Musicians/Music Groups Fan Fiction >> Avenged Sevenfold
The following is a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.
Please see the Terms of Service for more information.
You taste like
knows you're built
Nice to wake up next to him, nice to hear the rhythm of his breathing, and nice to watch the slow,
steady rise and fall of his chest, one arm draped over his eyes, the other falling onto my side of
the pillows, just above my head. He sprawled out - claiming the whole bed - his lips quirked into
the tiniest hint of a smile; all long, gangly limbs and a strange look of innocence that took over
him as he slept. I was glad just to be near him, glad for the closeness, glad to be the one that had
woken first so I could watch the way his fringe splayed across his forehead, the way his lips, even
when he was sleeping, curved into a sullen line that completed his signature brooding fa?ade.
Even though his eyes weren't open, I could see them flickering in the depths of REM sleep, the huff
of his breath prickling against my skin as I rolled over, watching him tenderly - savouring what
were surely going to turn into my last minutes with him. Who knew what might happen when he woke?
Who knew how he'd even react to my being here? I certainly didn't; I didn't usually do the whole
one-night stand business...I didn't know how it went, and I was fairly sure I was an exception to
the whole ordeal - usually, I'd always assumed, one-night stands stemmed from drunken antics, and at
least on my part what we'd done had been while stone sober - what state he'd been in though, I
wasn't so sure about. But I'd taken the chance I'd been given, and in a way that reassured me these
feelings were unhealthy, I didn't regret it one bit.
I watched as he stirred slowly, brow creasing lightly, lips pursing as his eyes fluttered open and
he glanced at me quickly, instantaneously - my heart jumped into my throat as our gazes connected
briefly, his ice-blue eyes still glazed with the grogginess of sleep. I remembered perfectly what
we'd done, how his hands had explored my body shamelessly, tracing a path for his lips to follow,
pressing light kisses against my skin, legs tangling, hips pressed together. The fire that had
flared between us when our lips had met - the electricity that made my skin tingle with the
excitement of just...being alive. I'd never felt that way before, and I was almost certain I'd never
feel that way again. Not as I watched him waking up; slow, groggy, unsure - almost certainly hung
over. Almost certainly incapable of remembering anything that had happened last night. Part of me
was glad for that; I knew he didn't do relationships. I knew I was just another notch
in his bedpost. But that didn't stop my body's reaction to this sudden fear - heart pounding, mouth
He sat up. The bedsheets, creased from our movements of the previous night, slid down to reveal most
of his bare torso; a lean, muscular torso covered in perfect ink - 'FICTION' tattooed right down the
middle of his chest. The meaning of that tattoo had never escaped me. He was right, his life
was pretty unbelievable; who'd've thought he could have gone from the guy that lived in a
fucking laundromat...to one of the most popular rock stars of recent years? His life was fiction to
me and a million fans across the world; the unattainable dream. He was fiction to me.
But that didn't matter now.
I waited silently, lips pressed together in a thin line, brushing my hair back from my face as I
watched him, eyes flickering from his face to the planes of muscle the bedsheets had revealed and
the ink decorating his skin.
And then, for the briefest of moments, he smiled. My breath caught in my throat; for that same
moment I lost control of the persona I was trying to portray - this nonchalance. I smiled too - but
that moment passed all too quickly, as quickly and as unexpectedly as it had happened. He broke the
silence that had been building, his voice thick with tiredness, and, dare I imagine it, the same
implications of the night before?
“Mornin', beautiful.” my heart jumped, then squeezed, painfully. He reached out,
touching my cheek, his fingers leaving a trail of fire searing my skin as soon as he pulled away
again. I froze, my lips still twitched into a smile, my heart pounding with the shock; and a strange
feeling of elation.
“Hey...” I managed a mumble, suddenly shy, but still managing to meld against him as he
shifted, draping an arm over my waist, pulling me closer to the warmth he exuded. I didn't
understand his sudden change of heart. I didn't understand anything any more. All my foundations for
beliefs in the world had been shaken and mercilessly torn apart by this - the fact he wasn't telling
me to leave. He glanced at me, confused by my woodenness, brow dipping in concern as he nosed along
my jawline, pulling me closer.
“What's wrong?” he asked, his lips ghosting across my cheek, now, and I glanced at him
out of the corner of my eye, rolling to face him as my smile widened tentatively.
“Nothing...I just,” I shook my head, pressing closer, inwardly revelling in the
affection, “...nothing.” I finished lamely. He grinned suddenly, squeezing me gently,
pressing his lips to my forehead.
“Nothing at all?” I smiled at his teasing, shaking my head as I ran my fingers over the
decorative ink on his chest, tracing the letters one by one. F. He lay silently,
“Do you remember what we did?” he asked suddenly, and I nodded quietly. I.
“Do you regret it?” his lips were closer to mine now, his breath tingling against my
I shook my head. I traced the curve of ink with the pad of my thumb. C. I saw the smile
flicker onto his features, one hand sliding to cup my cheek slowly, making me look at him.
“Say something, hun...” he asked, voice quieting slightly as he watched me. My chest
tightened in a mixture of tremorous fear, and something like elation at the pet name. This wasn't
normal. This wasn't what I had expected. It was better than anything I could have imagined.
“What do you want me to say?” I pressed my lips to his softly, inwardly smiling at the
way I could just do this - so naturally, without prethought. I had nothing to say, no feelings that
could be expressed in words. Just being near him was enough, just being close to him. T.
He shrugged, shoulders rolling, skin moving beneath my touch as I grinned, pulling away from the
“I don't know.” he said softly, “Something. Anything.” I shrugged too,
pausing, chewing on my lip as I tried to think of the words to express myself; wishing language was
fluent enough, brilliant enough to express my emotions, to express the way I felt right now.
“I love you.” I burst out. His breath caught slightly. I.
I glanced up. He was staring at me; and his face was unreadable in the worst of ways. His expression
had frozen similar to the way mine had before; but his lips weren't smiling, and neither were his
eyes. He looked shocked, and I couldn't tell in what way. I looked away sharply, squeezing my eyes
shut, shifting in the bed as though to move away - preparing for rejection yet again. It shocked me
when his arm snaked around my waist again, pulling me back to him. His voice was suddenly weaker.
“Don't - don't go.” it wasn't a request. He pulled me against his chest, cradling me,
his normally playful expression suddenly serious. I froze.
“Do you mean that?” his voice lowered, his face level with mine, eyes piercing. I
blanched, cheeks flushing as I dipped my head, cringing away from his intensity; biting down hard on
my lip as I nodded. O.
“...Most of the time.” it was the final nail in my coffin. His expression changed,
smoothed, exotic beauty and unusual perfection complete again. He pressed his lips to my forehead,
and I felt the way he inhaled, drinking in my scent. I waited for him to say something; but he
stayed silent, eyes sliding shut, arm wrapped around me possessively so I couldn't get away, no
matter how much my feelings juxtaposed right now - how I wanted to run away and hide, but at the
same time, lie here with him forever.
“Okay.” he said suddenly, and I saw his eyes had opened, ice-blue and right now, staring
only at me, studying my features in such an intense way that I blushed again, hiding my face in his
He said nothing else, but I understood his silence completely. He, in his own way, was accepting
what I'd said - knowing full well that maybe I didn't mean it, couldn't mean it. And I knew that in
the best of ways he wasn't going to return the sentiment. He didn't love me. I didn't love him. How
could I say that and mean it, never having been with him before, never having kissed him before last
night, never having been called his girlfriend, or anything similar? But the silence between us
wasn't awkward, it was understanding - a compromise that we could both relate to completely. Just
lying here was him proving he wasn't going to leave me broken. Just lying here was me proving that I
was no longer afraid.
[Return to Top]
The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.
Please see the Terms of Service for more information.