seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from Belgium
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Argentina
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from United Kingdom
Porch Light 💡
˙⋆✮ ˙⋆✮ ˙⋆✮ ˙⋆✮ ˙⋆✮ ˙⋆✮ ˙⋆✮ ˙⋆✮ ˙⋆✮ Hollanov Smau where Ilya and Shane are in a band together. Shane only joins Porch Light as a hobby, but his skill and presence quickly sets off a petty competition with the lead guitarist, Ilya. The bands newfound chemistry pushes their fame, but a sudden shared kiss changes it all.
notes (please read)
-this is my second smau and purely self indulgent. (please keep any negativity to yourself)
-this is in fact inspired by one of my beloved bands 'Porch light' check them out if you haven't already!
-open to feedback, enjoy!
Background
Slightly ooc
Porch light was formed after Rose and Svetlana started dating. It began as Svetlana and Ilya jammed out in their family home, eventually expanding into a full indie rock band. Just as they started gaining attraction, they face a sudden emergency when their original bassist drops out due to an unexpected pregnancy.
Rose reaches out to her high school best friend, Shane. Though he only views music as a hobby, his high school bass skills and pure talent instantly change the band's success. The band lives together in a house that’s their practice space, party location, and the place of Shane and Ilya's tension. Slowly gaining momentum, building a dedicated fanbase, and dealing with the hardships of attraction.
˙⋆✮ ˙⋆✮ ˙⋆✮ ˙⋆✮ ˙⋆✮ ˙⋆✮ ˙⋆✮ ˙⋆✮ ˙⋆✮
Socials:
Shane Hollander: Bassist- Roses' high-school best friend
Ilya Rozanov: Guitarist- Bi-sexual, Svetlana’s childhood family/friend
Svetlana Vetrova: Singer- Roses' Girlfriend
Rose Landy: Band Manager- Svetlana's Girlfriend/ Shane's friend
Cliff Marleau: Drummer- Ilya's best friend
(This post is considered Pt.1)
Pt. 2 Intro
Pt. 3 Meetup
Pt. 4 First Jam
Pt. 5 Bar Scene
Pt. 6 Shane Moves In
Pt. 7 First Party
Pt. 7.2
Pt. 8 Big News
Pt. 9 Shane’s Get-back (Explicit)
Pt. 10 Complicated
Pt. 11 Layover
Pt. 12 Room Arrangements
Pt. 13 Los Angeles
Pt. 14 Rehearsals
Pt. 15 Tension
Pt. 16 Streets of L.A.
Pt. 17 California Accents (Explicit)
Pt. 18 Observing
Pt. 19 Nap Time
Pt. 20 Stretching (Explicit)
Pt. 21 Warming Up
Pt. 22 Nerves
Pt. 23 Opening Night
Pt. 24 After Party
Pt. 25 Small Talk
Pt. 26 Guitar Lesson
Pt. 27 Company
Pt. 28 Homesick
Pt. 29 Your Attention
Pt. 30. Celebration
Pt. 31 Ilyasexual (Explicit)
Pt.32 Your Voice is a Melody
Glitter eyes / His Butterfly - Luke Hemmings
⭑ pairing: bestfriend!luke x fem!reader
⭑ summary: Luke comes over late into the night; you do his makeup, he changes everything.
⭑ tags: friends to lovers, fluff + smut (unprotected p in v, fingering, dry humping), getting together, boy era luke, kinda sub!luke
⭑ word count: 5.5k
⭑ listen to: Shakes
Honey, I just wanna be yours
Wanna be yours
Inside your dreams tonight
Oh no, oh no
I can’t shake this feeling…
ʚɞ
Luke was always the sun. To you, anyway. You orbit him like a small planet begging for attention, anything he'll give you. Any light he’ll shine on your face. He makes you feel warm, cared for, loved, but sometimes your feelings burn so bright it stings. The prospect that you're alone in your need that surpasses friendship is prominent and weighs on you relentlessly. Your feelings make you feel silly: you're aware of the fact that there's thousands of people lined up to even be in the same room as him. For that reason you’ve always held back. Your relationship seems to exist in that grey area between best-friends and lingering stares and touches. That doesn't deter you, however, from all but sprinting to your phone upon hearing it chime, hoping it was him.
It was.
Luke
[11:57 P.M.] “Mind if I come over and pick your brain?”
“No. Doors Unlocked :)” [11:57 P.M.]
Despite being the sun, he's always a bit blue. His self-depacating nature is charming, sometimes, but all you want is for him to see himself the way you see him. You've known him for years, meeting him before his career really took off. You've seen him– comforted him –at his lowest, and been there to congratulate him when merited. Now, he's working toward releasing his new EP, boy.
There's a soft knock at the door soon enough, which makes you giggle; no matter how many times you tell him to just come in, he never does. You pad over, and before you manage to even fully pull the door open, you hear his voice.
“Okay, so, visuals. Needs to be new, fresh, but still me, you know?” He sounds groggy and you watch him rub at his eyes, soft, bleach-blond curls framing his sharp features. He spoke as if you knew exactly where his head was at, which you did. You guess that’s one of the reasons you two get along so well. So many sentences and words go unspoken between you; the way you understand each other is almost innate, in a way. You think of the deep blues and gloomy, nostalgic nature of his new era and know just what to propose: a new signature look— moody glitz to edge him out and instill more visible interest. He doesn’t really need help being a star, but this will freshen up his look and cultivate a certain vibe to accompany his new songs, upon his request. You tend to hang in the background, offering Luke ideas and helping him organize his brain but never being part of his team. You kinda like it that way, he's just your equal. Your friend, one of your best friends, your Luke. And your Luke was comfortable wearing makeup; he liked it.
“Okay…” you start slowly, drawling out your letters “how can we make Thee Luke Hemmings even more iconic?” You wiggle your eyebrows, teasing.
He grins bashfully and rolls his eyes.
That's how you find yourself beside him, stretched out on your bed. Pillows are strung about, blankets thrown lazily over yours and his legs, lighting warm. Multiple eyeshadow palates and potted glitters are dispersed across the duvet in front of you.
“Whats more iconic than glitter?” you ask. “Could be your new ‘thing’” you make air quotes but your tone holds a sincerity that causes him to expose his teeth in a wolfish grin. You advert your gaze, smiling.
“Okay, you gonna make me pretty?”
“You don’t need much help there, Luke.” A blush trails up his neck and claims the tips of his ears. You’ve complimented him countless times; he always shakes his head and laughs, curls chasing the movement. You try to ignore how it feels slightly different this time, with his thigh brushing yours and his eyes reverent.
You continue, “but, yea, was gonna teach you. Pick a color,” you point to the makeup stationed in front of you two. “Or two,” you add.
He obviously points to a shimmery blue, then a lighter, more silvery shade of the same color.
“Pretty,” you tell him, though it comes out as a whisper. Everything feels so personal with him, comfortable. The way the corners of his mouth perk up slightly when you smile as if it’s inherent, the way he’ll brush away any hairs that fall in disarray over your forehead, the comforting touch of his large, warm hand across your knee when it’s bouncing. You’d never jeopardise what it means to be such close friends with him, how special it is to you, so you repress your feelings to the point of suffering. You feel them deep inside, but being buried so long only causes them to grow like a flower reaching out for sunlight. The candle on your dresser flickers; your room, and more or less whole apartment, smells of vanilla laced with floral scents that reveal themselves as an afterthought. The floor lamp is dim and homely. Your window is cracked. He’s so close.
He taps your knee, coaxing you away from your thoughts. You clear your throat, “ahem, right! Good choices, Lu.” You reach for a concealer in his shade, using the applicator to place a dot on one of his eyelids. You’ve both shifted so you’re currently sitting with your legs tucked under you and facing one another. “Pay attention, so you can do your other eye,” you tell him softly. “Concealer first?” he asks. You nod, explaining how it creates a tacky base for the glitter to sit on top of. He reminds you that he knows the basics of makeup; you smile at the fact you were able to teach him something new. You use a small, semi-fluffy brush to blend out the lightly colored liquid.
“For this part, I like to use my fingers,” you explain, simultaneously dipping your pointer finger into the blue shimmer he had chosen. You smear it directly onto the center of his eyelid, smudging the edges and humming your approval once you're satisfied with the result. Next, you do the same with the lighter shade, only you focus it on the inner corners of his soft, baby blue eyes and drag it down slightly into the curve of his eyebag. You add some finishing details: silver glitter on the edges, a bit of black just under his eyes, some dark blue matte power for depth.
“Alright, think I’m done. Do you want any mascara?” you ask. His eyes flutter open to meet yours, the color of them more pronounced with the beautiful shimmer acting as a backdrop. His lips are pink from where he had been biting them as you worked. That wasn’t distracting at all.
He nods and you set to work, locating the bottle and pumping the wand in and out of it a few times to coat the applicator. You hold it up to his eye, “blink,” you lean in, seeking out a better position to coat all of his lashes as he obeys. You can feel his breath on the side of your face, it’s something you can’t ignore. Your breath hitches and you struggle to exhale without it sounding ragged.
“Blink,” you whisper out the instruction again; your breath ghosts his face and mingles with his own. The distance between you seems as though it's no more than a couple inches, but it might as well be light years as all you want is to close it and kiss him breathless or until your bodies morph into a singular entity. You clear your throat and draw back, focusing on reining in your thoughts. When you do he looks at you with this sweet look of reverence, yet there’s an underlying sense of disappointment glossing his features that you have to convince yourself you made up. The distance burns, are his insides ablaze like your own?
He sighs, it's fragile, soft, “s’my turn?” You nod, tracking your eyes downward toward the makeup. He copies your initial steps, slapping concealer on his eyelid and using his finger to rub it around until it blends in with his skin. That works, too. He continues to follow in your steps, coating his finger in the glittery blue eyeshadow and pressing it onto his eyelid with intent. He does the same with the lighter shade, but comes to a halt when he realizes he needs to use a brush for the darker, matte blue powder. You supply him with the one you used, your hand brushing his in the process. He’s so warm. And so fucking close. He dips into the shade with the brush, bringing it up to his eye and somewhat crudely applying the product.
“I’m making it look like shit,” he grumbles. Typical Luke; it causes you to laugh. He always tends to get frustrated with himself when he thinks he looks silly. “Lu, it looks fine! Here, just,” you close a bit of space between the two of you again, covering his large hand with yours, touch light. You help to position his hand lower on the brush, “you can’t grip it like it owes you money. Be gentle, and kinda use circular motions,” you instruct him verbally while using your feather-light grip on his hand to physically move it, coaxing his hand into making the appropriate strokes. He quickly gets the hang of it and you release his hand. “Sorry,” you murmur, thinking you might’ve crossed some sort of imaginary line. Sharing touch was not unusual, but something felt so different. The air was charged and the distance felt tangible.
He whispers your name. Your eyes find his, they’re painted and beautiful. It’s almost as if they speak: his pupils look blown, much less of the unreal blue you know so well visible, and they’re tracking your features. They shift from your left eye to your right, then to your nose, descending down to your lips. They seem to beckon your deepest desires and hidden feelings to flee toward the surface—“can you show me this part, too?” He interrupts your thoughts. You see he’s gesturing to the black pencil liner, which he palms. “‘course,” you nod, maybe a little frantic. He seems to pause, waiting for something. Your hands move, instinctive, toward his unsure ones. You gingerly clasp his in your own once more, warm and soft yet calloused near his talented fingertips. You guide him applying the dark color to his lower lash line, raking the tip of the pencil over his skin. Your hands are clammy and you audibly swallow, hoping he doesn’t notice either.
“Thanks,” he offers. You shrug it off sheepishly, mind wondering about the potential softness of his lips and tongue. Your mouth runs dry. Your tongue slips from your mouth to coat your bottom lip in a thin layer of saliva. The noises of the city— cars, distant conversations and laughter, feet shuffling— flood in through the cracked open window lowly. You’re staring— wait, did he say that or did you think that? Your head snaps up from his lips to his eyes. He’s finished with the final touches of his makeup, the silver glitter framing the edges of the eyeshadow and mascara. He’s looking at you expectantly, giggling, your name slipping out with the airy noise. “Uh, yes?” You answer rather awkwardly, internally cringing. “I said you're staring,” he continues before you can answer, “what are you thinkin’ so hard about, hm?”
Your jaw falls slack, grasping for words— fuck! Why are you being so weird right now? You’re acting like this is the first time you’ve met the guy and you’ve been friends for years— “you just seem a bit spacey,” he adds. Because I want to jump your bones? Because I want to know what your skin tastes like and how you’d feel inside me? “Sorry, sorry, nothing, I guess I’m just distracted— hey, your makeup looks great, Lu,” you cut yourself off, seeking out normalcy within your candence. He just grins, one side of his mouth perked up higher than the other, “you did it,” he states. You shake your head, “I helped.” That causes you both to laugh. Maybe you can do normal, you can do you and Luke existing together in the absence of a looming, unexplainable tension. However, on your part, that seems to be the case perpetually, but something of reciprocation swirls in the air. That scares you.
“Luke Hemmings, never again to be seen on stage without a perfectly-curated eye look,” you joke, giving his shoulder a nudge with your palm, still clammy. “I hope this lesson was useful,” you add, “doing your own makeup before every show will feel very rewarding, you know.”
“Why can’t I just drag you along on tour and make you do it for me?” He whines. Your cheeks heat in response; he didn’t mean that: “you don’t mean it.”
“Why don’t I?” His voice is soft and genuine.
“I mean— you wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea,” and yea maybe you’re projecting, feeling out the edges of his playfulness and searching for sincerity. He just looks at you, head cocked slightly to the side. You ramble on, “like, if people see me with you all the time, on tour I mean, I just wouldn’t want you to have to deal with, I don’t know, people thinking we’re together, or, or you might get tired of me,” he places a hand on your knee. “Stop, I get it if you don’t want to deal with rumors and things like that, but I promise you I don’t care about any of it. Let them talk. We see each other all the time, anyway, getting tired of you is literally the last thing that would happen,” he tells you with a small smile. It’s light-hearted and sweet. He’s thinking out loud when he adds, “and would it be all that bad?”
“What?” You inquire quietly, coloring deeply. “People thinking we’re together,” he says it plainly but the quiver hidden behind his words isn’t lost on you.
“Luke, don’t— don’t talk like that.”
“M’serious, though, you’re kinda awesome,” he grins in an attempt to keep the atmosphere lighthearted. But you just can’t. Not when his teasing tugs on your heartstrings and everything you work so hard to repress in order to house some sort of self preservation; you just don’t think you could manage if you lost him or humiliated yourself because he didn’t harbor these similar notions or affection. It also wasn’t unusual for him to joke just like this. You advert your gaze.
“Look at me,” he murmured, dipping his head to follow and search for your eyes with his. It’s not a command, it’s a plea. “I don’t wanna pretend anymore.”
You go still, barely breathing, blood fighting off frost. You know your relationship is teetering on the edge of a cliff, only you are just unaware of what’s at the bottom. You can’t speak, you don’t trust yourself too, but your eyes can’t resist the pull of his.
He’s staring into what seems to be the depths of your soul when he tells you, “I don’t want to pretend that I don’t see the way you look at me,” you purse your lips but all the pent up tension and stress erodes away when he whispers, “and the way I look at you, too.”
“How do you look at me?” You need to hear him say it; It has to be him to ward off your fears that stand in the name of delusion.
“Like I wanna live inside your dreams.”
“You already do.” This is everything you’ve ever wanted, release, admittance that’s met with approval and warmth.
Everything about him softens even further, his shoulders slump, his head draws toward your own; his curls are close to your nose and they smell of flowery shampoo and something divinely him. His hand and the comfort that comes with it lands on your knee, migrating up your thigh ever so slightly.
“Please kiss me,” it’s a breathy, desperate cry you can’t hold back any longer. It feels like you've been held under water for your entire life and you’re finally coming up for air when he complies. He does so as if it's as easy as breathing, and you now realize it is. It begins tentative; he presses his lips to yours and lets the feather-light touch linger to convince and beckon. It takes nothing for you to pull back and then close the gap again with more fervor.
You two fall into a seamless pattern, you suck his bottom lip between your own and feel his taste coat your tongue. It's so perfect, like a foreign medicine handcrafted to replace any doubt or bile you’ve ever nursed. It quickly turns frenzied; his lips part and your tongue delves into the warm, inviting void. He sucks it into his mouth, welcoming it with a press from his own; it’s soft and velvety. There’s nothing left of the defensive walls that once stood to protect your heart; you’ve bared your soul to him and now it feels like it was an inevitable outcome that you feel silly for ever fighting. Desperation and the release of a pent up desire drive you. You place both of your hands on his shoulders, gripping like a vise as his tongue seems to fuck into your mouth.
You push him backward, legs unfolding from underneath you, then crawl on top of him, moving to straddle his hips. His hands dip into the flesh of your thighs and ass, with this new leverage he grinds your core against his own, drawing a low groan from his throat. You can feel his half-hard bulge and your mouth waters at the harsh rub of it against your clothed clit. You crane yourself up, mouth disconnecting from his followed by a string of saliva that bridges the gap between both of your lips. He’s panting like a dog and staring up at you with a look of pure admiration; you’re pulling your loose, comfortable t-shirt off from over your head and as soon as the skin of your belly and chest is exposed his hands are all over it, exploring, pressing, groping.
You bypassed throwing on a bra before he arrived and now the hard buds of your tits are being rolled in between his calloused fingertips, eliciting a faint moan to fall from your lips. The noise dissipates into every corner of your dimly lit bedroom. He flicks his thumbs across your nipples before trailing his hands down again, digits caressing the sides of your figure and landing on your supple thighs, giving them a squeeze.
“You’re so beautiful, perfect baby,” his voice sounds like honey, sticky yet smooth and sweet. Luke’s pupils are blown and he’s babbling— he tells you how soft you feel, how pretty you look on top of him, how hard he is for you. He props himself up on his elbows, fingers hooking into the sides of your sleep shorts and panties. You gasp, inhaling in a short burst, finally finding your voice. You choke out, “Lu…Luke, ah, I never thought,” you pull your bottom lip to rest between your teeth, “this was possible.” He juts out his plump, pink bottom lip and your thumb wastes no time gliding over it. His glittery, bright eyes stare up at you— the product of your work, and, well, his work as well. Your thumb moves from his lips to trace along the straight bridge of his perfect nose, then browbone and cheek. Your hand stops its pursuit once it makes a home inside his bleach-blond curls, tugging and ruffling. “Me either,” he admits.
Another small jerk on your sleep shorts causes you to laugh, breaking the blanket of tension. You joke about him being impatient, but the only thing that’s funny is how quickly you oblige. You hastily sit up, ass no longer raking and taunting his now fully hard dick, and allow him to pull both your shorts and panties down your thighs. It’s a bit awkward pulling them from your ankles, but you manage, the daze you're both lost in making agile efforts the least of your concern. You feel exposed being naked above him while he’s still fully clothed, so you yank on his hoodie needily. He smiles, all his perfect white teeth on display, and removes it quickly. Your pussy brushes against his still clothed dick, causing you to suck in a breath through gritted teeth. You’re so sensitive, his angelic presence enough to make your head spin and your folds drip.
“Needa touch you,” Luke bucks his hips, urging you to lift your core from contact with the tent in his sweats and spread your legs slightly, knees dipping further into the mattress. You notice the wet spot you leave behind on the front of his pants, light gray stained a shade darker, and your cheeks flush in embarrassment. He breathes out a moan, acknowledging: “that, that's so… ah, shit,” he trails off but the way his cock twitches beneath the fabric it's confined in is visible and revealing and mouth watering.
His fingers travel between the gap of your thighs, pressing upward and running the digits along your leaky, warm cunt. He’s collecting your slick and using it to easily sink into your entrance, curling his middle and ring finger inside of you with precision. Your jaw falls slack, exhaling multiple short breathes, but as he fucks his fingers up into you more fervently they morph into high pitched, whiny moans that spur him to push deeper and press harder for the sake of hearing you. Your body involuntarily grinds down on his fingers, chasing the heat currently pooling in the depths of your belly. You throw your head back, squeaking out praises and tender pleas while your fingers grasp onto the flushed skin of his chest. His chest hair feels soft; you gingerly run your hands up and down his torso, feeling, admiring. Luke’s mouth hangs open, you can see where his pink tongue rests on his bottom lip, sinful and tempting.
Much to your dismay, his fingers slip out of you despite the way you clench around him and rock your hips down in pursuit of them. That pulls a grin from his lips, but he makes up for it with the way he runs his glossy fingers through your folds, finding your clit and massaging in perfect circles that leave your thighs to tremble.
“I wanna ride you so fucking bad, Lu,” and he full on whimpers, nodding weakly, no thoughts behind those blue eyes that sparkle when the light hits them at just the right angle. He blinks, then he's hauling your neck forward with a strong hand, lips meeting yours and tongues melting together. While you swirl your tongue around his and gasp into his mouth, he pulls his sweats and boxers down in one needy tug. His dick, already spitting pre, painfully hard and ruddy, snaps up to meet his stomach with a lewd slap.
“C…condom?” You pant into his open, pliant mouth. He breathes in harshly through his nose, gnashing his teeth and shaking his head. His eyes are glassy and dazed, he looks pussy drunk only he hasn’t been inside you. You grin down at him, it borders on patronizing. Something about his loveliness and tender being makes you want to simultaneously protect and ruin him. It’s disturbing and wonderful. He rambles on, mouth loose and lacking care, or rather not being capable of finding it, “I, no, I— I’m sorry, fuck, I don’t have one,” he pouts, “I just need you, m’sorry, I didn’t think…”
You place your thumb on his pouty, plump bottom lip, pushing upwards and silencing his staggered word vomit. He spreads his lips, latching onto it and sucking it into his mouth like a small animal begging for undivided attention and kindness. Your new-found confidence surges you, “Luke, honey, relax. I didn’t expect you to bring a condom here,” you smile above him, “I was just asking if you wanted to use one?”
He whines, you can feel the vibration of it and the tenderness of his tongue around your thumb. He only abandons his actions to speak, he seems stupefied by your words, “that’s— you’re asking?”
You only nod, bottom lip nestled right in between the rows of your teeth.
His lips transform into a smirk, the left side of his mouth notched up significantly higher than the right, “can I please feel you, a…all of you?”
“Of course, baby. I, l want it like that too. So badly.”
You lower your hips down again, now warm skin on warm skin. Bare and exposed, beautiful. Natural, primordial. You push your hips and ass back, feeling the head of his cock, covered in pre cum, hot and sticky, brush against your folds and card between them. It presses against your clit, drawing groans from you both. The heat surrounds his sensitive cock and your entrance flutters with anticipation. You decide to prolong the inevitable, his dick buried deeply and perfectly inside you, and grind your pussy against his length in desperate and sporadic movements. His head strokes your clit repeatedly and you look up to see his face, the sight alone almost sends you over the edge. His eyes are screwed shut, balls of sweat are forming on his temples, his mouth is open and noisy.
“How does it feel so good, f— fuck! M’not gonna last if you keep it up, baby,” he babbles. You feel it too, how the edges of your vision darken and the ball of heat low in your stomach jerks and builds. You slow the way you hump his cock, offering two finishing grazes of your core against his just to see the way his face contorts and he fights back girly whimpers and tall moans. You look down to where your body’s connect, you can see your slick and his pre cum melted together and coating his lower belly as well as the tip of his cock. It’s so messy; he’s thick, almost alarmingly so, and his head is a pretty shade of pink.
Despite your better judgment, you grind against him one last time to watch how the skin of his cock pushes up around the head with the forward movement, smearing the mix of fluids further, and then retreats back again when your body does the same. He sucks in a breath through his teeth and bucks his hips fruitlessly. With your body fully bracketing his and pussy still cradling his cock he lies at your mercy. And you decide to be merciful, lifting your thighs and reaching your hand into the canyon the both of your bodies form to take hold of him. Even that pressure causes him to writhe and stir.
You line him up with your hole, sinking down onto his cock and gasping at the stretch. You lift up just to descend again, doing this multiple times to get used to his size. You fall in love with the way he fills you. Your walls invite and squeeze him flawlessly.
“I always wondered what I’d feel like to be inside you,” he seems to find his words once you set a rhythm bouncing on his dick. Lewd squelches and the sound of skin meeting skin fill the room along with your cries and his punched-out groans.
“Mmm…” You respond, rolling your head back and letting your eyes flutter shut. You get lost in the sensation— the way his head grazes your g-spot when he thrusts his hips to meet yours.
“It feels better than, fuck, I ever imagined,” he admits. You love it, the sweetness of his words in comparison to how filthy you fuck.
You can tell he’s close by the way he twitches and pulses inside you, and you're not far behind. His hands grope your tits, then grasp the small of your waist. His grip tightens enough to leave behind bruises, harshly dipping into your supple flesh and using it to ground himself.
“Rub your clit, sweet girl, let me see you. Please,” he demands yet it’s so soft your heart lurches. You do as he says, removing your right hand from its position behind you on his thigh and wasting no time in pleasuring yourself. However, it’s not long until a particularly hard thrust from Luke is forcing you to bend at the waist, body folding and forehead plummeting to meet the curve between his neck and shoulder. With the new position he's able to slam into you even harder, hands retreating from their home on your waist to your ass. He spreads and gropes and brings your cheeks down to meet his hips, building on your pending orgasm.
You're spent, useless laying on top of him as he practically uses your body as a fleshlight. Your teeth sink into his shoulder and you moan against the sweaty skin; his voice is so close to your ear, you can hear every little gasp and groan and word he speaks in his accented tone. “So, so close,” it’s a quiet whisper that. despite the closeness, you can barely make out. You just nod eagerly into his shoulder in response, a silent exchange and he knows you’re not far behind. You suck little red and purple bruises all over his neck and clavicle absentmindedly, leaving behind a sheen of spit and littering the pale, blank canvas. The luster of his milky skin tastes briny and intoxicating, addictive.
His fingernails leave behind crescent-moon-shaped indents on your ass cheeks, marked by a sharp sting, from how hard he holds onto you. His strokes are sloppy, disoriented, like a juvenile creature that knows nothing but indulgence. With your arm lodged between the heat of your bodies, you offer your clit a few weak, indolent rubs. The pressure forces your mouth open, throat closing and abdomen clenching in a silent moan that wracks your body. Then it hits you like a tidal wave, immediate and unrelenting, “Oh my fucking god, Luke. Mm— m’cant,” you cum on his cock, walls convulsing around him and thighs trembling; the sound of your huffs and clench of your pussy coerce him to follow. He lifts you up like you're weightless, manhandling you off his dick just in time for his release; sticky, white ropes of cum paint his stomach.
Still coming down, eyes fastened shut with enough force to bring out those brightly colored specs that swirl behind your eyelids, you close any remaining distance. The mural of cum smears against your belly, getting captured between the walls of heat that’s your abdomen and his.
The moment dwindles, white-hot need and electrifying touches no longer framing it. Rather, shallow breaths and a lingering, more personal and permanent passion fill the air. His curls brush your shoulder, your face remains buried in his neck as you bring your arms up to wrap around it and cradle him. Shaky hands and solid arms wind themselves around your back, bare limbs intertwined. He purrs sweet nothings into your ear, lips grazing the shell— such a pretty girl, the best i've ever had, your name caught in a floaty whisper. He places chaste kisses on your hairline, neck, what he can reach on your forehead and cheek. He shifts onto his side, pulling your body along with him, your face pressed right up against his shiny chest. You're so pliant and powerless in his hands, right where you wanna be. After a while,
“Im shooting for the album cover and some of the art to go along with it soon,” he's quiet and only becomes more so as he continues, “you should come to the shoot and,” he gestures to his eyes, now smudged and running, with his free hand that’s not caught under your body and trails off. You tilt your head, having to all but force your face away from his chest; he's so warm and comfortable. You're making up for lost time, really.
“Do this again, I really like it,” he finishes.
You let out a small, goodhearted laugh. Voice groggy and raw, “I guess if I’m already scheduled for tour, I can do your makeup for the shoot too,” you smile and surprise him with a peck on the lips, which he easily and fervently returns. It’s domestic, lovely.
“Will your makeup artist not be upset?”
He just laughs, shrugging as best he can, “I don’t really care. Looks like I’ve found a new one, huh?” You roll your eyes, action lacking any real intent, bringing your body closer to his. Your clammy hands card through his curls, scratching his scalp and just feeling, memorizing.
“I’m really happy, Lu.” “So am I, baby.”
You only now notice how many eyeshadow pallets and brushes have tumbled into the floor. You’ll worry about that later, when you don’t have the most perfect boy in your bed, in your arms, and the remnants of his cum still plastered on your belly.
Thank you for reading!! , Requests open <3
how the boys act when they have fallen for you. — the beatles headcannons ୨୧ ♡
john ❤︎:
pretends not to care: but is secretly hyper vigilant of your every move. if you laugh too loud at someone else’s joke, he notices— pretends be didn’t.
constant teasing: obviously! but if anyone else teases you? he’s immediately defensive. “Oi! don’t you talk to her like that.”
always sits next to you: doesn’t matter where you are— pub, tour bus, studio. if you’re on one side of the room, he immediately migrates there, like a magnet.
watches you: especially when he thinks you’re not looking, turns his whole body around when you catch him, his ears turn red.
when you touch him: even if its just your hand on his shoulder or a small knee brush he freezes for a second. thinking to himself, “don’t react, don’t react.”
paul ❤︎:
does small sweet things for you: he does this all the time. carries your bag, gets you flowers just because “they remind me of you.”
sings songs under his breath: he will throw glances your way, hoping you’ll know it’s about you.
gets giggly around you: way more giggly than usual, when you say something funny he will laugh incredibly loud and say “you’re so clever, yknow that right?”
touchy feely without ‘meaning’ to: brushes your arm, straightens your jacket, tucks your hair behind your ear.
gets super flustered: specifically when you compliment him. “Oh—no— well, Ta, that’s sweet of you..” he won’t shut up about it later.
george ❤︎:
sooooo shy about it: he barely talks to you at first, but once he’s comfortable he only talks to you.
says a lot through looks: holds eye contact for way too long, looks away and smiles to himself.
tends to hang around near you: in the hopes you’ll strike up a conversation, he will most likely not make the first move unless he’s confident that you like him back.
gets adorably awkward: when you are alone with him especially, he will start fidgeting with his rings, scratches the nape of his neck and gives half sentences like “you look… yeah”
has a soft, dreamy facial expression: when he’s listening to you talk, like he’s not just listening or even hearing words.. just admiring
ringo ❤︎:
he’s your biggest cheerleader: claps the loudest when you do something great, says “Thats brilliant! Even if it was just something small, you did great!”
always offers to walk you places: even if its out of his way. “Just in case it rains.”
blushes so easily: one compliment and his face is completely red.
tries to make you laugh all the time: hes always pulling faces, making silly jokes and exaggerates his stories just a little bit more around you.
brings you little gifts: he will bring you a funny postcard, a charm he found in a market or sweets he thought you’d like.
Guys I have no idea what to write feed me
Sweetie
Warnings: Smut, soft + rough sex, hairpulling, kirk being a lil freak- if I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!
I'm too lazy to write good intros so yall make your own deductions on how we got here
Your head is thrown back as you feel the guitarists fingers interlock with your dripping cunt. His hazy brown-turned-black eyes burning holes through your abdomen as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. “Kirk..hah-i can't take this any longer..please i need…” He slaps a hand over your mouth as he tries to stifle your ecstasy-laced moans.
“Shh sweetheart, just a little longer okay? I’ll give it to you soon…” you place your hand on Kirk's thigh and feel his hard-on jump through the confines of his boxers, straining the fabric. You realise you both have been at this for almost an hour, and kirk was enjoying every minute of it. Just as you were about to pass out from the constant edging, he flipped you onto his stomach. The relief was instantaneous, your lower muscles relaxing as you felt his fingers retreat from you. Thinking it was over, you tried to hoist yourself up, but you felt your torso being pulled back down.
“Who said we were done, sweetie?”
Kirk hungrily licked his lips as a mischievous grin spread from ear to ear. You felt yourself being crushed under his weight as he pinned your hands beside your head, feeling you struggling and wriggling under him. He lined himself up with your slit and in one thrust, he completely filled you up. Your hands reached into his messy black curls and tugged hard. He gasped at the pain, but it was the kind of pain that made him riled up. “Keep doin that and I won't be in control of what happens next..” Kirk furrows his brows, growling in your ear, making it obvious that you’ve found his sweet spot. You giggle as you tug it one more time. He snaps and flips you on top of him
He set off at a rough pace, fucking up into you and hitting that sponge-like spot that made you see stars. “So fucking good for me baby–my perfect slut…you’re just lucky you found someting I enjoy” his dirty words made you spiral as your free hand gripped his back, raking scratches down probably drawing blood. “Oh baby so tight for me…who else knows you’re this dirty” Kirk buried himself in the crook of your neck as he hell-hounded himself into your bullied pussy. Your moans could probably be heard by your neighbours, not that you cared. Finally you heard the words you so desperately wanted to hear.
“C-come on honey…i know you want to cum for me”
With his words, you closed your eyes and the knot in your abdomen bursted. As you came down from your high, you felt the mixture of your combined fluids mixing inside you. “Ah fuck…thats it baby…”Kirk sloppily thrusted into you a few more times before pulling out to paint your abdomen with the rest of his cum. He flopped beside you and watched you twitch beside him like a fish out of water, his cum still leaking out of your abused cunt.
“Wait here baby, ill get a washcloth to clean you up” Your eyes linger on his scratch-ridden back as you see him go full commando out of the bedroom. You chuckle to yourself, this was certainly a way to start the morning
Guys i swear ill finish part 3 of the other fic series
09/06/26 - Rec of the Day
Crossover Appeal by @emphasisonthehomo (emphasisonthehomo on AO3)
Summary:
“One. Week. Bobby,” Buck says, and he knows he looks manic, “Not even that! Five days!”
“I’ve already got a few people in mind,” Bobby says thoughtfully.
“Who could you possibly know that can learn this entire setlist so quickly?” Buck asks.
“What about Tommy?” Chimney asks, apropos of nothing.
Hen makes an interested noise.
“Tommy would be good, actually,” Bobby says, nodding slowly.
“Who the hell is Tommy?” Buck demands.
OR
America’s Sweetheart and Grammy nominated pop star Evan Buckley finds himself in need of an emergency drummer less than a week before his World Tour. Luckily for him, several of his crew know just the guy: technical death drummer Tommy Kinard.
Main Themes:
Evan “Buck” Buckley/Tommy Kinard
Transgender Tommy Kinard
Band Fic
Alternate Universe - Musicians
Completed
Series:
The Pop Star AU (2 Works)
Thanks for the anonymous recommendation!
Girl next door
Pairings: Peter Steele x Fem!Reader
A/n: this has been in my drafts for a long ass time.
Warnings: smut, peter is lowkey a perv in this sorry not sorry lol, younger!reader, size kink, surprisingly soft sex, slight Buffalo ‘66 reference?, oral (both receiving), p n v sex, fingering, nipple stimulation, praise and I think that’s it.
You’ve recently moved into a new apartment building in Brooklyn, your first time being away from your parents. You didn’t realize your neighbor across the hall was none other than Peter Steele of Type O Negative. The gorgeous, tall, vampire looking man had stolen your heart since day one.
Peter on the other hand, was intrigued by you. You were a lot younger than he was, smaller (though pretty much everyone is smaller than him), and very sweet. His mind was plagued with dark thoughts about fucking that sweetness out of you, sneaking into your room at night and taking you in your sleep.
The bassist knew he shouldn’t have those feelings for you, but he couldn’t help it. You were a lot different than the women he’d usually go for, and that’s probably why he was so intrigued by you.
Every day you’d walk off to college or some tap dancing class and he’d always coincidentally would be leaving at the same time too and would have conversations with you while the two of you walked out of the apartment complex. Peter eventually got a hang of picking your lock when you weren’t home, so he could just lay in your bed and enjoy your scent. And stealing your bras and underwear…
You’ve begun to notice that some of your bras and panties were missing. You looked all over the place and still couldn’t find them. You huffed in frustration, heading out of your apartment with your little purse to go buy new underwear.
The raven haired man heard you slam your door and he quickly rushed to open his to see what the fuss was about,
“What’s wrong, Bambi?” Ah, that little nickname he calls you all the time.
“I don’t know why but I keep losing my bras and panties so now I have to go buy more.” You huffed, not caring about mentioning your intimates.
Of course, the bassist knew this was coming, and well, without thinking he grabbed your arm and pulled you into his apartment, pinning you against the door.
“Peter what are you-“
“Shh…” The frontman shushed, caressing your cheek. You couldn’t help but melt under his touch.
“You’re so beautiful…can you do something for me?”
You nodded.
“Can you follow every thing I say? Do exactly as I tell you?”
You nodded again, feeling slightly frightened. He was gigantic, he could probably snap you in half easily, you thought. And you really didn’t want to test that theory. But you were also turned on.
“Let’s go to the bedroom.” The raven haired man leads you to his bedroom before closing the door behind you.
“On your knees…” he commanded. You kneeled down before him as if you were I t eh presence of a god. You watched as Peter unbuckled his pants, revealing his very large erection.
“I want you to suck me off for a bit, okay?” He caressed your chin as he spoke in such a low velvety gentle voice that held an edge underneath it. You wrapped your hand around it, and spat on the tip before allowing him to enter your mouth fully. You gagged of course, and resorted to jerking off whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth. The bassist’s hands carded through your hair muttering praises, “That’s a good girl…”
He wouldn’t let you up for air. And finally, he pulled you off of him allowing you to breathe. Easily, the frontman picked you up and tossed you on his bed. Peter made quick work at removing the rest of his clothes and instructing you to do the same.
You complied, stripping down nude, and lying back on his bed. Goosebumps arose on your skin, since his apartment was slightly chilly and his sheets were silk which absorbed the coldness.
The musician crawled on top of you, and began to kiss you passionately while fondling your breasts and nipples, rolling your sensitive peaks between his fingers. He likes to take his time with women, loves pleasuring them. Of course he has his rough and extremely domineering moments too, particularly when he’s pumping with adrenaline after a show. Or when he’s pissed off.
You’re lucky he’s not pissed off today.
Peter slowly kisses down your neck, leaving hickeys in return, then moving down to your tits. He pulled a nipple into his mouth, biting and suckling on the sensitive flesh. Making your arch your back and moan in a pitch you didn’t even recognize from yourself.
His large hands wandered your body, down to your soaking core. Your mouth dropped open as the bassist slid two of his fingers inside, stretching you out. He worked expertly, pumping in and out and curling them to give you exactly what you needed. “Oh, Peter…” you whimpered as both the sensations from your nipples and cunt hit you.
“Sooo sweet…” he whispered against your skin. You felt yourself clenching around his fingers, approaching your release. The raven haired man knew this, of course. So, he rubbed your clit with his thumb, eager to see you cum. You arched your back and gripped the sheets as you came, your vision going white for a moment.
The larger man kneeled down and licked your pussy clean, making sure he lapped up all of your juices before positioning himself at your entrance. Peter gripped your hips and said, “I’m gonna go slow at first, and it might hurt as I’m assuming you’ve never been with anyone my size…be warned.” Of course, he wasn’t necessarily gonna give you the option to say no. His warning meant nothing.
Inch by inch he stretched you out like you’ve never been stretched out before. You gripped the sheets with such intensity you were sure your palms had bruises.
“Fuck…so tight and wet…” he moaned as he bottomed out, letting you get used to his size before thrusting into you at a steady pace. Every time he thrusted into you, the frontman hit that special spot.
“Fuck, Peter!” You cried out as he thrusted into you over and over and over again. Despite not being religious, he felt like he was in heaven. His hands gripping your hips so tightly they bruised. Your cunt squeezing him like a vice.
“Yes…oh fuck….im gonna cum Bambi…” his eyes were screwed shut as he released his seed inside of you, collapsing on top of you in satisfaction.
Once Peter pulled out, he flopped on the bed next to you and held you close to him, “I’ve finally got you, Bambi.”
ANCHORAGE
Images Credits: Nick: Becca C. Stokes (Pinterest) - Illustration: Marta Maria (Pinterest) - Noah: Seesaw (Pinterest).
________________________________________________________________
AU in which Bad Omens is a 5 piece band where y/n is their drummer.
Nick Ruffilo x F!reader [5205 words]
Summary: "He’s not worth the broken equipment, Y/N. And he’s certainly not worth the blood."
CW: Infidelity (not between two main characters), angst, heartbreak, Noah is depicted as mean and jealous, description of blood and injury, mentions of burnout and mental exhaustion, toxic workplace dynamics.
Disclaimer: These are fictionalized versions of the band members. Their actions and personalities in this story are entirely products of my imagination and are not intended to represent the real people in any way.
________________________________________________________________
“I’ll wait for you. I don’t care how much time you take to find yourself again”
It was another breakup, another man who chose someone else over you. Your head was buzzing from the recent discussion that you’d been forced to have after finding him, in your bed, with another woman.
“Please, get your things and get the fuck out” you whispered through the tears. Your ex-boyfriend calmly gathered his belongings and left. No anger, no explosion, not even an ounce of regret for what just unfolded.
That night you couldn’t bring yourself to sleep in that bed, so you stayed on the couch. “How could I be so dumb? What is wrong with me? Why do I have such bad taste in men?” Your head was working overtime presenting to you every failed experience you’d had just to prove your point of not being “the relationship kind of girl”.
Without much thought you texted your friend: “I’ve come to the conclusion that I am unlovable, I don’t think I’m worthy of love, I guess I’ll be on my own forever. And btw, MEN SUCK”.
You fell asleep with your eyes burning from all the tears shed.
_________________________________________________________________________
The lights of the rehearsal space felt like a direct attack. Your sleep disturbed by the scent of your ex’s cologne still haunting the hallway. You arrived twenty minutes late, hoodie pulled low to hide the puffiness around your eyes that no amount of cold water, and caffeine eye cream could fix.
“Nice of you to join us, Y/N,” Noah muttered, not even looking up from his pedalboard. “We’ve wasted enough time. Let’s get cracking with the new set. Now.”
You didn’t snap back. You didn’t offer your usual witty remark about his ego. You just climbed behind the kit, the familiar weight of the sticks in your hands feeling like the only thing keeping you from sinking away in your sadness.
That brought a slight shift in the attitudes of the boys. Jolly, Noah and Folio stole glances among each other trying to piece something together. On the other hand, Nicholas seemed to be attuned to whatever was going on with you. His eyes were fixed on the bass, waiting. He knew that, sooner or later, you’d show them what was heavy in your chest.
They started the track: “Nowhere to go”: fast, aggressive, a song that required precision. Everything you’re able to do without much though. Yet, today, the buzzing in your head was too loud. Every time you hit the snare, you saw his face. Every time you kicked the bass drum, you felt the weight of that "unlovable" thought crushing your ribs.
You weren't playing the song anymore. You were trying to kill the memory; to kill the images replaying over and over in your head of the blank expression of him exiting your house.
Your hits became erratic, dangerously heavy. You were over-playing, drowning out the guitars, drowning out Noah’s vocals. The kit was the last and the only thing you could break without breaking yourself.
Crack.
The tip of your right stick splintered, flying across the room, but you didn't stop. You grabbed a spare without missing a beat, your movements frantic. Your hands were sweating, the friction of the sticks rubbing your skin raw until you felt the warm, metallic sting of blood blooming across your knuckles.
“Stop! Stop!” Noah shouted, waving his hands. The room fell into a very loud silence. “What the hell was that? You’re off-tempo, you’re hitting like a maniac, Y/N, are you even in the room with us?”
You stared down at your hands, your chest heaving, the blood dripping onto the white coating of your snare drum. You couldn't speak. If you opened your mouth, the "oceanic wave" would finally break.
“She’s fine,” Nicholas’s voice cut through the tension. It was low, steady, and carried a weight that made Noah shut up. He was waiting, waiting for this to happen.
Nicholas slowly leaned his bass against his amp. He didn't look at the others; his clear eyes were locked on you, watching the way your shoulders trembled. He walked over to the riser, stepping into your personal space, the one you usually kept guarded like a fortress.
He reached out, his long fingers gently but firmly catching your wrist, lifting your hand to inspect the ruined skin of your knuckles.
“He’s not worth the broken equipment, Y/N,” he whispered. It was too quiet for the others to hear. “And he’s certainly not worth the blood” he tried, giving you a small smile.
Your breath hitched. You looked up at him, your "tough girl" mask finally cracking. How did he know? You hadn't told a soul. Well, you hadn’t told them obviously.
“I’m fine,” you lied, your voice whinier than you wanted.
“Liar,” Nick breathed, his thumb tracing the uninjured skin near your thumb. He turned to the rest of the room without letting go of you. “We’re taking fifteen. Noah, go get some air. Folio, find a first-aid kit.”
“We don’t have fifteen minutes, Nick.” Noah started.
“We have as long as she needs,” Nick countered, his voice lower, turning into something darker.
Noah huffed but walked out, followed by a concerned Folio. As the door swung shut, the silence in the room changed. He didn't move away. He stayed right there, between you and the world, his hand still holding yours.
“You sound like you’re screaming through those drums,” he murmured, stepping even closer, his presence grounding you. “Let it out, sweetheart. I’m the only one listening.”
And for the first time since you found that woman in your bed, the tears finally came.
_________________________________________________________________________
Folio gently entered the room finding you huddled up on the couch, your head buried in your knees and Nicholas calmly beside you, trying new riffs on his bass.
“Here” said Folio, putting down the first aid kit on the coffee table. Gently, he called out your name waiting for you to look up. Once your gazes met, the man was taken aback by your look: eyes red and swollen, your bags prominent and a deep scowl on your forehead.
“I thought this could help” Folio reached out and gave to you a cup “It’s the tea you were raving about a few weeks ago” a small, tentative smile formed at his lips.
“Thanks” you croaked “I really appreciate it Folio, you’re a sweet man”. The smell hit your nose eliciting a soft hum of appreciation. You took a small, cautious sip, the warmth spreading through your chest and momentarily dulling the ache. Folio lingered for a second, his hand hovering as if he wanted to pat your shoulder, but seeing Nicholas’s protective stare at his very hand, he simply nodded and stepped back.
“Take your time,” Folio said softly before heading back to the door. “Noah’s outside complaining about the schedule, but don’t mind him. He’s just being Noah.”
Nicholas didn't say a word. He set his bass down with a clinical precision and reached for the first aid kit Folio had left. He moved with a quiet, methodical grace, kneeling on the floor between your legs as you sat on the edge of the couch.
It was almost hypnotizing observing the man tend to you. You could see the focused furrow of his brow, eyes fixed on what he was doing, his tongue slightly poking out of his lips, a habit he had when he was truly concentrating, the gentleness of his fingers bandaging you up.
Once he finished, Nicholas lingered a bit more, his thumb tracing the edge of the bandage, before his hand moved to softly caress your palm “You’re not unlovable, you know?” he said just above a whisper. “The text… you sent it to the wrong person”
Your breath hitched in your throat, your body stiffened suddenly, hyper-aware of the weight of his hands in yours. You whipped your head around to look at him, your mouth slightly agape trying to form a coherent sentence. A violent slam broke whatever was forming between the two of you. “The 15 minutes ended ages ago” Noah barked “Y/n i hope you feel better, but we don’t have all day, so please, can we just get on with it?”
Nicholas squeezed your hand one last time before pushing himself up. He picked up his bass, settling back into position.
One thought looped through your brain like a broken record: “What the fuck just happened?”.
_________________________________________________________________________
You felt it. The shift on Noah’s part.
It started right after the night where you got the drumming blisters of your hand. He became colder, harsher in his comments about your ideas, your compositions, your performances.
Most definitely he didn’t hide his distrust in you anymore. He looked down on you, observing every single piece of your behaviour.
You felt scrutinized, as the little girl you once were, the feeling of inadequacy started to bloom again.
“That’s not good enough…You can do better y/n”
“It’s cute how you think that fill adds something.”
“Leave the creativity to me.”
Day after day, the spark, the raw roar behind your drumming style vanished little by little. You’d become the shell of the woman who first joined the band and EVERYONE stood there watching this unfold.
Most of your time off was spent retreated behind the velvet curtain of your bunk either crying or trying to get into a deep sleep hoping to get some peace and quiet there.
You weren’t a bandMEMBER anymore, but just a means used to reach whatever Bad Omens had in mind.
___________________________________________________________________
Today was no exception: it was the last day of rehearsals before the second leg of the US tour kicked off.
You showed up to rehearsing space perfectly punctual, your hands convered in gloves (Noah’s suggestion) to avoid any other injury that could “fuck up the tour schedule”.
The boys showed up shortly after you. You noticed how Nick, Jolly and Folio looked particularly tired today in stark contrast with the bright mood which Noah was in.
Today, you had two other guests taking part in rehearsals: Matt and Davis.
You worked methodically, going through the setlist accommodating Noah’s last touches, your mind already far removed from whatever tomorrow would bring.
“That would be all guys, I think we did a pretty good job, if I do say so myself” Noah said, a grin plastered on his face.
You were already packing up your drumkit thinking about the comfort of your bed on the tour bus and the cheap packed meals that the crew had once you were taking the road.
Before anyone could say a word, you snuck out of the room bolting for the bus. As much as you hated to admit it, it was the only place left where you felt truly safe from everything.
___________________________________________________________________________
This night wasn’t particularly easy, you just couldn’t sleep: tossing and turning in your bunk, your brain working itself to pieces imagining what the tour could look like.
Usually, at some point, slumber took you from sheer exhaustion. But tonight wasn’t that. You could hear, in addition to your thoughts, the clink of beer bottles and the rustle of takeout containers which provided a jagged rhythm to their conversation. They thought you were dead to the world.
“She’s finally where you wanted her to be, Noah. Give it a rest,” Matt’s voice cut through the air, sounding weary. “The rehearsals were solid today. We’re ready for the road.”
“Solid?” Noah’s scoff was sharp. “She’s playing devoid of everything, Matt. There’s no soul in it. I didn’t ask her that. Fuck, I told you all she was a risk. We’re heading into the biggest leg of our career and our drummer plays like she’s afraid of her own shadow.”
“And what did you ask of her exactly Noah?” said Folio uncharacteristically irritated “Because, from what I recall, you’ve been dragging her to pieces every single fucking chance you had”.
“You’ve spent months making her afraid” Jolly cut in, his voice cold. “We can all see it, Noah. You’ve been riding her since the day she got the blisters. You’ve made her a mere machine, that’s what you wanted and please, don’t fucking deny it.”
“I don’t care what she is as long as she doesn’t fuck up the schedule” Noah snapped. “I didn’t want a “soulful”' project. I wanted a professional. We could have had any session drummer in the country, but we’re stuck with this because Nicholas couldn't keep his ego in check.”
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. You held your breath, your heart hammering against your ribs so hard it hurt.
“Watch your tone, Noah,” Nicholas’s voice was a low, dangerous rumble.
“Why? Because I’m telling the truth?” Noah pushed. “You’re the reason she’s here, Nick. You’re the one who told management that if we didn't sign her, you were done. You put your own fucking contract on the line for a girl who can’t even look me in the eye anymore.”
You felt the blood drain from your face. His contract. Nicholas had risked his entire life’s work, his position in the band he helped build, just to keep you.
“I did it because she’s the best thing that ever happened to this band’s sound,” Nicholas hissed. “And if she can’t look you in the eye, it’s because you’ve spent every day making her feel like a mistake. I took responsibility for her, yeah. And I’ll keep taking it. But if you break her, Noah, I swear to God, I’ll take this whole thing down with me.”
“Enough!” Davis intervened, his voice booming. “We’re not tearing the band apart tonight. She’s sleeping five feet away. Everyone, get some air. Now.”
Your eyes stung, and you bit your lip, hard, trying to stifle the ragged sobs that were threatening to burst through. You tasted the metallic tang of blood, but you didn't care.
You were never a band member to begin with. All this time you’ve just been a debt, someone to be tolerated because of something bigger than anyone.
You couldn't stay. You couldn't let him sabotage his career for a "fickle character" like Noah.
You weren't going to be the reason Nicholas lost everything.
___________________________________________________________________
There you were, the next morning, waiting for the last meeting before the official start of the second leg of the US tour.
You dragged yourself down from the bunk bed, sleep-deprived and barely functional. All night you’d gone back and forth as to how to break the news.
The air was electrifying, you could feel the excited buzz coming from everyone, especially the crew. Even in your exhausted state, you tried to savor the atmosphere, painfully aware that it was one of the last times you would ever feel this specific magic from the inside.
The bus stopped at the venue, and having time to spare, nursing your usual morning coffee, you decided to wander around and take in even the smallest of parts that had constituted your life for nearly a decade.
You looked around the venue slowly, almost carefully, as if you could preserve the moment by force of will alone. The crew moved around you, setting up the night ahead, but it already felt like something slipping away.
Melancholy crept in quietly, filling the spaces between your thoughts, until it sat heavy in your chest like something unspoken. You grimaced into your cup, trying to stop the tears. You stopped fighting months ago, but that sensation made you surrender completely to the inevitable.
Nicholas didn’t deserve that sword of Damocles hanging over his head any longer; he’d already paid too high of a price for your presence. And you? You didn’t deserve the way you’d been treated, reduced to a prize to be auctioned.
Yet, the thought of giving up your dream was finally catching up to you, clawing at your throat. You realized then what you were going to miss the most:
The few hours before the show, when everyone is buzzing with excitement.
The adrenaline starting to build up from the sound check.
The crowd filtering through the arena and chanting with you through the whole show.
Nicholas. Just naming him was sufficient to make your knees weak.
___________________________________________________________________
Once you got up the bus, you saw that everyone was taking their place around the table.
You could see into everyone’s eyes, even Noah’s, the nerves starting to build up. Voices were louder, postures were more rigid and everyone was hyperfocused on making their first show perfect.
Noah was mid-sentence, pointing at a calendar on his laptop, when you cleared your throat. “I’m out.”
The silence that followed was instantaneous. Folio froze with a water bottle halfway to his mouth. Jolly looked up from his phone, blinking. Nicholas, who had been leaning against the far wall, went deathly still.
“Excuse me?” Noah asked, his brow furrowing as he finally looked at you.
“I’m giving my notice,” you said, your voice gaining a sharp edge you didn’t know you possessed. You pulled a folded piece of paper from your pocket and slid it across the table toward him. “I’m not leaving you high and dry, I’ll play for as long as necessary in order to make the transition to a new drummer seamless”.
“Y/N, what are you talking about?” Folio whispered, his face falling.
“I know about the contract, Noah,” you said, ignoring Folio’s incredulous remark. You looked directly at the man. “I know Nicholas put his own career on the line to keep me here. And I refuse to be a pawn in your own little games. I refuse to be the “secret” that everyone has to tiptoe around just so the band doesn't fall apart.”
You stood up, your chair screeching against the floor. “You deserve a drummer you actually want, Noah. And I deserve to be somewhere where my every mistake isn't a debt Nicholas has to pay.”
Noah looked at the paper, then at you, for the first time looking genuinely speechless.
Matt and Davis, concerned about the sudden silence that got into the bus, poked their heads in. You were standing up tall, a stern look on your face, almost towering over Noah, who, on the contrary, curled into his own shoulders, was reading a piece of paper, a distant look on his face.
However, what caught them was Nicholas. He had a very dark look on his face, his arms folded across his chest, knuckles so tight, they were white. He was drumming his foot on the floor.
“Out,” Nicholas said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it had a vibration to it that made the air in the lounge feel heavy.
“Nick, we should talk about this as a group..” Jolly started.
“Out. Everyone.” Nicholas snapped, his eyes fixed on you with a terrifying, predatory intensity.
Noah grabbed the paper and ushered Folio and Jolly toward the door. You tried to push past him, to follow them, but Nicholas was faster. He slammed his hand against the doorframe, blocking your exit, his frame looming over you.
His gazed softened once your eyes met his. “Y/n…” he started.
You cut his words “Nick, please, for once, can I be the one to speak” your voice already feeble “You know what’s fucking with me? It’s the fact I’m supposed to be infuriated with you. YOU BOUGHT ME NICHOLAS, You exchanged my skills with your career without even having the decency to keep me in the clear of what was happening” Tears of frustration began to burn your eyes.
The weight of your words hit Nick in the chest. His shoulders slumped, averting his eyes from you.
“I thought I was buying us some time y/n” answered Nick, his voice just above a whisper “I was hoping that, at some point, you could see what I saw the very first time I heard you play” his eyes glistened with unshed tears “I thought I was protecting you” he sniffled.
You were done pretending. Your sobs escaped your mouth “you’re the one thing that kept coming back to you, to the band, even when I hated the sessions, even when I hated Noah, even when I was doubting myself… I still looked for you Nick. You’ve been my safe place” your hands came up to your face covering it as you surrendered to the tears, your shoulders shaking.
Nicholas leapt to you, enveloping you in a tight embrace. “I’m so sorry. I let this agreement get the best of me” Seeing her in this state was like a wake-up call to Nick. He suddenly realised the extent of the damage done.
“You can take what you need sweetheart” added, pressing his lips to your temple. “But please” his voice growing more desperate, “take your time to think about definitely leaving the band”.
Enveloped by Nick’s warmth, you were able to simply nod.
___________________________________________________________________
That night the green room, once filled with music and banter, seemed more of a waiting room. Silence was predominant.
You were playing with the edges of your gloves, still trying to get used to them and the feel with your drum sticks. Beside you, Nick was concentrated, almost obsessively, in cleaning his in-ear pieces, getting them ready for the show.
On the other corner of the room, Noah was pacing up and down, occasionally doing his warm-up exercises (“just in case”). However, you noticed a change in his demeanor. The rigid control left space for something else, regret maybe, or just awareness of his contribution to what happened. He had difficulties looking you into the eyes, the way he called your name was getting softer.
He stopped abruptly just minutes away at the start of the show. Looking into his hands Noah said “Guys, could you please leave Y/n and I alone for a minute”
Four heads whipped in his direction staring at him with wide eyes. If you squinted hard enough, you could tell that his cheeks turned pink from embarrassment.
With a knowing smirk, Folio was the first one to get up and get to the door. Jolly followed suit, while Nick was moving slowly, eyes locked into Noah’s trying to gauge what his intentions were.
Before closing the door, Folio, with a theatrical flare exclaimed “Let the redemption arc, BEGIN” and with a clumsy bow, he closed the door.
Your eyes still wide, heart hammering in your chest, drum sticks long forgotten on your side of the couch, suddenly very aware of your body pressed against the leather of the couch. “So…” he trailed off
“So” you retorted, ready to jump to his throat in case this was another occasion to tear you down.
“I have been a gigantic asshole for the longest time y/n” he started “I see that now, I see that I could never allow myself to see you to your full potential because my head was so far up my ass” his eyes fixed on the window staring at the trees outside.
“Bad Omens has been THE project, my son if you will, and the other parent has always been Nick. He was the first one who got into the band” his voice heavy. “Up until you came along, he and I were always on the same page, we wanted the same things, my goals for the band were his goals… and then, one day, he came home ecstatic, rambling on about a drummer who “was fucking sick” at what she did”.
You finally started breathing again, eyes softening at the vulnerability Noah was showing. You got up, getting closer to him.
“I never would’ve thought that seeing my friend enthralled with another musician could fuel such jealousy in me” his adam’s apple bobbed as if trying to swallow a huge lump in his throat. “As far as music goes, there was always him and I, through the various bands we played with, and I couldn’t stand the fact that another person could catch his attention like that” you could see his eyes starting to water, becoming red at their rim.
“You wanted to break me then, so that I could leave Nick alone” you whispered trying to look at him “You were afraid I could take him away from you” your voice steady.
Noah finally looked at you, his eyes puffy. "I didn't think I was breaking you. I thought I was... proving to him that he was wrong. That you weren't worth the pedestal he put you on." He let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh. "But the harder I pushed, the more he defended you. And the more he defended you, the more I hated that I was the one making him choose."
He stepped closer, looking at the black gloves on your hands, "take them off," he whispered.
You blinked. "What?"
"The gloves. The “machine” bullshit." Noah reached out, his hand hovering over yours but not touching. "Go out there and play like the girl Nick couldn't stop talking about. If you're going to leave, Y/N... leave us with the version of you that I was too scared to admit I actually liked."
___________________________________________________________________________
The concert had a very bittersweet mood to it. You allowed yourself to enjoy, one last time, what was like playing in front of thousands of people, the adrenaline rush from keeping the tempo for the others.
You allowed yourself to be free, enjoying drumming like the very first live performances you ever did: carefree, stripped of every layer, being in the moment without thinking too much.
Once the final goodbye came, you reached the boys on center stage, you felt the familiar hand on the small of your back, before the final bow. You expected to see Nick, but, to your surprise, that hand belonged to Noah who, before bowing, looked at you with a big smile mouthing “you were fantastic”.
___________________________________________________________________________
You stood there, on the stage, the venue which still contained the memory of the performance just had, confetti scattered around. Behind you, the crew moved with razor sharp precision dismantling everything. You would miss this terribly, the pit in your stomach already open with deep sadness.
Now came the worst part: breaking the news to the boys. Although it seemed that the dynamic was starting to smooth out, the pain that Noah drew was still too fresh to be put behind.
The walk back to the green room was infinite. How long can a corridor be? you thought.
Once you reached the door you could feel that the atmosphere had shifted completely, the music was loud, voices were overlapping and, most of all, you could hear Nick’s laughter.
You entered the room, a booming voice shouting your name “Y/NNNNN” screamed Folio jumping at you with his arms open “You killed it out there… We’ve missed you”.
You forced a smile too caught up in your own bubble of anxiety. “Guys..” you began “Can we talk for a sec?” Everyone stopped dead in their tracks.
The boys gathered around the leather couch, while you chose to sit on the coffee table, so that you could face them… no more hiding, no more secrets.
You were fiddling with your rings that you carefully put on once the concert was over just to have something to ease your wave of emotions.
“I’ll just rip the bandaid off… I thought about the last couple of days, I need some time off guys” you kept your gaze to your feet “I feel I’m burnt out, I can’t sleep, I can’t think, I can’t be the best performer. I need space to recharge, get the focus out of this situation and come back steadier”.
The silence that fell once you stopped talking was so thick with emotion that no one dared to break it for several minutes.
Nick looked defeated, eyes wet but not as much as tears, he slouched on the couch pinching his nose between his fingers.
Folio looked like he just landed from a foreign planet. His mouth agape shaped in an “O” form, eyes wide going between you, Noah and Nick.
Jolly was the one who surprised you the most: he had a proud expression on his face, as if telling you that that was the right decision.
On the other hand, Noah’s expression was unreadable. He was hunched over, his elbows on his knees, hand cupping his face.
He was the one who broke the silence first “We know you are Y/n. We…I could tell and I’m sorry that I was the cause of it. Take the time you need” he finished.
“But you said… you WILL come back; won’t you?” interrupted Folio.
That was the arrow that pierced through your heart “Yes… yes I will” your voice wavered.
You waited a while for Jolly or Nick to speak, but nothing came. “Well, I think this is it, for now” you said, pulling yourself up. “I think I’m going to pack my bags and then off I go”.
Noah and Folio gave you the biggest hug, wishing you the best and exchanging addresses just to stay in contact with each other.
“I’m glad that you finally had the courage to say things out loud” Intervened Jolly “I know that silence doesn’t mean passive, believe me, but seeing you like this, makes me more eager to know what tomorrow will bring with our music”.
You nodded and smiled at him “I guess, you just have to wait and see,” you said, winking at him.
As if on cue, the three men, silently agreeing, exited the room leaving you and Nicholas alone.
He was still sitting down, tapping his feet into the floor, fiddling with his hands. For the first time you really could see him. His raven hair clung to his forehead and neck due to the sweat lingering. His eyes were fixed on something on the floor.
“Are you sure?” he whispered. He didn’t look at you, aware of the fact that if he did, the look would be pleading for her to stay and he knew it wasn't his decision to make.
You got near him, his warmth still radiating, plopping beside him on the couch: “I owe this to myself, Nick. Don’t get me wrong I would’ve stayed, for you, but It wouldn’t have lasted long. I would’ve hated the music and Noah, I can’t allow that”.
You reached out to him, taking his hand into yours. He nodded slowly
Finally the two of you looked into each other’s eyes. His were watery, but at the same time, held a deep understanding that made your head spin.
“I’ll wait for you” he tightened his grip on your hand “I don’t care how much time you take to find yourself again, I’ll be exactly where you left me” his gaze suddenly charged with tension of something left unsaid.
Left speechless, you brush a strand of hair away from his face, lingering your touch on his cheek, tracing the outline of his face.
“I’ll miss you so much” you said, pulling him into a tight hug. You couldn’t let him see you crying AGAIN.
