#I want a Taylor who goes squeak when I hold him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sneezefiction · 3 years

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answers

oikawa x reader

desc: oikawa changes some lyrics in taylor swift’s song “love story”

a/n: please keep in mind that most of this is just humorous & there’s no serious characterization in this particular story. i laughed a lot while writing it :,,) for @cutiekawa because you gave me the idea; thank you for that! and also for @seroto-rin because this is very similar to your husband’s lyric changing habits lol – i still laugh whenever i think about it <3 warnings: language, mentions drinking/being drunk

wc: 3k

— It’s 2 am when you hear Oikawa pattering down the hallway and past your room. From the gentle footsteps and the occasional whisper of “shit” when the floor creaks, it's obvious that he’s trying to stay quiet.

But his attempts are in vain because, one, you’re wide awake and, two, he’s just knocked over an empty beer can from earlier. It was probably the one he’d left on the hall table – you’d told him to throw it away but he’d refused saying that he’d “throw it away in the morning when his arms weren’t so tired.”

This is just karma.

The clatter of the aluminum on wooden floors echoes throughout the dorm. A much louder, especially frustrated, “fuck” follows right after it.

The word, though crass, sounds deceptively attractive on his tongue. But most things Oikawa-related just happen to be attractive.

You muffle your laughter with a blanket. He’s probably disoriented from the alcohol – it’s only been an hour and 5 drinks each since you both called it a night. You’d headed straight to bed but he’d fallen asleep on the couch where you left him, hair a-mess and lips parted.

But, for someone who used to stay out till daybreak on weekends, he’s spent most Fridays hanging out with you instead.

This weekend was no different.

Oikawa ordered Thai takeout, you found a mindless Netflix series to binge, both of you had a little too much to drink, laughter ensued, the doe-eyed boy found his head in your lap, and…

You pull a face – one that goes unseen because of the dark, but you make it anyway.

Okay, that last part was a little different.

He’d had his head in your lap.

His head… in your… lap.

And, if you’re not mistaken (or delirious), you’d had your hands in his hair, twirling strands and tracing circles at the base of his neck. A foggy image of him gazing up at you with softened eyes, deep chocolate in color, begins to solidify.

That lazy smile, a hand on your thigh, tresses tickling your skin...

You turn over in your bed, bunching up your sheets and holding them close to you like a shield of fabric — a flimsy, make-shift defense against tipsy mind-wandering. It isn’t very effective.

Your brain is not wandering but racing around this hand-in-hair realization.

Like an iron rod poking at hot embers, these prodding memories make your cheeks grow hotter by the millisecond. You bury your face in your pillow, embarrassment tight in your throat.

Somehow you’d forgotten that he’d practically climbed into your lap. You’re not in the clear quite yet, but your brain is functioning well enough that it wishes you’d had a little more to drink – just enough to forget about it entirely. You starfish out on your bed, arms and legs dramatically splayed across the mattress.

Do (hot, charming, charismatic, windswept) flatmates usually get this... cuddly? Is that normal?

Does Iwaizumi wrap his arms around his roomies after a long day and a few bottles? How about Mattsun? Makki…?

Okay, no, none of them really seem like the type to get up close and personal with their roommates without good reason. Well, maybe Makki, but he’d do it to be a pain in the ass – not to charm the living-hell out of someone.

You try to take in a deep breath and wrap your head around what this means for you… but end up inhaling a feather from your pillow instead. As you hack and cough, you try to smother the noise in more cloth material – you really didn’t need him coming into your room, much less leaning over your bed to check on you.

Oikawa is messing with your head.

If you knew any better, you’d have run away screaming the moment he’d asked you to room with him. No one that pretty and charismatic is good news. At least, not when it comes to shared housing.

But, here you are, writhing under the covers and hot like a fever all because he couldn’t keep to himself. Screw him and his charming smile for putting you in this position.

He either knows you’re crushing like he’s the last man on earth or he’s blissfully unaware and way too physically affectionate for his own good.

You don’t dare consider that he likes you back though. Only deer and Olympic athletes made leaps like that. Oikawa had too many admirers… an irritating amount.

The blankets scrunch even tighter between your fists, likely thanking their maker that they don’t have nerve endings.

Every fiber of your being is begging to know if these feelings are reciprocated. You’d hate to live out the rest of this semester knowing the boy down the hall may not like you back. Worse, that he finds out you think he’s hot shit and doesn’t like you back – that would be unrequited love at its finest.

But, with a degree and your mental health on the line, why should you care about such minor, itty bitty, pointless details.

This isn’t that big a deal.

And even if he did like you back? Well, Oikawa isn’t someone you can simply “pin down.” He comes with a distinctive, dramatic personality and a meddling side. Not to mention, he’s already the embodiment of chaos – he’s proven this to be true over the past 4 months he’s lived with you.

There’s a familiar squeak of the shower faucet handle and the hiss of hot water. You jump at the sound.

Maybe he’d forgotten, but your bedroom shares a very thin wall with the bathroom. Though you recall him saying he wanted to take a shower earlier, so you guess that he’s only just remembered.

You pick up your phone, blue light casting a less-than angelic glow on your sleepy face. You pray that TikTok will have some sort of life-changing “I’m in love with my hot, crazy flatmate” advice. Or that it will distract you from your inner turmoil. Either would be appreciated but the latter seems more likely.

Scrolling slowly, you get through about 3 videos before something else catches your attention.

There’s a deep reverberation buzzing through your wall. A gentle hum, much like a shower-concert lullaby.

But the noise is getting louder. And the humming? A lot more lyrical.

You shift into a sitting position, propping yourself up with your hands. With your side sunken into a pillow, you press your ear against the cool drywall. Your ears tune into the sound.

Oikawa, voice confident and free, is… singing.

“...But you were everything to me, I was begging you ‘please don’t go’…”

But he’s not just singing.

“And I said…”

He’s belting Taylor Swift with the enthusiasm of an 11-year-old Swiftie super-fan. Like the world would end if he didn’t put enough passion into this performance. Like the showerhead is his microphone and the surrounding tiles are his adoring audience.

“Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting; all that's left to do is run...”

Most people would be pissed if their friend were singing in the shower at 2 am… but you can’t find it in yourself to be anything but enamored.

God, you hate him for doing this right now. Hate that he’s inadvertently endearing you to him. Hate that, no matter what you do, he’s somehow always there.

Pressed up against you on the couch, meeting you for dinner at his favorite restaurant, fussing at each other over a shitty cup of coffee in your even shittier kitchen, calling you when he needs somebody to keep him company at the library…

“You'll be the prince & I'll be the princess…”

And now he’s accidentally serenading you with Taylor’s “Fearless” album. In the shower.

You facepalm, sinking into your hands, exasperated and just so… done.

You sink back down into the bedsheets, wishing your earbuds were nearby to drown out the regrettably adorable performance.

“It's a love story y/n, just say ‘Yes.’”

And your heart drops, panic setting in like the touch down of a whirling tornado. A fire tornado. A fire tornado with frogs and lizards and sharp objects spinning around inside of it.

What… did he just say?

The lyrics… they were muffled. You definitely heard them incorrectly. You… you just need to get your ears checked. Yes, that’s it. That’s all there is to it. You’ll schedule an appointment first thing tomorrow morning.

Because who the fuck sings like that at 2 am in a shared dorm? And who the fuck puts someone else’s name into a song like that? No one? Yes, no one.

Especially not the Oikawa Tooru.

And especially not with your name.

Because that’s just... weird.

The grip on your phone is mighty – thank God for durable glass because any other material would’ve splintered or shattered in your hold.

But what the hell.

“Y/n, save me, I've been feeling so alone,” he sings as though he were Beyoncé’s son.

This time it’s clear as day. Oikawa is definitely still out of it and he’s undoubtedly singing your name.

No, no, no.

“I keep waiting for you but you never come…”

You bolt out of bed, feet hitting the floor at lightning-strike speed.

“Is this in my head? I don't know what to think,”

In one swift movement, you fling the bedroom door open and rush down the hall. You shouldn’t be listening to this.

“He knelt to the ground & pulled out a ring, and said...”

And before you can stop your hand, it’s knocking rapidly on the bathroom door.

There’s a gasp, what you assume to a bar of soap hitting the shower floor, and an abrupt silence that follows.

You’d only wanted to stop him from singing.

However, you hadn’t thought through what you were going to say to him about this whole... lyrical mess. Your face feels like the surface of the sun, burning and flaring and flushing. What are you supposed to do now?

Oikawa speaks up, voice quiet, “Hello?”

Shit.

Maybe if you’re careful you can get yourself out of this. Just act like you didn’t hear anything and bring it up tomorrow when you’re both thinking straight. A thorough and sober discussion would be needed.

You had questions. Questions that needed answers.

Why did he have his head in your lap? Had you said anything to him that you’d regret later? Does he like you? Where should you two place your boundaries if he doesn’t like you back? And why Taylor Swift?

“Y/n, is that you?” He asks, nonchalantly.

Who else would it be?

The handle squeaks and, with that, the water stops. Only the gentle swirl of the drain and the occasional drips and drops from the showerhead are audible.

It’s too late. You’re already there. You’ve knocked and, in doing so, you’ve sealed your fate.

“...Yes,” is your whisper of a reply.

“What’s up? Was I too loud for you?”

You’ve got the entire building on high-alert singing that loudly.

...is what you would say if you weren’t currently imploding. This is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. And nothing you ever want to experience again.

“Um, yeah, sorry.” You look down at your shuffling feet.

The hallway is pitch black, hardly allowing for even a mere shadow. Rushing out of your room, you’d forgotten to turn on even a single light.

You hear him step onto the tile floor and the rustle of a tower from the bathroom closet.

“Wait, can we talk?” He asks as though it weren’t the question of the fucking year. “I mean, preferably after I get out of the bathroom.” There’s a lack of tact to his words.

This isn’t the charming Oikawa you’re used to. This is a blunt… confusingly straightforward Oikawa.

His tone wavers like maybe he’d had a little more to drink than you’d last remembered. Your memory was proving to be disappointingly unreliable tonight.

You swallow thickly, “Sure.”

Because what else can you say?

“Can I stop by your room in a minute?”

You take a deep breath, “Yeah.”

And you patter back to your no-longer very safe haven. Oikawa is about to infiltrate your space… with your permission. And the weapons he’ll bring will either harpoon you or leave you emotionally paralyzed – whether that emotional paralysis is a good or bad thing will be decided in the near future.

Your bed, though soft and blanket-covered, looks far less appealing now. It may as well be a bed of nails because you would rather hide beneath it than sit atop it.

But you sit anyway, letting the mattress dip and the springs twang.

The bathroom door cries as it opens, putting you on edge. Your heart is pounding like a drum at a summer festival – hotter and louder with every beat.

The trod of footsteps tells you he’s approaching and, sure enough, the open door reveals Oikawa.

With only a lamp to brighten the space, he’s more contoured than usual. His hair is wet and heavy against his head, taking on an even darker brown than before. You’ve seen him fresh out of the shower before, but this… is different. Oikawa’s shirt sticks to his chest slightly – he must’ve thrown it on without drying off fully to get to you faster.

He takes a few steps into your room, choosing to lean his back against a wall next to your work desk. Oikawa brings his hands behind his back, pressing his weight into them. Brown eyes flicker from you to the wall behind you and back again.

Naturally, tension lays thick as a fog in the air space.

“Hey, I’m…”

You cut him off, “You don’t have to say sorry! It’s… it’s okay.”

Oops, you’d said that a little too loud. Not that it mattered much after Oikawa’s passionate performance.

An eyebrow raises and confusion sparks across his face. Your body freezes.

He brings a hand behind his neck. “Oh, I was just gonna say that I’m still kinda drunk.”

You knew that much. Though you really thought he’d say something other than that. Preferably something about the, uh, devoted love-song?

Why is he acting so casual right now? Is this even Tooru? Had he read too many alien conspiracies and been abducted for learning too much about extraterrestrials?

Maybe he doesn’t realize you’d even heard him say your name in the shower.

“Oh... right.” You say slowly, lips staying parted at the end of your sentence.

“Which… probably isn’t good for either of us,” Different words drawl out and there’s a soft slur to some syllables, but at least he’s easy to understand, “me drinking too much, I mean.”

“Yeah,” you mutter.

“I think we should both just go to bed then.”

Your chest tightens. Of course, you want answers.

They’re likely embarrassing, face-reddening, Taylor Swift-centric answers. But you want them, nonetheless.

Although, it’s probably for the best that you don’t bring this up tonight. It was all probably a joke or a harmless accident – and, anyway, he admitted to being drunk.

“Right.”

“But I think you should know that I like you. A lot.”

“Yeah,” you respond again, automatically.

There’s another heavy silence. The pretty boy just stares at you, cherry colors tinting his cheeks but showing no expression of fear or embarrassment. You stare back, processing his words at turtle-like speeds.

The words tumble out, “Wait, say that again?” You double back, your own face reheating to its earlier temperature.

“I’m gonna be mad at myself in the morning if I don’t leave right now. And I really need to stop listening to that stupid song,” Oikawa says to himself.

“But I wanted to see how you would respond if I changed the lyrics,” the words are pointed back at you again.

He stands up, feet moving slowly toward the doorway. Did he just… completely ignore your question?

Your jaw drops, “Did…” you can hardly speak.

Clearing your throat, you try again, focusing intently on your words, “...did you mean for me to hear you?”

“...Maybe.” He draws out the “e,” looking back at you.

That’s it. He’s lost his fucking mind. You’re going to strangle him.

No TikTok advice could have prepared you for the monstrosity that is Oikawa Tooru. How Iwaizumi put up with that... that child for all these years, you have no idea.

You have to make a note of sending him a “get well” card, because nobody could be mentally okay after dealing with him for that long.

“B- but… why? What?” You stammer out, back stiff as a board.

“You like me don’t you?” He tilts his head, hair flopping cutely with it.

You gape like a fish, mouth opening and closing.

And it’s not that you don’t want to respond.

It’s that you can’t. You have no words. You vocal chords are on a panic-induced lockdown.

Because he knew.

He knew this entire time. Which you thought he might, but that doesn’t make the situation any less infuriating.

“And I like you back.”

You’re dumbfounded. You can’t think. This is ridiculous.

You open your mouth once more but he has no intention of continuing this conversation.

“Sleep well!” Without further comment, Oikawa flashes you a sleepy smile and begins scampering back to his room after having wreaked havoc on your poor heart.

Your voice comes back just in time for you to wake up the entire building once more,

“No, you get your ass back here and explain yourself!”

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa #oikawa x reader #oikawa scenarios #oikawa imagines #seijoh #what did i just write #this is gonna go under: 'things i gave up my sleep for'#ughsjdljlds'ldsdjd #also #i dont like the term crack fic anymore? so i think just calling it humorous is... a good way to go #goodnight yall #queued up!

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tetsurouskuro · 4 years

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Fire in His Eyes

pairing: kuroo tetsurou x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol, swearing, dom!kuroo, fireman!au haikyuu, smut, unprotected sex, shower sex, mirror sex, dirty talk, fluff

word count: 5,193

a/n: this is my submission for the Haikyuu Headquarters NSFW server collab using the prompt mirror fuck!

the whole masterlist can be found HERE by the amazing @animewh0re!

a huge thank you to my wifey 💖 @guessmqnster who made this amazing banner! everyone go and give her a follow!

also a huge thank you taylor aka @deathcab4daddy for helping me with beta-reading and grammar issues! super thankful 💖

now, enjoy and as always, feedback is appreciated! <3

Synopsis: Kuroo is a fire fighter and your best friend. When your apartment building catches fire and burns up, Kuroo offers to let you stay at his place until you’ve found a new apartment.

MASTERLIST!

≫ ----- ≪·•♕•·≫ ----- ≪

The background music in the small bar could be heard while other people were chatting away and making conversation. You were sat in between one work colleague and your best friend who you have known since you were a kid: Kuroo Tetsurou.

A laugh escaped his lips as he speaks to one of his friends from work. The way his eyes close and his mouth opens, and he throws his head back, in pure bliss. A smile forms on your lips as you take a sip of your drink. Pulling the straw into your mouth and sipping, feeling the sweet mix of liquor and soda hit your tongue and throat.

Just as you set your glass down on the table you feel Kuroo’s arms around your shoulder pulling you towards him. You let out squeak as he did that which made him chuckle. The faint smell of his body wash hits your nose, but also the sweet smell of his body sweat.

“Kuroo, let me go!”

“What why? I need my cuddle bear,” he chuckles again and hugs you tighter towards his own body. Your front is pressed to his side as he holds you in place or trying to. You’re a wiggling mess trying to break free from his hold on you.

“Kuroo- I- Let me go!” Your palms press against his rock-solid body and push away making him release you. Your hair got a little ruffled and you give the tall man at your side a pout.

“Aw c’mon princess, don’t give me that pout.” Princess. The nickname he has called you since you were kids. Ever since the both of you used to play prince and princess with Kenma being the bad guy.

“You’re an ass, Kuroo.”

“A sexy ass, right?”

You just roll your eyes at his comment and he smirks at you while taking a sip of his beer. The glass bottle reaching his lips as he takes a chug, and you watch as his thick throat moves as he swallows. You bite the inside of your cheek and take a sip of your drink as well, trying to contain your “innocent” thoughts of Kuroo Tetsurou.

You had always had an attraction for the tall, black-haired man and the fact that he decided to become a fire fighter didn’t make it any easier for you.

The amount of times you had seen him work out with the boys, especially Bokuto didn’t make it easy on you. The man himself was well built and he knew it. Everybody knew it. He often had a girl on his arm and for tonight at this little get together you could see the many women ogling at him, wanting some of him and the thought alone of Kuroo leaving the bar with another woman makes you anxious, jealous, and sad. Sad that you can’t have him that way.

“Oi, earth to (y/n).”

“Hmm? What?”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, tired. I think I’m just gonna head home early.” Kuroo watches as you stand up and start gathering your stuff, which isn’t a lot. It’s a small handbag and your coat.

“I’ll walk you home,” he offers himself and stands up, his tall frame standing by your side as he chugs the rest of his beer down and picks up his phone and wallet that’s left on the table. “Let’s go.”

You both say your goodbyes and exit the bar, Kuroo’s body close to yours as he guides you with one of his hands on your lower back.

Once outside, his hand doesn’t leave your back until you both stop near the traffic light, waiting for it to turn green so you can cross over. There’s silence surrounding both of you, neither of you talking. The sound of the light turning green makes you perch your head up and walk ahead, Kuroo following suit. Once over the very well trafficked road you turn right, towards your apartment.

“You’re quiet.” Turning your head, you see Kuroo watching you, his eyes scanning you as if he’s trying to read you.

“J-Just tired.”

“I don’t buy it, but if you wanna talk I’m here,” he smiles, and you return it. The walk to your apartment goes by fast, way too fast for your liking. You both stop at the entrance to your apartment building, turning around to say goodbye to Kuroo.

“Thanks for keeping me company, you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to. I don’t get to see you pretty and lame face that often anymore.”

“So mean,” you pout again and turn to open the door.

“Kidding, I’m kidding,” he laughs. “I have the next weekend off, wanna hang at my place? Kenma is coming over too.”

“Wait, Kenma is back?”

“He arrives Thursday night.”

“Oh, cool. I’ll make sure to be available.”

“Good. Goodnight (y/n).”

“Goodnight Kuroo.” He turns and walks away. You stand and watch as he walks away, missing his presence already. Wanting to spend time with him, but also not. Being in love with your best friend is awful.

≫ ----- ≪·•♕•·≫ ----- ≪

The sound of something beeping wakes you up from your slumber, the smell of smoke filling up your nostrils. You open your eyes to your dark bedroom; still half asleep you turn on the light on your bedside table. Sitting up on the bed you head to the living room and then to the small, narrow hallway. The smell of smoke is getting stronger and you stark coughing. As you reach your front door, your right hand goes to grab the door handle but soon pull back as it’s burning hot.

What’s going on? you ask yourself and touch your wooden door, feeling it burning hot too. Then it all clicks; the building is on fire.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, what do I do? What can I do? I’m on the 8th floor. Is what’s going through your head. You then remember Kuroo’s words, what he taught you in case a fire were ever to happen. You start pounding on the door, yelling for help. The smoke was getting heavier, you could feel your lungs working hard getting oxygen. You could feel your energy slowly disappearing and your thought becoming more and more foggy. You back away from the door, your back against the wall as you slowly slide down and sit on the floor. Closing your eyes, you, fearing what might happen.

Kuroo, please save me.

“(Y/N)!!!!” A voice screams, or are you imagining things?

“(Y/N)!!!!” This time you perch your head up and look towards your door, just in time for it to break down and a familiar face pops up.

“K-Kuroo?” You cough and he looks serious, and angry.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” another cough. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine. Damnit, why did you stop yelling?”

“Y-You heard me?”

“Of course, I heard you princess, come here. Quickly!” You try to stand up, but your legs give out. Kuroo is quick to catch you in his arms. “God, I am so mad at you right now.”

You stay quiet as you curl your arms around his neck and nuzzle your face into his chest. He hugs your body close to his as he carries you bridal style out of your apartment. The smoke is heavy, and you start to cough some more, your eyes watering from the smoke burning in your eyes.

“Hold on, we’ll be outside soon,” Kuroo explains. Suddenly, there’s a cracking sound and a loud thud. Kuroo wobbles a little but continues to carry you until you reach outside. Fresh air fills your lungs and you pull your head away from Kuroo’s chest and are met with the sight blue and red lights. Fire trucks, ambulance, police, a lot of people in uniforms as they patrol the area.

Kuroo walks you towards an ambulance that is the closest to the two of you and sets you down on the ramp of the ambulance. His body pulls away from yours, and you already miss the warmth from him. You’re only wearing a thin tank top and some short pajama shorts and it being a cold summer night made you freeze, your arms wrapping around your body.

“S’cuse me, do you have a blanket for her?” You hear Kuroo ask one of the ambulance nurses and soon there’s a blanket wrapped around your freezing body. You hug it tightly to your body as Kuroo walks away and talks to what looks like his squad captain. You see Bokuto there as well. Kuroo then takes off his helmet and ruffles his hair. The sight of his crazy bed head always brings a smile to your face.

You can see how there’s a discussion between the three men, Kuroo nods his head a couple of times and points towards your apartment building, or what was your apartment.

Oh shit, all of my stuff. My phone, my ID, my wallet, my laptop. Everything is gone.

You slowly start to panic, but not for too long as a nurse starts to check up on you. How you’re oxygenating, pulse, blood pressure, respiratory rate, temperature, and then some questions. Everything turns out to be normal and the nurse lets you go. You stand up with the blanket still around you and start to walk closer to your burnt down apartment building, only then noticing that you’re barefoot.

“(y/n)?” You turn around and are immediately embraced by strong arms, the familiar scent filling your nostrils. You take a step back to look at your savior only to be met by strong, angry yet mesmerizing gaze.

“You are so lucky you’re alive. God woman you could’ve died. I thought you had already gotten out of the building.”

“I-I’m sorry.” Kuroo embraces you once again and holds you close, his chin on your head. You can feel and hear his heartbeat through his thick uniform, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

“I’m glad that you’re safe. Have you already been checked you out by a nurse?”

“Y-Yeah. They checked me a minute ago. Everything was normal so I’m good to… Oh god, Kuroo my building is gone. Where the hell am I gonna live? I have no money to pay for a hotel or- “

“Whoa, okay take a deep breath (y/n). You can stay at my place.”

“I-I can. Really?” You feel yourself calm down, knowing Kuroo is offering his home to you for a couple of days, at least.

“Sure. You can pay the rent later,” he smirks, and you roll your eyes, but smile.

“Thank you.”

“No worries princess. I’ll drop you off at my place and then I need to head back to the station to work out some stuff, I’ll be home later.”

“Okay.”

≫ ----- ≪·•♕•·≫ ----- ≪

“Oh, you’re still up?” Two hours had gone by as Kuroo finally returns. He’s wearing a pair of black slacks and a black tee.

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep,” you answer him as you’re cuddled up on the sofa watching the news on his TV. Kuroo’s long legs carry him towards you and takes a seat beside you on the sofa. You immediately get butterflies in your stomach.

“Do you want to take a shower?”

“No. I’m too tired for that.”

“Alright, well I’m gonna take one. I smell like smoke and sweat.”

“Yeah you do, I could smell your stank all the way from the elevator,” you smirk and can see Kuroo raise an eyebrow at you and then his lips form into a smirk too.

“Watch it, or I might force you into the shower with me.”

“You wouldn’t.” At those words, Kuroo suddenly has your body over his shoulder and is carrying you towards his bathroom. “Kuroo, oh my god I was kidding. Let me go.”

“You started this, now you’re gonna get it.”

“No, no, no, no. Please. Let me go.”

“I don’t think so.” Kuroo continues walking away from the living room until his feet arrive in his big bathroom, with a big shower. Glass walls covering a big space for the big shower, it could easily fit two people which made you more eager to get down and away from both him and the room.

You start to wiggle more but his grasp on you is firm; he is not letting you go.

“Kuroo. Okay, I’m sorry. I was only joking. You don’t stink, you smell nice actually. Just- NO! KUROO! AAAAAAH!” Kuroo has thrown you into the shower and started the big shower head, cold water pouring on you, hitting your head and then running all the way down to your shoulders, chest and further down.

Your hands immediately go to cover your body as you try to get away from the water. Kuroo’s tall frame is making it hard for you to escape, and he is laughing at you now.

“Kuroo.” You say his name sternly, but he doesn’t budge. He stops laughing and smirks at you. His eyes slowly trailing down your body. Kuroo watches as you tremble from the cold, he can see your nipples peeking through the thin material of your tank, your arms pushing your breast slightly upwards as you try to warm yourself up.

Kuroo gulps as he watches your body shake, his eyes fixated on your breasts. He turns around and walks to his sink. You watch as he opens the cabinet underneath the sink and start pulling out a big fluffy white towel. You just stand still and watch his back muscles work as he gathers yet another towel and places them on the sink as he stands straight again.

Kuroo turns and you lock gazes. The temperature in the shower has turned warm and you’re no longer covering your body. You’re watching him, he is watching you.

“Fuck this,” you hear him say underneath his breath and walks into the shower and pushes your body against the cold tiles making your back arch. His lips crash against yours, his tongue quickly invading your mouth. His large hands gripping your shoulders, his long fingers digging into your skin.

“Kuroo,” you moan against his lips, them never leaving yours. Your head spinning from all the endorphins that are flooding your system. Both of your eyes closed, tongues dancing with each other; feeling, loving, tasting.

Your hands grip his now wet shirt while his hands have moved to your waist, his soft hands holding you in place, as if he’s afraid that if he lets go, you’ll disappear. His lips then decide to pull back and you open your eyes to gaze into his hazel orbs; they’re darker than usual. Kuroo’s eyes have always had some light in them, but tonight, they’re different.

His forehead goes down until you can feel it make contact with your shoulder.

“Kuroo- “

“I want you. Fuck I want you so bad. I’ve wanted you for years and now that you’re wet and almost naked in front of my I can’t control myself,” he confesses and all you can do it stand still and listen, feeling like everything you’ve ever wanted is in front of you and now, finally you can grasp it.

Placing both hands on Kuroo’s wet chest, feeling his hard and solid chest underneath the wet material that’s hugging his body.

“Don’t hold back.” Just as you finish this sentence, his hands quickly tear your tank into pieces and squeezed both of your breasts in his palms. His mouth is back on yours in a second and you throw your arms around his neck. Pulling him closer to you, making him press both of his palms between your head, keeping you caged.

But he composes himself quickly and pulls back but only to throw his wet shirt off him. You scan his beautiful and well sculptured body and drink him in, just this makes your pussy throb for him.

The wet shirt lands on a pile next to your torn tank. Kuroo’s large hands palms your face, his lips crashing onto yours once again.

The now warm water is crashing against your head, drenching your hair further. Your whole body is wet, a pool of wetness has formed in your panties from the small action of kissing Kuroo.

His lips start to kiss their way down, stopping at your chest to give your breasts some attention. His tongue circling around your nipples, making you throw your head back and moan. Fisting a handful of his wet locks in your hands.

His lips continue their way down, his index and middle fingers grab the waistband of your pajama bottoms and drag them down your legs, along with your panties, throwing them to the large pile of wet clothes that has formed outside the shower.

He stands up and throws off his slacks and briefs in one go. His semi-hard cock slaps against his lower abdomen, your eyes locked on his member that has made an entrance.

“My eyes are up here princess,” the nickname he always used on you hits different now when you’re both naked in front of each other. It feels more intimate and you love it.

You pull your lower lip in between your teeth, biting down on it as you look up and meet his gaze. His eyes are watching yours, his hazel eyes filled with lust, his mind has only one thing on his mind and that is having his hard cock in-between your folds.

Kuroo takes two steps forward and now he’s in front of you, you’re eyeing his chest, but he lowers his upper body, so his face is right in front of yours.

“Be a good girl and do as I say princess.”

“O-Okay.” Kuroo lowers himself so he’s on his knees, right in front of your private parts. You feel slightly ashamed and try to cover yourself but Kuroo slaps your hands away.

“Don’t. I’m about to have my meal, don’t interrupt me princess.” With your back against the wall of his big shower, he grabs your left leg, his hands on your thigh as he throws it over his right shoulder. You lose balance for a second but regain it quickly by grabbing onto his hair.

“Hold on tight,” he throws your right leg over his other shoulder and holds your weight up with his shoulders. This makes you let out a squeal, but you are quickly silenced as his lips wrap themselves around your clit. You let out a moan and look ahead of you and to your surprise you see the both of you in his bathroom mirror that almost cover his whole bathroom wall.

You see Kuroo sucking on your clit in the mirror, his tongue leaps out now and then and flicks on it. The length of his tongue even going so far back and start to flick on your opening.

“Oh, Kuroo,” you moan. You tilt your head down and see him watching you as he continues to suck on your sensitive bud. He pulls back slightly and then spits on your clit.

“You taste so good princess,” and his mouth and tongue’s back on your cunt, sucking up all your juices. “So sweet. I’m hungry for more and I’m just getting started.”

“Fu- Kuroo. I- Shit.” His tongue licks you up and down your slit. He stops when he after some time reaches your clit and with the tip of his tongue, starts flicking it fast.

Still having all of your weight on his shoulders, he pushes his index finger inside your folds, and you can’t help but clamp around him. He adds another finger and starts thrusting them with an even tempo. His lips sucks on your bud and you feel the pressure in your abdomen increase. You’re fisting two handfuls of his hair in your palms, eyes closed, head tilted back and your back arches as you feel yourself come closer and closer to a release.

“Cum for me princess. Cum all over my tongue.” You open your eyes and look into the mirror and watch yourself cum, making a lewd face. You cum all over his tongue, filling his taste buds with your juices and Kuroo drinks you all up.

The water has made his hair all damp, it falls over his face as he stands up straight. Your legs barely holding you up after the orgasm you just experienced. He pushes his hair back and smirks at you, his hazels looking at you as he sucks the rest of your juices from his fingers.

“You taste fucking delicious,” he speaks. His voice hoarse and raw. “C’mere.” You step forward until you’re in front of him. He grabs your left arm and pulls you forward until you crash against his naked chest and his lips are instantly on yours, capturing and captivating you. You can taste yourself on his tongue and lips.

He holds you in his arms as he turns you around and starts walking forward, making you walk in reverse. You crash against something cold; he turns you around and you see that he has led you to the sink. Your back is against his front, he is holding your shoulders in place. He lowers his face close to your ear, and softly speaks: “Did you like watching yourself cum in the mirror princess?”

His words make your whole-body shudder and you can’t help but moan. You love this man with your whole mind, body and soul and would do anything for him, and you’d let him do anything to you at this moment.

“I’m gonna fuck you in front of this mirror and you’re gonna watch me, my cock thrust inside that tight cunt of yours.”

“Mhm, Kuroo please.”

“Please what, kitten?” This new nickname has shivers covering your body and you groan, wanting his cock inside you.

“Please, I want your cock, Tetsurou.”

“Fuck (y/n),” Kuroo groans and hitches your right leg up, flashing your private parts to the mirror. “Watch as I fuck you.”

From behind Kuroo fists his cock in his palm, centers the head of his cock between your folds and lubricates both you and him with your juices.

“Kuroo, just fuck-oh!” Without warning he pushes his length inside you. His cock is big, he’s bigger that what you thought. There’s a slight burning sensation as he stretches your walls. He has stopped his motions, waiting for you to get used to his size before he starts moving.

Kuroo’s other arm goes around your body and towards your face, turning it so you’re facing him. His eyes are lust filled and he leaves a soft kiss on your lips.

“You’re so tight princess,” he grunts.

He slowly thrusts out of you only for his hips to collide back with your ass, the friction of his hips hitting your bare skin making a loud smacking noise to echo in his big bathroom. The feeling of his large cock going in and out of you has you whimpering; you want more.

“Look into the mirror and watch as my cock pushes in and out of your beautiful cunt.” His cock is sliding in and out of your folds so easily. You turn your face forward and look at your crotch and see the way he is thrusting his erect member inside of you. Your cheeks are heating up with embarrassment, you feel exposed but still there’s something intriguing with watching someone, and that someone being Kuroo fuck you in front of a mirror this way.

His right arm hitches your leg up higher, opening you up wider. His left hand goes up towards your face and holds your jaw in place. Your eyes scan his face in the mirror, he’s watching you. The pleasure in your expression as you feel him fucking you like you’ve never been fucked before. You let your gaze settle where the two of you connect and you see his cock, covered in white cream.

“You’re so wet (y/n), fuck. It’s like your cunt is pulling me inside you, like a vortex.”

“K-Kuroo, fuck me harder.” His hips still and he watches your face in the mirror, covered with your lewd expression. To Kuroo, you look like a horny slut that needs to be roughly fucked. Kuroo has never seen you look like this before and it’s killing him from the inside. Just watching your face has his cock twitching in excitement.

“Oh?” His cocky smirk erupts, and he placed your leg down, your warm foot making contact with the cold floor. “Bend over.”

Bending over and arching your back you hear his breath hitch at your action. He’s drinking in your nakedness. His eyes are looking at your cunt, where his cock is buried deep inside you and he can see and feel how you’re clamping around his shaft.

“Fuck princess, you look so sexy like this. Bent over with my cock deep inside of you.” His hands grab your hips as thrusts hard into you. You watch him in the mirror, his mouth slightly open, eyes closed and the two veins popping out from his neck. His pecks glistening from the water and sweat that has formed and you could just cum from the sight that you’re beholding.

His nails dig into your hips as he thrusts harder into your cunt, his cock filling you all the way. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to the new position that he has you in, he is devouring your cunt with his large cock and Kuroo doesn’t care either, he is completely drunk on the pleasure from fucking you. He’s ramming into you from behind, he’s no gentlemen.

“Shit princess,” he moans, throwing his head back. His hips slamming into yours, you watch him in the mirror. Your tits bouncing, your mouth open as loud moans escape. One of his arms goes to palm your breast as his other goes to grab a hold of your wet hair, pulling it back, exposing your throat to the mirror.

“Next time I fuck you, I’m gonna fuck that pretty throat of yours.”

“Mhm, please.”

“Look at you princess, begging for my cock like a whore,” he grunts as he continues to ram into you like a wild animal. Your eyes are watering from all the pleasure you’re receiving. You close your eyes for a second, drowning in the way he’s fucking you. He’s hitting your g-spot so delicately and you can feel the pressure in your abdomen returning.

“Eyes on me kitten. Oh fuck, I wanna watch you cum,” his palm collides with your ass, giving it a hard smack. You open your eyes and lock eyes with him, his hazels are watching your (y/e/c)’s. His eyes hardly concentrating on yours and he quicken his pace, his hips slapping and hitting yours hard and you see his muscles twitching and flexing.

“Cum kitten, Cum for me, fuck cum!”

“T-Tetsurou,” you moan out loudly. Your arms going forward to grip the sink, to help you with your balance as your legs starts to shake and you can feel your muscles giving up, but Kuroo is fast to hold your hips in place with his arms as he leans closer to you, his front against your back as his hips still thrusts into you.

“I-I’m gonna cum (y/n).”

“Cum inside me Kuroo.”

“F-Fuck princess I- I’m cumming. FUCK!” Kuroo’s hips still and he grunts and moans in your ear as he cums and you join him. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you yell out his name. His cock is twitching inside of your cunt, he’s milking you with his seed. Your legs are shaking, and you feel like you’re gonna fall.

“I gotchu princess,” his voice comes out softly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m not letting you go,” he places a soft kiss on your cheek and then trails down to your neck.

“Now or in general?”

“Now and in general stupid,” he bites down on your shoulder and it makes you squeal and giggle. Kuroo laughs at your reaction and pulls away. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Kuroo pulls out of you and grabs the nearest towel he can find and starts to clean you up, a smirk on his face. He doesn’t need to say anything for you to know what he is thinking.

A blush creeps up on your cheeks and you watch him throw the towel into the washing bin. He grabs your hand and leads you out of the bathroom, turning off the lights. You reach his bedroom and he turn on the lights, a king size bed in the middle of his room.

Kuroo lets go of your hand and walks to his closet. He grabs a black tee and two pair of briefs. He turns around and walks to where you’re still standing and gives you the tee and a pair of briefs.

“I know you don’t like sleeping naked so here, put them on,” he smiles softly and takes the other pair of briefs and pulls them up his legs.

“Thanks,” pulling on the tee and briefs you let out a breath you’ve been holding, it turns into a yawn and you feel exhausted.

“Let’s sleep princess.”

“Okay.” Kuroo pulls away the duvet and takes the right side of his bed, climbing in. You do the same on the other side. You settle in bed and see him reach for a button on his side of the bed, turning the lights off making the room pitch black.

Minutes pass and there’s an awkward tension in the room. Neither Kuroo nor you have spoken about what happened in the bathroom, but you remember his words that keep echoing in your head: I want you. Fuck I want you so bad. I’ve wanted you for years and now that you’re wet and almost naked in front of my I can’t control myself.

Kuroo has wanted you for years, he confessed to you and he still doesn’t know you feel the same.

“I have loved you since we were 15,” you finally confess, your eyes watching the ceiling. “I still do.”

Kuroo’s head quickly turns to watch you, the light from outside illuminating your soft skin, especially your beautiful face that he can’t keep his eyes off. He is watching you with adoring eyes, his chest feeling heavy and his belly fluttering from your confession.

“I have never loved someone as much as I love you Kuroo. My heart is yours if you’ll have me.” This time you turn your head to watch him. His expression hard to read.

He turns his body towards you and with one arm pulls you towards him, your faces only inches apart.

“I love you too (y/n),” he kisses you softly and you welcome it. “I’ll have you in any way I can have you. You’re mine now princess.”

“I am yours Tetsurou. Please take care of me.”

“I already did, or do you want more?”

“You know what I mean dumbass,” you giggle and feel happy and content. The fire in his eyes burning with passion and love for you.

You’ve found your prince and him his princess, for real this time.

#haikyuu!!#kuroo tetsurou #haikyuu!! smut #hqhq server collab #kuroo smut #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #hq #haikyuu #haikyuu smut #sanda writes #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsuro #my writing

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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years

Text

crayons & caresses

summary: you know it’s wrong, that pining after your student’s father is wildly inappropriate, but gosh if john deacon isn’t the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

word count: 12k+

warnings: pining to the extreme!, slight angst, discussions of parental death, health scare + medical response, alcohol, language, innuendo, suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful)

a/n: mechanic/singledad!john is everything i didn’t know i needed in my life. also: WOW this took me a long ass time because i find john the hardest to write, but i love him so. much. so hopefully it’s worth the wait.

(photo: originally from @davidgayhan i think?? ugh look at him. i drool. yes i did set this during the brief short-perm-montreal moment. sue me)

september, 1981.

you love all of your students equally. each one is like a fingerprint on your heart: unique in their own way, made up of patterns and histories you will never be able to appreciate in full before they are whisked away to their next year. it is safe to say you adore the collection of twenty-four seven year olds who walk into your classroom each morning. their bright faces, some still chubby with baby fat, fill the lonely parts of your soul, and you leave your flat each morning with a sense of purpose and duty. you are their teacher, their guide through some of the most crucial parts of learning. it is an honor and a privilege to teach them—each and every one. but there is one student who sticks out among the rest.

his name is beau deacon.

beau is remarkably quiet. he’s small for his age, both in height and in weight. at times, he appears frail, what with the way he sits by himself in the corner during reading hour, flipping through a picture book with glazed over eyes, never really concentrating on what’s before him. he walks slowly during recess, preferring to stay by himself and drag a stick along the blacktop than play a game of kickball with the other boys. he whispers when he speaks and avoids meeting the eyes of those who do try and pry a few words from him.

you try to engage him—really, you do—but nothing seems to stick. not the participation reward system you build just for him, but use for the entire class. not moving his desk closer to yours. not even coercing your best friend ami to bring in her therapy dogs one afternoon early in the year. despite your best efforts, beau remains decidedly uninterested and removed.

it bothers and worries you to the point of questioning your colleague on the matter. martha is sixty, but spry as ever. she’s been your confidant this last year. you’re new to teaching, green as ever, but she has welcomed you with open arms and a plethora of advice. you feel comfortable sidling up next to her in the car-line one friday afternoon. it’s hot outside, summer not yet allowing autumn to take root, so you hold a hand over your eyes to shade yourself from the sun.

“can i ask you something?” you say, keeping your eyes trained on the children who filter out of the school and into their parent’s waiting vehicles.

“as long as it’s not about sex,” martha mutters. “haven’t had a good romp in so long i don’t even know if it still works the same way.”

you swallow a laugh as a trio of students pass you by. their mother waves over her shoulder, shouting her thanks, before shoving the children in the backseat of a tan mini-van. you watch the van pull away, another car rolling forward to take its place, before asking your question.

“beau deacon,” you start, hoping that, if you simply say his name, martha will fill in the gaps herself.

blessedly, martha twists and nods with a knowing smile. “i know that tyke well. had him last year.”

you release a huff of air in relief. “oh thank goodness. i’m almost beside myself. i don’t know what to do with him.” you frown as you attempt to speak as diplomatically about your student as possible. “he’s awful quiet. he doesn’t play with any of the children and barely looks at me when i speak to him. how’d you manage?”

to your dismay, the older woman just shrugs. “i didn’t really. his mum died all sudden like about halfway through the year, and he clammed up. no matter what i did, what tricks i tried to pull, he stayed completely unmovable.”

“oh.” your shoulders drop in defeat. “i didn’t know.” truthfully, your heart tugs for the child. to lose one’s mother at such a tender age? you can’t imagine the world of hurt he lives in. it’s no wonder he sticks to himself.

“you didn’t speak with his father?”

“no. was i have supposed to?”

“no, not necessarily. mr. deacon was helpful on a few occasions last year. we were sort of a united front, i’d say, when things were particularly bad in the beginning. perhaps give him a call. at least to let him know you’re in his corner.” she smiles and squeezes your bicep. “and you can always come to me, love. i may not have all the answers but i do have some.”

“thank you, martha. i think giving mr. deacon a call might be smart—” you turn at the tell-tale sound of feet dragging against the ground. in the few weeks since classes have started, you’ve grown to know the sound of beau deacon’s footsteps better than your own. he’s always on your mind, the sullen little boy with glasses, so it’s hard not to pounce on him with love when you turn around to see him in the school doorway. “oh! beau! we were just talking about you.”

beau stops walking, and his grip tightens on the straps of his backpack. he doesn’t look up at you, doesn’t say anything. he simply stands there, as if he’s listening but doesn’t know how to respond, so you soldier forward.

“do you have any big plans for the weekend, beau?” you ask.

he shakes his head.

“none with your father?”

another shake of the head.

“well, perhaps you’ll do something fun and you can tell us about it on monday, yeah?”

to your surprise, he nods, which is more than he does most days. you can’t help the smile that claims your lips and the way your arm waves a little too hard to his retreating form. he walks to a faded old corvette and opens the passenger door with ease. you can hear a muffled voice—his father’s no doubt—and see the man stretch his arm out to take beau’s backpack.

but then the car door is shut, and the chevy pulls out of the parking lot with too much speed to be safe when a child is in the front.

you glance at martha. she rolls her eyes and mouths men. you can’t help but agree.

a week passes before you finally find the time to phone beau’s father. you find his name—john richard deacon—and a telephone number in beau’s emergency contact form, shoved amongst a stack of other hastily filled-out parent paperwork. there’s no secondary number listed—not even a distant relative or family friend—so if the call doesn’t work, you aren’t sure what your next move will be. even so, after all the children have left and the other teachers are beginning to close their classrooms for the day, you slouch at your desk and punch the numbers into the phone. it rings three times before someone picks up.

“taylor auto-repair. this is rog.”

the voice on the other end is high and scratchy. you’re taken aback, both by the man on the phone and the blaring rock n roll music in the background. you aren’t an expert, but it sounds like zeppelin. not what you’d expected.

“hello?”

you shake yourself free of surprise, and the wheels beneath your chair scrape against the linoleum floor as you sit forward. “oh, sorry. i thought i was calling the deacon residence?”

“deacon? like john deacon?”

“yes, i’m beau’s schoolteacher. i thought—well, this was the number on the contact form.”

there’s a sigh, and the phone brushes against something rough before rog says anything more. “hold on.” when he speaks next, his voice is distant yet poorly muffled. “deaky! there’s some bird on the phone for you! what have i told ya about putting the shop’s number down instead of the house’s? fuckin’ hell, mate.”

you frown, pressing your fingers to your lips as you wait for... deaky... to take the phone from his co-worker. when a new voice does appear on the line, you again find yourself surprised.

“hello? this is john deacon.” john’s voice is almost lilting, like a song. it’s soft, comforting—though how you determine this from four simple words is beyond your understanding.

“mr. deacon, hi! my name is [y/n] [y/l/n]. i’m beau’s teacher. i thought we might have an over-due chat, if you have the time?”

“oh, hello.” there’s a pause on the other end, as if he’s considering whether or not he’ll entertain your out-of-the-blue phone call. “has beau done something wrong?”

you laugh despite the worried edge to his tone. “no, absolutely not! beau is a delight. he’s practically a model student. however, i do have a few concerns... do you have a moment?”

“yes, i can have. just give me a second.” the line goes muffled again, the only sound a fading rolling stone’s song before all goes quiet. you hear a door shut and the squeak of a chair before john speaks again. “i suppose this is about beau’s shyness?”

you choose your next words carefully, uncertain if john simply cannot accept his son’s retreat into himself or if he does not see it. you’d rather not jump to conclusions and alienate him on your first phone call, but you must admit your unease at hearing the word shyness. beau is far more than shy. despite the frown puckering your brow, you hold your concerns close to your chest for the moment.

“shyness is a word one could use, yes.”

“he’s been that way since his mum died last year.”

rolling your lower lip between your teeth, you nod. “i heard. i’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

john makes a noise somewhere between a huff and a grunt and does not acknowledge your paltry offer of condolence. “if you’re calling to ask how you can fix ‘im, i don’t have any answers for you.”

“i don’t want to fix him, mr. deacon,” you say. “i simply want to help.”

“i’m sure you’ve spoken with mrs. cooper then.” he sighs, and the sound seems to rattle the receiver pressed against your ear. “look, i appreciate what you both are trying to do for beau. but he’s young, and the pain of losing his mum— i just don’t want him to rush into moving on.”

“oh, mr. deacon, that’s not my intention at all!” you wince at the high-pitch of your voice and clear your throat. good lord, this was not going as you’d planned. “i just want him to feel comfortable in the classroom, that’s all.”

“that’s kind of you, but i think it might be easier if you just let beau work it out for himself.”

you fall silent and glance down at the hem of your blouse. there’s a blue thread dangling from the article of clothing, and you pull on it, watching the thread unravel until it falls free from the shirt itself.

in all honesty, you’re puzzled by john’s hesitance to so much as entertain your concern. anyone—student, teacher, classroom parent—who comes across beau knows he’s more than shy. it’s written in his face, in the way he holds himself, in the way he shuffles aimlessly to and fro. god, he breaks your heart. you want to wrap him in a blanket and protect him from the cruel world.

but you’re not his mother. you’re merely his teacher, and you must respect john’s wishes despite how wrong you think they are. perhaps, in time, he will come around, see the need for a little concerted effort in helping beau work through his obvious grief-stricken state.

“is there anything more i can do for you, ms. [y/l/n]?”

clearing your throat again, you sit straighter in your chair and fiddle with a pen on your desk. you click the depressor up and down, up and down. “no, there’s not. i’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

“you didn’t,” john says—and his voice has that indescribable soft quality you noted the moment he first spoke. “really, it does mean something to me that you even thought to call.”

“i care for my students a great deal.” you aren’t sure what brings the words to your lips, but the second they fall past your tongue, a flush crawls up the back of your neck. you’re sure you sound like a petulant child, whining at the mere inconvenience of a rejected idea.

“i can tell.” his tone is anything but salty. in fact, the truth dripping from each word leaves you decidedly flustered. you click the pen faster, your leg bouncing beneath the desk.

“yes—well—i’ll leave you to it.” though you add, “if ever there’s something i can do for beau, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“i’ll be sure to.”

after a rushed goodbye, you drop the phone to its base. the hard-plastic clatters, the coiled wire dropping in a pile on the desk. you press your fingers to your eyelids and groan. both deacon boys, it seems, have the power to infuriate and melt you at the precisely the same moment.

this, you think, does not bode well for the rest of the year.

if you’re being honest, you have to admit that you think of john deacon often as the school year falls into a comfortable rhythm. no matter how hard you try to forget the phone call, forget the way his voice lulled you into a strange sense of serenity, he’s like a specter in the back of your mind: always there and definitely uninvited.

still...

when the children work silently at their desks, you sit behind yours and struggle to keep your mind from wandering to either of the deacon boys. when you greet beau as he walks through the door each morning, you resist the urge to drop a question about his father’s well-being. when the faded red corvette pulls to the curb each afternoon, you bite your tongue and fist your hands at your sides to keep from introducing yourself properly through the open window.

it’s embarrassing, really, how much the phone call with john deacon has affected you. it’s embarrassing how... interested you are in his life. you’re a schoolgirl with a crush—a crush on a man you’ve never even seen! if you were to admit your undue fascination with the deacon household to your best friend ami she would laugh in your face and remind you how desperately you need to get out more. you keep your wonderings and your daydreams to yourself to save her the trouble of telling you what you already know.

come mid-november, when the students are well-adjusted to their daily routine and you’ve learned how to juggle so many personalities at once, you finally pause to take a breath. the breath comes at the end of a school-day. it’s drizzling outside—not raining, but not dry either. the sky is a wash of gray and a deep purple. there’s a storm coming, a bad one too from the looks of it. humming to yourself and contemplating whether or not you should stop by the grocery on your way home, you tug on your jacket and step outside the school into the chilled autumn air.

you’re about to cross the parking lot to your car when you hear a harsh sniffle come from your left. you pause, keys in hand, and twist to see a huddled form on the curb. it’s clearly a student and a young one at that. knees drawn to their chest, backpack large over their back, fingers interlaced on their knees, they are the picture of a frightened schoolchild. the hood of their blue raincoat obscures any defining features, so you hustle to their side and kneel down, but not before glancing at your watch.

nearly four. someone’s been forgotten.

“hey?” you tilt your head to try and catch a glimpse of the face beneath the shade of the jacket hood. “did mum not come through the car line?”

you barely stifle your gasp when the slick raincoat crinkles as the student turns to meet your gaze.

it’s beau deacon.

his eyes are puffy, tears still clinging to his blotchy cheeks. beneath the wide frames of his glasses, fear swims across his gaze. he draws in his lower lip and rubs his hand under his nose. his eyes flicker to the ground, his toes tilting inward.

you press a hand to his shoulder. he feels so small beneath your palm, like a fragile piece of clay, molded by tragedy and loss in such a short span of time. “where’s your father, beau?”

he shrugs. “dunno.”

“i guess he’s running late.” you look at your watch. very late. “should we give him a call?”

beau nods, and you stretch to your full height, offering your hand to help him from the curb. beau does not take it as he stands. he pushes his glasses up his nose and follows you inside the school office where he hesitates in the doorway as you borrow the receptionist’s phone to call the auto-shop.

no one answers.

lowering the phone to its base, you look over your shoulder. through the venetian blinds you can see the sky darkening as you hem-and-haw. in the distance there’s a flash of lightening, and fat raindrops dot the tan sidewalk.

you could leave beau with the receptionist. it’s not uncommon for parents to run late or completely forget about their child. normally, betty calls the child’s guardian and gives the waiting student a granola bar and coloring page or picture book to flip through as they wait for the mortified adult to speed to school. there’s nothing obligating you to stay.

just as there’s nothing obligating you to offer to drive beau home.

you look at betty and calculate the words of your offer. “would it be wrong of me to drive beau home? he lives on my way ‘s all.” boldfaced lie—at least, you think—but what betty doesn’t know can’t hurt her.

betty doesn’t stop clacking on her electronic typewriter. “i don’t think so.” she peers over her glasses at the clock hanging over the door, still typing. “i’ve got a dentist appointment in half an hour, so i don’t have time to wait around today. you’d be doing me a favor, love.”

“alright, it’s settled then.” you slip the thin strap of your purse over your shoulder and turn to beau with a toothy grin. “i’ll drive you home. maybe your father just isn’t feeling well today and overslept?”

beau frowns, and inwardly, you cringe, your smile faltering. beau’s mother died of an illness, so it likely disconcerts him to think of his father in a similar state. in a piss poor attempt at an apology, you grab a piece of chocolate from the bowl near betty’s desk and slip it in beau’s hand as you make your way to the parking lot. the faintest flicker of a grin crosses his face as he methodically unwraps the candy. you take that as a sign of forgiveness.

once beau is snug in the backseat of your station wagon, you pull into traffic with a bubble of giddiness in your stomach. what you’re doing is ridiculous. though you feel horrid beau was left behind, there’s a sick park of you that is glad for it. it’s unlikely you’ll ever meet john deacon unless fate throws you together. he did not attend back to school night, and as a single father, you doubt he has time for any of the other parent-student events on schedule for the rest of the year. in all honesty, you’re taking this opportunity to put a face to the man behind the phone call that’s plagued you with daydreams since it occurred.

if you can just see his face, just learn what he looks like, perhaps the fascination with fade. unless, of course, he turns out to be as attractive as your mind has made him out to be and then you’ll be in even hotter water than you are now.

adjusting yourself in your seat, you glance in the rearview mirror. beau has his head pressed against the foggy glass of the window, his eyes scanning back and forth as he takes in the surrounding scenery. rain droplets create dark shadows over his face, and you wonder if that’s what he feels like on the inside: foggy and rainy and shadowy. you shake the thought free; you read too many melodramatic novels.

“so, beau, what’s your address?” you ask, your tone obnoxiously chipper. he tells you, and you shrug as you tighten your grip on the steering wheel. “gotta give me more than that, hun. do you remember how to get home? do you think you could tell me?”

beau nods and scoots away from the window, leaning nearer the space between the driver and passenger seats. there a gleam in his eye. you catch sight of it as you turn right at his instruction and see him hovering near your shoulder. it seems that with each turn you make his voice inches a decibel louder until you can hear every word with a clarity previously unknown. he’s confident when he’s instructing you, when he knows what he’s supposed to do.

he’s confident when he’s helping.

you tuck the bit of knowledge away for later as you pull into the cracked driveway of a red-brick bungalow. the house is small and unadorned, the homes on opposite sides just as plain and simple. a single spruce tree, like something out of a holiday catalog, is the only foliage in the yard. gauzy curtains are drawn to block the sunlight coming through the two bay windows framing the white front door.

you turn the car off as beau slides across the bench to open the car door. grabbing your handbag, you all but tumble after him, hastening up the sidewalk.

“wait a minute! beau!” you punctuate your call with a breathy laugh and smooth the sides of your hair back as you approach the front door. the bubble of giddiness from moments before has turned to a bubble of nerves, and once again, you realize this moment is entirely ridiculous. still, you adjust your blouse and straighten the crooked edge of your collar.

beau’s left the front door open, his shoes and backpack already tossed on the living room floor. you hesitate at the threshold. you haven’t been properly invited in, but the open door might just be beau’s way of telling you it’s alright to invade his home. at least, that’s the message you decide to take.

crossing the threshold, you hold tight to the strap of your purse and glance around the cramped front living area. beau’s nowhere to be seen, and the home is silent as the grave. you bite the tip of your tongue when your gaze falls over a photograph of a woman holding a baby. it’s beau and his mother; has to be.

maybe... maybe you’ve overstepped your—

“beau, is that you?” the sound of heavy footfalls on stairs snaps your attention away from the photograph. before you can slip away and forget you ever had the silly notion of meeting your student’s father with the intent of something other than a professional hello, a man rounds the corner.

your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. it’s not the john deacon you’d imagined.

he’s shorter than you pictured, only several inches taller than yourself. his jaw is sharp, peppered with a five o’clock shadow, and a thick mustache almost covers his upper lip. a white wife-beater tucked into green trousers completes the ensemble, and his bare feet pad across the floor as he sticks his hand out in greeting.

“you must be the teacher!” he pumps your hand up and down, his grip crushing but his smile wide. his voice is friendly and welcoming, though you can’t be sure it was the voice you heard over the phone. so many days have passed since then, perhaps you just forgot, though it’s highly unlikely.

“i’ve been trying to call deaky ever since i got here, but the damn fool just won’t pick up. i don’t even know where beau’s school is so i couldn’t come and get him myself. the ship we run here isn’t very tight.” he rolls his eyes with a grin. “thanks for bringing him home, darling.”

your head swims as you struggle to keep up with the man’s fast pace. so, he isn’t john deacon? and john deacon isn’t here? you open your mouth to ask the first of several questions but he beats you to it.

“hell, you look positively confused. shut the door, won’t you? the rain’s getting in, and molly was always worried about the the hardwood. i’ll put on the kettle.”

“oh, i don’t—”

he bumps your hip toward the door. “nonsense! deaky will want to thank you for driving beau home.” he’s around the corner before you can refuse, so you shut the front door against the steady rain and slip off your shoes, leaving them beside the two pairs already against the baseboard.

you’re quick to follow him to the kitchen. the walls are a muted yellow, the countertops clear but the sink full of unwashed dishes. the refrigerator in the corner is bare save for the back to school letter you gave to each student to bring home to their parents. that—and a photograph of four men in a basement. it appears to be a homegrown band of sorts, and the man behind the drumkit is shouting at the man who looks like an overgrown string bean. you’re not sure which one is john, so you turn away, feeling rather out of place when the man at the stovetop says:

“beau’s probably in his room. he always holes himself away as soon as he gets back. doesn’t come out until supper. that’s when deaky gets home.” a pair of mugs clatter against each other as he pulls them from a cupboard. “brian says it’s just a phase, that he’ll grow out of it once he processes molly’s death, but i’m not certain.” the man’s eyes flicker to you, and he laughs, loud and short. “oh dear, i’ve done it again! i forgot you’re not in the loop. i’m freddie,” he explains. “part-time nanny, full-time diva.”

you accept the mug of tea as freddie passes it to you, a smile lifting your tight mouth. “[y/n] [y/l/n]. so you’re beau’s... nanny?”

freddie drops to the round kitchen table shoved in the space between the kitchen counter and the wall. you follow suit and stir a drop of sugar in your tea. “you could call it that. i just watch him in the afternoons, between school and deaky getting home.” he sighs. “since molly... well, things have been hard to juggle.”

“i thought mr. deacon picked beau up from school? unless that was you in the car i saw?”

“heavens no! i don’t drive!” freddie laughs again. “that was deaky you saw. he takes his break at the garage long enough to pick beau up and bring him here. i guess he and rog were overrun today. bet beau was terrified. poor dear...”

you glance over your shoulder, down the dim hallway leading to, you assume, beau’s bedroom. there’s a half-full laundry basket deposited outside another open door, perhaps the bathroom. a few mislaid toys litter the carpet. it’s reassuring, knowing that beau has a few good men in his life, willing and ready to raise him. still, there’s a pervading sense of loneliness throughout the bungalow. you saw it in the photos on the living room wall, but it’s here too: in the dead roses, brittle to the touch, in the table vase; in the index-card note tucked on a notch in the cupboard, the feminine handwriting unreadable from your spot at the table.

freddie’s voice is somber when its breaks through the thick air. “complications of pneumonia,” he says, following your gaze to a wedding photo on the hallway wall. “it came on quick but didn’t last long, thank heaven.”

unbidden, tears prick the corners of your eyes. you’ve never felt more like an intruder—and you know why.

your crush on john deacon is misplaced. you see that now. realizing what you’ve done in coming here—twist a child’s terrified moment of abandonment for your gain—makes you sick to your stomach. what kind of person are you? assuming a recently widowed father would be at all interested in his son’s pesky teacher? the thought brings a flush to your cheeks, and you rise from the table all too fast. the mugs of tea wobble when your knee connects with the underside of the table.

freddie frowns at you. “you okay, love?”

“i—” how to explain yourself without sounding a total fool or heartless woman? “i think i’ve overstayed my welcome” is all that comes to mind, and you aren’t surprised when freddie uses his foot to push your chair back out from under the table.

“sit down. john will be home soon. let him thank you then you can go.”

from where you stand, you look to your right. the front door practically screams for you to politely decline freddie’s insistence and high-tail it to your car, to get out while you still have the chance. but he’s making it too easy to stay for what you’ve come for: a peek at the illusive john deacon. you know you should go, that you should leave well enough alone, but despite your best intentions, you find yourself sitting down again and allowing freddie to bombard you with questions about teaching life.

half an hour later, when your sides hurt from laughing while freddie regales you with the dramatic story of beau’s birth, the door to the garage opens and closes with a loud click. you twist in your seat, arm draped over the back, and bite your lip hard to keep from drawing in a sharp breath.

by god, he’s a stone-cold looker. better than you could have imagined.

john deacon stands in front of the garage door, his head of tight curls wet from the rain. he’s tall but not towering, his shoulders made broad by the leather jacket across his back. he hasn’t noticed you or freddie as he’s too preoccupied with wiping the grease on his fingers across a piece of soiled cloth. he turns, not towards you, but towards the hallway when beau tumbles out of his room with a shout of joy. beau races down the hall, his arms extended, and jumps into his father’s waiting embrace. john mumbles something in his son’s ear, ruffling his hair, before dropping him back to the ground. the sullen little boy jumps around his father’s feet, chattering in great detail about his day at school, though he forgoes mentioning his father’s absence in the car-line.

you exhale, a wash of new tears covering your eyes as you stare at beau. he can be happy. you’d thought it impossible.

you must have exhaled louder than you thought because john looks over at the sound. his brow tightens in a frown of confusion, his eyes flicking back and forth between yourself and freddie, but freddie is quick to explain. he stands from the table and takes your hand, pulling you to your feet.

“deaky, this is [y/n] [y/l/n], beau’s teacher. remember you spoke to her on the phone?”

your cheeks heat at the thought of him mentioning the phone call beyond the walls of the auto-shop. warmth spreads over your face even further when he gives you a tight-lipped smile and extends his hand. you slip your fingers over his palm, and he shakes your hand.

for a moment, your hands linger as john glances at beau, who is tucked behind his leg. he cringes, groaning. “please tell me you didn’t go out of your way to bring beau home today?”

you drop your hand from his and clasp your fingers before your waist. scrunching your nose, you tilt your head to the side. “well...”

“bloody hell,” john murmurs. he screws his eyes shut and runs a palm down his face. “i’m sorry,” he says. “you shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“it was no trouble, really. in fact, you live on my way home.” the comment isn’t a falsehood. you’d realized as beau pointed his way home that your flat lie only a minutes down the road. just as it had then, the realization sends a nervous clench to your stomach now. the thought of the deacons so close...

“you must think me a horrible father.” as he says this, john reaches around to smooth his hand across beau’s back. the gesture, done mindlessly, almost makes you laugh. how could anyone find him a horrible father?

“absolutely not, mr. deacon.”

the corner of his mouth twitches upward in something close to a smile. “john, please.”

you roll your lips together and blink rapidly to keep your eyes from going wide. john. “lots of people miss the car-line. it happens more often than you think.”

“well, let me give you something for your trouble.” he slides past you, the scent of cologne and car oil in his wake. his movements are stiff, hampered by beau who insists on clinging to his father’s leg, his ankles crossed over john’s foot.

“i don’t want anything, john.” you almost trip over his name. it tastes good, strong and steady. god, you’ve got it bad. “it wasn’t a hassle.”

john ignores you as he slides open a kitchen drawer. unsatisfied with its contents, he reaches for another before meeting your eyes with a wry smile. “all we’ve got is take-out menus anyway.” he shuffles nearer, beau still heavy on his leg. “thank you, ms. [y/l/n], for bringing him home. i got sidetracked at the shop and—” he sighs. “anyway, just... thanks.”

“again, you’re welcome—and call me [y/n].”

there’s a moment where you’re simply staring at one another, the room around you lulled to a comfortable silence. john is handsome, of this there is no doubt. perhaps he’s not striking in a classical way but you’re sure someone would have killed to chisel a bust of his face during the sixteenth century. it’s regal and sure in all the right places, but soft where it counts: around the eyes. when he chuckles at something freddie says, his eyes fold around the edges, and your heart all but gives out.

“what do you say, [y/n]?”

“sorry?” hopeful no one caught you ogling, you bring your attention front and center, turning to freddie. his proposal dawns on you a second too late to be anything but obvious. “stay for dinner? no, i can’t do that.”

“why not?” freddie reaches out to pinch your forearm. “it’s our way of saying thanks, and neither of us will try to poison you with our cooking. we’ll just have brian bring something ‘round.”

you shake your head and scoot around freddie to lift the handbag hanging from a kitchen chair. “i’d like to, but i’ve stayed too long already. perhaps another time.”

prying beau from his leg, john trails behind freddie as you make your way to the front door. freddie wishes you well, reminding you to drop by any time, and john simply lifts his hand in a motionless wave. on the front stoop, hair tangled around your face by a sharp wind, you lean your torso across the threshold.

“mr. deacon—i mean, john,” you say quickly, willing your voice to sound stronger than you feel. “if you’d like, i can drive beau home in the afternoons. i live not five minutes from here, and it wouldn’t be any trouble.”

john hesitates. beau stands in the kitchen, his head poked around the corner. john looks over at his son then back at you. “that’s a kind offer, but i like coming to the school.”

your eyes flick to beau, to his round, soft face and intelligent eyes. yes, if you were his mother you’d enjoy coming to pick him up too.

with a nod, you retreat into the wind. “well, the offer still stands.”

as you slide into your car and pull out of the driveway, waving to beau who now stands in the doorway, you hope against hope that john will accept the offer one day—just so long as it means you get to see him again.

he calls during the middle of show-and-tell. you nearly forgo the call as abby sinclair insists on lifting her pet toad for all to see and you’re worried she’ll drop it, but you’re waiting for a message from the front desk—missing package again—so you pick up on the last ring.

“hello?”

“hi, ms. [y/l/n]. it’s john deacon. is this a bad time?”

“oh, mr. deacon!” you wince at the delight coloring your voice and tear your eyes away from abby, who has handed her toad off to max. “i was expecting a call from the front office.”

he snorts out a rushed laugh. “sorry to disappoint.”

you brush a lock of hair behind your ear. “no, not at all.” out of the corner of your eye you catch max squeezing abby’s toad between his palms, and you push the phone away from your ear. “oy! max, knock it off! abby, please put the toad back, dear?”

john is chuckling on the other end of the line when you return to the call. “sorry,” you say. “show-and-tell.”

“i know. beau was excited this morning.”

with a smile, you glance at the boy in question. “he did very well. everyone was impressed with what he brought.”

“brian made that for him as a birthday gift, so he can’t take any of the credit.”

“he didn’t! he explained who made the planets, but he did want to be clear about who painted the stars.” you hesitate, the sound of laughter over your shoulder reminding you not to get too entangled by the sound of john’s voice. “is there something i can do for you, mr. deacon?”

“right, yes. well, it’s a bit awkward... do you remember a few weeks ago when you drove beau home?”

you nod, the memory lifting from your heart with ease. how could you forget? you only replay the evening like a film every night before you fall asleep. “of course”

“do you remember offering to drive him home again?”

“yes.”

“i’m in a jam at the shop and can’t leave this afternoon. would you mind? taking him home, that is.”

you answer without hesitation. “i can do that. it’s not a problem.”

“you’re a life-saver. it’s just with freddie not driving... i guess what i mean to say is thanks. it helps me out a lot.”

“i’m happy to do it, john.”

“i promise i’ll make it worth your while this time. proper take-out and all.”

“you really don’t have to do that,” you say, hoping he does anyway.

“no, freddie will insist. i’ll let you get back to class for now. thanks, [y/n].”

“don’t mention it. good luck with your jam at the shop. i hope it’s cleared up soon.”

“me too. all the sooner to get back to beau—and you.”

he hangs up before you can respond, and you’re left with your jaw scraping the floor and your heart in your throat.

all the sooner to get back to you.

the words circle your head like a drug for the remainder of the day. you can barely focus as you teach, stumbling over your words and through math equations and spelling tests.

surely he didn’t mean it like that. he probably just tacked you on at the end of the sentence in his haste to get back to work. he probably wasn’t thinking when he spoke.

but, by god, you were listening.

you’ve never been so head-over-heels for a man in your life. each day when you wake up with john at the forefront of your mind, you wish for a morning where you can stay in bed and dream of him all day—his voice, his smile, his gentle way with beau. it all makes you crazy. ami calls your fascination puppy love and claims it will fade with time, but you wonder if it’s gone deeper. you’re interested in more than john deacon’s looks. you’re interested in what makes him tick and whether or not he’s in a band with the three other men who constantly appear in every conversation you share and whether or not he misses his wife and what his hair looks like when he wakes up in the morning. you what to know him and be known by him.

all the sooner to get back to you.

perhaps it’s wishful thinking—a dreamy idea on the part of a lovesick woman—but part of you wonders if he feels the same way about you.

driving beau home becomes part of an unspoken routine. after sharing dinner at the deacon household that second evening, john admits when walking you to your car how overwhelmed he can feel between his job at the auto-shop and his responsibilities with beau. with a tentative hand on his forearm, you promise you’ll help lighten the load. he thanks you by squeezing your fingers with his, and then he’s gone.

it begins by driving beau home every monday, wednesday, and friday. you enjoy your time with him. as soon as he settles in the back seat of your station wagon, he comes alive. the protective shell he wears in the classroom is replaced by the bright and earnest eyes of a seven year old boy, curious about the world and all it has to hold. he asks you questions and tells you stories, and you laugh as you watch the light dance in his eyes. he’s a sweet child, and you truly treasure the afternoons you spend with him.

one friday, you drop him off and find the cozy bungalow empty. beau has stopped retreating to his room once returning from school—at least, this is what freddie tells you—so you’re not completely surprised when beau invites you in for an afternoon snack. you are surprised by the empty house, however. freddie is nowhere to be seen and neither is john. what concerns you even further is when beau opens the refrigerator and slams it shut with a huff.

“nothin’,” he mutters, slumping to the table with a groan.

“what?”

“there’s nothing in the fridge.”

“what do you mean by that?” you cross the floor and open the fridge, hoping beau’s comment is nothing more than a hungry child displeased with the array of choice and nothing to his liking, but you find his statement to be true. the fridge is woefully stocked—naught but a half-filled carton of orange juice, three apples, and a sandwich wrapped in tinfoil. you glance over your shoulder. “is it always like this?”

“no.” beau circles about on his chair. “but it’s happened a few times since dad and uncle rog got more busy at the shop.”

“well, that won’t do. grab your shoes, beau, we’re going to the market.”

once returned from your grocery run, you teach beau how to make spaghetti. he stands beside you on a stool, pushed up on his toes as he watches you prepare the boiling water and pasta. as you wait for the pasta to soften, you set about crafting a homemade pasta sauce. it’s your mother’s recipe, and it’s easy to make. easy enough that you allow beau to carefully slice the tomatoes under your supervision and dice the onions and sprinkle the spices.

the kitchen smells like your childhood: fragrant yet simple, sweet and comforting. somewhere in the waiting for the sauce to simmer, beau turns on a radio and draws you to the center of the kitchen. he holds your hand tight and kicks his feet to the music. you laugh and mirror his movements. he grabs your other hand and steps on his stool, forcing you to bend in an awkward twirl around his finger. you struggle but complete the movement, though he attaches himself to your shoulders like a barnacle. you whirl around on your socked feet in attempt to toss him off, but he holds tight, his fingernails digging into the skin of your collarbone. he squeals in your ear, a mixture of laughter and gasping breath and shrieks.

“mama, mama, stop!”

he says it without thinking, his head lolling against your shoulder as you stop short at the sound of his breathless voice. he giggles against your back then releases himself and slides to the floor. you stare at him, feel his words in the back of your throat like an uncomfortable burn, and then you hear the garage door shut.

you swallow hard and force your eyes from the yellow-and-white linoleum floor. beau hops from his stool, sauce-covered spoon in hand, and rushes to his father’s side.

“daddy, look, we made dinner! miss [y/l/n] and me!” he tugs on john’s shirtsleeve, but john’s just staring at you, his face unreadable. beau turns to one of the other three men crowding the hall behind john. “uncle roggie, taste it!” he forces the spoon in the face of a mulleted blond.

eager to break the thick tension, you motion to the spaghetti. “i—there wasn’t anyone home so...” your sentence trails off, and you bite the inside of your cheek.

so many eyes on you. you feel exposed against them all, caught in a domestic moment with a child that’s not your own in a home that’s not your own.

john looks over his shoulder, eyes flashing in anger. “fred?”

freddie winces. “about that, deak.” he rubs the back of his neck and glances at beau. “i can explain later.”

“you’d better,” john mutters.

“i should go,” you say at once, hastily grabbing your things from the table. your keys jingle in your hand with the force of your anxiety, and you stub your toe against the floor in your hurry to put your shoes back on.

john’s hand on your arm stops you. you look up, stooped as you try to slip the back of your sandal over your heel. he looks down at you, face still remarkably unreadable. “no, please stay,” he says. “you made supper.”

you shake your head and rise to your full height. “i’ve intruded enough already.”

you’re embarrassed, too. the gaggle of men heard beau’s slip up; they heard him mistake you for his mother—and certainly they saw the immediate flush of happiness rise over your cheeks at the sound.

mama. you’d always hoped, always wished, someone would call you that one day. you just didn’t think you’d hear it from a student with a deceased mother and a father you pined after first.

“[y/n], stay.” john’s voice is soft, breathy, and his eyes flit back and forth between yours with a startling amount of intensity.

how can you say no?

once the dinner has been divided, you sit beside john on the couch in the living room. the kitchen table is too small to host the gathering, so the living room was deemed appropriate just this once, to beau’s great delight. he sits on the floor at the coffee table, a tall glass of milk beside his plate of pasta, his eyes bouncing over everyone in the room with unrestrained joy.

“beau, why don’t you introduce everyone for miss [y/l/n]? she doesn’t know all your uncles.” john nods to his son in encouragement, and beau is only happy to take the job.

standing, beau crosses first to the impressively tall and curly-haired man sat beside him on the floor. “this is uncle brian. he likes space and teaches all the big kids at uni.”

he moves to freddie, who sits on a plush armchair. “this is uncle freddie, but you already know him.”

the last man leans against the foyer table, his ankles crossed and sunglasses still perched on his nose. beau pats his arm. “this is uncle roger and he works with daddy.” in a stage whisper, he adds, “he thinks he’s a lot cooler than he really is.”

roger guffaws and lightly pushes beau’s head to the side. “oy, you twerp, take that back!”

glancing about the room, you nod in greeting. “it’s nice to meet you all. i’ve heard quite a bit.”

brian smiles at you from the floor. his legs are bent awkwardly beneath the coffee table, and you’ve noticed the way he helps beau cut his side salad and keep sauce from dripping to the area rug. “all good things i hope?”

“oh yes, of course.”

“[y/n], dear, you really must tell brian what that student of yours did last week,” freddie pipes up. “it had me laughing well into the night. i’m sure some of his twenty-year olds are much the same.”

“i shouldn’t, fred.” you look at beau, who is watching you in interest.

freddie nods in understanding and tugs on his earlobe. “little ears, yes. maybe another time.” he pushes brian’s shoulder with his foot. “really is a riot of a story.”

as supper progresses, conversation twists and turns down different avenues. you explain how you came to teach in the area and find you used to work with one of brian’s newer colleagues. freddie tells the group about his recent run-in with an angry bird watcher in the park. his gestures are so grandiose he whacks roger in the chest, who has come to sit on the arm of fred’s chair. there’s more laughter than there is silence, and you settle back in the couch. at one point, john drapes his arm over the back of the couch—not around your shoulders, but close enough to send your heart into overdrive. it’s all you can focus on—the proximity of his muscular arm behind your head—as brian explains to beau the difference between the big and little dippers. even as roger describes the ramshackle band they four participate in on the weekends, you barely register the words because you swear to the high heavens you feel john’s pointer finger purposefully brush against your shoulder.

beau begins to yawn sometime near the eight o’clock hour, and you jump from the couch when you realize you’ve stayed so late.

“good lord, i’ve got to go!” you shuffle about the room, gathering your belongings, as john rises behind you. “i didn’t know it was so late!”

his hands are in his pockets, and he studies you as you put your shoes on. “got a big date tomorrow?”

you frown. “no,” you say on a laugh. “i’ve actually got breakfast with my mum.”

he looks away for a moment, but you can’t help but note the edge of a smile.

he grabs his jacket from the coat-stand when you’re ready. “i’ll walk you out.”

at the door you wave to the others. “good night, all! it was nice to meet you.”

roger tips an imaginary hat. “i’m sure we’ll meet again, [y/n], if deaky has anything to say about it.”

freddie kicks the back of roger’s leg, and the injured man doubles over in a yelp of pain. “you fucker!” freddie mutters. “you know that—”

john ushers you out the door before you can see or hear any more.

the night air is chilly, and you warm your arms around yourself. you reach for your keys in the depths of your purse and slide them into the lock on the driver’s side of your car. it’s dark out. you can barely make out john’s features beneath the light of the moon, but when he shuffles to the side, an automatic flood light turns on above the garage. you blink against the sudden light and smile, chuckling beneath your breath as your vision adjusts. you’re not eager to leave quite yet, and he doesn’t seem eager to send you away, so you both stand, looking at one another in the darkness of the drive.

“your friends are nice,” you say.

he hums in agreement. “m’yes, they are. we just started as a screw-around band a few years back, but when molly got sick...” he pauses, clasps his hand on the back of his neck, and shrugs. “they’ve been my lifeline, y’know?”

“i can’t imagine what that was like, losing her. i’m glad you had them around.” you suck in a deep breath. “about earlier... i didn’t know beau was going to say that, and i’m sorry it happened. i realize that my... involvement might appear to be me wheedling my way into your family, but that’s not it, really! i mean, i like you and beau—as friends—but i’m not trying to...” you sigh, shaking your head. “i’m sorry it happened ‘s all. i don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

before you know what’s happening, john’s reaching out to cup your cheek. his smile is soft in the glow of the moon and the floodlight, and your heart stops in your chest.

his thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “i haven’t seen beau that happy in a long time. you’ve brought a lot of joy back into the house, [y/n].”

you’re sure you’re sweating despite the chill of night. you shake your head, but his hand holds fast against your face. “no,” you whisper. your voice sounds heady, even to your own ears. “beau’s just a good kid.”

“yes, and you’re a good teacher.”

is his face inching closer? you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe.

“a good teacher and a good person.”

if it weren’t for your firm hold on the car door handle, you think you might slip to the ground in a puddle of goo.

his lips are on yours, then, and you fall into his arms as he holds you against himself. you have dreamt of this moment far too many times to count, but you never thought it would happen. really, you thought you would finish the year without ever knowing the taste of john’s deacons lips.

but there he is, and there you are, and he tastes like the wine he drank during supper. he is more eager than you thought he would be, and soon he has your back pressed against the door of your car. you huff into his mouth and feel your eyes roll back into your head when he drags his lips across your jaw, inching closer to that spot behind your ear. your arms practically quiver around his shoulders, and you open your eyes long enough to catch a glimpse of a particularly bright star winking down at you.

he catches your lips again, and you feel hot and delicious all over.

“john,” you mumble against his mouth. “john.”

loathe as you are to stop the moment, you do, pushing his shoulders until he pulls himself away. his hand still cradles your hip, and he looks flushed in the moonlight. you’re sure you look equally as rumpled.

you grin. “well.”

he matches your smile, though it’s fleeting. “call you, yeah?”

unlocking your car door, you nod. “please do, mr. deacon.”

he shakes his head on a chuckle and shuts the door, waving gently as you pull out of the drive. when you’re several homes away, out of eyesight, you drift to the side of the road and blast the air conditioner. then you pound your fists against the steering wheel and let out a muffled squeal of delight.

he doesn’t call you.

when you sit down to think about it, it’s not that great of a surprise. you’ve been around him only a handful of times, and though you’ve both been comfortable in those moments, you don’t blame him for resisting whatever it is he feels for you. there’s beau to think about. you’re his teacher; surely there’s some line you shouldn’t be crossing? there’s molly too, and her memory and the years they spent together and the child they had together.

if anything, you figure he’s using you to test the waters of romance again. those stolen touches and deep stares and that kiss in the drive—it’s all just experimentation. the conclusion drawn from those experiments? he’s not ready.

you sigh, take another sip of wine. maybe you should stop driving beau. you like john; you like him a lot. and after that kiss, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. you thought about him before, but never this much. he threatens to consume your every waking moment, and it scares you because he’s not interested. desperately pining after a disinterested man means one thing: ruin. if you stop driving beau home, put some distance between yourself and the deacons, the puppy love and infatuation will fade over time.

it has to or you’ll go crazy.

it’s early evening, and your stomach grumbles. your flat is quiet as you putter around the kitchen in search of a suitable supper. there’s not much in the cupboards and even less in the fridge. you desperately need to go to the grocery store. take-out it is. withdrawing a handful of menus, you spread them out on the counter and flip through them mindlessly.

your thoughts are elsewhere. always on john.

you wonder what compelled him to kiss you. he’s an enigma, john deacon. you’ve seen him in moments of great levity—when he’s around beau or his friends or recounting a story from his youth. he has an infectious laugh, delightful crinkles around his eyes, and a quick wit. but he can be hard, too, like an immovable stone. he’s quick to toss a glare at anyone in his way in those moments of weakness, and his biting wit can turn sour at the drop of a hat. you chalk it up to weariness, those moments. weariness, loneliness, frustration. it doesn’t phase you, though perhaps it should.

with a groan, you drop your forehead to the cool counter and shut your eyes. the kiss lingers on your lips; it has the entire week since. you want him badly—in more ways than one.

the telephone rings, and you startle, clutching a paper menu to your chest. “fuck,” you whisper. you need to get a hobby other than daydreaming. pressing the phone to your ear, you barely get out a word of greeting before someone’s shouting at you on the other end.

“[y/n]? it’s fred! we’ve got a fuckin’ problem over here.”

you frown. “freddie? what’s going on? why are you are john’s? it’s a saturday.”

“no time for that! how fast can you get here?”

“well, i don’t know. i’ve got to—”

“beau’s sick! he’s on the bathroom floor, moaning and groaning and—shit!—[y/n], i don’t know what to do!”

“i’m sure it’s just a tummy ache, fred,” you say. “i see it all the time in my class. give him some pepto and he’ll be fighting fit in the morning.”

“no, [y/n]!” something in fred’s tone—a raw, animal fear—has you standing straight, your heart stuttering in your chest. “he said he feels like he’s gonna die just like molly did!”

“okay, okay.” you begin to move toward your bedroom, but are yanked back by the phone chord attached to the wall. you stumble backwards with a grunt. “okay, i’m coming, fred. just hold tight.”

“fucking hurry!”

you slam the phone down, rush to your bedroom to change from your nightclothes, and jump in the car without a pair of shoes. as quickly as you can you race to the deacon household. the sun dips low, casting an orange glow over the suburban streets lined with family cars. you grip the steering wheel tight, your heart thumping a prayer of protection for beau.

the driveway of the bungalow is empty, the garage door thrown open. the old convertible john toys with in the evenings is parked inside, but his everyday vehicle is gone. cutting the engine of your car, you run through the garage and into the house. fred stands in the hallway, pressed against the bathroom door. he looks ridiculous, clad in a bright yellow bathroom and bunny slippers, but he pounds his fist against the door, pleading for beau to unlock it and let him in. he turns at the sound of your bag dropping on the carpet.

“oh, thank god,” he breathes. he grabs your arm and wrenches you to his side. “beau, miss [y/l/n] is here. why do you talk with her, huh?”

before you say anything to beau, you frown at freddie. “where’s john?” your whisper sound harsh in the dim lighting of the hallway.

“at the shop. overtime. i can’t reach him.”

you jerk your head to the phone sitting on a side-table in the living room. “go try again and i’ll stick with beau here.” when he’s gone, you slide to a sitting position on the floor and press your ear to the thin wood of the door. “beau? beau, honey, it’s me.”

beau only groans in response.

“beau, can you please open the door? i want to help you. that’s it; just help.”

there’s a pause then you hear: “no. go away.”

“it’s okay if you’re embarrassed, beau. we all get sick sometimes. fred and i just want to help you feel better.”

there’s the sound of water sloshing and then a hard sniff. “i want my mommy.”

“oh, baby, i know.” you clear your throat to work past the lump rising to the surface. “come on, just let me in. i promise it’ll be okay.”

“but... what if i die like her too?”

“that’s not gonna happen, beau. i promise.” he doesn’t respond, so you plead once more. “please let me in.”

he shuffles to the door, unclicks the lock, and cracks it open. through the opening, you can see his pale face gleaming with sweat. gently, you push the door open further.

beau’s curled on the floor, his head bent toward his knees. his arms tighten around his stomach, and a spasm ripples through his body. he’s dripping with sweat, his star wars pajamas soaked through. hot air clogs the room, and you switch on the overhead fan. pressing your fingers to his forehead, you cringe and draw back. he’s burning up.

“beau, baby, what hurts?” you finger some of the sweat-matted hair away from his forehead.

“my tummy.”

“what’s your tummy feel like?”

beau shakes his head into the floor. “bad.”

“do you feel like you’re gonna be sick?”

“already did. on my floor.” he opens his eyes long enough to stare at you through thick lashes. “i’m sorry.”

“don’t apologize about that. we’ll get it cleaned up later. i’m just gonna go get you some water, okay?”

he groans, shifting against another spasm of pain. “okay.”

stepping back into the hall, you grab freddie’s arm before he can slip into the bathroom. you tug him to the safety of the kitchen. his eyes dance between yours, expectant.

“well?”

“did you get ahold of john?”

“no, the fucker.”

“we’ll have to go pick him up then.”

fred’s brow twitches. “what? why? what’s wrong with him?”

you throw a glance down the hall when beau whines. “i think it might be his appendix. my dad’s burst last summer and he looked a lot like beau does now.”

“fuckin’ hell.” freddie runs a hand across his mouth. “just what deaky needs.”

you nod in agreement. “i know. we’ve got to take beau to a hospital, though, before it gets any worse.”

“yeah, yeah, i know. go get the car started and i’ll meet you in a minute.”

several minutes later, you’re en route to the auto-shop, freddie cradling beau in the backseat of your station wagon. the drive is tense, your bare foot hard on the gas pedal. beau wrestles and whines against freddie’s hold, continuously asking for his parents and where you’re taking him.

no one wants to say the word hospital, so his cries go unanswered.

freddie directs you to the auto-shop, his phrases terse, and you pull into the drive with a sharp squeal of tires on gravel. with the car still running, you hurry across the parking lot, loose pebbles catching on your feet. music blasts from a stereo within the garage. it’s loud and obnoxious and keeps you from locating john fast enough.

“can i help ya, miss?” a lithe man steps out of a side office, his hairline receding and face near gaunt.

“yes—i’m looking for john deacon.”

the man continuously wipes his hands on a dirty rag. none of the oil and grease on his fingers budges. “he’s down there.”

dirt and grime covers the bottoms of your feet as you race down the shop. cars of all varieties line the wall to your left, some stationary on the ground, others lifted towards the vaulted ceiling. there’s a handful of men at work, but you don’t recognize any of them as john. you’re prepared to start shouting his name when a familiar voice stops you.

“[y/n]?” it’s roger. “can’t get enough of our deaky, can you?” he’s chuckling as he steps out from behind a truck. “what are you doing here?”

“it’s beau,” you say, and his face falls.

“over here.” roger wastes no time in finding john beneath a volkswagon beetle. only john’s legs are visible, his knees bent and leather boots firm on the floor. he curses when roger hooks the toes of his shoes around a curve in the sliding plate on the floor and drags john out from under the car.

“what the fuck, rog? i—” john stills when his eyes land on you. his muscle tee is loose over his chest, and a line of grease mars his forehead. he swallows. “[y/n]... i...” he sits up. “i’ve been meaning to—”

though you’re curious about the end of his sentence, you cut him off. “beau’s sick. we’ve got to take him to hospital.”

the blood drains from john’s face in an instant. the wrench in his hand clatters to the cement ground, and he’s grabbing your elbow, pulling you toward the exit, before you can say anything more.

“crystal, i’m gone!” he shouts, practically shoving you in the direction of the car.

there’s either no reply or you don’t hear it because john shouts for freddie to move the fuck over and give him beau. you slide behind the wheel and pause, twisting to catch a look at the scene in the back.

beau looks like a newborn swaddled in his father’s arms. his face is wet with tears and sweat, and he sobs in his father’s grasp. john feels beau’s forehead and frowns, muttering an oath under his breath. then his eyes flick to yours.

“what are you waiting for? go!”

you don’t need to be told twice.

it’s another fifteen minutes before you reach the hospital. your head throbs under the stress of it all: beau’s pitiful moans for help, john urging you to go faster, freddie barking directions as he slaps the headrest behind you. before you’ve pulled to a complete stop, john is out, beau in his arms. you shoo freddie after him.

“go! i’ll park the car.”

by the time you’ve found a parking space and picked your way across the parking lot, beau’s been admitted for emergency surgery. his appendix, as you suspected. it’s a routine procedure, and he’ll be fine within the next hour. relief floods your system at the news, and you find john and freddie sitting beneath a large fish tank in the waiting room. you take the open spot beside john and cross your ankles.

“your feet are disgusting,” fred says. he points to the bottoms of your feet, dark with dust, dirt, and grime.

you shrug. “forgot shoes.”

the quiet of the waiting room is both a comfort and annoyance. a clock on the wall ticks loudly, and the fish tank bubbles at an uneven rate. every breath you take feels too loud, and the antiseptic smells cling to the inside of your nose.

still, the quiet gives you a moment of rest. you catch your breath. you let the knowledge of skilled and capable doctors working on beau ease your heart-rate. it will all be okay; he’s going to be okay.

you glance at john. his fist is pressed against his mouth, his eyes shut. his leg bounces, and you dare to reach over and lay your hand against his knee. he stills, his eyes flashing to you.

“he’s going to be okay, john.”

on the other side of john, freddie jumps to his feet. “i’m going bananas just sitting here.” he rubs the side of his head. “might burst. i’m gonna give brian a call.” he stalks away, his bunny slippers slapping against the linoleum floor.

you shake your head, biting back the urge to smile.

but then john’s fingers curl around yours, and you can’t help but give into the grin.

you look up, meet his eyes.

“i didn’t call you,” he says.

“no, you didn’t.”

he shifts in seat and looks to the floor. “you should be wearing shoes.”

at the turn of conversation, you frown then follow his gaze. “yes, i suppose.”

“take mine.” he releases your hand to bend down and undo his laces.

“no, john, don’t be silly. i’m fine.”

“please, [y/n], take the shoes.” he slides the boots toward you, and you begrudgingly slip your feet into the warmth of his shoes.

you look silly, the pair of you—your ill-fit mtv t-shirt, loose jeans, and oversized leather boots; his muscle tee with the aptly faded word muscle scrawled across the chest, his faded jeans, and socked feet. one of his toes pokes through the end of his sock, and his exposed arms look cold in the frigid air of the waiting room. you laugh.

“we look like a pair of bikers or something.”

the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “not much of a biker. that’s crystal’s territory.” he doesn’t look at you when he continues speaking. “i’m sorry i didn’t call.”

on a sigh, you drag the boots across the carpet. though it pains you to do so, you let him off the hook. “it’s not a big deal, john. it was just a kiss. no promises.”

“i know.” his head tilts to the side. “but i wanted to call you. nearly did twice, but i chickened out.” he turns, then, and meets your eye. “i like you, [y/n].”

you smile, but know it doesn’t reach your eyes. still, you reach for his hand again. “i like you too, john. i’ve enjoyed getting to know you and your family.”

he shakes his head, and when he speaks, his voice is firm. “no, i like you. that’s why i kissed you and that’s why i didn’t call. because you make me so bloody nervous.”

your shoulders drop, as does your jaw.

“ever since you dropped beau off that first time, i’ve been thinking about you and about you and him together and then he called you mum and i saw the way you acted with him and—” he pauses for a breath. “molly was different with beau. i mean, she loved him, but she was always so fragile and worried and—and that’s not the point! the point is that you make beau happy and you make me happy. and i want to be happy again.”

“john...”

his grip on your hand tightens as he leans closer. “make me happy, yeah? i’m stubborn as a mule and shy, too, but i want you—badly.”

the fire in your heart spreads at his words. it spreads throughout your body until you feel like you could burst and shine a light into even the darkest corners of the earth. a laugh bubbles forth from between your lips. you lift a hand to stifle it.

“you want to know something?” you ask.

“what?”

“i’ve been pining after you, john deacon, ever since i heard your voice over the phone. i was content to just wallow in my daydreams, but this seems better.” you lift your fingers to brush his chin. “a lot better.”

“i can’t promise i’ll make a good boyfriend. i’m pretty rusty.”

“me too. we can be rusty together.”

he grins, leans forward further, his nose brushing yours. “can’t promise there won’t be hiccups. i’ve got baggage.”

“i can carry it.”

he kisses you, his hand on the back of your head, keeping you firm against his mouth. you grin, your teeth knocking his as you laugh. his curls are soft against your fingertips, and you hold on for dear life when he chuckles into your smile.

“mr. deacon?”

john kisses you once, twice more, before pulling away to look at the doctor. “yeah?” he doesn’t sound the least bit embarrassed to be caught in such a position in the middle of a hospital waiting room, but you hide your face against his neck. your cheeks hurt your smile is so wide.

“beau’s ready to see you now.”

john stands and extends at hand. “comin’, dove?”

your footfalls are hard against the ground, the boots heavy around your ankles, as you walk with him hand-in-hand to beau’s hospital room. you lean against his side, breathe the comfort of him in, and smile.

yes, this is much better than your daydreams—baggage, boots, beau, and all.

#john deacon #john deacon x reader #john deacon fic #queen #queen fic #j writes

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spidernerdsblog · 4 years

Text

I Forgot That You Existed : Epilogue

A/N: . And this is the end of the series really enjoyed writing this. Hope you all enjoyed it too. Feedback and suggestions are always welcome.

Pairing : Tom Holland × Singer reader

Summary : It’s been more than five years since you and Tom have gone their own ways after a heartbreaking breakup which had left both of you shattered. Both of you thought that you were finally over with each other and were happy in your respective lives until you meet again at a reunion trip planned by your best friend and you realize you are still not done with each other.

Warnings : mild swearing.

Mini Playlist : London boy and Lover by Taylor Swift

"The news is just loving you." You chuckled sitting on the kitchen counter scrolling on your phone. Tom grimaced.

"Just check out the headlines"

Trouble in paradise

Wedding a PR stunt? You read out.

"My PR team is so pissed at me right now they are on the edge to handle this whole mess."

You were scrolling through your feed as you stumbled upon a photo of yours with Tom posted by a fan account. It was a recent photograph from the carnival where you are seen holding hands walking through the crowd. It was a backshot but it did leave little to anyone's imagination that it was you and Tom. Whoever posted it wrote with the caption.

Is it?? Are they?? OMG!! 😲😍

"Oh fuck me!!" You cursed.

"Darling I would love to do that but I'm sort of busy right now with making you breakfast." You gave him a dirty look and shoved your phone to his face.

"Look at this." Tom was puzzled at first then slowly his eyes widened with shock as he took a look at the photo.

"What the fuck!!"

"I'm so dead Alex is gonna eat me alive." You face palmed.

"How did they even get this?"

"How can I know?! Someone must have spotted us and clicked it."

"What do we do now? There is no way people are gonna believe that we aren't in a relationship."

"I'm in no place to take in the hate so…" you got busy with your phone.

"Wait what are you doing?"

"Nothing just desperate times calls for desperate measures." Being in this industry one thing you have realized is that people will believe anything posted online and Alex has taught you a few tricks to handle these kinds of situations. So before people start making a fuss about that photo you decided to share some photos from the vacation on your Instagram. The first photo you posted was of you, Tom and Harrison which you captioned

Best friends for life!!💕🍻

You posted a few more including one from the carnival too.

"Well disaster averted temporarily. We can clarify things further in interviews."You winked, showing him your phone. Tom stood in between your legs wrapping his hands around your waist.

"My girlfriend is a genius."

"That I am." You smirked.

"Can't you stay a little longer?" he pouted.

"Tom are you serious? I already extended my stay by one week for you. If I stay any further Alex will just kill me. And don't you have a press tour coming up?"

"Yeah fine will miss you though."

"Me too" you pecked his lips.

"By the way I was serious about that before, you know in the kitchen." he drew circles on your skin.

"I didn't say no either" you bite your lower lip batting your eyelashes innocently. Tom tightened his grip on your waist, peppering you with kisses on your neck you squeaked as he lifted you from the counter.

Three Years later…..

"Y/N just relax." Zendaya said. You were pacing in your bridal suite.

"I can't, this is just too much to handle, do you think I should run away? Tom will understand right?" you blabbered.

"Y/N it's totally normal to get cold feet for the bride to be before her marriage." Elysia tried to calm you down.

"And if you faint on the aisle, your maid of honor and the other bridesmaids will be honored to catch you." Zendaya chuckled.

"Not helping Z." You deadpanned.

"Umm Elysia you seemed quite calm when you and Sam got married how was that so?"

"Believe me girl I was nervous as hell. All sorts of doubts started hovering in my head like what if this is a mistake? What if all goes wrong? But once when I was at the aisle and saw his face all my doubts cleared away. This is the man I love and spending my life with him will be the best thing in the world. Whatever may come in our way we will overcome it together."

"Wow that's a great insight."

"You got this girl! " Chloe cheered you whilst fixing your dress.

"How is the bride doing?" El enquired as she entered into your room with a jovial smile.

"Oh hi El!" you eagerly went and hugged her.

"Hi darling!"

"You're late by the way." You quipped.

"I'm sorry dear the flight got delayed."

"Girl you seem to be doing much better than your groom. I just happened to pass by your husband and by his looks he seemed like he would shit in his pants any moment." You all burst out laughing.

When the news of your wedding broke out it became the talk of the town.

You wanted it to be a private affair away from the prying eyes of the media. So what's better than getting married in the peace and serenity of the countryside in the presence of your close friends and family.

The aisle was beautifully decorated with white lilies and roses.

Tom was shuffling on his feet at the aisle.

"Dude everything is fine, stop worrying. She will be here in a few minutes." Harry tried to boost his confidence.

"You know Y/N is a sort of fickle minded what if she had a change of mind?" Harrison chuckled.

"You know what Harrison? You are the worst man." Tom grumbled. Harrison laughed.

Finally, the priest came out and asked everyone to stand. It was your turn! All eyes would soon be on you. Chloe and Ed's three year old daughter Belle was your flower girl for the wedding. She looked cute in a pink gown as she walked on her little feet lining the path with white rose petals as the music started.

You only took two steps out before you were greeted by your father. He escorted you down the aisle. He became your strength; without him you would have fainted you thought. The guests looked at you, taking pictures of your dress, waving at you, smiling- one thing was for sure, though… no one made a sound.

Up ahead you saw him, Tom. Your future husband, the love of your life, your everything. He stood taller, his shoulders back and his eyes on you. If you weren’t mistaken you could have sworn tears filled his eyes.

Tom stood there hypnotized seeing you in that pristine white wedding dress you looked like a dream he thought as you walked towards him.

At the end of the aisle your father hugged you

“I'm proud of you jellybean” it was a kind of emotional moment for you as a few tears slipped down your eyes so as your father's and then he presented you to your groom. He placed your hand in Tom’s and smiled. As a couple, Tom and you stood in front of the priest.

Before your father walked away, he patted Tom on the shoulder. That was his way of welcoming him into the family.

Standing next to your love felt overwhelming. You glanced at each other for a moment.

"You look beautiful." Tom mouthed to you.

"You too." You mouthed him back with a wink.

Elysia was right you thought, an unknown excitement surging inside you.

Was this really happening? Will I soon be Mrs. Holland? You thought.

The minister said to guests, “You can now be seated”. Everyone followed his request.

“Dearly beloved,” he began, “we are gathered here to witness this man and woman join together in holy matrimony.”

He said the speech and afterward you exchanged vows, tears filling both your eyes.

Paddy walked in with Tessa who had your rings in a basket she was holding in her mouth. Everyone went 'aww!' as she looked adorable in a wedding tutu walking over to the aisle. You placed Tom's ring on first, then he placed on yours.

“With the power invested in me I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Tom leaned in and kissed you,softly like he’s never done it before. Everyone cheered for you, however you barely noticed; your full attention rested on Tom.

And you left the stage with Tom hand in hand. Though you were against doing any kind of wedding tradition but your bridesmaids were adamant for the bouquet ceremony so you had to give in to that. They lined behind you.

"Okay girls you ready?!" You tossed the bouquet. You turned to see Zendaya had caught it.

"I knew it was your turn next." You cackled.

"This is not done. We could have done the garter ceremony too; it would have been so much fun." Harrison complained.

"I think you guys had your fair share of fun on the Bachelorette with all the booze and that stripper that by the way our parents aren't aware of" you muttered with a stern look in your eyes. Harrison gulped because he was behind the whole Bachelorette fiasco.

"Yeah we are fine." he said timidly.

You went to change to something more comfortable for the reception.

The lawn buzzed with excited chatter and children ran between the tables in a good natured game of tag. There was the scraping of chairs as folks got up for a standing ovation as you and Tom made your way to the head table, smiling and holding hands. There were cheers and someone whooped.

As the evening progressed everybody had loosened up a bit. People were chatting, eating and enjoying the reception.

"Finally the number of women are increasing in the Holland family." Elysia announced. Everyone laughed.

"Ah! seeing you two together really makes us happy" Nikki said.

"Yeah now it's time you give us our grandchildren too." Your mother joked. You and Tom flustered at that.

"Moomm!! we just got married. We are too young for that, let us enjoy this time." You whined.

"Honey I had you when I was 25. No pressure though take your time."

It was the time for your first dance with Tom,your friends pulled you both to the stage, a soft music was playing. You held his hand, his other hand resting on your waist as you swayed to the music.

"So how are you feeling wifey or may I say Mrs Holland?"

"Umm the weather is a little warm, feeling a little bloated other than that I'm doing fine hubby." You chuckled.

"You know I was so nervous I actually thought what if you changed your mind about the wedding?"

"Not gonna lie I was actually thinking of running away." You smirked. You exhaled resting your head on his chest swaying to the music.

"Hey you okay?"

"Yeah why?"

"Nothing, just all that baby talk."

"Hey it's totally fine I'm way over that. And I would love to be a mom again but not now."

"Just imagine you me and our four little halflings. We could have two girls and two boys or three girls,one boy or a pack of four boys like us or.." You cut him off.

"Whoa whoa whoa slow down mister. First of all we are not having more than two.''

"But why? I'm totally gonna be a hands-on dad I promise."

"Easy for you to say because I will be the one going through the whole birthing process. So no uterus no opinion. And isn't that why Thanos snapped in the first place overpopulation, limited resources." You chuckled, snapping your fingers. Tom shook his head laughing.

"I would be so glad if I have twins all the hassle in one time."

"Whatever you want darling. You know how much I love you."

"I know and I love you too."

"Okay how about three if not four?" He suggested.

"If we are to count you, I'll have three kids to look after so your wish is fulfilled already." You laughed.

As the reception was drawing close you went up the stage tapping on the microphone to seek everybody's attention.

"Good evening everyone. First of all, I really wanna thank each and everyone for blessing us with your presence at our wedding and making it memorable."

"Tom and I have known each other since we were kids. Our mother's were convinced that we would end up together and so we did though we had to go through our own rough patch. But I'm glad that eventually everything got sorted out and the credit goes to our families and friends."

"It's no secret I write songs taking inspiration from my life and Tom has been a major part of my life. So this is for you hubby."

The band played the notes as you started singing.

"I love my hometown as much as Motown, I love SoCal

And you know I love Springsteen, faded blue jeans, Tennessee whiskey

But something happened, I heard him laughing

I saw the dimples first and then I heard the accent

They say home is where the heart is

But that's not where mine lives"

Everyone clapped and cheered. Tom's whole face lit up as he looked at you.

"You know I love a London boy

I enjoy walking Camden Market in the afternoon

He likes my American smile

Like a child when our eyes meet, darling, I fancy you

Took me back to Highgate, met all of his best mates

So I guess all the rumors are true

You know I love a London boy

Boy, I fancy you (ooh)"

Tom was blushing at his seat as Harrison elbowed him in a teasing manner. You had a wide smile as you looked at him.

"And now I love high tea, stories from uni, and the West End

You can find me in the pub, we are watching rugby with his school friends

Show me a gray sky, a rainy cab ride

Babe, don't threaten me with a good time

They say home is where the heart is

But God, I love the English"

You took the microphone in your hand singing and walked over to Tom extending your hand to him. He took it and got up from his seat as you walked him over to the middle of the stage.

"You know I love a London boy

I enjoy nights in Brixton, Shoreditch in the afternoon

He likes my American smile

Like a child when our eyes meet, darling, I fancy you

Took me back to Highgate, met all of his best mates

So I guess all the rumors are true

You know I love a London boy

Boy, I fancy you"

You stood there glancing at his eyes.

"So please show me Hackney

Doesn't have to be Louis V up on Bond Street

Just wanna be with you

Wanna be with you

Stick with me, I'm your queen

Like a Tennessee Stella McCartney on the Heath

Just wanna be with you (wanna be with you)

Wanna be with you (oh)

You know I love a London boy

I enjoy walking SoHo, drinking in the afternoon (yeah)

He likes my American smile

Like a child when our eyes meet, darling, I fancy you (you)

Took me back to Highgate, met all of his best mates

So I guess all the rumors are true (yeah)

You know I love a London boy (oh)

Boy (oh), I fancy you (I fancy you, ooh)"

Present day….

"And that is how your mum and dad got married kids." Harrison finished his story letting out a deep breath.

"Wow uncle Haz that was epic!" Your seven year old daughter chirped in awe.

"Yup everything was epic with those divs."

"We are back!" Tom announced as you both entered your house.

"Peter! Vienna! Where are my pumpkins?" you called out as you heard shuffling of feets and giggles.

"Mommy!! Daddy!!" your little munchkins came running to you.

"There they are." You cooed. Your five year old son launched himself into your arms as you picked him up.

"Did you have fun with your uncles?"

"Yess!!" Peter said beaming with joy.

"Uncle Haz and uncle Harry were telling us a story." Vienna informed you.

"What story bubs?"

"Your and daddy's love story." You and Tom looked at each other smiling.

"Oh really? I hope they didn't go much into the details keeping it kids friendly."

"Of course Y/N you really don't trust us do you?" Harry said feeling offended.

"To be honest, No" you replied bluntly.

"Where's Ava and Jordan?" you asked whilst putting Peter down.

"They are with their moms at mum and dad's house helping with dinner." Harry said.

"Okay then let's get you guys ready and then we will go to grandma's for the Christmas Dinner eh?" Tom said to your kids.

"Yayy!!" Vienna and Peter rushed back to their room.

You were at the doorstep as you rang the bell as you were greeted by Nikki.

"You guys are late."

"Sorry, someone was way too confident about his navigation skills so had to take a detour." You eyed Tom.

"That wasn't completely my fault. How would I know that the road would be closed?" Tom retorted.

"It's Christmas time Tom! Everyone knows." You both started arguing at the doorstep.

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

"Okay that's enough for now, God you two have been married for almost 10 years and still your non stop bickering continues." Nikki scolded you both.

''You got all the things I told you to bring?''

"Yes mum." Tom said sheepishly.

"Merry Christmas grandma!!'' Vienna and Peter came rushing in clinging on to her.

"Aww Merry Christmas my loves. C'mon get inside all your cousins are waiting for you."

After the dinner all you ladies gathered in the living room and gossiped among yourselves and your husbands were chugging on to their beers and having their share of laughs in the dining room.

The kids were busy playing amongst themselves.

Vienna came up to you and tugged on to the sleeve of your sweater. You turned to look at her brown doe eyes which she totally inherited from Tom along with her luscious curls. She was a stark image of him.

"Do you need something peanut?"

"Mom, will you sing for us? Pleaasse." she innocently asked, making a puppy face the trick she had picked up from her dad in the meantime. And how could you say no to that.

"Anything for you honey. Can you bring me my guitar love?"

"Sure mom." Vienna beamed with joy as she ran to bring your guitar. You slipped down the couch to sit on the carpeted floor stretching your legs as you strummed on to the chords.

"We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January

This is our place, we make the rules

And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear

Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close forever and ever?

And ah, take me out, and take me home

You're my, my, my, my lover"

Vienna sat beside you. You swayed sideways while singing to her. Vienna tried to sing along with you clapping her hands to the rhythm. Peter came running and settled down on the other side of you resting his head on your lap. You stroked his hair with your hand gently.

"We could let our friends crash in the living room

This is our place, we make the call

And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close forever and ever?

And ah, take me out, and take me home (forever and ever)

You're my, my, my, my lover"

The boys heard you singing as they got up and flocked in the living room. You glanced at Tom standing at the doorway smiling and gave him a subtle wink. He can never get enough of you, every time he looks at you he falls in love again and again. Sometimes he wonders how did he get so lucky? You were perfect, who gave him the two most precious gifts of his life. His heart swells when he looks at his little family. You make him whole.

"Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand?

With every guitar string scar on my hand

I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

All's well that ends well to end up with you

Swear to be overdramatic and true to my lover

And you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me

And at every table, I'll save you a seat, lover"

Tom walked towards you and picked up Peter making him sit on his lap as he sat beside you. His one hand went to wrap around your shoulder as he placed a soft kiss on your cheek, you looked at him smiling. You were so proud of this man, the perfect husband, the doting father to your children you didn't have words to express. Tom rested his head on your shoulder, Vienna and Peter clinged on to you as you sang. You felt full from the inside out.

'' Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close forever and ever?

And ah, take me out, and take me home (forever and ever)

You're my, my, my, my

Oh, you're my, my, my, my

Darling, you're my, my, my, my lover"

.................................................................

Taglist is open.

@sleepybesson @sophs-library @spideyparkerstark @itstaskeen @milli86 @biebsmylife95 @quaksonhehe @hannahholland1811 @awhollandx @joyleenl @greatpizzascissorstaco @tomhollandsotherpinkytoe @jjandreidsgirl @brighterthanthesunx @marvelpeters @panicattheeverywherekid @onewithnomightypowers @itsnotmeh24 @bitchinwpei @astridcommings @hollandprkr @hollandsobrien @timotayswriter @kiki-hines @casualprincess77 @spideyth @perspectiveparker @thevelvetseries @tempo-rary-fix

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #haz osterfield #zendaya #taylor swift

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sleekervae · 3 years

Text

Young God [0.4]

It was early afternoon in Ventura, the muted brightness of an summer day having given away to a pale blue sky and the sun beaming down at full capacity. Nevertheless, the air was still fairly humid and Taylor fanned her face as a meagre means to ease the blistering heat biting at her skin. Her teal blue hair was tied up today, and what little makeup she had on had been melted down and quickly wiped away. And here, she thought Danny was exaggerating when he went on about the California heat.

Two days had passed and so far, aside from the brash heat, Taylor had found herself to be enjoying her brief American leg. Having close friends by her side eased some the nervous qualms she had carried, as did making many new friends in the wake of the festival. Within the few hours she spent with them, Black Veil Brides had taken Taylor into their circle as though they'd known her for years; laughing, joking around, and drinking, yes. But overall, Taylor had quickly grown fond of spending much of her time with Andy -- which hadn't gone unnoticed by Danny and Ben.

With a quick crack of the knuckles, Taylor plucked at the strings of her guitar in preparation for her next tent show. They certainly weren't her favourite gig to play, yet to her surprise, Taylor had found that she had gathered a small following in the crowds she sang to; quickly accumulating with every show.

The grass beneath her pricked at her bare legs and the heat made it difficult for her to persist with her practice. Despite that, her face lifted when she saw him out of the corner of her eye, and she smiled when Andy sat down beside her, placing the cool water bottle down and relaxing into the warm field.

"One water bottle, as per request," he said, then reached into his vest pocket again, "And one granola bar -- because food," he still wore that cocky grin, eyes twinkling like a mischievous child.

"My knight in shining armour," she spoke with a withered exasperation and quickly took the water bottle, "How much do I owe you?" she asked before taking a sip.

"Don't worry about it," he shrugged.

Taylor glowered at him as she swallowed, "Come on, Andy. Don't be ridiculous,"

"Taylor, it's a water bottle and a shitty granola bar. Hardly put a dent in my wallet," he said, "And don't argue with a cripple,"

"My bad," she chuckled and took the granola bar between her fingers, struggling to pull apart the foil, "How are your ribs, by the way?"

Andy shifted again at the mention, "Can hardly feel 'em now," he said, "Just watch: by the end of the month I'll be right as rain again,"

Taylor refrained from scowling despite the willful foil and adhesive, "Are those your doctor's words or you trying to put me at ease?" she rebutted.

"Perhaps a bit of both," he smirked, taking the granola bar from her and with a quick pull, the foil tore open. Taylor glowered then as he handed it back to her.

"... Showoff," she took the first bite of the sticky, chocolatey goodness before offering the bar his way. He took a bite and commented on how it was simply just a glorified chocolate bar for children. He chewed thoughtfully, watching her for longer than necessary; her long lashes grazing her cheeks, her nude pink lipstick leaving a slight imprint on the foil top and she blinked back at him, shrugging at his remark before taking another bite.

"Aren't you hot like that?" she asked then, pointing to his long, thick black hair.

Andy scratched his jaw with his finger nonchalantly and gave a small shrug, his lips pouty, "Haven't really noticed,"

"Ya' haven't really noticed?" Taylor mocked back in disbelief, "Mate, I'm hot just looking at ya!"

His face flushed then at her nickname, that and the way the twang in her Northern accent held a slight squeak to her outburst, "Honestly, I'm fine," he assured her, "Live in Los Angeles long enough, you get used to it,"

"Ugh, Americans," she joked, lying back and enveloping herself fully in the sun's rays, "Whatcha' doing after your show today?"

Andy bit down on the inside of his lip, "What do you wanna' do?" he replied. Taylor raised her eyebrows, unable to help but admire the strip of sunlight that fell over his face.

"I don't know. The beach, perhaps?" she replied, "Could use a good cooling off,"

He tried not to let his smile grow at that the insinuating thoughts in his head, instead he chuckled, "Taylor, do I look like somebody who goes to the beach?"

Taylor simply shook her head, "You look more like the monster that crawled out of the water to scare the horny teenagers off,"

" -- I won't argue with you there," Andy chuckled back, "But for you, I might entertain the idea of going to the beach,"

"For the prospect of seeing me in a me swimmers, I'd wager," she teased.

"Well," he nodded truthfully, trying not to let his smirk falter, "I wouldn't mind, personally,"

She laughed as she looked back at him, brown eyes bright and shining, "Got ya' figured out, Andy,"

He'd been trying not to lose himself in her too often, had purposely ignored the splash of colour of the thin feathers tied into her teal bun, the way the freckles he'd previously tried to count and memorize the pattern of were highlighted in the sun, had willed himself to focus on the conversation each time her lips had wrapped around the bottle of her water but now he couldn't not notice it all, admired her up close, fantasized about the mere idea of his hands being where she currently had them sitting atop her stomach, then bit the inside of his cheek at how lewd his thoughts were.

"That you do, Taylor," Andy drawled, his voice deeper than it had been before, laced with awe.

Taylor's eyes travelled up the gallery of tattoos that littered his arms. His body was close to hers and it radiated heat, he must have been sweaty with all that hair but she couldn't tell, could smell his cologne instead, the linger of cigarette smoke she'd inhaled before.

"Shall we go, then?" she asked, slowly sitting up, "You have another show and I have another tent to play,"

"I say fuck it," he shrugged back, lowering his face slightly to hers, desperate to win her over, "Let's just stay here for the rest of the day. Watch the clouds, eat glorified chocolate bars and that bullshit,"

Taylor smiled, her cheeks straining from how much his happiness was rubbing off on her. Her heartbeat had sped up a little and she quickly blamed it on the lack of food since breakfast and the morbid heat, but there was something about his presence that still enthralled her too. She wanted nothing more than to hear him talk about everything and anything for hours, found herself so connected to his mind and the way he worked, couldn't wait to watch him perform again, especially now she'd done a little revision on his music. Her gaze locked on his fearlessly, she raised her chin.

"As enticing as that sounds, our agents will have our heads on spits if we ditch," she said.

Andy shrugged and wet his lips, "Do you often do what you're told?" he asked.

A smirk spread over her pearly pink lips and she leaned in closer, "Only when it suits me," she replied softly.

Despite all the control he'd fought for, the arrogance and air of nonchalance he was desperate to exude, his face lit up; he couldn't help it.

"I'll keep that in mind," he grinned back, untangling his long legs from their pretzel to get to his feet, "You coming then?"

Taylor only extended out her arms, a silent asking for him to take her hands and yank her to feet in one deft swoop. She squeaked at the sudden force and nearly tripped into him, falling straight into his chest. Andy held her steady and couldn't help his bemused giggle.

"You alright?" he asked, his left eyebrow arching in query. Taylor couldn't decide if it was nerves that had prompted the action, or if he was trying to keep up his act, but either way, he looked effortlessly cool doing it.

"Absolutely," she nodded and pulled herself away.

She stuffed her things back into her tote bag and picked up her guitar. After arguing back and forth with himself, Andy nervously threw his arm around her shoulders to bring her to his side as they began to walk. Taylor's eyes were wide with shock for a moment.

"Is it alright if I do this?" he asked, holding his breath for her reaction.

Taylor smiled back in kind, "Yeah," she settled into him with ease, didn't feel uncomfortable with his immediate closeness, his friendliness and need to make her feel comfortable reassuring her that he wasn't trying to put anything on her.

His thumb smoothed down her arm an inch or two as he kept her locked there, her skin smooth and silky but he tensed his jaw to stop himself from going any further, would hate to make her feel uneasy or to do something to scare her off.

"I like those feathers," he drawled, pocketing at his tight jeans for a smoke.

"Thanks," she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, "You know, Ben and Danny would probably have a fit if they saw us together like this,"

"How do you mean? Like -- jealousy?" he mumbled, popping the cigarette between his lips with his free hand, "Personally, I don't blame 'em for it. I got one of the hottest girls at Warped Tour on my arm today," he smirked with a cocky bravado.

"I don't mean like that..." she laughed back, nudging his ribs with her elbow gently, watching the smoke bob from where it was placed between his lips, "In a more brotherly protective manner, so to speak,"

"So, you've known them long?" he asked.

"Meh. Since I was about nineteen," she sighed, "Being young and reckless, trying to stay outta' trouble and shit. They've gotten me out of a few jams in the past,"

"Care to elaborate?" Andy asked, now pocketing around for his lighter.

Taylor shook her head, "Nah, not really," she replied with a nervous giggle, "S'pose I'm just grateful to having them look out for me,"

"Well, I'm very grateful that they introduced me to you," he said, biting the inside of his cheek at his own cheekiness as he brought the smoke away from his mouth to light it.

"As am I," before Andy could barely take the first puff, Taylor snatched the cigarette from his lips for herself.

"Naughty girl," he teased, to which Taylor giggled merrily and handed the bud back to him after her exhale, "I didn't like that, but I respect it,"

A few feet in front of them sat a newer indie rock band; three young hipsters with shaggy hair, baggy muscle tees, and leather woven jewelry. The lead singer noticed Andy and Taylor coming their way and turning his nose up at their loud, eccentric visage. Taylor wasn't so bad on the eyes, with a bit of cleaning up and she'd probably be one of the most beautiful girls he'd ever laid eyes on. Andy's appearance however puzzled him greatly; didn't this taller kid know that hair metal was out of trend?

The singer, with beady green eyes, glowered as the couple passed him by -- his bandmates hardly took notice until their singer suddenly shouted.

"Hey dude!" he called to Andy, "The 80s called, they want their hair back!"

Andy and Taylor stopped short at the whiny voice. Taylor then noted how Andy's face had twisted from pleasant delight to that of simmering irritation. She found that suddenly unsettling to her. He turned slowly to the hipster, cigarette still brandished between his lips with a glare that was sure to kill if looks only could.

"You talking to me, kid?" Andy asked the hipster.

The hipster shrugged without care, much to the chagrin of his bandmates who tried to tell him to shut up, "I sure as shit wasn't talking to her," he spat back, nodding in Taylor's direction.

Andy tore the cigarette away in a deft swipe, stepping over to give this little shit a piece of his mind. Taylor however quickly placed her hand over his chest, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

"Just leave him alone," she murmured to him, "He's looking for a fight is all, and he ain't gonna' get it out of you,"

As if by a sudden wave of magic, Andy's boiling rage simmered down to barely lukewarm. As much as it pained him to admit it, Taylor's words had some truth to them. He could see it in the way this little hipster bitch was smirking at him, just goading him into throwing the first punch. But when he looked down, he was met with Taylor's dark, pleading eyes. He didn't want to let her down. So, Andy inhaled deeply and stood back, taking the high road and placing the cigarette back in his mouth.

"Let's get out of here,"

Taylor, flush was relief, scowled at the twenty-something-year-old boy with disinterest. She instead took Andy's hand in her own and sneered at the hipster before walking away, "Twat!"

The air was much cooler in Asking's bus thanks to this ingenious invention called air conditioning. In turn, Taylor and Maxeen had let their hair down as they sat cloistered together on the floor of the bunk cave. With two bottles of beer before them, Taylor kept as still as possible as Maxeen applied the fresh coat of raspberry pink nail polish to her fingernails while Maxeen waited for her own toe polish to dry.

In the common area, they could hear the faint, muffled commotion of the Asking boys as they battled each other on the video game consoles, swearing and shouting every few seconds it seemed. Taylor's mind was preoccupied, Maxeen could tell from the lack of response she gave when she tried to initiate conversation.

"What's on your mind?" she asked. Taylor flickered her eyes up to meet her friend's, but she shrugged nonchalantly.

"Nothing much," she replied, "Why?"

"You just seem to be somewhere else," Maxeen said, "Were you alright after the gig?"

"Well enough, I suppose," Taylor said.

Maxeen dipped the polish brush back into the jar before she started on the other hand, "Sad we only got four days left?"

Taylor's chest rippled with apprehension, the sullen reminder that her time here was short was nearly enough to send her into a funk. She had enjoyed the time she'd gotten to spend with Danny and Ben, and Andy of course. The time she'd spent with Andy made her feel as though she'd known him for years, forming a bond she hadn't experienced in quite some time. She had told herself over and over not to become too attached to this boy, but like many things in her life that plan too went awry.

"Yeah. Back to the bleak fucking cold," she sighed.

"It's not cold right now back home," Maxeen pointed out, "It's July,"

"I'm aware," Taylor said, "I think it's just like -- you get a small taste for what you could have here but you don't have enough time to really enjoy it,"

Maxeen stopped mid paint-stroke, quirking her head at the mysterious notion Taylor was grappling at, "Whatcha' on about?"

Taylor quickly shook her head, figuring Maxeen would think her ridiculous if she was honest, "Nothing," she mumbled.

Maxeen pursed her lips as she finished the last coat, eyeing Taylor cautiously as though she expected to burst out into tears. Despite not having known Danny, Ben, and the others for as long as Taylor had, Maxeen could very well understand how sad she would be for leaving at the end of the week. However, she could sense from the aversion of Taylor's big brown eyes that she was miffed about something more than just having to leave her friends behind.

"You've been hanging around a lot with that goth-looking guy, eh?" she said, carefully gauging Taylor's next moves. The young rockstar only met her gaze for a brief moment with a nod, "What was his name... Andrew?"

"Andy," Taylor said in wallow.

"Yeah, that's right," Maxeen nodded, "Seems like a nice chap -- could do with a fucking hair cut, though,"

Taylor shrugged again, the tangy smell of nail polish slowly infiltrating her nostrils and making her scrunch, "I think it's alright, actually," she admitted, "It's more his face I notice. Underneath all that paint he's quite handsome,"

"Oh, I'm sure," Maxeen chided back, quirking her head as she tried to read off her friend, "Do you like him, then?"

"Oh course," Taylor nodded, "Him and his mates have been lovely,"

"Okay, but do you fancy him?" Maxeen asked again, "Like... in the same way you felt for Spencer?"

Taylor's ears burned at the sudden mention of her old flame. Thinking back now, that relationship felt like an entire life time ago, a distant memory that she didn't care to hold on to in that it kept her from evolving in her personal life. This however left Taylor with the question of whether or not she was ready to move on.

"It's been three fucking days, I couldn't tell you that, Max," she replied, "Besides, even if I did -- and I'm not saying I do -- but if I did, who's to say it would work anyway? I live on another bloody continent!"

Maxeen shrugged, "Well, that is to say if you did fancy him, I reckon you wouldn't give two shits about long distance. There are lots of couples out there separated, but they make it work,"

Taylor picked up her half-empty beer bottle, "You trying to talk me into a relationship that don't exist?" she took a quick swig and set it back on the carpeted floor.

"All I'm trying to say is if the opportunity presents itself, try it out," Maxeen replied, "So we leave in four days. How much you want to bet you'll be kicking yourself if you never saw him again and didn't at least entertain the possibility of what could've been? And besides, out of all the freaks and nerds we've met on this tour, Andy certainly wouldn't be the worst one to shag,"

A faint blush creeped over Taylor's face as she smiled, shaking her head at Maxeen's snide comment. That being said, the more she thought about it, the deeper Taylor's racing mind sunk into the gutter. Her face went redder and she snickered to herself.

Maxeen's own face meanwhile lit up, fascinated and excited by Taylor's meek and sly response. She shuffled in closer and leaned in to whisper, "Are you actually thinking about...?"

Taylor's nodding and anxious giggling gave her away in an instant, "I wouldn't mind, personally," she murmured, blushing like a nun outside of a fetish shop.

Maxeen's newfound glee reached a new height of mania. From the diabolical glint in her eyes, Taylor could tell in an instant that she was up to no good. And she was right. In an instant, Maxeen scrambled to her feet with a sadistic grin and started shouting, "Fuck me! Danny!"

Taylor was overcome with sudden horror, "Oh, god! Whatcha' think you're doing?" and she was then in hot pursuit.

Danny was currently caught up in a cut-throat game of Mario Kart with James. With some fancy thumb work, Danny desperately urged the Wario avatar to pass into first, however James' Toad proved to be a worthy opponent as the carts were now grill-and-grill in an effort to hit the checkered finish line.

"Danny! Ben!" At the sudden call of his name though, Danny lost his train of thought for a millisecond before Wario had veered off the track and had plummeted into the lava pit below. Toad meanwhile finished with a first-place victory.

"What the fuck?" Ben and Cameron turned towards the commotion in question.

Maxeen emerged from the bunk cave, eager to spill her gossip, "Boys! Taylor wants to shag -- oh!" but she stopped short, realizing that it wasn't just the Asking boys wasting their night in front of the tele.

When Taylor grabbed hold of Maxeen, she felt herself go a deep shade of red. Andy, Ashley, and Jake had come along for the digital race, they and everybody else taken aback and amused at Maxeen's outburst. Oh, for fuck sakes...

James however started snickering as he set down his controller, eager to hear this play out, "Who does Taylor want to shag, Max?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows at the blue-haired beauty. Taylor slapped her hand over Maxeen's mouth before she could say anything incriminating.

"Your ma!" Taylor snapped, "Don't mind her, she's just drunk. Carry on, then!" and she yanked Maxeen back into the bunk, scowling at the echoing howls of Ben, Danny, and the others pissing themselves with laughter.

When the girls had disappeared and the hysteria died down, Andy took a thoughtful swig of his own beer; while Danny demanded a rematch from James on account of unforeseen distractions. A cocky smile had come over Andy, just still able to makeup the silhouette of the girls in the dark shadows -- with Taylor no doubt reprimanding Maxeen for being so out of line.

"NO! AYE!" Andy suddenly sat upright in his bunk, not yet awake enough to sense his smaller enclosure and he smashed his head into the rock-hard ceiling.

"Motherfuck!" he groaned, holding his now-throbbing head. His bandmates were now awake as well, all thanks to their lighting technician who just so happened to have the bunk over Andy. The poor fellow had night terrors, and the band was sympathetic to the matter -- just not at five in the morning.

"Fucking -- Richard!" Jinxx pulled back the curtain of his own bunk and hurled his pillow into Richard's, promptly waking him. The older man snorted and grumbled before coming to, realizing what had happened and groaned to himself.

"Sorry," he called. Andy whimpered and slowly rolled out of the bunk, continuing to clutch his head. He had hoped that because his hair was so thick that it would've absorbed some of the impact, then he felt stupid for thinking such a thing. CC then poked his head out of the bunk, and when he registered what had happened he started to laugh to himself. The hungover side of him found the situation hilarious, the sober part of him found it sad, however.

"You okay, Andy?" John, their tour manager, had peaked out from his own quarters at the sudden commotion.

Andy didn't raise his head, instead he held up his hand in the A-OK sign. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, hoping to ease some of the pounding in his head. The reverberations of the bus' engine certainly weren't helping him.

"Are we there yet?" he called to their driver, Collin.

"Forty-five minutes!" Collin called back.

"Take an ice bag for that," John instructed, "Last thing we need is to take you back to the hospital for a cracked skull,"

Andy grimaced at the notion of going back to the hospital again. He staggered to his feet and grabbed his phone, using the light to guide him as wandered through the blacked-out bus and went for the cupboard that held the first-aid kit. He grabbed the plastic bag out of the red box and slammed it down against the countertop several times, trying to illicit a chill from the chemicals inside. When it was cold enough for his liking, he pressed the bag to his forehead and slumped down onto the couch.

He sat in the silence on his own, basking in vibrations of the bus engine. It compounded against his headache but Andy found the sound soothing nonetheless. The throbbing seemed to extend from his head down to his ribs, reminding him of another literal pain that he'd foolishly caused to himself. Knowing how Richard was with his sleep terrors, he pondered whether he and the other boys should get their bunks lined with some padding to avoid situations such at this.

From beside him, Andy's phone suddenly buzzed. It hurt to turn his neck, but he glanced down and squinted at the blue light coming off the screen. The scowl on his face however eased into a smile when he saw Taylor's text message.

Hello from the bus ten meters behind you.

Andy glanced at the time, confirming that Taylor was indeed up earlier than she needed to be as he texted back.

Ello, dahling. What are you doing up?

You're mocking my accent over text now?

I'm not mocking, I'm impersonating

... that's kind of stupid now that I'm thinking about it

Lol, it's cool. I just can't sleep, James is snoring and I have bad jet lag :(

Well, shit.

You think that's bad? Our lighting guy woke me up with his night terrors. I hit my head.

You poor kid! You ok?

Eh, I've had worse. I'll survive

Did you like the show yesterday?

You already asked me.

You just said it was fun. Any analytical criticisms??

I liked the band and the music was really good! Not quite sold on the frontman tho

Well, I thought he was pretty fucking charming.

I think you should give him a chance.

He's a bit of a poser, don't you think? All that body paint and his piercings...

I think you secretly find him really hot. ;)

Well, with all that hair on his head he reminded me of a goth cousin It.

That hurts me right in my core, Taylor

Whops, my thumb slipped :P

Andy couldn't remember the last time he had smiled as much as he did that morning. He stared at that little emoticon with endearment, the ache in his head and ribs quickly forgotten as the three little dots appeared under the message, and he waited patiently. In his head he could hear the ring of her accent speaking the words she'd written, could still hear her laugh tinkling in his ears.

Seriously though, I think I've had more fun with you the past three days then I have all year. You turned me on to glam metal

His heart thundered in his chest as he read over the words. He didn't think it was possible but his smile seemed to get wider. He'd promise himself not to flirt with her but fuck, she made it really hard. Especially with that English humor of hers. It wasn't as though she wasn't guilty on her part.

Darling, you just made my fucking day

Asking Alexandria's bus wasn't far behind from Black Veil. Within the confines of her bunk Taylor felt as though a candle had been lit was slowly glowing brighter and brighter within her chest. Her rapport with Andy was different from her past relations with men, different to what she had with Danny and Ben.

He was sweet and flirtatious, as well as playfully narcissistic in a way that boosted his own ego despite making Taylor laugh at him. And those eyes of his -- she could picture those beautiful eyes staring at her own text message, probably with a hint of irritation as his head ached. Those eyes could stare into her soul, find out her deepest vices and yet she'd welcome him fully.

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just-my-sickly-pride · 4 years

Text

Call Me || Roger Taylor x fem!Reader & Brian May x fem!Reader

summary || when you and roger start to get hot and heavy, he proposes a game: he goes down on you, and you have to try to hold a phone conversation with brian without brian catching onto what’s happening. it’s game on.

rating || explicit (18+ only). do not read if you are under eighteen. sub!brian with some orgasm denial, a bit of overstimulation (reader).

word count || 3.4k

author’s notes || this is another instalment in the try series! for those who aren’t aware, the series is about reader having a fwb arrangement with both brian and roger. i know, all i’ve been posting recently is stuff from this series, but most of this was written a while ago and i want to get it out into the world, and it works for me, bc i’m completely burnt out from the end of uni so i don’t have the energy to write anything new atm!

masterlist

It had been two weeks since your big talk with Roger and Brian about jealousy and respect, and, to your quiet surprise, it had all seemed to actually sink in. You hadn’t noticed any simmering animosity between the two of them, and it felt far easier to breathe when the three of you were in a room together. You wondered if they’d had any follow-up conversations, just the two of them – but you didn’t want to pry, so you didn’t ask.

It was a Sunday afternoon, your roommate Lucy was visiting her parents back home, and Roger was at yours. Roger liked to kiss you when you least expected it. Brian liked to let it build, let the tension sizzle until it exploded, but Roger liked to take you by surprise.

Today, you had just finished making you both cups of tea when he wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed the back of your neck. You giggled, and turned in his arms, cupping his face between your hands, and he kissed you slowly, leisurely, as he almost always did. His hands slid lower until they were on your ass, where he gave it a firm pat, making you jump in surprise.

“Roger,” you scolded him, and he chuckled, pecking you on the lips.

“Sorry,” he said lightly.

“I don’t think you are.”

“Hm, you’re right, I’m not.” He gave your butt another solid pat, kissed you once more, and then let you go, reaching behind to grab his tea. You gave his butt a firm pat of your own, and he just gave it a wiggle, same as he wiggled his eyebrows, before disappearing out of the kitchen.

You followed him, and you both settled on the couch. You leant against the arm of the chair, and he pulled your legs over his lap as you chatted, his fingers drumming random rhythms and tracing patterns on your thighs. It was distracting, but wonderfully so.

The tea was soon forgotten about, in lieu of making out. Roger’s hands smoothed up and down your thighs, and you played with his hair absentmindedly.

“I had an idea,” he said as you sat back, taking a breather.

“Don’t strain yourself,” you said.

“Funny.”

“I thought so.”

“Do you want to hear it or not?”

You smiled. “Yes, tell me.”

Roger licked his lips, and slid his palms up and down your thighs again in thought. “What if we… make things a little more exciting?”

You raised your eyebrows. You were all up for that. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’ve heard about this… game, that people play,” Roger said. “Where one person is going down on the other, and the person receiving has to try to hold a phone conversation with someone without that person knowing what’s going on.”

“Oh,” you said, your eyebrows creeping even higher. “Right.”

“What do you think?” Roger said. “Are we vetoing that one, or…?”

You considered it. You couldn’t just call anyone, it would have to be someone who wouldn’t mind possibly discovering the truth. Who did Roger know that he could call?

“I was thinking you could call Brian,” Roger supplied.

“Wait, I’m the one receiving here?” you said.

Roger shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, it makes sense. Brian wouldn’t care, right? If he figured it out.”

“You don’t mind me being on the phone to Brian while you’re going down on me?” you said unsurely.

“No,” Roger said, frowning. “I mean, we’ve sorted things out, so... Why, do you mind?”

“No,” you said, but you were surprised, to say the least. “I just thought you’d…” I just thought you’d still mind, seeing as most people would. Had they talked about this in one of their hypothetical private conversations? You shrugged. “Nothing, it’s fine.”

“So you’re up for it?” Roger said hopefully.

Were you actually about to do this? Let Roger eat you out while you were talking to Brian?

Does this count as a threesome? you thought to yourself in amusement.

You nodded. “Yeah, let’s do it.” You grinned, climbing off Roger’s lap, settling on the couch. “What happens if I lose the game?”

Roger fetched your phone, tossing it to you, and helped you out of your shorts and underwear. “Uh,” he said, pulling off your shoes and socks for you and putting them aside, “I guess you lose your dignity. That’s enough for me.”

You laughed. “Yeah, all right.”

You pulled him up for a second to kiss him some more, taking off his shirt as he took off yours, his hands all over you, riling you up.

He kissed his way down your body until he settled between your legs, and you adjusted your position so he had a better angle.

“Okay,” you said, suddenly very nervous as you unlocked your phone. “I’m calling him now.”

You were trembling as the phone rang in your ear. Roger was kissing your stomach, your thighs, and you could sense how excited he was to play his little game.

“Wait, what am I going to say?” you hissed in a panic, but then Brian picked up.

“Hey,” he said. You could hear him playing a record in the background. Rory Gallagher, obviously. “It’s not like you to call without warning, is everything okay?”

“Hey,” you said, and Roger took that as his cue to start. You breathed in sharply, clenching your jaw, as his tongue started working through you. Your hand went to his hair. “Uh,” you said, hoping it came across as a thinking noise, “no, everything’s fine. Sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

Roger adjusted his grip on you, tugging you forward, and dove into you with more vigour. Your eyes went wide, but you managed to hold back any noise. “–to, um, alarm you.”

“You all right?” Brian said. “You sound distracted.”

“I’m just thinking,” you said as nonchalantly as you could manage. “I’m actually… Well, I’m, um–”

Roger slid two fingers into you, and your back arched, but you bit your lip hard to shut yourself up. “I’m actually struggling with– with the lecture content from today,” you said in a rush. “I just don’t– mm!”

Your first vocal slip-up. Roger had found your G-spot. You looked down at him to find him looking up at you, gleeful mischief sparkling in his eyes, and you had to look away again.

“What?” Brian said. “What’s going on?”

“Sorry, sorry,” you said. You let your head fall back against the couch, rolling your hips against Roger’s mouth. God, he was good at this. You let your eyes slide closed. What were you talking about again?

You sighed. “Um…” Fuck, Roger was taking his time, really letting you build. He was in no hurry to make you come within the next two minutes. It was both a blessing and a curse – sure, you wouldn’t have to try holding a conversation while you orgasmed, but boy, was it easy to forget completely what you were doing.

“Should I call back later?” Brian asked. “It sounds like you’re in the middle of something.”

“No,” you said quickly, forcing your eyes open. “No, I’m– I’m sorry. My fault. What did I– Oh, the… the lecture. Yes.”

“What about it?”

Christ, Brian had a nice voice. Roger reached up and pinched one of your nipples, and you made a sound again.

“The lecture!” you blurted to try to cover it up. “Could you explain it to me, please?”

“What, all of it?” Brian said.

“N– No, just the – the first bit.”

Brian started explaining it, and you made sure to keep up sounds of acknowledgement. Okay. You could do this. This was just listening to Brian’s soft, warm voice while Roger made you feel good, kept your head in the clouds. You scratched Roger’s scalp absentmindedly, and he hummed in appreciation, making you smile.

But then, as Brian’s explanation began to draw to a close, Roger clearly decided to stop taking it easy on you, and sucked on your clit. You squeaked, and Roger paused to press his forehead against your thigh, trying to smother his laughter.

“What was that?” Brian said.

“Nothing,” you said. “Just my chair.”

Roger went back to work, and his goal in mind had obviously taken a hard turn: he was going to make you come in about one minute flat at this rate.

“Okay, well, did you get all that?” Brian said.

“Y-yeah,” you said, and it came out sounding far too whiny and breathless for casual conversation. You tried clearing your throat, but it didn’t help – Roger was relentless. Your mind scrambled to come up with a way to possibly hide this, because it felt so fucking good, and you were scared to open your mouth in fear of what sounds would roll out of it. Your hand gripped Roger’s hair.

Brian sighed. “Um… well, yeah, all right, then.”

“Mm-hm,” you squeezed out. You gasped. Shit, you were close, you were so fucking close, Christ. You could feel it deep in your belly, a coiled spring.

“Is that everything?”

Fuck, how were you meant to reply? You went to speak, but all that came out was a stuttered, “Um, ah.”

“Go on,” Brian said. “You can come.”

Your orgasm slammed into you, and you blurted out, “Oh, fuck,” blood roaring in your ears, and Roger coaxed you through it as you shook, small whimpers slipping from your throat. You tried to catch your breath.

You tilted the phone away from your mouth. “Mm, Rog, enough, I’m sensitive,” you murmured, tugging on his hair, and he wiped his face on the back of his hand, and then climbed onto the couch, straddling you. He kissed your throat, and you scratched the back of his neck, sighing.

“Hi Brian,” he said, and you could hear Brian laughing on the other end of the line.

“Hi, Roger.”

“Guess I lost the game, then, huh?” you said.

“You were doomed from the start,” Brian said. “I knew what was going on as soon as I answered the phone. You think I don’t know what it sounds like when you’re turned on? You were panting like a dog.”

“Oh,” you said with a laugh.

Roger hummed, kissing the skin under your ear. “It was so hot, though.”

“It was,” Brian agreed. He hissed and spat out, “Shit.”

You grinned. Brian knew what it sounded like when you were getting off, but that knowledge went both ways. “Are you jerking off, Bri?”

Roger paused.

“Maybe,” Brian gasped. “I’m surprised you couldn’t tell. I’ve been doing it ever since you made me explain the lecture. Which I wasn’t even doing, by – ah, ah – by the way. I was…” He groaned, and your stomach stirred. “I was just saying random shit from the tute two days ago.”

“Make him come, sweetheart,” Roger said, low, his voice rough, and you shuddered.

“How close are you, Bri?” you asked.

“Sort of close. I’ve just been – hm – teasing myself.”

“Where are you?”

“In my room. On m– my bed.”

“Could you hear how wet I was when Rog was eating me out?”

Roger moaned softly, kissing your neck again.

“Yeah,” Brian said weakly.

“Are you jealous Roger got to taste me, while you’re all alone in your room?”

“Yes.”

“Are you imaging what I’d feel like? How wet and tight and hot I’d be around your cock?”

“Y– yeah. Fuck.”

“Shit, sweetheart,” Roger growled. He palmed at himself, his breath harsh against your throat.

You moved the phone out of the way, blocking the speaker with your shoulder. “Rog, go get a condom. I want Brian to hear you fucking me.”

Roger groaned, kissed you firmly, and hurried to get a condom.

“You still there, Bri?”

“Yes.” He sounded all hot and bothered. Perfect.

“I want you to slow down for me. Just for a bit. Okay?”

Brian huffed. “Okay.”

“Just take it nice and slow for now. Feel the drag of your hand. Imagine it’s mine. Are you doing that?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good boy.”

Brian whined.

“Oh, what a pretty sound that was,” you cooed. “It’s been a while since you’ve been like this for me, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

Roger came back, already prepped - you almost burst out laughing at the sight, but you didn’t want to break the tension with Brian, so you swallowed it down - and he gestured frantically. How do you want me?

You held up a finger. Just a sec. “Bri, I want you to stop.”

Brian whined again, high and needy. “B– But–”

“Do as I say. Be good and I’ll let you start again. Have you stopped?”

“Yes. Please, I…”

“Good boy. Wait for me, okay? I’ll be back in a second.”

You looked back to Roger, who was squeezing the base of his cock. “Fuck, it’s hot when you get like this,” he whispered.

You grinned. “I know, right?” You gestured for him to sit down. “I’m gonna ride you.”

Roger quickly got into place, and he held himself still while you sunk down onto him and waited, getting used to the stretch.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” Roger groaned, his hands tight on your hips.

“Bri?” you said, panting. “Are you there?”

“Yes,” Brian said. “What’s going on?”

“Just getting settled,” you said. “Are you being good?”

“Yes, I haven’t touched myself.”

“Good boy! I’m proud of you.”

Brian whimpered.

“You can touch yourself again,” you said. “Well done for being so well-behaved.”

You started riding Roger, and Roger helped guide you into a good rhythm, rolling his hips up to meet yours.

“Wh– What’s that?” Brian said. “What’s happening?”

“I’m fucking myself on Roger’s cock, Bri,” you said simply, and Roger hissed. “Nice and deep. Can you hear it?”

“Yes.”

“Bet you wish – ah – it was you, huh?”

“So bad.”

Roger moaned. “Fuck.”

“How close are you, Bri?” you asked. It was getting annoying having to hold the phone, but it was worth it to hear Brian’s moans and whimpers and grunts.

“C– close.”

“Fuck, faster, please,” Roger said, and you sped up, bouncing on his lap, keeping balance with one hand on his shoulder. He cried out, hips bucking up against yours. “Fuck.”

“God, Rog, fuck,” you hissed.

“I’m close,” Brian whined. “Can I come, can I come, please? You sound so good, want you so bad, please.”

“Only when I do,” you said. “Got it?”

Brian sobbed.

“You close?” you said to Roger.

“Yeah,” Roger grunted. “You?”

“Could use some help,” you said, and he got his hand in between the two of you, massaging your clit, and you had to stop bouncing to grind against it, groaning. “Fuck, that’s it.”

You continued to roll your hips against Roger’s hand, clenching around him, making him shudder and moan.

“Please,” Brian gasped desperately.

“N– No, not yet,” you growled.

Roger seemed to almost take pity on Brian, as he doubled his efforts, leaving you gasping and weak. “Come on, sweetheart, come for me,” he whispered.

Your legs were shaking. “Rog, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come.”

“Do it, come on. Fuck.”

Your second orgasm rocked over you like a wave, and your whole body trembled so badly from the force of it that you slumped against Roger’s shoulder, whining into his skin.

Roger’s hips snapped against yours automatically, and he gasped out, “Let the poor fucker come.”

You raised the phone to your ear again. “You can come, Bri,” you panted.

Brian swore, and let out a guttural moan. You could picture it so clearly, his hand on his cock, his face when he came, and it made your core pulse, making Roger twitch. You listened to Brian coming down from it, letting out huge, heaving breaths. “Fuck,” he breathed.

“You good?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

Roger let out a pathetic moan, and you laughed. “Rog isn’t, though. I’m gonna go so he doesn’t die from desperation. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you later. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“I will. Bye.” You hung up, and Roger snatched the phone from your hand, all but throwing it across the room.

“Enough of that bloody phone,” he growled. “How sensitive are you?”

“Sensitive,” you said.

“Sensitive enough that it’ll hurt if I keep fucking you?”

“Yes.” You nipped and licked at his throat, tasting the sweat. “So keep fucking me.”

“You sure?”

“Want it to hurt.”

Roger swore, and you managed to sit up, bracing yourself on his shoulders, and, wincing, you kept riding him. You whimpered, your body begging you to stop, but you kept going anyway.

“Fuck, does it hurt, sweetheart?” Roger said, his hips meeting yours.

“Yeah,” you hissed. Your body jerked involuntarily. “Shit.”

Roger gripped your waist and pulled you down, hard, and you yelped in pain, then moaned. You didn’t like overstimulation all that often, but sometimes, when you were in the mood, it was just so fucking good.

Guided by Roger’s tight grip on you, you fucked yourself on him fast and hard, ignoring how weak your limbs were, how much it hurt, how desperate your body was to get away from the ache. Each sound of pain you made was followed by a sound of pleasure, sometimes a mix of both. Roger didn’t go easy on you, which you were grateful for, and then, at some point, the pain dissipated, and you felt the beginnings of another orgasm building.

You had enough hands to help yourself, now, and you rubbed at your clit, which was still a touch oversensitive, while Roger groaned out, “God, fuck.”

“I’m getting there, hang on,” you said.

“Are you close? I don’t know if I can hold it.”

“Fuck, I’m close, I’m close.”

“Shit, come on.”

Then – there, right there, you were on the brink, just a bit more…

“I’m coming,” Roger groaned.

“No, wait, wait, I’m almost–”

“I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m– fuck.”

He came, gasping, and then relaxed under you, and you whined, slowing to a stop. “Roger.”

He was panting, glowing, but he did seem genuinely remorseful. He sat up to kiss you in apology. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hold it.”

You kept circling your clit. “I’m gonna come while you’re still inside me.”

“No, I’m too sensitive,” Roger complained, but he didn’t try to stop you.

Your breath caught as you clenched around him, and he jerked.

You were close again. Roger could feel it, and he let his head flop back against the couch, covering his face with his hands. “You suck,” he moaned. “Argh.”

“Fuck,” you hissed to yourself, and whimpered.

Roger sat forward again, jostling you accidentally, and snatched your hand away, capturing your lips in a kiss. You went to protest, but his hand went where yours had been, his other hand tugging at your nipple.

In no time at all you were coming, pulsing around him, sighing into his mouth as you did so, and he broke the kiss, burying his face in your neck as he twitched. “Ow, ow, fuck, this is the worst.”

You laughed, stroking his back. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he grumbled. “Now can you get off me?”

You eased yourself off him – he whinged and spasmed as you did so – and collapsed beside him on the couch. “Well!” you said.

“Well!” he agreed.

You both rolled your head to look at each other. “What an evening,” he said.

You nodded. “What an evening.”

Roger’s eyes were soft as he drank in your face, and he smiled a small smile.

“What?” you said, smiling yourself.

Roger shrugged. “Dunno. You’re just a really cool person, I guess. And I’m glad you’re around.”

Your smile widened. “You’re really cool, too. And I’m also glad you’re around.”

“Cheers.” Roger leant in for a quick kiss. “I’m thinking a shower, followed by a couple of episodes of The Office, how’s that sound?”

“Which version?”

“UK. Obviously.”

You made a face. “UK? Fuck off.”

Roger shook his head. “The UK version is the original and it’s better. Everyone says they like the US version more, but have you even tried watching the UK one?”

“No,” you said. “Why bother? It’s not as good.”

“How a few of each, then? We can decide which is better that way.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Fine. But I won’t be convinced.”

“We’ll see.” Roger hopped up off the couch, and you reached forward to give his ass a slap. He threw his middle finger up at you, both of you laughing, and then he headed off to the bathroom.

Your eyes fell on the phone across the room. Neither Roger nor Brian had seemed to mind too much that the other one had been fairly heavily involved while you’d gotten off. In fact, they’d both seemed to enjoy it.

Hm. Maybe not worth thinking about too much.

You glanced towards the bathroom as you heard the shower turn on.

Or maybe it was worth thinking about a bit more.

#mine #roger taylor x reader #brian may x reader #try verse #the try series #rpf #smut #queen fanfiction

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excelsi-or · 4 years

Text

28/02/20 - dress me up (woozi)

w.c. 1.5k (fluffy fluff fluff)

A/N: Helloooooooooo~ I hope you’re all well. I hope life is starting to go back to normal as the restrictions in various countries are being lifted. I’m going to try to keep putting up Black Lives Rec and related topics once a week, because we CANNOT let this movement die when the protests stop. Stay safe, stay educated. xx

Black Lives Rec: I’m bringing back the Breonna Taylor petition. Beyoncé has brought mad attention to it by writing a letter to Attorney General Cameron, demanding for charges to be filed on the officers that killed her, to properly investigate it and transparently, and to properly investigate the police department who provided a lame investigation report.

February 21, 2020

February 28, 2020

The music is loud as they leave and Jihoon struggles to hold Mingyu upright. Meanwhile, she has all of Hansol’s weight on her. Gently, she urges her best friend forward. “Come on, you’re sleeping over. We’re not going far.”

“Hyung,” Mingyu whines. Jihoon grunts under the sudden change in weight. “Why don’t you tell me that?”

“Because we’re going home, you idiot.” He looks across Mingyu to her. “I’ll trade you.”

“I don’t trust Hansol in your drunk hands,” she snorts. “The only reason you’re here is because I can’t find anyone else remotely sober in there.”

Hansol groans in pain as the elevator squeaks open.

Her voice goes gentle okay. “Okay, okay, in you get.”

The struggle to get both boys home is apparent. In the cab, the taxi driver continues to glance over at her. She reassures him that she knows all three of them and that she’s putting them all to bed. When he stops in front of Mingyu and Jihoon’s apartment, he eyes her again, asking if she needs any assistance.

“Ji, you got this?” she asks as she climbs out.

“Yeah, yeah, jagi. I’m not that drunk.”

She pokes her head back into the cab and hands over the fare plus extra for being so kind. “Thank you.” She pulls the back door open and reaches inside for Hansol. “Alright, you, we’re almost there.”

“Come on, you dumb beanstalk, let’s go,” Jihoon huffs.

Inside the car, Mingyu seems to be struggling to decide which side he wants to exit.

Chuckling, she wraps an arm around Hansol’s waist, his arm going over her shoulders and she hoists him out. They make their way to the front door of the apartment and have to wait a few solid minutes before Jihoon has Mingyu coming up the walkway.

“I swear to God, if you weren’t my roommate, I’d leave you here,” Jihoon grumbles.

“Keys?” she asks.

Jihoon pats his pockets and juts a hip out to her. Rolling her eyes, she slips the keys out of his pocket and lets them all in. Of course, the elevator would be broken the one time she actually needs it. The boys live on the third floor. “Stairs it is.”

Manoeuvring two drunk people and a third angry drunk is difficult to say the least. More than once she has to tell Mingyu to shut up, Hansol won’t stop whining, and Jihoon’s angry outbursts are getting on her last nerve. When they finally crest the stairs to see the large 3 painted on the door, she sighs in relief. She yanks it open and practically sprints to the door.

In the apartment, she sets up Hansol on the couch. She eases him out of his jacket and asks if he would like to change into something else. Either of the other boys’ clothes would fit him.

He shakes his head, groans at the pain it causes, and then curls up on the couch. She brushes his hair out of his face and gets up, intending to get him a glass of water.

“Can you be anymore of a pain?” she can hear Jihoon demanding.

When she pokes her head into Mingyu’s room, she finds that Mingyu has flopped backwards and wrapped his arms around Jihoon’s body in a hug. With a fond smile, she lightly pries Mingyu’s fingers off Jihoon. The boy immediately jumps back and heads to the kitchen.

“Get them both some water, hmm?” she calls after Jihoon as she helps Mingyu into bed.

Mingyu flings his jacket towards the closet. Since it’s closed, it hits the door and falls to the floor. She’s about to head to the door as Mingyu shimmies out of his pants in bed. Those are also thrown towards the closet but ultimately end up on the floor.

“Noona.”

“Hmm?” She glances back and his pantless half is covered by his duvet.

“Hyung is an angry drunk.”

“Yes, I see that.”

“But he’s also very clingy.”

“Is he?” This is her first time actually seeing her boyfriend drunk. Well, besides Hansol and Seungkwan, it’s her first time seeing any of them drunk. They drink, but not like this.

Mingyu nods his head vigorously. He leans back against the headboard of his bed. “Just a warning, noona. In case he tries to jump you.” When he winks (badly), she can’t help but laugh. Jihoon isn’t typically that needy.

Except as soon as he hands the water bottles over, Jihoon has his hands wrapped around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. They move together towards his room and he hums a song in her ear. One that he’s been humming for three days straight.

“Have you written any words to that song?” she teases.

Jihoon’s hands suddenly grasp her hips tighter and whirl her around so she’s facing him. Her hands land on his chest in surprise. Laughing, she stares up at him. Jihoon’s eyes are quite clear though his cheeks are red and she can feel how warm he is. He guides them towards the bed, but rather than lying down, she takes a seat. He pouts, clearly not wanting that.

Mingyu wasn’t kidding.

“Ji, maybe you should change first?” Maybe she can trick him into going to bed.

“Why change if we’re not going to have clothes anyway?”

She gives a sharp laugh, her eyes gleaming. Okay, so a drunk Jihoon is a little more blunt. Gently, her fingers toy with the hem of his sweater. “One step at a time, my love.”

Jihoon pouts again, but lifts his arms up like a compliant child. She slips his sweater off over his head. His face starts to dip down to kiss her, but she can’t help but laugh. “Ji, no.” When he pouts further, she leans up to peck his lips. “Come on, you need to sleep. You’re clearly not in your right mind.”

“I’m not that intoxicated.”

Using his shoulders, she gets herself to standing. Jihoon gazes down at her, his eyes sharp. Her tongue runs along her bottom lip and she tries to keep her own head straight rather than letting Jihoon have his way. Teasingly, she nips at his bare shoulder.

Before he can protest, she turns him by the shoulders towards the closet. She hangs his sweater on the doorknob and finds a t-shirt for him to wear. She helps him slip his arms into the sleeves and tugs it over his head. When his dark head of hair appears, she gives the top of his head a quick kiss and then pulls the shirt the rest of the way down.

Jihoon’s lustful gaze shifts to something softer. She holds her arms out. “Strip me, Ji.”

Jihoon throws his head back in a laugh. He helps her unbutton the nice shirt she’d worn to the party. The fabric slides off her shoulders and onto the floor. As he unclasps her bra, she stretches for one of his favourite blue t-shirts. She hands it over to him.

“Can you just sleep like this?”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s cold.”

Jihoon sighs jokingly and kisses both her shoulders before he pulls the shirt over her head. When she resurfaces, Jihoon is already waiting to lean in and kiss her. It’s not a hungry kiss, it’s soft and slow. He tastes like the alcohol he’s been drinking, and smells like his shampoo. His lips move with hers, his hands guiding her arms through the shirt holes. When he pulls away, her heart is hammering against her chest.

“You don’t like sleeping in jeans,” he mutters more to himself than to her. Jihoon swiftly undoes the buttons of her jeans and helps her step out of them. The shirt she chose covers her butt perfectly. While she doesn’t mind sleeping without pants, Jihoon typically prefers them. She finds a pair of grey sweatpants and pushes it into his hands.

Her fingers toy with his belt, trying to figure out how to get the loop undone.

Jihoon chuckles while he watches. “If we were doing this a different way, you would have definitely killed the mood.”

“This is that stupid belt that Soonyoung got you as a joke,” she huffs.

Jihoon smirks. He puts the sweatpants between his teeth, so that his hands can cover hers. Guiding her hands, he helps her undo his belt. The rest he lets her figure out herself.

Once they’re both dressed, she shuts off the lights and drags him to bed. “Sleep now, Ji.”

“We didn’t even do the fun stuff,” he whines as he crawls to his side of the bed.

With a laugh, she lightly smacks his butt. “Stop being a whiny baby. I don’t have sex with guys when they’re drunk.”

“What if we were both drunk?”

“Well, that’s not going to happen since I hate drinking.” She climbs under the covers. Jihoon immediately reaches for her, pulling her to him. She shimmies further up her pillow so that they’re eye to eye. Because she knows it always works, she runs her hand through his hair. Almost immediately, his eyes start to fall closed. The circles he’d been rubbing on her side slow considerably.

“What about tomorrow?”

Laughing, she says, “If you’re still in the mood tomorrow, my love, sure. But you should sleep now.”

Jihoon hums, his eyes closed entirely. Quietly, she hums his song back to him, her fingers threading through his hair, as his breath evens out and his arm goes slack around her waist.

Next: March 14, 2020

#woozi imagines #woozi scenarios #woozi #lee jihoon scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen #svt #tabilrn

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johndaltcn · 3 years

Photo

WANTED IN THE STATE OF NEW YORK: TAYLOR DANVERS or A DAY IN THE LIFE OF MISSING HER.

Drowning. John could think of worse ways to die. A car accident where you hurl out of the windshield like a ragdoll, some form of cancer, being beaten to death, a gas leak, poison. The list was seemingly endless. John could have conjured new ideas with each breath, with each turn of his head, which each greeting. He’d be sitting opposite a middle-aged man with a greying beard and a beer belly who needed a new motor for his boat and, suddenly, dying of old age alone in your bedroom. Though, there was still drowning in the ocean. Perhaps he would have eventually given up the good fight when he was out there for too long. He’d wade into the eerie quiet of the sea. On days where the list feels useless, he imagines Taylor doing just that. A product of her surroundings, growing gills and a tail like they do in the movies. She’d be blue but shiny like a wet marble. Her arms would be spread and she’d be smiling up at the blue, blue sky and quietly go the way the world wanted. The way she wanted.

Waves. An interruption to a dream about a man stranded on an island. John stirs under his duvet, light from his window peeking through the heavy fabric of his curtains. The man eats a coconut with one hand and draws shapes in the sand with another. First, he draws a circle and then turns it into a smiley face. Next came a hard penis and then an ocean wave. A lonely, makeshift masterpiece.

As the sun comes up, the room becomes brighter, earning the sun to rise in his dreamscape. It looms just along the horizon, casting a glimmer of white and pale blue across the darkened sea. The edges look transparent paired with the white foam that laps against the sand. His toes dig hastily into the warmth there before the cool of the ocean comes running up his hairy ankles.

This was a nice dream. For now. A miracle. The man wanders around with a smile. He is alone but he is satisfied. No burdens have followed him to his little island. He may starve one day and become a mummy in the sand. Rich people in need of normalcy will arrive one day and find his skeleton perched against a palm tree. Inside his hands will hold a now withered, torn note that says I loved it here.

Dying alone stranded on an island. A piece of John’s brain leaves a reminder to write that down on his list of ways to die.

The man wakes once again after another island sleep, stretching his limbs with a hearty groan. The sun comes up just the same. Glimmering, warm. Today, there was a grey cloud somewhere in the East. Light eyes look to it with confusion. How dare the weather interrupt his state of mind. His shoulders frump like a disturbed toddler, padding across the sand and into the wild jungle where the leaves hung low and sweat became his best friend.

He walks and walks. He’s not sure why. Perhaps he was looking for an answer or someone to scold. The weather was sickeningly humid, the kind that makes every inch of you damp and slick. John could smell his own skin in his sleep. His own sweat too.

The man follows a path down a long line of dirt and sand. He reaches the other end of the island which is much more bleak. The clouds hang low and are a muggy shade of black and grey. The ocean is almost green like moss. It doesn’t lick the shore like the other end. No, it clings to it. It’s thickened over time, probably from oil and other grimes that he couldn’t name in this moment. To his right, he hears a strange sound. A wet but also dry sound that makes the hairs on his arms prick and rise. He looks, there’s a fish. It’s dying, moving around, and gasping for air. His throat tightens. Is it food or a test? He looks to the sky for an answer, perhaps from God, but it only darkens. He was very hungry and a nice, dying fish over a fire sounded like a blessing. But, by some impulse, he scoops the slimy thing up in his shaky hands and goes running through the thick jungle once more. He scrapes his arms and legs on branches as he runs and runs. The beat of his own heart becomes loud like a speaker on high. His breathing is jagged and he begins to squeak with each breath.

Once his slice of heaven comes into view once more, he dashes to the water. His perfect water with all the blues and whites. When he’s close enough, he places the squirming fish into the water. It flops around uselessly. John thinks he might have been dreaming about the stupidest fish in history. It flies right out of the water and onto the sand again.

Did this damn thing wish to die?

With that, he scoops it up again and basically tosses it into the water. “I’m trying to save you!” He yells though his words come out muffled. It sounded like his throat had been piled to the brim with cotton balls.

Then he turns, only to find that the shore had been covered in dead fish. Most of them squirmed and jumped along the sand, bouncing off one another helplessly. The sound was atrocious, like someone chewing loudly in his ear or rubbing their thighs against a wet sheet of marble.

It grows louder, the sound of dead fish and now gawking seagulls falling from the sky. They were hungry for fish but are too ambitious in their endeavor to feed. They crash land to the island and accompany the still dying fish. They’re dying now too. The sound becomes louder and louder and louder. The waves sound like nails brushing together. Rusty ones that have been since forgotten inside someone’s garage.

The man covers his ears and screams. He screams his cotton ball scream and wishes to go home to the mainland. There’s a rotted human hand poking out of the sand just at his feet before John wakes up, gasping for air.

Like in the movies, he hoists himself out of his bed upon waking up. His sweaty back presses carefully into the headboard once he comes to. He was alive, awake, and dry. Well, almost. A hand reaches up brush strands of hair that stick to his forehead. John swallows hard, breathing heavily for a few moments. Mostly to collect himself. It was often that he had nightmares like this. Though they were all different in certain ways, they did all have one thing in common. Water. Sea. John has come to accept that this was the price he had to pay for knowing and missing Taylor Danvers. It might have been the price of loving her too.

The covers are thrown from his body then, draping down and across his bed. The bottoms of his feet move to touch the cold hardwood of his bedroom which grounds him. You’re alive, John. Light that pokes from behind his curtains moves across the floor, creating a line from the window and to under his bed where most of Taylor’s things were stored. He could have easily stuffed them in a box within the back of his closet but something about that made John uneasy. Embarrassed, even. To him, it seemed like such a cliché and John was already coasting the line of borderline cliché these days. The nightmares were enough.

Once the sleep was rubbed from his eyes, John heads to his kitchen to make himself some coffee. He checks the digital clock above his stove. The bright green numbers read 8:12AM.

At least it was early. At least he hasn’t become like his father, waking up late in the afternoon and still drunk from the evening before. The smell of coffee begins to envelop his home as he opens the creaky cabinet above his head in search of a mug. He plucks one with a decorative J on the front, a lackluster birthday gift his mother had sent him one year. She was a month early but he appreciated the sentiment regardless. Sometimes anything was better than nothing from Jennifer Dalton.

While he continues to wait for the pot to brew, he pictures Taylor dancing around the kitchen in her underwear. She did that almost every day, making a mess in the kitchen as she attempted to make both pancakes and scrambled eggs at the same time. How she made a mess of something so simple, John would never know, but he had always found that endearing. Her dark, smooth hair was always thrown up in a bun at the top of her small head. Her eyes were wide and muddy brown like a cartoon lamb. She would kiss his cheek and say he looked “positively handsome” each morning and then slide him a steaming cup with his beverage of choice.

The memory makes him purse his lips into a tight line as he picks up the pot and pours the coffee into his mug. Though he can never quite combat his thoughts. A specific memory comes to mind as he moves to sit at the marble island in his kitchen.

....

Rain tapped along the large windows inside his living room. His home is Dallas was large but comfortable, something out of an interior design magazine you’d find in a doctor’s office. Taylor had been reading a book, cuddled underneath an old blanket of John’s. Taylor made a habit of staying the night after a while and John didn’t mind. He enjoyed her company. He had slid beside her, removing the book from her lap and placing it carefully on the coffee table. A wide, beaming smile graced her expression in no time. She ran her fingers through his dark beard. John had started to ask about her family. He thought maybe they could spend a Christmas or a Thanksgiving with them sometime. At the mention of family, Taylor’s expression fell. He knew that look, it was always the look she sported when something or someone made her uncomfortable.

“My family is disgusting,” She said through gritted teeth, scanning John’s expression as if he should have known that much. He only shook his head, feeling guilty. “Oh,” Is what he started with, a little lost for words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Taylor then went on about how her sister was a backstabbing bitch and that her mother was a liar and her father just the same. Apparently they had disowned her, cast her out like some unwanted puppy. The idea not only confused John but also baffled him. She was so intelligent, so willing, so creative. He couldn’t imagine what had happened to make something like this happen. To make her family dislike her with such vigor.

“Well, what happened?” John asked then, head canting to the side. He had to know. By then, John had told her everything. About her mother and her bloated lips, injected hips, and much younger boyfriends. His father and his proclivity for drinking himself into a haze. And, then, his sister, a Jennifer Dalton wannabe with manicured fingernails and a voice that sounded so feminine and so grainy that it made you want to rip your ears right from your head.

That’s when Taylor’s own brows knit together, a look of anger flashing across her face like a stroke of lightning. Had he said something wrong? Was he not meant to ask? John can vividly remember the feeling of panic that had washed over him in an instant. He could still feel it now like he was reliving the moment.

She had grabbed his arm. Tight. Her much smaller fingers left a reddened imprint on his skin there. “Do not ask me about my family. Ever. I’m here with you now, John,” She cooed, releasing his arm then to stroke the sides of his face, “Nothing else matters but me and you. I want to forget them.”

At the time, that seemed fair enough. John had done so much to forget his own family, as well, especially once he moved away and his parents got divorced. Who was he to judge her or her reaction? He’d learn more about her past eventually. Someday. Perhaps this was how love worked. You had to fight for it and you had to deal with the pretty and all the ugly too. He remembers reading that somewhere. But he also might have heard it come from Jennifer’s mouth.

....

Back to the present, back to reality. Looking back, he should have known. Even then. The truth of the situation was that Taylor’s family had endlessly tried to have her arrested. For many things, actually. Theft, stalking, assault, battery, and more. She had once broken a Coke bottle and threatened to stab her sister and her boyfriend with it before running off to wherever it is she went. She always did that, apparently. Ran away, even as a child. After her death, John had taken a detour to Long Island, where she was from. It was a brief visit though her family was willing to tell John just what he needed to know.

Taylor was troubled, unsettling, and not the greatest person in the world. Not by a long shot. She stole and mostly survived, never really living. Apparently, they had a grandmother like this too who died of something that John can’t remember. All he remembers is something about alcohol being involved.

Meeting Taylor’s family, for some reason, made it easier to make up scenarios or reasons why. To this day, he does regret seeking out the truth. He wished he would have let it remain a mystery, an unknown woman coming into his life who made him fall in love but then died in the process. That sounded much better than discovering that Taylor Danvers was an unstable woman who had no true moral compass.

But, she was exactly that. As time went on, John began to see her as a lonely woman rather than a bad one. He started to look for excuses that, soon enough, formed into a ball of guilt. Perhaps she was depressed, maybe her family wasn’t telling the truth, maybe she needed a friend, maybe she lied about stalking, maybe something happened to her when she was young, maybe this, maybe that, maybe anything.

An alarm sounding through John’s home rips him from his thoughts. He sets his mug down and races back to the kitchen. He doesn’t know when he wandered into his living room. This usually happened when John’s thoughts went too deep, when he spiraled. A pan of scrambled eggs were burning on the stove. John didn’t even remember putting them up. With a shaky hand, he shuts off the stove and tosses the pan into the sink, running it under cold water. He grabs a dishtowel and fans the place and then his smoke alarm until it stops beeping.

Burning to death in a housefire. He mentally writes that down, adding it to his long list of excuses.

#drabble.#character development.#water tw #death tw #drowning tw #violence tw #stalking tw #i read over this FOUR TIMES if there are typos i'll start flying and break through the atmosphere and then explode #anyway....just some insight on taylor hehe

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razielwriter · 4 years

Text

Lockdown - A short horror/thriller story

Recording date not found. Author Unknown. Located in the Chainwell Tor Research Facility Database. Log 1.

M: So… It looks like we’re in here for the long haul…

(Pause)

M: I think I heard somewhere that, to avoid going crazy on submarines, sailors get themselves into routines. It’s been nearly two weeks since… Well, it couldn’t hurt, I guess.

M: I started out slow. Ease myself into it, you know? Having breakfast, getting in some exercise, checking the security monitors. Still nothing. Not even cats. And cats get fucking everywhere. You know how long it’s been since I’ve seen a pigeon? Fucking… ages man. I mean not ages, but like… It’s crazy.

M: I did find a rat, though. Found him in a box of shreddies. He kept making this horrible scratching noise. It’s okay though. I fucking hate shreddies. I’ve decided to name him Jason, for obvious reasons. He now lives in a little cell I managed to rig together. He seems happy. Still likes to bite me, bloody nuisance.

M: I started going through the boxes. Some of the stuff was… Weird. I’ll say it, it was weird. I mean, who packs a Furby? In an emergency bunker? I mean who looks at Gods mistake of a children’s toy and thinks “yes, this will get me through the end of the world”. Its fucking creepy, is what it is. I’ve left it in a corner, next to the toaster. If it turns around, I’m out.

M: And now I’m talking to you. Like you’re a person. Like you care about any of this. Like you won’t outlive me by a decade, assuming, you know, the electricity stays on and nothing springs a leak.

M: But… that’s it. That’s my day. Fucking bollocks, that.

~~~

Recording date not found. Author Unknown. Located in the Chainwell Tor Research Facility Database. Log 9.

M: I decided to go exploring today. Started making a map of this place. Goes on forever. Found some cool shit, though. Greenhouse. Supply room. Hell, even found someone’s stash of porn. Truly, the essentials.

M: Coolest thing, though. I found a radio. Not one of the digital ones. Like, 80’s to 90’s shit. Looks like it was used to broadcast. Bit old school, but I think I can get it set up again. I’m hoping someone, out there, might have had the same idea. Maybe they’ll come rescue me.

M: Anyway, my day. Yes, that’s what you really want to know about. Um… Had breakfast, did exercise. Fed Jason. I swear, he’s getting fat. Picked out a book to read. “Lord of the Flies”, cheery I know. But it only seemed appropriate, given the circumstances.

(Sigh)

M: God, I sound like a dating profile. I mean, dating a computer wouldn’t be that bad but, I hate to say it, I just don’t think you’re my type. We can still be friends though. Get a pint from time to time, smile awkwardly at parties. Then you and your boyfriend will have a fight one night, and you’ll call, just wanting a friend, but we both know it’s more than that. We have one drunken night of passionate love making. But we never talk about it.

M: Ooh, that’s the timer. My steak and kidney pies ready.

~~~

Recording date not found. Author Unknown. Located in the Chainwell Tor Research Facility Database. Log 15.

M: God, that Ralphs a nark. All that “… eyes that proclaimed no evil” shit. He’s so preachy. I bet, if he had access to the internet, he’d be just as “innocent” as every other boy his age. Then we’ll see who’s so golden.

(Chuckles)

M: Same as usual. Breakfast, exercise, security cameras, tended to the greenhouse. The potatoes are coming along nicely, and the sunflowers. I’m surprised. I thought they’d need more, you know, sunlight. But halogen will have to do. I can’t exactly go and clean the windows from the outside.

M: Then I went to feed Jason… I don’t know if I should call her that anymore. Turns out he is a she. And she had babies. Tiny little pink bodies, all squirming and squeaking. Their eyes aren’t even open. Never seen a baby rat before. They’re kind of gross, but also kind of cute.

M: Went to check on the radio for a few hours. Calm my nerves a bit. It’s not every day you become a dad to five little rat shaped testicles. Thought I heard something at around seven, but it turned out to be nothing. I think it was just, like, a World War Two radio play, or something. Shooting and shouting, you know the sort.

M: But that’s it for today. Now for some good old-fashioned alone time… As if I haven’t got anything else.

~~~

Recording date not found. Author Unknown. Located in the Chainwell Tor Research Facility Database. Log 26.

M: Okay, lets get this shit over with. Woke up a little earlier than I would have liked. Damn scratching. I think Jason might be getting some cell mates soon, if I find the culprit. Had breakfast, did exercise, all that good stuff. Fed Jason and the Ratgonauts. Their skin has gone darker, so that’s good… I think… I don’t actually know. God, I wish I could ask someone. Anyway, tended to the greenhouse. Then I went to check on the radio. And, fucking hell, that’s when the interesting shit kicked in.

M: I heard someone. Out there. I’m sure of it this time. I wrote down the words. Hold on… Mm…

(Paper rustling)

M: Fuck, where is it? AH! Here. The signal was a bit shit, so I didn’t get all of it, but this is what I’ve got.

M: To anyone out there… Please… Keep… My name is Sophie. I’m in… To anyone still out there, if anyone is still out there, I am here. I am still alive. But I don’t know how long I can last. Please, if you can hear me, my frequency is… That’s where it cut out.

M: I knew it. I fucking knew it! I knew I couldn’t be the only one left. And if I’m picking up on her signal, Sophie can’t be that far away! I guess I’ll have to keep flicking through the radio signals until I find her again. But I’m gonna make dinner first.

~~~

Recording date not found. Author Unknown. Located in the Chainwell Tor Research Facility Database. Log 31.

M: She… She fucking ate them. I… I can’t…

(Pause)

M: It was normal. Breakfast, exercise, all that bollocks…

(Pause)

M: I thought it was quiet. I thought that was a bit weird. Usually, when its feeding time, Jason starts squeaking and running around… Fuck. Maybe I wasn’t feeding her enough. Maybe I needed to let her loose from time to time but… She ate them. They were gone when I looked in and I only realised when I found the tail… All five…

M: Anyway, yeah, did some gardening… Checked the radio… Nothing…

(Pause)

M: I don’t know why I’m fucking crying over rats. I kind of wanted to… But she’s the only other living thing here, except me…

~~~

Recording date not found. Author Unknown. Located in the Chainwell Tor Research Facility Database. Log 39.

M: It’s quiet without the babies. Fucking little bastards waking me up at three in the morning with their scratching but...

(Pause)

M: Got breakfast, did exercise. It’s weird. Never thought I would have, like, muscle and shit. I’m more beer belly and pork scratchings. Who would have thought it?

M: My sunflowers are doing really well. Never thought I’d like courgettes, but, you know what? They’re not that bad.

M: I think Jason got out in the night. Or maybe it was someone else that ate the rest of my lasagne. Yeah I’m looking at you, baby eater.

M: The Furby woke up today. I was just making some coffee and it fucking laughed at me, this demonic screeching noise and wiggled its fucking ears. So I did what any other self-respecting person would do. Took it and chucked it at the wall. It broke. I still have no idea how it did that. Couldn’t find a battery or anything. Gives me the creeps just thinking about it.

M: That’s… that’s not the only thing though. Fuck, I really have been out here too long. I… well, I woke up at about 1 am. Nightmares, nothing new there. I went to get myself a drink and… I think I saw something. Outside. It was sort of like a shadow, but not really. Too solid for that. And… teeth. At least, I think they were teeth. They looked like teeth.

(Sigh)

M: Fuck, I need a drink. I found a bunch of booze in the back. I know I promised… but he’s gone now. Who cares about soberness anymore, right?

~~~

Recording date not found. Author Unknown. Located in the Chainwell Tor Research Facility Database. Log 40.

M: The scratching. I think Jason’s getting kind of frustrated in the night. I keep waking up to the sound of scratching.

M: Ah… yeah, sorry. Day, yes. Um… Breakfast, exercise, feeding Jason. Sorry, I haven’t slept… at all, really. That damn scratching and… God, what was in those booze? Feels like my brain is being squeezed by an angry nun.

M: Anyway, that’s about…

(The radio is heard)

Prof S Taylor: Hello? Can anyone hear me?

M: What…? Holy shit… Um… Hello? I mean, fuck, yes! Me. I’m here! I can hear you!

Prof S Taylor: Oh my God. Finally. Hi.

M: Hello.

Prof S Taylor: I… Um… Right, no time for the gushy stuff. I’m Sophie. Professor Taylor, I should say, with the research team. Is Sargent Foster there?

M: Sargent Foster?

Prof S Taylor: You are in the bunker, right?

M: Yeah but, um, I’m not Foster and… Its just me here. No one else.

Prof S Taylor: What? Who are you, then? Name and rank, soldier.

M: Easy there, mate. I’m not a soldier. Its… It’s a little complicated.

Prof S Taylor: Whatever. We’ll talk about it more when I get there. You have supplies?

M: Yeah, sure. But not much.

Prof S Taylor: Fair enough. The higherups probably closed the whole valley in case... Has anyone attempted to contact you?

M: Nope. Only you so far.

Prof S Taylor: And its just you there? What happened to the others?

M: I… I have no idea. I thought you could tell me.

Prof S Taylor: Humm… Still, I’m on the other side of the valley. I’ll be stopping off halfway. There’s another bunker, there should be a few others there. I think their radios defective, though. Haven’t been able to get in contact. I should be with you by the end of Tuesday.

M: Wow, days still exist then? Wonder what else I’ve forgotten? Tell me, do people still shake hands anymore, or do we spit in each other’s general direction, or something?

Prof S Taylor: Oh, so you’re a comedian. That’s… something, I suppose. Listen, just sit tight. I’ll be there soon.

M: Okay. My names Matt by the way.

Prof S Taylor: That’s good to know. Nice to meet you Matt. I’ll be there soon.

(Radio is turned off)

M: … Wow. Just… Fucking wow… I should probably tidy up a bit.

~~~

Recording date not found. Author Unknown. Located in the Chainwell Tor Research Facility Database. Log 45.

M: Okay, I’m sure somethings wrong now. Jason… She’s gone missing. And that… I saw it again. I… I fucking saw it! I know I did! I’m not going crazy, right? I can’t be?

M: Jason got out. I was looking for her and… The window. I saw it out the window. Its jaw was huge, large enough to eat a German shepherd whole. And its teeth were wet and glistening. It looked like… like a cartoon skull. No lips. No nose. Just black, rubbery skin pulled back over that massive jaw and tiny skull. And the body was thin. I could see every rib and organ through the skin. And skinny legs. The arms were fucking crazy, though. Like, long and muscly. I think it walked on them…

(The radio is heard)

Prof S Taylor: Matt? Matt, you there?

M: Shit. Ugh, yeah, yeah I’m here. Where are you?

Prof S Taylor: At the other bunker. Matt… I’m not gonna make it.

M: What do you mean?

Prof S Taylor: They… They’re all dead. And I know it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have trusted it to behave. I should have stopped it.

M: What? Sophie… Are you talking about the thing with the teeth? And the weird arms?

Prof S Taylor: You’ve seen it then. The Scratcher. That’s what the office wits liked calling it. Stupid name. But… I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. My suggestion is get out while you can. I’ll stay here, draw it to me. That should buy you some time.

M: Sophie... How far away are you? I’m sure I could reach you…

Prof S Taylor: There’s no time for that. I can see it through the trees. It shouldn’t be long now.

M: No…

Prof S Taylor: Just… Promise me one thing. If you get out, find Roshni Laghari. She’s a teacher in London. She… Tell her I loved her to. I never told her, but I did. Will you do that for me Matt? Please?

M: Y-Yes. I’ll do that.

Prof S Taylor: Thank you Matt. Thank you.

(Radio is turned off)

M: … Shit. I should never have come here. I… I really shouldn’t have… Where’s my bag?

~~~

Recording date not found. Author Unknown. Located in the Chainwell Tor Research Facility Database. Log 98.

M: I hear him. I hear him. He whispers to me at night, like the prophecies of an angry God. But I have not lost my way yet. I see him for what he is. A pig’s head. And I am the flies. I am the flies.

M: I found her today. He threw her through the greenhouse glass. My Jason. Poor Jason. I’ll tell you something, though. She was tasty. Can of beans and some whisky. Got to be careful. Don’t have too much left…

M: For fuck sake will you quiet. I hear you. I hear you all the fucking time you grinning bastard. I hear you when I sleep. When I wake up. Stop… Stop laughing at me! How you like it if I did it to you?

(Proceeds to laugh for one minute and thirty-two seconds)

M: See, I laugh at you devil. Scum. See how you like it. Because I’m not opening that door. Not for anything. Not for…

M: No. You… You can’t say that. It was… It was an accident. IT WAS AN ACIDENT! I couldn’t stop it. It wasn’t my fault. If anything, it was yours. All your fault, poor, pathetic monster. You’re the reason! You’re the reason they’re dead, not me!

M: What… What’s that?

(Gun shots)

M: Ha, they’ve come for me. They’re here for me. Yes! Take that fucker!

(The door is blown)

M: Yes! Aw man, you have no idea how good it is-

(Gun shots)

Unknown: All clear. Witness neutralised. Send in the clean up team. And send in the roundup team outside.

~~~

End of transcript. Report compiled by T. R. Fisher.

Professional recommendation that these files remained closed to public consumption for the foreseeable future under paragraph W, subsection 26 of the DPA of 1927.

Files not to be removed from The Vault without express permission, upon fear of grievous bodily harm or legal prosecution.

#horror #short story #thriller #short horror stories #short thriller

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fanfiction4thesoul · 5 years

Text

Patience

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Word Count: ~3.6

Warnings: smut (18+ only), spanking, orgasm control, domination I guess. Language? idk

Summary: You attempt to tease Roger, but it goes a little too far and ends up backfiring.

A/N: Soooo it’s another smut. I tried my hand at some kinks but I’ve no idea how I did ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ so any comments would be appreciated. Otherwise I’m sat here wondering whether it was complete shit or not. Thanks to any and all that comment/like/reblog. You’re the ones who keep me writing, even though I should really be working on my capstone! Hope you like it!

You were fed up.

You were fed up, and frustrated. As you sat at the barstool, waiting for the bartender to come back with your drink, you felt yourself snap.

Roger had been gone for two weeks doing promotional stuff for the latest album. Which was fine.

Great.

And you had amazing reunion sex when he got back.

But then he started teasing, deliberately ignoring your little flirts and barely touching you at all. So you thought you could return the favor and tease him relentlessly throughout the week. You made sure to time it correctly so that if he ever wanted to take your bait, you would be in a public area, or he was already running late for something.

Your plan had been working, or at least you thought it had. You had been so sure that any day now, he’d come home and just throw you onto the bed and finally give you some release. But before you left to come to the bar tonight, he barely even looked your way. The heated glances you were getting suddenly switched off, and he was as disinterested as he was in the beginning.

He didn’t even compliment his favorite dress of yours.

And now, here at the bar, all he’s done is talk to the boys none-stop, even though he’s with they almost every day. So you excused yourself from the table to drown your anger in something hard.

When the bartender returned with your shot, somebody spoke up, “Her’s is on me.”

You turned to the voice and found a young boy, probably still in college sitting next to you. He held himself with an air of confidence that reminded you a lot of Roger. But the smirk sitting on his face was all wrong.

“That’s quite alright. I can pay for my own drink, thank you.”

“Aw, don’t be like that. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you,” he said, faking a pout.

You had to suppress the urge to snort. God he sounded whiny. “And so you have. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Right before you could slide off the stool, a thought came to you.

Your eyes went back to the boy next to you before flickering over towards Roger. He was laughing with the rest of them, not even looking your way. Turning back to the stranger, you put on your best smile, “On second thought, why don’t we talk? I’m (Y/N).”

He smirked again, as if you had played right into his hand. You talked about trivial things for the most part. He introduced himself, but you couldn’t remember his name two sentences later. He was a heavy flirter though, and that was exactly what you needed.

You made sure to flirt back just as much, leaning certain ways to highlight your low neckline and giving aborted moves to touch him. After all, you wanted to make Roger jealous, not actually cheat on him or anything.

It was incredibly difficult to keep your eyes away from your table. You knew if they strayed, Roger might catch onto your game. He needed to believe you were absorbed in this conversation. That is, if he even noticed you were gone.

Right in the middle of discussing the latest Zeppelin album, an arm wrapped around your waist, causing you to jump a little. Roger was beside you smiling brightly. “There you are, honey. The boys and I were getting worried when you hadn’t come back.” To anyone else, he sounded like a concerned boyfriend. But you could tell. His tone was too low, his voice a little too pleasant.

Roger easily showed his anger. No doubt about that. If he was mad, he’d scream about it, throw some things, then be over it. When he was quiet, though. That’s when you worried. Glancing at him from the corner of your eyes, you could make out the tightness in his face as he kept his friendly demeanor.

“Ah, I didn’t realize you were here with someone.” Whatever-his-name-was said. Roger’s grip tightened on your hips. You needed to abort, and fast.

“Yes, yes, this is Roger.” Turning his way, he let you hop off the barstool with only a raised eyebrow. As soon as you were standing, though, Roger threw away decorum.

Grabbing your waist again, he pulled you flush against his side and growled in your ear, “Let’s go, honey.”

He tugged you away from the guy, headed straight for the exit. You could hear the boy yell behind you, but you were too focused on Roger to hear what he said. His grip was almost bruising as he led you away.

You had a backwards thought about the boys, wondering if Roger told them goodbye, before he pulled you out into the night air. He never let go of you while he hailed a cab. It wasn’t until he firmly guided you into the backseat that he finally relinquished his hold on you and you felt like you could catch your breath.

Roger barely touched you on the way home, sitting as far away as possible. You kept biting your lip, worried you might have gone too far this time. Despite your fears, you couldn’t help but feel excitement course through you. Roger wouldn’t do anything you didn’t like. But you had also never seen him like this before. You had also never pulled a stunt like this before.

When you reached the house, Roger quickly paid the taxi. He got out before you and went straight for the door, not even waiting for you. You clamoured out, catching up to him when he reached the front step. As soon as you were both inside Roger whirled around, slamming your body against the closing door.

You gasped at the sudden movement. Roger had both hands caving you in on either side. He was staring at you with such a hard glint in his eyes and you knew you were in for it.

One of his hands came up to grip your chin and tilt your face up to his. “You’ve been an awfully bad girl tonight, (Y/N).”

You whimpered at his gravelly voice, closing your eyes.

His grip tightened. “Keep those eyes open.”

Looking back at him, you were again caught his gaze. After a moment, he smirked. He leaned in so you could feel his breath against your ear. You waited as he lingered. “You played your game with me all week. And then you went and flaunted what wasn’t yours. I think you need to be taught a lesson, honey. It’s time to play my game. What do you think?”

You bit your lip and whimpered.

“Answer me,” he commanded.

“Yes,” you managed to squeak out. He pulled away suddenly and gripped your chin tighter, practically tilting your head all the way back to look at him.

“That’s not what I want to hear.”

“Yes, sir,” you said. Roger smirked again before crashing your lips together in a hungry kiss.

“That’s more like it,” he mumbled as he eagerly licked his way into your mouth. You were so lost in the kiss, in the feeling of Roger, that you didn’t notice his hand leave your face until it was squeezing your bum. As he kneaded it with both hands, you gasped into his mouth. He quickly took advantage to devour you even more.

Just as you were getting desperate for air, Roger broke away from the kiss. “Show time, honey.” He yanked you away from the door, dragging you along through the house as you stumbled behind him. When you reach the bedroom, he spun you around and quickly unzipped your dress, pushing it to the floor along with your soaked panties.

He ghosted his lips up your body as he stood before bringing both arms around to grip your boobs. You moaned, throwing your head back against his shoulder. He took the opportunity to suck a bruise into the side of your exposed neck. “On the bed, honey. Heels off. Hands and knees.”

You carefully followed his instructions, taking your heels off as fast as you could before clambouring on the bed. As you tried to catch your breath, you heard Roger rustling with his clothes behind you.

Your nerves lit up in anticipation the longer it took him to touch you. You knew if you looked back you’d get reprimed, so you waited patiently until the noise stopped. It was another moment before you felt the bed dip as Roger positioned himself behind you.

Breathing out a moan when his hands started massaging your ass, you let yourself get lost in the sensation. But you knew what was coming. Almost immediately you felt one of his hands leave you, only to return with a hard smack. You groaned at the feeling, your cunt clenching involuntarily.

“I think fifteen swats for teasing is a fair number, don’t you agree, honey?” His voice was low and controlled and it sent a shiver down your spine. When you didn’t immediately answer, one of his hands tangled in your hair and yanked. “I asked you a question,” Roger growled.

Whimpering, you said, “Yes, sir. Fifteen is fair.”

“Good girl.” He smoothed his hand through your hair. “Now what do you say?”

“Thank you, sir.”

He let out a small growl at your words, the first noise you’d heard from him all night. “Alright, honey. You’ve already got one. Start counting at two and if I can’t hear you or you miss one, we’ll start over. Understand?” Smoothing his hand down your spine, he brought his attention back to your ass, being careful to avoid your dripping folds.

“Yes, sir.”

You tried to steady your breathing as you waited for him to begin. As soon as his hand left you, though, your breath hitched. He hit with such a force, you knew you’d have trouble sitting tomorrow.

“Two,” you managed to moan out, hoping it was intelligible enough.

You went through the rest of them much the same way, though you had to stutter through some of them. He never gave you a chance to catch your breath. In fact, he was stoically silent behind you. Maybe you had taken your teasing too far.

On the last hit, you clenched once again, crying out the final number. Roger finally gave you a soothing touch, gently rubbing over your red ass. “Shh, honey. You did so well. You were such a good girl.”

Roger slowly helped you turn around to lay on your back. His soft face appeared in your vision for the first time since your punishment started. You hadn’t noticed the tears in your eyes until he was wiping them away. You closed your eyes, savoring his gentle touch. You were so focused on calming down that you didn’t feel Roger moving around on the bed. It was the feeling of soft fabric wrapping around your wrists that brought you back to reality.

Roger had maneuvered your arms above your head and secured you to the headboard. “Wha… Roger what are--”

“Hush, honey. Your punishment’s not over,” he said. He leaned over you, taking your face in his hand. “The spanking was for the teasing. This,” he said, tugging on your restraints, “is for trying to give away what’s mine.”

You were so confused. You didn’t know what he meant, but before you could say anything he crashed his lips to yours and all thoughts left you. The heat that had subsided in your little interlude came rushing back as you kissed Roger with all you had.

He broke away to latch onto your neck, taking time to suck a trail of marks all the way down to your collarbone. But he didn’t stop there. He went farther down to your breasts, taking one in his mouth while his hand pinched the other. You arched your back and let out a loud groan. The restraints held your arms back, keeping you from running your hands through his hair.

When he sufficiently marked up your breast to his liking, he switched to the other one. Swirling his tongue around your bud, Roger kept going until you were an intelligible mess of noises. He finally popped off but moved again, even lower down your body.

He easily forced your legs open, getting comfortable between them. You could feel his breath at your folds but he didn’t do anything. You started to squirm a little, wanting him to do something - anything. Just when you lift your hips off the bed, his arm came up and slammed down across your pelvis.

“Good girls know how to be patient, honey. They also know how to keep still. I thought you were a good girl?” Roger asked. You lifted your head enough to look at him between your legs. His smile was condescending as he waited for your answer.

You wanted to argue, but you’ve been teased all night. So you threw your head back and said, “I am, sir. I’ll be good.”

His hand rubbed your inner thigh, making your muscles quiver. “I know you will, honey. I’ll make sure of it.” The last part was breathed against your folds, but this time Roger surged forward and molded his mouth to your clit.

You moaned loudly as he alternated sucking on your clit and plunging his tongue into you. The obscene noises of him lapping up your juices for all they were worth only turned you on even more.

“Please! Roger, sir, don’t stop!” You could feel the pressure coil quickly inside at his ministrations. All you needed was one more good pull of his tongue.

Suddenly he pulled away and you cried out, desperate for him to come back. You tried to buck your hips but his arm still held you down to the bed. His mouth moved to your thighs, giving them sloppy kisses and little nips.

“Rog… sir, please,” you begged. You could feel the heat slowly start to die out of you as he ignored your pleas.

Just when you thought he was going to leave you there without cumming at all, his mouth trailed back up your thigh and latched onto your mound once again. You closed your eyes and thrashed your head between your arms when he dove two of his fingers inside you. They fucked into you alongside his tongue, quickly reigniting the pressure from before. Roger moaned into your cunt, sending sweet vibrations through you.

You were about to fall over, you could practically taste it, when Roger pulled away again, denying you your release. A whine escaped your throat as you threw your head back. You were so desperate. You needed to cum.

Roger climbed up your body and you cracked your eyes open to look at him. “What’s the matter, honey? Losing patience?” He mocked and you finally realized your second punishment. Roger was going to edge you, who knew how many times. And you would have to lie there and take it, because the restraints kept you tied to the bed.

His smile was vicious as he took in your tear stained cheeks and pleading eyes. “N-no, sir,” you said, “thank you for helping me practice my patience.” You gave into Roger’s game, hoping he’d show a little mercy on you.

Your words wiped the smile from his face, though, and you were worried you said the wrong thing. You watched as he closed his eyes and moaned low in his throat. “God, (Y/N). You’re too good for me.” He opened his eyes back up. They were bright with something you couldn’t quite place. “You’ve still gotta take you punishment though, honey. But if you get through it without complaining, I’ll take good care of you.”

You nodded eagerly. You could be good.

Roger’s hand came up, caressing your neck where he left his bruises. You closed your eyes, preparing for when he was ready to go again. It didn’t take long for his sweet motions to stop. Before you knew it, he was back between your legs, mouth attached to your cunt and fingers moving swiftly inside you.

He brought you to the edge twice more before denying you release. Each time you could feel the tension getting better and better. The promise of an earth shattering orgasm. You took his torture as best you could, but without any complaints. Just like he asked.

By the fifth time he built you up, you were a moaning mess. Your folds felt drenched for all that Roger had lapped up. Your arms were stiff from staying in the same position and your leg muscles were quivering. Roger’s tongue and fingers kept working you, even as you neared closer and closer to the edge.

Just as you were anticipating Roger pulling away, he latched onto your clit. The pressure became too much and your orgasm started crashing into you. Before you could ride it out, Roger pulled his mouth away quickly, fingers moving to spread your legs even farther apart, denying you any kind of friction.

You could feel your walls clenching around nothing but the high faded from your mind. You whined, feeling the frustration left behind by your ruined orgasm. Roger was murmuring to you, though you couldn’t quite process what he was saying. You were too focused on keeping your mouth shut so as not to beg him to let you cum.

After a moment, you felt the binds around your wrists slacken as Roger released you from them. You opened your eyes to find him hovering above with pure adoration. He slowly brought your hands down to your sides, mindful of their stiffness. He kissed each of your wrists before kissing you softly. Despite the frustration, you sighed into his mouth.

“You did so well, honey. So good,” Roger mumbled against your lips. “Almost done.” Wait, what? You looked at Roger who gave you a smirk, though it didn’t have the bite it did earlier in the night. “Don’t worry, honey. Just need to make sure you know the lesson. So… why were you spanked?” He asked.

“Be-because I teased you all week.”

“Good. And why did I ruin your orgasm?”

You paused. “Because I flirted with another guy?”

“And why was that bad?” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“...Because I belong to you.” Even as the words left your mouth, you could feel the pulsing bite of all the marks he left across your body. Down your neck, across your collarbone, your breasts, legs, hips. Everywhere. He claimed every part of you.

“Good girl, I think you deserve a reward for taking your punishment so well,” Roger said, moving to press down on you fully for the first time that night. You both groaned when Roger’s cock rubs against your folds. He was rock hard against you. Suddenly, the frustration from earlier comes crashing back, and you’re desperate for more.

“Roger,” you breathed, bringing him down for another kiss. You tangled your fingers through his hair, pulling at the strands and earning a groan in response. He rutted against you, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

“Ready, honey?” He asked.

“God, yes. Rog, please.”

He gripped his cock, guiding it to your entrance. Slipping the tip in, he groaned before grabbing your hip and pushing all the way in. You threw your head back and moaned, finally feeling full after days without him.

He didn’t give you long to adjust, not that you needed it. He almost pulled all the way out before plunging back in, making you cry out. His pace was unrelenting but everything you were looking for.

Roger grabbed one of your hands from his hair, lacing your fingers together. He laid them beside your head as he went to devour your neck once more. The harder he bit, the more you pulled his hair and the sharper his thrusts became.

“Christ, (Y/N),” he growled, “you’re bloody perfect… taking me so well… like a vice, honey.” He filled your head with such dirty words, each one making you stutter out another moan.

“Rog, please…” You were close, you could feel it. All the teasing tonight made you so sensitive. Roger broke away from your neck to hold your gaze.

“You’re mine, (Y/N).” He punctuated his words with a hard thrust. “Come for me, honey,” he said, moving his hand from your hip to your clit, circling it with precise movements.

Your back arched off the bed, pushing Roger deeper into you. The last thing you saw before your orgasm crashed over you was Roger’s clear blue eyes, piercing you with a look filled with so much love and possessiveness.

You squeezed your eyes shut, riding out the waves of pleasure, clenching around Roger still pounding into you. His movements never faltered, even when your high subsided. You’re a little sensitive, but you wanted to help him through to his release.

Still panting, you sporadically clenched around him earning soft moans from him. His movements started to send sweet sensations through you. It only took another few thrusts before Roger was squeezing your hand tightly, releasing inside you.

You milked him as best you could to help him ride out his high. Cupping his face with your free hand, you stroked his cheek as he came down. He barely pulled out of you, making you wince at the sensation, before collapsing beside you on the bed.

He brought you to his chest and you nuzzled into him as you felt his breathing calm down. His hand was rubbing soothingly across your back.

“By the way, honey.” Roger’s voice broke the silence.

“Hmm?”

“You might be mine…but I’m also yours.” You felt the burn of his bites and the cum still dripping out of your entrance as he snuggled you closer to his chest.

You couldn’t agree more.

#roger taylor #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x you #roger taylor smut #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x y/n #Queen #fanfiction

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