Classic Rock Imagines And One Shots

Charlie Watts #1 (The Rolling Stones)

This is honestly all over the place. But I tried my best and needed to get it out. Rest in peace, Charlie. <3

Sex. Drugs. Rock N' Roll.

If there was anyone who truly embodied all three, it was the Stones. Except for Charlie, of course.

In a crazy life full of crazy people, having crazy sex, doing crazy drugs and playing rock n' roll in a crazy band, Charlie was the only sane one. Somehow, throughout years and years of endless partying where it was so easy for someone to get lost not only physically, but mentally, he was the one who kept his eye on me, and constantly looked out.

He never did drugs, rarely drank, and I think the only sex he had was with the occassional groupie. He shined and rose through it all.

Charlie was the break, the moment of fresh air. Not for just me, but for everybody. But for some reason he cared about me most.

I wish I had done the same.

I'd known Charlie since the summer of 1958. He was seventeen and I was fifteen, both hanging out at the community pool with friends, just as any teenager would on a hot summer day. Somehow our groups mixed and the rest became history.

Even when he was in school (which it seemed like he was almost all of the time) and we couldn't see each other, he still somehow managed to call me once every night, fitting it into his wild routine of class, work, drumming, then sleep. It seemed like I shouldn't have even been a priority to him.

But I was. I was his number one.

And then the summers, oh god. The summers were what mattered for us. Before it was a life of constant going and constant doing, it used to be just the two of us. And our troubles of course.

With only two people and not much to do or nowhere to go, we talked. That was it. In the summers I was no longer a regular secondary school student, but rather a girl with an alcoholic father and a little too much trauma to be carrying around. He knew that about me, of course he did.

Charlie knew everything about me, and that was what I loved about him. But at times, it's what I hated about him too.

And that's how I felt right about now, watching as he seemed to throw all my flaws and imperfections right in my face. He stood in front of me like it was nothing.

"Are you kidding me?"

He sighed and I watched him as he sat upon the sheets of his hotel room bed. I still remember how I felt in that moment, my eyes practically glued open from all the coke I'd just inhaled five minutes ago. It already felt like too much.

Charlie ran a hand through his shoulder-length, quite greasy hair. It was only on this leg of the tour that he'd finally let it grow out.

I couldn't help but wonder if he'd eventually stop caring about me, just as he'd done his hair. I don't know why I ever let that thought cross my mind.

"No (Y/N)," He spoke calmly just as he always did. "I'm not kidding. And if the rest of the band could get sober just as you should, I think they'd say the same thing."

"I'm not getting sober!" I almost felt myself scream, anger rising to the top of my throat. "And I- I am not turning into my father. I'm nothing like him."

The fact that he would even say that to my face made my blood boil. Looking back on it now, he was right. Not in the way I said it but in the way he was about to.

"I didn't say that. I said you are starting to develop habits that remind me of your father and his drinking," He kept eye contact with me the entire time, and made me feel so secure.