the tendrils of his preferred poison. “Let’s go for a drive.” He says finally, despite your back still being turned towards him as you chugged the ale over your kitchen sink. The word sends a wave of nostalgia through you, suddenly missing the way his large hand would rest on your thigh, his free one pressing a joint or blunt to his lips. Thinking of those days alone could make you cry.

At your silence, you hear the gentle padding of his footsteps migrate away from you before returning, a heavy thud hitting your island counter. Turning around at the sound, you notice Makki has a book.

The book.

The book that harbors all of your deepest, most meaningful prose that eventually made its way to becoming a song. “Hanamaki,” you grit out slowly, moving like a cat ready to snatch its prey. “Put it back.”

“You’ve always been such a poet,” he muses, not even the slightest bit threatened as he flipped through the pages, soaking in every word of your neat print. You pounce towards him, ready to snatch the book back. But instead, he yanks it away from you, holding it as far away as possible while he has you right in front of him with your chest resting on the counter trying to reach for it. “C’mon, let’s go for a drive.” You never could say no to him.

Though, in hindsight, you should have. While the actions are familiar with you nonchalantly weaving in and out of suburban neighborhoods and Makki’s god forsaken hand is on your thigh and the right music is playing, it’s not right. Nothing about the two of you feels right anymore and you can feel your heart shatter like glass from your chest and sink right into your stomach.

He feels it too. He can feel the density of the air around the two of you and no type of high can distract him from the fact. But he tries to fight through it with arms metaphorically swinging because he misses his best friend. “You know I was joking earlier, right?” Is what he settles on saying as he hands you the tightly rolled joint. Without a moment’s hesitation, you take it from him and take a big hit, deciding you need the calm right now before you run from this situation too.

“I know, Makki. I know.” And you did. You know you did but you are also very aware that you’ve been so on edge lately that a leaf falling on the top of your car could probably set you off for no reason other than it had happened.

“You know?” The strawberry-brunette repeats with caution, taking back the spliff. “You know, and yet you tell me to go fuck myself and run off. Why can’t you tell me what’s wrong when everyone else knows? I thought we were best friends.” Accusations aside, you can tell he’s a little hurt at being left out. Technically, it wasn’t your fault that your friends weren’t as dense as you thought. They figured out your issue without ever having to tell them.

“Thought?” You decide to echo. “Are you saying we aren’t anymore?”

“Don’t fucking do that. Don’t fucking blow up on me and run away from me and then twist my fucking words because I can’t take it anymore.” You’re so thankful you’ve parked at the very back of a grocery store, away from everyone else so that they can’t hear the two of you right now. There’s no way you would be able to focus on not accidentally hitting a pedestrian at the moment.

“I can’t either.” Shaky breath fills your lungs as you opt for a cigarette rather than entertaining the idea of even touching the man to your right to take the joint back. A brief pause passes as you light the stick before you continue with broken sobs causing hiccups in your words. “I can’t do this anymore, Hiro.” 

Surely, you two aren’t talking about the same thing.

“Do what anymore?” Crying was always a weakness that Hanamaki couldn’t ignore and the moment you started, he unbuckles his seatbelt, turning to face you fully no matter how much discomfort was present because of his height.

“I can’t be around you anymore.”

“Bullshit.” He bites immediately, banishing the thought.

“Dude, I just can’t,” one more shaky breath passes your lips before you snap the bullet between your teeth. “Being in love with you for ten fucking years, writing stupid songs about you and pretending it doesn’t hurt? I can’t do it anymore.”

“Like it didn’t hurt me to write mine either? Who the hell do you think Growing Pains is about?” Despite your tear stained face and your red puffy eyes and how gross you probably looked at the moment, you stare at Makki completely dumbfounded.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re so dumb sometimes, [name].” A few tears slipped past Hanamaki’s eyelashes, but he’s laughing. Laughing and covering his face with his lanky hands that are no longer sporting a roach. “Why do you think I insist on singing the songs I wrote?”

“Because you’re a control freak.”

“Okay, no,��� he deadpans. “I do it so I can sing to you, idiot.” Unsure of what to do with yourself in the moment that you’re still crying, listening to his confession, you grip the steering wheel in front of you with a death grip, burying your face into the backs of your hands. Beside you, Makki is still laughing, but his tone is light and airy—downright angelic, even. “Ten years, huh? Man, we’re both stupid.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Ten years of stupid, mutual pining that had no reason for existing in the first place. Ten years of crying over one another, thinking it was a bad idea to even attempt a confession. Ten years of playing and teasing to only make tension grow worse. A year of fighting simply because, eventually, one of you got lonely. A year of loneliness because the other thought they had missed their chance ages ago. “We are stupid.” You agree, mumbling into your hands still. “But wait, we didn’t meet in December.” At the realization, recalling one of the verses that the two of you had rehearsed just hours ago, you snap up to face your...best friend? The word didn’t seem to fit him anymore. He’s now sporting a cigarette in his right hand that he’d stolen from you, the rings on his index and middle fingers crushing the filter between them.

“My hire date was December eleventh. I met Momoka in February earlier this year.” It takes you a minute to realize what he’s saying—to process and comprehend it all. That must have been the reason she looked so confused earlier, because she knew that the dates didn’t line up. And if they didn’t line up, then the song wasn’t about her. Oh, shit. That’s kind of awkward.

“You sneaky bastard.” But the name of his current girlfriend brings reality back to the both of you. “Wait, you have a girlfriend.”

“Nah, not for long.” He sings out, a suspicious lilt in his voice signaling he has a plan up his sleeve.

“Makki...” you chide warningly. But before you can continue, he interrupts you.

“I’ve had enough, princess. No more games, no more playing around with each other.” The cigarette between his fingers is now out the window and his hands are on your cheek and anchoring you in place. Not that you have any complaints—for the first time in a long time, you’re able to stare into those icy rocks you love so much and actually feel the reciprocation.

Takahiro Hanamaki is not messing around.

[ Elixir « Growing Pains » A Part of Me ]

Let me know how you guys are liking this series so far? And what favor did Makki ask for?

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Follow up to this

"Liz is dragging me to Alex's concert tonight. You wanna come with so I'm not dying?"

Michael frowned as he looked up to where to Max was sitting at the counter. He had picked up an extra shift at the Crashdown since he had nothing to do after finishing his physics test in 30 minutes. He worked until 7 and then he was going to go home, pick up where he was at in Brooklyn Nine-Nine, and blow up Alex's phone with reactions like he usually did when they couldn't hang.

But now he was being propositioned by Max who had clearly been put up to it.

"Uh, yeah, sorry man, I have work," Michael said. He wasn't sure who put Max up to it, but he could make assumptions and he wasn't exactly eager to go against Alex's wishes. The guy was one of his best friends, he wasn't about to piss him off by doing what he said not to.

Besides, if it was indeed Maria and Liz like he thought, then he really didn't want to fall for it.

"You get off at 7, concerts at 7:30, sounds perfect," he said. Michael stared at him.

"Alex doesn't want me to go," he said and it was the truth. Max still looked confused.

"Why? I thought you two were friends," he said. Michael nodded.

"We are, but he's embarrassed," Michael lied. If there was one thing in the world that Alex Manes was not embarrassed about, it was his music. Michael had never met someone so confident in their talents and it was unbearably attractive.

Alex, in general, was unbearably attractive. Michael was just blessed enough to be his friend that could fuck him.

Max didn’t buy the lie and he sighed. “Dude, please? Liz said if I get you to come then she’ll... do a thing I like.” Michael scrunched up his nose. “Please!”

“Why am I apart of your sex favors?”

“It’s not a sex thing!” Max argued, but the high-pitched voice he used said otherwise. Michael just shook his head. “Please? I-I’ll do anything. Just come to this fucking concert.”

Michael eyed him. “You’ll pay my part of the rent this month?” Max opened and closed his mouth a few times before sinking a little bit.

“Fine, I’ll do it, just come,” he said. Michael snorted.

“Damn, I don’t know what Liz has in store for you, but I hope she knows how much power she holds,” he joked. Max didn’t find it that funny and it told Michael that she knew exactly how much power she held. “Fine, fine, I’ll come, but I’m leaving as soon as it’s over. I don’t want Alex to know I’m there.” Max nodded and sulked back to the table where both Maria and Liz were waiting.

Michael pulled out his phone and opened his long-ass text chain between him and Alex. He started to type out a message about how his friends were medalling a bit too hard, but erased it before he could send. He did want to hear Alex sing. Well, he’d already heard him sing, including the solo he had tonight that was in Gaelic, but he was eager to hear it again. He wanted to see him perform.

He put his phone away and just promised to be out of there before Alex saw.

-

“Oh, Michael, you came.”

Michael stuck his tongue out at Maria who just gave him a knowing smile as if she wasn’t the one who directly forced him to come. He fidgeted at the edge of the pew in the church the concert was being held at, settling in beside Max who just smiled at him. Michael sighed.

It didn’t take too much longer for the choir to begin processing in, the men in their black slacks, bowties, and white button-ups, and the women in long black dresses. He recalled hearing them be referred to as trash bags from the times he spent in the music building. Michael smiled but kept his head bowed until everyone was firmly on stage to do his best not to get spotted by Alex.

The setlist was... admittedly batshit. Which he was expecting since he’d only heard Alex sing in English once within the few weeks they’d been hanging out. Alex would occasionally send him voice messages of him singing some random part of some random song and ask if it was good, leaving Michael’s only reply option to be ‘yeah, what the fuck is it’.

The women’s choir had a few very beautiful songs with more than a few extremely high sopranos being impressive as hell. That section was followed by the mix of both the men and women, who sang a few songs in a language Michael didn’t recognize but found so stunning that he had chills. He could pick out Alex’s voice when he tried and stared at him and, at one point, he thought he made eye contact and quickly looked away to make sure he didn’t. Whenever the women exited the stage and left the men to perform their songs, Michael’s knee was bouncing and he couldn’t hide the smile on his face.

There were two relatively slow songs that Michael had heard Alex do only a couple times and they were nice. Once Alex stepped forward and the rest of the men formed a semi-circle behind him, though, Michael was on the edge of his seat. Alex had told him the song was called Dúlamán and it never failed to be impressive as hell. It was so fast-paced and complex, but Alex performed it with ease. There was just this air of confidence around him that seemed to put the rest of the men behind him on their toes as they sang, each one of them continuously getting more and more passionate as Alex led them through it.

Michael had to stand up and clap for him whenever they finished. He didn’t really care that Liz and Maria were staring at him as he whistled and clapped. Alex was his friend too, he was allowed to be impressed. It didn’t mean anything more than that just because they were sleeping together, that was just a double standard that he didn’t accept.

He tried not to feel bad when he left as soon as it was over.

-

“Michael!”

Michael groaned as he pulled himself off the bed in his room. He had almost fallen asleep waiting for a text from Alex that said he was home and the last thing he wanted to do was to get up and probably kill a bug. That’s usually the only time Isobel called his name.

Instead, though, when he walked into the living room, he saw Alex standing there with a very motherly look on his face and his arms crossed over his chest still in his suit. Isobel slipped past them.

“Busted,” she sang softly, hip bumping him before disappearing into his room.

“I thought I told you not to come,” Alex said and he looked so serious that Michael had to bow his head, “This whole arrangement isn’t going to fucking work if you just deliberately go behind my back. I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal, but if you’re just going to ignore me on something stupid like this, then what else will you ignore me about?”

Michael sighed and looked back up at him. “I’m sorry. Max begged me to go because he didn’t want to be stuck with Liz and Maria and I tried to tell him no, but he was so desperate he’s literally going to be paying my rent.”

“Michael, I don’t need Maria and Liz knowing about us. They are constantly on my ass about getting a boyfriend and I want them to stop. Fuck, I’ve tried to get them to stop and they don’t and that’s annoying as it is. I don’t need them misunderstanding this or, worse, never shutting up about it and ruining it. I just want to be able to do what I want without being questioned, that was the whole reason I even moved out to go to college,” Alex explained. Michael nodded because he knew. He’d heard the girls grill him and he saw whenever it crossed a line for Alex. He knew going didn’t help.

“I’m sorry,” Michael said, “I’ll keep my distance or something. I didn’t mean to completely go against what you asked.”

Alex rubbed his tired eyes. “I know, I know you try not to do that. I’m just... I’m tired of it. I’m tired of not being able to have male friends and I’m tired of not being able to do what I want with my body without it being the main topic of discussion every day. I’m sorry that affects you and our friendship.”

“No, I get it!” Michael insisted, eyes wide as he tried to wrack his mind for ways to prove to Alex that he really did understand. “I hate my relationship status being the most interesting thing about me too.”

“I’m more than who I’m fucking or dating, you know?” Alex said. Michael nodded.

“You are, dude,” he agreed, “And, I know me being there didn’t help whatever Liz and Maria were thinking, but you owned that stage tonight. Like that Gaelic shit was hot as hell. You deserve to be on stage all the time.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Alex chuckled, seeming a little more relaxed, “I was singing about seaweed, so.”

“Good,” Michael laughed, shoving his hands in his pockets, “Are we good? I won’t just show up at your shows again. And, well, if I do, I’ll make sure I make fun of you so they’ll think we’re just bros being bros.”

Alex bubbled with laughter, “Bros being bros?”

“Yeah,” Michael assured, “I will make sure they know that there is no banging to be had.”

“None what’s so ever,” Alex agreed, taking a step closer. Michael smiled and slowly started nearing him.

“Literally why would they ever think we could sustain a relationship?” Michael asked, “We are far too opposite.”

“And you smell like a fucking junkyard,” Alex judged, placing his arms around Michael’s neck, “I don’t want people thinking I’m dating you.”

“And you are way too fucking full of yourself,” Michael shot back, hoping he hid just how well he actually loved that aspect of him, “Why would I want people thinking I like someone like that?”

“Exactly,” Alex whispered, resting his head on Michael’s and nudging their noses together, “Like I could ever, ever, ever like someone like you.”

“Never,” Michael agreed, his smile slowly falling as he let himself get lost in the feeling of his skin, “Falling in love is for people like Max and Liz.”

“Mhm, fuck that,” Alex said, moving his head to Michael’s shoulder and nuzzling his nose against his neck. He let out a soft whine. “These pants are so itchy, get them away from me.”

Michael laughed and rubbed Alex’s back, breathing him in slowly as she began pulling him towards his room. Alex went willingly.

“I think I can help with that.”

#i did not forget #okay yes i did #malex #malex fic #it only takes a taste #alex manes #alex manes fic #michael guerin #michael guerin fic #roswell new mexico #roswell new mexico fic #rnm #rnm fic #malex au #my fic