#{ freddy never reacts. not even once. and it would have been SO easy to give him something; even a voice line of realization } | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

charliedawn · 11 months

Text

How would they react if their child came to them for advice ?

Freddy was tending to his garden when he heard your familiar footsteps behind him. He turned around with a wide smile—but that smile faltered when he saw the look on your face.

"Hey, champ'. What's going on ?". You sat down next to him and started mindlessly picking out the plants you found there. Freddy would normally protest—but he could see that something was wrong.

"We talked about growing up in school today and it made me think...", you confessed before looking up at him. "What was it like for you ? Was it hard ?"

Freddy was surprised by the question. He could see you were scared of the answer—as you should be. It wasn't easy to grow up. His childhood was...not good. And it didn't get any better growing up. But, he couldn't tell you that. You weren't him. You could still make something of yourself.

So, he wrapped a comforting arm around you and smiled.

"Yup. Hard as Hell. But, you'll be a'right, kid. You know why ?" You shook your head and Freddy removed his hat before putting it on your head. "Because you got me. And I ain't letting anything stand in your way. You're my kid. And since I already went all the wrong ways—I'll make sure you do everything I didn't."

You smiled and felt somehow reassured. It wasn't exactly what you wanted to hear—but it was enough for now. You knew that your father meant well and you remembered how he had hesitated before adopting you. He didn't think himself capable of being a good dad. He thought himself the worst.

But, he did stay. He stayed, and that made him the best father you could have ever asked for. You hugged him and thanked him. He seemed surprised at first, but smiled and returned it.

You hid the piece of paper you had wanted to show him behind your back.

Who do you want to be when you grow up ?

...My dad.

You were staring at the piece of paper you had been asked to answer at home. It wasn't a big question. Just a complicated one.

Who do you want to be when you grow up ?

It seemed whenever you would be staring at the question and try to answer it, it would stare right back at you. At the end, you let out a loud frustrated groan before crumpling the piece of paper in your hand and threw it across the room.

"Wow. What's gotten into ya, kiddo ?" You turned around to see your father standing there. He had witnessed the whole scene and you sniffed pathetically before answering him.

"Growing up sucks..."

Bo looked between you and the piece of paper before turning back towards you. He picked up the paper and looked at the question. He held back a snort. What kind of question was that ?

He looked back up at you and frowned at your dejected expression. Welp...Seemed like it was time to be a good father figure and give you some wise advice—two things he had no fuckin' clue how to do.

"Ya right. Growing up sucks. Big time. But, ya know what' awesome ? Ya learn. And whoever ya' goin' te be ? Just be you. And be great at it. A'right ?"

He smiled and ruffled you hair playfully until you giggled. Your eyes briefly caught the old scars around his wrists and for a moment, you thought about your dad's past. He had told you about his parents and how they had 'educated' him. And then, you thought of how he had learned from it and even though you sometimes could throw tantrums—he had never once raised a finger on you.

You smiled when you realized that you finally had an answer. You straightened the piece of paper the best you could before writing down.

When I grow up, I want to be my dad.

Michael was reading a book in his bedroom when he heard a shy knocking at his door. He stood up and opened it to find you—waiting in the corridor with a piece of paper in your hand.

"Hey, dad. Could I...Could I ask you something ?" He took a step back and let you in before closing the door behind you. He sat down on the sofa and patted the spot next to him. You smiled and nodded understandingly before indulging his silent request.

"I...have an assignment and I was wondering if you could help me ?"

He scooted closer to you to take a look at the paper in your hands and took out his notebook to write down.

How can I help ?

You thought about it for a moment before explaining your predicament.

"I just...I've been living all my life in the hospital. I don't know anyone that would be a good role model. I barely know anyone that is normal. Am I even normal myself ?"

Michael's jaw twitched as he realized he had never considered that your environment might end up being a problem. It was true. None of the slashers could really be taken as role models. He sighed and started seriously thinking about it before finally writing down.

Yourself.

You frowned and were about to ask what he meant by that when he quickly added.

If no one is up to your standards ? It is because you are the best there is in this place. And who do you want to be ? Yourself. Because you are already the best. And there is no one in this place that could ever measure. You survived all of those years. You were surrounded by slashers all your life, and you survived. I couldn't be prouder.

He hesitated before adding.

You are my role model.

Your eyes filled with tears as you wrapped your arms around his neck and squeezed. You finally had your answer. And your dad had helped you in more ways than one.

He was wise. Kind. And unlike anyone you had ever met. He had fought against every instinct in his body to keep you and protect you. And that made him the best role model you could ask for.

You stared at the question for a moment before sighing and leaning back. Unlike your dad who basically wrote more than he breathed...You weren't so lucky.

You had no idea of who to write.

You groaned loudly in annoyance before covering your face with the piece of paper. After a moment, you saw a shadow looming over you through the sheet and soon enough—the piece of paper was removed.

Jack took a look at its content and almost laughed at the stupid question. Who you wanted to be when you grow up ? Heck, he was a grown-up, and even he didn't have the answer to that. He sat down in front of you and threw the paper on your desk.

"...So, a lack of inspiration, huh ?" You groaned again in response and your father chuckled knowingly. The blank page syndrome he knew all too well...

"Is it always gonna be like that ? I feel like school is all a game of pretend. I can't be myself. And I can't say anything because that would make me an even bigger weirdo than I am.", you opened up to your dad who shook his head. He was somehow popular when he was in school—but he knew the struggle. The only way he could truly express himself was through the words he wrote. He never shared them though. Stupid decision. He would have gotten on the path of a writer far sooner if he had.

"Don't sweat it, kid. It's only a phase. When you'll be an adult ? No more 'who's mister/miss popular'. Or, 'who's the loser'. Everyone has their own problems. And guess what ? You'll have forgotten all about school and teenage problems when you'll hit my age."

You smiled and nodded before looking at the paper in your hands. It was hard to find an answer. But, he had kinda helped you be less scared of what will happen and in the process—given you an answer.

"Thanks, dad."

He huffed a laugh before nodding.

"No problem, kiddo."

Pennywise didn't show up until you had actually finished filling up your assignment. But, he frowned when he found that you had written Penny on the paper. He knew he wouldn't be your role model. He didn't want to be—but Penny ? Really ?

Well, it did make sense when he thought about it.

Penny was good with kids.

"Are you...mad ?", you asked—unsure. And Pennywise shook his head.

He then looked at you and smiled before giving you back your paper.

"No, little one. I am glad that you see him that way, kiddo. Just...remember that your uncle Penny tends to get himself into trouble and I'm here to keep you safe—alright ?"

You smiled and nodded before waiting until your father was out of the room before adding letters to the name. Turns out, Pennywise wasn't such a bad role model.

Penny did want to help. He just didn't know how. So, he tried to think about an answer that would be satisfactory enough.

"Well, you just have to write someone that you admire. That you look up to. A human you like for example.", Penny told you and you sighed. You had no idea who in your life could fit that description.

"Do you have anyone like that ?", you finally asked and Penny thought about it for a moment before giggling to himself.

"Well...Don't tell anyone but...your uncle Pennywise." You were surprised by his answer and frowned in confusion.

"What ? But, you hate him ! You're always yelling at each other !"

Penny shook his head before smiling at you.

"I don't hate him. We're brothers. Let's just say that...Even your dad can sometimes become jealous."

He winced at that last part. Penny didn't like admitting his defaults.

"Jealous ? But, you're the best !", you protested and Penny laughed at your endearing confidence in him.

"I appreciate it, little one. But, Pennywise always has a solution for everything. He took care of me when I almost died. Twice. And he never left. No matter how many times he wanted to. No matter how many times I begged him to. No matter how many times I deserved it. He's like that piece of cotton candy stuck underneath your shoe that you can't get rid of."

You both laughed at the comparison and finally, you had your answer.

"But, there's no one that makes me laugh as much as you do, dad. And I want to be able to bring a smile to everyone's faces—just like you."

You finally knew what to write down and your father grinned proudly at your answer before picking you up.

"Come on. Let's go find some popcorn."

Jason was rarely taken aback. You could count the number of times you had seen him surprised on your fingers. So, when Freddy came out with an idea for a prank that would surely make your father react ? You didn't even hesitate.

You wished you had had a camera to record the moment Jason discovered you had written Freddy's name on the assignment. You were pretty sure that if he was really human—he would have died of an heart attack.

"It should be someone you...really admire.", he finally succeeded in telling in sign language and you hid your amused smile from him and tilted your head to the side quizzically.

"And uncle Freddy isn't a good example ?", you asked innocently and Jason seemed to deadpan.

"No." There was no hesitation and—unable to keep a straight face anymore—you burst out laughing. Freddy came out behind you and laughed as well before giving you a high-five.

"THE LOOK ON YOUR FACE !"

He had Jason's camera in hand and if looks could kill, Freddy would have been cut into pieces and thrown in a deepless river.

Jason started marching towards him and Freddy ran away. The moment they were out of the room, you shook your head with an amused smile before erasing your answer and writing Jason's name instead.

You had the answer from the beginning—but having your father lose his temper was so tempting—you just couldn't resist.

Proudest dad ever. He saw you had written his name and beamed at you.

"Me ? Brahms is your role model ?"

You nodded sheepishly and Brahms was really honored—but he then frowned and asked with confusion.

"...Why ?"

Brahms was not self-conscious. Far from it. But he couldn't see a single reason why he would be your role model. H was childish and even though he tried to act a little mature around you—he couldn't hide who he really was. You looked away and shrugged—trying to sound nonchalant as you replied.

"Because you aren't afraid to be yourself, and that's what I want to be. You showed me that I could be a good person by being myself."

He stayed still for a moment before picking you up and kissing your cheek. He was so happy. He had at least done something right. He had been raised with parents who didn't understand him or his will to be different.

He never wanted you to suffer the same fate.

"Thank you, Y/N."

You giggled as his beard started to tickle your face and he then asked if you wanted to go to your favorite restaurant. You went there and Brahms ordered every single item they had on the menu.

What you loved most about you dad was that—despite it all—he had kept his inner child.

Arthur came back late at night and felt guilty for not having helped you with the assignment. However, as soon as he spotted his name on the piece of paper, he erased it. He didn't deserve it.

He then sat down next to you and softly pet your head. He didn't want you to follow his path—that wasn't the reason he had adopted you.

He shook his head and kissed your forehead.

Whatever it takes, he would NEVER let you be him.

Norman received a call from your school about your...more than unusual answer to the assignment. As soon as you were back, he extended his hand and you sighed before giving him the filled assignment. Norman's eye twitched as he saw your answer.

You had written "SLASHER" in bold.

He would have expected every single answer out there—but that one.

"What do you mean by this, sweetie ?", he asked you as soon as you were both sitting and you looked away.

"...I want to be a slasher.", you claimed and he shook his head. You couldn't possibly mean it. Being a slasher was a very lonely existence and he wouldn't wish it on his worse enemy. Besides, you couldn't predict who would turn out to be a slasher. Only a few made it. He—himself—had no idea how he had become a slasher.

"Darling, you can't.", he tried to explain—but you wouldn't hear it.

"You said I could be whoever I want.", you insisted and glared up at him. "Or did you lie ?"

The accusation had the effect of a cold shower on Norman's head who hated he couldn't provide you with a positive answer. He wanted to tell you that you could...But, some of the people he knew couldn't be slashers—even though they were ruthless and bloody killers.

"This isn't how it works, darling. You know that." You humphed unhappily and stomped your foot on the ground.

"It's not fair."

He hesitated before cradling you in his arms.

"Ssh...I know, darling. I know."

#fandoms #imagine #fanfic #pennywise 2017 #pennywise 1990 #dad slashers #slashers #michael myers x child!reader #freddy krueger x child!reader #bo sinclair x child!reader #pennywise x child!reader #Norman Bates x child!reader #arthur fleck x child!reader #Brahms heelshire x child!reader #Jason voorhees x child!reader #jack torrance x child!reader

221 notes · View notes

equizona · 2 years

Note

Slightly angsty, the fnaf one crew react to a nightguard reader giving them a birthday cake/throwing them a birthday party after learning about the missing children's incident

˗ˏˋ THROWING A PARTY ´ˎ˗

— STARRING: Freddy, Chica, Bonnie, Foxy, Golden F.

— NOTE: Ooo, this is a good idea! But please next time tell me if there is an established relationship. <3 I decided there wasn't. Y'all aren't even friends before this, lol.

— IMPORTANT: Read all the blue text, it's important.

❧ FREDDY

He's aware the entire time that something is up when you arrive earlier than normal, with various bags coming with you. You tell the other worker that you'll close up, and they can go home.

Naturally, he's suspicious. You've been here for a week and you're back? Why? Aren't you scared about the fact that they'll kill you. You should have quit when you had the chance.

However, you start setting up a.. party?

Now he's just confused. You have gifts and a cake and everything, and the clock is nearing Midnight and you still haven't left to the office. You do realize that if you're out here in the open it'll be very easy for them to kill you, right?

You're finished about five minutes before midnight, and you give an awkward laugh before you start explaining.

"Right, so.. Did you guys know there were five kids that went missing here some years ago? They were never found. I think I know where they are though. That's how you're all able to move right? Uhm, you've all lost a lot, if I'm right, so I thought I'd make a birthday party for you all. Since you've missed so many, and it must have been a bad feeling watching other kids have theirs while you can't. So uhm, I'm celebrating you all one day of this week each, starting with Freddy. So please don't kill me—"

The clock strikes midnight and nobody moves for a good few minutes. Freddy can tell that his friends are trying to process what's happening. He is too.

A birthday party.. for him?

For once, he moves first. He can tell that you're nervous. You look ready to bolt. He doesn't blame you, the only interaction you've had with any of them is them trying to murder you.

And yet you're.. If he had the ability to do so, he'd cry. He wants to cry pretty badly. But in a good way.

He sits down on one of the chairs. There's a party for him after all these years of solitude and he wants this so badly–

And you relax, looking awfully happy.

Chica goes next, she seems pretty excited about this idea. She sits down next to him and takes one of the party hats and puts it on him, and then one on herself. She beckons over Bonnie.

Bonnie moves, too, but he goes to the pirate cove. Only a minute later they both return and settle down at the party, Chica giving them party hats.

And it's fun. He hasn't felt this happy in years. There's a cake with sprinkles and candles, the same amount as he would be turning now if he was still human. He can't breath, but you have a fun he can use instead.

And there's pizza you got from the kitchen that Chica has zero problems stuffing herself with, and you play music and put the lights up again, and you have board games and you got him a gift.

A pretty charm that you hang around his microphone and it's relevant enough to the pizzeria theme that it won't get thrown away by the workers.

He's happy.

❧ CHICA

Next night, it's Chica's turn and she is super excited. Yesterday was super fun and she can't wait to have her own party. She watches you come in early today, too, setting everything up. As soon as the clock strikes midnight she's bouncing down to the party tables, giving herself a party hat as her friends all join her.

She's bouncing around the pizzaria in happiness the entire night, she hasn't had a party in so long, and she wants to hug you. Of course, she won't but she wants too!

Her gift is a brooch that gets placed on her apron-thing. It's sparkly and she's in love with it. It makes her appearance even more fun and she really has to struggle to not hug you this time.

❧ BONNIE

He's much more on guard about this whole thing. Why are you doing this? He can't tell but it's probably because you don't want them to kill you. Even so, everyone is so happy and he can't bear to take that away from them. Not after so long.

He won't lie and say he isn't excited about this. He's down by the tables right after Chica is, and she's very fast about it.

He gets to pick the games and he gets to blow the candles on the cake and it's very fun. He has a good time and he gets along with the others better than he has in a long time, and while he's still a bit suspicious about you he's very grateful.

You get him a charm, too. You hang it on his guitar, carefully in a manner that won't get in his way when he's playing. It glimmers in the dull light of the building and he promises himself he'll take care of it.

He helps clean afterwards, so you have less work to do. The others join in and they watch you leave once the clock hits 6am.

❧ FOXY

Foxy doesn't realize that they're celebrating him the next night until the cake gets brought out, and he's tasked with blowing the candles out. Despite the fact that he's been choosing the games so far.

Once it clicks, he choses some more physical games. He doesn't get to move around a lot, after all. He's very happy with the night, and he enjoys how much he's been allowed out of the cove the last few nights.

And no cameras. No cameras always looking at him but never noticing the pieces of rotten flesh or dried blood, or maybe they notice and just never cared–

He opens the gift as carefully as he can in this body, feeling bad that he has to ruin the gift wrapping you did. It's bigger than the others, and you sheepishly explain that since he spends most of his time in the cove you had more freedom for him.

It's a sketchbook and some pencils, gray and colorful, with a sharpener and erasers. You explain that spending all that time inside the cove must get boring, so you got him something more entertaining than just sitting there. He can make his stories come alive with this too.

Just like Chica, he wants to hug you, but it's a horrible idea so he settles with helping clean up and gathering all your stuff in one area.

He doesn't leave a single spot blank in the sketchbook.

❧ GOLDEN FREDDY

Getting to Golden was an endeavor, a slightly terrifying endeavor but you were determined.

Golden wasn't in any of the other parties, and after spending an hour checking that none of the animatronics were going after you, you started pushing yourself through the vent in the security office, terrified that you wouldn't be able to make your way back.

You end up in a small room that's dusty and gross, and smells horrible. You don't let that stop you as you jump down next to the limb, golden bear.

You light some scented candles in hopes of helping the oxygen in the closed off room. There really isn't another way in.

You place the cake and explain to the golden animatronic that doesn't respond in any manner, just laying there. But after a few minutes, a burst of wind that isn't possible blows the candles out and you take that as a positive sign.

Your gift is a bunch of books that you hope will keep the animatronic entertained while it sits here in the backroom, without company. You spend the night playing board games with the animatronic. Never do they move, but the pieces you assigned them are mysteriously moved, and it's easy to tell who is doing it.

When you hear the alarm for 6am, you're mysteriously brought to the security office again. The books and cake aren't with you, but all your board games are.

Congrats, you've survived two weeks at the establishment. And you're sort of friends with them. Do you quit? Or keep working? That's up to you, but you won't be forgotten anytime soon.

#fnaf #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddys #five mights at freddys x reader #five night's at freddy's #five night's at freddy's x reader

105 notes · View notes

draco-and-tom · 3 years

Text

School Girl- George Weasley

✰ WARNINGS- unprotected sex, thigh riding, Dom!George, Nicknames, Skirt Kink, Marking Kink

You and George have been dating for 8 months now. It’s been almost a month since Fred and George left you alone at Hogwarts. They had asked you to come with, but you knew you wanted to graduate first. It’s not like you thought it would be easy, but you never thought it would be so hard to not see George. You went from seeing your boyfriend, and your best friend, to not seeing them at all for a month and it honestly hurt you more than you would ever admit. You got up from your bed and rubbed your eyes, walking over to your dresser. You pulled out your button shirt, tie, robes, and…..damnit. You had just worn your skirt yesterday, but it was too hot to wear your pants. You shrug and get out your skirt from last year, sure you had grown a little but it would be all right. You start changing and can't stop the grin that you get when you think about the trip to Hogsmeade. You finally got to see the twins and you were sure that there was nothing that could ruin the day for you. You walked over to the mirror and adjusted the skirt that was now around your waist. You knew you would be fine, it was only a few inches shorter, plus Hogwarts thankfully doesn't have much of a dress code. You pull on your shoes and walk out of your room. Walking down the hall alone was honestly peaceful at Hogwarts. The sound of your steady breathing and the tap of your shoes always have a calming effect. You tend to wake up earlier so that you can get the good food from the great hall before it’s all gone. You enter the great hall and sit down beside your friend Alica. “Damn y/n nice skirt” she laughed “You trying to get laid?”

✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫Arriving in Hogsmeade✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫ “See you later” you shout to your friends as you walk away. They wanted you to come to The Three Broomsticks with them for a glass of butterbeer, but they knew how you are about George and didn’t bother after your first answer. You lightly jog over to the joke shop about two stores away from you and run through the doorway, ringing the bell above it as you enter. “Welcome to Weasley’s-” George stopped talking when he lifted his head from the product he was gently setting on a display. “Y/N?! You didn't tell me it was a Hogsmeade weekend!” he said smiling, practically from ear to ear. God did he miss you. “Surprise!” you laughed and ran up to your boyfriend. You hugged him tightly before kissing him on the lips. “Woah there Y/N. I'm supposed to be greeting you not the other way around” he jokes and gives you a peck on the cheek. You roll your eyes and let go of him, taking off your school robes. As you turn around to set it on the chair George notices the difference in your skirt and goes a little stiff, trying not to be aroused by something as simple as a skirt. George knew he had a thing for skirts, and hated the fact that he did. That’s the only plus of not seeing you all the time, apparently you liked your little skirts. This time, however, it was different. That skirt was pretty short, not showing anything inappropriate, but showing him more of your thighs. Sometimes he wished he could fuck you in one of those pretty little skirts, but god this time he could barely force himself not to fuck you right there. “You okay?” you ask and look at him with concern once you notice George staring at your thighs and stand almost completely still which was reallyyy weird for a Weasley twin. George couldn’t stay still to save his life to be completely honest. George cleared his throat, looking you up and down. You blushed, you knew George got turned on by you sometimes but you’ve never done anything with him other than make out. “Yeah just….thinking,” he said and turned back to the display. “Hey Y/N? Can I show you something upstairs?” he asked, turning back to look at you. You nod and stand up, walking up the stairs with your boyfriend. “Oh hey Freddie!” you say as he passes you on your way up the stairs “Good to see you Y/L/N”. You smile and nod before reaching their flat. George gestures to his room and you oblige, walking inside. As soon as you pass the threshold he slams the door shut and pushes you against it. George’s arms were on either side of your head, making it practically impossible to move, even though you had no intention of doing so. You let out a small whimper from all of the sudden movement. He ignores your sounds and gets closer to your face “Why the hell are you wearing that fucking skirt” he asks, lips barely touching yours. You felt your legs buckle slightly beneath you at his words. You didn’t think the skirt would have that much on an impact, but it’s not like you were complaining. George’s left-hand moves to your hip, helping you stand back up straight. “Answer me!” he said making you bite your lip. You didn't want to disobey, but you didn't feel like you could speak. He’s never been this forward on sexual stuff and it was making the pool between your legs grow by the second. “Fine” he responds to your silence, almost whispering “I’ll just have to ask nicer”. George moves his face over to your ear and whispers “Why did you wear that skirt darling?” he moves one of his hands to play with the end of it, fingers lightly grazing your thigh. “Because all I want to do right now-” he paused to nip your ear lobe “ is fuck you in your tight little hole”. You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a whimper for him to hear. “My other skirt was dirty” you explained, trying your best to focus despite your arousal. You opened your eyes to see George roll his eyes “And?!” He whisper-yelled “I’ve been around Hogwarts long enough to know that they allow pants kitten” he started to gently nip at your neck, sadly too light to leave any marks. “It’s too hot” you squirm under his touch. You could feel the ginger smile against your skin. “Want more huh?” he asked, noticing your reaction to his teasing. You moaned out and nodded. You didn’t know why you were being so honest, you don't normally give in to stuff this easily, but you couldn’t help it. George groaned at your response and started sucking harshly on your neck. You reached out and grabbed his upper arm, needing something to squeeze. Once the realization came over you that everyone was going to know what George was doing to you, you became more aroused and it was almost painful not to moan with every new mark he made on you. He pulled back and admired his work “hmm” he hummed and nodded “look how weak you are….I've barely even touched you”. He smirked “guess now I know my baby girl has a thing for marks” he paused and made a face of consideration before speaking “or maybe she just knows that now everyone knows she’s mine” he whispered, leaning into your ear “tell me...do you want everyone to know how good I make you feel? Or do you just want to brag about whose cock you took like a good girl” you moaned and the boy observed in silence “oh. How silly of me, I forgot that it's both” he chuckled in a low voice. George honestly felt too turned on with the way you reacted to his words. You were practically begging him for more. “Need help with your situation love?” George asked and you nodded eagerly. He wrapped his hands around the back of your thigh to lift it, but when he touched you he felt the thin lines of liquid running down your thighs and moaned “Fuck. All this for me?” he asked, rubbing your thigh “only you.” you moaned out and he groaned. George continued to lift your thigh and put his knee between your legs. You looked down at noticed the obvious bulge in his pants. “But I want you” you whined and he nodded “I know. You better be glad I'm giving you anything at all” you whimpered in agreement as George pulled your white panties for you. “Who gave you permission to wear something so pure?” he chuckled “trying to play innocent?” he asked and brought his knee back up to your throbbing pussy. “You can help yourself now kitten,” he said and you quickly gave in. You started to grind your pussy against his clothed thigh, trying to get the perfect angle on your clit. “OH” you whined when George pushed you harder against the door, taking matters into his own hands. George gripped your hips tightly and rubbed his thigh perfectly against you. George was grunting “good girl. Keep whining, I love seeing you make such a pretty mess all over me.” After a few seconds, you could feel the pressure in your stomach tighten and knew you were so close. You didn’t even need to tell George, he could tell be the broken whimpers and praises of his name. Suddenly you felt yourself cum and George helped you come down from your high. George pulls away from you and starts to take off his jumper and trousers. “I don't know if I ca-” he cuts you off “you’ll take my cock like a good girl kitten. You’ll cum as many times as I say”. You moaned as he walked over to you. George was completely naked by this point. George had your lip quivering with desire once you saw how hard he was, It looked smaller in his pants. He nipped down in your neck making more marks, “Finally get to fuck your pretty little hole in this damn skirt.” he growled out as he slid his cock through your folds before sliding in. You and George both struggle to fight back loud moans when he starts thrusting. His pace starts out average before he loses control and pounds into you deep and hard. George grabs your leg and pulls it over his shoulder “George” you moan loudly as every thrust hits all the right spots. “Close baby?” he asks panting and you nod “me too”. You could tell he was going to cum soon and it was obvious you would too. His thrusts became faster and more sloppy, and your walls were clenching around him before you knew it. George thrust a few more times before cumming deep inside of you. George pulled out of you and tried to catch his breath. “And I thought Quidditch gave me a workout….damn skirt”

TAG-LIST- @georgeswh0re (comment request to be added)

891 notes · View notes

hp-generation-now-unhappy-boutit · 3 years

Text

Harry Potter FRED AU (It could not be named anyhow else and you’ll soon know why)

Please bear with me I swear I’ll make the lenght worth it

I also promise this one AIN’T SAD

Few days ago I was taking a nap and when I woke up my half-conscious brain thought about the name Albus Severus again because it’s a terrible name whether he is named after anyone or not. And I thought ‘did Ginny even get any say in it or what the hell’.

I really think that Harry should name their first child (he did) James Sirius, which is fine, Ginny would name their second son and together they would name their little girl (which I think they did).

But then I thought ‘what would she name him?’ Obviously my first thought was Fred, but I was like ‘nah, that one is for George’s kid... unless’

Here comes my AU, imagine it with me:

It is the first 1st of April after the battle, it isn’t very happy for someone’s birthday, then Percy gets an idea. He cannot forget how the last thing he said to Fred made him smile and he refuses to do anything on his birthday that would not achieve the same goal. So he looks at George and proposes this... what if every one of the siblings named at least one of their child Fred or any equivalent of that, if for nothing else than at least for the chaos it will create at Hogwarts. Everyone is silent for so long Percy just wants to take it back and obliviate everyone, but then Fleur stands up to it and gets really passionate about it and then it slowly dawns on everyone and they love it. It is the first time in all those months that George gives them a non-forced smile. Everyone is super into it. Mrs. Weasley is crying because a) she is happy because her boy is smiling again b) she knows she will be super embarrassed if she ever has to talk to McGonagall after she finds out about this and c) she thought Percy was better than this. Nevertheless if it makes George smile again, she won’t be too harsh about it.

It goes something like this (I’m kind of ignoring the cannon children, but whatever):

- Bill and Fleur name their firstborn daughter Frédérique. She had some mean kids try to laugh at her for it because they thought it’s stupid. She shut their mouths pretty quickly.

- Charlie doesn’t have kids. But he did discover a new breed of dragon, which main trait is that it isn’t violent at all, it’s just really mischievious and will mess up with everyone and everything. Charlie names the breed Island Trickster, for both the experts and amateurs the nickname Fred catches on pretty quickly even though majority of people doesn’t know why.

- Percy’s first child is also a girl but he refuses to let anything stop him from naming his child Fred, because a) it was his idea and b) he’ll be damned if anything keeps him from making this prank, that he created in honour of his brother, work. She gets the name Frederica. She hates it and demands her family calling her by her second name. They do and none of them mind, but before she departs for Hogwarts her parents take her aside and explain why they named her this way. Her prankster blood kicks in and from the moment she steps on the train she introduces herself as Frederica, Fred for short.

- George’s first kids are twins, boy and girl. There is no hesitation - their names are immediately Fred and Freda. When they have the second child, there is a mild discussion, but eventually his name is Fredrick. Proud of their legacy, at school neither will respond to anything but Fred. They become Fred & Fred and Fred.

- Ron, who through Hermione discovered Queen, decides to name their son Freddie. Hermione doesn’t see a reason to protest, she loves it.

- Ginny lets Harry name their first son. First, she likes the name James Sirius. Second, whatever happens that child will have prank as their blood type, so there is really no need to add onto that. Third, she is naming their second child and it will be a version of Fred. Harry does not protest at all, because a) he already has his son named after his father and godfather and b) he refuses to stand in the way of this prank. Also Ginny, being the undercover little shit she is, names their son Fred George... everyone keeps calling him Fred and George. They both also talk about naming their daughter Lily Luna Freda or something and they do, it’s just not that public so she can do with that potential whatever she wants.

It also happens that the whole former gryffindor quidditch team joins in on this (including Lee Jordan, who is considered part of the team) as well as bunch of other friends.

Mrs. Weasley is still a little sceptical but she can’t deny that her boy would be proud. Her job also gets a little easier, because now she just automatically makes her grandchildren sweaters with F. Sometimes she makes more of those that she should but the kids love it (cue later).

Meanwhile in heaven James, Sirius and Remus are both really excited and really jealous. Fred is waiting for the chaos to take reign.

As for Hogwarts, most of the professors are losing it sometimes with entertainment (they mostly enjoy it when someone else is in pain because of this and they love to watch it), sometimes with annoyance, sometimes with both and sometimes actually losing it about to break down and cry (especially when some of their colleagues would just watch and smile). Alltogether in all the houses there is about twenty Fred Weasleys (boys, girls, first names, second names) and the Potters (James Sirius, Fred George and Lily Luna) plus the other Freds - all of them there for two or three years, which basically translates into destruction of the highest level.

There are family gatherings frequently at the Burrow, where they all just sit around the table writing letters to their kids and all of them writing one howler.

The howler arrives to a random person, usually a friend of one of the Weasley/Potter kids and the whole Great hall hears, “FRED! WHAT DID YOU DO THIS TIME?!”

All the Fred’s look at each other, because they all did something they shouldn’t (which their parents don’t know, but the kids don’t know they don’t know). No one also knows which Fred it is meant for. No one knows if they are being scolded or messed with.

Very rarely the howler would yell, “FRED WEASLEY”, and in the fat pause after that, every single person in the room can hear, Fred George Potter say “oh, thank Merlin’s nightgown.”

Sometimes the howler would shout, “FRED. I AM SO DISSAPPOINTED IN YOU. YOU WERE NOT GIVEN THIS NAME TO KEEP PEACE AND TRANQUILITY AT THE SCHOOL!” Molly Weasley may or may not scold her children and children-in-law for this one. (Obviously if the kids weren’t into pranking their parents would never force them or out them like this, but since they are all openly on board this happens way too often for the professors’ liking.

Then there is christmas time. Most of the kids leave for home... most of them except for the Weasley/Potters and some of the other Freds, whose parents are friends with the Weasleys. The sweaters come and... every signle one has a F on it. None of the kids protest. They wear it proudly. There are attempts at making fun of them. It doesn’t work.

James walks around announcing to everyone repeatedly and very loudly that his name is Fames Firius Fotter. In the meantime, as long as Lily is wearing her sweater, she refuses to react to anything but Fily or Funa and that includes the teachers.

Everyone tries to resist, everyone breaks down eventually.

McGonagall wants to look stern, but she is loving it.

There is a relatively new professor trying to complain to the colleague sitting next to him. Neville Longbottom, who names his children Frank Fred, Alice Fredricka and Augusta Freda, nods sympathetically while sipping his tea. “I know,” he says. “Imagine if one of them named their kid something like Prank. We would call them a normal name now.”

That is the moment Minerva McGonagall loses it and actually chuckles. Every single one of the kids writes a letter to their parents about that one.

All hell loses all the breaks on April Fools. McGonagall wanted to go easy on punishing the pranks for several reasons and one of them is that it is the twins birthday. It takes one April Fools when the kids take it relatively easy for them to figure out the punichments are quite mild. The next year they go Wild and McGonagall understands that her nostalgia is a dangerous thing. She stops it then and there, because she knows it won’t stop them, it might just stop some people from getting hurt.

Sometimes Peeves won’t have the mood to come up with something himself so he just goes with calling everyone Fred. Some teachers take from it, figuring that if they don’t remember someone’s name it must be because they decided they will deduce it later, which translates to “the name is Fred”.

Years later when the children leave Hogwarts there is formed a new quidditch team. The name is “Flying Freds”. They are all married and stuff, so their last names are all different, but all of them share the name Fred, which only increases the children named Fred, because who wouldn’t name their child after their favourite quidditch team, amiright?

People in both the wizarding and muggle world are astonished as to Why is there suddenly such a popularity to the name, while in the afterlife Fred won’t stop saying shit like “The students have surpassed the teachers.” and the Marauders are both upset they didn’t manage something like that, but also impressed and really loving it.

McGonagall once talks about it with George and he says it was Percy’s idea. Percy, always perfect prefect Percy, blushes as McGonagall looks at him and says: “All those years I was worried you aren’t an actually Weasley and you’ve just been hiding all that potential, hm.”

It is that moment they understand she might have always been strict, but she loved those little and big pranks simply because they were creative and smart and she was always so proud of the Marauders and the twins for it.

64 notes · View notes

youwontlikethisblog · 3 years

Text

Don't Yell At Her! Don't You Yell At Her!

"Did you call me, Sir?"

"Yes, could you tell Marcela at what time I arrived to Eco Moda this morning?"

"Yes sir. Ms. Marcela our prestigious President arrive to the Eco Moda installation at the time of eight in the morning." Marcela smiles at that and turns to look at Armando who returns the smile. "For more details; he arrived minutes after you did ma'am. I'll take the opportunity now Ma'am, to give you the anti-depressants you asked me to get you." Marcela snatches them out of his hand.

"But we almost ran into each other, my love!" Armando smiles and says confidently. "What a coincidence, no?" he smiles even more.

"In effect Sir!" Freddy smiles.

"I mean of course, but what did you do last night my love? Why did you arrive so late?"

"I don't have to stand for your jokes."

"Freddy one last question."

"Yes."

"Right after I got here, what did I do?"

"Yes, as soon as the Mister arrived he reported to production where he was required by Mister. Mario Calderon." Marcela groans.

"So I arrived to this office at eight in the morning like I always do, my dear Marcela. Then I went to production for a couple of minutes when I decided to head here."

"Freddy one more question."

"Yesyes."

"Did I force you to say something? Did I intimidate you, bribe you so you would say all of this in front of Marcela? Yes or no?"

"Never, Mister. That can't be because it can never be."

"Freddy thank you so much. You can leave now." He smiles at him.

"Thank you, Sir. Excuse me." Freddy now leaves his office and shuts the door behind him.

Marcela now feels embarrassed or defeated but because of her ego she won't back down. She's still pissed. Betty has been listening to Freddy, often looking at him when he speaks and then turning to Armando and then Marcela.

In this scene Betty is just on panic mode.

She's witnessing a woman go crazy and grasp at straws to prove her man's infidelity, while he is trying to prove his "innocence" and suffering the consequences of a night out with his other girlfriend i.e, her. Though Betty believes that Marcela is doing so out of love and wanting to fight for Armando, we understand that Marcela's drive to fight for Armando isn't love but possessiveness. Not only that as Betty believes she is the reason why Armando is facing these consequences because she's the other woman in his life and to top it off the only thing that Marcela can actually use as evidence of Armando's infidelity is on his desk for her to see.

Armando now feels confident that he has the upper hand, a trick up his sleeve and is the winning team. However, the odds are not in his favor, like literally.

"and so you don't think that I schemed with Freddy; call production, Beatriz." Betty now takes advantage of the opportunity and moves the poem away from the front of the desk and picks up the phone. "I have hundreds of witnesses that saw me arrive, or what? Do you also think that I blackmailed them?" he asks in disbelief.

"You're not calling anywhere." Marcela grabs the phone out of Betty's hand and hangs it up. "and you're not going to make a ridicule out of me in front of the entire employees!"

"In ridicule?" He once again asks but amazed at Marcela now. "In ridicule? Who called Colorink today to ask if I was missing? Who! Marcela, Who?" he now yells at her.

"Yes! But you left there at ten at night and I called you at ten thirty and you told me a lie and then you disappeared!"

"The point is: what time dId I leave Colorink? It's really easy, Marcela." he hisses. "Lets call Carlos Mantilla, he saw me leave." He yells at her. "Call Mantilla at Colorink." He tells Betty.

Betty goes to grab the phone but Marcela shoves her away and turns to her.

"I said you're not calling anywhere." She orders between clenched teeth. Betty takes a few steps back and honestly she looks like she wants to run out of there and I would too.

"Well then Marcale, by God, how do we find out what time I left if ten or ten thirty?" He now is pleading angrily at her. "Call Mantilla, please" He also pleads.

Betty once again goes to grab the phone and this time Marcela shoves her and grabs the poem and turns to her and yells "I told you you're not calling anywhere!" She raises her hands with the poem in her fist. Betty takes steps back. "Do you not understand!"

"Don't yell at her! Don't you yell at her!" Armando screams at Marcela.

I see many people misinterpret this or not translate it correctly. Armando here yells "No me la grites! No me la grites Marcela!"(I know colombian's have different us of words in spanish so this is like based off my hispanic background, that is not colombian.) What he is saying here is in turn a personal and possessive term.

"Don't yell at my! Don't yell at my!" which in English that translation doesn't make much sense but again we know what he implies "Don't yell at My Betty."

Now Armando has already gotten mad at Marcela when she insults or yells at Betty but never to this degree.

Betty looks like she wants to cry and honestly, same sis.

"You don't yell at me!" Marcela says and behaves like a little girl throwing a tantrum. "and you can you not leave us alone? Do you always have to be in our intimate life? Or what do you also control his intimate life(oh honey you got a big storm comin')?"

As she says those final words we only get a frame of Armando. His eyes are fixated on Betty's entire existence in front of him. His eyes dance and glisten, he looks tense and guilty.

It just hit me that it isn't only because of what Marcela is saying to Betty and how she is treating her but because he also feels guilty for it all.

He feels guilty that Marcela is pissed off and hurt. He feels guilty that Betty is paying the price for it. He feels guilty that all of that is happening because of him and I think or believe that it hurts him deeply that because of his mistakes, Betty is now paying the price as well and that hurts him most of all and it's this moment where he can't deny or rationalize why he feels hurt over it.

However this foreshadows future events as well.

"Excuse me." Betty speaks softly and walks towards her office. Marcela, furious turns back towards Armando.

Now Armando's entire demeanor changes, seconds ago it was sadden and guilty but now it's back to anger however he is trying to deescalate the situation.

"Look Marcela if you're not capable of accepting the respective calls I won't accept your yellinging, nor your hysteria or your claims!" he yells the ending at her.

"Why didn't you answer the phone last night?"

"For a very simple reason, my love." He hisses. "Because I fell deeply[asleep]." he says is now leaning against the wall that connects the window to Betty's office. "Or what? Can I not? Or is it so suspicious to not hear the phone? Did you not hear the door man? He said it perfectly that I left my apartment at seven in the morning alone! Or what? Did I have to leave with a woman?" He yells. "Or what? My love do you have any more doubts?"

"Nonono, don't worry. As always you think that because you can erase all of the proof and all of the evidence I have to believe you? Cause you always leave the scene of the crime impeccable like this desk, which today it isn't. You know Amrando I didn't know you liked candy bars." She waves the chocolate bar wrapper that Betty had given him. He looks at it in Marcela's hand who scrunches it. "Can I throw it away?"

"Throw it away, do what ever you want." He says annoyed, then tugs his ear(self-soothing).

"Huh but there's more." She grabs the poem again and pulls the red ribbon. "I can throw this one out too?"

Her behavior here reminds me of a spoiled child who goes around the room of someone they don't like and starts to knock things off their shelves to show dislike and arrogance.

"Yeah, whatever." He is now blading but only slightly that you can't really take notice of it.

Marcela then reads the poem.

Betty covers her face and closes her eyes inside her office. Armando arches his brow and sits back against his chair, while Marcela reads he glances to Betty's office. His eyes are narrow and he has his fingers over his mouth, touching it lightly, as if her were thinking.

When Marcela reads :

"Hoy rió si tu ríes y canto su tu cantas (Today I laugh if you laugh and I sing if you sing)"

Armando is sitting on his chair behind his desk. He has his fingers interlaced together and in front of him, his expression is fear. His eyebrows are furrowed, corners of his lips slightly downturned, nostrils slightly flared and eyes narrowed.

In spanish there's a word used for babies, who after crying a lot, and they fall asleep they do this: suspiro but it isn't just a sigh. It's like a sob without tears.

Ever since I first saw this episode that reaction from him has caught my attention. Why does he react that way to Marcela reading that poem? Sure it's a sweet poem but like not enough to get that reaction.

He's terrified and anguished in this scene. It's funny that the next day the secs. believe that because of that same fight Marcela beat Armando but it isn't surprising for them to assume this. Marcela walks with an arrogance she confuses for dignity. She walks with an air of superiority to the rest and she confuses this for self-respect. She lacks all of this and it isn't because she "loves" Armando. She does so because she thinks more of herself than she does of others. In this scene she doesn't allow Armando to speak, the very few times he does it's to defend himself or yell at her. Marcela holds the power in the relationship and she's fully aware of this and uses it to her advantage. The thing Marcela and Armando have in common is that when they see red, damned be the rest.

"Delmira Agustini" he throws his head back, tired, he looks done. "and who is she?" She marches to his desk.

"How am I going to know who Delmira chuchui is. I don't even know her." he looks away from her and for a tiny little second he looks like he's running through his memory.

"You have no idea who the woman who wrote you this poem is?"

Armando, shielding his eyes looks up at her and shakes his head eagerly. It's important to note his expression because it is the same one he had the night of the drag party when Marcela was interrogating him in his bedroom; fear and honesty.

"So it grew magic legs and walked over here to your desk."

"I have no idea who that is, believe me, I really don't know." He yells defensively and quickly turns to Betty's office. His subconscious here speaks for him.

"Tell me who it is." She orders.

"I don't know." he yells.

"Ha you don't know, with such a dedication?[...]" He stands up and walks again to the same wall, hands in his pockets and shrugs and looks to the opposite direction. "You sang to each other?" Armando looks terrified as he shrugs, with his hand he points towards his chest but Marcela interrupts him before he can even speak she chuckles "ha what did you sing to her? Armando please you have the nerve, the nerve to tell me you don't know her when she made the effort to write this for you? and to recreate what you both have lived in a poem and you don't have the courtesy to remember her name!"

"Nonono it's-I-just- I don't even know the name. Delmira who? I don't know." he stumbles and stutters.

"I am going to remind you." She whispers kindly. "Delmira Agustini. Anyway that is the typical name that you like. Like Silva Marileni, Karina Larson, Claudia Boche and now it's Delmira Agustini. Must be another model."

"Nono. With this you-you have to believe me. I don't know how that paper got there[my desk]. I don't know what's going on here!" he turns to Betty's door. "I don't know! I don't know!"

"I do! and you know what? I totally agree with her when she says that she liked your insolence!" She throws the paper at him.

"Mar-mar-Marcela!" He yells and goes after her. She puts on her shades and walks out o his office, he runs out but stops in front of his office and turns to look at Bertha and Sofia who are sitting at their desks.

One could simply chuck Armando's behavior at the end of this scene as simply being about fear that he got caught. However Armando stands far away from Marcela, he stutters, he stumbles with his words, and he is on high alert. This isn't him getting caught and trying to cover his tracks, we've seen him get caught before and we've seen him escape the consequences before. He's always managed to make Marcela drop the whole thing(he gaslights her or tells her he's leaving her apartment and she says she'll drop it) but this time he doesn't. This time Armando is defenseless.

He often switches from standing near Betty's office or behind his desk or glances towards her office as well.

It isn't only because they are arguing because whenever Betty and him were arguing the previous day he didn't do that. He didn't stand by her door, he stood by her. He didn't glance at her door, he just stared at her.

The fact that Jorge Enrique and Fernando Gaitan did this so naturally and wrote such a small detail boggles me. JEA's acting is so natural and fluid that you get lost in it. It doesn't look like acting. It looks like a genuine reaction, just as Natalia's acting. It is phenomenal!

Armando was defending himself both to Marcela so she wouldn't end things therefore destroy him and Betty because he didn't want her to believe that he had somebody else.

The constant glancing to her office when he is defending himself allows us to see this.. While his constant standing by her office allows us to understand that he wants to bel close to her when he is under distress.

"Betty. Betty!" He yells for her.

A very timid Betty exits her office and walks towards his desk.

"Yes sir?" She speaks low.

"Tell me one thing, do you know who placed this poem on my desk?" he's pissed.

Betty, standing on the exact wall Armando had been standing by, nods her head slightly with wide eyes and a furrowed eyebrow(...s?)

"I placed it there, sir." she confesses. Armando furious stands up, he takes a step or two towards the meeting room and then turns towards Betty. His lips are pursed and he looks furious.

"Betty!" He yells. "Do you not realize the problem you just put me in?" Betty's truly feeling awful as her eyes are wide and full of fear. "Do you not realize! Tell me now how am I going to get it out that woman's head that I don't have a lover. Did you not measure the consequences, huh? How do you come up with the idea of putting a poem on my desk!"

Betty is standing tightly against the wall while he yells at her and she pulls slightly away from it to respond.

"Don Armando I only wanted to give you a surprise. To have a gesture like the letter you left on my desk." Armando does his classic angry italian chef hand gesture. "Sir, I'm really sorry. I think the best thing is that we end with this love." Armando had his back to her but as soon as she said those final words he turns to her surprised.

"What?" He asks shocked and angry. "What!" he looks at her in disbelief.

Betty looks away from him and looks down. She shakes her head and begins to speak "Sir I can't with this anymore. You're stuck in a grave problem with Ms. Marcela for going out with me and now the poem. I feel really bad."

Armando now has calmed down. He went from being furious to shocked and mad and now carefully paying attention to what Betty is saying. He stands still with arms around himself.

"No but Betty. No-No let's calm down." He takes a step towards her. "Lets calm down. You perfectly know how Marcela is." His eyes are wide and eyebrows arched. He is trying to fix this and is worried. "She is always suspicious of me. She always causes a scene of anything. No, think this through really well. Think it over."

"I know, Sir but that was with other women, not with me." Armando is intently paying attention to her again. His eyes are fixated on her. "I can't do this to her. I can't destroy a relationship like this-"

"Nonono, Beatriz. Destroy what? Do you think that what I have with Marcela is so harmonic?" He says panicked. "Harmonic is what we have." He says peacefully.

"What's happening is that she loves you, Sir.(NO, BETTY, SHE DOESN'T) and she suffers for you." Armando is now holding the rolled poem in his hands, to his face. "she wants to take care of you, she doesn't want someone to steal you away and because of that she behaves that way." He now looks at her, his fingers are interlaced as he stares at betty with softness and shakes his head, he takes in a deep breath "and I understand her. I'm not good for this. I can't be the other one or how many would say, the lover. For my father, for family, for my work, for your, your family, for the company, for Ms. Marcela. The best thing is for us to end this." Betty doesn't look at him as she speaks those final words, her head is down and she looks like she's in the brink of tears but is trying to hold herself together.

Armando stares at her this whole time and speaks "Nono but Betty lets calm down, for real-" Betty looks up and walks towards him and holds his hands in hers.

"Don Armando, what we lived was so very beautiful. These past nights have been the best ones of my life and I will always conserve them deeply in me." Armando now stares at her with his eyebrows slightly furrowed and slightly wide eyes. "From now on we will go back to being what we've always been. The president of Eco Moda and his assistant." Betty lets go of his hands and turns away to go to her office.

"Betty, come here, Be..tty." he speaks low.

Now Betty shuts the door to her office and leans against it and begins to cry.

Betty has been a witnesses to previous fights of these kinds. She's heard Marcela's yelling and all that. She's even helped cover Armando's tracks herself. However this time, just like she says it, it's different.

Does this justify Betty's actions? No.

Betty has been an accomplice to Armando's infidelities and she has been as well a willing participant to helping him. Like when she knew that Armando had a thing for Ms. Colombia and she worked her magic to secure that they did business with them so Armando had an excuse to see her since he was so excited about it. The fact that she covered his track with Marcela. She's always been a willing participator in the downfall of that relationship the only difference now is that unlike those model's who knew and didn't care about the relationship, who wanted Armando to end his relationship with Marcela(Albeit that they expected this because Armando always pretended that what he had with Morch wasn't serious) and felt no guilt over it, better yet had no problem causing a whole scene over it, Betty can't be the person who is actively inflicting this pain onto Marcela and she can not be the person who is in the middle of their romantic quarles.

Is this any different from the other women? Yes and no. With the other woman she just kept her mouth shut, helped him out when he needed the help and that was that. She couldn't force the woman not to go after Armando or stop them and at the time she was still keeping everything very professional so it's not like she could have told her boss "Hey you cheating scumbag stop cheating on your fiance." so instead for the sake of keeping a job and proving her worthiness at her job she became his accomplice. This time though she does have control over the other woman of Armando. This time she does decide whether she continues to go after a man who is engaged or if she decides to end it. Betty now has true control over the situation and she decides that she won't be the reason a woman goes crazy, even if that woman has treated her so unfairly and unkindly.

Betty can't let her father down nor anyone else simply because she's in love with Armando.

This takes him by surprise. Mario has told him that Betty would never give up a man such as himself, that she is lucky he[Armando] has even paid attention to her so therefore she should be grateful to god for him. However Betty doesn't behave this way. She places everyone else's needs before her own and she doesn't want to be like all the other woman who only cared about one thing: Possessing Armando.

He knows this and it affects him as well.

Betty is giving him up. Betty is renouncing to him and the relationship because unlike Marcela, she actually has dignity and proves to Armando over and over again that to him he isn't just an object to have but an actual human being. In her understanding what Marcela does is for love, however, Armando knows otherwise and the fact Betty is willing to give up their relationship if it means it's for his best interest and she doesn't cause harm to a woman who has done nothing but belittle her and treat her like the scum of the earth, gives him more reason to not want to end the relationship because he truly didn't want to.

This was all in the heat of the moment. The conversation was all being lead by only feelings so he didn't have time to manipulate Betty for the sake of the company. He was being forced within himself to face the reality of it and that is that he didn't want the relationship with Betty to end.

He tries to get her to take some deep breaths and rethink her decision and that doesn't help.

Betty avoids making eye contact with him as it pains her to see him while she is breaking up with him but Armando doesn't remove his eyes from her.

In this scene you two different contrast. While with Marcela all they did was yell and be at each other's throat's and Marcela showed to be the one with power in the relationship and that she likes it that way, Armando was fearful of her, controlling his anger, and exhausted but with Betty even when he did escalate in his anger he calmed down and listened to her, concentrated in what she was saying and tried to work it out. He asked for a breather, he asked for them to calm down and think things through clearly but he didn't even do that with Marcela.

In one he was willing to fight for the relationship even though he himself says he doesn't want to be in it, yet as he gets dumped he looks like he just hit the gutters, and in the other he doesn't even bother to fix it. He just hears her complain and then responds to her.

We can clearly see which is a toxic relationship and which is not. Even if Betty is the lover, even if Armando is cheating, it doesn't warrant or grant the excuse of behaving the way Marcela does.

Armando then goes to production and pulls Mario aside and tells him he needs to speak to him.

"What happened? What is it?" Mario asks concerned. Armando hols him from the shoulders and with a pain expressions breaks the news.

"Betty dumped me."

"What? He asks shocked. Armando drops his hands and looks away and walks towards the railing of the second floor of the building and leans against it.

He throws his arms in the air shrugging.

In a tone I'd described as pained and holding back tears he says "The worst is she doesn't want to know anything from me!" He wraps his arms around himself.

"Wh-but why? or what?"

Armando, while pouting and looking at the opposite direction, shrugs.

Armando is sad that Betty dumped and it isn't because of his ego. When Mario tells him that he needs to win her back because it would be terrible for his resume as a ladies man Armando tells him that things got out of his control, that he yelled so much at her when he found out about the poem that she cried.

He isn't worried about his ego, he is worried about the pain he caused Betty by not controlling himself.

Armando is steady moving towards figuring out his feelings or some of his feelings.

Do to his guilt of harming Betty he does want the relationship to end but he also doesn't want it to end because he'd truly miss Betty. It isn't only the people pleasing quality he has that motivates him to win her back but truly the fact that he can't live without her and he knows this, however he doesn't know or understand why that is.

While one can sympathize with Marcela we shouldn't neglect to call out her terrible toxic behavior while at the same time neglect to call out Armando's. In this scene what we saw was most certain reaction to abuse, not abuse itself from his part(though he has shown that in the past) and we can't ignore Betty's part in this either as she willinging entered a relationship with a man who is engaged, however what sets these two people from Marcela is that they recognize the pain they are inflicting in others and instead of ignoring it or not caring they feel guilty over it and one decides to remove herself from the situation.

'Til next time!

#armando ysblf #don armando #armando mendoza #analysis of ysblf #beatriz pinzon solano #beatriz pinzón solano #betty pinzón solano #betty #betty la fea #betty ysblf #yo soy betty la fea #marcela ysblf #marcela valencia #morch

24 notes · View notes

trashyswitch · 3 years

Text

All Aboard the Pizzaplex!

It's closing night of the opening day at Pizzaplex. Vanessa had been hired to keep guard over the place to make sure no thieves get in and rob them. But Vanessa would wind up getting quite distracted on her first night...And the deep voice in her head (who's lurking in hopes of doing crime) is only adding to the distractions.

{Words written in this format} represent Glitchtrap. This fanfic was suggested by an anonymous user. So, I hope you enjoy the fanfic! Sorry it took a bit.

Vanessa was keeping guard over Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzaplex. It was such a large building...It’s strange that they only hired one security guard for the entire restaurant. And inconvenient for her. Vanessa had to be on the run as much as possible to make sure she was thoroughly checking the entire side of the building. It wasn’t easy, and it didn’t pay much. But it is a pretty place to look at and it did get her out of the house.

Vanessa walked herself towards Roxanne’s Raceway and checked around there to make sure no one was hiding in the dark. The neon lights looked pretty cool on the surface, but it also distracted from what could be hiding in the darkness. That was one thing Vanessa found difficult. Everything is covered in bright, neon lights but none of the lights actually revealed anything hidden within the dark. Hence why she had her flashlight.

Vanessa had started to walk closer to the race track, when an animatronic with deep, red eyes showed up behind her. Vanessa immediately noticed the red eye lights reflecting off the metal. She widened her eyes and turned right around. The animatronic let out an ear-bleeding robotic scream and grabbed her!

Terrified and filled with adrenaline, Vanessa dropped her flashlight and screamed as well!

The robotic screaming quickly stopped and was replaced by autotuned laughter. Vanessa had placed her hand on her chest as she breathed heavily, and let out a sigh of relief. They’re not going rogue...They’re just being evil.

Vanessa growled. “What was that for?! You nearly gave me a heart attack!” Vanessa reacted, hitting the animatronic in the shoulder. “Which one are you anyway?” She asked, waving her now-injured hand.

“You don’t recognize me?!” The animatronic asked, before moving their face into the bright pink light. The light revealed it to be Roxanne Wolf. Her flowy grey hair rested itself onto her back as she knelt down to put Vanessa down. “Can’t handle a little scare once in a while?” Roxanne asked, showing off her claws.

Vanessa crossed her arms. “Not when it’s a robot doing it.” Vanessa replied bluntly.

“Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on thieves?” Roxanne asked. “Huuuman thieves?” She over-exaggerated the word ‘human’ to emphasize that not just robots will go rogue.

Vanessa softened her expression. “Fine...humans can give people heart attacks too.” Vanessa replied.

{Damn right.} a deep voice inside of Vanessa’s brain, told her.

“That’s right!” Roxanne pushed Vanessa’s security hat down. “It’s been decades since robots were predicted to take over the human race. So stop being such a traditionalist!” Roxanne declared. “We’re not that hard to live with, are we?”

Vanessa fixed her hat. Then, she made a ‘well…’ kind of face and rocked her head side to side, meaning ‘you kinda are but you’re kinda not’.

Roxanne hummed. “Well, Monty’s pretty hard to live with. But the rest of us are nice! We were made for children, after all!” Roxanne told her.

{Yeah, made for killing children...} the deep voice added.

Those words didn’t exactly help her…

“So: was it fun seeing me scream and freak out?” Vanessa asked.

“Well, yeah! Very fun, in fact! Even the simplest things can scare people.” Roxanne admitted, curling and wiggling her fingers.

Vanessa’s eyes widened as an uncontrollable and childish smile grew onto her lips. The wiggling fingers took her right back to when her Mom would tickle and tease her. It surprised her, and always kept her in a giddy mood. Even the wiggling fingers would completely change her mood into adrenaline-filled excitement.

“Oh! So you DO like being scared!” Roxanne teased. “A bit of an adrenaline junkie?” She asked.

Vanessa nodded. “Yeah.”

Roxanne giggled and turned her eyes red for a moment. “Peek-a-boo.” She said in a monotone voice.

Vanessa widened her eyes and stared at Roxanne, growing nervous. “C-Come on Roxanne...You-you can’t get someone t-twice.” She tried to say.

Roxanne turned her neck slowly, and purposefully twitched her neck to the right. She scraped her foot on the ground, making a loud metal sound as she stared into Vanessa’s soul. “Play with me Vanny.”

Vanessa widened her eyes. DID SHE JUST SAY VANNY?!

{SHIT- SHE KNOWS. RUN!} The deep voice shouted to her.

Vanessa shrieked and immediately took off running. Vanessa yelped as the sounds of clanging metal and moving artificial joints filled the echoey kids mall. How did she figure out?! She hasn’t even been suspected, let alone caught! She continued sprinting around the mall and skidded to a halt in front of the ball pit.

“Come play with me Vanny! Let’s PLAY!” Roxanne suggested.

Feeling cornered and unable to do anything else, Vanessa took a headstart and jumped to try and get over the ballpit. But the ball pit was just so wide, that she wasn’t even close to making it to the other side. Vanessa fell feet first into the ballpit. When her feet touched, she got herself up and started ‘running’ through the endless plastic balls in the pit pool. Roxanne ran up to the ball pit next and grabbed a rope. With unbelievable percision that only robots possessed, Roxanne threw the life buey right around her body.

“NO!” She shouted, trying to remove the buey. But Roxanne pulled more and picked her up under the arms. “Gotcha!” She yelled. “I scaaaared you again!” Roxanne declared with a laugh.

“Put me down! That was so uncalled for!” Vanessa yelled. “And why Vanny as a nickname?” She asked, growing slightly nervous.

“Oh!” Roxanne looked at her own fingernails and flipped her own hair. “I took the name Danny, and used the 1st letter of your name! Vanny!” Roxanne explained.

Suddenly, Roxanne widened her eyes and looked at Vanessa closer with suspicious eyes. “Also, did you just say ‘uncalled for’?” Roxanne asked, placing her hand on her chin. “You were practically begging for it! You got very excited when I wiggled my fingers.” Roxanne said out loud.

Vanessa bit her lip and finally gave Roxanne an awkward, rough smile.

“Saaaay...Have you heard of the tickle monster? Maybe even met them?” Roxanne asked with a smirk.

{...You’ve got to be kidding me…} The deep reacted.

Vanessa giggled a little nervously. “Yehehehes, I hahave.” Vanessa replied.

“How about Roxanne the tickle monster?” She asked curiously with a raised eyebrow.

Oh no...Oh NO! PLEASE NO!

...Actually, please yes. It’s been years.

{What even is my life…} The deep voice muttered. {Out of all the people- You?!}

Vanessa yelped and kicked her feet as Roxanne’s pointy green fingertips dug into her upper ribs and armpits. She threw her head back with a big smile and let out a fit of laughter. “aAAAHAHAHAHA! WAHAHAIT, WHAHAHAHAT?!” She yelled.

“Now fear the mighty power of Roxanne the tickle monster!”

{........Oh...} The deep voice muttered.

“But yes! Don’t you know that Roxanne Wolf has nails built right into her fingers?” Roxanne showed off her thin, green fingernails proudly. “And they’re perfect for turning into the tickle monster!” Roxanne teased as she started up tickling with both hands again.

Vanessa twisted and turned around to try and get out of her grip. But the tickling was weakening her muscles. She was losing control of her body parts the longer she was tickled, thanks to the wolf-shaped robot that is Roxanne Wolf.

“CUHUHUT IHIHIT OHOHOUT! LEHEHEHET MEHEHE GOHOHOHO!” She begged.

“Now now, there’s no need to be so loud and fussy.” She reassured her. “Just sit back, relax, and enjoy your first of many tickle attacks.” Roxanne suggested.

Vanessa didn’t know what to do! On one hand, she wanted to be put down and go back to her job. But on the other hand…

Tickles didn’t seem like that bad of an idea right now…

Roxanne wrapped her one arm under Vanessa’s armpits and started lifting up her shirt a bit. Vanessa squeaked and giggled, shaking her head. “Nahahat thehere! Ihit’s vehery tihihicklihish thehere!” Vanessa begged.

“Really? Well I have some sad news for you:” Roxanne poked her belly button, making Vanessa squeak and kick. “I’m a rebel wolf~”

Roxanne shoved her hand under Vanessa’s belly and tickled around and in her belly button. Vanessa hung her head and kicked her legs outwards while she cackled up a storm.

Another pair of footsteps soon could be heard. “I hear laughter! Where’s it coming from?”

{Great...now you’re luring more animatronics over…} The voice muttered in her head.

“It’s Cackly Becky over here! She’s the source of the cutest laughter we’ve heard from any adult!” Roxanne replied.

WOW! Hey Freddy! Look at this chick!” Monty yelled.

“Monty, I’ve seen Chica before!” Freddy yelled back.

“No! Not Chica the chick, a security guard chick!” Monty grabbed the nametag and read it. “Vanessa!”

Freddy walked over with his microphone in his hand. “Oh! Pony girl! I see her all the time!” Freddy told them.

“I’ve never seen this bad babe around at all.” Monty admitted.

Roxanne frowned as she gave Vanessa a break and flipped her upside down. “She’s not bad. I’m bad.” Roxanne corrected as Vanessa’s slip-on shoe clapped against the ground. “This lady here in my claws, is a goody-two toes.” Roxanne teased as she gave Vanessa’s toes a little tickle.

Vanessa squeaked and giggled. “NOHOHOhohoho! Nahahahat myhyhyhy feheheheeheheheeeeet!” she pleaded.

“Ey lookie here! A senstive babe~” Monty teased, leaning over on his knees to get a better look at Vanessa.

{And people complained I was disgusting…} the deep voice muttered in Vanessa’s head.

Roxanne stopped tickling Vanessa for a moment and pushed Monty a few feet backwards with her foot. “You’re disgusting. You’re gonna be turned into gator soup if you treat any lady like that.” Roxanne spat.

Freddy looked over at Roxanne with a smirk. “You missed the pit.” Freddy mentioned. With a simple push, Monty stumbled backwards and fell right into the ballpit. Vanessa widened her eyes and dropped her jaw. She was SO gonna lose her job…

Monty popped out of the ballpit pool, gagging. He coughed up about 5 plastic balls. “That almost made me malfunction!”

“Nohow wahahait-”

“Your existance almost made me malfunction!” Roxanne shot back.

“EEEEEHEHEHEHE! FREHEHEDDYHYHYHY NAHAHAHAHAHA!” She cackled and laughed.

Roxanne and Monty looked down to where the new bout of laughter was coming from: Freddy was kneeling down in front of Roxanne, poking and scratching Vanessa’s belly button. Vanessa was giggling and pushing his hand away with no success.

“Kitchy kitchy koo!” He poked the belly button. “You click, then she laughs! Click, and laugh! Boop and gaggle! Beep, wiggle and cackle!” Freddy teased.

“BAHAHAHAHAHA! TOOHOHOHOHO TIHIHIHICKLIHIHIHISH!” She yelled to him.

“Too ticklish? Is there such thing as too ticklish? If so, how can I know?” Freddy asked.

“LAHAHAHAHA- *snort* LAHAHAHAUGHTEHEHEHEHER!” She yelled back.

“Your laughter?” Freddy clarified. He thought for a moment. “But...your laughter doesn’t change. How do I find out it’s too much based on something that doesn’t change?” Freddy asked.

Vanessa grabbed Freddy’s hand and tried to move it to her side. “HEHEHEHERE. TRYHYHYHYHY!” She told him.

Freddy looked at where his hand was located now and smiled. “Okay! If you say so!” Freddy started tickling her sides next. Vanessa squeaked and fell into a fit of high-pitched giggles. “Ooooooh! It DOES change! How interesting!”

“Ihihihi knohohohow!” Vanessa reacted with him.

Freddy moved to squeezing her hips next. “eeEEEEHEHEHEHEHE!” Vanessa’s laughter grew squeaky and moved up and down quite a bit.

{Your ticklishness is gonna be a problem in the future...I hope you know that.} The deep voice mentioned.

“Wow! Your laughter changes a lot like emotions do!” Freddy reacted, making the connection.

{Wow...In the 2060’s, animatronics can make connections. Who would’ve thought?}

“SHUHUHUHUT UHUHUHUHUP!” Vanessa yelled to the stupid criminal voice in her head.

Freddy’s smile dropped. “I...But why?” Freddy asked, sounding almost hurt.

{Don’t fall for it. He’s a robot. He can’t actually feel emotions. He’s just imitating human emotions and getting real reactions from you through fake-}

“Don’t stop.” Vanessa blurted out. Freddy blinked and tilted his head. “I...Sorry, I don’t want you to shut up. And I don’t want you to stop either.” Vanessa admitted.

Freddy smiled and went back to tickling her sides. “Okay. Thank you for telling me.” Freddy replied.

“Now THAT’S bravery!” Roxanne declared as she started tickling her toes again.

Vanessa giggled and danced her arms around upside down. She was loving it! The toes were such an evil spot to go for too! Roxanne had to tickle the middle of her foot sometimes to open up the toes. For whatever reason, that actually worked. Why? Who knows!

{Woooow...Look at you! Being all honest, and showing your vulnerable side to the animatronics that express fake emotions! Fan-frickin-tastic.}

Vanessa snickered to herself. The guy can’t even properly swear. What a fucking coward.

{...I can swear...Ass.}

Vanessa just about guffawed out loud at that. That’s it?! This man’s gotten SUPER soft. Must be all that programming turning his broken brain into mush.

{...If it weren’t for me using your body to continue doing the thing I crave so much...You would be my first.}

Vanessa giggled at both the foot tickles and at the deep voice. He’s all talk and no action. He’ll claim he’s ‘waiting for the perfect moment to strike’, but he’s really just not doing anything besides haunting her mind. Hence why he’s attempting to tolerate the one-sided tickle fight that was happening between Freddy, Roxanne and Vanessa.

...If he was so smart, maybe he wouldn’t have considered Vanessa as an option back in the VR game...

#fnaf: security breach #fluff and humor #vanessa meets glamrock animatronics #ticklefic #ler!roxanne #ler!freddy #lee!vanessa #glitchtrap is a voice inside vanessa's head #teasing

43 notes · View notes

ickle-ronniekins · 4 years

Text

breaking the rules

request from anon: Your writing is truly amazing!! I just read your fake dating with Georgie and I loved it!! I was wondering you would be up to writing a fake dating piece with Freddie?!☺️

word count: 6.9k sorry i keep getting carried away

A/N: ugh. my heart. i cannot deal. thank you all for being so kind, day after day, with each and every piece i write. and thank you, also, for being so patient. i know it’s taking me a while to sift through these requests. it means the world to me! love you all tons

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @semmelsemi @cottageoflove @laneygthememequeen @snakesonaplane-7 @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @bobduncanlover | message me if you’d like to be added lovelies!

“Hey, Y/N! Would you mind, for the sake of the entire team, to not be so bloody brilliant during every single match? You’re making us look bad.”

You smile, clutching the quaffle to your chest as you zoom rapidly through the air, leaving dust in your wake as you fly past the Slytherin team members, leaving them baffled and confused before they can fully register just exactly what’s going on. You hoist the quaffle through the hoop and hear a loud roar from the Gryffindor section; you must be up by a hundred points by now. You see Malfoy near the goal posts on the opposite side, looking positively murderous.

You make your way around the interior of the pitch, only to reply to Fred Weasley as you pass by, “I can try, but—don’t you want to win?”

A hearty laugh escapes his lips, and he’s pummeling bludgers left and right with his twin by his side. He wonders now, watching you, if Gryffindor would be as good as they are without you on the team. You’re probably one of the most talented Chasers Gryffindor has seen in years, he reckons. He knew it the first time he saw you mount a broom in a flying lesson your first year at Hogwarts. Since then, inseparable you two had been.

There’s a light, airy feel to the match, which is, to Fred’s surprise, nothing at all what he had expected this morning, especially with Slytherin being the opponent. But you seem to be more in rhythm with the wavelengths of this match than ever before, to the point where Harry is actually taking his time to try and find the snitch—he’s making Malfoy sweat it out a bit.

But when a nasty bludger smacks the end of your broom and you’re knocked to the ground, landing painfully on your arm, Madam Hooch begins shouting out punishments at the Slytherin beaters, McGonagall is rushing to your side with Madam Pomfrey, and Fred, George, and Harry are nearly kicking Malfoy into the ground when his sickeningly irritating mock laughter floats in the air between them.

— -

“Merlin—is a side effect of drinking too much Skele-Gro that you end up a bottomless pit?” you ask nobody in particular as you continue to shovel eggs, toast, bacon and sausage into your mouth. Next to you, George laughs and pats you on the shoulder.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better,” he tells you.

You peer over and smile—your bones in your arm are fully restored, but still in a sling; Madam Pomfrey had insisted. Across the table, Fred is looking rather sullen indeed.

“Brighten up, would you, Weasley?” you kick him playfully under the table and his stoic face breaks into a toothy smile. He’s feeling rather guilty, he is. Wasn’t able to stop the bludger in time. Neither was George. As if you’re reading his thoughts, you tell him, “It’s not your fault, you know.”

“Yeah,” he replies, stirring his spoon in his cup of tea. A bit too loudly, he continues, “Slimy Slytherin beaters—”

“Easy,” you say in a low voice, as the entirety of the Slytherin Quidditch team glances over at your table, and Fred’s gripping his fork tightly in his other hand. “Don’t need any more of us taken out of the next match, do we?”

Another safety measure of Madam Pomfrey’s. No Quidditch for a few weeks, at least. This means, of course, missing the next match: Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff. You’d tried to fight it, but when her mouth had formed into a thin line and she’d crossed her arms indignantly, you knew there was no changing her mind.

Why is it, Fred thinks to himself now, that Slytherins tend to get away with everything? The punishment of the two beaters was absolutely nothing like he’d expected—one detention each with Snape, who had basically grinned at the sight of your broken arm and shoulder. He’s so bloody tired of it, he wants to give them a taste of their own medicine. Perhaps, if he picks George’s brain, he can think of something—

His thoughts are interrupted when you kick him again under the table. “Hello—earth to Freddie?”

“Sorry,” he replies, biting into his toast, “what did you say?”

“I was saying—” you begin, and Fred notices his twin is now down a few seats talking with Ron and Ginny, leaving you two alone, “would you mind helping me pack up my bag after breakfast? It’s proving rather difficult with one arm since I have this sling across my other shoulder—”

Before you can finish, you both hear a group of Hufflepuffs from the table over discussing something animatedly. Fred catches bits and pieces of the conversation—he swears he hears ‘bludgers’ and ‘poor girl’ quite a few times. Before he knows it, they’re standing up and waltzing over to the Gryffindor table—more specifically, toward you.

“Oh bloody hell,” you mumble under your breath and look at Fred with wide eyes. You don’t need to say anything else for him to understand. Leading the pack of distraught looking Hufflepuffs is—Fred’s least favorite person in the entire world, and that’s including Malfoy—your ex boyfriend.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says awkwardly as he approaches the table at once before you and Fred are able to escape. He looks down at your shoulder and says in a tone Fred can’t decipher as sarcastic or genuine, “real sorry about your arm. Terrible thing those beaters did. Are you okay?”

With a slight eye roll from you and a laugh he tries very hard to suppress, Fred finds himself lost in his thoughts again. He’s transported almost immediately to the common room, to a very late Monday night after a very long detention with Professor McGonagall.

When he sprang through the portrait hole that evening, ready to divulge to you just exactly how he’d landed himself in detention the night you were both supposed to continue your weekly Monday traditions of exploding snap over small glasses of Butterbeer, he was a bit taken aback when he saw you crying in the corner, peering out of a window at the starry night sky. Immediately, his insides turned.

“Y/N?’ he asked when he finally reached you, nervous of how you were going to react to his very late arrival.

You sniffled a bit and wiped your tears away with your shirtsleeve. He felt surprised when you said softly, with no twinge of anger, “W-where’ve you been?”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, sitting across from you on the window ledge. He let his bag fall to his feet with a dull thump. “McGonagall caught Georgie and me right after class—I was dragged to immediate detention without being able to come back to the common room to tell you—I could use a good butterbeer right now..” but his voice trailed off when he noticed that you weren’t really listening. Your eyes were letting tears escape with no effort, and he spotted your hands trembling against your knees. You weren’t upset about the game of exploding snap. His heart sank into his chest when he realized this was something deeper. “Hey,” he said, placing a hand over yours, “are you okay?”

“H-he,” you started, and Fred could tell that you were embarrassed. You couldn’t even look him in the eye. “It’s over. He broke up with me.”

“W..what?” Fred asked, his hands suddenly felt extremely cold. He squeezed your knee and waited.

“He said he.. sees me as a friend,” you told him, and Fred shook his head in utter shock, “he doesn’t.. feel anything a-anymore. I think..” you continued, your voice slightly higher than before, “I think there’s s-someone else.”

You threw your head into your hands and began wailing. Fred had never, ever, ever seen you cry before, but he didn’t like it. He wanted to do everything in his power to make it stop, make you smile, make you happy.

“What a complete git,” he told you before pulling you into his arms. You were nearly on his lap. You rested your head on his chest and let out painful sobs for a few minutes while he thought, in a panicked state, of words to say. You’d always been tough. Independent. Happy-go-lucky. So to see you in this emotional, co-dependent, messy state—he felt strange. Off balance. It made his heart hurt.

“Hey,” he said after a few minutes once your tears seemed to slow, “how about we make you some tea, get you into some comfortable pyjamas, and then we can talk through it—how does that sound?” When he noticed you were about to argue after pointing to the butterbeer and cards on the table even though he knew you didn’t really want to play, he continued, “Nah—not really in the mood to get my arse kicked by you tonight.”

You laughed through a hiccup and squeezed his hand tightly before pulling his arms around you again. “First, can you—can you just stay here with me?”

He felt you tense up beside him and he knew that you were trying your hardest to fight back more tears rising to the surface. He pulled you closer to him and wrapped his arms tighter around you, enclosing you in the warmth from his own body.

“Okay then,” he replied and felt you relax beside him, “I can do that.”

“Maybe we can—we can talk it over.” Fred’s brought back to the present when he feels yet another light blow to his shin from you under the table. He blinks and looks into your eyes, which are wide, and he feels himself go weirdly alert.

“I don’t think so,” you say to your ex now, almost laughing a bit; he’s looking rather annoyed and stunned at being turned down. You swallow over a lump in your throat, “Besides, I’m—I’m seeing someone else, so, I think you’d better leave.”

“What?” he says breathlessly, almost looking heartbroken. Is he trying to mend his ways after watching you hit the ground with a loud splat! a few days ago? Fred’s insides turn. “Since when?”

“Since..a few weeks ago.” Fred can sense the panic in your voice as he watches your eyes shift from your ex to your breakfast plate and to him, a cherry red color flooding your cheeks and the tips of your ears. And without a second thought, you say, “Right, Fred?”

And Fred’s agreeing before he can fully digest your words, he’s nodding without breaking your gaze, he’s smirking at you without remembering there are other people around him. Finally, he looks up into the very baffled face of your ex boyfriend. “Yeah, we are—so—I’d bugger off if I were you, mate.”

“You two?” he asks, looking at Fred with what can only be described as pure anguish. “Together?”

“It’s time to go,” whispers another Hufflepuff, pulling the very distraught looking boy in front of you both back to their table before he can say anything else to you. Fred watches as he slumps in his seat and rubs his head, as if confused. Then, he turns back to you and raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, Freddie, I’m sorry!” you shake your head rather quickly and bring a hand to your mouth in shock. “I panicked, I just—he kept trying to ask me to grab lunch with him, I didn’t know what to say to get him to leave me alone, ‘m so mortified. We can just—pretend it never happened, you don’t have to do anything, I can just deal with whatever it is he has planned, it’s fine—”

“Hey.. take a breath,” he laughs and teases you before reaching across the table and squeezing your hand. “It’s fine, I get it. Besides,” he takes a quick bite of an apple and smirks at you, “I’m honored you chose me to be your fake boyfriend.”

“Well, you’re the only one here, silly.”

He pauses to consider this, and then says, “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that and tell you again how honored I am.” You laugh at this, and he grins cheekily at you as he continues, “I mean, imagine if you’d done that to George, he would’ve stumbled over his words—you know how he gets under pressure sometimes—gets flabbergasted, he does. You’re lucky ‘m quick on my feet.”

“Well then,” you reply, sipping your tea as Fred watches your nerves subside, “glad to have you along for the ride, Weasley.”

— -

It’s difficult watching the team’s practice. Fred had told you to maybe stay in, not watch, he’d fill you in later on your replacement. You’d insisted on coming anyway. But he was right.

They’re not completely out of sync—the third year Chaser they snatched up is pretty good for never having really played before. But if Fred’s being completely honest, he misses you on the pitch more than anything else. It’s just not the same without you.

You enter the Great Hall for dinner, and you’re so annoyed at doing everything one-armed that you nearly rip the sling right off of your shoulder, even though Madam Pomfrey had insisted on wearing it for two more days. Okay, maybe you did it a little too fast. “Ow,” you say, rotating your shoulder back and forth to stretch the muscles, as if they’d been asleep for months and months. You furrow your brow in pain.

Fred snorts before sipping his pumpkin juice. “How’d that feel?”

“Not the greatest,” you admit, taking a seat next to him.

Just then, he slings an arm around your shoulder and places a light kiss to your forehead, taking you by surprise. You turn to him with a raised eyebrow. He places his cup gingerly on the table. “Git sighting, on your right.”

You stealthily look on the other end of the Great Hall, your ex trying his best to look distracted, but there’s no chance in hell he didn’t see this exchange between you and Fred. Solemnly, he follows his fellow Hufflepuffs from the hall.

You both hadn’t even noticed George, Ron, and Harry take their places beside you at the table, eyes wide and faces flushed.

“When the bloody hell did this happen?” Ron nods at the two of you, shoving pork into his mouth.

“I’d like to think if my two best friends got together, they would’ve at least mentioned it to me—how long have you two been sneaking around?” George teases you with a wink.

Both you and Fred let hearty laughs escape your lips, as if to say, Sneaking around? You’re out of your mind, but instead, you both say, “We’re just faking.”

“Come again?” Ron and Harry chorus together.

“Faking—you know, Ronniekins, pretend.” Ron’s ears turn a bright scarlet color. “Just for fun. Y/N’s lovely ex bombarded her the other day after her injury, kept bugging her to grab a bite with him, so she very politely took me by surprise and told him, before consulting me, that we’re dating. Of course I obliged—being the lovely gent I am.”

“It did not happen like that—”

“You’re absolute rubbish at lying, you know.”

You throw your hands up in surrender, your face a nice light shade of rosy pink. “I panicked!”

“Precisely,” Fred and George say together. “And how long are you two planning on keeping this little scheme going for?” George asks.

You and Fred turn to each other. It is now revealed, Fred realizes as he watches as you peer into space, that you have no plan. He leans back in his seat, looking rather satisfied at the fact that you haven’t come up with any details at all. “I—I hadn’t thought of that. I just kind of.. went for it. I was acting on the very daring nerve that comes with being a Gryffindor!”

“Right you were,” says Fred through a mouthful of potatoes, “barely skipped a beat, she did. Reckon she couldn’t wait for it to happen—she nearly pounced on me right in front of him.”

The boys roar with raucous laughter. You roll your eyes and turn your attention to George, Ron, and Harry, who are now wiping away tears from their eyes. “You don’t really believe him, do you? This will not last long. Believe you me. It was purely a spur-of-the-moment adrenaline rush decision.”

“Hey, Y/N?”

You turn back to Fred and ask in a sweetly sarcastic tone, “Yes, Freddie?”

“I’m invoking a rule. No falling in love with one another.” He winks and bites into his chicken.

You scoff at him, while the others chuckle again. “Ah yes, darling—because that’s so very likely.”

— -

When Fred finds you sitting underneath a large oak tree in front of the castle, he laughs softly when he sees you in quite a frazzled looking state: your hair is in disarray from pulling at it, the bags under your eyes make it look like you haven’t slept in days, and he can almost feel the pain radiating from your tired muscles.

He sits down next to you in the grass and teases, “You’re quite a sight for sore eyes.”

“Oh, shove off,” you reply, not even looking up from your books. But after a few seconds of silence, the two of you fall into fits of laughter.

Fred nods at the books you’re so very immersed in. “What’s so important?”

“D’you think,” you begin, flipping the pages rapidly, “if I can find a spell that can produce a change in thought process on another human being, and somehow manage to stealthily pull it off and use it on Madam Pomfrey, she’ll change her mind and let me play in the next match?”

Fred cocks his head to the side, peering admirably at you, and smiles sweetly. “It doesn’t look very likely.”

“Ugh, I thought you’d say that.”

“But hey—there’s always obliviate,”

“Honestly, it’s getting to the point where I’m actually considering it.”

“Sure,” he says teasingly again, “I’d pay quite a lot of galleons to see you use any type of magic on a staff member, let alone something as dangerous as a memory charm.”

You cross your arms defiantly. “Don’t think I’ll do it?”

“No,” he smirks, “I know you won’t do it.”

You narrow your eyes at him and give in. Fred can’t help but laugh. “Okay, well—it would be really dangerous! But c’mon—I’ve gotten involved in a fair share of mischief with you and your brother; need I remind you of the time you landed me in detention my second year? A mere twelve year old, in detention…”

“Reckon that’s when you put this whole fake boyfriend thing into action, did you? When you fell for me all those years ago?”

“Ha-ha, you’re wickedly hilarious, Freddie.. seriously, funniest bloke I’ve ever met..” Your voice trails off when you notice something a few feet away, but Fred’s still thinking about how you called him the funniest person you know, even if it was in a sarcastic tone. But deep down, he knows you’re completely serious. He can feel his heart begin to soar a bit. His meandering mind is interrupted yet again by someone walking along the water’s edge—an unwanted visitor. Quickly, you shift yourself closer to Fred and say in a hushed voice, “Hurry—put your arm around me!”

He can’t help but stifle a laugh at your extremely flustered state. “Anything for my girl.”

You fit in so comfortably in his body that he doesn’t even notice how much time passes by. You spend the afternoon immersed in books, while Fred is resting against the tree, falling in and out of sleep with breaks to fix some malfunctions on some very small inventions of his and George’s. Each and every time he looks up, he notices the very curious looking ex boyfriend of yours watching you both, as if he’s trying his very hardest to prove that the two of you are just pretending. And each and every time Fred turns his attention back toward his inventions, he finds himself pulling you tighter and tighter into his arms.

— -

You and Fred are walking rather reluctantly through the corridors to your next class. If only you both had a free period, you’d be able to catch up on some work. But alas, here you both are, walking very, very slowly to Defense Against the Dark Arts.

“How’s the team holding up? I’m dying to get back out there with you.”

“Miss me that much, do you?”

You narrow your eyes and the unmistakable sound of mock laughter from Fred bounces off of the walls. “I miss Quidditch is what I mean. It’s killing me that I can’t join you lot—especially with the match just a week away.”

Fred smiles softly at you, feeling a twinge in his heart, knowing that you won’t be able to play, regardless of your completely healed shoulder. “I know. It’s killing us, too. But come the new year, you’ll—oi, bloody hell, does he just spend his time following us around, or something?”

Fred nods in the direction of the unwanted visitor yet again, and he grabs your hand quickly and continues to walk down the corridor, careful to avoid eye contact. That is, until he corners you both.

It’s not in a violent sort of way—but rather, curious. You’re both bracing yourselves for yet another attempt at getting you to rekindle things, when he takes Fred by surprise. “Why is it, Weasley, that whenever I see you two around, you very quickly grab her hand or sling your arm around her shoulder? What is this—just a ploy?”

“Come on,” you say to him softly, and Fred’s feeling very, very nervous that your facial expression will tell your ex everything he needs to know. “Leave us alone, would you? We’ve got class.”

“Prove it to me, then,” he says now, crossing his arms. “If you two’re really together, then kiss her.”

“What?” you both say aloud, flabbergasted. You look at Fred, who’s doing his very best to bite back a smile, and it’s becoming difficult to not laugh in your ex’s face.

He smirks at the both of you, his cronies surrounding him doing the same thing. Fred squares him up, and it’s easy to tower over him, Fred’s 6’3 frame swallowing him nearly whole. “I don’t think that’s such an odd request—kiss your girlfriend, Weasley, and I’ll leave you be.”

It’s obvious to the both of you, now, that he is basically waiting for you all to admit that yes, you’ve been faking, the entire time it hasn’t been real. You open your mouth to speak and Fred notices the panic in your eyes, the truth bubbling up inside you. So he does the only thing he can think of—he wraps his arms tightly around your waist, pulls you close to him, and presses his lips to yours.

You try very, very hard to hold back your surprise, because you’re extremely aware of the group of Hufflepuffs now watching you both share a kiss that is supposed to look like it happens all the time. You’re sure you’ve lost your voice now. His lips are soft, softer than they look, and Fred’s finding it difficult to remember why you two haven’t been doing this the entire time. He pulls away very, very slowly, hovering close to you with a cheeky grin on his face, before breaking completely and taking your hand in his again, squeezing tightly. Fred notices the scarlet color of your face now, turns back toward the stunned man in front of him, and replies, “Is that all? My girlfriend and I have class, if you don’t mind—”

You swiftly walk your way through the group and you and Fred nearly fly down the hallway, his face as red as his hair, his smile as bright as the sun, and you bring your hands to your lips and you swear you can feel the electricity surging through them, just as they had when Fred kissed you just a few seconds ago.

“You were going to tell him!” Fred’s laughing now, outside the entrance to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, but he can feel his heart thundering in his chest due to the heat of the moment. There’s nothing quite like an adrenaline rush. You reply, “He—he knows we’re lying!”

“Well, now he doesn’t,” Fred replies with a cheeky wink. “C’mon—I made you a deal, didn’t I? Couldn’t let that git get the last word. Now he’s got no bloody idea what’s going on.”

“How can I ever thank you?”

Fred swallows over a lump in his throat, peering deeply into your very bright eyes. He knows what he wants to say, and he’s about too, but something stops him. Something holds him back. Instead, he grins, shakes his head, and slings an arm across your shoulder, making sure to hold onto you just a little bit longer this time.

— -

Fred, George, Ron, and Harry are sitting in the library looking positively ghastly. Ron and Harry are very reluctantly working on a Divination essay that Hermione had finished a week ago, while the twins are racking their brains to finish this petty assignment from Snape.

You wander inside and Fred notices, for the first time in a few days, that your sling is back on your shoulder. Concern floods through his body. “Hey,” he says, immediately pulling you into his arms, “are you okay? Is it bothering you?”

You’re positively beaming—that’s the only way Fred can describe is. Your smile is quite bright, looking happier than you have in months, even with your arm in a sling. “Yeah,” you tell him sweetly, taking a seat next to him, “hurts a little. Probably just slept on it funny, or something.”

“Be careful,” he tells you, snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him, completely ignoring the assignment in front of him, “let me know if you need to go to the hospital wing, okay?”

You nod and begin to slowly pull spell books from your bag when you notice the others across the table, looking at you both with what can only be described as mischievous grins.

You and Fred look at each other, and then at them. Fred’s hand tightens around your waist. “What?” you ask together.

“You know he isn’t here, right?” Harry asks you both. George and Ron are focusing very hard on their parchments, and are not doing a very good job at stifling their laughter.

It’s almost immediate that Fred unwraps his arm from your waist, and your face is burning with color, and Fred’s insides are beginning to tighten due to embarrassment. But before he can speak and defend his actions, you speak up, “Oh, erm—could’ve sworn I saw him—must’ve been my eyes playing tricks on me, then. Anyway..”

The rest of the afternoon is spent in utter silence, recovering from that tiny slip up and moment of embarrassment. And one by one they leave—first Harry, then Ron, and then George—who, by the looks of it, is nowhere near done with his assignment—but he claims he has somewhere he needs to be, and vanishes through the doors of the library before either you or Fred can do anything.

About an hour later, you ask Fred, “Could Snape be any more vile? Why did he assign this stupid essay again?”

Fred laughs softly, “because some Ravenclaw started insulting his teaching methods in the middle of the lesson—remember?”

“Oh yeah,” you say, the memory coming back to you now. Brightly, you say, “Hey—want to get back at that Ravenclaw and plan some elaborate type of prank to make this whole assignment just a little bit more bearable?”

Fred turns toward you with a surprised expression on his face. He smirks and shakes his head in admiration, “I think I’m becoming a bad influence on you.”

You bat your eyelashes at him and say, “Maybe. Would that be such an awful thing?”

And then he pulls you nearly all the way into his lap, begins tickling you and poking you in the ribs, and you begin to flail in his arms and laugh hysterically, when Madam Pince angrily shushes you from the other end of the library. You flip your hair out of your eyes and regain your composure, and Fred is suddenly very aware that you’re still seated in his lap, your face only inches from his, the bright color of your eyes sparkling in the sun flooding in from the windows. Right. You’re not actually technically together. He swallows thickly and watches as you bite down on your lip. You’re both about to say something, hearts thundering loudly in your chest, when suddenly you break the silence and slide yourself off of him, back into your seat and say, “We’d better head to the feast, Freddie. Don’t want to be late.”

— -

“Anyone fancy a game of exploding snap before bed?”

Ron’s sitting in the middle of the huddle, finishing the last of his dessert from the feast, while everyone around him is slumped in their seats looking positively exhausted.

George says sleepily, “Can’t mate—we’ve got a late night practice tonight.”

“D’you think Angelina will give me a beating if I just sleep through it?” Fred asks nobody in particular, his eyes closed.

“Yes,” you, Harry, George, Ginny and Hermione say together.

“Oh fine, you lot are out,” Ron waves his hand in the direction of the Quidditch players and then glances excitedly at you, Ginny, and Hermione. “Ladies? Anyone? Feeling kind of lucky this evening.”

Ginny snorts at this. “You? Lucky? Luck would be me not absolutely obliterating you in a game—not you winning. That’d be a miracle.” Her older brothers chuckle quite animatedly at this comment; it’s certainly woken them up a bit.

You grin at Ginny and then say to her very angry and embarrassed looking brother, “What she means to say, Ron, is that we’re all kind of exhausted due to lack of sleep, because someone—” you shoot a glance toward another Gryffindor girl on the other end of the Great Hall, “—put an amplifying charm on some Muggle contraption of hers last night, music kept us up till nearly dawn.”

Ron turns back toward his brothers now, looking confused. “No way you could’ve heard that from the girls dormitory, or Harry and I would’ve been up all night, too! So why are you two so bloody exhausted?”

“Usual mischief,” Fred and George chorus together, winking at the youngest male Weasley.

Ginny picks up her bag and says to the group, “I’m heading to bed. You two coming?” she glances at you and Hermione.

You glance back and forth between Ginny and Fred and bite your lip. You’re absolutely knackered, but you wonder whether you should go to practice, just to be there, just to watch, just to show you’re still devoted. Fred picks up on this and shakes his head. “You’re tired—go to bed. Promise you’re not missing much. Reckon we’ll all be rubbish due to exhaustion, anyway.”

“Okay,” you finally reply, albeit begrudgingly. Fred places a quick kiss to your cheek, the group stifles laughter, and you, Hermione, and an extremely baffled Ginny make your way upstairs to the common room, leaving the boys to their jokes in the very crowded Great Hall.

When you enter through the portrait hole, Hermione wishes you both a good evening before heading up the stairs. This leaves you and Ginny alone in a completely desolate common room. You remove your shoes and stand across from the fire, letting the warmth of the flames radiate through your body, when Ginny clears her throat.

“Care to tell me what’s going on between you and my older brother?” she says cheekily, grinning at you. She so very much resembles all of her siblings.

You laugh softly, running a hand through your hair and stretching your arms behind your head. “I thought Ron would’ve told you.. It’s nothing, Ginny. Promise. We’re just pretending. My ex has been strangely remorseful about the breakup lately, trying to get me to talk to him and what not—Fred’s just helping me out a bit.”

“By pretending to date you?”

“Yeah..” you say a bit guiltily now. “Yeah, it sort of happened in a moment of panic. Don’t worry, though. None of it’s real. Just till it gets the other one out of my way—then we’ll go back to normal.” You turn back to face the fire and it suddenly feels much, much hotter than before.

“But this is the normal you actually want, isn’t it?”

This takes you by surprise. You turn back slowly, now facing Ginny, and she’s wearing a genuine grin. “I—I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“I’ve watched Fred and George for years,” Ginny tells you, “admiring their recklessness and rebellion—but in turn, this also means I see who they get on with.”

“Meaning?”

She smiles softly, looking a little sulky actually, which is so very unlike Ginny. And she confides in you, and she’s acting very vulnerable which makes your heart soar, “I’d give anything for Harry to look at me the way you look at Fred.”

You swallow over a lump in your throat, and Ginny can easily sense your nervousness. She reaches out and places a gentle hand on your shoulder. In a very hoarse, soft voice, as if your vocal chords have been strained, you plead, “Please, please don’t tell him.”

She doesn’t respond to this exactly, but you know she’ll keep her lips sealed. She asks, “How long?”

“I—I dunno,” you tell her truthfully. You bite your lip to keep your heart jumping out of your throat, “over time, I suppose.” You continue to tell her of how everything unfolded, how Fred had jokingly told you to not develop feelings for him, how he’d kissed you that one day in the corridor.

There’s a few moments of silence between you both, but there’s nothing uncomfortable about it. In fact, it’s the most comfortable you’ve ever been with one another—secretly longing for the boys who don’t seem to look at you both the way you so deeply yearn. Finally, Ginny breaks the tension and says, “Your secret is safe with me. Just be careful, okay? I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

Is this her way of telling you that Fred doesn’t feel the same way as you? That these feelings you have for him are a hundred percent one sided and are not at all reciprocated? It’s as if she’s reading your thoughts, because she tells you, “I’ve no idea how he feels—he doesn’t tell me anything at all, real git that he is,” you both laugh at this exchange, and Ginny echoes herself, “Just be careful.”

“I will,” you reply, now realizing that she’s has given you quite a lot to think about, “Thanks, Gin.”

— -

Fred’s feeling positively blue, if you will. He’s standing smack in the middle of the corridor in his Quidditch robes after a truly rubbish weekend practice, staring at the spot you were just standing. It’s like you’re still there, he can still smell your perfume, but he reckons you’ve probably already made it back to the common room by now.

Just then, he feels a hand on his shoulder. He jumps in surprise, and turns around only to be face to face with George and Ginny, who laugh at his skittishness.

“You alright, mate? Coming to the Great Hall?”

“Yeah.” Fred’s voice sounds vastly different in his own ears; it’s hoarse and broken, and he doesn’t understand why. He coughs a bit, and then echoes himself, “Yeah,” except he doesn’t believe it, and neither do his siblings.

George stops bouncing his broomstick between his hands at once. He looks once at Ginny and then back at Fred as the corridor begins to fill with students, “What’s going on?”

“Sh-she ended it,” he replies, and the words feel foreign in his mouth.

“Who, Y/N? The.. fake thing?” George asks, lowering his voice. “Maybe the git is finally leaving her be.”

“No, that’s not it. She wouldn’t tell me. She was.. weirdly quiet. She told me that she was worried things are going to get messy and she’s afraid rules are being broken on her end.. has she said anything to either of you? What is she even talking about?”

George responds quickly with a, “No, nothing,” whereas Ginny hesitates a bit, and then responds, “No, Freddie. She hasn’t.” But Fred can sense that his little sister isn’t giving him all of the info. Had she talked to you? Does she know what’s going on? Then George nudges his brother and asks a bit cheekily, “Does this make you upset?”

“No, no, of course not!” Fred says a bit aggressively, but both of his siblings just cock their heads to the side, as if to say, Really, Freddie, we can see right through you. “I—I mean—I just.. thought we were having a bit of fun.”

“Yeah,” George begins, while Ginny remains quiet by his side, “okay, you were having fun, but.. what I’m asking you, Fred, is—do you maybe want to be with her for real? And that’s why you’re upset?”

When Fred doesn’t answer, Ginny finds her voice. “We know, Fred.”

“Know what?”

George and Ginny say together, “That you fancy her.”

Fred runs a hand through his hair. He’s feeling aggravated now—he doesn’t like when his mind and thoughts get picked apart by people closest to him, especially when he’s trying on his own to piece together exactly how he feels. But he comes to realize, as his heart begins to beat faster when he thinks of you, that his siblings are right. He’s felt this way for a very, very long time.

Without showing just how much he really feels for you, Fred tells them, “Yeah, erm, okay, I—maybe I have some.. feelings,” he says through gritted teeth and George can’t help but stifle a laugh at his twin’s nervousness. Fred punches him in the arm. “But she kept saying that she’s breaking rules—but what rules? I haven’t the foggiest what she’s on about! I don’t even know if she feels the same way!”

“Fred,” Ginny says quietly, “you jokingly made one rule with her when you two began this whole ridiculous stunt.” When Fred just looks at his sister quizzically, wondering what the bloody hell she’s on about, she opts to continue, “you told her you’re not allowed to fall for one another.”

Realization hits Fred like a ton of bricks, George throws his hands up in confusion, and Ginny pushes on Fred’s chest and grins cheekily at her older brother, leaving poor George baffled beyond belief at this secret language his other two siblings seem to have. Ginny nods in the direction of the common room, “Just go get her already, would you?”

And Fred’s flying through the corridors and up the stairs, he’s pushing past students and professors alike, he’s running hands through his messy, windswept hair and he’s climbing through the portrait hole, only to find you sitting on the ledge near the window looking out at the stars, just as you had all those long months ago when he found you crying.

“Hey, Freddie,” you say when you turn to face him. “Everything okay?”

He doesn’t answer—he pushes past the desks and chairs blocking him from you and does the one and only thing he wants to do, the only thing he’s ever wanted to do for as long as he can remember now—he scoops you up into his arms, presses his forehead to yours, and kisses you. For real, this time.

Your surprise is overridden by the slight, exasperated moan that escapes your lips before you wrap your hands around the back of his neck. His fingers are dancing across your hip bones and then make their way up your back and into your hair. He kisses you once, twice, three more times before fully breaking, and hovers close to you again before pulling away completely to see the sparkle in your eyes, the bright smile plastered across your face.

As you push down any nervousness rising to the surface with a quick swallow, you say, “So.. where’ve you been?”

Fred laughs haughtily now, remembering that time all those few months ago when you’d said the exact same thing in a completely different context. He’s finding it beyond difficult to not kiss you into oblivion right now, especially as you bite on your bottom lip to try and suppress a very large grin.

“Sorry, love, I got tied up with my thoughts—but I can stay here with you now.”

He pulls you into a tight embrace before his lips find yours again. You can both hear voices outside the portrait whole. It’s obvious to you now that you have mere seconds before your alone time will be so very rudely interrupted by fellow Gryffindors.

“I broke the rules,” you tell him with slight tears in your eyes, playing with the baby fine hairs at the nape of his neck.

“Me too,” he admits breathlessly, swiping his thumb across your cheek. “I broke them a long time ago.” His heart begins to thunder inside of his chest at the feeling of your lips forming a smile against his, and he’s almost positive you can hear it—but he doesn’t care. He wants you to know you get his heart racing—more than pranking, more than firewhisky, more than Quidditch—more than anything or anyone in the entire world. He continues after another small kiss, “I reckon some rules are meant to be broken, though, aren’t they?”

reblogs & feedback are always appreciated, darlings. thank you for reading and requesting, much love x

#fred weasley #george weasley #fred and george weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley reader insert #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fanfic #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #fred weasley imagine #weasley twins #weasley twins imagine #hp imagine #fake dating tropes #ron weasley #ginny weasley #harry potter #hermione granger

512 notes · View notes

comicgoth666 · 3 years

Note

How would Toad handle his beloved expecting their kid (Bonus points if the kid hates Magneto's guts as a baby and the rest of their life)

"Mort?" They'd spoke softly as they floated around the kitchen, working on dinner for the lot of them. Some Italian dish Mort hasn't had yet.

"Yes, luv?" He answered, feeling like he was on cloud nine, thinking of how lucky he was to have such a beloved. One who held him during nightmares. One who looked at him with love in their eyes. Just him and his beloved.

"I was wondering, how do you feel about kids?" Kids? Thought they were gross grubby little things once upon a time. He recalled when Wanda was pregnant. Fatter than a doe eyed sow. Sweating and swollen. Then the brats came and he was put in charge of them for a week until Pietro came to get them. Smelly and loud and annoying.

Then, Billy smiled at him. Tommy held his finger. The little brats slept with him on the couch for hours. Laughed when he tried to play with them. Clung to him when they were awake. Pietro eventually got back and picked fun at him for an hour before leaving with them with Luna in tow.

His relationship with children was now... complicated.

"Depends, luv. Different chil'ren. Different reaction. Wha'? Yew baby si'in' again? Nee' my 'elp? Nee' me ta leave?" They hummed a no in response and set a glass in his hand. Flavored whiskey. A recent obsession of his.

"Not exactly, dear."

"Wazzat mean?" They floated easily around before continuing dinner.

"Well... I'm..... pregnant."

Panic. His first thought is panic. Pregnant. With a baby? His baby? His beloved was simply walking around in the compound kitchen, like nothing was wrong. Like they hadn't just verbally rocked his shit.

"... wot?" His throat was dry. His tongue was heavy. Was his heart beating to fast? Is this a heart attack. Aren't these symptoms of that? "W... wha... re... really?" Another hum. Affirmation. Baby... a baby... his baby. Their baby. What if they have his mutation? What if they have his issues? What if-?!

"Dearest... you'll do great. I know it." A peck and off they went again.

The brotherhood was ecstatic to hear the news. His beloved wouldn't be able to fight for a bit to take care of the baby and he'd see to it. He definitely wasn't going back into the field for a bit. Building and planning, sure. No field work.

First, came the crib, long before the bump started to show. Built by hand and carved beautifully. Stress building toys while they sat around and tried to help before he'd panic and tell them to just sit down. Please, luv. Leave it to me. Let me take care of it. Don't have to lift a finger.

Baby books that his beloved picked out, baby clothes given by teammates. Frog and Toad (haw haw Mystique), guess how much I love you, where the wild things are. He never read those growing up. Never had them read to him. His goal was to do what he needed growing up.

The Brotherhood quickly found out that some people weren't aloud near them as their belly got larger. Freddy was aloud by them by himself, as was Neena, Dom, Irene and Wanda when she came to visit. Sauron was aloud, as he was their doctor at the moment. Raven, Peitro and St John had to be supervised by Mort or someone he trusted to be around them. Victor and Magneto were not aloud in any capacity if it could be avoided.

But, even then, he was croaking and clinging to his beloved when they came near. Magneto was curious about a second generation mutant, wanted to see what this mixture could produce. His child wasn't about to become his new science project. And Victor was... Victor. Picking fights by getting closer then he needs to be. He knows what a animal like mutant can do, and yet...

Once the time came for the child to come, Freddy had to hold the poor man to keep him from attacking Sauron. Their screaming and pain was to much for him to handle. Maybe he could drag them away to the lake nearby. Dig a hole. Hide themselves away and lay low for a bit till it was over. But, he knew realistically, this was what they needed. A doctor, a hospital (the compound counted, he supposed).

The panic had been building the entire nine and a half months. What if the baby died? What if they died? What if they and the baby died? What if his kid hated him? What if-?

"Mort." Carl, in his human form, called from the hallway. Freddy slowly released the Brit punk and he ran with wings on his feet through the doorway.

Tiny. It was so... tiny. Tiny hands. Tiny head. Tiny body. It could be crushed so... easy. If this were a fight, he'd feel grateful for the upper hand. But... this was his baby. All he felt was and overwhelming fear and love.

The only person, aside from the doc, to enter the makeshift hospital was Wanda. She was cooing and keeping her distance while his beloved slept, regaining strength.

The next few weeks were difficult, but do-able. He's taken on giant robots. He's fought the X-Men head on. A baby was small beans compared to that. His beloved had the patience of a saint. Arranging and rearranging toys nervously as they feed them. Teddy Bear next to stuffed Frog with a toy Bat by the foot of the crib. Froggy covers tucked and untucked and tucked again. It had to be right. Couldn't risk suffocation by rolling over wrong... or worse. Was he over reacting?

"Oh! Erik... hello." His beloved rocked back and forth in the chair as their boss entered the baby room, toy in hand. A stuffed doll with red yarn hair and a velvet green dress and black button eyes. His helmet gleamed in the soft lamp light. Wanda and Pietro stood behind him with a book and a stuffed black cat respectively.

"What do you want, Erik?" He allowed the twins to enter and coo at the small bundle in his beloved's arms, but blocked Erik at the door. He had simmered a bit, but still didn't allow him anywhere near the two.

"I can't say hello to the newest member?" Heat rose to his face.

"They will never work for you." He growled.

"Mort... it's fine." They held his eyes and silently beat his resolve down. He sighed and moved behind them, hands on their shoulders, teeth clenched, muscles tight.

"Hello, dear." Arms outstretched, silently asking to hold the child. Mort's breath hitched and heavy. His beloved slowly placed the child in his gloved hands. Large hands with blood on them from years of violence. He shouldn't be holding them. He shouldn't be here. Mort should take his beloved up on their plan to run. A cabin. No Magneto. They most certainly will not work for him.

Silence befell the room as he arranged the babe in his arms and once settled... a loud cry came from them. Screaming and fussing as they flailed in his hands. Mort moved fast enough to make Quicksilver proud while carefully and quickly scooping his child up and away from him. Shushing and rocking as his beloved apologised. Mort smiled to himself for the small victory. It wasn't much, but it worked for him.

Several times over the next two months, Magneto tried again and again to hold the infant, and Mort let him try. It had become entertaining to watch as he became flustered at the sudden cry of the child. Victor, he'd found, only had to get within their eyesight for them to cry and fuss. He was pretty much blacklisted from being near the child and he seemed just fine with that. Small victories for Mort. Animals and babies were notorious for sussing out bad people. It made him happy to know Erik would eventually give up on holding the child.

Wanda had begun helping him and his new family find a home and life away from this life after she'd left a month prior with her brother to work with S.H.I.E.L.D.

Peace. Quiet. And no more orders. It truly was everything he never knew he needed.

#mortimer toynbee #the terrible toad king #toad #todd tolanski #todd tolansky #marvel #xmen #x-men #x men

18 notes · View notes

weasleydream · 4 years

Text

Crabs and fishes

Hi guys! How are you?

I’m sorry this is sooo late but this is for @blisfvll‘s writing challenge! I’m really sorry I only publish it today, but I hope you’ll still like it, even though it’s not angsty! The prompts are “Your hair is so soft.” and “I think I just fell in love.”

To be honest, I’m not satisfied but I don’t know how I could write it better so I give up 😫 (and i’m way too lazy to look for mistakes so let’s hope it’s not a big disaster)

Anyways, enjoy!

Masterlist

(gif not mine)

The Weasley twins were the coolest guys in Gryffindor and in seventh year. Probably even in the whole school, in fact. I didn’t know them as much as I wanted but my priorities weren’t to prank and send Filch up the wall, which was obviously theirs. Since my first day here, I had focused on my grades and since the beginning of my second year, on Quidditch. This was the only common point between Fred, George and I: they were beaters in the team and I was a chaser.

Well, that was until the day this awful Umbridge forbade Fred, George and Harry to play. At this point of the year, things had already begun extra hard for everyone, and I wasn’t an exception. I had the impression I was risking my life with the upcoming NEWTs, both my parent’s place at the Ministry were threatened, Umbridge was insufferable and now Angelina, the captain of the team, was becoming a fury after each training.

In one word: I felt like my life was ending, and it seemed to be the same for half of the students. And the twins, in all of this? They were imagining all the ways possible to cheer us up. Pranks after pranks, their goal was to always make one more person laugh, because it meant that Umbridge had a grip on a person’s happiness less. Their last idea, and in my opinion, probably one of the best, was to organize a big party in the room of requirements.

No sooner said than done, they had gathered enough food, butterbeer and firewhiskey for a regiment, and three days after their big announcement in the common room, here I was, pacing in front of the invisible door. When it opened, Fred was waiting behind.

“Y/N, I didn’t think we would see you here!” he exclaimed before winking. “Does that mean you know how to have fun?”

“Biggest surprise of the year!” added George who had closed behind me.

“How fun you are, you two! I bet I know how to have a good time more than you two!”

Fred lifted an eyebrow.

“You bet, huh?”

Despite my brain being slower than ever, I managed to think that betting with Fred wasn’t the best idea I had. After six bottles of butterbeer and an undefined number of firewhiskey shooters, my steps were more than unsteady and I saw myself falling more than once. However, I was quite proud to see that Fred was drunk too, and the result was really funny.

“Here Y/N look at- too late.”

Frem smiled broadly, three bottles exploded on the floor at his feet.

“You’re an amateur, Freddie.”

Two seconds later, three other bottles were on the floor, and without knowing how I had done that, I was covered in butterbeer. My shirt was sticking to my skin, and Fred was laughing too hard to even think of helping me.

“I don’t think casting a spell is a good idea.” he eventually said when tears had stopped rolling his cheeks. “I mean, I can try, but at your own risks. You could end up with a third arm, or… Imagine if you had a-”

“I get it, I’ll go back to the common room.” I interrupted.

I turned the heels, decided to show him I wasn’t drunk, then I bumped into someone and fell on my arse.

“You need a bit of help?”

I groaned and grabbed Fred’s hand. He wrapped his arm around my waist and we hopped cheerfully in the corridors, arm in arm and absolutely not giving a fuck about the fact that we shouldn’t have been here. The fat lady threw us a reprobatory look but opened without a word and I practically ran in my dorm to get rid of these stinking clothes. I came back to the common room a few minutes later, still panting after the struggle I had faced to slip in my pants. Fred was sitting on the floor just in front of the fire and I came next to him.

“What are we looking at?” I murmured, not wanting to disturb the atmosphere even though I couldn’t really feel it at the moment.

Fred reacted two seconds later and grinned.

“Dunno, what do you want to look at?”

“Is that your way to flirt?”

“Absolutely. Is that your way to react when someone flirts with you?”

“Yep.”

And we both looked back at the fire, absorbed in confused thoughts. I broke the silence a few minutes later.

“I’m thirsty.”

“Then drink.”

“You’re a genius.”

“I know.”

Fred winked at me and gestured toward the table next to the chimney. A silver carafe was shining with the fire light along with two cups. I groaned, my muscles were beginning to hurt as the alcohol was making its way in my body. However, the unpleasant sensation in my mouth made me gather my courage and stand up. My movement was too fast and my head began to turn. I knew I would fall and used the first thing that came at hand to catch myself…

“Your hair is so soft!”

Both my hands were stuck in Fred’s ginger hair, and I looked at them in awe. I moved slowly my hands, my nails gently touching his skin.

“I’m feeling like a cat.” said Fred, his grin clearly being heard in his voice.

“Cats are cute!” I replied. “And you’re purring like a cat.”

“Like a lion, please.” He said with a false hurt tone.

“Like a kitten, my dear Freddie.”

“Let me guess, kittens are cute?”

“Absolutely. And before you ask, yes, you’re cute too, Freddie.”

“I wasn’t going to ask, I already knew it, my dear Y/N.”

I rolled my eyes and left to get the carafe, a very strange feeling of emptiness sinking in me, a feeling that even the fresh water didn’t ease. I gained back my place next to Fred and yawned ostensibly. Without thinking, a thing I was unable to do anyway, I leaned on the side and rested my hand on Fred’s shoulder.

“Tired, love?”

“Yes, kitten.”

I closed my eyes and opened them what felt like a second later when Fred faltered.

“I”m sorry, I didn’t want to-”

“No, don’t worry,” he interrupted me while pulling me back against him. “I feel better with you being close to me. And you?”

“Me what?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“I’ve seen that you’ve not been feeling well lately. Do you feel better?”

“Yes, don’t worry.”

And even though he didn’t ask, I understood that Fred was ready to listen to me if I needed to talk.

“You know, life’s not easy… It’s not a pretty beach under the sun with shining water where you enjoy the sweet warmth of the sand.” I glanced at Fred and was slightly surprised to see that he wasn’t laughing at me. “If you walked on life's beach, your feet would burn and awful crabs would eat your toes.”

“Who is the crab for you?” he asked quietly.

“Don’t know… Umbridge, You-Know-Who… Guess there are a lot of crabs out there.”

“Trus enough…” He paused for a second before continuing. “You know, I don’t think having your toes eaten by crabs is the worst.”

“What could be worse?”

“You could get hit by a wave of fish pee.”

“Fred you’re gross!” I exclaimed before exploding in laughter. “You’re right I would rather lose a toe.”

I put my head back on Fred’s shoulder, which was still shaken by his chuckles. He wrapped his arm around me and tightened me, showing me a comfort I would have never expected from him before.

“You know, I feel like a fish sometimes.” I whispered.

“Why? You use to swim in your pee?”

“You’re a child Freddie, you know that? No, what I mean is that all I do is swimming through the problems that are trying to drown me. I feel like- like a little golden fish in the middle of the ocean, you know?”

“Yeah… No.”

“Nevermind.” I whispered before feeling myself falling forward.

Fred caught me and made me lean against him, murmuring “I think I just fell in love.”

#blisfvllswritingchallenge #Harry Potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #fred weasley #fred x reader #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n

115 notes · View notes

rushingheadlong · 4 years

Text

Dear Friend, We’ll Carry On - A Brian/trans-m!Reader fic

Summary: You’ve known Brian since the early days of Queen, but when he comes to New Haven on his solo tour you haven’t seen him in years. You’re both different people now but, as the saying goes, the more things change the more they stay the same...

Wordcount: ~9.5k

Tags/Warnings: Trans-m!Reader/Brian, some light angst and H/C, eventual smut (fingering & oral, Reader receiving, and some light cumplay)

Notes: This is, I think, officially the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever written. I know I say that a lot but the entire fic takes place around Brian’s October 1993 New Haven concert (the one with the Yale tank top) so that should really tell you everything you need to know. I might write a follow-up fic, or just a shorter epilogue as well - but we’ll see if I ever actually get around to that.

The only other thing I’ll note is that is the Reader is American, so American terms have been used over British ones (i.e. “pants” instead of “trousers”) and this is cross-posted to AO3 here.

It’s only been a few years since you last saw Brian, but when he first walks into the diner you almost don’t recognize him. If it wasn’t for that same wild halo of curls around his head you’d think you were looking at a stranger, because there’s a tightness in his shoulders and a stiffness in his frame that you’ve never seen before.

Even the other patrons around you seem uncertain of him, casting double-takes in his direction as if they aren’t really sure if they recognize him or not. There was a time when Queen couldn’t step foot in America without being mobbed, but too much has changed in a decade and now Brian looks more like a lost child than a world-famous rockstar.

You wave to catch his attention and Brian spots you immediately. He smiles, bright and wide and so familiar that it makes your chest ache, and he finally looks almost like himself again.

He quickly crosses the small room and you stand up to greet him. Brian pulls you into a tight hug and this is achingly familiar too, the way your shorter frame fits against his, the gentle nuzzle against the top of your head as Brian curls around you, the soft sigh as Brian relaxes into the embrace and some of the tightness starts to bleed out of his body.

“I’ve missed you,” Brian says when he finally pulls away and the two of you take your seats at the table. “You look…” His voice trails off for a moment and you brace yourself for the word that you know is coming next: Different. It’s what everyone says these days, after all, not that you can blame them. Five years on testosterone and nearly eleven months since your surgery have radically changed your appearance - and you haven’t seen Brian in person since your transition started, having been out-of-town when he last performed in New Haven back in March.

But Brian smiles and the word he goes with, to your surprise, is simply, “Good. You look really good, Y/N.”

“Thanks,” you say, with a smile of your own. “And you look…”

Sad.

There’s still grief in the depths of Brian’s eyes, a slightly haunted look that wasn’t there before Freddie’s death and the end of Queen tore his world apart. He’s allowed his grief, of course he is, but it still tears at your heart to see Brian’s kind face marred with anguish, no matter how much he tries to hide it.

You know better than to tell him any of that, though, no matter how true it may be, so you find yourself settling for a different adjective as well. “Tired. Tour getting to you, is it?”

Brian laughs, the smallest huff of amusement and admits, “It’s been rough at times, yeah. Been too long since I’ve done this, and it’s different from what it was with- with Queen.”

He busies himself with the menu for a moment, and you graciously don’t comment on the slight stumble at the mention of the band that was his entire world for two decades. “Anyway, it’s been good though,” Brian finally says. “Nice to be playing again, and the new group is great.”

“I’m sorry I missed your show the last time you were in Connecticut,” you tell him.

“Nah, don’t be. We were only a support act then, you’re getting the full performance tonight,” Brian says. A small, uncertain look crosses his face and he asks, “You are coming tonight, aren’t you?”

“Bought my ticket the moment they went on sale,” you assure him, and Brian smiles in relief.

Your conversation is briefly interrupted by the arrival of your waitress, and once when she leaves with your orders Brian says, “I have a backstage pass for you, if you want it. You can hang out before the show, watch from out front, and security will let you backstage again before the encore so you don’t have to deal with trying to leave with the crowd when it’s all over.”

“Really? That would be great!” It would certainly give you more time to spend with Brian, though you know from the many Queen concerts where you were able to get backstage that it’s likely to be in somewhat of a state of pandemonium leading up to the start of the show. “Hey, is there anyone in your road crew that I might remember?”

You know not to tack on from the Queen days, though it’s obvious that’s what you mean. Another sad look crosses Brian’s face and you know you’ve still made a mistake, even before Brian says, “Ah, not really, no. Jobby left, so my guitar tech is new, and Ratty and Crystal obviously aren’t around… Oh, Spike’s touring with me, though!” You give him a blank, apologetic look and he sighs and adds, hopeful, “Keyboard player? He played with Queen back in the 80s too…”

“You had someone different on the Hot Space tour, I think,” you tell Brian.

“God, has it really been that long since we played the US?” Brian shakes his head. “Seems crazy, doesn’t it? How quickly a decade passes…”

“And how much changes in that time,” you say without thinking. Another pained look crosses Brian’s face and you quickly try to steer the conversation towards less depressing territory. “I mean, I’m surprised you recognized me at all today!” you say with a small laugh.

“Well, of course I recognized you! Why wouldn’t I?” Brian asks, just as your waitress returns with your drinks.

You wait until she stops fussing over Brian and leaves again before saying, “I don’t know, Bri, why would you recognize me? I look pretty different than I did before…”

“Oh, yeah,” Brian says. “That.”

You didn’t really want to bring the topic up but Brian’s response, no matter how casual, is exactly why you knew you had to. You met Brian when you were still going by your dead name, before you had even comes to terms with your gender and back when you two were still hooking up every time Queen came to the US. He was one of the first people you came out to, because you saw him so rarely that if he reacted poorly it’s not like it would have impacted your normal daily life.

Brian didn’t react poorly though. No one in Queen did, and if any of the roadies had a different opinion you at least never had to hear it. Brian easily adjusted to calling you “Y/N” and “he” during your increasingly infrequent meetings in the 80s, those rare weekends when you could afford to fly to LA or he had the time to meet you somewhere on the East Coast, but this is still the first time that he’s seeing you since your transition - the first time he’s had to see you present fully as a man, without binders and baggy clothes and uncomfortably short hair to hide behind.

And you know all too well how much of a difference that can make, to some people.

But not, apparently, to Brian. He smiles and offers you a small shrug and just says, “You’re still Y/N - I mean, yeah, you look different but… Well, like I said before, you look good. You look more like yourself, if that makes any sense at all. Like you’re just a better version of who you always were.” He shakes his head and adds, “Sorry, that probably sounds ridiculous…”

“It really doesn’t,” you tell him. “That’s exactly how it feels to me.” Your whole chest feels warm with affection, and even though you’re reassuring him in the moment you feel incredibly comforted by his easy acceptance and understanding of a topic that not very many others in your life have embraced.

Brian’s smile brightens a little, and your stomach swoops at the sight. You’ve never been in love with Brian, not romantically anyway, but sometimes you still find yourself getting overwhelmed with how much you love having him in your life - as a friend and, in the past, as an occasional bed partner.

Only it seems like today your libido missed the message that the two of you aren’t hooking up anymore. You thought you had gotten past the initial spike to your sex drive that happened when you first started T, but looking at Brian now - with his wide smile and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and his shirt half unbuttoned to expose most of his chest - makes you almost squirm with how badly you want him again.

It doesn’t help that Brian once admitted to you, years ago when you were both far too drunk for your own good, that the occasional man does catch (and hold) his interest. It doesn’t help that you know Brian was always enthusiastic about hooking up with you, at least when you used to do that before you came out and started transitioning. And it doesn’t help that, when you look across the table at him, his earlier sadness has been replaced with a familiar glint in his eye that makes you wonder if his repeated “You look good” comments might hold a little more meaning than you originally thought.

You want to test the waters, see if Brian is thinking of your previous hook-ups like you now are… and you almost do, before you remember what it could cost Brian to be seen flirting with another man in public. Even the hug he had given you in greeting was risky, nevermind that that’s how he’s always greeted you before you transitioned. So you settle instead for only asking, “How long are you in town?”

Brian grimaces. “We got in late yesterday, and we’re only here for one more night. We’re driving over to Providence in the morning for tomorrow’s show, then there’s a day off so we can head out to Chicago. And then…” He thinks about it for a moment, before laughing and shaking his head. “For the life of me, I can’t remember where we go from there. But we only have seven or eight more shows in the States, and then we have some time off before we go to Japan at the beginning of November.”

At one point, you would have followed him around to all those stops on the tour - or at least spent a week or two in Queen’s bus, curled up by Brian’s side during the day and spending your evenings watching their shows from wherever you could find a spot, before eventually catching a flight home from some random city halfway across the country.

But those days are long behind you now.

“Well, you should come back to Connecticut during that break and visit me some more,” you say, and you can’t help the slight teasing note that creeps into your voice.

What you’re not expecting, though, is for Brian to give you a knowing smirk and say, “Maybe I’ll do just that.”

Your mouth drops open in a small “o” of surprise, but before you can respond your waitress comes over with your food - and when she leaves Brian launches into a story from one of his shows earlier in the year, and you let the moment pass.

No matter how much time accidentally passes between your meetings, it’s always easy to fall back into conversation with Brian. His story reminds you of a different rock show you had been to a year ago, and then Brian tells you about some festival he found himself at, which happens to be in the same area where you’re planning an upcoming vacation, and the resulting travel talk branches out into any topic imaginable, until Brian catches a glimpse at the time and swears under his breath.

“Shit, I’m needed over at the theatre.” He stands up and starts to pull out his wallet, but you stop him.

“No, Bri, I’ve got this,” you say, throwing enough bills down onto the table to cover the check (and a large enough tip to make up for how long the two lingered around just chatting). “Any time in particular I should plan on getting to the theatre myself?”

“You can head over with me now, if you want,” Brian says as he leads the way out of the diner, holding the door open for you behind him.

“Nah, I need to change into something more fitting for a rock concert,” you say, gesturing to your suitable - but certainly plain - outfit.

“You look-”

“Brian May, if you tell me that I look good again I’ll kick you!” you interrupt with a laugh. “No, give me a chance to pretty myself up for you and then I’ll head over.”

It doesn’t quite register that the “for you” slipped out until you see a look of surprise cross Brian’s face, a look that settles into something a little more amused as he smirks and says, “Well, I’ll definitely be looking forward to seeing you soon, then.”

He pulls you into another quick hug and your face is hot with embarrassment, and you can feel yourself get redder when Brian murmurs in your ear, “Don’t take too long now, Y/N.”

You know he’s teasing but there’s a note of arousal in his voice as well, and you feel your dick start to stir with interest even through your lingering embarrassment. “I’ll get changed and hurry right over,” you promise in a low voice, and you can’t help but feel smug when you see Brian’s eyes darken in hunger.

You don’t live in New Haven proper and today even the quick drive back to your apartment feels like it takes too long, when all you want to do is still be with Brian… but you’re hoping, if you play your cards right, that you’ll be spending a lot more time with Brian tonight than you had ever originally planned.

Picking out clothes feels less like a daily battle than it ever did before you started transitioning but you still take some time to consider what to wear over to the theatre, finally settling on skinny jeans and a Yale shirt. You’re considerably older than most of the university’s students but you’re still cursed with a babyface that T hasn’t aged quite enough yet, and you figure that faking some school pride can’t hurt when you’re going to be mere blocks away from the university itself.

You grab a pair of rolled-up socks and hesitate for a moment before discarding them, and tying a flannel shirt around your waist to hide the lack of bulge in your pants. An old leather jacket and a few swipes of eyeliner finish off the look, and even if you hadn’t already been flirting with Brian you’re pretty sure you’d win an invite back to his hotel room now anyway.

You take the bus back over to New Haven, rather than worrying about finding parking near the venue, and although security gives you an uncomfortable once-over as you show him your badge it isn’t long before you’re inside the theatre and looking for Brian once more.

Soundcheck is just wrapping up and you let the sound of Brian’s voice lead you towards the stage. He’s engrossed in his work and you watch him from the wings as he talks about some technical detail with one of the roadies. He seems relaxed enough, at a quick glance, but you can see his fingers tapping anxiously against the front of the Red Special and tension starting to gather in his shoulders again.

It’s a far cry from how he was before the Queen shows of old. Back then, even if he was a bit on edge or the band had fought during soundcheck, Brian retained a certain amount of confident ease - something which is noticeably absent in his demeanor now. You wonder if it’s due to the lack of Queen and the stability that Brian had based his routines around, or if it’s because of the added pressure of his role in this new band… though, truthfully, it’s probably a little bit of both.

You wonder if you still have a right to meddle, if you can ask Brian how he’s really doing and still expect an honest answer from him after all these years. Then Brian spots you out of the corner of his eye and his face lights up with happiness again and the tension starts to bleed out of his frame, and you decide to let sleeping dogs lie - at least for now anyway, because you have more important (or at least more fun) things to focus on.

Because Brian isn’t nearly as subtle as he thinks he is as he gives you a lingering once-over, before he passes over his Old Lady to a tech that you don’t recognize and crosses the stage to pull you into a hug. This one isn’t as intimate as the one at the diner, more of a quick one-armed embrace that he might give to any of his male friends, but he still whispers in your ear, “You look good, Y/N.”

You pull back, gearing up to poke fun at Brian for saying that yet again, only to see the smile pulling at the corner of his mouth and the glint in his eyes that tells you that he’s teasing you. That doesn’t stop you from huffing a little and saying, “Excuse you, I think I look damn good in fact.”

Brian laughs, the sound catching the attention of the rest of his bandmates. If he notices, though, that doesn’t stop him from murmuring a quiet, “You do look damn good. Gonna make it hard for me to get through the show, knowing that you’re-”

“Hey, Brian!” the other guitarist calls out. “The pizza for the crew just got here, we good on the soundcheck?”

“Yeah sorry, we’re all set!” Brian yells back. He shakes his head and says to you, “Sorry about that.”

You shrugs. “Not the first time your work has ruined the moment.” It used to be Roger banging on the dressing room door while the two of you were in the middle of things, but you’re still used to the interruptions.

“Well, we’re not likely to get many moments in private until after the show,” Brian says, his voice pitched low so no one can overhear the two of you.

“I was thinking that we’re getting a bit too old to disappear into a supply closet together,” you joke, though you keep your voice low as well.

Brian snorts. “Yeah, I don’t need Spike or Jamie finding me in flagrante when there’s a perfectly good hotel bed waiting for us at the end of this.” He hesitates for a moment, biting his bottom lip, and finally asks, “That is where all this flirting is heading, isn’t it?”

“That’s what I was hoping.” You grin wickedly at Brian and add, “I didn’t dress up nice just for the hell of it, you know.”

“Good to know,” Brian says, with a wide grin. “C’mon, I wanna introduce you to the band.”

Brian does have a full, proper band touring with him. Jamie is the guitarist who had interrupted Brian greeting you, Neil is the bass player, and Spike is the keyboard player that Brian had mentioned during your lunch earlier. The backing vocalists are Catherine and Shelley, and the last you’re introduced to is Cozy, the drummer. You don’t recognize him at all but clearly Brian is expecting you to, judging by his slightly exasperated sigh when you don’t react to his name.

“Oh, leave it be, Brian. Not like my pride’s hurt at all,” Cozy says before Brian can gear up for his explanation. “I’m just glad to finally be meeting Y/N.”

“Finally?” you echo, giving Brian a sideways glance.

“I may have mentioned you once or twice…”

“Or three or four or forty times,” Spike says dryly.

“You can’t count times I’ve mentioned him in passing over the last decade!” Brian tries to defend himself.

“Decade? Try the last day,” Jamie says as he too joins in the conversation. “If the drive down here yesterday had been any longer we were going to draw straws to see which one of us was going to knock you out just to get some peace and quiet!"

“I was not that bad!” Brian protests but he’s laughing, and so is everyone else, and it’s not quite Queen but you can see the niche that Brian has carved out with this new group of people and it makes you smile to listen to the friendly ribbing and jokes.

“We tried to get him to call you when we stopped so maybe he’d shut up for a bit, but he refused,” Cozy says to you.

You were at work yesterday so Brian wouldn’t have been able to reach you anyway but instead of pointing that out you join in with the teasing yourself. “Well I wish you had, so I could’ve pointed you in the direction of the right pizza to order…”

Brian groans at the familiar argument and says, “You complain about this every time I come to New Haven!”

“Well, start ordering from Frank Pepe’s instead of Sally’s and we wouldn’t have to keep having this conversation!” you tell him.

“I didn’t know pizza was that big of a deal in Connecticut,” Neil says with a laugh.

“It’s not, not unless you’re a New Haven local,” Brian says, with the tone of someone who has been forced to listen to this lecture more times than he cares to remember.

“Are you a local then, Y/N?” Shelley asks. “Or did you come down to meet up with Brian?”

“Nah, I’m a local - well, local enough, I live over in West Haven.” You pluck at your shirt and add, “Didn’t go to Yale, but I’ll pretend to support the university while I’m practically on their campus.”

“I think that’s Brian’s plan for tonight too,” Jamie says, giving Brian a friendly nudge with his elbow as he passes him. “First thing he did when we got in yesterday was have someone run out to get him an appropriately local tank top for the encore.”

“A tank top?” You can’t help but laugh. “In all the years I’ve known Brian I have never known him to wear a tank top! I’ll believe that when I see it!”

You keep chatting with the band for a little while longer but eventually everyone splits up to double-check their instruments, get changed, and take care of the thousand little things that always seem to get left for the last minute.

“You should probably head out front,” Brian tells you eventually. He still needs to get changed into his own stage outfit, even though you’ve been listening to the audience trickle in for the last ten minutes.

“Yeah, probably,” you agree. You want to lean up and kiss him but even here, in the doorway to the dressing room, you know better than to risk it. Some of Brian’s bandmates seem to have an inkling of what’s really going on, but the last thing you need is for anyone else to see the two of you like that. “I’ll catch you later then?”

“I’ve already told security to let you backstage before the encore,” Brian says. He looks like he wants to kiss you too, but he settles for giving you a bright smile and another quick hug. “I’ll see you soon enough.”

“I’ll be seeing you soon enough at least,” you joke and you let the echo of Brian’s laugh follow you out.

You hadn’t bought a floor ticket originally, but security finds you a spot by the stage where it’ll be easy for you to duck out again later. A few people near you give you curious looks, but luckily none of the double-takes that you’ve come to dread, and no one asks you about the backstage pass still hanging around your neck as the theatre fills up around you.

When the lights finally dim the audience roars and cheers, almost enough to drown out the opening bars of what you can barely make out as The Dark - before the lights slowly come on and Brian is standing center-stage, singing the title track from his debut solo album.

Brian’s voice is amazing. You’ve always known that, even if Brian has never really considered himself to be much of a singer, but you’re spellbound at his performance - the way he balances the guitar with the vocals, the gorgeous harmony of a full band supporting him, his backing vocalists providing a depth that takes you by surprise. It’s not Queen, none of it is, but it’s good, and Brian owns the stage like he was born to do this.

You’re so taken by Brian’s performance that it’s not until Brian sheds the long coat that he initially wore out on stage that you take in the outfit he’s wearing: A loose white shirt with an ornate vest, paired with a pair of tight pants that you think have buttons sewn all over them… until Brian wanders closer to where you’re standing and you realize that they’re actually grommets. You can’t tell if there’s a lining to them or not, but the possibility that that’s Brian’s bare skin peeking through the tiny holes makes your mouth go dry with want.

Brian’s solo material is as excellent as it sounded on the album. You never doubted that it would be, not for a second, but you’re taken a bit by surprise by how well the Queen songs work in the setlist as well. It’s not Freddie singing, or Roger on the drums, or John on bass… but with Brian still on guitar, and Spike clearly knowing his way around the keyboard parts, it all works. The crowd cheers as loud for Tie Your Mother Down as they do for Love Token, and your heart swells with pride for everything Brian has achieved with this album and this tour.

And then Brian grabs an acoustic, and sits down on a stool by himself towards the front of the stage, and you know what is coming even before Brian asks the audience if they’re ready to sing.

“There's a special reason for this song. I didn't write this song, so by right I don't have- I don't have much of a right to be singing it,” Brian says. “But I'm going to do it anyway, because this is in memory of just about the best singer the world has ever seen.”

Everyone around you is cheering but you think you’re going to cry. You want to jump onstage, pull Brian out from under the bright lights and somewhere quiet and private, where you can wrap yourself around him and reassure him that Freddie wouldn’t care that Brian was singing his song at all. You want to take Brian and steal him away from the world, from everyone who still demands Queen from him and everyone who won’t let him grieve in peace.

You want to find somewhere that the two of you can hide away together, until you never have to see this sort of open anguish on Brian’s face again.

The song is as gorgeous as it ever was when Freddie sang it, and the concert continues from there with Brian giving no indication that he had bared his heart and left it bleeding on the stage while the audience sang and cheered him on.

Brian loses the vest eventually, and you’re close enough to the stage that you can see the sweat starting to bead along Brian’s temple and the column of his throat. It’s a strange sort of whiplash, going from the emotional devastation of Love of My Life to feeling like you’re going to die if you don’t get your hands on Brian this very second. He’s always looked damn fine while playing the guitar, but seeing him fully in control of the stage and belting his heart out on every song - when he remembers to get back to his mic in time - is driving you crazy with want.

We Will Rock You doesn’t dovetail into We Are the Champions, like you were half-expecting it to, but even after the band leaves the stage you’re left stunned and entirely captivated by their performance.

“Hey!” A security guard taps you on the shoulder. “You’re the one who’s supposed to head backstage again, yeah?”

You nod. You had almost forgotten about that, and you follow the guard through the crowd to the backstage door, which he opens and motions for you to go through. You walk back, finding yourself in the wings near the stage where the band is quickly toweling off and grabbing a drink before heading back out for the encore.

Brian is quickly shucking off his sweat-drenched shirt and pulling on the tank top that had been mentioned earlier. It’s a simple white with YALE printed across the chest and it hangs loose on Brian’s slim frame, leaving his arms and a good portion of the sides of his torso exposed to the world. You’ve seen Brian naked before but somehow this feels more sinful, and you can feel your dick start to twitch and and your core throb with interest, especially when you realize that Brian is still wearing the same pants as before.

“Please tell me there’s a lining in those,” you say in a slightly strangled voice, motioning towards Brian’s legs and the grommet holes that have been teasing you all evening.

Brian wipes his face with a towel, and only gives you a wicked smirk and a knowing wink in response. “Catch you after the show,” he says, as he’s handed a guitar - an acoustic, you notice belatedly, not his Red Special - and he walks back onstage with the rest of the band.

You’re still distracted by the sight of Brian in an honest-to-god tank top, his sinewy arms on full display, that you almost miss Brian saying, “You might think this is a sad song, but it ain’t.”

And for the second time that evening you find yourself caught off-guard by the genuine, heart-wrenching emotion in Brian’s singing - but the pain that was there during Love Of My Life is now nowhere to be seen. Maybe it’s because you can’t see Brian’s face, or maybe it’s just the warning he gave at the beginning of the song to let everyone know that it wasn’t supposed to be sad… but for the first time, you think you’re beginning to understand how Brian is starting to move on. You think you can see the ways in which sharing his grief with the world like this is healing for him, in a way that you never would have expected.

It still hurts to hear Brian sing, “I don’t believe in being Queen anymore - I just believe in me. Just you guys and me.” But it’s a hurt that’s tempered by the memory of Brian laughing with his new bandmates backstage, the genuine happiness you’ve seen on his face despite the moments of grief that still come through, and you know that even if Brian might not be entirely okay… at least he’s getting there.

And then the song ends and Brian launches into the familiar opening riff of Hammer to Fall, and you let yourself get swept away by the energy and the music.

Your heart races at the sight of Brian rocking out to the heavy Queen tune, your arousal simmering again with every flash of the stage lights that catch on those grommets or cast dark shadows along the lines of the wiry muscles in Brian’s arms. There’s a strangeness to it still, a part of you that’s still a little turned around from the sudden change in mood in the theatre, but that part quickly fades when Brian glances your way and gives you a wink, before sidling up to Jamie to keep rocking out on the guitar part.

You bite your lip to stifle a groan and wonder if Brian is dragging this song out for longer than normal just to torment you. It’s just not fair, none of it is - not the tank top and grommets leaving Brian lewdly on display, not the hot stage lights making sweat bead along his brow, not his quick fingers flying over the strings of his guitar as the song finally, fucking finally, comes to an end and the band takes their bows one last time.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Brian asks you as he hands off his guitar. The question is innocent enough but the look in his eyes is anything but, and for a moment you feel an irrational burst of hatred that this isn’t a Queen show and you no longer present as female because all you want to do is push Brian against the closest wall and kiss him breathless.

Instead you grit your teeth and say, “Loved it, it was great... Please tell me you don’t have to stick around for long.”

Brian throws his head back and laughs, and you have to stamp down the urge to bite at the column of this throat. “Nah, no interviews or meet-and-greet’s tonight. Just have to get changed and-”

“Don’t change,” you interrupt.

“Oh?” Brian raises an eyebrow and smirks at you. You huff at him, hating that you can’t tell him exactly what he’s doing to you in that outfit, and you’re about two seconds from deciding that you don’t care who sees or overhears you when Brian says, “Alright. Let me just grab my wallet and we’ll head out.”

It doesn’t end up being quite that easy. Brian still has to check in with a few people about the travel plans for tomorrow, and it takes some time for the crowds to disperse and a car to arrive to take you two back to the hotel. But luckily the rest of the band just waves Brian off, some with knowing smiles, and none of them hop in the car with you or ask Brian to stick around backstage for any longer than he already has.

It’s torture having to keep your hands to yourself, and after a few minutes you decide, screw it, it’s dark enough that the driver won’t be able to see anything - so you reach out and trace around one of the grommet holes, dipping your finger in to tease at the delicate skin of Brian’s thigh. “These are more than a little indecent, you know,” you murmur in a low undertone as your hand creeps further up Brian’s leg.

Brian catches your hand and laces his fingers with yours, which is fair because you can hide your arousal when you get to the hotel far easier than Brian can. “Indecent is going a bit far, I think,” Brian counters.

“Mm, well, they’re giving me indecent thoughts, at least…”

“Care to share some of them?” Brian asks, and even though the question is quiet you can hear the heat behind the words.

You shrug and glance at the driver, who - if he can hear your conversation - at least doesn’t give any sign of it. “Been wondering if I could get some laces between those grommets, tie you up in a pretty little package…”

Brian inhales sharply and you smile, all teeth and wicked intentions, as he shifts next to you and says, “Didn’t think you liked being the one doing the tying. You always used to want to be the one getting tied up.”

“Oh, I still do. But I can’t help it if those pants start giving me ideas…” you say, and Brian’s quiet groan of frustration feels like music to your ears.

You’re grateful that Brian is already checked in so you don’t have to stop by the front desk, but you still struggle to keep your hands to yourself as Brian leads the way up to his room and unlocks the door. Once you’re inside, though, both of you are on each other in an instant as Brian crowds you against the wall and you finally, finally get to kiss him.

It’s just as perfect as you remember. Brian’s lips are soft but he kisses you with the same passion that you remember from years ago, fierce and demanding and just the right side of rough. He nips at your bottom lip, a move that’s always gotten your blood racing, and when you groan he slips his tongue into your mouth to plunder every inch of you.

You’re so much shorter than Brian and you know that it has to be uncomfortable for him to lean down so far to kiss you, so when you finally pull back to catch your breath you loop your fingers through the grommets on his pants and start tugging him towards the bed.

“Oh, I definitely love these pants,” you tell him, and Brian just laughs and tries to kiss you again. You push him down so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed and that puts you at a much more equal height, making it easy for you to tangle one hand in his curls and slide the other along the bare skin of his arm and shoulder. “And this tank top too, fucking christ…”

Brian is still laughing as he finally captures your lips with his again and yeah, that’s a much better use of your time than continuing to talk about his admittedly excellent wardrobe choices. You think you could spend the rest of your life kissing Brian and die happily at the end of it all but you’re still craving more, so you nudge Brian’s legs apart and move in closer to him.

“Wait, wait-” Brian says, breaking the kiss before you can press fully up against him. He’s breathing heavily and his lips are red and kiss-swollen, and you want to lean back in and keep kissing him senseless, until both of you are breathless and desperate for more.

But you know Brian wouldn’t pull the brake unless it was important so you swallow down the impulse to keep touching him and instead ask, “What is it, Bri?”

“We haven’t done this since you’ve… Well I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Brian says. There’s a flush rising on his cheeks that is no longer entirely due to arousal and his embarrassment is palpable in the room.

You know what Brian is trying to ask, even though it’s been a while since you’ve had to have this conversation with a partner. You untangle your hand from his hair and let go of his shoulder so you don’t get distracted as you tell him, “I’m fine being penetrated, if you want to go that far, but we’re gonna need lube. I don’t get as wet as I did before starting testosterone. And I have a dick. Don’t call it a clit.”

“Okay,” Brian says with a nod. He looks serious, and that’s actually a little comforting for you to see. “What about… I mean, if I, er, penetrate you, what do I call…?”

“Don’t,” you tell him. “There’s not really any term I’m comfortable with yet.”

Brian frowns. “If you’re not comfortable, I can get you off without touching that part-”

“No. I’m fine with you penetrating me, honestly I am, just don’t try to talk dirty about what you’re doing,” you say.

“Okay,” Brian says again. “Anything else I should know?”

You hesitate for a moment, because you don’t really want to talk about this… but you’d rather talk about it now rather than have it come up when you’re both naked and more in the moment. “I had chest reconstruction surgery. I don’t have much feeling up there but there’s- there’s scars, and you don’t have to touch them-”

“Do you not want me to touch them?” Brian asks, gently cutting into your nervous rambling before it can really build momentum.

“They’re… not pretty. They didn’t heal up nicely,” you admit, and getting those words out is hard. You still feel ashamed to admit that your surgical results only look good when you have a shirt covering it all up, and you’ve had more than one hookup where you kept your chest covered the entire time.

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Brian says, with a small smile to soften his words and help put you at ease once again. “Do you not want me to touch your scars?”

You have to think about that, and the only answer you can give Brian is, “I don’t know. I don’t like touching them and no one else ever has. If you want to you can, and I’ll tell you to stop if I need to?”

You don’t mean for that to come out as a question but it does anyway, and Brian doesn’t hesitate to nod in agreement. “That sounds good. Anything else?”

You shake your head. “No, that’s everything. Can we just get back to making out now?”

Brian laughs but gently pulls you back in close, keeping one hand on your waist as the other gently cups your face. “Yeah,” he breathes, and then his mouth is on yours again.

You kiss him back fiercely, tangling one of your hands in Brian’s curls again as you lean up and lick into his mouth. You rock against Brian and his legs are spread wide enough that your hips meet his. You moan at the feeling of his bulge rubbing against you and Brian groans at friction against his hardening cock. Brian’s hand that was on your face drifts down, trailing along your side before snaking between the two of you and popping the button on your jeans.

“This okay?” he asks, fingers just teasing along the waistband of your boxers.

“Yeah,” you breathe against his mouth, and as Brian’s hand slips into your underwear you deepen the kiss to distract yourself. Brian’s touch feels good and you don’t want him to stop, but there’s still a nervousness to being intimate with another person - even if that other person is Brian, who you trust implicitly and who has touched you before.

You moan as Brian’s fingers find your dick and brush teasingly along the head, but you’re surprised to hear Brian groan again as well. “Fuck, you’re big,” he breathes as he rubs over your dick, feeling out the shape of it as you harden beneath his fingers.

You can’t hold back a laugh at Brian’s comment. “I’m really not. Just grew a little, that’s all.”

“Grew a lot you mean,” Brian mumbles against your lips, but your retort is lost in another whimper as Brian slides his fingers along your dick again.

It feels so good, his nimble fingers tracing along the exposed head of your dick and trailing down to gather what little slickness they can to smooth the glide of his calloused fingertips along your most sensitive parts. Neither the years nor your transition have not dulled his familiarity with your body and all you can do is cling tightly to his shoulders and pant and whine against his mouth as Brian brings you close to your climax at a frightening speed.

“Wait, stop,” you manage to get out, and Brian’s hand is pulled out of your pants at a lightning speed. You laugh at the look of worry on his face and quickly assure him, “I‘m gonna come too soon if you keep that up.”

“So? You look gorgeous falling apart for me,” Brian says.

He starts kissing down your neck and you tilt your head back to give him more room even as you tell him, “Yeah, but I can’t go more than once now. Get too sensitive, and not in a good way.”

“Ah, well then,” Brian mumbles against the hollow of your throat. He nips at that spot and then soothes it with his tongue, before pulling back and saying, “C’mon, get up on the bed, let’s do this properly then.”

You snort but pull away and quickly start stripping down and Brian stands up to do the same. You watch, mouth watering, as Brian throws the tank top to the side and shimmies out of his tight pants. His cock is hard and precome is already beading at the tip, and you want to drop to your knees and take Brian deep into your throat until he’s coming undone around you - but you’re startled from your thoughts as Brian gently pushes at the hem of your shirt and asks, “Will you take this off too?”

You hadn't quite realized that it was still on and you hesitate for a moment, before pulling it over your head and tossing it aside as well, and then you’re left fully exposed before Brian. You’ve been in this position before but never quite like this - never with a beard and so much body hair and scars across your chest and your dick just barely poking out from your surrounding folds.

Brian takes a step closer and kisses you again, as hot and harsh as ever. “God, how are you still so fucking beautiful?” he says as he pulls away.

You laugh, your moment of insecurity forgotten as you retort, “I could ask you the same thing, Brian May.”

Brian laughs and shakes his head, and pushes you back towards the bed. You lie down and Brian follows you, covering your body with his, his cock rubbing against your hip as he kisses you once on the mouth, then down your neck and chest, and finally across both of your scars as well. “So beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin and you shudder at the feeling of this part of you being touched for the first time.

“I can’t feel that,” you admit to him when he licks experimentally over one of your nipples. “They don’t have feeling, and the scars don’t either.”

“Mm, well what about here?” Brian asks, kissing further down your torso. “Or here?” Another kiss, just above your belly button. “Or here?” Another, just above your dick, and you’re laughing and arching against him, trying to get his mouth where you need it.

And then Brian’s mouth closes around your dick and your laughter is lost in a loud moan as Brian gives a small, experimental suck and pleasure overwhelms your senses. “Bri- oh, fuck, Bri-” you pant, hands clawing at the sheets and pawing over Brian’s head as he pulls back to kitten-lick around the head of your dick.

It’s almost too much, too intense, and luckily Brian seems to figure that out on his own because you’re pretty sure you’ve lost the ability to speak. He moves away from your dick for a moment, moving down further to lick around your core. It’s messy and sloppy wet but you only realize what Brian is doing when you see him suck a finger into mouth to wet it, before bringing it towards your entrance.

“This okay?” he asks, rubbing along the outside for now. “I don’t have lube, and I don’t want to hurt you…”

“‘s fine,” you manage to get out and then Brian is pressing his finger inside of you. You whine as he starts to move it and you can feel yourself starting to get a little bit wetter with every thrust.

Brian pushes a second finger inside as he leans back down to lick a stripe along the underside of your dick, and the almost-uncomfortable fullness is a welcome contrast to the lightning of pleasure that skitters up your spine as Brian’s mouth reduces you to wordless moans and whines. He’s always been good at this, with his wickedly clever tongue and long fingers moving deep inside you, but it’s so much more now that you’re on T - more sensitive, more overwhelming, physically more of you for him to work over.

“Bri, Bri, Bri-” you moan, and his name and a tug on his hair is the only warning you can give before your orgasm crashes over you. You arch against his mouth and writhe on the bed as he keeps his mouth over your dick, his tongue flicking against the head over and over, his fingers still trying to move inside you even though you’re clenched so tightly around them that it almost hurts.

The whole thing is almost painful but in the best way possible, pleasure racing through your entire body, your dick and core throbbing as overstimulation sets in. Your loud moans turn into high-pitched whines that cause your voice to crack and you don’t know if you want to tell Brian to stop or keeping going forever because it’s too much and you’re in ecstasy but god, it’s too much-

When Brian finally moves away all you can do is lie underneath him and try to catch your breath, even as your dick still twitches with the final aftershocks of your orgasm. You came so hard that you’re nearly crying, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes and your brain so scrambled that you don’t know if you want to laugh or sob but you’re boneless and riding high on endorphins as Brian kneels over you, one hand quickly stripping his cock.

“I can-” you mumble, trying to reach down to help him with a hand that doesn’t quite want to cooperate with you, but Brian uses his free hand to pin yours down, lacing your fingers together.

“Next time. ‘m not gonna last long,” Brian admits. “Fuck, you’re amazing, Y/N, do you have any idea what you look like now?”

“I’d look better with your cum on me,” you say, and where that came from you have no clue - some deep part of your sex-fried brain dredging up that idea without any conscious involvement from you. You can barely even speak and the words come out more as a mumble than anything remotely sexy, but it’s still enough for Brian to groan loudly and fall over the edge of his own climax.

His cum hits your chest, covering your scars and landing across your belly, and it’s a little gross but it’s also a little hot. It’s not something Brian ever did to you before and with how easy it was to fall back into having sex with him after all these years, there’s a part of you that lights up in happiness at finding something new to it all - even something as unexpected as this.

Brian collapses next to you on the bed, also panting heavily, and it’s quiet in the room for several long moments. “I need a shower,” you eventually mumble to break the silence. “Before this dries in my body hair.”

Brian snorts. He has one hand flung over his face as he catches his breath, but he moves it as he rolls over onto his side to look at you. “Sorry about that. I can get you a washcloth-”

“I can get it myself,” you say, though you’re not actually sure that your legs are working yet. “Especially since I didn’t even get you off myself.”

“Didn’t need you to,” Brian says. “Seeing you fall apart like that nearly did me in completely.”

“Still.” You don’t like not reciprocating for your partners, even if Brian doesn’t care. “I’ll blow you in the morning to make up for it.”

That gets Brian laughing, and he stands up and stretches out. “Well, I’m not gonna say no to that,” he says as he walks into the bathroom. You listen as he wets a washcloth in the sink, and when he emerges you motion for him to throw it to you so you can take care of the mess yourself.

He does, and as you wipe yourself down you ask, “What time do you have to leave in the morning?”

“Not that early. Noon, one o’clock - somewhere around there,” Brian says as he lies back down on the bed. “Think it’s only a two hour drive over to Providence.”

“Mm, that sounds about right, yeah.” You toss the washcloth aside and flop back down with a comfortable sigh. You look over at Brian, who’s propped up on one elbow so he can face you properly, and you grin. “If we run out for lube and condoms in the morning, you can fuck me properly before you go.”

You’re expecting Brian to laugh and he sort of does. There’s a small huff of amusement from him, but there’s also a furrow starting to form between his brows that makes you a little worried. But before you can ask if everything is alright, Brian says, “I have a better idea. Come to Providence with me.”

Out of everything that Brian could have said, you never would have expected that. “What?” you say with a small laugh. “Brian, I can’t!”

“Why not?” Brian asks. “Are you working tomorrow?”

“Well, no,” you admit. You knew that you weren’t going to be in any shape to go into work in the morning after the concert, so you had taken the day off to give yourself a proper long weekend.

“Then come to Providence,” Brian says again. “Come to the show tomorrow night, and then we’ll drop you off in New Haven on our way back through on Saturday.”

It’s a tempting thought, and you’re a little scared by how much you want to say yes. You sit up, scrubbing a hand over your face with a small sigh. “Brian, I…”

Brian sits up as well and keeps a respectable distance between the two of you - and that helps, knowing that the two of you can have a serious conversation about this even though you’re both sitting in bed together. “You’re thinking too hard, Y/N,” he says softly. “What’s on your mind?”

“That I’m not in my 20s and I can’t go on tour with a rock band on a whim anymore,” you say. “And that I don’t care, and I want to go anyway. And I’m-" And you decide, to hell with it, you can't keep dancing around this any longer. "I’m worried about you, Brian. You get this sad look in your eyes, sometimes, that scares me a little to see. And I’m trying to figure out if sticking around for longer will make things better, or if postponing our goodbyes will just make everything worse in the end.”

Brian doesn’t say anything immediately. You glance at him, a bit nervous, worried that your honesty may have been crossing the line - but Brian doesn’t look upset or angry, merely thoughtful, and you stay quiet to give him the space he needs to think over his response.

“After Freddie… passed,” Brian says slowly, “I didn’t want anything to do with Queen. It hurt too much and I just wanted to move on. And this new band, and this tour… None of it is like Queen was, and when we first set out that’s exactly what I needed. But seeing you again… having that bit of the past come back to life… It’s made me realize that I think I’m ready to face Queen again. The band may be over but it’ll always be a part of my life, and I think I’m alright with that now.”

He smiles at you and it’s small but completely genuine, and there’s no hint of sadness in his eyes as he says, “I want you to come to Providence because I’ve missed you. I liked having you backstage, and I liked performing knowing that you were waiting for me at the end of it all like you always did before. But if you don’t want to come with me, you don’t have to. I’ll still visit at the end of the US tour leg, if that offer still stands.”

“Of course it still stands,” you say, because that’s the easiest part of Brian’s response to address.

This isn’t 1978 and you aren’t 29 anymore, and maybe you shouldn’t run off with a rockstar for the weekend. But this is Brian, and despite the years that have passed and the ways in which both of you are now different, maybe not everything has to change.

“Is it going to be a problem with the band if I tag along?” you ask.

Brian’s smile brightens a little. “Nah, the band’s not going to mind - and I won’t let the roadies say anything about it, even if they want to.”

That doesn’t mean it won’t be risky, and it’s definitely more than a little impulsive - but there’s a familiarity in the spontaneity, a flashback to years past when you never hesitated to put your life on hold to follow Brian on the road. And you find yourself starting to grin a little as well at the idea of having that again, even if it’s only for a day or two.

“Alright then. Yeah, I’ll go to Providence with you,” you say and Brian, laughing and grinning madly, leans forward to kiss you in delight.

#brian may x reader #brian may x trans reader #brian may fic #brian may fanfic #queen band fic #my fic #brian #(I am really proud of this one and writing it was a wonderful distraction while I was away so I hope you all enjoy it too!!)

31 notes · View notes

dominantdavis · 3 years

Text

i keep my lips shut tight, until you go → solo.

TAGGING — Cole Davis & Frederick, Carolyn, Freddy, Greg & Caleb Davis ( NPC’s ). LOCATION — Cole’s room, Hargrave House. DATE & TIME — February 17, 2021. NOTES — Cole sits in on a monthly family Skype call with the rest of the Davis family & tries to wiggle out of seeing them for family weekend. WORD COUNT & TRIGGERS — 1,445. Mentions of anxiety & loose descriptions of anxiety attacks.

It isn’t a new activity for them— family Skype calls have been a tradition in the Davis family for years-- initiated the moment Freddy was old enough to move away from the family home and thus lose regular contact with the rest of the Davis clan.

Still, the routine doesn’t make it any easier to stomach and Cole spends the early morning hours prior to the time scheduled for their call staring up at his ceiling with a growing tightness in his belly and a nausea that sends him to the bathroom on four separate occasions only to spend ten minutes at a time dry heaving and trying to quietly talk himself through his own anxiety. He won’t mention it to his family-- can’t, really-- can already hear Freddy and Greg and their derision and Caleb and his false sympathy. Only Mother ever expresses any concern and even her concern is thin and wavering in the presence of the other Davis men— their conversations have only ever been genuine when they are alone and Cole aches for even a fraction of unconditional love from his family that he’s aware he will likely never get. When he’s sitting in front of his laptop with Skype open awaiting the call he wants nothing more than to close his computer and pretend he’s forgotten-- that he’s stuck in an early morning class or something of the sort that allows him to slip away to Remi’s room to sleep further and forget about his family for as long as humanly possible.

The sharp ring of an incoming call scatters his thoughts and hopes of escape and he answers the call with a wide, forced smile-- not that any of them will notice, he thinks, it’s been quite some time since they’ve seemed to care enough to notice that his warmth is feigned in any way. He blinks to take in the faces of his family staring back at him in various states of happiness-- his brothers seem excited to be on call if only because he’s certain they’ll have some achievement or another to shove in his face and he’s exhausted already before any of them have even spoke. “There are my boys!” His father’s voice is warm and rolling and there seems to be, for once, genuine joy in his expression and Cole takes it in silently-- already wondering when it will fade in favor of the stern disappointment he’s so used to seeing in place of it.

There’s a rush of conversation from his brothers and Cole allows himself to space out as he focuses his attention at a point just above the edge of his laptop screen and hopes it will still appear as though he’s making eye contact with his family while they chatter. “— it going with you, professor?”

Cole blinks slowly to focus his attention on the question he knows is directed at him judging by the smirk on Caleb’s face and the snorts of laughter Freddy and Greg are already trying to stifle. Carolyn looks marginally displeased for a brief moment until her expression smooths over and Cole bites back a sigh, clenching his hand into a fist so tightly he distantly hears one of his knuckles crack as he smiles thinly. “It’s fine here,” He says after a moment, “Busy. I’m still working-- it’s not like I’m just sitting here with my thumb up my ass,” He replies drily, regretting the expression the moment it escapes him when his mother’s eyes narrow and his own gaze drifts towards his keyboard, abashed. “Sorry, Mother,” Cole mumbles, the tension in his shoulders tightening further as his brothers’ laughter rises up again and he wills himself not to react-- not to be bothered by the fact that they never take him seriously. That they never give anything he chooses to do with himself any credence-- as though he isn’t worth as much as they are simply because his chosen career path isn’t in law enforcement or politics.

“You’re actually getting work done?” Greg asks, a shit-eating grin on his face that Cole feels a sharp urge to rid him of but given the fact that he has no means of doing that he grits his teeth and waits for whatever irritating, rude quip his brother has prepared for him. “I figured you’d just be circle-jerking with all of the other half-ass Dominants you live with,” He drawls, and Cole’s eyes narrow for a moment as he inhales sharply and forces himself to focus on looking at his brothers rather that flinging his computer against the nearest wall. “Gregory,” His father drawls, in a dull monotone that does as much to mollify his brother as Cole imagines a wet paper towel would do to plug up a hole in a wall.

“When can we come and visit you, darling?” Cole’s face softens at the sound of his mother’s voice, the lilting and familiar ways her accent makes it so easy to focus on what she’s saying allowing him to tune out his brothers sudden bickering about something he doesn’t and like won’t care about even if he knows what it is. He waffles for a moment, tapping his fingers against his laptop idly before he shrugs, “I’m not sure. I think there’s an event in a couple of months?” It isn’t supposed to be a question and he tries not to cringe as his voice rises and makes it one regardless, certain that she’ll see right through the lie, soft though it is and call him on it outright. Instead she purses her lips and nods briefly, “Well,” She begins primly, “We all miss you very much and we would love to see you.”

He knows that must only be true for her— knows that his brothers only want to see him when they can rub their achievements in his face and make him feel inadequate in the ways they always do; knows that his father only pays attention when he’s publishing a new novel and Frederick can roll him out in some public setting or another when his name is in the papers and the family can be associated with success in any way they can get it. Cole hates it-- hates the ways his worth is dictated by the most arbitrary measures but what can he possibly do? It’s exhausting to deal with it but it would be more exhausting to try and fight it and the anxiety he’s feeling is already more than he can deal with.

“I have to go,” He says suddenly, interrupting a story Freddy is telling and earning a sharp glare from his oldest brother that he meets with a sheepish, abashed smile. His mother frowns and he feels guilty for a fraction of a second before he clears his throat hard, “I have a project I remembered I need to work on-- I can’t put it off. I love you-- have a good rest of your call.” He ends the call without waiting for good-byes and knows Mother will call him later to scold him but all he can focus on is the static buzzing at the base of his skull and the tightness in his chest and the fierce burn at the backs of his eyes that mean he’s about to cry, of all things and he feels ridiculous. Stupid. Childish. Every negative adjective he can drum up and apply to himself in this moment chokes him and he clenches his fists so hard he can feel the sting of his nails threatening to cut into his palms properly by the time he chokes on a cry and clears his throat harshly, pushing himself away from his desk and standing, staring blankly at his laptop for a long moment. He takes in a slow, shaking breath and presses his hands against his eyes to stall the tears he can feel building there-- he’s already embarrassed at the thought of crying even if no one can see him and when he inhales again he all but chokes on it, reaching blindly for his phone where it’s resting on his desk and finding a mug instead.

He doesn’t register moving again-- doesn’t register throwing the mug against the nearest wall until he hears the ceramic shattering and when he picks his phone up his hands are shaking so hard he can hardly type but he manages a message to his boyfriend-- staring at it for a long moment before he presses his face into his hands and tries to collect himself.

[ TEXT TO → remi ( my sun & stars ) ]: can i come over? i need you right now.

#「 cole — communication 」 » threads.#「 cole — communication 」 » solo threads.#「 cole — general 」 » cole davis.#「 cole — family 」 » never took your side never cursed your name.#lhqprompt

1 note · View note

twentiethcenturymoviesandtv · 3 years

Text

Frankenstein: Genre and Themes

It doesn’t seem possible that Frankenstein can be sorted into any genre except horror. A monster on a killing spree, a mad scientist in his lab, spooky shadows and an opening in a graveyard? It can’t be anything but horror, can it?

Turns out, it can.

Like we’ve discussed before, every story ever created, no matter how simple or complicated, has to fall into at least one genre. Genre is the sum of similarly themed parts that come together to give a style and theme to a story, a form of shorthand to give the audience an idea as to what kind of story they are about to see. And in almost every case, it’s never as simple as it seems.

Characters, stories, settings, and even themes often correspond to different genres As a result, it’s extremely useful as viewers to examine the categorization of films, as it not only sets up our own expectations for individual stories, it also helps us expand the boundaries of genres as their limits are tested.

Which is why Frankenstein is a bit of an odd duck.

I’ll show you what I mean.

Today, we’re going to be looking at the characteristics of the story of Frankenstein to determine what genres it is, what genres it is not, and the whys and wherefores behind them. Let’s take a look. Spoilers below!

An easy way to figure out the genre of any given film is to take a look at the setting of a story. Movies set in outer space tend to be blanketed in the genre of science fiction. Movies set in medieval times are often considered fantasy. Movies set in creepy castles or spooky swamps tend to be considered horror.

Which would seem to be the case with Frankenstein.

It seems obvious. Frankenstein, along with Dracula, The Wolf Man, The Invisible Man, and The Creature from the Black Lagoon created and codified the film genre of ‘classic horror’. These were the templates from which all future monsters would spring, werewolves, vampires, zombies and fish-creatures alike.

The spooky, Gothic shadows and creepy angles, the mad-scientist lab, the scenes in the graveyard, skeletons at the fringes of shots, and of course, the monster himself, would seem to speak to an incredibly obvious horror leaning. In fact, the story’s visual language was based on German Expressionism, which had been used in films like Nosferatu, a bonafide silent horror classic.

But…aren’t horror movies supposed to be scary?

There are no jump-scares in Frankenstein. Characters do not die in horrifying ways. They aren’t stalked, nor are they picked off in a way that’s traditional of horror films, and of the three characters who actually die, two were killed in what could be argued as self-defense by the monster.

Weirdest of all, except for possibly the initial scene of his creation, up until he breaks into Elizabeth’s room, the monster is not set up as being ‘scary’. He’s set up as being sympathetic.

From the first real scene we have of the monster, where he’s lifting his hands in fascination towards light and then cowering from Fritz’s brutality, this is a creature that the audience finds themselves sorry for. This is not typical of movie monsters. There was no pity for Dracula, no concern for The Invisible Man or The Mummy. They were truly monsters, who knew what they were doing.

The Frankenstein monster doesn’t. For a long time, the monster reacts, rather than acts. With that knowledge…he doesn’t really come out of this, at least, the first half, looking like a monster. He’s a scared creature, mistreated into becoming a twisted version of what he could have been, a blank template upon which cruelty has been imprinted.

After the change has occurred, after the monster turns into an active character and goes after Elizabeth and attacks Henry, after so much time of the audience’s built sympathy for this creature, then we feel scared of him. We realize that he is an incredibly threatening figure, that he can be dangerous, but we never truly let go of that sympathy. At the end of the film, we don’t necessarily feel victorious that he is trapped, burning to death in that mill. We feel sorry. As much of a threat as the monster became, he didn’t start out that way. It didn’t have to end like that. But it did.

Hence my case for a rather unconventional idea.

I hypothesize that Frankenstein is a tragedy.

Like I’ve said before, this is a sad story, and I think it was that way by design. I subscribe to the theory that you can best tell the genre of a film based on what kind of characters are in it, and that works especially well for Frankenstein.

You see, as I’ve said before, there is no ‘good’ or ‘bad’ side in this film. The monster is framed as both victim and threat.

And so is Henry Frankenstein.

As an audience, we are not encouraged to wholly dislike either character. (In fact, the only character I believe we are meant to truly hate and fear is Fritz, a character who manipulates his power to inflict cruelty on the monster.) We recognize Henry’s mistakes, we realize that he’s not making the best decisions and we want him to perhaps not reanimate the dead, or maybe at least once he does, treat his new undead son with some respect, but we don’t completely hate him, even as we accept that this whole thing is basically his fault.

Henry is framed as sympathetic. We understand why he feels the way he does, even if we don’t agree with it, and we can figure out why he’s acting the way he is. He has his redeeming moments: his relationship with Elizabeth, once he stops digging up graves is genuine, and the fact that he doesn’t want the creature destroyed could point to a sign of his caring about his creation, even if he sucks at showing it. Even if we don’t relate to Henry, exactly, we understand him, and we don’t necessarily want him to die. He’s a tragic character, a figurative Icarus who aimed too highly for a mortal.

Besides, he was so delightful in that whole ‘raising the dead’ scene. I mean, that’s movie history, right there.

As for the monster?

The monster is actually the most sympathetic character in the entire cast. (Except for maybe Elizabeth.) We get to see his entire lifespan, his birth, life, and death, (Until the sequel) and it’s not a pretty picture. He’s hurt, frightened, and alone, with no-one willing to actually help him function as a being, as a person, instead of as a successful scientific experiment. Henry doesn’t seem to know what to do with him once he proved that he could create life, and as a result, the monster is left alone, with no education in how the world works. He has to figure it out on his own, and the makeshift teachers don’t really help much, either. Fritz abuses him, Dr. Waldman tries to dissect him, and Henry doesn’t pay him much mind after showing him light. Even when the monster meets Maria, he doesn’t know enough about the world to understand that his actions would kill her.

Even further supporting my theory is the ending.

The end of the story, after Henry chases his creation down and faces off with him in the mill, eventually struggling and falling while the villagers burn the mill down, is not played as a victorious climax. This is not the end of a good vs. evil struggle, there is no breath of relief that an audience feels after the defeat of Dracula, Michael Myers, or Freddy Krueger, or even Norman Bates. The ending is solemn, if not sorrowful, as the audience is left with the death of a creature who had experienced misery for the few days that he had lived.

Both protagonist and antagonist share in what is, quite simply, a tragic ending. Henry isn’t even the one to right his own wrong. The monster is slaughtered by an angry mob. Henry never reconciles his mistake. People have died, senselessly, and it could have been avoided, and not in the no-don’t-split-up-you-idiots-there’s-a-killer-in-the-woods way.

The audience is not meant to feel happy or triumphant at the end of this film, in my opinion. In my opinion, we are to mourn both Henry’s arrogance, and the monster’s demise, representative of a life wasted.

Does this mean that Frankenstein is not a horror film? Absolutely not.

Frankenstein codified almost everything we know about classic horror to this day, potentially inspiring things like the zombie horror-genre and influencing Gothic horror in general. None of this to say is that Frankenstein is not meant to be a scary movie, because, in 1931, it certainly was. People were scared, and it was definitely the filmmakers goal to do so in some scenes. The scene where the monster stalks Elizabeth in her room is definitely scary, and the dark lighting adds to the unsettling look and feel of the entire film. The scene where Frankenstein creates the monster remains a staple of best horror scenes, and has influenced countless films since then.

No, Frankenstein is definitely a horror film, make no mistake about that. It’s delightfully scary, full of creepy visuals, unsettling imagery, and a genuinely frightening core story idea: humanity being just capable enough to create life, but not capable enough to see it through competently.

But, horror is not the only genre that Frankenstein demonstrates.

Mary Shelley’s original Frankenstein novel, despite being an excellent example of horror fiction, is also considered the first example of science fiction. If you’ve been following our ‘Legacy of Science Fiction’ series, you’ve probably noticed a few of the trends that tend to go along with science fiction.

A story doesn’t need to be set in the future for it to be a science-fiction story, nor does it have to have aliens or space-ships. All it has to do is be about something just beyond our current understanding, founded in science of a sort. With that understanding, it’s easy to see how Frankenstein fits that bill.

The very creation of the monster himself is the codifier of science-fiction. Although it’s different in the original novel, the fact is, the idea of a man creating life that turns into a monster is an idea thoroughly grounded in the realm of science-fiction, a story concept rooted in the idea of science. It’s also an example of speculative fiction: bringing the audience to contend with questions such as nature vs. nurture, man’s place in creation, and the dangers of not being aware of the limits of common sense and the laws of nature.

Mary Shelley’s original novel came at a time when technology was changing much of the landscape of the world as they knew it, and it makes sense that in her story, this strange, unnatural technology would create a monster to be feared and pitied. In Frankenstein, the methods of this new generation of scientists, presenting seemingly no limits, is as horrific as the monster itself, the power that mankind can access without necessarily the wisdom to do so.

To quote Jurassic Park, the basic premise of the horror and science-fiction of this story is:

“Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether they could, they didn’t stop to think if they should.”

And in the end, much like Jurassic Park, it works out terribly.

Like we’ve discussed in the ‘Legacy of Science Fiction’ series, Frankenstein practically invented the science-fiction theme of humanity’s creations inevitably leading to our own destruction, whether directly or indirectly. In the case of Frankenstein, it’s pretty direct. Henry’s creation turns on him, and although Henry survives, (and the monster seemingly does not) the premise is still there as a science-fiction device, twisted into a bit of a horror spin. The idea of human beings creating the things that will destroy them is legitimately frightening, especially when it’s played up as being ‘monstrous’.

But there’s a little more to Frankenstein than a tragic horror/sci-fi story. It’s also a drama.

A drama film is a serious story, one that presents us with situations that show us realistic characters struggling with themselves, others, or sometimes, nature itself. Drama usually doesn’t mix with horror, or science fiction for that matter, but it does here.

As I mentioned earlier, not only do we understand Henry and get where he’s coming from, we experience the exact same thing for the monster, if not more so. Unlike many examples of horror films, we’re half on the side of the creature, and get to know him as a character, rather than just a monster.

The conflict is simple, and fairly obvious. Henry’s created this being, and due to his own lack of care, is forced to ‘fix’ his mistake and go up against the monster himself. While the idea of the creation of life, and the character of the monster isn’t ‘realistic’ in traditional terms, the character is understandable and sympathetic to the audience. We understand him, and the conflict is made far more personal than it would be in a traditional ‘kill-em-all’ horror film.

In the end, that’s what sets Frankenstein apart.

Sure, the film is an excellent horror and science fiction film, but it’s not the scares or the sci-fi that we remember the most about this movie. It’s the heart of it, the sad, personal stakes of the movie that sticks with us as an audience, and a culture. There hasn’t really been another ‘Frankenstein’ type film, asking you to consider, not in a high-browed way, but in a simple, emotional way: who is the monster, and who is the man?

We don’t necessarily remember the ‘kills’ of this film. Maybe we forget things like Henry’s wedding, or the scenes with his father, but we do remember the monster lifting his hands up to try to touch the light, his dynamic creation, and the ending, far from a happy one.

We remember Frankenstein because, not only is it a good horror film, it’s also a good story that, unlike a lot of horror films, forces us to care, not only about the men, but the monsters as well. As long as we can still feel emotion for the ‘Other’, there will always be a place for Frankenstein, even almost ninety years later.

Thank you all so much for reading! Stay tuned for next time, when we’ll be discussing the characters of Frankenstein. I hope to see you all in the next article.

#Film #Movies #Frankenstein #Frankenstein 1931 #1931 #30s #Drama #Science Fiction #Sci-Fi #Horror #PG #Boris Karloff #Colin Clive #Mae Clarke #Dwight Frye #Edward Van Sloan #James Whale

2 notes · View notes

katymacsupernatural · 5 years

Text

The Pull of a Normal Life

Dean Winchester x Reader

1350 Words

Written For: @spngenrebingo, @spnfluffbingo

Squares Filled: Showering (Genre), Hurt/comfort(fluff)

Warnings: sadness, anxiety, fluff at the end.

The pad of your index finger traced the embossed silky letters on the pure white paper. The words were in gold, bright and elegant on the snowy white linen paper where your friend's name was written in beautiful calligraphy.

A wedding invitation. Your friend since elementary school was getting married to a man both of you had known since 6th grade. You should be ecstatic for her, but you were in shock. You knew it was bound to happen, but you still couldn’t believe it. It made you realize that all of your friends from your previous life were married. They had children. You, you hadn’t had a steady relationship since...since Freddy in high school.

It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. But seeing the date beautifully written on the inside of the invitation, Emily’s name above, it sent reality crashing down around you. You were alone, while everyone else lived happy lives. Alone, and probably would be forever.

Tears threatened to irrupt as you rushed to place the invitation on top of the others you had kept as well. You could hear Sam and Dean arguing in the library, Dean no doubt on his way to call you for dinner. But you couldn’t face him. Not know. Not when you felt like a failure at life.

The bathroom was just down the hallway, and you slipped inside, shutting the door. Your tears came them, ugly and painful, your chest constricting as you struggled to breathe. Leaning against the wall, you turned the shower on, slipping out of your jeans and t-shirt.

The water was scalding as you stepped into the tile-lined shower, but you didn’t notice. You could feel your heart racing, your whole body tensing up. Sinking down to the floor, you let the water scald your skin, too lost in your own thoughts to care.

You felt like a bad friend for reacting this way. But you couldn’t help it. The invitation brought back all the feelings that you tried so hard to keep hidden. You were a hunter. You killed monsters for a living. You shouldn’t have this yearning for normal things that all of your old friends had. Things like wedding invitations, marriages, and a family. None of that fit in with a hunter’s life. But your heart didn’t realize that. It still knew that you wanted those things. And seeing everyone else get their happy ever after just made you realize how much you wanted your own.

“Y/N? Dinner’s ready!” Dean called out through the heavy wooden door, banging his knuckles on the paint. You had no idea if he waited for you, but your words were washed away but the powerful force of the bunker’s water pressure, getting washed away. You wished your feelings would wash away just as easy. Down the drain, away from the pain, they caused your heart. You were a hunter, and feelings did nothing but get in the way.

Your lack of answer must have worried Dean, as the handle shimmied, Dean’s voice calling out once again. “Go away,” you muttered, loud enough that he must have heard you.

“Y/N, I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” he argued. “Can I come in?”

Your refusal to answer must have been answer enough as he stepped in. If he was surprised at your lack of clothes, he didn’t say a word. Sinking down to his haunches beside you, he took in your red skin, your eyes red from tears. “Let’s fix this water, shall we?” He muttered, as much to himself as to you before shutting the water off. Standing back up, wincing as his knee popped loudly, he reached into the back of the linen closet, pulling out your favorite towel. The green had long since faded, reminding you of Dean’s eyes. The material was soft, smooth against your skin as Dean wrapped it around you, keeping his eyes on your face. He was quiet, his eyes full of pain even though you couldn’t understand why.

Once you were sitting on the bench in the corner, the towel wrapped tight, your tears finally starting to dry up, Dean crouched back down in front of you. “Care to tell me what this is all about?”

You shook your head, knowing if the words left your lips they would sound so stupid. And you didn’t want to sound stupid in front of Dean. “I can’t help you if you don’t let me in sweetheart,” he insisted. “So you tell me, and how about I whip up a batch of my famous brownies you love so much.”

Sniffling, you lifted your eyes to meet his. “It’s stupid,” you whispered. “I just started feeling overwhelmed, and lost and I didn’t know what else to do.”

He nodded, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he picked his words carefully. “Does it have anything to do with the invitation on your nightstand?”

“You saw that?”

He nodded, so close you could see even the tiniest freckle covering his nose. He had a scar on his chin, and you realized you had never heard the story behind it. “Y/N, we don’t have to go. She’ll understand.”

Your throat started to clog up again, amazed by how sweet he was being. “It’s not that. I want to go. It’s just….,”

He stayed quiet, giving you the time to find your words. “Dean, I feel like life is passing me by. All of my friends are either married or getting married. They have families, lives. Normal lives. And it just made me realize…,”

“That you’ll never have normal,” he finished for you, his green eyes so full of understanding you could have gotten lost in them.

Smiling weakly, you brushed away another stray tear. “I know it sounds stupid. What we do is important. But a part of me still wishes for the white picket fence. Two kids and a goofy dog always underfoot. I want the white dress, even though most of my family is gone so they won’t be there to see it. I want my happy ever after.”

“Who says you won’t get it?” He argued, reaching out and grasping your hand, his calluses rough against the smooth skin of your palm. “There’s still plenty of time left.”

You shook your head, your heart breaking all over again. “No, I can feel it. I know it’s never going to….,”

Your words were forgotten as Dean’s plump lips connected with yours, silencing you. They barely brushed against your own, warm and inviting. And comforting. You leaned into the kiss, even though a part of you wondered if it was out of pity.

Dean pulled away, your hand still grasped in his. “Y/N, please don’t give up on your happy ever after. It could be looking you right in the face.”

Your emotions were swirling, confused by the sudden change of events. You hadn’t expected this or even hoped that it would become a possibility. But as you stared into Dean’s gaze, you knew it wasn’t out of pity. Dean was speaking from the heart, letting you know that what you wanted was possible. “I know it’s not a white picket fence. But I’ll give you a white dress when you’re ready. If you’re ever ready. Whatever else you want. We can try to make our lives as normal as possible.”

“Dean, as much as my heart wants what everyone else seems to have, my mind knows that normal is impossible,” you started to say, watching as he ducked his head down, no doubt smarting from your words. “But I do know there is no one else I would rather spend this unnormal life with.”

His smile was seen before he lifted his head, smiling triumphantly at you. “Y/N, I will do everything in my power to make sure you’ll never miss the thoughts of a normal life again. Starting with brownies?”

“Brownies are a great start,” you agreed, squealing when he picked you up, carrying you through the door, turning to head to the kitchen. “But clothes first!”

Dean/Jensen Tags: @acortez82 @acreativelydifferentlove @adoptdontshoppets @a-girl-who-loves-disney @akshi8278 @bebravekeeponfighting @brindz30 @cap-just-said-language @colette2537 @deansgirl215 @its-not-a-tulpa @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @just-another-winchester @karouwinchester @keikoraventeller @krys198478 @librarygeekery @misspygmypie @mlovesstories @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @ria132love @ruprecht0420 @sortaathief @superseejay721517 @squirrelnotsam @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @torn-and-frayed @tricksterdean @wonderfulworldofwinchester @woodworthti666

Forever Tags: @aditimukul @alexwinchester23 @algud @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @camelotandastronauts @caswinchester2000 @chelsea072498 @closetspngirl @docharleythegeekqueen @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @esoltis280 @gh0stgurl @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek @heyitscam99 @hobby27 @horsegirly99 @internationalmusicteacher @iwriteaboutdean @jayankles @jensen-gal @just-another-busyfangirl @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @lifelovelaughangell123 @li-ssu @linki-locks11 @littleblue5mcdork @lowlyapprentice @maui137 @mogaruke @musiclovinchic93 @nanie5 @percussiongirl2017 @plaid-lover-bay25 @roonyxx @ronja-uebrick @roxyspearing @samanthaharper2018 @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @simonsbluee @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnwoman @superbadassnatural @thatcrazybookwormgeek @thewinchesterchronicles @vvinch3st3r @wecantgiggleitsafandom @whimsicalrobots @winchester-writes @zombiewerewolfqueen

#spngenrebingo #spnfluffbingo #dean winchester x reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural reader insert #katy writes #spn fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #dean x y/n #dean x reader

244 notes · View notes

ficstogo · 5 years

Text

Say My Name*

Pairing: Brian May x Reader

Summary: Jealousy gets the best side out of you.

Word Count: 6554

Warnings: Smut, Language

A/N: This is just one big mess, I’m telling you. Also sorry that I haven’t been posting much fics. It’s the end of the semester, things get busy, and I put all of my focus on this. Expect a Joe fic next.

youtube

It angered you. After every show they play, there are always girls fawning over them. It wouldn’t matter to you much since they do need a fanbase but if it weren’t for the fact that you were dating one of the band members, it was hard not have some sort jealousy in you. You couldn’t help it. Past relationships have changed your views on how relationships should work so it always put you on edge whenever you see Brian with another woman. It doesn’t help that your confidence fluctuates from time to time and it didn’t help that you were cheated on all because you didn’t satisfy, so of course you would get antsy and nervous.

You’ve been to plenty of their shows but tonight for some reason you felt bold and outgoing, especially when you’re wearing a shorter than usual lace dress as well as having a couple drinks in you. You were certain that it would stun Brian while he was on stage. He hadn’t seen you all day so this shake up in looks would wow him for sure.

There it was. That anger that followed every woman that ever looked at Brian in that way. There were a couple of them front row. You can see them from your spot at the bar. You only scoffed at them trying to contain yourself. They’re not anything to worry about. As they finished up the final song for the evening, you applauded, proud to see your boyfriend close another successful show. You turn back to gain the bartender’s attention and order a round of drinks for you and the band.

Making your way through the crowd of people with drinks in your hands, the feeling of your heels click-clacking against the ground really boosted your positive mentality a bit higher than usual.

“Wow, look at you!” Of course it’d be Roger to be the first one to comment, not that you minded really. If you caught the eye of the band member almost everyone wanted, than you must be doing something right.

“Thank you. Just bought it and didn’t want to leave it in my closet.” You handed him his tall glass of Guiness.

“I hope this is planned for something special tonight…” Freddie, the conniving one, giving you a wink your way as he grabbed his glass. You laughed at his remark, but if you were honest with yourself, you only dressed like this so Brian could be all over you tonight without you having to ask.

As you passed John his glass, you went ahead and ask where Brian was. “Went to put his guitar away in the van. He should be back soon.” Accepting that answer, you stuck around with the band. Talking and laughing along with them as all of your inebriation levels keep rising.

Soon enough though, you noticed how long Brian had been away from everyone else. “I’m gonna go head to the bathroom.” You announced to the rest of them. Towards the restroom you went as it was near the back exit where you would think he would be. Right you were as you see him near the exit but with someone else. At first, she was standing a little too close to him than you would like. You wouldn’t let that get to you, that is until she grabbed the lapels of his vest, pressing herself closer to him. You see his hands go to her waist. He’s trying to get her to back off but you couldn’t help but fume at the sight. With your heels clicking on the pavement, it warned her that someone was coming their way. But it didn’t stop her to get what she was lusting over.

With arms crossed, you cleared your throat to turn their heads to you. Brian was like a deer in the headlights while the girl had an obvious annoyed look on her face. “Y/N! You look terrific!” He then turns to look at the girl who was all over him with his hands still on her waist trying to push her back. “This is uh…”

“Sherri.”

“Right! Uh, Sherri, this is my girlfriend.” Brian said with extra emphasis on the word girlfriend as he pushes her even farther from him.

“I’ll be heading home now. Very nice to meet you Sherri.” You say in a brisk tone as you turn around and head out towards the front exit. With a huff, Brian trails right behind you, his long legs making it easy to catch up with you. He knew what was coming his way and he wasn’t up for another argument, trying to defend himself and then try to make it up to you. This didn’t happen too often since after every show, he liked you around his arms and talk throughout the night and because of that, the majority of women would know to back off. It just so happen that Sherri was a bit more determined into seeing Brian. It caught him by surprise when he entered back into the club with her right there waiting for him by the door. It scared him to say the least and she started complimenting him and asking him questions and he didn’t want to be rude. He hated that you came to bail him at such an inconvenient moment to where you stormed off. He understood your mentality and he never wanted to belittle you whenever it came to that but he wouldn’t sit and have his ear yapped off with him taking all the blame. He needed to defend himself which is why he hated these moments. You two get heated and he starts arguing with you instead of sympathizing and you argue instead of letting yourself give in to his care. He hated whoever brought you down this bad, but he’ll endure it if it means it’ll heal you.

“Y/N…Y/N!” Brian grabs ahold of your elbow, using it as a guide through the club and to the exit, as there was no one or nothing stopping you.

“What?! Clearly you’re busy! You shouldn’t keep Sherri waiting.”

“Can you please stop so we can talk about this?! Please!” As you finally made it out into the chilled night air, you skin starts to bump up and a shiver takes over. You turn around and face him, an obvious look of anger clear across your face. You then peek to the sides as you notice that there were other patrons hanging around, having a smoke and giggle with their friends.

“We can talk about this at my place then.” You said sternly, turning around and hailing a cab. It came by quick as it was obvious that your outfit had something to do with getting their attention. The cabbie looks you up and down but you think nothing of it when you give him your address.

You stay close to your side of the cab while Brian gave you the space you needed. It was silent for a good portion of the ride until the cabbie spoke up. “So, I must say, I pick up a lot of college girls but you are by far the most gorgeous I’ve ever come across.” It took you by surprise. You were not expecting that and you really didn’t know how to respond or react but all you could let out was an awkward thank you.

Brian hated it. Now he understood why you get so mad when a girl talks to him in that way even if he’s not soliciting it at all. But he also wish you understood why he instantly never backs off. It would’ve been rude to not accept the cabbie’s compliment, so, it would’ve been rude to not accept every other stranger’s compliment towards him. What made this even more uncomfortable to witness was that the man was probably a decade older than his girlfriend and he really went ahead and said that.

“I hope I don’t come across as rude when I say that.”

“Oh, uh, no, not all. Really, thank you.” You said with hope that that’s the end of that conversation.

Despite that hope, it only felt as an invitation for him to continue flirting with you. “Honestly sweetheart, you must get all the men’s attention with your lovely face and fantastic figure, especially in that dress.” Oh God… You could only think. You like attention but you much rather get it from your age group. What were you going to say? And did he have no filter? Did he forget that Brian was right next to you or did he just chose to ignore him. Maybe he thought he was your friend from how far apart you two were from each other. With that in mind, you found yourself inching closer to him, your hand trying to find his while looking straight ahead.

Right as the cabbie pulls up to your apartment building he goes ahead and says, “Hope I’ll be driving you around more often. Wouldn’t want to miss an opportunity driving around a gorgeous young thing such as yourself.”

That’s when Brian couldn’t take anymore once he heard that and saw the frightfully confused look on your face. “Keep it in your pants, old man, she’s not interested. Wouldn’t want the Mrs’ to know that her husband’s flirting with a woman that’s her daughters age.” You snapped your head at his comment with absolute shock. You think that was the first time you witnessed Brian be genuinely mean to someone. He then grabs your wrist and pulls you out the cab while telling you, “Don’t bothering paying for that arsehole.”

From there, he drags you into the building, rushing to get to your apartment door. “Brian what the hell was that?”

“Oh, come off it, don’t tell me you actually enjoyed a grotesque man overdoing all those compliments.”

“But I don’t understand why you had to be so rude!”

“So it’s alright for you to get upset so quickly and storm off being rude to me and everyone else but when I notice that you’re uncomfortable with a dirty old man talking to you in a way and I take action, it’s rude?”

The arguing goes on for a little bit longer while walking up the flights of stairs in the building until Brian says something that catches your attention. “Well I didn’t realize that you would be going out looking so bloody ravishing that I have to worry that other men would be thinking the same things as I am!”

“What things?” You ask.

“Oh, you know what things!” He says getting flustered but not enough to stop the debateful nature that he currently feels, ready to win this argument any way he can. “Bedroom things! Things I’d want to do to you! Things I want you to do to me!” He went on until his tangent circled back around to him and other women.

What he said gave you a confidence boost as you always thought that Brian could find someone far better looking than you. Someone much sexier that could give him immense pleasure but it only gave you an idea. As you try to unlock your apartment door, he keeps on with this now very one sided debate, you try gaining his attention so you didn’t have to shout over him but he continues on once you open the door.

“Bri…” You said but he only continued on with his angry rant. “Bri.”

“I just don’t get why the hell you can’t understand that I wasn’t flirting with-”

“Brian!” You shouted his name as he finally got the hint that you were trying to talk to him. “Can you shut the fuck up already and close the damn door.” He only squinted at you from what just came out of your mouth. Usually when you two argued it went from a shouting match to the silence game. You were always passionate when it came to arguments but brash and harsh words like that never came out of your mouth so when he heard you talk like that, he was a bit scared as to where any of this was going.

He did what you told him while he still stared at you with a curious frown. You walked up to him looking him straight in the eye while he stared back at you feeling awkward and scared as to what your next move is. You licked your lips that were stained red.

“I’m over this argument now.” Brian could only swallow hard, anticipating your next words to him. “You’re right. I overreacted. I let jealousy get the best of me.” You looked down to his hands with an innocent demeanor across your face. Soon after, you grabbed a hold of them and placed them right on your breasts as you looked back up to him with doe eyes. “I should know that you wouldn’t go off with someone else.” His eyes were wide at your actions. You moved his hands and fingers in a circular motion as to massage your breasts. “Not when you have all of this to touch…” On your toes, you leaned against him in order to whisper in his ear. “To taste…” Removing your hands from his you placed them on his chest where his shirt was only buttoned midway as his necklaces dangled when he leaned down closer to you. “And to fuck however you like…”

Brian could only inhale sharply at your words. This was a far different approach than what you usually take and it made him nervous in the best way possible. You chuckled next to his ear as you rubbed your hands against his chest. He felt his eyes flutter while he moved his hands from your breast down to your sides and then to your ass giving them a firm grip. You only squeaked and then let out a small laugh at his action. You loved how much you were turning him on and you were going to keep going until he couldn’t take anymore.

Your hands went up to his shoulders pulling at a couple strands of his hair. Brian only closed his eyes leaning in to bury his head into your neck. You had so much influence over him that right now he would be willing to do whatever you want either to you or him. That was something to keep in mind for the future.

His hot heavy breathing on your neck made you feel good, making you want more of him than what you have now. He felt it as well as his grip on your ass tighten even more as he pushed your pelvis into his, feeling his member against your thigh. He couldn’t help but rub himself against you, loving the sensation but knowing that he needed more.

Soon his teeth grazed against your neck, nipping at your skin. You couldn’t help but let out a moan. Right then, you pulled away from him placing your hand against his face, his hazy dopey face that was far too into what was happening now. “Let’s go make some noise…” You grabbed ahold of his wrist and pulled him towards your bedroom. His mouth partly opened at your words. This was so new. He was usually the one who initiated the friskiness in the bedroom. This. He liked this a whole lot. You were radiating confidence and that alone was getting him hard.

You turned to face him grabbing his other wrist and pulling him as he was going much too slow for you. You smiled at him with a lustful look in your eyes. Inside your bedroom, there were piles of clothes on your bed. You were debating on whether to go modest or dressy and in the end, you choose a different route. Grabbing the lapels of Brian’s vest, you pull him into your room and against your body. You gave a toothy smirk, as you felt his hands back on your body.

Your hands went back to his head and pulled him against yours, feeling his lips hungry for yours, his tongue licking along your full bottom lip. You continued pulling him towards your bed as you made his back face toward the mattress without separating your lips from each other. You pulled away, looking up at him. He looked so good. His hair was nearing the disheveled state that you loved so much, his swollen lips were smeared with a red stain, his button shirt that only came midway made you feel lustful, the fact that he was a bit out of breath made you feel like you were going to go mad if you didn’t do anything else.

You pushed his vest off him and let your dainty fingers undo his shirt. Once it was open you let your hands in and roam across his chest and to his sides. He shivered at the feeling of your nails lightly grazing him. You loved his figure, twig like and yet, he had some definition around some areas. You didn’t realize that playing guitar could do that to one’s body. You went ahead and kissed his collar bone softly while your hands continued with their travels. You could hear a quiet whimper from Brian as his head tilted back a bit. Your hands went up to his shoulders, squeezing them as his shirt fell to the ground. Soon you find yourself biting him, leaving fresh purple marks on his skin. It then became your canvas as you decorated his neck and collarbone with your marks. His hands find their way to your hips, inching closer to your ass again with each bite, gripping as hard as you bite him. Sucking away at the last love bite, you pull away looking at your handy work. “There. Now they’ll know you’re taken.”

Snapping back into reality, he realizes what you just said. His hand grips on your cheeks, making your lips pucker out at him. Brian then goes forth and locks lips with yours, starving as he bites down on your bottom lip his other hand gripping tightly on your ass which made you let out a squeak. He then moves down to your neck and does the same. Licking, biting, and sucking around your high pulse, moaning at his talent of finding that sweet spot on you. He pulls away as he uses his index finger to move your chin to the side, taking a good look at your neck. “There. Now old cabbies will know you’re taken.”

You could only give a low laugh. “Remind me again why I am? I think someone out there can change my mind on that…” you test him. He could see the chaos glinting in your half lidded eyes, wanting to get rid of the smirk that held your bright teeth.

He grabbed a hold of your face with one hand again searching your eyes as his own devilish smirk came about him as well. “Oh no darling, I can assure you that no one out there can fuck you as good as i can.” He then dives in biting down your bottom lip with you instinctively pulling away.

You loved it when he gets all dominate but you think it’s your turn to play that role. His cheek felt a slight sting as your hand made contact with it and then feel your fingers clasp together behind his neck. He went wide eyed at your action up until he felt you pull him down for you to whisper in his ear. “Well if that’s the case,” your hand went to place his back on your ass, making sure he understood to start teasing the hem of your dress. “Know that you aren’t going to find a fuller ass than this,” you then went to his other, breathing onto it with your hot breath, “and a pussy as tight as mines’ sweet pea…” lord, did he let out a deep groan from you saying that.

“Mmm, so fucking sexy…” You gently pushed him to the edge, forcing him to sit. Him sitting emphasized how long his legs were as his lanky legs made a resting place for his elbows. Getting in between them, you took his head in your hands and looked down on him. This new perspective was something you could definitely get use to. You leaned down to feather a kiss against his lips only to pull away. A small whine could be heard from him feeling completely intoxicated by your seducting ways. Your hands trailed down to his torso and onto his legs as you got down on your knees, not breaking eye contact from him as you did. The way you looked only caused an ache against his pants. He wanted to alleviate the throbbing feeling but he knew that if he let you do all the touching, it would feel ten times better than if he did it himself.

You laid your cheek against his inner thigh giving an innocent smile his way. His hands helped him lean back so he could get a better look at you. Noticing him bite his lower lip once you rubbed up and down on his thighs, you let out a little laugh and asked, “What’s wrong baby? Why are you looking at me like that?”

He licked his lips before he could respond. “Looking at you like what?” he asked as he exhaled the air in his lungs at the same time.

“Like you wanna fuck me or something.” You kept up your innocent demeanor. Brian’s head only fell back as he laughed at your response. Devilish thing…

“Oh darling, what could possibly make you think such a thought?”

Your hands start to inch closer to where he so desperately wants to be touched. “I don’t know…You seem to always get stiff when I touch you…” Brian can feel the pain on his bottom lip as he bites harder from the sight of you.

“Love, I promise you, if you don’t do anything about my stiffy now, you talking will get the job done and although I love your voice, I’d much rather you touch me.” From there, you laugh and start to undo his belt. The action takes him by surprise as he tries to reposition himself in a more comfortable way. His head falls back as a deep growl escapes him once he feels you actually rub slowly against his cock through his pants. You only play with it as you use your index finger to outline its shape, keeping up the innocent look of curiosity in your eyes.

“Oh god Y/N…” He gasps.

“What?”

“Please baby…”

“What is it? Tell me what you want.” You continue your teasing assault with your hands. You lean in further into him, your hot breath could be felt through the fabric of his pants.

“Oh fuck, you little minx…” He draws out. God, you absolutely love this. He looked so weak, no power whatsoever. You had him melting in your hands, you could do whatever you want to him and he’d be willing to follow and right now you were going to make him whimper and cry just so he knows that he wouldn’t get this from anyone else.

You leaned in and gave him a small peck on his covered cock. The sounds he was making turned you on to no end. “Love, please…” Teasing him was fun, but the way he looked really made you starve to get something started. Your delicate fingers dipped into the band of both his pants and boxers, Brian eagerly got up to help you pull them down to his mid thigh. Another deep moan escaped his lips once you took grasp of his cock, your thumb sliding around the slit of his hard head. His entire member looked so swollen and flushed while the precum was dripping from the tip. You then ended his suffering by finally giving it one long swift lick from the underside of his base to his tip and then placing it in your moist warm mouth.

You felt a tug at your head when Brian’s fingers found their way to get tangled in your hair. At the moment they were only tugging and massaging your scalp, especially during times when your tongue swirled around in curiosity. Soon you went further down his cock, going back and forth letting your teeth lightly graze against his skin and that’s when the grip on your hair tighten a little more and his moans getting louder. Next you went on hollowing your cheeks and actually sucking him off while your hand went to grasp at what was left of his dick. In and out your mouth continued but each time, you tried pushing yourself a little further. A challenge for you, just to see how deep you can take him and how fast you could suck him off. Because of this, Brian soon found himself lightly pushing your head against his hips but the more you played with him the more controlling he became. He moans and whimpers your name, panting as your mouth was starting to make him overstimulate.

You moaned at the feeling of his salty precum coming down your throat as your hand started to graze at his hairy trail back and forth, your fingers curling around his bush. That only caused him to shudder and press your head further down on him. It kept going like that for a bit until he could feel himself getting to his extreme. “Y/N…I’m, ugh, I’m gonna cum love…oh god, I’m gonna cum all over those pretty swollen lips of yours…” That sentence only made you moan even more as you held onto his bony hips while his hands continued to thrust your head onto him. He’s never felt so good in his life and thank god for it because he now knows what heaven feels like.

“Hold on hold on hold on…” Brian pants out quickly pulling your head back gently. You only rested for second until your heard some quick wet and slick sounds and taking you off your guard, you felt the warmth of his cum on your lips, just like he said he would do. It was something beyond you. His head back, his dick in his hand slowly while it comes to a halt, the whimpers that he lets out that almost sound as if he was about to cry. It was absolutely beyond you as to how all of this pleasure he was feeling was because of you.

Brian then looks down at you with half lidded eyes, panting like a dog with small beads of sweat across his forehead. He didn’t think he could go beyond the edge but you proved him wrong as he sees you clean yourself up with your tongue swiping across your red lips, swallowing at what he had left as proof of arousal and then bite your bottom lip with a mischievous slant as a smile. Now feeling the ache in your knees from putting all your weight on them for a rough period of time, you stand yourself up and slip the spaghetti straps from your shoulders as Brian lays back on his forearms, using the scene in front of him to recover.

As your dress slips off to pile at your feet, you come up to Brian with you legs enclosing his, crawling up to him. His eyes could only follow the bounce of your now exposed breasts as you sit up and say, “Brian, let me ride you.” He could only follow up with a small whimpering “Uh…” Well his eyes went bigger, looking you up and down. He nods his head up and down quickly in fear that his silence would express a no instead of a yes and then says, “Absolutely, please, lord…”

His hands find your hips, holding you steady as you try to remove your lace underwear. He could only swallow the thick saliva as he watches with surprise and absolute lust. He didn’t think his girl had it in her. Once it comes off, Brian was held in a trance, constantly looking your body over and over especially to the area that’s finally revealed to him. He kicks off his pants and boxers around his thighs and runs his hands over your body, from your hair that gracefully combs through his fingers to your cheek that he caresses with his thumb down over your plump lips tickling the bruises on your neck and collarbone to your now harden nipples, pinching and squeezing, making sure you get some treatment as well. His hand then slides over from the sides of you abdomen over your stomach and then to your thighs as he rotates his wrist to get the inside of your thighs.

His pointer fingers then outline from where your core and thighs meet and brings his hand to lightly rub the mound of it until you suck in a gasp of air as his finger runs up and down the lips of your pussy. It was already slick before he even touched you there and as he brings his fingers to his face to take a look, a smirk comes over his tranced face. “Is this my doing?”

You bite your lip looking at him and then nearly letting out a squeal as he takes a swift lick of his fingers confirming as to how delicious you taste with a moan. You let out a gasp as his thumb found your sensitive clit, rubbing in slow circles, his mouth now slightly agape at the sight of you and the power his fingers have. As his thumb continues your torture, you try to alleviate it by rubbing the lips of your pussy against his harden cook that’s against his abdomen.

Once Brian felt the slickness drenching up his now recovered dick, he couldn’t stop the twitching that it began to do. That’s when he couldn’t wait any longer. “Y/N…I need you now…I need to be in you now, please…” You groaned in agreement to his statement. With his hands still on your hips, he helps you lift yourself up while your hand finds his once again harden cock and straightens it up to align it. Loud as can be, you both let out a moan once you sink down on top of him, your head thrown back at the fullness that you feel in you. From there, you start bouncing yourself on top of him with your hands flat against his chest so his arms could reach your bouncing breasts.

From a slow pace so you could adjust but also get started on the friction to a more rougher faster one where the pleasure is taken to the extent that both of you can handle. You then lie right on top of Brian, your nipples hardening even more at the feeling of it rubbing against his skin, your head buried into his neck while your fingers tangle and pull onto his hair once more. His large hands find your behind, gripping and pulling and pushing. The both of you pant like crazy as the pace continues to speed up while the old mattress underneath you both squeak along in time.

As the pleasure soon begins to get the best of you, you find yourself biting into Brian’s neck once again and then going up to his ear and whispering, “Baby…Baby, oh fuck, say my name, who’s making you feel so good?”

“Fuckin hell, you are love! Your pussy feels so good around my cock.” You bite your lip at his response as your arms now snake around his neck. “Your pussy’s the only one that tightens so good around my cock…” He groans out. You moan even louder at that. The both of you keep at it, your staminas starting to dwindle down as your both feeling the end is near. The way that you could feel him rubbing against your spot so fast and so rough made your hips meet up with his upward thrusts while you clench around his member, tightening with every move. That causes him to move his hands back onto your hips and grip harder so he can slam you back down to his pelvis. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck, Y/N, I’m so close darling, I’m so fucking close love…”

“Come on Bri, say my name baby…” You then pick yourself back up with your hands finding their way back to his chest so you can push yourself onto getting the most out of this upcoming orgasim.

Once you both feel that your getting so close he starts chanting your name in a desperate praise. His arms slither their way to your back, his face contorting in a way that looks as if he’s in a pleasurable pain, whimpering loud enough for you to hear. From there, he pulls you back against his chest, as he thrust faster than what you thought was possible. You place your hands on his cheeks as you give him a deep kiss which only causes him to whimper even more.

Your toes curl while you moan deeply with your lips still in contact with his. Brian wasn’t too far behind but the feeling of you squeezing and drenching his cock once you reached your limit only pushed him to the end. He pulls away from your lips as his head digs into the mattress crying out, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N…” he goes on saying your name until the tremors of his body die down leaving him as a panting mess.

The both of you collapse in exhaustion making no attempt to pull away from each other. With eyes closed, you both were ready to be knocked out into sleep until you spoke up with your pointer finger slowly caressing his cheek back and forth. “I’m sorry Bri, I shouldn’t have gotten so mad at you over nothing. Now that I’m thinking back, you were trying so hard to get away from her.”

“She was honestly starting to scare me. Acting very stalker like.” A chuckle left you at that. “No, love, I’m sorry for getting mad at you for feeling that way. I know that you don’t feel the best about yourself at times and it upsets me when you think that way. I just realized how it really changes your mindset when you see someone else flirt with the woman you love…”

Your eyes went wide at that. You two haven’t said the L word yet and the fact that you didn’t have to make the nerve wracking first move enlightened you. “You don’t mean that…”

Brian pulls himself back abruptly with a look of absurdity. “Ugh! Are you calling me a liar little lamb?!” You could only laugh at his dramatic act as you give him a slap to his chest. He laughs along with you with his arms wrapped around your body and pulling you in so your head is tucked underneath his chin.

“Well then, dove, I must say the feelings mutual.”

“Oh, are you not gonna even say it?”

“Hmm, you would like that wouldn’t you?” You tease.

“Of bloody course I would. I would like to hear my girlfriend say that she loves me as well.” You only move your head to look up at him with innocent eyes once more. “Please?”

You smile and pull yourself up to his face. Giving him kisses on his cheek and then placing butterfly kisses up to his cheek and whisper, “I adore you one hundred percent Brian,” You then continue your trail to his other ear. “And I want nothing more than to hold and love you on this bed, every morning and every night until you don’t want me to anymore.”

“I don’t think that day will ever come, Y/N.” You continue pecking lovingly all over his face and then rest the side of your cheek on his chest once more and placing your hand back to its spot on his face where it continues the loving gesture.“Just know that tonight, you have absolutely got me wrapped around your finger.” Brian then takes the hand that you were caressing him with and kisses it and then places it back on his cheek. “And, uh, next time you want to take charge again, don’t hesitate to do so…” You pull him in for another kiss making sure to let him know how much that meant to you, as to let him know this was all you needed.

Once you pull away, you see a dopey look take place on his usually focused face. “Better yet, why don’t we end our rows like this instead?”

.~.~.~.~.~.~.

It was the next night at the same spot you placed yourself previous. The band had another gig here and you were in a much more positive attitude. Bubbly from the drinks, you look forward and see girls fawning over him once more. This time though, you weren’t even in the slightest angry or annoyed or upset or even jealous. No, that was all put aside without you even realizing it, you were far too good of a mood to have it ruin your night.

Once they took their bows and told the audience goodnight, you stood up from your stool and clapped along with the crowd with the biggest smile on your face. Taking the usual tall glasses of guinness to the band, you notice that Brian wasn’t with them. Once asking of his presence, Freddie responded about his whereabouts being at the van where he would put away his treasured Red Special. This time you didn’t think much of it.

Right as the thought of him leaving was escaping your mind, there he was taking his seat next to you with his arm lazily resting atop of your seat. You perked up at the sound of Roger’s whistling. “You look at you two with your matching marks!” He raises his glass in cheers to the love you have for one another.

“You two are looking like real leopards with those.” Freddie says as he hides his smirk by his glass. He then winks at you and says “I knew you were planning something extraordinary for our man.” You all only laughed and continue on with the good times.

#fic #my fic #fanfic #fan fiction #imagine #one shot #brian may #brian may x reader #brian may fic #brian may fanfic #brian may fan fiction #brian may smut #brian may one shot #brian may imagine #queen #queen band #borhap #bohemian rhapsody #smut

103 notes · View notes