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bucksangel · 3 years ago

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A Love That Lasts

a/n: this is a REPOST from my old account @losaslut since i’m deleting that blog i’m reposting it here

Pairing: Hank Loza x Reader (non descript reader but if i missed anything please let me know)

Inspo came from this post by @withmyteeth 💕💕

Warnings: none except for tooth rotting fluff and so much love it’ll kill you

Word Count: 2.8k

Moodboard made by me

It’s nearing two in the afternoon, you’ve been cleaning and re-cleaning for about three hours now to distract you from the fact that Hank got called to go to the clubhouse. “It’s an emergency” is all he told you. Never mind that today is your anniversary, you’re more upset because it’s Saturday, a day both you and Hank agreed that nothing would get in the way of your time together. But, you understand, you’re always understanding. If the club needs him, then he’s there. But as understanding as you are it still doesn’t take away the ache in your chest from not having your boyfriend home with you.

Hence why you’re cleaning. It acts as a good enough distraction but you’re quickly derailed from your tasks by Bishop calling you, and concern is all you feel now. With the ‘emergency’ that’s happening at the clubhouse, your thoughts are spiraling, but the one at the front of your mind is that Hank is hurt, he must be.

You’re quick to answer the phone, fingers shaking and your heart pounding. “Is Hank okay?” You ask, demand really. You’re already shoving your shoes on before Bishop even speaks.

“You should get to the clubhouse, sweetheart.” Bishop’s voice is calm, almost melancholy, and you’re pushed into even more of a worry when the call cuts out.

You can’t help the tears that pool beneath your eyes, nor the shakiness of your hands as you fumble with the keys. Nor can you help the absolute dread in your heart at the thought that Hank could be hurt. He can’t be, your brain tells you, he can’t do this to you, not today. So, you rush out of the house, shoes untied, and make the ten minute drive to the clubhouse. Those ten minutes feel like ten hours, every red light only serving to aggravate you further, but it gives you time to think. Think, really, is not the right word. Worry is more like it. You spend those ten minutes worrying yourself into a panic, preparing for the what if’s.

And when you do finally make it to the clubhouse, you barely have the car parked before you’re tripping over yourself to run up the stairs and slam open the doors, searching frantically for Hank. You don’t find him though, in fact, no one is in the clubhouse. And if you weren’t in such a rush to get to your boyfriend you’d realize that none of the guys’ bikes are out front either. Looking around the room, your confusion triples. Hanging along the walls are fairy lights, meeting in the middle of the roofing to create a canopy that surrounds the lone table in the middle of the room. The lights have been dimmed, a single candle along with two plates of what you assume is Hank’s cooking (you’d recognize the smell anywhere) and an empty vase sit on the table.

You don’t have much time to figure what this could all be about before Hank comes out from the back, stepping into the light and wearing clothes he definitely did not leave the house in. He’s in his nicest pair of jeans (the only ones without grease stains), a simple black button up with the sleeves pushed to his elbows (swoon), and most notably: he’s not wearing his kutte. Now, you’re more amused than anything. It’s clear this must have been a set up, that Hank must have faked the emergency to set all of this up. For what, you’re unsure of. You could be pissed that he lied to you, pissed that he put you through the worry, and you are, sort of. Yes you’re mad that he tricked you, but you’re more in awe over the fact that he put this together for you, like something from a fairytale.

Hank is the first to step towards you, one arm is behind his back while the other reaches out to you. He takes slow and deliberate steps, and you take only one towards him before his hand grasps yours and you’re pulled into his chest, his arm wrapping around you. During this hug you recognize two things. One being that his heart is beating at a rapid pace, it thumps in his chest where your cheek lies. Two being that, with the way your arms are wrapped around his waist, you can feel flower stems. Now, it should be said that you’re not the most intuitive, but you’re starting to suspect this has to do with something bigger than just an anniversary date.

Before you know it, Hank has placed a gentle kiss to the top of your head and pulled back to really look at you. You’re starting to feel underdressed in just shorts and one of Hank’s shirts tucked into it, but with the way your man is looking at you, you can’t help but feel like the most beautiful person in the world. Your arms travel from his back to smooth over his sides and run up his chest, one hand placed behind his neck and the other one fiddling with the top two buttons of his shirt that are undone.

And you smile, you’re smiling so wide it hurts but you don’t care, all you care about is how Hank is staring at you. So much adoration pouring out of him that it makes you want to cry (but you’re using all your willpower to not, you’re going to save your tears for the end of the night). When Hank pulls the flowers from behind his back, four light pink roses (one for every year you’ve been together), you laugh. You’re not sure what else to do honestly, you’re filled with so much happiness and love for your man that it bursts out of you in a laugh that Hank swears is the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Baby-” You’re cut off by Hank kissing you, not too deep, not what some would call passionate, but a soft and slow kiss that lets you know that he’s here, he loves you and he wants you to know it. When he pulls back, your head is spinning for a different reason, spinning with love and thoughts of wanting this to last forever, until the end of time. “What’s all this about?” You breathe out, the wind almost knocked out of you while your brain tries to catch up to the situation.

Hank’s smile widens, and he lets go of you so he can walk over to the table and place the roses in the vase. Turning back to you, he extends his arm again, and once you’re close he lifts your hands up and presses a kiss to your knuckles. And once again, you’re swooning, heart so filled with something you’re sure is greater than love. “You didn’t think I would actually leave you alone on our anniversary, did you?” Hank chuckles softly, kissing your hands again before stepping to the side and pulling out a chair for you to sit in.

“How long did it take you to put this up?” You ask, looking around at the beauty that surrounds you, still in awe of it all.

“Well,” Hank chuckles again, “It was supposed to take an hour at most, but you know how the guys are with getting distracted.” Both of you laugh at this, because it’s true. You wouldn’t doubt that Angel and Coco were probably causing more of a mess than actually helping. Hank sits next to you, and takes your hand in his again. “But I will admit, this has been a few weeks of planning.”

Four years together and Hank still knows how to take your breath away, he still manages to surprise you in everything he does. But you don’t get a chance to speak before he’s pushing your plate closer to you (not his BBQ for once, but an alfredo pasta dish that you’re starting to recognize as the same dish he cooked a few weeks ago, and then again last week (probably preparing and perfecting the recipe)). So, you don’t say anything, you both dig into dinner while throwing glances at each other like teenagers going on their first date, and it’s perfect.

Dessert comes next, Hank goes to the back again and reemerges holding a pie that he definitely made himself (he’ll deny it if you tell anyone, but he does happen to be a pretty solid baker). Through dessert, you’re talking softly about anything and everything. You’re both just happy to be close and together that you don’t bother with any heavy topics. At one point, Hank makes you laugh so hard you throw your head back and snort (something that’s never happened before you met your boyfriend (because that’s how happy he makes you, so unable to control your reactions)).

And when you look up at him, ready to tell him about your adventures yesterday while visiting your mother yesterday, your voice cuts off. Hank is moving towards the bar where, how did you not notice it, a stereo rests. He’s quick to press a few buttons and a soft tune fills the air. It must be something from a symphony, with how melodic and peaceful it is. He returns to your side to pull you from your chair, and you don’t even have time to think when suddenly Hank twirls you around and pulls you into his chest. And the next thing you know, you’re being twirled all around the room, Hank’s hand covering your hand that rests on his chest and his other arm wrapped around your waist.

You’re giggling almost the entire time, both of you gazing into each other’s eyes and smiles so soft that if anyone were to see you, they’d probably be sick with how in love you two are. The songs flow into each other, and you dance for what feels like hours (realistically it’s probably been twenty minutes), no words spoken besides whispering I love you’s periodically. When the songs finally end and you’re both dizzy from the spins and the dips, you both step back from each other and again, the clubhouse is silent. It’s not an eerie kind of silence, but a pleasant one. Being with Hank has taught you that you don’t always need to talk to be able to understand what someone’s feeling. And what you’re feeling right now is an emotion so overwhelming, you do cry. You’re not sobbing, just letting out a few tears from the happiness that flows through your blood.

Hank wipes away your tears, presses a kiss to each cheek, and whisks you away to the back porch where, again, you’re caught off guard by the sheer beauty of it all. More lights are strung up on various boxes and around chairs. The fire pit is lit and the flames dance upwards, filling the space with light and warmth. It’s not until you turn around that you notice blankets and pillows piled together to create a make-shift bed. In front of the set up is the side of the clubhouse, empty. Your thoughts as to what this could be about are answered as Hank steps away from you to turn on a projector that’s sitting on top of a crate, a laptop next to it. You watch as he fiddles with the machines and when you turn back, the projector comes to life, casting light to the otherwise blank wall. When the opening credits of Little Women start playing (because let’s be real, it’s a cinematic masterpiece and the scene with Jo in the attic makes you cry every single time) you don’t bother to wait for your boyfriend while you rush to the pile of blankets (and wow does it feel like you’re on a cloud).

If you could see Hank, you’d see the nervousness plain as day etched into his face, you’d see how his hands shake ever so slightly, you’d see how he gazes at you with a love that even he can’t quite wrap his head around. But soon enough, he joins you in your own little paradise. He wraps you in his arms and lays you against his chest and kisses your head, and you know. You know that this is what heaven feels like. Laying in your man’s arms, feeling his feather-light kisses placed anywhere he can reach, feeling his love radiating off of him and getting absorbed by your mind, body, and soul.

You’re maybe halfway through the movie when Hank shifts and reaches into his pocket (trying so very hard to be stealthy so as to not alert you to what he’s doing (he does, but you don’t say anything)). When you’re both finally settled and the movie continues on, you don’t even realize Hank is fiddling with your fingers, nor do you realize the sudden cool metal that slipped onto your ring finger. It’s not until a whopping eight minutes later (Hank was counting) that he pulls your hand up to his lips and places a delicate kiss onto your knuckles. You turn in his arms, leaning your head back and using the hand that he was holding to rest on his cheek, and pull him down to meet your lips.

The kiss is soft and slow, like you’ve got all the time in the world to just sit here and relish in each other’s love. You move to deepen the kiss and then all of a sudden Hank’s pulling back, grabbing your left hand again, and placing another soft kiss to your knuckles. Only then do you realize why he’d been so focused on your hands, specifically your left one. Because on it rests the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen. Small diamonds line a gold band, with a slightly larger diamond in the middle. It’s simple, and with the lights all around you it glimmers with every twist of your hand.

You’re too stunned to speak, too in love with Hank to express how your heart is ripping apart and is being replaced by everything him. You’re staring at the ring, mouth open and tears now heavily pouring down your cheeks. And when you finally get your wits about you, you scramble to turn and face Hank, straddling him and placing both hands on his face, eyes searching desperately to find any sense of humor, any sign that he’s joking.

But you don’t find any of that. You find tears gathering in his eyes as he leans you forward to press your forehead against his. His voice is soft, almost afraid to speak too loud and ruin the moment. “Amor,” He stops, taking a deep breath before speaking again, “You’re my everything, my heart and soul, you’re the courage I need to take on anything and everything. You’re…” He pauses again, and a stray tear falls out of his left eye. He pulls you back a fraction so he can stare deep into your eyes, one hand holding your waist and the other takes your hands from his face so he can kiss them once again. “You’re the best thing to ever happen to me. And I hope you keep happening to me for the rest of our lives. I’m pleading, make me the happiest man in the world and say you’ll marry me.”

Hank barely gets out the last word as you smash your lips to his, it’s a little messy, and you do miss his lips at first, but it’s perfect. You’re unable to sustain the kiss for long with how heavy you’re breathing, so instead, you peck his lips once, twice, and then one more time. And then you’re pulling back, and Hank will swear to the end of his days that you’re glowing, shining so bright as you stare at him, and he wants to make you feel like this always. He wants to make you so happy, he wants you to feel the love that he feels, the love that has consumed his entire being.

“Ask me,” You breathe out, lips curved up and shaking from the sob that’s threatening to burst. Hank looks confused at first, so you continue, “You have to ask me first, then I can say yes.”

Hank laughs, he tilts his head back to rest against the pillow behind him and looks up at you with the softest smile to ever grace his beautiful face. “I guess you’re right. So, will you marry me?” And this time, you laugh.

You’re giggling from the sheer happiness of it all, so much that you’re barely able to get out your answer, “Of course I will, handsome.”

The movie’s ended, but you and Hank are still lying wrapped in each other’s arms, content to spend the rest of your lives like this. And you’re hoping with everything in you that this love doesn’t fade, that you’ll be this happy and this in love when you’re both old and gray. But you also know that it won’t. The love you feel could never fade even if you wanted it to (and by the grace of god, you’ll never want to stop loving him).

And while you’re there, in your slice of heaven, you’re already planning the wedding in your head, too excited to become a Loza.

#let me know what yall think!!#mayans mc #mayans mc imagine #mayans fx #hank loza #hank loza imagine #hank loza fluff #hank loza x reader #my writing #bishop losa #angel reyes #ez reyes #taza romero

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mechatimagines · 3 years ago

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What. The HECK. I don't even know what to say other than I am so sorry and disgusted, disturbed and sickened on your behalf. Dumbler (And the internet in general) really can be such a steaming cesspool. Absolutely no one deserves to be treated like you have and all over what you said about a fictional character? Come on! 🙄 They are SO PATHETIC!😡 Sounds like the work of some pretty creepy, psychotic fans and trolls. I completely understand you needing a break! Do what's best for you and take care of yourself hun.

TW, talks of death threats,rape,drugging,kidnapping.

Honestly, I never expected any of this to happen. Besides the stuff that was sent to me, which is already disturbing and sickening in its own right, is the fact that most of the text that where sent to me where basically…..crude words directed at the fact that I didn’t make that kind of content, stuff about me being a soft wimp and so on. The rest where basic death threats along with things like “I hope you like getting drugged” and “ bitches like wish they could get raped” and it didn’t make me feel any safer because most of those kinds of threats where sent though my social media. I have sense deleted my IG.

I said that I didn’t want to talk about any of those topics anymore because it made me uncomfortable, twice. But people kept commenting or messaging me about stuff, egging it all on or putting words in my mouth. Someone was even making posts about me saying I was “Trying to take away their freedom of speech & enforcing old government laws of media restrictions” which I never said or even pressed on in any of my statements.

To be quite honest, I'm just tired of it all. I'm tired of all of the hate.... For just putting my opinions and boundaries on MY blog. All I asked was for people to respect my boundaries, as the mod on this blog. If people didn't like that I'm not comfortable with the stated stuff, and I’m not ok with making that kind of content for my blog either, they could easily unfollow my blog or just stay away from it. There was no need for any of this.

I think taking a break from all of this is my best bet. I think I need a few weeks away to get my mind in order. This is the first time I have ever had any of this stuff happen to me, and I have been in some pretty toxic fandoms. I really just need the time to get my thoughts straight, because right now my two thoughts are that I come back and keep posting on the blog or I keep the fics I have and either abandon this blog completely or delete it fully.

I want to say a quick thanks before I go on this small hiatus, to all of the followers that support me and my work, along with everyone who has commented and spoken to me with support and encouragement. Thank you all for the much needed support during this time of reflection for me and this blog.

I hope to talk to you all next month with a updated on my decision for this blog.

Yours truly, Mod Venus🌺

#mechat #mechatgame #lovelink #lovelink game #mod venus��#taking a hiatus

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volleychumps · 4 years ago

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To Choose (2)

See the first part here~

The first part was one of my first creations on this blog in March, so here’s to nurturing this blog for almost six months. The writing development might be drastically different from the time between these two pieces, but enjoy this angsty ride.

To the twenty one of you who have asked, here it is ladies and gents<3

Warning(s): angst, slight cursing

------------------------------

“Oi. There you are.”

Your legs still as tension floods your body, your teeth finding your lip as the familiar voice makes a quiver in your chest appear. The blonde’s voice takes on a warning tone, and you look around for help as Tsukishima’s irritation grows at the sight of your turned back. The blonde crosses his arms, hands slipping from the warm confines of his pockets as he’s faced with another occurrence of trying to pin you in place.

“Y/N, you can’t keep running away-”

“She can so!” The duo is quick, and you barely manage to make out heads the color of dark hair and orange hair, one slinging an arm through yours to drag you in your escape and one simply placing a hand on your shoulder to pick up the pace in his longer legs. Hinata grins widely from your left as Kageyama simply nods to you from your right as a thankful grin remains fleeting on your lips.

“This is childish.”

“Stop chasing girls that don’t want to talk to you then, looney.”

“What did you just-”

“Y/N-chan...” Hinata sweatdrops at his mistake, turning to face his head forward again after antagonizing the blonde. “We should hurry, no?”

“Idiot.”

“Kageyama!”

Hinata’s whine falls on deaf ears as you take the chance to glance back, barely catching a glimpse of the stoic blonde who watched you run away from him for the third time that week, clicking his tongue in obvious annoyance.

The glance was so quick you hadn’t even realized the freckled boy slowly lower the hand he had lifted in greeting as you brushed past him, also having lacked any communication with you since that night.

-------------------------------

“You two don’t have to help me, you know. I was joking when I said help me avoid them, it was a joke.” You hand Kageyama his milk carton after bending to grab it from the machine, sighing.

“Us first years have to stick together against the wreath of Tsukishima!” Hinata clenches his fist as you tilt your head, awkward smile on your face.

“You mean wrath?”

“Eh? Is that how to say it?”

Kageyama shrugs at the apricot-haired boy as he pokes his straw into his milk, looking at you with a strange interest in his blue eyes. “But wouldn’t it be better for you to just make a decision?”

You pout, covering your ears as you turn around with flushed cheeks. “I can’t hear you, so that means no decision has to be made.”

“Yeah, pretty sure that’s now how that works.” Kageyama scolds you, your friend chopping you lightly on the head with the side of his palm. You turn towards your two friends with flushed cheeks, thankful you had befriended the height-differentiated duo in your first escape from Tsukishima, Hinata thinking it would be fun to try and piss of Tsukishima- and eventually, Hinata and Kageyama began appearing to hang out with you during free periods or lunch time, a good distraction from what was going on in your slightly disastrous love life.

“Yamaguchi’s been really sad at practice, Y/N.” Hinata nudges you as the bell rings, signaling lunch was coming to an end. “You should talk to him.”

“...and Tsukishima?”

“Nah, he’s fine.” Hinata shrugs, beginning to walk off towards his hallway before Kageyama drops his voice, brushing past you to follow his wing-spiker.

“He hasn’t been. I suggest you figure it out before one of them gets seriously hurt...as your friend, I don’t like to see you like this, so hurry up and be happy already.”

You blink, bewildered at the alien-like words that slipped the introverted boy’s lips, as Kageyama speeds up his pace to walk side by side with Hinata, the tips of his ears turning red as you smile softly to yourself. A heavy weight settles on your chest as you clench the shirt material that rested above your heart.

Just when do you stop running?

-----------------------

The night was cold.

You wrap your arms loosely around yourself, stopping when your feet root themselves in front of the playground in your neighborhood, finally alone with just you and your thoughts. No shy, pure-hearted freckled boy looking at you with that hopeful glint in his eyes. No hard-shelled, slightly sadistic blonde who can’t face his feelings for you, on your heel.

You wished you never caught any sort of feelings, and that those three children at this playground years ago could keep everything platonic forever.

But time wouldn’t allow that, as the freckled boy looked at the (H/C) one, while the (H/C) one looked at the blonde one-

And platonic was suddenly no longer an option.

Your legs swing aimlessly as your hands grip at the cool chains of the rusted swing set, reminiscing on the purity that was the past. The blame was on you for ruining that bond, confessing your feelings without realizing the rift it would cause between the three of you. You hung your head in slight shame, realizing you had confessed even with the suspicion that Yamaguchi loved you, a fact you refused to accept.

And then you were back to all those years ago, as a nine-year old Yamaguchi kneels before you with bandages for your knees while a taller nine-year old Tsukishima laughs in the background at your pain. When Yamaguchi had ran off to get the teacher, Tsukishima had thumped your forehead, wiping your tears with his sleeve while still laughing at the pout on your lips.

“Stop crying already, ugly.”

I don’t mind being the bad guy, because the nice guy never wins.

You cover your face with your hands at Tsukishima’s words echoing in your mind. Stop it.

“Y/N-chan! I got the teacher!”

Am I helping you...get over Tsukki?

Stop it.

I’m sorry. I don’t really have time for things like that…

Please.

I’m happy you’re even considering me. Come on, I’ll buy you dessert.

“...Y/N-chan? It’s late, what are you doing here?”

Freckles. Bandages. Signature worry in his tone when it came to you.

And then you had your answer, the feeling washing over you like a tide within the ocean as you shakily reach your arms out, scared the pain of how frail that answer made you feel would send you hurtling.

Yamaguchi stills in place in the midst of draping his jacket over your shoulders, the front of his shirt becoming soaked with tears as you wrapped both arms around his mid-section to pull him tightly to you. Something within him seems to sink as he smiles, putting a single hand atop your head as he wills the crack out of his voice, light tone too forced as he steadies his breaths.

One more time. He would hold you like this for one more time.

“It was never me, was it, Y/N-chan?”

Your sobs seemed to begin to wreck through your body as Yamaguchi merely chuckles softly, closing his eyes as his hand finds the back of your head, a pair of lips gently pressing atop your head.

“It’s okay. Sh. I knew it wouldn’t be me.”

“Tadashi.” You grip the back of his shirt, whimpering into his chest as the coolness of the swing set chains suddenly become unnoticeable, your other hand gripping said chain even tighter.

The hope rose in his chest pitifully.

“I’m sorry.”

And then it sank.

And Yamaguchi said nothing, swallowing back the lump in his throat as tears trickle down freckled cheeks, thankful you couldn’t see them as he holds onto someone who could never be his.

Still, he smiled into your hair, smooth circles on your back while the warmth of his jacket cascaded the coldness of your body, basking in the feel of you in the arms that always protected you-

as you rejected the boy who loved you first.

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“You cried.”

“Thank you, captain obvious.”

Tsukishima slips his phone back into his pocket, deleting the message for you to come out as he sees your absolutely wrung-out form walk up to your house at this hour of the night. He frowns in slight worry as you wipe hastily at your eyes. The blonde pushed off from his leaning position against the entrance to your home, standing straight as you attempted to brush past him in the moonlight.

“Not tonight, Tsukki.”

The blonde catches your wrist, and you weakly try to pull your grip away to no avail.

“I’m not waiting for you forever, idiot.”

“Then don’t. Stop waiting for me, and go to someone else.” The defeated tone sinks into your voice as hazel eyes widen, snarky features falling to a serious one.

“What are you talking about? Is this about Yamaguchi?”

You lift your head slightly, meeting his confused gaze with a sad one, a small smile stretching tiredly across your lips as previous tears begin to dry in cold air.

“Ne, Tsukki. Can we go back in time?”

“What-?”

“Can all of us- you, me, Tadashi- just stay the way we were to begin with? No more of this love shit-”

“Y/N-”

“Why did it have to be you?”

Silence. A loosened grip on your wrist.

“You were always so mean to me. You didn’t want anything to do with me when I confessed. You only wanted me when Yamaguchi started acting on his feelings, so why?!”

Your voice is risen now, tears brimming your eyes for god knows who many times that night as a glint flashes over Tsukishima’s glasses. You clench your fists, hysteria in your voice as you laugh in disbelief, a familiar heat brimming your eyes.

“Why did it have to be-?!”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, pressing your back against the entrance of your home with a single hand on your waist, silencing you efficiently as you look doe-eyed up at him, using his sleeve to wipe your tears away in a sense of familiarity as your tears continue to stream helplessly. Hazel eyes bore into you as he leans down, irritation evident in his irises.

“For the love of god, shut up.”

Slender fingers find your jaw as he tilts your head upwards, crashing his lips against yours roughly as you clench at his shirt, the blonde not batting an eye at the wetness of your cheeks. He holds you against him tighter, the hand not holding your jaw lifting from your waist to the small of your back to press you against him, your breaths mingling when he pulls back.

The tears were less now, your breaths struggling to remain straight as Tsukishima’s words fan over your lips.

“You think you’re the only one who wonders that?”

Your eyes widen, but you say nothing.

“God, you were always this whiny little girl ever since we were kids, too dumb to see the way Yamaguchi looked at you.” His grip on your jaw tightens as his eyes harden, flashing back to the hidden time where he stifled what he felt for you after seeing that glint in his friend’s eye.

“But I did. I saw it all. I convinced myself that you two could have each other, but you know what?”

You close your eyes with a sigh when his lips find your neck, lips moving against your skin.

“I’m done convincing myself. You choose me, right?”

Yamaguchi flashes in your head, but you were so immersed with Tsukishima, the image seemed to fade as soon as it had flashed. You find yourself nodding with a whimper, the blonde seeming to smirk at the movement before pulling back slightly.

And you’re shocked at the relieved expression he has on before he leans his forehead against yours, nose barely touching yours as his grip on you weakens. You weren’t going anywhere.

“Now, was choosing that hard? I told you, Y/N-”

Conflict swirls in your heart as Tsukishima claims your lips once again.

“The nice guy never wins.”

-------------------------------------

“Ready to go to school, Y/N-chan?”

You blink at the sight before you, smiling at the fact that things were moderately back to normal. Tsukishima barely glanced up at you as Yamaguchi grinned at you with a wave from the bottom of your stairs at your doorstep, and you shut the door behind you as you approach with a small wave back.

“Kageyama wanted me to grab him milk on the way.”

“Since when are you friends with that idiot?”

“That idiot is on your team, so be nice.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, slipping his hand into yours as you walk, making you tense up a little before relaxing your palm into his hold as he strolls casually-

Yamaguchi glancing at the clasped hands with a tug at his heart before a smile replaces the crestfallen look on his face, walking to your other side to talk to you with a brightness in his voice.

He would watch you from afar, yet at a distance you were familiar with as you continued your love for his best friend. Loving you from a distance as something more to you, while treating you as his best friend from inches away, pretending as if there hadn’t been a sliver of a chance that your heart would lean in his direction.

And every time you turned away from him to look at the blonde who held your heart since the beginning,

Yamaguchi Tadashi was back seven years ago where everything first started, fighting a losing battle with eyes that only yearned for you.

“You coming, Yamaguchi?” Tsukishima tilts his head back to the freckled boy who had fallen a few steps behind, swirled in his symphony of thoughts, as Yamaguchi blinks out of his trance. He grins despite the weight on his chest, picking up the pace to walk at your side, like always.

“Coming! Hey, can we grab some breakfast if we’re stopping at the convenience store?”

And just like always, he would always fall one step behind.

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AJSHKJASK ouch this kinda hurted me doe- I have a few ideas for an alternate ending if it’s wanted!! I had to choose the route that made the most sense to me, so I’m sorry if this made you guys sad:(

Still, I love “To Choose” and how ever many parts it needs with all my heart.

General Works: @takemetovalhalla @savemesteeb @kasandrafaye @dreebbles @yams046 @aprettyfruit @therestless101 @dai-tsukki-desu @lifeisntjustblackandwhite @curiouslilbeast @wisepandaslimeland @deadontheinsidebut @lmkjimin @h0ngh0ngh0ng @theworldupthere @itz-tooru @orangegiraffe7 @let-me-have-my-own-name

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #haikyuu reads #haikyuu fic #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu angst #yamaguchi #haikyuu yamaguchi #yamaguchi tadashi #Karasuno #haikyuu karasuno

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anti-porn-unicorn · 4 years ago

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I’m a girl (18 now) who got exposed/addicted to pornography at a really young age, and I wanted to share my specific story on this blog so that the platform can get it out there.

Under the cut is my full story, and it’s a little long winded, so if you don’t want to read the whole thing, I bolded in purple the general topic/idea of that section. Just look for whichever of those interests you and the section will be about that. The first and last paragraph are good for context and end goal, though.

Thank you.

I don't fully remember my first exposure to porn. I know I was in third grade (6-7 yrs old, I had skipped a grade). The reason I had wanted to share my story, in fact, is because I don't see many stories with circumstances similar to mine. Most I see have at least one of the following 'modifiers', for want of a better word. Most I see have at least one of the following 'modifiers', for want of a better word. Most I see have at least one of the following 'modifiers', for want of a better word. 1. The person is a victim of CSA/grooming. 2. The person was at a generally pubescent age (~11-14). And/or 3. The person experienced porn as a quick disturbance. To be clear, these stories are as valid and important as mine, and I simply think more perspectives make evidence of the effects of porn more airtight. I've never been the victim of SA, harassment, or grooming, ever in my life. My story shows the effects of exclusively porn.

The first memory I can recall about this was actually the first time I got caught. I was 6 yrs old, and very into video games,so on this day, I was playing a 3D porn game on my crappy hand-me-down laptop. I kind of knew that what I was doing wasn't acceptable, so I was sitting in my room in the corner as far from my door as possible. My mom walked in so I just slammed the laptop shut because I wasn't that good at hiding things. My mom obviously asked what I was doing, and I tried to keep her from looking, but it was right there when she reopened it. This is where the battle of it begins.

From ages 6-14 I don't have a good timeline of events but a few pop out that exemplify the severity of the issue. These are very probably out of order.

I got an iPod Touch for Christmas (~6-7), and every night I would watch porn on it until they caught on. I literally still remember some names of the sites, most that don't even exist anymore. My parents have always been amazingly caring. I couldn't ask for more. During the earlier ages (~6-8) I was put with a child therapist for fear of a deeper issue. My parents started either taking technology away in the night and/or setting restrictions on the internet. Unfortunately, between my slight tech-savvy, and my crazed addiction at this point, this wasn't a solution.

The addiction got DEEP. It warped my brain. When I had no technology, I used everything I could find.

Whenever I had access to less restricted internet, I used it. Once I asked my older cousin to use her iPod and watched it on there.(she noticed and told my mom. I remember my mom had asked me "Is there anything you need to tell me?", and I knew what she meant, but I just said "nope!" and walked away. At one point my dad's work provided him with a Blackberry, and I asked him could I play one of the built in little games. Once I had it, I watched porn. (when I gave it back to him he pressed the "back" button, and I was caught.)

I used Youtube. This was when YouTube was way less moderated (back when the app was a little old timey TV). I learned I could look up "striptease" and "nip-slip" and other stuff like that, finding more soft-core videos that could suffice when the internet in general was locked down.

I straight-up found out ways to disable the restrictions. Once I found out my mom's PIN for the controls, I went and disabled them, but changed the PIN so it would look like they were still on, and so that she couldn’t access and re-enable them. (I made it 7399. Spells "sexy". My mind was a mess.)

My parents bought a book called "The Classical Tradition". I'm just learning now as I'm looking it up that it was a Harvard Reference Library book (probably why it was so damn thick) about ancient Greek and Roman culture. I didn't know that. I had realized that sprinkled throughout the book there were pages that were more glossy than the rest, which you could see from the sides of the pages (the book was HUGE). These were the photo paper, which had the classical paintings and sculptures. And because these had nudity (Think "The Birth of Venus" type) I would regularly flip through this book when I needed a "fix". Absurd.

My parents got me an American Girl book that was made to ease worries about the developmental years. The pages on breast development / the anatomy of the vagina were what I looked at the most. When my parents had gotten me the child therapist, there was the logical fear that I might have been molested. The therapist gave me a book where there was a page with two cartoon mice, a boy and a girl. They were wearing swimwear/underwear and the point of that was "anywhere the clothing is covering is somewhere that adults can't touch you without telling.” They might as well have been stick figures, there was NO detail. But since they were in ‘underwear’ I'd always look at that page a lot. Anything barely vaguely sexual.

During this part of my life, I got no real pleasure out of this, I was just obsessed. For the first year I even watched it on mute out of fear of being caught. The lowest point during this period was when I very unfortunately filmed a video of me touching myself. I got nothing out of it and had no intent on ever sending or posting it. I was just emulating what I had been seeing. I deleted it the next day. I was 9 then.

From puberty until now (11-18) is when my sexuality was shaped by it. The addiction was far more controllable, I could spend a couple weeks to a couple months without it, but I'd always come back. Because it was now tied to my body. And while my need for it to be constant was gone, now I had to deal with the tolerance issue.

Over time what I watched became more and more depraved. I had the personal preference of hating anything amateur, because of the low quality, so I managed to avoid anything obviously non-consensual or involving visibly underaged girls, but that doesn't really mean much with the stuff the studios were putting out. During the middle points it got REALLY violent and disturbing. Bordering on torture (extreme kink) and even bodily deformation. As a young woman, I couldn't really tolerate any of the role based Kinks (father-daughter, babysitter, schoolgirl), so more extreme for me meant more extreme acts. Just absolute destruction of women's bodies for the purposes of sex. I moved away from that when tumblr banned porn and I started using reddit for it, and also during that time I was realizing how fucked up of an addiction that this was, even before I found feminism/anti-porn. I actively started trying to quit it, for good. But I always went back.

One big effect is heavy confusion with my sexual orientation. A lot of people face this, but the addition of porn for me really throws things off. Like: Am I bi, and a form of comphet/denial/inexperience keeps me from seeing women in a romantic way? Is it a mix of that and porn? (relatively likely) Or am I just straight, and the porn has completley shaped my mind (likely). 90% of the time I watched solo female content or lesbian content, and could only stand to watch certain specific forms if it included men at all. In real life I find a fair amount of men attractive but their bodies in a sexual sense are tolerable at best, but usually cringe inducing. l've never been attracted to a woman romantically, but exclusively women's bodies are sexual to me. It feels like everything in my brain that I would have been able to use in order to figure myself out has been permanently overwritten with incorrect information. Because of porn.

I've still got it bad. Every once in a while, I’ll read something vaguely sexual, or see a woman in a risque photo, and then the seed is planted. I'll always say "I'm not going to do it, I always feel disgusting after, it’s not even really enjoyable at this point, I can do better than this”. I always give in the end of the night. I'm 7 days off of it. I've been on this earth for 18 years. 12 of those years I've been cripplingly addicted to pornography. Two thirds of my life, and for as long as I can remember. I can never undo it. Just like an alcoholic will always be an alcoholic, only able to achieve remission, I will always be a porn addict. I have to be careful. But I have to hope for the future. And with finding the community that is speaking the truth about this, I'm heartened to do better. To no longer be held down by an addiction to consuming my own oppression.

#thank you for sharing #you’re not alone in this #I’m glad you escaped the addiction!#submission

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azulas · 4 years ago

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Please delete this Avatar 3D gifset you made azulas(.)tumblr(.)com/post/625559515442577408 of an artist's hard work that you received NO permission at all to share captainpoe(.)tumblr(.)com/post/626723318102425600 it's very disrepectful to the artist that you did this without his permission just for notes!

*sorry to my followers for even engaging in this mess, but this person has been repeatedly harassing me for some time, & even while being so problematic they still seem to have a pretty large following, which is quite worrying, so i really just had to put an end to this & speak out. this is the first & last time i will be posting anything regarding this person just fyi.*

my response to @captainpoe (+ link at the end to additional receipts):

i was very much not going to address this at all, since i already got an answer from the only person whose opinion matters in this, but i am sooo done with 'mike' or whatever the hell his real name is, so no need to be on anon since i know this is very obviously you @captainpoe , thanks to the repeated mssgs you've sent (not only me, but also friends of mine who u repeatedly harass via chat, even for things unrelated to this) so idk what ur problem is dude but LEAVE ME ALONE. you are an absolute nuisance. like something is actually wrong with you. i've ignored the mssgs you've sent even off anon (even the one that didn't have anything to do with this) so idk what doesn't click about me not wanting to interact with u, i don't follow u, never have never will, or even so much as liked a post from u, but ur a full ass grown 27 year old adult, so get a life maybe?? & stop starting shit with ppl on this dumb website that is supposed to be used for fun/relaxation & blogging about stuff u like, not creating drama with different strangers every other day. also, i find it HILARIOUS that u, especially, have the audacity to try to threaten & bully ppl into doing what u want, when like just a few weeks ago u were having to publicly apologize for using the death of naya rivera to get notes, so...who is the real problem here?? def you! i. don't. care. about. notes. but you obvi do, way too much! i'd never even heard of you until you decided to take it upon urself to police the avatar fandom (& ur not so subtle call out post that u have pinned on ur blog, which btw YOU don't have the right to decide what should/shouldn't be taken down, & that fact that ur so bent out of shape about something that isn't even urs & that the actual creator has already said he doesn't mind....u have problems dude. what he actually does mind is u threatening ppl!), & just a quick search pulls up receipts of ppl across various fandoms being absolutely done with your shit:

so i would honestly worry a lot more about the crap you post on ur own blog/have going on in ur own life, than keep trying to dictate what the rest of tumblr does. it's one thing to advocate for the removal of posts containing racism, trans/homophobia (which u yourself have posted!), cp, etc. but this is something else entirely. oh, & u seriously need to stop spam mssging ppl, everyone is ignoring u for a reason, ur ass is def getting reported, so pls don’t ever contact me again & hopefully get a new hobby :)

here is a way more in depth/detailed post summarizing everything, for anyone interested in seeing additionals reasons as to why this person is such a huge problem

original post

#sorry guys ik no one likes to see this type of shit on their dash but i HAD to speak out..this person is so disturbed & won't leave me alone #like fuck off bro fr #discourse #text #anonymous #asknad #nadposts

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rainydayhogwartsimagines · 4 years ago

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Secrets (Draco x reader)

Note: this is basically becoming a Draco blog... And I'm not mad about it

Summary: It's months after the battle and you are finally given a graduation and memorial for everyone you've lost. You think for a minute your old friend isn't showing up. But to everyone's surprise he does. (Also I'm a aware that I keep keeping Fred alive but I strongly believe there was no reason for him to die and that's why he's alive. I also decided to keep in the deleted scene where Draco stayed with hogwarts and gave Harry his wand back because WHY WAS THAT EVEN DELETED!?)

Warnings: Obvious spoiler warning, grieving, emotions.

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You stared out the window, watching the cars pass by. You were ready for this... Oh who the hell are you kidding here, no you weren't. You weren't ready for the crying, the grieving or the fact that you were saying goodbye to home today. You were so nervous when you got to King's Cross that you nearly turned back. But a certain group found you before you could turn back. The Weasley's, Hermione and Harry. They all kept assuring you that if you wanted to turn back they definitely wouldn't blame you. But something about your family being there made that easier to just cross through. You ended up in a compartment with the twins. Fred had been basically doting on you since the battle because of the fact you took a major hit for him that almost killed you. Basically anything you wanted from the shop was free and George agreed with those sentiments. They were so grateful that both of them made it out and you were too. You just had a harder time than everyone else. Cedric, who was the starting point for death, was a best friend of yours. He was the sweetest to you and he was always there for you. When he died you took it the hardest, everyone basically watching you fall apart. It really didn't help when your parents died too, they refused to leave and actually ended up in the battle. The only family you had left was the Weasleys, Harry, Hermione and one other person. You leaned your head off your hand and realized that he could be here. You got up. "I'm going to--" "Look for him? Go Love, we'll be here." George said. You smiled and walked out. You walked down the rows of carts, funding him no where until that last cart.

You opened the cart and knocked on the side of the doorway. Draco's silver eyes met yours as he stood up and hugged you. You smiled at him, but froze at the sight of the scar on his cheek. "What happened here?" You asked. Draco sighed and chuckled. "Remember when I ran after giving Harry his wand?" He asked. "Yeah." You nodded. "So one of the death eaters ran after me and decided to try to knock some rubble onto me." He admitted. Your eyes went huge. "Draco, why didn't you write to me or anything-- Oh my God-- Are you okay?!" You asked. He held your hand. "Y/n... I'm okay." He assured. You swallowed hard and the change of scenery caught your attention. "Are you ready for this Y/n?" He asked. After Cedric died, Draco stood as your best friend. He would meet you in the library or astronomy tower and just listen in exchange for you doing the same. You looked back at him. "... I'm going to try and that's what counts." You sighed. Draco didn't let go of your hand either. Fred and George swore up and down you two were in love. They knew it. After accidentally hearing Draco say it and you admitting it to them and begging them not to say a word, they basically lived in this relationship limbo where you two weren't together but certainly relied on each other like you were.

You all walked off the train, Molly surprising Draco with a hug along with Harry. Harry was the one that shocked him considering the whole bathroom incident. You remember screaming at Harry after finding Draco and being the one to take him to the nurse. But Harry remembered who exactly gave him that wand and allowed that battle to end. "Are you ready dearie?" Arthur asked. Bless that family for being so concerned. You nodded and walked through the massive doors. The school still had remnants of the battle left behind but aside from missing statue pieces you'd just think it was an old castle. Everyone walked into the great hall, finding the place to be almost completely restored. "Welcome home." Mcgonagall said as you all took seats. "As you know this is not only a graduation but a memorial... We honor those we lost in battle or through out the year." She began. You spaced out, looking around you.

"Cedric wait up, I can only put on my shoes so quick!" "you'll have to be faster than that! The other schools are coming today!"

You felt a tear slide down your face and someone squeeze your hand. You looked over at Draco. "We raise our wands with light to remember." Mcgonagall said. You all rose your wands high, standing as you did. You were allowed one last walk through of the school before leaving to the boats. You saw the common rooms, actually being allowed to enter them. "Wait so this is what Ravenclaw's looked like? I feel so jipped now." You said looking at all of the books. "I know." Hermione gaped making your group laugh. You remembered the wonderful Christmas mornings that you spent here with Draco, the two of you always getting each other something small including the very necklace around your neck. You walked through the halls and chuckled. "Do you remember when we played that prank on Filch right before Christmas?" You asked Draco. Draco let out a chuckle. "He was so angry." Draco remembered. "Wait, Draco does pranks?" Fred asked. "Very rarely... He'd get caught." You said making him playfully hit your arm. "Wow. So he cares about people and he's got a sense of humor, remind me why you two never dated." George teased. You almost hushed him but Draco chuckled. "Believe me, the thought usually crossed my mind but I wasn't sure she wanted that." Draco said making you freeze. Actually most of the group stopped after hearing his honesty. George looked at you and then Draco. "Guys let's look at the Gryffindor common room." George said. "But we already--" Fred and George shot the group dirty looks and they got the hint, leaving the two of you alone. "....You liked me?" You asked. "Oh I was head over heels in my forth year. I never said anything to you though because you were my first real friend and I didn't want to mess it up." Draco admitted. "...What changed?" You asked. "Hmm?" Draco asked. "You're using past tense, did your feelings change?" You asked. Draco pondered. Did he really want to admit that out loud? A secret that he kept for so long it almost seemed strange to even think about. "No." He admitted. "So you still... Do?" You asked. "Depends what direction this is going." He answered. "Draco." You said. "Yes Y/n, I do but you can ignore it if you--" you rolled your eyes and kissed him. "I've wanted to do that since our third year." You said. He chuckled and almost leaned in for another kiss but Molly gasped and you sighed. "I feel like my mother just caught me." You chuckled. He snorted and you laughed.

The rest of the evening was the group asking question after question. You answered some of them but it's like the closer you got to the Hufflepuff common room the more and more memories seemed to bombard you. Most of them were happy and you'd just space out. But it was the moment you came across the quidditch cups that you just spaced out. Draco noticed your eyes locked onto the golden plaque with Cedric's name. He put his hands on your shoulders and kissed the top of your head. "I miss him." You said. Fred nodded. "We know love...." He said. "I do too." Harry admitted. "Can... I have just a moment?" You asked. They all nodded and left you alone.

You could swear that for a minute you saw Cedric walking down the hall.

"Promise you won't tell Draco?"

"Your secrets are always safe with me Y/n."

#draco imagine #draco malfoy #draco x y/n #draco x reader

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savnofilter · 4 years ago

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TW: MENTIONS OF DISCOURSE, GR//MING, P/D/PHILIA, ASS//LT, C//NSENT, D//RK CONTENT.

- this isnt under a read more because i want people to read this, but please read past this/tread carefully if you cannot handle such topics. this is not meant to be interacted with.

I'm not sure how to really go about this. I've been overthinking if I should address this and bring up some stuff while I've been gone, so sorry the absence. I deleted the tumblr app a few days ago and I downloaded it again today so i could post this. I really don't like making posts like this because it cuts the vibe that I've been trying to portray that everything is okay and it makes me feel really disconnected to you guys. I am sorry for the abrupt absence and cutting off any source of communication between us. I knew if I left any form of direct line of talk to me that I would receive hate and I just mentally decided that I cant sit through being harassed right now.

Have you guys ever paid attention to the same people who always have a statement to say or is always in discourse? It's very telling how everyone can post about me, but I shouldnt dare post about them. I'm tired of not being able to post about what I want without people vague posting about me, bringing me up every time they start another discourse with another writer or directly talking about me. My days on here are starting to feel the same. Its good then it goes bad. Good goes bad and bad goes good. It's not even tiring, annoying, or angering -- its repetitive. When I'm not saying anything people create fake stories about me, and when i speak about it im the one starting discourse. Don't get me wrong, I'm nowhere near perfect and I have made my own mistakes. But why the fuck am I always being told to be the mature one, why am I the one who should've done better, why do you people expect so much from me. It's the fact people are always quick to say, "no one cares about you, youre fishing for attention" when they're the ones who vague and interact with me while ive been minding my business for months now. Hm. The fact people have me proudly blocked but still harass me anyways shows a lot about themselves than it does for me. How its such an issue that im a minor until it comes to demonizing, tearing down my character, gaslighting, lying and bullying. I'm a literal example of how their friend group manipulates their followers and exiles people from fandoms for not kissing their ass. except now its in your face.

Consider this my last post about this discourse. I'm not going to waste my time on people who fail to digest other peoples thoughts and opinions time and time again because theyre weak narcissists. If I so choose to decide to shit post my opinions or argue with someone, none of you should be aggravated or moved by it because youre not even supposed to be on my page. If its not something serious i will not be wasting energy that i can be using to build on myself as a growing person than on miserable old ladies that have to use fanfiction to have excitement in their pity, depressing and lackluster lives. If people so do choose to create stories or vague about me, I do not care. So I ask respectfully to people who do lurk on my page to not attempt to message, post or vague about me please. This includes sending anons to yourself to make shit happen.

Past that, something got me thinking. My (older) friend had showed me screenshots of adult writers (no one i have spoken to) that were very excited to write underaged reader with adult characters. There are other instances where writers (that you have probably read from) on here openly made reader underage while aging characters up as adults/with adults. There are many more but there's really no point in listing them nor do I really care. But least to say, the same people who are gung-ho over these pedophilic themes/stories are the same people who support predatory people.

I've been thinking about whether or not i should continue writing for the students anymore. Granted, I still think they're attractive because one snap of the fingers cant stop that. I had been teetering on this thought for awhile because of how borderline pedophilic the people are here towards my age group. I enjoy writing but not to the point of willingly being in a straight line of sight where people who are well over 16 are harassing me and lurking on my page, especially to other minors solely because they are my friends. Backtracking to the statement before, I honestly dont know if I will either stop writing or just for the students as a whole. It shows that clearly some people are using their attraction to teens with the excuse that the characters are fake. The rapid normalization on dark problematic "kinks" is disgusting and vile, and the fact that its discourse now to shame said interests is appalling. Concluding that combined with my experiences here, i feel unsafe.

***(TRIGGER WARNING)*** I dont talk about my personal life on here that much cause I dont see the need too nor do i think its anyone's business. Paired with the fact that the people i have trusted personal information with have used it against me, I will be preventing myself from opening that door. Besides that for now, I have sparsely shared I've been assaulted before. This is my first time really opening up about this and i kind of find it necessary now. Coming from someone who has been a victim of assault and CP by people my age and well over, writing nsfw has been the only way where I could feel comfortable with sex in general. I won't get into details because mentioning this is triggering already and can make people uncomfortable. It feels like anywhere I go, I'm constantly putting myself in a position to be abused. The same people who told me I didn't have to worry about my age and be judged for it, exposed the minimum comfort of keeping myself private online to demonize, judge and hurt me. People call me "extra" for being distraught about my face and age being posted because they think im trying to be sneaky which isn't the case. Its the principle that they KNEW I wasnt ready to share said things, and coming from someone who is inherently a private and closed person, she knew damn well what she was doing when posting screenshots of me on Tumblr. There is no excuse for it. The same writers who write dub/non-con can BARELY understand basic consent and its fucking terrifying. This site was the only other place I could cope without being criticized. To see people who some i was close to proudly lie on my name, (adults) say that i sent them pornographic content without their consent is so very hurtful. To watch people supposedly be victims and then use their own trauma to invalidate my own was so fucking humiliating, disgusting and nerve wracking. Although I knew I made the terrible decision to interact with stories, I have never initiated any NSFW discussion with anyone in DMs unless they did it with me first and a few times -- and trust me raise your hand I'll show you the proof. I was sure that everyone I talked to regularly knew that I was a minor, and to my general consensus, people were under the impression I was 15/16 (which I was and am).***

Whether it be victim blaming from the grooming discourse, I've been met with racism, harassment towards my friends, people wanting me to harm myself and be assaulted. I fear what will happen when i will turn 18, if the harassment will escalate and what not. A big part of me is that I'm still here anyways because it pisses people off and I don't care when I receive hate. I can take it but I don't want it. A good conscious of me knows that I should be doing what's best for me but at the end I'm still attached to my ego-self with the added fact that I sincerely enjoy interacting with my followers and posting stories.

I just don't know how the options look. I'll probably be updating my blog rules as of right now. I've been writing more sfw lately because of this and it'd be nice if you guys supported those until I properly decide. I still have plenty of requests of a bunch of characters (mostly Bakugo and Dabi) and original stuff (all sfw & nsfw) that I really wanna share with you guys. But I just ask that what I do modify that you will respect it like you would to any other writer on here.

Stay safe, keep your mask on, and thank you.

#discourse #tw discourse #tw: discourse #sav talks

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ammaliatrici · 5 years ago

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Insatiable

Pairing: Samuel Drake/Female Reader

Summary: Sam and Reader take care of each other in various ways after Sam finally returns home from an overseas job. NSFW; This is essentially porn with (very little) plot.

Note: I accidentally deleted my old blog a few months ago, and as a result, I also deleted all of my fics. I’ve finally decided to start reposting them, starting with a Sam-inspired piece, because of course. I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2,971

Samuel Drake is nothing if not insatiable, and now that you’re officially in the picture, this is especially true upon his return from work-related trips. After all, late-night, long-distance phone calls and skype sessions are great and all (and oftentimes, the absolute highlight of Sam’s entire day, spotty internet connection be damned), but nothing beats this. Nothing beats coming home.

Nothing beats coming home to you.

His large, calloused hands are on you before his luggage even meets the hardwood floor of your apartment’s entryway. A part of you wants to playfully chastise him for being so eager; you want to make him wait, if only for just another moment longer, but that would be just a tad hypocritical, wouldn’t it? To say nothing of cruel.

“Christ, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” He tries to play off the confession in a playful tone, but his words are warm and heavy and, shit, he’s never looked at anyone else like how he’s looking at you right now. One of his hands gently cups the side of your face as he greets you with a long, lingering kiss that quickly multiples and turns into two, three, four...

A sudden, warm feeling of elation boils over and you can’t help but grin and laugh in the middle of his next kiss, but Sam doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he’s encouraged by your warm welcome and sees this is a prime opportunity to kiss the side of your face.

“Miss me?” He murmurs against the soft skin of your jaw before kissing you there, too, his tone playful and light and completely masquerading the fact that he has done nothing but miss and crave you for the last three weeks straight.

You laugh softly, your eyelids suddenly feeling very heavy. “Mm, maybe a little…” You can’t help but tease as his mouth travels lower and begins to pepper the soft, exposed skin of your neck and collarbone with scattered, heated affection.

You can easily lose yourself in this moment, but there is something that’s been bothering you ever since Sam walked through the front door. “Sam...Sam, look at me,” you say softly, placing your hands gently on either side of his face, forcing his eyes to meet your own.

His smile is tired and his left eye is swollen. Again. You can’t help but frown at the sight of multiple fresh-forming bruises, and the more your concerned gaze scans over his rough features, the more splotches of purple and blue you notice. There are scrapes, too, because of course there are, and if you know Sam, he’s hiding several deeper cuts beneath the thin fabric of his white t-shirt.

“I’ll be careful,” he had promised just three weeks earlier, right before he had taken off for Germany with Charlie and Sully. You had known it was a lie the moment he had winked and kissed you goodbye.

You can’t find it in yourself to blame him, though. Drakes, historically speaking, are risk-takers, after all.

“You’re hurt,” If his face and the exposed flesh of his arms and biceps look this battered, you can only imagine what the rest of his body looks like, and this realization makes your heart ache in the worst way. “When I told you to come back to me in one piece, I meant it, Sam.”

He shoots you a smug, lopsided grin. “...and, technically, I delivered.” He attempts to joke, using his hands to emphasize the fact that hadn’t lost a limb while away on a job, but his gaze immediately softens once he realizes that you’re not laughing. “Hey...I’m okay.” One of his hands snakes around your waist, insistent on holding you closer to him, and his other cradles the side of your face before he dares to swoop in for another kiss.

“Sam, you really should let me take a look at you.” You begin to protest, but he’s kissing you again and your arms are instinctively wrapping around him because, damn it, you’ve missed him so much.

“Baby, I promise, I’ve never been better.” He reassures you, and in that moment, with you in his arms and his own roof over his head, he absolutely means every word.

Still, you’re not convinced, and when it comes to the physical wellbeing of your boyfriend, you’re the epitome of stubborn.“Your left eye is swollen shut.” A mild exaggeration on your part, maybe, but you refuse to be the first one to relent this time; never mind the fact that he’s already slowly walking you backwards towards the direction of your shared bedroom, his hands gripping your hips and his mouth only leaving yours long enough to tease you.

“You should see the other guy.” He smirks against another kiss, too cocky for his own good, before he dares to lift you into his arms and carry you the rest of the way. You can’t help but laugh, your arms instantly wrapping around him for support, and it’s in that moment that you realize he’s won this round. Damn.

Oh well.

Samuel Drake is nothing if not insatiable and, evendentily, very impatient.

“I bet you have a concussion,” You muse, almost to yourself, after Sam drops you gently onto the soft, familiar surface of your bed. He wastes no time in crawling on top of you, placing his strong, sun-kissed arms on either side of you body and shooting you a canary-eating grin before he resumes his adoration of your neck. You take in a sudden, sharp breath as he tauntingly bites at the flesh underneath your ear. Despite being caught off guard, you manage to maintain a sliver of your sense of humor. “I bet you’re concussed right now, Samuel Drake.”

He mumbles something rough and incoherent against your collarbone before he slowly pushes up the fabric of your t-shirt with one hand and grasps for one of your breasts with the other. You can’t stop the pleased, aching sigh from escaping your lips as he captures one of your nipples in his mouth, his tongue skillfully caressing the sensitive bud of flesh while one of his hands mirrors the same sensation.

Every part of your body aches for him in that moment (and in most moments, if you’re being completely candid with yourself). You can feel yourself instinctively curling into him, your back arching in response to his teasing touch. Suddenly, an idea pops into your head, and you can’t help but smile a rare, coy smile of your own.

“When’s the last time you’ve eaten?” You manage to voice the question the form of another sigh as he continues to travel down the length of your body with his mouth and hands, reclaiming you as his inch by inch.

This particular question catches his interest, though. He places a series of quick kisses right above your navel before glancing up at you, eyebrow cocked, a signature smirk already beginning to form on his lips. “Is that an invitation?”

For a very brief moment, your expression mirrors his; a knowing, coy, Cheshire grin tugs at the corners of your lips and you’re brave enough to raise an eyebrow of your own, your gaze all but daring him to completely give into his primal urges.

Your smile is all the confirmation he needs. In a matter of seconds, he’s hooking his hands underneath your legs and pulling you closer to him. This draws a pleased, giddy laugh from you, and in that moment, Sam swears to God that he’s never heard a sweeter sound.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?” You all but purr as you prop yourself up on your elbows, glancing down, quite pleased with the sight of Sam’s face in between your legs. You nip at your lower lip absentmindedly as he tugs at your skirt, clearly eager to get the restricting fabric out of his way.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” His tone of voice is dangerously low, and when he leans up to kiss you again, the aching need in his eyes is unmistakable.“When it comes to you? Absolutely.”

He kisses you a final time before he repositions his face between your legs. One of his hands grips your waist, keeping you right where he wants you, and the other hooks under one of your legs, giving himself easier access to your exposed sex.

You take in a steadying, deep breath as he continues to kiss and tease the skin below your navel, savoring every inch of you, and while you adore how...attentive he is in this particular department, you are beginning to grow impatient. After all, it’s been three whole weeks; for you and Sam, that’s a long time to go without sex. The wait, by this point, was almost too much.

You’re seconds away from telling Sam to hurry the hell up, already when you feel his tongue tease and prod at the slick, heated entrance of your pussy. A soft, involuntary mewl falls from your lips in reaction to his touch and this is all the encouragement he needs before he begins to devour you as if you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted.

It is borderline-animalistic, the way he’s tasting and lapping your juices up as if his very life depends on his performance. The rough, low groans that escape his throat are loud and primal and you feel a hot, radiating blush cascade throughout your entire body. “Jesus, Sam…” You manage to half-chuckle, half-moan, your hand absentmindedly getting lost in and tugging at his disheveled hair as he continues to explore you in one of the most intimate ways possible.

While he’ll never admit it in so many words, Sam adores praise, and your sudden exclamation only makes him work harder for more of it. He’s quick to seek out your clit with his eager tongue, teasing the sensitive bud of flesh for a few moments before encircling it completely. You let another loud, involuntary moan fall from your lips as he showers your clit with relentless affection, prodding and sucking and nearly sending you over the edge right then and there. You’re determined to prolong the inevitable, but you’re beginning to realize just how difficult that may be once he slides two, thick fingers deep inside of you.

“Oh, fuck, Sam-” You can’t help but cry out in pleasure as his fingers begin to establish a steady rythmn, his lips and teeth and tongue still ravishing your clit. It’s all overwhelming in the best kind of way and you know there’s no chance of fighting off an orgasm if he keeps this pace up. “Sam, you’re going to make me-” You can’t find it in you to finish your sentence as Sam suddenly sucks on your clit again with a newfound sense of pressure while picking up the pace, finger-fucking you right over the edge.

“That’s right, cum for me just like that.” He encourages in the form of another growl as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, helping you ride out your orgasm, only relenting when you gently push his head away. Your breathing is uneven and your body is flushing and your boyfriend is looking, and feeling, very pleased with himself..

He makes a show of licking his fingers clean as he repositions himself next to you, propping himself up on one elbow and shooting you a shameless grin afterwards.”You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you missed me more than “just a little.” He teases, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, which earns him a soft, reprimanding slap on the arm and a long, lingering kiss.

“Maybe I missed you a lot...” You purposely trail off in between a lazy string of kisses, your lips teasing the corner of his mouth as one of your hands dares to purposefully brush up against the aching bulge resting next to his thigh. You feel his entire body immediately go rigid and you have to make yourself suppress a chuckle. “Maybe that’s all I did was miss you.”

In a matter of moments, Sam is kicking off his jeans and you’re insistent on straddling his waist, your lips and tongues and shaky breaths intertwining as you begin to slowly stroke his throbbing cock with your hand. He groans into your mouth and his hips involuntarily buck, desperate for his own relief.

Desperate for you.

You smile down at him, and now that your eyes have fully adjusted to the dim lighting the bedroom, you’re starting to make out several scrapes and bruises that are sprinkled across the surface of his bare chest. Your smile only softens marginally, and you’re quick to redirect your gaze to meet his own again. “You know, you can let me take care of you every once in a while.” Your voice is soft, just a tone or two above a whisper, and Sam is about to reply when you give his large, throbbing cock a squeeze for good measure. He delivers the desired effect and groans out a pleading, desperate sort of sound.

He mutters your name in that same tired, heavy, pleading voice, his eyes dark with need and his hands already gripping at your hips again. You ultimately decide that he’s been teased enough, poor thing, and in a matter of moments, you’re aligning the head of his cock with the entrance of your pussy and lowering yourself down onto him.

Your mutual cries of pleasure mix in the air as you struggle to take all of him at once. You rest a shaky hand on his chest in order to maintain some sense of composure, despite the fact that an aching sense of absolute need was currently stemming from every inch of your body. One of his hands is glued to your hip and the other snakes its way up your waist, grabbing at your right breast as you began to establish a slow, intimate rhythm.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he groans out the confession in such a way that makes you weak in the knees, and you take him deeper and deeper with every passing thrust as you desperately moan and cry out for each other. “I missed you so much.”

There’s a certain, sudden vulnerability within his voice that makes you bend down to kiss him hard on the mouth. One of his hands instantly tangles itself into your hair as he bucks and slams his hips against yours, causing the both of you to cry out over and over again.

Unable to hold back any longer, Sam gingerly repositions the pair of you so that you’re lying on your back, under him, his cock still embedded deep within you. You can tell by the way he’s fucking you that he’s close, that he’s becoming so unhinged that he can’t even think straight. You’re not far behind, your second orgasm rapidly escalating as the head of his cock meets your sweet spot over and over and over again.

“You gonna cum for me again?” He growls as he thrusts into you once more, your sporadic cries of pleasure nearly driving him over the edge. “Cum for me, baby. Cum all over my cock.”

Your second orgasm is even stronger than the first and you let out a loud, helpless cry as your pussy constricts around his bursting cock. His face is buried in your neck as he cums, filling you up and bucking his hips erratically until he finally slows.

Limbs remain tangled in a comfortable silence for what feels like a long time. The white noise of the oscillating fan has nearly knocked Sam out cold, but just as he’s about to drift off for what would likely be a twelve hour sleep, minimum, he feels you ghosting your fingers across the skin of his arm.

“Hm?” He mutters, unwilling to open his eyes just yet.

“I still need to check you out.” You remind him gently as you begin to untangle yourself from his arms. He’s reluctant to let you go, but he knows that there’s no point in fighting you on this.

The idea of someone caring about him in the way that you do is still unfamiliar, uncharted territory for the eldest Drake, and while he isn’t opposed to the foreign concept of altruistic affection, there are still situations, such as these, where he just has trouble understanding why; why should someone like you care if someone like him has a concussion? Or a black eye? Or both?

His thoughts are interrupted by the lovely sight of you reappearing in the doorway, wearing one of his favorite shirts, a glass of water in one hand and a hefty medical kit in the other. He shoots you a tired, happy smile, and he really is happy, despite the fact that he’ll likely be spending the better half of the next hour being poked and prodded, and not in the fun way.

“You could just give me a couple of painkillers and we could call it a night, you know.” He suggests, still sporting a half-smile, the idea of a deep, long sleep sounding more appealing by the second. He always sleeps better when he’s home with you.

“Mm, I suppose we could do that,” you begin, sitting at the edge of the bed and popping the kit open as you crossed one leg over the other. “But I can’t let you have your way all of the time.” It’s your turn to flash him a wink before a warmer, kinder expression settles onto your face. “Now let’s get a good look at that eye of yours.”

Sam doesn’t have the energy to protest. Not anymore, anyway; not after this evening’s events, and if playing the part of medical examiner makes you happy? Well, he supposes he can live with that.

#samuel drake #sam drake #sam drake x reader #uncharted #my writing

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queerlyhalloween · 4 years ago

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Not to sound like the joker™️ but i hate western society. I know that hair and clothes aren't gendered, so do most of my mates, ive been working hard at unlearning the internalized transphobia that's just a part of being trans in the UK and actually ALLOWING myself to think about going on hormones and dressing in ways other than "ambigious as possible" despite the fact im non-binary

i grew myself a little mullet because ive not been working in the pub and wanted solid snake hair, ive allowed myself to look at my face and the long hair around it and not despair because i know that longer hair doesn't make me a woman, but the moment you go into a shop, or get takeaway or pass by people in the street its all "move out the way of this lady!" and "thank you, ma'am"

i dont want the gender option of 'other' on my ID i want to know 1 good reason why gender should be listed on an ID in the 1st place

ive just come back from the range and i had my hair up like some e-thot fuckboy, i had to go BACK to the range because they got my click and collect order wrong so ive got two members of staff looking over my order, im dressed in black jeans and a black masc-looking ripped shirt, mask covering half my face and as the manager's showing the kid who served me the receipt they go "oh I served that guy earlier" and the manager corrects them "its a lady". I say "im niether" and they both just stare at me like im a toddler. Im already panicking because the air feels the same way it did when some cunt came after me in the pub toliets. "dont worry about it :)" i say, they both turn back to the tills and completely ignore me.

Anyway, micro-aggressions, ive experienced a lot of them for many reasons over the course of my life and today ive decided to snap.

Not at the people in the range like, just in general.

I will never pass. That's just an element of trans euphoria i will never get to experience. Not right off the bat, anyway. Not where i live, and most likely not in my lifetime. Maybe for kids in LA or Brighton, and hey power to you guys man im happy for you, but people assume or guess m/f when they look at me and they will never get it right.

So when i see people on this site try and twitter etc rank "who's the most oppressed"™️ like a godamn smash bros tier list it blows my mind because of all the things you could spend your days doing thats what youre expending energy on?!

You could be the exact same age, race, sex, gender, sexuality, you could have the exact same disabilities, mental health conditions and money in your bank as another person on this site and you'd still never understand what they've been through. Our experiences, our families, our morals and lives are always gonna be different and the moment you try to write definitive rules on whose got it worse you've already lost and you're already wrong. Oppressed classes are not a fucking hivemind and pretending they are is only going to cause you more problems. I get the strong sense that some of you looked at the word intersectionality, went "ah yeah, i know what that means" having never read up on the matter, then proceeded to play the pain olympics.

And its creating a culture where kids feel the need to spills their souls online to justify living their lives!

You've not listed your disabilites in your bio so you're able-bodied. You're Irish but haven't listed your race so you're white. You're cis man so you've never played with gender and suffered as a result. You're asexual so clearly you're a cringeworthy baby who's never experienced a wrong-doing in their life.

The reverse is true too, if you list every aspect of yourself then you're automatically honest. The more opressed you are the less likely you are of causing harm to others. Psht, don't have a carrd in this day and age? What are you, a fraud? cishet white man playing make believe? Post a selfie or face the wrath of ozymandaus. What's privacy? It takes me 3 minutes to read the bio on this discourse side-blog so clearly they're an angel.

my mam abused me for years, she did the same to my brother when i left home at 18 and my dad drank himself to death. My nan, his mother, never believed me because my mam's a disabled woman with a lot of trauma, and at 14 how do you explain to the woman who takes you to the beach that it's WORSE because as she's beckoning you to the side of her bed so she can scream point blank in your face, or hit you, you're never truely sure, you're thinking about running away because of course she physically can't chase you but she can throw. And then where would you go if you did buggar off?

"You have to sleep sometimes" she used to say to me when I'd piss her off. Other days she told me horror stories about kids in care, and disabled people having their kids taken away, made me promise that I'd always love her and always be her baby, and I'd do that for her because she's my mam, she'd be satisfied then ignore me for a while. I grew up thinking that was entirely normal until i'd tell funny family stories at school and nobody would laugh. The closest I got to truely running away was when I changed my name and pronouns and her rejection, turned to vitriol one night and I so, so, nearly held a knife to my throat and simply fell forwards in the uni showers. Obviously I didn't do that.

But she's had a shitter life than me thus far so she's in the right, as the online black/white dichotomy states. I keep her at arm's length but I'm unable to cut her away without losing the rest of my family because I dared defy the role of eldest child and care for her as I've done my whole life, as is expected.

we need to take things on a case by case basis, and learn when stuff is none of our business.

"Hey! :) I see you've reclaimed (X) slur, without submitting the proper paperwork. Real quick tell me every trauma you've ever experienced or I'll write a callout post :) delete this anonymous message (as is your right) and i'll assume you as sus ❤"

you can only call yourself a dyke if on your 13th birthday, the moon's tender rays struck you through your bedroom window and gave you your first wet dream about girls.

Great, cool. I have no interest in calling myself a dyke, i cant call myself a lesbian because it makes me dysphoric, thats why im queer, but i can assure you that when 3 kids from catholic school pinned me under the bridge and threatened to cut me open for being a "dirty dyke tramp" they didn't play 20Qs with me first to check that i was actually a lesbian.

if your first thought is "well thats just misdirected homophobia, so youre not ACTUALLY a victim" log the fuck off and consider what's wrong with you. Because all our oppressors care about is sniffing out the wrong on you and beating it out, they dont care what breed of wrong it is.

so you're going to spend your day, the enlightened adult that you are, frothing at the mouth because some 15yr old dared call themselves butch despite them being OnLY a BiSexUAl? You're gonna say that trans woman deserves to be suicidal because yes she may be trans BUT she's from the UK, so clearly she loves her horrid country and government. You're gonna say that black lad deserves racial abuse because he's trying to focus on his studies rather than go to protests. That 19yr old who's living in poverty deserves it because they work for Amazon. Texans deserve to freeze to death because there are republicans in Texas.

You're going to harass a complete stranger coming to terms with the parts of themselves society has taught them are worthless at best because they're not doing it the way YOU think is right.

This post has not ended where I started it but I really dont care:

Some of you are so fucking desperate to be the bullies you never got to be in secondary school and it shows. But you're cowards. You can't just admit you want to divide and concur so you do it in a new woke way and when your time on this earth is done, you'll have commited the same pain that's been dealt to you and wonder why you died miserable in a world thats more or less the same.

okay to reblog but dont @ me for a debate because i have, like, real problems and will just block you

#tw suicide mention #child abuse #homophobia #transphobia #ablesim #racism #*muffled screaming*#im shit at tagging sorry if i missed anything but im out i think

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kisskissbanggang · 5 years ago

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Surreptitious

[15min. Read/3.7k words -- Mystery Member👀xFemale Reader -- Idol!AU, NSFW/Smut -- Spoilers in Tags, Dubcon, Ethical Grey Areas, Paranoia, Dirty Secrets, Stuck/Trapped]

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You don’t really think I’d be like that, do you?

The cryptic message echoed in your mind as you worked. Someone in this very home knew what you didn’t even think you’d have to hide, and you couldn’t begin to figure out who. The anonymous message had shown up a couple nights ago – long after you’d stopped posting on your blog. Nearly half a year ago, you came on your student visa and packed up your blog, taking a small hiatus from this hobby that took up so much of your time. You loved learning everything you could about Korea, especially after already spending years learning the language. However, it wasn’t long before spending money was tight, and it looked like it may be time for a part-time job. Housekeeping wasn’t your first, or second, or even tenth choice, but here you were.

A couple months into your new job, and you were handed a new assignment: a few days a week at a high-profile home. What you weren’t prepared for, though, was whose home. The door opened and after you brought in some of your cleaning supplies, you finally caught glimpse of one of your clients… And nearly fell over. You were positive that out of the corner of your eye you just seen Jung Jaehyun. But that clearly couldn’t be the case, right?

Wrong. Sure enough, you met most of the members that day, doing a much better job than you’d hoped you would in containing how ridiculous this all was. Being a housekeeper for NCT was, quite honestly, something that sounded like the worst fan-fiction on the planet, which is what ultimately led to you revisiting your blog.

You had started writing fanfiction a couple years ago, just something fun to take your mind off the stress of school that would keep you mentally stimulated. The emergence of smut, however, was unexpected. You had gone through a rut of stress, anxiety over school and work, and too much inconvenient arousal, that it all culminated in a particularly surprising way during the process of a fic you had been stuck in. The reception to it was equally surprising, your followers both new and old voicing their approval of this direction. That development made it even harder to put the blog down, so you decided not to delete it. You never regretted it… Until now.

Admittedly, it was your new assignment that made you curious to visit your old blog. Would it feel eerie, actually knowing these boys in real life? Of course, you had also been excited to see what all your old friends had been up to, what everyone thought of any new developments since you’d been away, but now you were growing concerned that you would hate everything you’d done. You checked your notifications, the comments on your posts. The messages that had stacked up in your inbox were mostly sweet, though some were from antsy followers who were curious if and when you would return. Then, there was the message that was now currently bothering you.

You don’t really think I’d be like that, do you?

The wording perturbed you. It felt immediately unlikely that it was a typo. Was someone playing a joke on you? It was obviously referring to something you’d written, but what? The idea that it was one of the members certainly came to mind, but it seemed to be too ludicrous to be true. However, now that the thought was planted, it grew weeds quickly. You took solace in the fact that even if it were one of the members, they would have no way of knowing it was you… Right?

You had been scrubbing the hardwood in the living room when your worry really began taking shape. You were so engrossed in your work, frustrated in a particularly stubborn stain in the wood grain that you hadn’t noticed Yuta walk in, apparently amused at your focus. Only when he sat on the couch did you notice, startled into yelping and falling back on your ass.

“Jumpy, noona?” Yuta laughed, his warm smile offering more sympathy than his joke implied. You smiled back until you noticed he was holding up his phone.

“You didn’t catch that on camera, did you?” You nervously joked as you turned back to your work.

Yuta shook his head. “Oh! No, I’m just reading. Have you ever seen some of the stuff our fans write about us?”

You almost fell over again. “No,” you vaguely chuckled, “like what? Fan-fiction?”

“No,” Yuta replied, “I found this message board where this fan is picking apart all the outfits we wear to the airport. It’s interesting, but I really just threw on something from the rack.”

“Oh!” You quickly recovered, “But that begs the question: do you ever read fan-fiction?”

You turned back to see Yuta shrug from over your shoulder. “Not all of it. Just what’s written in Japanese or Korean. If it’s not translated well, a lot of it gets lost. And I never get paired up with Jaehyun for some reason. I’d read that no matter what language it’s in.”

The two of you had shared a laugh over his observation, but you felt a little sick until you got home that night. All your fics were written in English, but now you were absolutely never translating them. If you even kept your blog, that is. It felt oddly needling to have confirmation that any of the members really did read fan-fiction. You pulled open the blog again that night to see if, in fact, Yuta’s suggested pairing really didn’t exist, when you saw a new message.

So do you think of me when you write about me?

This was clearly a joke by some fan and you were insane to think otherwise. And, again, even if a member had found your blog, which was still so unlikely, they had no way of knowing it was you running it. Anyhow, what a silly question to propose. Of course you thought about each member you wrote about, but now those almost affectionate thoughts were laced with guilt.

The next day you were at the dorm, you had taken a few minutes before catching your bus home to relax, to collect your thoughts and breathe. You were enjoying a quick glass of wine in the kitchen, something the boys had regularly offered at the end of your day since you’d started here, and you hadn’t even noticed Johnny enter the room until you turned away from the counter. You yelped and nearly dropped your glass, much to Johnny’s chagrin.

“Are you okay?” Johnny asked, sweet as ever. “You seem tense.”

“Oh! No, no, just a lot on my mind.”

Johnny walked over and opened the fridge. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“No, it’s okay,” you reassured. Johnny smiled warmly as he retrieved a soda from the fridge, popping it open and taking a sip as he turned to leave. “Well…” You bit at your lip as he paused, expectantly waiting. “This is such a dumb question, but your fans seem so… Passionate. Do you ever read what they write about you?”

Johnny thought about it and shrugged. “I try not to, to tell you the truth. It goes to my head or weirds me out, and no in between. But I’m glad they think I’d be a good dad. I want to be when I’m ready.” Johnny turned and left, leaving you to finish off your wine in silence as you thought.

The bus ride had been annoying, your mind clogged with what Johnny had said and feeling even dirtier and guiltier. Which response would your own writing stir in him? He’d said there’s no in between. If he’d ever found your work, would he be cocky or disgusted? And, above all that, now you were haunted by Johnny’s only real takeaway had been that the fans appreciated how much he wanted to have a family. What a good guy. And you had written filthy scenarios about him. You felt queasy for the rest of the trip home.

Another message had been waiting for you when you got home and opened your blog, your curiosity begging you to find something wholesome about Johnny starting a family.

You do know that you posted a picture with that bag you wear to the dorm, right?

You knew exactly what picture the message was referring to and went to go find it. The last thing you’d posted before putting the blog down was a photo of this very room, the caption simply “My new home for the next year.” Sure enough, there was your stupid bag sitting by the door. You felt so dumb. You felt so disgusting. You felt so exposed. Someone in the dorm really did know. Did you rather it be one of the members, or one of the staff, a possibility you’d barely dared consider? Your blog stared back at you, imploring you to put it out of its misery and delete it. No, you decided. No more childish paranoia. You would go to the dorm and figure out who was sending the messages, and then have a good conversation about what they would like you to do.

Then again, in all honesty, you should’ve expected this to be much harder than it sounded. The next time you were at the dorm, you inspected everyone’s faces for a knowing look of some kind and came up short. You had even changed out the bag you brought to the dorm, hoping to catch the attention of your mysterious messenger, but to no avail. It would’ve helped to feel bold enough to actually talk and figure it out, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. What would you even say? I’ve written graphic porn about the group but please let me keep my job didn’t exactly have a nice ring to it.

You helped yourself to a glass of wine once the house appeared empty in the afternoon. Everyone was out, running errands or busy with schedules, leaving you time and room to take down the curtains and wash them. You had just piled one set of curtains into the dryer in the small laundry room when you were finally relaxing and taking your break. Maybe you even had an opportunity to lightly snoop, to observe the living spaces and rooms and see if you could suss out who your anonymous friend was. Your planning was cut short, however.

“Did you come today since I was staying home?” Someone chuckled behind you, cut short as you whipped around in surprise, sending your wine glass all over Jaehyun’s chest and then clanging onto the floor. You sighed exasperatedly, immediately grabbing a roll of paper towels and blotting up the wine. “Oh, noona, I’m so sorry,” Jaehyun apologized, stooping down and helping you clean. You shook your head, not thinking as you hurried before the stain set in. You quickly diluted the remnants before wiping it up.

“Just because you were my bias, Jaehyun, doesn’t mean I’m trying to get you alone,” you laughed. Both yours and his ears turned red as you realized what a horribly inappropriate joke that was. “Oh, god, Jaehyun,” you winced, “I’m sorry. That was gross and uncalled for. Here,” you gestured down the hall to the laundry room, “I’m doing some laundry. You can bring me your shirt and I’ll clean it for you.”

“Really? Thank you.” Jaehyun smiled slyly before pulling the soaked shirt over his head and handing it to you. “I’m always surprised by how gracious our fans are,” he smirked, with a wink to top it off.

“What were you doing in here anyway?” You asked quietly to mask the waver in your voice. Jaehyun took another step closer, the subtle heat coming off his bare chest making you back up into the counter. He reached up and opened a cupboard before pulling down a box.

“Nothing,” he nonchalantly shrugged as he opened the box, “just grabbing a snack. Want some?” You could hear Jaehyun laugh quietly to himself behind you as you hurried down the hall, still blushing crimson as you rushed to the laundry room.

What the good hell was that about? Your thoughts ran wild as you yanked the dry curtains from the dryer and put the next set in before vigorously cleaning Jaehyun’s shirt for him. You were just getting the washing together when you realized the dryer wouldn’t start. Frantic, you checked to make sure the damn thing was plugged in and on in the first place, and then that the lint trap was clear. You opened the dryer, kneeling down to look inside. The curtain had snagged on the vent in the back of the dryer drum. Cursing to yourself, you elbowed your way into the dryer, trying to see in the dim light as you attempted to free the fabric without further damaging it.

Soon you were yanking at the dumb thing, trying to hold it together amidst all your frustration. Had Jaehyun really made you so flustered? Why did he suddenly ambush you today after having hardly interacted with you since you began here? All these questions swirled around your mind, distracting you more than enough until you were startled by something pushing you firmly further into the dryer. You cried out, muffled as you fell into the damp curtains, your exclamation continuing as you felt a pair of hands grip onto your waist.

Jaehyun exhaled a soft laugh behind you. “Why didn’t you tell me I was your bias, noona? We probably could’ve become fast friends if I’d known I’m your favorite.”

“Jaehyun,” you called back, “I’m sorry for what I said! It was horribly unprofessional. You can let me out now.”

“And,” Jaehyun continued, “I’m willing to bet that if I’m your bias, then you definitely do think about me when you write your little stories about me.”

“You!” You shrieked, surprised at your own fortitude as you struggled in Jaehyun’s grip. He still held fast, chuckling to himself in satisfaction. “You’re the one that’s been messing with me!”

“And you’re the one who’s been a bit naughty, haven’t you?” Jaehyun laughed behind you.

“Now who’s being inappropriate?” You asked accusingly. Jaehyun ignored you. His hips pressed into you, sending shivers straight through to your fingertips.

“I wonder if you get off on it,” he mused quietly, his thumbs massaging under the waistband of your jeans. “I wonder if you get excited, writing your fantasies.”

“What are you doing?” You asked nervously as Jaehyun teased the waist of your jeans lower onto your hips.

“I’m just acting the way you write me in your stories,” he said matter-of-factly, “you’ve thought about this, haven’t you?”

“I mean, of course I have,” you stammered, eyes widening as you felt Jaehyun stiffen behind you, “but that’s different, that’s just–”

“Online?” He countered. “In your stories? Sure. But this is real life. Wouldn’t you be crazy to pass this up? What, do you not want to?”

“I…” You trailed off as you thought, “No, it’s not that I don’t want to, I just–”

“If you don’t want to, we don’t have to. I can just tell the staff that they hired a pervert,” Jaehyun laughed heartily as he easily stilled your sudden thrashing. “Calm down,” he admonished, “I’m just joking.”

“It’s not funny when it’s my job you’re talking about,” you bit back.

“But it is funny that it was me who found out. The guys wouldn’t be as into it. So feel relieved, because I would,” Jaehyun prodded you along, making you jump as his hands circled your waist to unbutton your jeans. His fingers were surprisingly gentle as he slid them down to your knees, traveling back up to softly touch the growing damp spot on your panties. “Do you know how much I’ve been thinking of this?” He asked quietly, almost a whisper.

“You have?” You shivered as he took his time pushing your panties down to your knees as well.

“Of course I have,” he replied, keeping a hand pressed down on the small of your back as he pushed his sweats down enough to let his cock spring free, “don’t you realize how excited I was when I realized you were who I was certain you are?”

You bit into your lip as Jaehyun firmly rubbed his length against your ass. “But I stopped writing,” you meekly offered.

“Why?” Jaehyun asked, groaning quietly as he teased the head of his cock against your dripping entrance. “Isn’t this the sort of thing your followers would go crazy over?”

You gasped sharply, reactively pushing your back hand against Jaehyun’s thigh as he worked his length into you. He waited a moment to see if you were adjusted before grabbing your hand and pulling it up behind your back. You both shared a moan as he nestled deep inside you. The whole scene must’ve looked surreal, your ass hanging out of the clothes dryer and Jaehyun holding you down to fuck you. He was right. Your followers would kill for this opportunity, or at least experience it the way you’d write it.

“Why am I always so rough in your writing?” Jaehyun asked, almost casually as he fucked you. “Do you really think I’m like that?”

You groaned as Jaehyun rocked you firm against the dryer walls. “No, it’s not that,” you struggled, “it’s that you have this confidence that suggests it,” you managed to get out between moans, “they’re really drawn to it… I’m really drawn to it.”

Jaehyun groaned deep at your words, his grip on the arm behind your back tightening as he thrust harder. You found yourself spreading your legs further. His length really filled you out, gave you just enough stretch in a way you’d only wondered about.

“Why were you so excited for this?” You asked. You’d already crossed so many lines, you may as well get answers.

“Wouldn’t you be? Someone who clearly likes you and thinks of you like that, it just makes sense to want to make it happen.”

“Sounds about right,” you mused to yourself, masked through moans as Jaehyun’s hips snapped against you. His other hand ran up your back to your hair, gripping tight at the root and tugging in time with his thrusts. He finally dropped your arm from his grasp, instead reaching down to rub your clit. You responded eagerly, angling your hips to get a better angle from both sensations and quickly contributing to your building orgasm.

“You sound so cute when you moan, baby,” Jaehyun said, “I never expected you to sound so dirty and adorable.”

You blushed deep again, yelping as Jaehyun let go of your hair to smack and grab onto your ass. His fingers smoothly circled your clit, slick with how aroused he made you. Even though you were more aware of it now, you couldn’t stop from moaning louder, your peak steadily building whether you wanted it or not. He gently pinched and rolled your clit between his fingers, surprising you into hitting your climax. Your dripping pussy clamped onto his cock, pulsing and milking him as you whimpered and moaned through your orgasm.

“Is that how you wanted me to fuck you, baby?” Jaehyun asked, voice saccharine behind you. You breathed hard, letting yourself come down before pushing him back an inch.

“I want you to fuck me like you would fuck me.”

Jaehyun actually stilled behind you, as if he had to think about that and consider it. He gently pulled you out of the dryer, helping you to stand on your shaky legs before picking you up and setting you on the edge of the machine. He pushed your jeans and panties down to your ankles to more easily spread your legs and step between them. His cock prodded back up against your opening. Jaehyun tentatively lifted your shirt and bra over your breasts, pausing a moment to look before he leaned down and kissed each. He stood back upright, taking a second to look into your eyes before he pressed a single kiss to the crook of your neck. You watched, curious and pleased as he took your face in his hands. Jaehyun kissed you, simply and affectionately as he sank his cock back into your heat. His arms wrapped around you, and you took in his scent as he held you close. His pace was gentler now, but not without the same he’d been maintaining. His surprisingly cute moans were muffled into your shoulder, earnestly growing quicker, more desperate with each thrust. It was easy to feel sweet towards this side of Jaehyun, much more easily approachable than how evilly playful he was just a minute ago.

“Baby, do you want to cum?” You asked nicely in his ear, clutching your knees around his hips as he methodically slid in and out of you.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jaehyun panted, “I’m getting there… But there’s one more thing.”

“What’s that, baby?” You asked.

“I know I always finish inside in your writing, but I hope you understand if I don’t this time.”

You both shared a breathless laugh before his moans hit a fever pitch. Jaehyun’s eyes scrunched shut in his intense pleasure, even as he pulled out. He firmly pumped his cock in his hands, groaning languidly as his cum shot onto the lips of your exhausted pussy. You both rested for a second, your fingers caressing the back of his neck as he caught his breath. He aimed the remnants towards your panties as he pulled them back up to your knees for you.

The air had shifted between the two of you. You knew what had changed, but it was hard to place Jaehyun’s feelings. His expression was a mystery as he adjusted himself back into his sweatpants.

“So…” You prodded, “what now?”

You were both startled as the front door opened, someone outside announcing their return home. You hopped off the dryer and scrambled to make yourself presentable again. The cum in your panties was cold and damp up against you. Jaehyun simply grinned that same playful grin at you.

“I don’t know. How good are you at keeping secrets?”

“Pretty good,” you replied, suddenly wary, “but what about you?”

Jaehyun shook his head as he kissed the top of your head before heading towards the laundry room door. “I’m perfectly fine at it, but what you should really be asking is… why should I?”

You watched, unsure and still painfully excited as he winked and walked out into the hall.

#cznnet #neowritingsnet #nct smut #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct fanfiction #nct fanfic #mystery member #SPOILERS AHEAD #jung jaehyun #jung yoonoh #jaehyun #nct jaehyun #jaehyun smut

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thejosh1980 · 4 years ago

Text

How did we get here?

Since my last post “Don't you know that you're toxic?”, I thought more and more about how I (and when I say I, I mean we as people) process things happening in and around our lives.

How did we get here?

In my 20's, I worked in the UK in offices with a lot of other folks. My work was very computer based, and I enjoyed figuring out the quickest and easiest way to get things done. I learned the old school ways, but I was eager to find a new process that helped speed up my work. I learned a lot of short cuts and eventually had a quick workflow. People were impressed.

Some colleagues would process everything manually just as their bosses had shown them, but I spent the time figuring how to get a quicker answer from a larger sample of data by refining my skills.

I realized it was the process that I was really interested in.

How could I do this more efficiently? How could I make sure I am getting the most out of this workflow? Is this even my responsibility? Can I change how I am doing this, to get better faster and get more accurate results?

Is this the best way to do this?

This is how I still live my life, except rarely is it in front of a database anymore, now it's more about how I reflect and develop myself. I still feel it is not the result that I care so much about, it's about how you get to that result.

Let's take the blog post I published about my ex partner.

I published that blog to process my thoughts and feelings. I felt things, realized I'd bottled it up too long and it was time to let it out. I felt that as I had written a few blogs recently which helped me process my feelings and thoughts on both happy and sad subjects and I was happy with the development within myself after posting, I would do it again. I wanted to express how I processed our relationship, break up and post break up mess. Easy.

So, what was really interesting to me was how other people processed my blog so differently.

Extremes at both ends!

There were also the ones who didn't respond; didn't say anything, why is that? Because they didn't care or have any thoughts about what I wrote? Because they didn't want to have a conversation with me that they thought might become awkward? Because they already saw negative comments and didn't want to give an opinion for or against?

I received private messages from folks who understood the purpose of the blog and how I still cared for my ex and mean her no harm. I had other people who (may or may not have read the blog completely) felt I was cruel and mean to publish such a thing and decided to publicly shame me.

Ironically, these messages and comments (good or bad) are just people's reaction after processing their thoughts and feelings as I had done while writing it.

In fact, while I write (even now) I refine how I write... It's a process within a process... Am I writing this document the best way I can? Is it complete? Should I clarify points further or delete parts that are useless information? Am I writing how I really feel or am I glossing over parts?

Funnily enough, I am surprised that none of the comments on the negative side affected me. I felt totally fine about someone called me a name or told me I was not a good person for posting something.

I realize I have learnt to process those negative responses in a way that doesn't actually affect me personally. That was an outcome which I did not expect, but I was really pleased about.

In therapy we did talk about how people have treated me at times. My doc helped me realize while it's not OK, I should remember anyone's opinion of me, is just that: it's their opinion.

I really enjoyed the fact that I didn't feel any issue about them taking issue to my writing. Having a different point of view is totally fine. In fact I encourage folks to contact me to give me feedback, although I do prefer constructive criticism over personal attacks. But either way, I'm fine with it.

I stopped drinking alcohol almost 6 years ago... What a process that was, but I got there.

I hit my rock bottom in early 2015 (not surprisingly during a drunk fight with the above mentioned ex) and to get out of a psychiatric hospital in a foreign country, I promised the doctor I would not drink again. Just so you know, I have never felt better after making that decision, but the processing of my feelings, anxiety and depression were far from over.

Even to this day I am learning new ways to cope, to evaluate and to process in my heart, mind and soul what is happening around me and, more importantly, within me.

Ask any of my old band members, they'll remember in mid 2017 when I was a couple of years sober, I was struggling on tour socially. At the time I couldn't handle tour life. You see, I used to drink to medicate myself to be the life of the party. Now, as I had to face the issue of social anxiety head on or stay in bed, I realized I had to open up to my band members and ask them for support and understanding while I process what was happening within me.

I was learning to process my insecurities. I learned that speaking up isn't such a bad thing. Being vulnerable isn't such a bad thing...

After all, I'm only human...

It took me many months to come to terms with another band whose band members weren't actually friends. I thought all bands members in all bands were friends. After all they share the cool vibes on stage... It's how I have experienced it all my life. But this was a working band. Eventually the only way I could go on was by thinking, “this is a job, and you don't always have to get along with your colleagues as friends.” I figured out a process that worked for me! I had to act on stage, and off stage, well, I did my own thing. It was tough at first, but I got there... After all, it is a process.

By the way, those band members weren't particularly mean, they just had their way and I had to learn it. No harm, no foul.

For 7 years, with the help of my therapist in Germany, I learned more and more ways to cope, to process and to learn. I'm forever grateful for that process we went through together. The workflow... The goals... The listening... The talking... It was an amazing experience...

Now that I don't have a doc, I'm finding new ways to cope with my issues (a new process to replace the old process...). That would be this blog... Just writing about my problems helps me process them and learn that really, I am doing well, I am handling things pretty well and my future isn't as gloomy as I once thought.

I have surrounded myself with some amazing friends and I have a great family too. Just like talking to my band members, opening up and talking about my problems and fears has really given my life a positive turn.

I always thought I should behave like a man... And a man shouldn't cry, shouldn't tell someone he loves them (other than his Mum and wife) and has a duty to be stoic and tough... I am not that kind of man... I am human... I make mistakes, I have feelings and I know now, to talk about it all, to share it, helps me process it.

Often, just pressing “publish” after writing gives me a wave of relief.

For months and months I've been holding in my feelings about my daughter, Mijita, who I blogged about a few weeks ago. I had many sleepless nights, crying in frustration that I let her go. I couldn't even look at a photo of her, without crying and feeling guilty. I felt pain. I was silly, and kept a lot of that in. I had to change how I was processing the loss of her in my life.

Then I wrote about her.

I hadn't told anyone (other than a few close friends) how important she is to me until that public display of love and devotion. And it was a like a 1000 kilos were taken off my shoulders...

Today I looked at a few photos of her, and I smiled. She is such a wonderful dog, and I miss her so, but now I'm starting to think back with happiness. We spent 4.5 years together, trained, swam, hiked and explored the world together. We grew together, she was my first. I am learning to be grateful for her in my life, not sad that she's no longer with me.

I've started to process the grief I felt.

Writing about Mijita has helped me so much with the trauma of saying goodbye to her... What a process... I'm so glad I figured out a way to find love again...

I will not look at my phone ever again just before going to sleep. Why? Because if I do get any message, from anyone, it sets the mood for my sleep. If I had just learned not to read those messages earlier, I'd have slept better on many many occasions.

The process is, don't look at your phone if you wanna sleep well tonight. I love learning...

Yes, I know it's a pretty simple thing to know—most of us know it—but my wife could easily read a message before bed and just roll over and sleep... Me, my brain thinks and thinks and doesn't let up. I'm going around in circles in my head, then I start thinking about other things, the past, the future... scenario after scenario... And I'm wide awake for another 2 hours... Sometimes crying... Sometimes wishing I could shut off... Damn you boy, just don't pick up the phone!

Speaking of my wife, she has ASD. Yes, that means she has what most of us know as Aspergers.

I'm always learning new processes to help our relationship. She is a unique person, and unlike most folks I know. I have learned to be as direct as possible. To be as open as possible. To make sure I am clear with any “suggestions”. I've learned to listen to her too, and to clarify anything that could be a “suggestion” or a direct request. I know she processes things differently to me, so I have to take steps towards her if I want to communicate with her.

We have a workflow, a process, a relationship. It's unique to us, and it works for us. It keeps us talking openly. It keeps us in love.

I know I have to keep an eye out for her in social situations so that she doesn't feel too overwhelmed and she knows full well how my anxiety can kick in (sometimes at the same time!). We help support each other's process... And gosh damn it, I love the fact that we process our processes together..

Sometimes I forget about my past. What I mean is, I forget that I lived in Germany or the UK, I have like a black spot in my memory. I may even forget some of my friends! I forget some of the wonderful experiences I have had in my 18 years there. The next minute, I'm sad and missing the hell out of Europe!! What's up with that?? I still haven't figured that one out... Any ideas?

Of course then I feel guilty that I even forgot such amazing people, places and experiences in my life!

I've had long discussions with Alex about ourselves and others, figuring out ways to process what is happening within us and around us. We suggest theories back and forwards at a rate of knots. I've also had long extensive discussions with close friends about “people”, and how and why they do the things they do... Or how and why I do things... ! I love it... The theoretical hypothesis... and sometimes conclusions... And sometimes more processing... Sometimes no solution...

Recently I've been working on my part of Alex's visa application to live in Australia. It's a real pain in the butt, but part of the process for me, was figuring out the workflow and best practices to systematically provide evidence of our genuine and continuous relationship. Here I am at a computer, once again, figuring out the best way to make sure nothing is left behind, the results are full and complete and that I am satisfied with the quality of my work.

I continuously question what I am doing... Is it the best way? Can I do better?

Refine the process... Strive for success... Develop Ideas... Evaluate solutions...

Don't we all do that??

If I'm not happy with how I feel, or how I'm feeling about something, I look at the way I've been dealing with it. I look at ways to change the process to gain a more comfortable feeling/result. Maybe I look at it from a different point of view. Maybe I question my reasons for feeling bad in the first place. Maybe I ask someone to be a sounding board for ideas how to cope better.

Often times, the solution, or change of process that I come up with, is not an easy one to execute, sometimes it confronts my belief system, sometimes it's really hard (like a break up) but the result is actually an easy life... Didn't someone once quote “hard choices, easy life... easy choices, hard life” ???

I hope my ex will reach out one day, to show me she has learned how to process breakups in a new and much improved way. I mean, that would be awesome, wouldn't it? I'd love to learn how she got to that point, what thought process she took. What feelings she had to get to the point she could contact me again.

I'd answer her call without malice, without agenda, without judgement. Only interest... Cause my first question would be:

“How did we get here?”.

That's right, no hard feelings. Not to my ex, not to those who wrote negative comments, not to anyone...

Honestly I've just tried to use this blog as a way to process my thoughts and feelings, to help you and me, by sharing what's on my mind and in my heart.

Thanks for reading and being part of the process,

Josh

#self healing #self help #awareness #personal growth #growth mindset #relationships #happiness

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calpalirwin · 5 years ago

Text

Phone Screens

Summary: Online relationships don’t make the feelings any less real

A/N: Wanted to try my hand at a dialogue heavy piece. Let me know how I did.

Content: Friends to lovers? I dunno.

Word Count: 3.3k

And away, and away we go!

drumming_heartbeats: Hey…

jetblackrose: Hi!

drumming_heartbeats: Saw your post about how you met Ashton. That musta been cool, yeah?

jetblackrose: Oh, it was hella cool! I was like super fuckin nervous and he was so chill about it. Honestly probably shouldn’t have fangirled as hard as I did lol.

drumming_heartbeats: Lol, why do you say that?

jetblackrose: I’ve only been a fan for like less than a year lol. I know people have been a fan for years and still haven’t gotten the chance to meet him, or any of the other members so yeah. Feel like I haven’t done my time yet or something. It’s stupid.

drumming_heartbeats: Nah, that’s not stupid. That’s actually really cool. Your picture with him is fucking adorable btw.

jetblackrose: Aw thanks, lovely! How’d you become a 5sos fan? Assuming you are one?

drumming_heartbeats: Lol! My friend got me into them. But yeah, been a fan for awhile. I’m Tom btw.

jetblackrose: Ooo a boy fan! Sick! Nice to meet ya Tom. I’m Gen.

drumming_heartbeats: Shocking I know, but us guy fans do exist, lol. So I take it from the looks of your blog Ash is your favorite?

jetblackrose: I mean… I love them all equally for different reasons. But yeah, Ash is my fav. Something about that cheeky lil grin he does. And he’s so… I dunno, more mindful than the rest? Like they’re all dorks, don’t get me wrong. But he also gives off an old soul vibe I really connect with too if that makes sense.

jetblackrose: Lol, sorry for rambling.

drumming_heartbeats: Nah, it’s cute. And I totally get it. He definitely does seem to have that wisdom that comes from going through some heavy shit.

jetblackrose: Rightfully so. I mean, he seems pretty open about the shit he’s gone through. And the fact that it’s only seemed to make him a kinder person is part of why I love him so much.

drumming_heartbeats: Yeah. Like it’s very easy to let the demons win and give into the bitterness of it all. But he seems like a happy dude, so good for him.

jetblackrose: Good for him indeed! Like all I want in life is for that man to be happy. Like, we all deserve that, but him especially. God, that sounds dumb doesn’t it? That I can feel so attached to someone I maybe talked to for like 5 minutes. Like I know realistically he will probably never recall our encounter or think twice about it. But that doesn’t mean I can’t wish him happiness all the same I suppose. Sorry… rambling again.

drumming_heartbeats: Nah, that’s not dumb at all. If anything I think it shows how caring of a person you are. Which the world could use a lot more of.

jetblackrose: Lol, thanks! You’re sweet to think that. But it’s definitely dumb lol.

drumming_heartbeats: Not even the slightest. Fuck, I’m about to pass out. Talk later?

jetblackrose: You know where to find me. Night-o!

~~~

jetblackrose: Hey, Tom?

drumming_heartbeats: Yeah?

jetblackrose: Probably a dumb question but where do you live? I feel like I keep you up hella late.

drumming_heartbeats: I live in LA.

jetblackrose: Shit, no way?!

drumming_heartbeats: Yeah, lol. I mean, I travel a lot for work but yeah. LA’s home.

jetblackrose: Oh that’s awesome! Are you traveling now?

drumming_heartbeats: Nah, I’m home for the time being. Resting up. Gonna be a busy year.

jetblackrose: Yeah? Hopefully good busy.

drumming_heartbeats: Oh, yeah. It’s always good busy. Hey, did you see the new stuff 5sos put up?

jetblackrose: Yes! Holy shit! Are they TRYING to kill their fans or what?!

drumming_heartbeats: Lmao right? Like fuck, bruh…

jetblackrose: More like fuck me please, lmao! Quick question! And you don’t have to answer if this is way too personal. But are you gay?

drumming_heartbeats: No? I mean, I don’t have a fragile male ego. I can freely admit that men are handsome. But I’m not like… I dunno. If anything I’d probably say I’m bi. I just… labels are confusing.

jetblackrose: Yeah, I feel you on that. Like I just love who I love. I don’t feel the need to explain it much beyond that.

drumming_heartbeats: Exactly! I mean, but I’ve only ever had female partners so… the assumption is straight I suppose.

jetblackrose: I’ve only had male partners. Well, I’ve kissed girls. But I’ve only ever dated dudes.

drumming_heartbeats: Oh, I bet your bf loves that, huh?

jetblackrose: I wouldn’t know. I frequently had my attraction to women from the dudes I date so I don’t get the creeps.

drumming_heartbeats: So no bf…?

jetblackrose: Lol, that’s what you get out of that? You’re such a dude! But nope. No bf.

drumming_heartbeats: Damn, that sucks.

jetblackrose: Why do you have a gf?

drumming_heartbeats: No. I did. But we broke up like a few months ago.

jetblackrose: Aw, sorry to hear that.

drumming_heartbeats: Lol, I think you’re the first person to say that. Normally people are sorry to hear I’m IN a relationship, not out of one.

jetblackrose: Wtf? That’s so dumb, lol. You’re my friend, Tom. I want you to be happy.

drumming_heartbeats: Aw, I’m your friend?

jetblackrose: Yes…? I mean, we’ve talked all day every day for like what? A month? I swear I talk more with you than my real life friends lol.

drumming_heartbeats: Aw, that’s so cute! You’re my friend too, btw. If that wasn’t obvious. I really like talking with you.

jetblackrose: I really like talking with you too! Like, I know it’s probably really stupid to say, but I never really got how people can become friends online. Like how can you feel connected to someone you never actually met, you know? But talking with you, I get it. I’m glad you messaged me.

drumming_heartbeats: Aw, Gen baby, you’re gonna make me blush! That’s so fuckin’ cute. I’m glad I messaged you too. You feel more real to me than the friends I actually see lol.

jetblackrose: Looks like we’re both gonna make the other blush… Dude! Honestly, I think it’s because we can only talk. Like, we can’t actually see each other, so we have to rely on these messages. And it’s a lot easier for me to not be shy when I message someone. Because I can delete what sounds stupid!

drumming_heartbeats: Lmao! Nothing you say could ever be stupid.

jetblackrose: You say that now… Trust me though, in person I’m a fuckin nervous idiot. Like I talk too fast or not at all.

drumming_heartbeats: I bet you’re fuckin cute in person.

jetblackrose: Lmao, are you hitting on me?

drumming_heartbeats: Too much?

jetblackrose: Nah, lol. I don’t scare easy. I just bet you’re way cuter.

drumming_heartbeats: Not even! Have you SEEN your face?

jetblackrose: You mean this face? *picture*

drumming_heartbeats: Damn, baby!

jetblackrose: Fuck… is it really dumb of me to like you calling me “baby” so much?

drumming_heartbeats: I mean… I don’t think so? Like, I would hope it doesn’t bother you.

jetblackrose: No, it doesn’t bother me. I like it.

drumming_heartbeats: Cool! Cuz I like calling you that.

~~~

drumming_heartbeats: Is this your king? *picture*

jetblackrose: My brain literally went “oh daddy”... I DON”T EVEN HAVE A DADDY KINK! Ashton Irwin is going to be the death of me, watch. On my tombstone it’ll read “Gen. Killed by Ash’s hotness”

drumming_heartbeats: Omg lol!

jetblackrose: Too dramatic?

drumming_heartbeats: I mean…? Maybe?

jetblackrose: Maybe? Nah. What would be dramatic would be me saying how badly I want those arms of his wrapped around me. Like cuddling me. Choking me. I don’t even care. But those hands? I needs them on me!

drumming_heartbeats: You’re right. That would be dramatic lol.

jetblackrose: Like fuck… I bet those are the most restless set of hands. Like he’s a drummer. So like he’s probably constantly moving his fingers. Is it too much to ask that he moves those fingers across my skin? Like… bruh…

drumming_heartbeats: Omg, I love you dude.

jetblackrose: You what…?

drumming_heartbeats: Shit… I mean like… uh…

jetblackrose: Tom, relax. I love you too.

drumming_heartbeats: Shit, for real?

jetblackrose: Yeah. And… that kinda scares me? Like I don’t actually know you. I mean, I know you. We’ve talked every day for the past 3 months. But… I didn’t think I could ever feel this strongly for someone I’ve never physically met. Like, granted, it’s a very strong friendship love. But, I… I dunno if I should admit this… fuck it. I think I could actually love you. Like in a romantic way. Hell, I think I already do.

drumming_heartbeats: Omg, you’re the fuckin cutest!

jetblackrose: I promise I’m not lol. I just… fuck dude, I dunno. I just love you, alright? And it fuckin blows my mind that we live in the same area basically and haven’t met. Because I really wanna fuckin meet you. But also not. Cuz like I don’t want to ruin this. And that’s such a fuckin cop out response. But like I am genuinely terrified that if we met you won’t like what you see.

drumming_heartbeats: Why wouldn’t I like what I see?

jetblackrose: Because I can send you a message without stuttering like a damn fool. I can stare at my phone until I find the perfect way to phrase things. I can’t do that in person. In person I’ll probably just stare blankly at you and make weird sounds.

drumming_heartbeats: I would still love you, Gen. I’m not much better. I’m probably worse lmao.

jetblackrose: You’re sweet to say that. But I’m a very what you see if what you get type. I’m either hyper, loud, and obnoxious or I’m closed off and shy. I fluctuate from wanting to go on all the adventures to wanting to stay curled up in bed all day. It’s why I end up with failed relationships. No one can handle the wild mood swings. Which is fine. I get it. It sucks. But I get wanting a partner who can navigate middle ground.

drumming_heartbeats: Well all those guys are idiots because that sounds fuckin perfect to me. Like I’m a busy guy. And as much as I’m down for adventures, I’m also down to just do fuckin nothing. Like just being with the girl is good enough, you get me? An adventure can be as easy as building a fort and watching movies all day.

jetblackrose: YES! Like fuck, that’s all I want. Someone who gets it. Someone like you.

drumming_heartbeats: Good thing you have me then.

jetblackrose: Good fuckin thing indeed! God, I’m so glad you messaged me.

drumming_heartbeats: Me too.

~~~

jetblackrose: Fuck, I’m so stressed!

drumming_heartbeats: Aw, what’s wrong baby?

jetblackrose: Just lack of motivation. Like I need a mental health day. Only there’s too much to do that I can’t actually do that. Like if I could pause time, that’d be fuckin great.

drumming_heartbeats: Aw, sorry baby.

jetblackrose: It’s my own dumb fault. I know I have to get stuff done and I just… feel so uninspired I guess? Like I don’t want to do work. I want to do things that bring me joy.

drumming_heartbeats: Like Ashton lmao?

jetblackrose: Haha, very funny. But yes. And no. Like fuck I just wanna talk with you all day and bingewatch tv shows.

drumming_heartbeats: Yeah, I get that. But you’ll get through this. You’re strong. Love you, baby.

jetblackrose: Aw! I love you too, baby! Fuck, I can’t wait for my vacation in a few weeks.

drumming_heartbeats: Going anywhere or just like a good chunk of time off from responsibilities?

jetblackrose: Just a good chunk of time off. If I go anywhere it’ll probably just be around here. See some friends. Maybe go to the beach to get some use of the new swimsuit I bought.

drumming_heartbeats: I’m your friend. Can you see me?

jetblackrose: You wanna see me? You want to experience all this awkward in real time? Are you feeling okay?

drumming_heartbeats: I’m serious lol. Why not? We’ve been friends for how long now?

jetblackrose: Like 6 months? Holy shit.

drumming_heartbeats: So is that a yes? Can we meet?

jetblackrose: I thought you’re traveling for work?

drumming_heartbeats: My job is sending me off in spurts lol. Like I’m actually coming home this week. And then I’ll be home for like a month.

jetblackrose: And you want to see me on your time off?

drumming_heartbeats: Why not? Don’t you want to meet me?

jetblackrose: Of course I want to meet you Tom! I love you, you goof. But I’m nervous.

drumming_heartbeats: Lol, why?

jetblackrose: Because I love you this much with having never seen your face or heard your voice. I don’t want to see you and then have to say goodbye. If I get the chance to actually be in your arms, I’m not gonna want to leave.

drumming_heartbeats: Lol, good. Cuz I don’t think I’ll let you go.

jetblackrose: Okay, seriously, I could not love you more. Like are you trying to make me a flustered idiot?

drumming_heartbeats: Is it working lol?

jetblackrose: Yes! Okay, can I ask you a question?

drumming_heartbeats: You can ask me anything.

jetblackrose: Would… fuck I dunno why I’m so nervous asking you this… It’s no secret that we clearly care for each other. It’s also no secret that we love each other. But… is this all in my head? Am I confessing all these feelings and you don’t actually feel the same way in return?

drumming_heartbeats: Gen, baby, I’m serious. I… I want to meet you because I think we can be more than this. More than what we are here through these messages. Not that I don’t love our conversations. Not that I don’t want to stop having them. Because I love talking with you. I wouldn’t trade this relationship we’ve built for anything. But I want to keep building it. And I want to meet you to do that. If you don’t want the same, that’s fine. But that’s where I’m at.

jetblackrose: No. I want to meet you too. I’m just scared.

drumming_heartbeats: Don’t be scared. I love you, Gen.

jetblackrose: I love you too, Tom.

~~~

Gen sat in her car, frowning. Seven months of talking and she was finally about to see Tom. They had agreed on going to the beach as they both felt relaxed by water. But she was nervous all the same. Not only was she seeing her best online friend she had admitted to having a massive crush on, he was also going to see a lot of her skin, as she couldn’t exactly hide under jeans and hoodies at the beach. Not that she wanted to hide from Tom. She was just scared. She flipped down the visor and checked herself over in the small mirror. Then, she took a deep breath to steady herself and got out of the car.

She walked along the pier, the ocean breeze stirring her hair and bringing forth a calm steadiness within her. She leaned her arms on the wooden banister and waited. Her nerves had caused her to arrive a half hour early.

The water swirling around beneath her was hypnotizing. She wasn’t aware of time passing until a voice was calling out, “Gen?” followed by a small tap on her shoulder.

She turned, a smile on her face, nervous flutters in her stomach. As her eyes scanned up at her friend, her mouth dropped open.

The man giggled, a dimple indenting his cheek. “Surprise?”

Her eyes flashed behind her sunglasses and then her hands were shoving his chest. “YOU LIAR!” she shouted at him, her voice shrill.

“Whoa,” he said, grabbing her hands as she continued to push him. “Hey, I didn’t lie!”

“Yes you did! You said your name was Tom!” She ripped her hands out of his grasp, her skin lighting up in memorization at his touch.

“Clever, eh?” he smirked.

“Clever?! Lying to me was clever?!”

“I didn’t lie!”

“You lied about who you were, Tom! What else did you lie about?!”

“Just my name. I promise. And you don’t have to keep calling me Tom.”

Her voice shot down to a barely audible whisper as she told him in a horrified tone, “If I don’t call you Tom, then this becomes real. Really real. And then I’m the lunatic who just shoved my favorite drummer from my favorite band while screaming that he was a liar. And… STOP SMIRKING, ASHTON!”

Ashton held up his hands defensively and took a step backwards. “Alright, alright! I’m sorry, okay?”

“Sorry about what? Sorry you lied to me? Or sorry I’m mad about it?”

“Sorry you’re mad about it. I had to lie.”

“No. No, you really didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

“BULLSHIT!”

“Do you see how you’re acting right now?! This is why I lied! Can you imagine if we had done this over messages?”

“I wouldn’t have believed you.”

“Exactly.”

“Your friend got you into 5sos… fucking… UGH!”

“Yeah, that was pretty clever wasn’t it?”

“I cannot FUCKING BELIEVE YOU!”

“Well, will you let me explain then?”

“Please. Wordsmith your way outta this one. Be my guest.”

“Okay,” he huffed, pushing his back hair out of his face. “I liked you the night of the party. When we actually met.”

“Oh, my God… my life is a fan fic…” Gen interrupted, eyes wide as her brain played catch up, still not believing this was actually real.

“I have to be careful, okay. It’s not that I wanted to lie to you about who I was. Not that I was. Everything I told you was real. My feelings are real.”

“Jesus, I said so many fuckin’ things to you. So. Many! I said you gave me a daddy kink! I said I wanted you to choke me! I said those things to someone I thought was a friend!”

“I am your friend!”

“No! You’re ASHTON FUCKIN’ IRWIN! And I’m… Gen,” she admitted, sadly. “I’m right where I was seven months ago. Meeting my idol and trying not to read too much into it. Only it’s worse. Because you’re aware of things I never would have told you had I known you were actually you. Please excuse me while I go die in a hole. Matter of fact, I’m just…” She walked towards the edge of the pier, placing her hands on the banister and pretended to lift herself up.

“Stop that,” Ashton scolded with a chuckle, pulling her off the railing and into his arms.

She froze, her body going rigid. “Let go of me.”

“No. I said if I got you in my arms I wouldn’t let go. And you said you wouldn’t want to leave. Now who’s the liar?”

“It’s still you by a fuckin’ mile!”

He let go but only to spin her around before his hands were gripping her shoulders. “I’m sorry if I upset you by keeping my identity a secret. I get if that changes things for you. But it doesn’t for me. I still feel the same way I felt towards you today that I did yesterday. And I’ll still feel the same way about you tomorrow and for the rest of my life.”

“Y-you do?” she asked, her eyes wide in disbelief.

“Yes. Maybe I went about this the wrong way. Maybe I should’ve asked for your number that night instead of waiting for the picture of us to surface so I could find you that way. Maybe I shouldn’t have hidden my identity. But I did what I thought was best. I don’t like being vulnerable. I don’t like putting myself out there. So I protected myself the best way I knew how. You still got the real me, though.”

She stared up at him. As much as she wanted to be mad at him, she couldn’t. He was still her online best friend, and she was still in love with him.

“Look,” he kept talking. “Maybe we walk off this pier and never speak again. Or, maybe you trust me and yourself. Maybe we make it. Maybe we don’t. But either way, neither one of us is walking off this pier the same person we were before.”

Tag List

@goeatsomelife @flameraine @cashtonasff5sos @here-for-the-uproars @cxddlyash @1-irwin-94 @baldcalum @sparkling-chaos @tea4sykes @youngblood199456 @5-seconds-of-obsession @gosh-im-short

#phone screens #ugh thats such a shit title...#this is shit...#ashton irwin #ashton irwin fic #5sos #galcal irwin

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mypassionfortrash · 5 years ago

Text

Nothing Serious: Parts 1-3

With all your friends having married themselves off, having kids and getting boring, you turn to Tinder to fill your time. When you match with a familiar face, you quickly realise you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. (Modern Sugar Daddy AU).

Pairing: Roger Taylor x f!Reader Warnings: Filth, angst, daddy kink, morbid humour, strictly 18+. Notes: This was originally posted on my Queen blog (BoRhapRogerina) before I deleted it. If you’re new here, welcome. If you’ve read this before, I’ve reworked this quite substantially. I’m planning on finishing all of my fics for NaNoWriMo this year, so stay tuned for updates on all my WIPs!

[1/4]

It was a Friday evening, and you had just got off work. Not that you had plans.

All your friends had partnered up and gone away on romantic weekends away.

Leaving you alone, with no plans.

On the plus side, you had a laundry list of shows to binge watch, and a full fridge of goodies, that would most likely last until Saturday morning. If you were lucky.

Flopping down on the couch, you fired up the first show on your list and settled down, fully prepared to fester for two days. Bliss, you thought, absentmindedly opening Tinder for a glimpse of what could be. If you could stomach the dating game.

You must have swiped left on a hundred people in the space of ten minutes, never bothering to read their self absorbed ‘about me’ sections, or to look at more of their photos. Until Roger (37 years old, 20 kilometres away) caught your eye.

He was handsome. Recently divorced. And a musician.

He looked familiar, too.

But 37 was too old. Curiosity got the better of you when you set your search parameters, casting the net as wide as possible to see what the app would throw up.

It threw up Roger.

He was too old.

But too intriguing to reject.

So you swiped right.

And then went back to your show.

The Umbrella Academy wasn’t boring, per se, but every now and again, your eyes would be drawn towards your phone on the coffee table. You wondered whether Roger had noticed you. Surely not.

When the first episode was over, you padded through to the kitchen and flicked the kettle on. You couldn’t help but kick yourself for not giving his profile enough attention. He caught you by surprise and you didn’t fully absorb his profile. Apart from the obvious. You swiped right without thinking. And now, he was all you could think about.

What did he do for a living? Did he have kids? Was his ex-wife a total nutter?

You stood, drumming your fingertips against the kitchen counter, waiting for the kettle to boil. Until you heard your phone vibrate.

Never in your life had you moved so fast, darting through to the living room and almost knocking over a lamp. You picked up your phone and looked at your notifications. Sure enough, there it was, ‘you have matched with Roger.’

Throwing yourself back on to the couch, you could feel your cheeks burning. It felt utterly alien to you to even match with someone you were actually attracted to, so you were determined to make a good impression. Staring up at the ceiling, your lips moved slowly, trying to verbalise what you were going to open with and all the ways you could woo him straight off the bat. A simple, ‘how are you?’ wasn’t going to suffice.

‘How YOU doin’ tonight?’ Uncool.

‘Any plans for the weekend?’ Boring.

‘If you were a cocktail, what would you be?’ Better.

And then your phone vibrated again.

You looked down to see a notification flash up and disappear. ‘Roger has sent you a message.’

Your stomach churned. They never messaged first. At least he was keen, you thought, unlocking your phone to read what he had sent.

‘If you were a fruit, you’d be a fine-apple.’

You snorted, feeling your face burn up even more. It was a stinker of a line. A stinker that somehow made your heart flutter.

Just as you were hovering your thumbs over your keyboard to type a response, another message popped up.

‘Sorry, that was rotten.’

And another.

‘It’s really nice to match with you. Any plans for the weekend?’

He stole your boring line.

Game on!

[2/4]

You and Roger spent the entire weekend messaging back and forth about everything from your favourite films to your favourite holiday destinations (he cited dirty weekends away at his villa - wherever that was - as a top pick). It turned out he was charming, witty and ever so slightly filthy, without being disrespectful. Despite your qualms about his age, you were aching to see if he was as enthralling in real life.

It was Monday morning. Sat at your desk, you desperately clung to any focus you could muster for your work. But, in the back of your mind, you couldn’t help wondering when Roger's next message would appear. You prayed it would be soon. You had a mountain of paperwork to do, but precisely zero focus to follow through.

By midday, you lost hope.

Maybe he was too good to be true? Perhaps your joke about being ‘An Old Man Fucker’ was a step too far?

Packing up your desk to go to lunch, you decided to leave your phone behind. But as you walked away, you heard it vibrate.

You darted back to your desk and grabbed your phone.

Roger had a funny habit of appearing on your phone, just as you were about to do something. You scanned his latest offering.

‘What’s the difference between a tyre and 365 used condoms?’

Even without a punchline, it earned a giggle, which in turn earned you disapproving looks from your colleagues. You hurriedly tapped out a quick, ‘I don’t know,’ before stowing your phone in your pocket and following the mass exodus to the canteen.

Your heart felt like it was going to escape from your chest as you waited for the punchline to yet another dirty joke.

His response came quickly: ‘One’s a Goodyear, the other’s a great year! Doing anything nice tonight, gorgeous? Hope you're having a lovely day! I hate Mondays :(’

———————————————————————————————————

A few hours later, you were sprawled on the sofa, bouncing your leg impatiently. A typical weeknight consisted of a quick change into your pyjamas, scarfing down instant noodles and a side of hating the single life.

But not tonight. Roger was coming over. And you were determined to impress.

You had swapped your joggers and a plain old t-shirt for a short, black tea dress. Makeup on. Hair done. You even wore a bra; a rarity at home.

The seconds ticked by at an impossibly slow rate and Roger was late. He said he'd be there for seven. It was five past.

You got up to pace back and forth across the living room. Your mind wandered, anticipating what your evening with Roger would entail.

What would you talk about? You had covered a lot of ground over the weekend.

Would you watch a film? You knew he was into sci-fi. You could do sci-fi. Get drunk? On a school night, really? Maybe not.

Sleep with him?

That last question stopped you in your tracks. It wasn’t as if you didn’t want to. That was precisely the reason you joined Tinder, as tough as it was to admit. After speaking to him all weekend, you actually kind of liked him. But you just didn’t know him that well.

Your brain felt like it had just run a marathon when there was a knock at the door.

It made your stomach drop, and your legs turn to jelly as you scrambled to answer it; your mind blank and exhausted. With a deep breath, you turned the handle and cracked the door open, peering out into the hall.

Roger peeked through the gap, a mischievous smile on his face. “Hi,” he beamed. "Sorry, I'm late."

You flung the door open, eyeing him with a shy smirk. “Hi." That was all you could muster.

Roger quickly pulled you into him, squeezing you tightly. “It’s so nice to meet you,” he mumbled against your hair.

He smelled incredible. Like sandalwood and pine forests, enticing you to bury your face against his collarbone. “And you,” you sighed.

All those worries in your head melted away, but there was something between both of your bodies. Breaking away from Roger’s embrace, you looked down to find a bunch of flowers and two bottles of wine tucked into the crook of his arm. You gazed up at him, forgetting how to form sentences. It seemed like he did too.

Luckily he noticed your stare trailing down to the flowers and the wine. Red and white. He rocked on his feet, remembering what was happening. “Oh! These are for you. Couldn’t come empty-handed and I wasn’t sure…” He babbled, passing them to you.

“They’re perfect," you smiled, waving him inside, "Come in.”

You led roger through the hall and into the living room, motioning him towards the couch. “Make yourself at home. What do you want to drink?”

Roger shrugged. “Whatever you’re having.”

The kitchen felt like it was worlds away, granting you a short reprieve from Roger’s company. He was so much more handsome in real life, you thought, rifling through your cupboards. So handsome, in fact, that you had forgotten when you kept your wine glasses. “The ones above the sink, fuck,” you grumbled to yourself, throwing open the cupboard and snatching the glasses. You tried to even yourself out with what little time alone you had, pressing your hands into the edge of the counter and bowing your head. Deep breaths.

A clatter from the living room pulled you back to reality. You hastily dunked the flowers in the sink and grabbed your drinks, to see what the commotion in the living room was.

When you got back to Roger, you found him picking some records up off the floor.

Roger looked up at you wearing a coy smirk. “Sorry. Had to make sure you weren’t a crazy fan.”

You gave an awkward laugh, wandering past him.

“It’s happened before,” he added, getting to his feet and giving a shrug. “You’ve got good taste though.”

“I thought you looked familiar.” You sat the bottle and the glasses down on the coffee table and joined him over by your boxes of records.

He skimmed through your collection. “I can’t believe people still buy these,” Roger laughed, taking out a copy of Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Born in the USA.’ “Don’t tell me this is some new hipster wanker thing? Buying LPs?” he asked, eyeing you with his eyebrows raised.

You snatched the record from his grasp, screwing up your features. “I’ll have you know, vinyl is far superior.”

Roger rolled his eyes. “Yeah, with all that crackling and popping, it’s bound to sound better.”

“It’s all about the listening experience,” you sneered, taking the record out of its slipcase and placing it on the turntable. “You can’t be passive when you’re listening to records. It gives you more of a chance to absorb it.”

“I believe you,” Roger chuckled.

“You haven’t told me what kind of music Queen play,” you added, waltzing back to the sofa.

Roger flopped down next to you, watching as you poured his drink and handed it to him. As he was about to take a sip, his eyes narrowed. “Do you know something? I’m shocked you haven’t heard of us.”

“Why’s that?” you asked, glaring at him.

“Well, you’ve got the music taste of a forty-year-old man for starters.”

You choked on your wine. He was on to you. But now wasn’t the time to tell him you had spent the entire weekend researching his band. Or the shame you felt when you realised how big they were. Or that you had overlooked them this long. Or that you loved their work. “Maybe you’re just not that good,” you grinned.

Roger shrugged. “That’s just one woman’s opinion, I suppose.”

“I suppose it is.”

“I’m glad, actually.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not into me because I’m a rockstar.”

“But it helps,” you admitted.

Roger smirked. “You’ve got a thing for musicians? Never would have guessed.”

“You could say that.”

“So why are you on Tinder?” Roger asked, turning side on to face you. “I’m assuming picking up handsome drummers ranks pretty highly.”

“Well,” you began, moving closer to him, “all I wanted was an easy lay if I'm honest.”

The corners of Roger’s mouth perked up into a devilish smile upon hearing those words. “You know, out of all the members of a band, drummers are definitely the easiest. Speaking from experience.”

Your stomach fluttered. But you just couldn’t stop yourself. You weren’t even drunk yet. “Are you?”

Roger’s face was dangerously close to your’s at this point, his nose was practically pressed against yours. “Don’t you want to know what I want?” he prodded.

“Not particularly. No.”

“I love a girl who knows what she wants,” Roger chuckled, drawing his calloused fingers along your jawline, tilting your face up ever so slightly. Roger wasted no time in replacing his fingers with his lips, pressing kisses along your jaw, before settling on your mouth. His hand was firm at the back of your neck, pulling you into him.

You put up little resistance when things became heated, slinking over his lap to deepen the kiss.

Roger’s hands squeezed at your thighs when your tongue slipped past his lips. He was feverish, needy, almost, in the way that he kneaded your flesh, letting out breathless gasps.

The feeling that things were moving too fast began to claw at your gut. Your movements slowed, eventually breaking away from Roger.

“Are you ok?” he asked, sweeping a stray strand of hair behind your ears. His eyes moved across your features. They were loaded with concern.

More aware of the music playing in the background than before, you moved in time to the last few bars of ‘Downbound Train.’ “I’m fine,” you whispered.

Roger took your hand and kissed your palm. His eyes saddened, peeking through your fingers. “Are you sure?”

You didn’t respond. All you could do was take Roger’s hand as you scrambled to your feet. Leading him out into the centre of the living room, you pulled him into you, swaying along to ‘I’m On Fire.’ “Do you like dancing, Roger?”

Roger gave a quiet laugh and pressed his nose to yours. “Only if I have the right partner.”

You danced slowly, intimately, until Side A spun out, leaving the pair of you rocking aimlessly away in silence. Your face rested against his chest, revelling in his scent. His arms bound you to him, and his chin perched on top of your head. And for just a second, you thought you had died and gone to heaven.

“Tell me something,” Roger said, breaking the quiet calm. “Are you really just looking for an easy lay?”

You continued to dance in circles while you thought up a response. Your heart was beating frantically at the thought you might have been wrong about what you wanted. “I don’t know. Are you just looking for the odd dirty weekend at your villa?”

Roger’s chest rattled with a warm laugh. “Touché. Are you going to flip that record or are we gonna dance in silence all night?”

You groaned into his shirt at the thought. It was near impossible. As hard as you tried, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to move away from Roger.

So he did it for you. He moved over to your record player and flipped the album over on to side B, while you got to work on refilling your glasses. “I love this song,” Roger said, nodding in approval.

“Are you a big Springsteen fan?” you asked, handing his glass back to him.

“Yeah, I mean I like the E-Street band more than the stuff he did on his own. But his songs just resonate a lot with me.”

“I’ll drink to that,” you said, raising your glass.

Your glasses clinked together. And then your brain decided to remind you that this was your first date. The nerves were back. For both of you.

The quicker either of you set about drinking more, the faster any awkwardness between you could dissipate. Before you knew it, you were on your fifth glass. And you had worked your way through yet another of Springsteen’s albums, ‘Nebraska.’

You and Roger sat side by side giggling away on the couch, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. It had you conflicted, though. Not wanting to come on too strong, or be too intense. But you weren’t keen on being sidelined by Roger. He was handsome, witty and it was so easy for you to feel comfortable around him. You could see yourself being happy with him; you felt it in your gut that he was more than the easy lay you wanted. But there was so much you needed to know. Your mind raced. And your face sank.

Roger noticed and he softened his gaze, running his fingers through your hair.

“What exactly are you looking for, Roger?”

“Do you want me to be honest?” Roger slurred.

You nodded.

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Just tell me.”

“I hate being on my own. I don’t want it to be that way.”

“I get that.”

“Now what do you want?” Roger asked, jabbing his finger against your chest. “Really want.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing your motivations weren’t so different to his. “I hate being alone too,” you admitted, not being able to look at him. Instead, you stretched out your arms lazily. “Guess that makes us a pair of losers.”

Roger looked away, his eyes misting over. “Guess it does.”

Roger’s sudden, sullen demeanour had you desperate to change the subject. “So where is this villa of your’s and how dirty are we talking?”

“What villa?”

Your heart sank. “You said you had a villa.”

“I have more than one, but I like the one in Ibiza the best.”

Your mind became a hamster wheel, wondering just how rich Roger was. “You have more than one?”

Roger was nonchalant as he shrugged his shoulders and nodded. “I have the filthiest times in Ibiza, but I’m not averse to the one in LA. Especially in the winter. I hate the cold.”

“How filthy do I have to be for you to take me out there?” you joked.

Roger snorted. “I reckon I could turn you into an absolute whore.”

“Well that sounds like fun.”

“You look like you could use a holiday.”

[3/3]

Your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing as you waited patiently by the window. Pressing your knuckles to your lips, you paced, keeping your eyes trained on the street below. Roger would be here any minute now. A suitcase and a bag sat beside the door, containing everything you thought you needed for your trip.

It had taken you three days to make the decision. You lay in bed every night since Monday, wide awake, trying to suss him out.

It was insanity at best, agreeing to it. But, you knew it wouldn’t exactly be a conventional romance anyway.

He made you laugh and put you at ease. And you would be lying if you claimed he didn’t make you smile exactly when you needed it. One particular remark - 'that villa’s where I keep all ten of my wives, chained up in the basement' - that was the kicker. It tipped the scales all the way to a resounding ‘yes’ from you.

‘Any time now,’ you repeated to yourself, trying to block out the racket of your phone. You had lost count of the number of frantic messages from your friends. All of them tried to dissuade you. But the backflips your stomach did when a strange, black Mercedes slipped into view told you everything you needed to know.

Grabbing your handbag and your suitcase, you burst from your flat, trundling your brimming case noisily down the stairs. Your heart felt like it was working overtime as you flung open the front door.

A chauffeur stood by the back door of the car as Roger fell out on to the street, beaming at you.

“There she is!” He stretched out his linen-clad arms, ushering you into a hug. He felt even softer and smelled even better than he did on Monday. He certainly hugged you tighter, propping his chin up on your head. “You all set?” he mumbled, kissing your hair.

“God, I’m so nervous," you squeaked.

Roger held you away from him. From underneath his dark tinted lenses, you could tell his eyes were darting over the windows of the flats behind you, searching for intrusive gazes and curtain pullers. Then his attention snapped back to you, a look of seriousness cloaking his features as he gripped your shoulders just a little bit tighter. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. It’s your trip, you can enjoy it however you want.” He paused, looking down. The corners of his mouth perking up. “And I’m a bit nervous too, actually.”

Shattering the moment into millions of tiny fragments, the chauffeur cleared his throat audibly. “I’ve just put your suitcase in the boot, Miss. We should be going soon.”

“Yeah, thanks Lewis,” Roger piped up.

The pair of you bundled yourselves into the back seat. The saloon was cramped, unaided by you and Roger’s need to sit almost on top of each other. Both of you searched for something to say, but, over the week, you seemed to have covered everything in your texts and long-winded phone calls. From Queen’s creative differences in the studio to stakeholders messing you about at work with their half-baked briefs and their fake deadlines. You touched on it all. And now, you were wondering what else there was to say, as your knee constantly knocked against Roger’s.

Your thoughts turned to spending an entire flight in his company. How awkward that might be if you didn’t find something. And fast.

Luckily, the townscape whizzed past you at breakneck speed. You had only spent the longest ten minutes of your life in the car beside him before it was navigating its way through the airport complex. A wave of relief loosened you up, seeing the ‘drop off’ sign straight ahead. But those hoped were dashed when the chauffeur bypassed it.

“I think you’ve missed the drop-off,” you said, leaning towards the driver.

“Oh, he never misses,” Roger smirked, focusing on the view from his window.

You sank back, furrowing your brow as the car pulled up to a security barrier. You couldn’t quite pick up on what Lewis was saying, but it was enough to grant him access.

Your jaw dropped as the car rounded the corner on to the tarmac. “How the hell are you able to do that?” you asked, turning to Roger. “What about security? Baggage-”

Roger laughed, placing his arm around you. “When you’re in one of the world’s biggest rock bands, normal airport procedure doesn’t really apply, darling. But if you’re shocked by this, wait until you see the plane.”

“The plane?”

Roger pointed to the small plan directly in front of the car. “That plane.”

Your eyes widened. “You own that?”

“Well, it’s chartered. It’s very nice inside, though. Comes with a couple of stewardesses.”

It turns out ‘nice’ was an understatement. Never in your life had you seen that level of classless opulence. Your eyes were on everything as Roger led you into the cabin. Every gold accent, every marble surface, every red leather seat. Complete with two blonde and beautiful stewardesses who handed you a glass of champagne each. It was jarring, tacky and screamed ‘money.’

You followed Roger to the middle of the aircraft, where he threw himself on to one of the sofas with a relieved groan, sprawling out like a starfish. You roamed towards the bathroom, swigging away at your champagne, your mind overloaded by the situation. You poked your head inside the obnoxiously pristine cubicle. Ryanair hadn’t a patch on this. You could throw an entire orgy in here, and still have room for a few more. There was even a bottle of lube and a bowl of condoms sat on the counter. You had a feeling people like Roger used the plane for just that. “You could easily join the mile high club in here,” you thought aloud.

“Yeah, well I wouldn’t touch anything if I were you. Steven Tyler was in here last week. God knows what he gets up to.”

“Lovely,” you replied, sauntering back to Roger.

“I’m glad you like it." Roger observed you throwing back the rest of your drink. “You look like you needed that.”

You simpered, not wanting to meet Roger’s line of sight. “I did. And I think I’m going to need more.”

“More’s definitely good,” he laughed.

Without him asking, one of the stewardesses brought over a bottle, bending down at the waist to present it to Roger. It granted you both an impressive view of her cleavage. But Roger was having none of it. “That’ll be everything, thank you, Claudia,” Roger said, taking the bottle from her, his attention still on you.

Roger’s shirt was unbuttoned down to his chest, and your head had somehow found itself resting on his bare skin. You gazed up at him while he poured you both drinks and slipped your glass back into your hand.

Settling into a comfortable position as the plane took to the skies, Roger’s arm found its way around your shoulders and his lips littered kisses over your forehead between sips of his drink.

“You must be loaded,” you pondered. “How many years have Queen been going?”

“Well over twenty now, I think, why?”

“You must have seen a lot.”

“I’ve seen everything,” Roger chuckled.

“Where’s your favourite place in the world?”

“Hm, that a tough one. I love Japan. It always has this amazing energy to it. It’s brimming with people, everywhere, but it still manages to have a lot of calm about it. And the food? God, it’s delicious. Could eat Japanese food all the time.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Never would have thought that about you.”

“I’ll take you out there someday, you’ll love it.”

“Bet the industry’s changed a lot from when you started out,” you mused, turning from your side to your back.

Roger’s arm dropped around your waist. “You have no idea. It’s sort of soul destroying. All this streaming business," he began. You hung on his every word. "If people really knew how little we get from that, I hope they’d think twice and just buy a bloody album like they used to. I’ve seen a lot of good bands go under because they can’t afford to live.”

“And how have Queen lasted this long?”

“Because we’re not just ‘good.’ We’re more than that.” He sighed, draining another glass. “I’m glad we made our millions and constantly toured in those early days. Enough to outlast everyone else in the long run. Now, we can do what we like. God, I sound like I’m giving an interview.”

“I like hearing you ramble, by the way,” you encouraged. “Bet you’ve met some crazy ones though.”

“Some of them can be intense… yeah, but-”

“And you’re out there on Tinder for the world to see. Dating women half your age,” you jibed, sitting up straight. You turned around, looking at him. His cheeks were flushed as he nodded away, agreeing with everything that came out of your mouth. “How have you not ended up dead, yet?”

Roger batted his hand through the air. “No one pays any attention to the drummer. It’s that rotter, Freddie, everybody fawns over! And besides,” Roger paused, moving just inches away from your face, “You’re not planning to kill me, are you, darling?”

“How would you know?”

Something in Roger’s demeanour changed. His sleepy, half-lidded eyes turned glassy. Sinking in on himself, he looked away. “I’m a good judge of character. Or at least I hope I am, after everything.”

Unsure of whether your newfound courage was down to the champagne or the chip in Roger’s happy-go-lucky facade, you felt emboldened to ask. “Is this about the divorce?”

Sure, you had done your research. The internet was awash with gossip about his drawn out, acrimonious divorce from his wife of ten years. The vitriol. The scandal. But you wanted to hear his side of it.

Roger nodded.

Backing away, your hands fumbled in your lap. You crossed the line. Too much too soon. How could that possibly have been the case with you and Roger was anyone’s guess, but the silence that fell over you two had you eyeing the emergency exit, wondering if you could survive a 27,000-foot drop.

“Put some music on, will you, darling,” Roger said, taking your empty glass and refilling it. “Anything you like. Just plug your phone in.” He nodded towards a towering sound system at the back of the plane.

You went over to it and pulled out your phone. You felt like an idiot, but you had already made a playlist loaded with songs that reminded you of him. All before your time. Your finger hovered over the shuffle button, deliberating whether to put it on. You gave in and hit the button, letting the first few bars of Moonage Daydream to pour from the speakers, making the cabin vibrate.

“I love this song,” Roger said quietly.

You turned back to him, feeling the rush of nervousness in your chest, seeing the way he stared at you. Aided by the champagne, you began to dance. You could feel his gaze relishing every inch of you and the way you moved. The way you swept through the blistering rays that shone through the windows. The halo it created around you.

“Aren’t you going to dance with me?” you pouted, nearing the end of the track.

“I prefer watching you, darling,” Roger said, lowering his sunglasses over his eyes.

“What if I put on something you’ll really like?” you pushed with another quick twirl.

“Try me.”

You went back over to the sound system and scrolled through the collection of songs, pressing play on the perfect number. You glanced over your shoulder at Roger’s reaction.

“Cover Me?” Roger asked, raising his eyebrows. “I’m tempted.”

You shimmied over to him.

His foot, tapped away. His fingers drummed against the back of the sofa. A smirk on his lips as he looked up at you. “You’re gonna have to make me.”

You accepted the challenge.

In one fell swoop, you grabbed his shirt collar and hauled him to his feet, sending the remainder of its buttons popping free.

Roger quietly stood in front of you, dying to break out in a fit of hysterics. He desperately wanted to move with you. Instead, he made you do all the work.

But that was how you wanted it to play out. You wanted to be in control. To tease. He was so strung out that even the feeling of your fingertips curling through the hair on his chest made his breathing hitch. You prowled around him, working the fabric down his arms, pressing into his shoulders. “You’re so tense,” you remarked. “Don’t tell me I got you all worked up this fast.”

“You should be so lucky,” Roger quipped, attempting to play it cool. Full circle, you stalked into view again. His expression flipped from a broad grin to a look of false seriousness.

“That’s funny,” you began, pressing yourself into him, “because that cock of yours feels pretty hard to me. Did you like what you saw?”

Roger still wore a wicked smirk, trying to avoid eye contact. Instead, he concentrated on something over your shoulder, leaving you both in silence for a moment.

Then, when you least expected it, he barged past you, seizing your hand on the way to the back of the plane. He dragged you all the way to the bathroom. Bundling you inside and slamming the door closed.

Before you knew it, you were sandwiched between Roger and the counter.

His hands shook, fumbling with the buttons on your blouse, distracting himself with nipping at the sensitive skin on your neck. And taunting you. “So you like teasing me, Princess?” He murmured, yanking your shirt off.

Your fingers snaked into Roger’s hair, while your free hand took the opportunity to ghost over his cock through his jeans. “You’re easy to tease.”

Your sass was short-lived; Roger had taken to pinching your nipples through your bra, in time to his lips marking you up. It made you throw yourself back against the mirror, granting him easier access to the rest of you.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured, moving lower over your chest.

All you could do was tug your lower lip between your teeth, watching as he made his way down. Your bra was gone before you knew it, and his hands had already found their way to the zipper on your jeans. Roger kneeled down, lavishing your stomach with slow wet kisses, looking up at you through his lashes. His fingers clawed at your waistband, dragging them lower - your underwear with them - into a pool around your ankles.

You could feel that need spreading through you like wildfire. You struggled, even just to breathe, driving your hips against Roger’s efforts. Your fingers laced into his hair. It was a feeble effort at leading him to where you really needed him.

Of course, Roger noticed, smiling to himself. He grasped at your thighs, causing you to falter. “I can’t wait to taste you, Princess. Would you like that?”

“Yes please,” you sang, clutching the edge of the counter for support.

“Hop up there. Let’s get a good look at you.”

Without missing a beat, you hauled yourself atop the freezing marble counter, lewdly presenting yourself.

He seemed like all his Christmases had come at once. Like he wasn’t sure where to look, or even where to place his hands. They just skimmed, ponderously over your inner thighs, never quite going anywhere.

“Are you going to keep gawping at it, Roger?”

That drew a response out of him. The realisation that he was required to actually do something, rather than admire you for hours. Not that he would have minded. “Right, boss,” he grinned. He settled between your legs, dragging his thumb over your slick, pink folds, savouring just how aroused you were. “So pretty,” he remarked, before leaning in.

One long, lazy lap of you was all it took for all your inhibitions to melt away. Those tense and taut muscles in every part of your body loosened, while Roger’s mouth devoured and savoured every dripping wet inch of you. And then an almighty shockwave hit you. Roger’s tongue circled your clit, stringing you out again, forcing a surprised moan from you.

Roger’s quiet chuckles reverberated through you like tiny aftershocks.

It had you wondering what his next trick was.

He was hellbent on making quick work of you, his tongue zeroing in on your sensitive little nub, making you writhe against him. Ratcheting up your pleasure until it felt like all your nerves were on fire. And then slipping a finger inside you. And then another. And another. Curling them in on themselves, like they were daring you to claw at Roger’s hair with just a little bit more aggression. Daring you to howl louder for him.

“You love having that tight little cunt of yours stretched, don’t you, Princess?” Roger taunted, moving back to look up at you, his chin glistening.

“Yes,” you sighed.

You could feel your orgasm beginning to build. You weren’t exactly in control of your body or the things that came out of your mouth. But the words that tumbled from them shocked you, urging him on. “Just like that, Daddy.” It was as if your body had been torn in half out of shame and pure ecstasy.

Roger never said anything about it. In fact, you could practically feel him grinning as his mouth delved back down to finish what he had started.

“Oh, god, Daddy, I’m so close.” There it was again.

It raised nothing but a giggle from Roger.

Between that, his mouth and his fingers, you were teetering on the brink of something wonderful.

“Repeat it, Princess,” Roger urged, “tell me how good I make you feel.”

“Da-”

Before you could finish that sentence, you lost control, viciously trembling on Roger’s fingers.

You still saw stars when you came to. Roger had flipped you over, leaving you face to face with your own reflection. He was fumbling away in the background with a condom wrapper. “That was amazing,” you panted, burying your face in your arms.

Roger ran his thumb over your slit again. “It’s not over yet, sweetheart.”

You swayed your hips in response, smirking over at him in the mirror.

“You want Daddy’s cock in you, Princess?” His expression was just as wicked.

You nodded, still making eye contact with him.

But he taunted you. “I wanna hear you say it,” he said, drawing the tip of his cock through your folds, coating it until it was slick with your juices.

“Please Daddy, I need your cock inside me,” you whined.

“I’m never gonna tire of hearing you say that, Princess,” he said, slipping into you.

Roger was far thicker than you had anticipated, forcing a shocked groan from you as he stretched you to your limit. Of course, he was analysing you in the mirror, studying every small change in your expression. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, nodding vigorously, “I think.”

“You want me to go slow?” Roger asked, rubbing the small of your back, gingerly sinking back and forth.

“No. God no.”

“That’s my girl,” Roger beamed, thrusting into you harder. “Tell me if it gets too much for you, Princess.”

It was already too much for you in the best way possible. The more pace Roger gathered, the more unsteady your legs felt. The more he threatened to hurl you over the edge again.

There was nothing left to do but babble on about how incredible he felt. You couldn’t even look at yourself in the mirror. Desperate to hold on for just a little bit longer.

“You’re taking Daddy’s cock so well, Princess,” Roger growled in your ear. “And you look so beautiful.” One of his hands found its way to your hair, pulling you upright while his other arm squeezed around your waist. He goaded you. “Look at yourself, Princess, look how good you’re being. Open those eyes.” Even just hearing him say those things sent a shiver through you.

But actually opening your eyes, watching him fill you. Seeing your skin, damp with sweat all because of what he was doing to you. The way you writhed against his grasp, your chest bouncing with every merciless thrust. The sheer lust in his eyes, glancing at your reflection, as he continued to taunt and tease.

“Touch yourself for me. Touch yourself, Princess.”

You did exactly as Roger told you, spinning hasty circles around your clit as that warmth built in your stomach again.

“How does Daddy make you feel?”

There it was again. Sending another searing spark through your body. “You make me feel so good, Daddy. Oh god, Daddy, it feels so full,” you whimpered, nearing the end of your rope.

“Are you gonna come on Daddy’s cock? Be a good girl and show Daddy how much you like it.”

Every time he said it, it drove you closer. And he wasn’t far behind. Your bodies were pressed so tightly together that you could feel the rattle of his breath and every animalistic growl that escaped him, growing more and more ragged.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Your head spun; he plunged you into delirium. Unable to focus on anything else, you lurched forward over the counter as it hit you. And Roger.

When it all subsided, you turned around to face him. He was already half dressed; jeans on, his shirt dangling from his hand. Your chest still heaved, your muscles ablaze.

But the look that Roger wore was something else. A complete one-eighty from moments ago. Soft, and warm, he pressed himself against you, glueing you to him. He draped his shirt over your shoulders, placing a series of kisses on your damp forehead.

“That was amazing,” you sighed, wrapping your arms around him.

“I never knew you were that filthy,” he chuckled.

“Well, you did say you wanted dirty weekends at the villa,” you mocked.

“How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted.”

“If you wanna sleep it off, I won’t hold it against you.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

“Right,” Roger began, unsticking himself from you and unlocking the door, “I’ll leave you to clean yourself up. My shirt looks good on you, by the way.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sound of waves crashing drew you back to consciousness. Rolling over onto your back, you enjoyed it for a moment. Your awareness sharpened. Your chest rose and fell steadily under a light layer of silk, and a gentle breeze filled the blank space around your body. The last you remembered was falling asleep in Roger’s arms. On the plane. In the air.

Your eyes shot open to find your reflection staring back at you. Sitting up, you took in more of the room. The vast, empty space in the bed. The impersonal feel of the dresser to your right, neither a book nor a photograph adorning it. The way the red curtains wafted into the room. You craned your neck forward, catching the view out of the open balcony doors to be met by a bright blue sea for miles ahead. But there was no one there. No Roger in sight.

Panic seared through you as your legs dangled off the edge of the bed.

You sighed and embarked on a journey down the hall. It was lined with gold and platinum discs from all of Queen’s albums and large prints of the band in action. Portraits of Roger and his bandmates looking much younger. ‘Like fine wine,’ you muttered to yourself, sauntering through to the staircase. It looked out on to a grand, marble reception area with huge, marble doors at the front. It was unlike anything you had ever seen or been inside, and certainly not what you expected from Roger when he talked about his favourite villa.

As you began to descend the stairs, something caught your attention. Music. Finally, some sign of life.

You followed the sound down the stairs and through the hall, into a rustic kitchen. Standing at the island, with his back to the door, was Roger. Clad in white shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, he shook his hips to the music, in time with the drinks mixer in his hand.

“This song sounds familiar,” you mused, causing him to jump.

Roger turned around, his glasses askew on his face. Realising it was you, his form softened. He beckoned you into a hug. “Did you sleep well, darling?” he asked, kissing the top of your head.

“I did, thank you,” you responded, beaming up at him.

Roger shook the mixer, filling the room with the shimmering sound of crushed ice. “I’m making margaritas,” he announced, “want one?”

“I’d love one,” you said, breaking away from Roger’s embrace. Hauling yourself up on to one of the wooden stools around the island, you watched as Roger poured the drinks, finishing them off with a twist of lime. He looked rather pleased with himself, sliding it across the counter to you. He watched, waiting with bated breath, as you lifted the glass to your lips.

But then you paused, sitting it back down on the counter. “How did you get me in here while I was asleep?”

“I didn’t wanna wake you,” Roger shrugged. “Just asked the driver if he could give me a hand getting you in and out the car. You never stirred once,” he explained taking a sip of his own drink, nodding in approval. “Christ, that’s good. You must be the heaviest sleeper I’ve ever met. But you did nearly sink an entire bottle of fizz on your own so I won’t hold it against you.”

You laughed, taking a swig of your cocktail. “Good.”

Roger leaned over the counter, closer to you, smirking. “You know, the cleaning lady genuinely thought I’d snapped and brought a dead body back.”

That wasn’t the worst joke Roger had hit you with, but you had made a habit of hyping up the shock value in those little tidbits he shared with you, moving back in your seat, open-mouthed. “She didn’t?”

“Yeah. Guess what I said to her?”

“You told her you were getting laid tonight, didn’t you?” you said, slapping Roger’s arm.

He sunk his teeth into his lower lip, slowly nodding.

“Oh you sick fuck,” you scolded.

“I know you love it though.”

“That’s debatable,” you quipped, taking another sip. “I love this album. I feel like I’ve heard these songs before. What is it?”

“It’s 1989 by Ryan Adams.”

You slammed down your glass and slapped the counter. “That’s where I’ve heard this before! These are Taylor Swift songs!”

Roger narrowed his eyes. “No, they’re not.”

A mocking tone took hold of your voice. With your hands on your hips, you sat up straight. “Uh, yes they are!”

“She can’t bloody write songs like this,” Roger said, rolling his eyes. “This guy, though? Genius.”

“She wrote those songs. And, he’s a known sex pest, Roger,” you explained. “Come to think of it, that’s probably why you like him, right?”

“That’s a low blow,” Roger said, sliding his phone into his eye line. “So if I’m right about him writing these songs, what do I get?”

“A kick up the arse.”

“You make that sound like it’s a bad thing, darling.”

“And if you’re wrong, you have to take me to all the villas you own. I quite like this one but I’m dying to see what the others-”

“You’re right.”

“What?”

“She did write those songs,” he said, showing you the Wikipedia entry. “You’re right.”

“Told you.”

“Well, short of going to the other villas, what are your plans for the rest of the day, darling?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you sighed, “what do you want to do?”

“It’s your holiday.”

“Honestly, I just want to get out of these clothes and chill out for a bit. I’m exhausted. Maybe you could show me around tomorrow?”

“We could go for a nice drive around the island if you want? Get some nice food, soak up a bit of sun.”

“Sounds good!”

“And just now, why don’t we take the margaritas upstairs and have a nice long soak?”

Like a pair of giddy teenagers, you and Roger raced each other up the marble staircase, and back into the master bedroom. You beat him, of course, and stood aimlessly in the doorway, wondering which door on the wall led to the bathroom. You hadn’t thought to find it when you woke up.

Eventually, Roger caught up. “It’s the first one, darling. But you missed the bigger bathroom, at the top of the stairs,” he explained, taking your hand and leading you back along the hallway. “We’ll never fit in that tiny little shower cubicle in my room.”

“Well I think you need a bigger shower,” you quipped. But you were quickly silenced by the sight of the free-standing tub in the master bathroom. Completely marble, again, with gold accents. You could easily fit an entire football team in it. But what struck you most was the view. The glass of the window stretched from floor to ceiling, providing you with a clear view of the sea and the beach below.

“Why would I get a bigger shower when I could have all ten of my wives in this?” Roger joked, sitting the margarita jug and glasses on the counter opposite the bath.

“Don’t you get worried people might see you?”

“Why would I get worried? It should be a bloody treat for them.”

You waited patiently as Roger poured bubbles and bath salts into the tub. Awkwardly thumbing at the collar of your shirt, you wondered where this was going. If this was going to be anything like the situation on the plane. You weren’t exactly feeling flirtatious anymore. You suddenly felt gross. Unsexy. As Roger began to shed his shirt and shorts. Finally his underwear. Your hands shook as you did the same.

“What’s the matter, darling?” Roger asked with one foot in the bath.

“What?” You asked. “Nothing.”

“Your face is like fizz. You sure you’re alright?”

You laughed. “Guess I’m not as bold when I’m sober.”

Roger sank down beneath the bubbles and peered over the top at you. “For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sloshed. You could look like Elton John right now, and I’d still adore you.”

“You’re not helping,” you said, tugging off your jeans.

Roger watched you, utterly spellbound as you climbed in beside him. “You’re right, I just wanted to get you naked again. What can I do to help?”

You looked at him with one eyebrow raised. It wasn’t as easy as that, but you had to commend his desire to try. “I don’t know. I’m still really nervous,” you shrugged, allowing the warm water to soothe your weary bones.

He studied you. The way his eyes darted over your features, memorising every detail, told you he was deep in thought. Wondering what he could do to put you at ease. But you could tell he felt defeated.

“This is all new to me too,” he sighed.

“You’re far better at this than I am. Waking up here, I had one of those ‘what the fuck am I doing?’ moments. I’m here. In a villa. On an island. With a man that I only met at the start of the week. And he’s far older than I’d ever usually go for.”

Roger’s shoulders sank. His eyes did the same, focusing on the margarita in his hand. “I don’t want you to think I’m some manipulative, perverted old man. I’m sorry if I’ve given you that impression.”

Roger was on the wrong track. You shimmied over to him and ran your fingers over his jaw. “Never! That’s the thing. I like you. This is the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done, and here I am, too stuck inside my own head to enjoy it.”

He keened into your touch for a moment, enjoying the contact. “That’s good,” he began, taking your hand and pressing your knuckles to his lips, looking at you with those glassy blue eyes of his. “Because I like you a lot.”

That was it. That was all he had to do to make you melt and throw yourself into his arms. You could think of worse ways to spend your evening, than watching the sun go down, in the biggest bathtub you had ever seen, with a handsome, filthy rich rockstar playing with your hair. “It’s just gonna take a bit of getting used to. Nothing serious.”

>>NEXT PARTS>>

#roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #queen

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