ANCHORAGE
Images Credits: Nick: Becca C. Stokes (Pinterest) - Illustration: Marta Maria (Pinterest) - Noah: Seesaw (Pinterest).
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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.
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“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.
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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.
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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?”.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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."
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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”.
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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.
