Band Imagines

George "Ryan" Ross III - Extra Sugar

Pairing: Fem!Reader x George Ryan Ross III

Request: Yeah! || Congrats on 100 followers!! I absolutely adore your writing, and was wondering if you weren't too backed up with requests if you could do another fluffy one with Ryan? There aren't enough with him in them. With the request, I was thinking maybe something along the lines of the reader living in the apartment above a coffee shop and Ryan's always down there playing his guitar and she loves his music and she finally gets to meet him one day and it's just fluffy (Sorry this was really long)

Warnings: SFW || cursing.

This is such a cute request and I was in such a good mood while writing this one. I enjoyed it a lot. Also, sorry I've been on hiatus for so fucking long. My anxiety and depression have been kicking my ass lately. I hope this makes it a little better. Enjoy some Ryro fluff. xx

You lived in a small apartment above a small coffee shop and cafe on the most run down side of Chicago, Illinois. It was a cute spot to live, and wasn't far from anywhere you would need to go. Especially with the fact that there were constantly taxis all over, willing to take you anywhere in the city. You were surprised with how cheap the rent was, but figured it was because the apartment was relatively small and there was a constant smell of coffee in your house, no matter how many apple scented candles you burned on a daily basis.

But that wasn't the problem you had with living here. This paper wasn't about to write itself. You knew that. The other twenty three students in your sociology class that had the same assignment knew that too. But yet here you were, two days before the due date and you were the only student that hadn't turned it in yet. It's not your fault that you worked five days a week full time and that you never had any peace and quiet at home.

The cafe below your apartment was always allowing start up musicians to come in and play. And the performers music choices ranged anywhere from piano covers of "Chasing Cars" by 'Snow Patrol', to brand new original songs that were nothing but screaming into a microphone and drum solos. You thought the cafe should have limited it to soft guitar, keyboard, and ukulele, but turning all the other musicians away would be considered rude. So they allowed almost anyone to play. Which was fine and dandy till you had a paper that was worth 75% of your semester grade due and had only got your name and the class name typed in the corner of the page.

But occasionally it was okay. Some times there would be this one musician that came in with his guitar and played songs that reminded you of 'The Beatles.' You had no idea what he looked like, or what his name was. All you knew was that he was by far your favorite and you hoped he would remain un-famed, just so he would continue to play in the cafe and give you a mini concert from the vent in your living room. Your favorite song of his was "Cape Town," followed closely by "The Other Girl." Two that he played each and every time he would come to the cafe. Sort of, fan favorites. And yes, you qualified yourself as a fan.

Thankfully, today was one of the days that he was here. His soothing voice made nice and calm background music as you typed away and wrote about breaking the social norm in everyday life.

Three and a half hours later, you heard the crowd cheering downstairs as you submitted your paper to the online course. It turned out worse than you would have wanted it to, but you didn't have time to go back and edit it a lot, nor did you really want to. Nor did you want to wait another day and then have something go wrong and you lose the paper the night before it's due. So you clicked 'turn in,' got your digital receipt, and then shut your laptop.

Your eyes scanned to the clock on the wall and you knew that the cafe would be closing soon, and he would be ending his quote unquote setlist in a minute or two. This was probably his last song before he would start packing up. And something was telling you that you should go see who it was. But that wasn't the only reason you were headed downstairs. You really wanted a fall flavored drink. After all, it was the middle of October. After pulling on a hoodie over the tank top you had previously been wearing, and some fluffy socks because the owners knew you lived above them and didn't care whether or not you put on shoes to come grab a coffee, you grabbed a five dollar bill from your wallet and headed down the staircase, turning at the bottom and opening the glass door into the cafe. As you entered the rustic coffee shop, you smiled upon seeing that it was nearly empty and the boy was on the small stage, playing his guitar.

He gave off a puppy dog innocence. He was cute, that was for sure. There was a small stand in front of him that read 'George Ryan Ross III: Acoustic Set.' George. It didn't really suit him, but you didn't name him that. After watching him play about half a verse, you were entranced and didn't move from your spot against the back wall until after the set when people started to leave and he began to pick up. That was when you went up to the counter and ordered. "Can I please get a small, pumpkin spice iced chai tea latte?" The total came out to about two dollars and twenty three cents, but you always left the change in the tip jar, just because the owners were always so nice to you. The lady working nodded and began making your drink.

Your eyes drifted back to the stage as you walked down towards the end of the counter to not be in the way of everyone in line. Sadly, the boy and his equipment were gone. The stage was clear and you couldn't help the frown on your face. You had actually wanted to say hello to 'George' and possibly talk to him about his music. But you were pulled from your thoughts when someone at the counter said they had two small iced pumpkin chai's ready. You walked over and grabbed one of the cups, smiling as you brought the straw to your lips and sipped it, immediately swallowing the cool fall drink, but regretting it slightly. It was way too sweet.

That was when you noticed the little black 'x' written on the top of the cup. 'X' meant "extra" something. Whether it be extra caramel, extra vanilla, extra whipped cream. But in this case, it was easily-

"Extra sugar? I think that one's mine..." A soft voice stated from beside you. You looked over and chuckled. George was standing next to you.

"Yeah, I think so too." You both quickly pulled the straws from the cups and traded, putting your own straw in the drinks and smiling as you fixed your own orders. "Yeah, this one is definitely mine."

"I agree. Sorry about that. I should probably look a little closer next time." He chuckled, bringing his free hand up to scratch the back of his neck.

You nodded and smiled at him, "Yeah George. Maybe you should."

"Please, everyone calls me Ryan." Ryan. His middle name. It suited him way better than George did.

"Okay. Ryan. Don't you think that this is a sweet enough drink? Why add sugar?"

"Well, person who's name I do not know-"

"Y/N." You stated with a chuckle.

"Ah, Y/N. Well, Y/N, you see, you only live once. I prefer to enjoy each and every thing I consume. I see that you prefer to not wear shoes in public." Immediately, you glanced down to your feet and giggled.

"Well Ryan, I do. I just don't wear them here because I'm too lazy to put shoes on. I live just upstairs, so there's really no point in getting completely dressed to come down the stairs, around the banister, through the door, down the two foot long hallway, into the cafe, up to the counter, and then back out the door and upstairs when I get my drink. It's a waste. So the owners let me come in here with just socks on."

Ryan nodded and sipped his extra sugary sweet drink with a smile on his face. "Socks are cute. Especially fuzzy white ones with pink hearts on them." He winked.

You rolled your eyes as he described your own socks to you. "Ha ha. Very funny. You know, I was gonna compliment your music but now, never mind. Have a nice night, George." You smirked, sipping your drink and starting to walk towards the short hallway back to your apartment's door.

"Y/N?" You turned back around to look at him after he said your name. "You like my music?"

"I do."

"Maybe if you gave me your number, we could set up a day where I could come upstairs and play...?"

"Sure thing... George."

He laughed slightly as you crossed back over to him and took his phone, putting your number in and agreeing that next Saturday he would be back and you would let him play you music in your living room.