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writefasttalkevenfaster · 4 years ago

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Take My Hand (Part Three)

Summary: feelings are hurt, mistakes are made, and someone wakes up in the wrong bed (one of three four ??? parts)

Pairings: Rafael Barba x Reader, Sonny Carisi x Reader

Word Count: 6,992

Song: It wasn't right / The way it all went down / Looks like you know that now (closure by taylor swift)

Warnings: T, spoilers for 19x13 (the undiscovered country) and use of some dialogue from that episode, infant death, some swearing, drinking, drunken behavior, so much angst,

A/N: thank you for @bucky-of-the-opera and @laneygthememequeen for letting me bounce ideas off and being such amazing beta readers. and thank you to @qvid-pro-qvo for the support and enthusiasm as i muddled my way through these scenes. And thank you to all of you for reading :)

“Another,” you slam your glass on the table, “please.”

“Are you sure you want another?” the bartender raised an eyebrow at you, the glasses lined around you.

“I asked for another,” you hiss, your voice raising and falling, the sound making the ache in your head sharp, a knife dragging across your forehead from temple to temple.

The drink lands in front of you, "I'm cutting you off," you click your teeth together, your fingers pressed the cool glass, the only thing grounding you, "hey, hey," she snaps her fingers, "did you drive here?"

You scoff, "Who drives in New York?" The remark doesn't come off as biting as you want, words slurring.

The bartender taps on your phone, lying on the counter amongst the glasses, "call someone to pick you up. We're closing. Don't go home by yourself."

You sip at your drink, your throat numb to any burn alcohol could provide you — the thrill gone, only left the bitter depressant you needed to relieve the pain. But there was no amount that could relieve this pain because one word brought it back — Rafael.

A wound that had scabbed over so times could still bleed, and this pain came with no adrenaline to numb it. But nothing could numb this pain — the one searing in your hollow chest, your heart long forlorn the moment you stepped from that office — no, it was earlier. Was it the moment you chose to love him? No, maybe it was the moment you kissed him, sunk into those eyes made for sinking, and you stood at the helm, unwavering. Because, after all, it was your heart to sink.

You loved him — you loved him even when he was completely unloveable in his behavior — your adoration for toleration. You loved him even when you didn't want to — when you knew he didn't deserve it, when you deserved more. You loved him, but you didn't know why.

And you wished you never did.

The bartender snaps her fingers again, "Hey, please call someone because I don't want you leaving here alone."

But you missed him, you scrolled through your contacts, finding his name so easily — his contact picture was of him in the office, sitting beside you on his couch with a mouthful of dumplings, irritated by something Buchanan had said. The next picture on your camera roll if you remembered was him lunging for your phone, and the third was of him kissing you, the taste of soy sauce on his lips.

Was the last time you kissed him the last time? Would it be the last time you touched him? The last time you slept beside him?

Your finger hovered over the call button — it would be easy to call him, to talk to him, to love him. But, your thumb slides right, going back to your contacts, just because it was easy didn't mean it was right.

Tears slid down your face, as you downed the rest of your drink.

But you needed to call someone — someone you trusted.

Sonny did not expect to spend his Thursday night (or was it Friday morning?) like this — not at Forlini’s, not out at 3 AM, and certainly not picking you up.

You weren't exactly clear about much on the phone — between the slurring and the mumbling he was only able to make out the address and "can you pick me up?"

He hurried down the street, sidestepping several burly men, who jeered at him as he passed by, his nerves shot at this point. He had seen at least eight of the men he's passed in lockup, and here you were in the thick of it.

What were you thinking?

He finds the place with ease, stepping into it, finding the bartender wiping up a table by the front. Irritated, she jerks her head towards the bar, "over there, the last drink hit hard, so you might have some trouble getting home, buddy."

His brow wrinkles, "What do you—"

"Sonny!" your voice is high, throwing up your hands in a to-do, as you stumble off the stool, while Sonny barely moves in time to catch you.

“Whoa, whoa, are you okay, counselor?” you pout, sighing loudly, as you gently take his hands off of you, instead intertwining your fingers with his.

“I told you to call me by my name, Sonny,” he clears his throat, feeling his ears burn as you tugged him closer, peering up at him with a wide grin, “or should I start calling you Detective Carisi?” your voice low and teasing, he leans away.

Okay, he bites his lip, stepping away from you.

What had he gotten himself into?

After several minutes of bargaining, bartering, and bribes, he was able to convince you to leave the bar, much to his (and the bartender’s) relief. But then again, the problems kept coming. He pulls you outside, and you’re shivering, your suit jacket clearly not enough. He pulls off his sweatshirt, handing it to you, you open your mouth to protest, but when another strong wind blows through, and you pull it over your shoulders.

He glances away, but his eyes wander back to you — his ears burning at the sight of you in his clothes.

No, no, this was not the time, he chided himself.

“Come on, let’s get you home, sweetheart,” and you pull away from him.

“I can’t go home,” he crosses his arms, struggling to keep his temper even at 2 in the morning, his patience worn away to nothingness in that bar.

“Sweetheart,” you shake your head — now you were just being stubborn, “the bar is closed, you have to go home.”

“No, I can’t go home,” and he sees the tears in your eyes, streaking down your face, and you’re shaking your head, arms crossed, “I can’t, Sonny. Please.”

And his irritation turns to fear — he’s seen this before, too many times, far too many times, a sinking feeling in his gut, “What happened?”

“Sonny—” your voice breaks, it was a blurred line between anger and fear — and he didn’t know what he felt right now — but he knew he was going to lose his mind if you didn’t tell him what was going on right now.

“Did someone do something to you?” you shake your head, “did they touch you—”

“No, Sonny, no,” you wipe your tears away, sniffing, “I just broke up with the guy I was seeing. The one I told you about. It wasn’t working,” you gave a watery chuckle, “it never worked to begin with.”

He says your name, his anger simmering, “I’m—”

You wave him off, before sighing, “I just can’t deal with him right now. And if I go home,” your voice shakes, “he might show up there and I can’t do that. I can’t.”

Sonny feels his heart thump against his chest, reaching for your hand, squeezing it, “Then we won’t.”

He takes you to his place, it doesn’t take long to get to — it takes longer to get you out of the cab, fully asleep on his shoulder by the time they arrive. His arm around you, supporting you, he takes you inside, “You take the bed, okay? I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you mumble, leaning against him as he unlocks the door, hating how he liked the way you felt against him, and he sighs. No, it feels like he does. You were his friend first — anything he felt was irrelevant. He shut the door behind him.

Until it wasn’t. But it wouldn’t be relevant — not tonight.

“Come on,” he helps you to his bedroom, having you sit at the edge of the bed, kneeling as he takes your shoes off for you. He looks up to find you staring at him, eyes glassy, “What’s wrong?”

“You really care about me, don’t you, Sonny?” and he tilts his head.

“Of course I do,” he frowns, “what do you—”

And you kiss him. It’s brief, but in his mind, it feels like forever — your lips were as soft as he thought they would be. He tastes the alcohol on your tongue, but that’s nothing compared to you.

He had never wanted to feel this way.

When did he first feel it?

When you had comforted him about Coles? No, maybe when you asked him to join you for a drink after shadowing? Or maybe it was the moment he saw you in your office, when you told him to call you by your name — when you called him by his.

He pulls away, and you sit, breath hot against his, whispering so quietly he barely hears it even in the silence, “I wish he cared about me the way you did.”

And he supposed it didn’t matter — helping you lay down — because it didn’t mean anything anyway.

Your first memory is regret, followed by pain — in that order — a sharp pain in your head stirs you into consciousness and into terror because, not only were you surely going to die, but in a stranger’s home. A knife would have been kinder than a hangover — when was the last time you had one? Have you ever had one before?

Your stomach lurched — you didn’t need to think about that right now.

You pushed yourself up, mind swimming and muscles screaming, your eyes surely bench pressing a thousand pounds to stay open, what the fuck happened—

The picture on the bedside table came into focus — was that—

It was Sonny with his niece, both their smiling faces staring back at you — almost mocking the situation you had gotten yourself into.

What had you done last night?

You groan softly, as the memories come back to you, as your hand clutches at your forehead, slowly sliding down, — the fight, the bar, the drinking, calling Sonny to get you and— your fingers brush your lips—

Fuck.

You kissed him — you had kissed Sonny. Flashes of it came back — you rocking forward to kiss him, his lips soft against yours, pulling away from you. Tears burned your eyes — congrats, you had somehow managed to blow up your life in so many ways in one night.

You were the worst — the worst.

Was this rock bottom? You didn’t know you could fall so far — to the point where you didn’t recognize yourself — drinking to forget, hurting the people who cared, and throwing it away for someone who didn’t even care.

No more, you wiped your tears away, reaching for your purse, pulling a pen and notepad from your bag, this needed to end.

You deserved more.

You always did.

You walk into your apartment, stepping inside to the sound of someone walking around, and you tense, your phone clenched in your hand, glancing around — and then you hear his voice.

Breathless, he steps out from the kitchen, and he whispers your name in the silence of the morning. His arms around you in a moment, your arms at your sides“I’ve been calling all morning — I came here and you weren’t here, I thought something had—” he breaks off, seemingly able to breath again, but you couldn’t — you never could with him.

“What are you doing here?” you whisper, breaking away from him, taking several steps back.

“What do you mean? I called you — i couldn’t find you—”

“You don’t need to find me — it’s over,” your voice broke, crossing your arms, “leave.”

And his eyes are drawn to your sweatshirt, hanging low on your body, and his eyes narrow, “Were you with someone else?” You blink, realizing you still had Sonny’s sweatshirt on from last night, “were you cheating on—”

“Cheating?” you bark out a laugh, raising your eyebrows, “cheating on who? On what? We’re nothing to each other, Rafael. It was true last night, and it’s true today.”

“This isn’t nothing — we aren’t nothing,” he shakes his head, “what do you want? Do you want a relationship? Tell me, I’ll do it.”

“I want you to leave,” you swallow thickly, “It’s over, Raf, we can’t do this anymore.”

“I’m telling you I’ll do anything—” he whispers your name in the silence of your heart breaking, he steps forward and you step away — the gap between you a chasm, a lake made of your own tears, “I love you.”

You shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks, “No, no—”

“I do,” he pleads, “I do, mi amor.”

“You love me until you don’t,” you meet his gaze, emerald eyes shiny with tears, “I can’t do that anymore — I need more, I deserve more.”

He wipes his tears with the back of his hand, “This is it?”

“It is,” he steps forward, and you don’t step away this time, his warm cupping your cheek for the last time, your tears rolling over the knuckles of his fingers.

“Can I kiss you goodbye?” he asks — and you squeeze your eyes shut, nodding. His breath is warm against your lips, his touch comforting and familiar. Your lips meet — he feels like home, his arms around your waist, splayed and lingering as if they never wanted to leave — and you didn’t want them to. Your lips part and meet over and over, until you think he’s stolen the very breath from your lungs. Your fingers fisted in his shirt, and you don’t know if you want to push him away or pull him closer.

You pull away — and it takes everything in you, a sob stuck in your throat — your foreheads brushing, and his hands reach for you as you pull away, but you brush past him, “Please go,” your back to him, you don’t watch him leave, instead hearing his footsteps against the floor, the door creaking open, and a pause.

“I’m sorry, mi amor.”

And the door clicks shut, and you sink to the floor, your back to the bottom of your couch, as you cry silently.

You were too.

Sonny wakes up to the sound of a door closing.

He curses under his breath, throwing off his blanket haphazardly. He nearly trips over himself trying to leave his apartment. But his stumbling was not fast enough to catch you — already long disappeared down the stairs of his apartment. He walks back to his room, finding his bed made with wrinkled sheets — the same ones you had kissed him on — a note in your place:

Sonny,

I’m so sorry. I was in a bad place, I wasn’t myself, but it’s no excuse for how I treated you — making you pick me up, take care of me, and kissing you — and everything in between. It was a mistake. I can’t change what I already did, but I’m sorry for everything — and I won’t burden you again like that — ever.

‘It was a mistake.’

Sonny stares at the note — finger brushing against the wet splotch on the paper. And he couldn’t help but think there was another door that closed last night — and he wondered if there would ever be another chance.

There was a sharp knock at Rafael’s door, and Jack McCoy stuck his head in, “Counselor, do you have a minute?” Rafael barely looks up from his work — his late start and no sleep did him no favors, he was already buried in work and you were in motions hearings all morning on top of it.

Not that he wanted to see you anyway — not after this morning.

All night he had waited for you — he called, he texted, he left voicemails — he did everything but send you a fax. You always teased him that his propensity for sending a fax made his age show — and he always replied to that with a kiss and a grin with a promise to show you that with age came experience.

And now he would never kiss you again.

He looked for you too — he spent hours pacing his apartment until he couldn’t take it anymore — and he started to look. He checked with your friends, he looked in at the office, and he finally checked on your place. You had given him a key before — for emergencies — but usually it was for late nights he would crawl in beside you, his arms curled around your middle. And you would lean into his touch, a sigh on your lips, even as you slept.

And now he would never sleep next to you again.

“Rafael?” McCoy asked, and Rafael snapped from his stupor, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t sleep well last night,” he leaned back away from his work, clearing his throat, “what was it that you needed from me, Jack?”

“I just wanted to inform you that your A.D.A. has resigned with a week’s notice,” and he blinked, his heart slowly caving in upon itself, “I allowed as such since I figured with the case flow, we should be fine for a week with a man down, but if you need any help, please let me know and I”ll have another A.D.A. assist you.”

He nods, dumbstruck, as Jack turns to go, “Wait, Jack,” he looks back, “was there a reason given?”

He offers a sad and knowing smile, “Needed a change, new opportunities — a need to grow,” he slips his hands into his pockets, “everyone does, son.”

“Of course, thank you.” and there he knew — he knew that you had outgrew him.

And it was his fault.

It doesn’t take long for the news to spread across SVU — and you’re careful to drop by on a day that Sonny won’t be there, shame still lingering in your chest about that night. You knew that you should face him — you knew you should talk to him, but you knew that it would only make things harder. And you didn’t want to do that to him.

But mostly you didn’t want to do it to yourself.

“We’re going to miss you around here, counselor,” Liv squeezes your shoulder, offering you a warm smile.

“Won’t be the same without you — who else is going to get that stick out of Barba’s ass?” Fin asks, and you chuckle, but his name carves another fresh wound into your skin, lingering just as his touch did, “but seriously, you ever need anything—”

“I’ll take you up on that, Fin,”

“Seriously, anything you need,” Amanda smiles, and you nod, biting your lip.

“Could you actually do something for me?” you hold up a bag, “can you give this to Sonny? He lent it to me the other night at the office.”

Amanda frowns, “Don’t you want to tell him goodbye yourself?”

“I will, but I just want to make sure he gets this back first, before I forget,” you lie — and you hope she can’t see through it, see through you, but it feels like everyone can — skin rubbed raw from the last week, red and exposed and fragile, “please?”

“Of course,” she takes it without another word, but you can still feel her watching you as you leave the precinct for the last time, hands in your pockets.

It’s a large change — new job, new place, and new borough. And it takes some time.

You find another job relatively easily — the alumni network at your alma mater and your experience as a prosecutor makes it simple for you to step into place at a boutique defense firm in the Bronx. It’s as natural as a transition as you can hope for.

Your colleagues are kind, guiding, helpful — and your work is different, but familiar — a different view of the same picture with a distinct goal of making the government uphold its burden and to hold the phrase, “innocent until proven guilty” with conviction — and hopefully without a conviction for your clients.

When the news broke, it didn’t take long for you to hear the whispers and it didn’t take long for the whispers to become an outcry.

“Did you hear about the Manhattan A.D.A. on trial?” a first year associate asked another, and you freeze, your head snapping over, blood running cold.

“What happened?”

~~~

“Jack McCoy,”

“Jack, what the hell is going on?” you hissed in your office, shutters shut and door closed, “I just heard that—”

“That Rafael Barba is on trial for murder? You heard right,” a hint of a sigh in the back of his throat, “I had no choice — my hands were tied.” You knew he didn’t — your anger receding, the office can’t be seen giving him any favor. He needed to be treated like anyone else — but he wasn’t just anyone else, was he?

Not to you.

Your mouth was dry, “What happened?”

Jack explained — everything — the parents, the baby, the hospital. Two parents caught between an impossible decision about their child now deemed to be braindead, and a mother who wanted nothing more than her child to be at rest. But she wasn’t the one who did it. Rafael did, against the father’s wishes. And now he was going to trial for murder.

Even as Jack explained, your words kept echoing in your ears — “you’re too busy saving the rest of the world.”

“Does he have representation yet?” your mind raced with images of him in jail, the ostracization, the media outrage, the shame — fuck.

What the hell were you thinking, Rafael?

“Not to my knowledge, but you can’t—”

“I know I can’t,” you scoff, “but I know someone who can and will,” you scrolled through your contacts, finding the one you were looking for, “Is he okay?” you asked softly.

“As well as he can be,” you could almost see Jack frowning, “I don’t wish to see anything happen to him, but no one is above the law, you know that.”

“I know, but I also know him—” and despite everything — the pain, the heartbreak, the anger — you knew he didn’t deserve this, “and I know I can’t let him go to jail.”

“I know,” he warns, sighing, “I want the same result as you, counselor, just tread lightly.”

“I will,” a shay sigh escapes your chest, and you swallow the lump in your throat, trying not to let your voice break, “will he be okay?”

He gives a bitter chuckle, “After this many years of doing this, you would think I could predict what a jury will do — but I don’t know. Juries surprise you and that cuts both ways. And I hope this time it cuts the way we want it to.”

“Thank you Jack, for everything,”

You can almost see him smile, “Of course, anytime.”

And now there was one more phone call you needed to make — the phone only rang twice before he picked up, “Regretting your wrong choice in workplace already? Only after, what, a few weeks? I think that’s a new record in job changes, counselor.”

You snort. Randy Dworkin never changed, did he? “I told you, Randy — your firm is too much of a boys’ club for my taste.”

“But I know you play rough, and this is more a roughhouse than a boys’ club — you’d dominate them all in a moment, and we’d be nothing but your humble servants.”

“And here I thought you saved the theatrics for the courtroom,” you hear him give a small gasp.

“You wound me, counselor. And another thing, if you’re not calling to tell me you’ve changed your mind, then you must be calling for a favor. And as one of your old mentors, let me remind you of an old adage — you catch more flies with honey than vinegar,” you shake your head.

“It’s not exactly a favor,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “Let me start over — I need you to represent a former colleague of mine.”

“And this is not a favor, how?”

“Because this is a case you’re going to definitely want your name on.”

“If you don’t want to represent me, that’s fine,” Rafael was beginning to regret taking this meeting — even with half the defense attorneys in the city ducking his calls, maybe he would be better off defending himself pro se--

“I don't wanna represent you, I have to represent you. Cases like this wet my whistle, so to speak,” Dworkin explained, sighing, as Rafael raised an eyebrow, “So, what did the little bastard do to you?”

--And he was becoming more sure with every passing second.

“This was a mistake,” but Dworkin waves him back down.

“Okay, okay,” Dworkin backs off, looking all too pleased with himself, “I’ll skip the self-defense angle,” and Rafael found himself reluctantly sitting back down. Randy Dworkin may be smarmy, he may be endlessly irritating, but he was good at his job, better than good — as much as Rafael hated to admit it — and he needed help.

“I’m sorry I wasted your time, Mr. Dworkin,”

“Randy,” he corrects, “And my point is this whole thing is a sick joke. You killed something that nine out of ten doctors would say wasn't alive.”

“And what about the tenth doctor?” and that was the thought that haunted Rafael the most — he knew the smallest chance may be enough to convince a jury — it was enough to convince him he was guilty. No one was above the law, including him, guilty in his own eyes — in the eyes of the same god his mother had raised him to believe in.

And yet here he sat.

“Look, you wanna prove a point, and I wanna prove a point. It's what my nana would call the perfect shidduch,” Rafael raises an eyebrow, growing more weary of this conversation with every second.

“What point do you wanna prove?”

“That the government's power has grown too damn much. That the bigger the government gets, the smaller it leaves the individual. That once the government takes away our right to die, it takes away our right to live,” he looks self-satisfied, leaning back in his seat, “How am I doing so far?

Rafael’s jaw is set, “Well, for defending a murderer, not bad,” and Dworkin raises an eyebrow, shushing him dramatically.

“Let’s keep that self-sacrificial guilt locked up, okay? Save it for your religious leader of choice,” Dworkin leans in closer, “I know you put in calls for defense attorneys — I know you don’t want to go to jail, and I know other people don’t want to see you take the fall for this.”

“Other people?” he raises an eyebrow, and Dworkin seems to bite his tongue in the moment, a flicker of interest crossing his face, “did someone refer this case to you?”

“It’s not exactly a low profile nobody case, Barba — the story is splashed across half the tabloids and all over the news—”

“But you just—”

“Let’s focus on getting you off first,” Dworkin tilts his head, “or did you forget that you’re on trial for murder?”

Rafael wrinkles his brow, the question still nagging at the back of his head — a question mark at the end of a paragraph that lingered like an unspoken taboo he couldn’t place — but, Dworkin was right — right now, he couldn’t waste time.

Time that he really didn’t have.

“You didn’t tell me when I took this case that I was getting in between some doomed office relationship you conveniently failed to disclose before,” you didn’t realize this lunch Randy had invited you to involve an ambush — but you should have — it was Randy Dworkin.

“I didn’t see how that was pertinent,” you shrug, picking at your food, “and it wasn’t a relationship.”

“Puh-tat-o, puh-tat-toe — it’s still a cow if it moos, no?” he snorts, shaking his head, “it’s only pertinent when I almost let it slip that you were the one that referred the case to my attention.”

That gets your attention, head snapping up, “And you?”

“Masterfully avoided the question — I have excellent evasion skills — the fact that I never had a career in the C.I.A. should be criminal,” he looks up from his food, a shit eating grin on his lips, “It wasn’t hard — he has a lot more on his mind right now.”

“I can only imagine,” you murmur, your brow wrinkled as you stabbed a fry with your fork, appetite woefully gone.

“Your face will freeze like that,” and you scoff.

“And yet I’ll still look better than you,” he laughs at that.

“I always told you that you should have come and worked for me out of law school, instead of going to the D.A.’s office,” he wipes his lips with his napkin, “maybe you wouldn’t have fallen for this schmuck—”

You raise an eyebrow, “He’s not—”

“Still supportive? Even after the way he treated you—” and you gape at him, “you know that rumors get around — the community is small and people talk as much as they listen — it’s an incesteous cesspool of heathens,” and he gestures to you and him, “look no further.”

“Speak for yourself,” you grumble, cheeks burning, “I’m sorry what rumors?”

“You don’t need to know, kid,” he shakes his head, “my question is more focused on the present — why do you still care?”

“Because he doesn’t deserve to go down for this—”

“And he probably wouldn’t either way, but why do you care?”

“I don’t know, okay?” you snap, “I wish I did, but I don’t. But despite everything that happened — I don’t want to see him suffer. I don’t want him to go to jail,” your voice cracks ever so slightly, and Randy frowns at you, expression unreadable, “Call me an idiot, but I care — I can’t help it.”

“Most times that’s an asset, counselor,” he leans forward, elbow on the table, “as long as you don’t let anyone take advantage of it — not again.”

“I won’t,” you say softly, as the waiter comes over to hand over the check, helping to pack up the rest of your food to go, “I never thanked you for taking the case.”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” he smiles, handing over the server book, “you’re picking up the check.”

“On the sole count of the indictment, murder in the second degree, we find the defendant, Rafael Barba — not guilty.” the foreman announces, and relief floods Rafael, all the same time that guilt does — the two emotions irrevocably tied — lifting him up and dragging him down — a balloon and an anchor.

Dworkin claps him on the shoulder, “Congratulations, counselor, and you’re welcome. My bill is the mail.”

“Thank you, Randy,” he shakes his hand, “really, I—”

“Spare me the speech, okay? I appreciate it, but I was doing my job, just like you did yours,” he offers him a smile, “and besides there’s someone else you should really be thanking.”

He frowns, “Who?”

Your name leaves his lips, and Rafael blinks, “How the case got referred to me? That’s how,” he hadn’t heard your name in months, and yet the hurt of you leaving still felt fresh — a knife twisted in his gut, even as the flesh around it healed and scarred, the metal still stung the same as the day you left.

Or rather, the day he made you leave.

It was his fault — he knew that now. And maybe that was the point — to drive you away, to push you so far that there was no coming back. Self-destructive — self sacrificial just as Dworkin had called him — except he had sacrificed you instead of him. It should have been him — his fears, his worries, his walls — offered at the alter of your unconditional love.

But he didn’t. He didn’t and he regretted it — but was regret enough?

“Why are you telling me this?” and Dworkin shrugs, grabbing his briefcase with a sigh. When his gaze meets his again, it’s sharp as a jagged rock.

“I don’t know honestly,” he licks his lips, “I still think you’re a schmuck, but I know certain other people don’t think so,” he sticks a hand in his pocket, “and if you do get another chance, don’t screw it up. Otherwise, there won’t be a defense attorney in town who will help you next time you screw up.”

He leaves Rafael standing, dumbstruck.

And what was he to do now — with his future open and empty, what was left and who did he want to share it with?

And there was only one answer to that question.

There was knocking at your door — incessant and irritating that forced you out of bed at 11:00 PM — the one night of week you were able to get to bed early. And part of you only hoped it was a murderer to put you out of your misery — but you knew even the murderers weren’t so polite as to knock. But then again, you could be surprised.

But it wasn’t a murderer — at least in the eyes of a New York jury.

It was someone much worse.

And then it occurred to you — how did he know where you even lived— and then you groan, swearing silently under your breath.

Fuck you, Randy.

You lean back, head leaning back, staring at the ceiling, were you ready for this? Would you ever be ready for this?

You unlock the door, opening it, “What are you doing here?”

“Please, I know I don’t deserve it— I don’t deserve anything from you, but please let me talk,” his voice is soft, and fuck, it hits you in so many ways — his voice, his face, him — it’s overwhelming enough to hear him, but to see him here. It’s too much and not enough all the same — to see him and not touch him.

But he placed this ravine between you, carved it with the shards of your heart, filled it with your tears, and it was his job to scale.

And it wasn’t your job to make it easy.

“You don’t deserve it,” you wanted him to slip on the slippery crags of rock, you wanted him to cut his hands on the sharp edges of your bitterness, “so why should I listen?”

“Because I love you—” and you scoff, “I know I don’t have any right to say that, but please, let me just talk,” and you know he’s not going anywhere, and despite yourself — despite not wanting to give him the chance he had for months and for years — you wanted to know, you wanted him to explain. You grit your teeth, stepping aside, shutting the door behind him, arms crossed.

“You have two minutes,”

He clears his throat, “First, thank you for sending Dworkin my way, I don’t think I would have gotten off—”

“I didn’t let you in to be thanked,” you cut him off, “what do you have to say, Rafael?”

He wavers for a moment, “I love you, mi amor, and I know I don’t get to say that or call you that, but I do, I really do,” his voice breaks, “I know I don’t deserve you — I think I knew that from the start, and maybe that’s why I didn’t treat you right. It’s not an excuse—”

“And yet it sounds like one—”

“I was wrong — I took you for granted, and I will spend the rest of my life making that up to you if you give me the chance,” Rafael steps forward, dropping to one knee and your breath catches in your throat.

No. No. He wasn’t—

“I love you, mi amor — from our first kiss I was lost in you already — so much so that it scared me — afraid if I lost you, I would lose myself too. I know we both put away criminals for a living, but I was never scared of dying — I was scared of losing you.” he shakes his head, “But it doesn’t scare me anymore. It doesn’t scare me because losing you was the worst thing to ever happen to me. And I don’t want to ever lose you again.”

He pulls a ring from his pocket.

Time slows as you stare at it — wondering if you blink that it would disappear from between his fingers. It still somehow glinted in the low light of your dimmers — as shiny as his eyes were as he gazed up at you.

You had dreamed of this moment — far too many times — a time where Rafael would come around, finally see you for who you were, find the worth in you like the way you saw it in him. A sweeping moment where he would be down on one knee, asking for your hand, and it would be simple and perfect — but nothing is ever perfect. And nothing is ever simple.

You cover your mouth, “Wh—”

“Marry me,” he says, whispering your name with the reverence you had always wished he would, “I got the ring from my mom — she already gave us her blessing — she said I was an idiot for letting you in the first place.” he offers a weak smile.

“Raf—”

“Just let me finish, before you make a decision,” he licks his lips, eyes glassy, insistent in his words, as if he was hanging his life on each one, “Come away with me — we can start over, away from politics and baggage — find a place somewhere outside the city. You always said you wanted to open your own practice someday, have a family. We can do that, you and me together,” he builds this perfect life from scratch — and you see it — you saw it before: a house in the suburbs, a picket fence, and a family — you and Rafael, your hands intertwined, together, “We’ll make a home, I’ll find a job without crazy hours, we’ll go on dates, I’ll help you open your own practice. We’ll be together, like before—”

“But we aren’t together, Rafael— we haven’t been for months,”

“I know, I know—”

“No, you don’t,” you step back away from him, scrubbing your hand down your face, “this isn’t a movie, you can’t break my heart and come back months later telling me you made a mistake.”

“Mi amor—”

“No, no ‘mi amor’ — not when you played with my feelings for years, not when you said no at every turn, not when you dropped my heart like it was glass and crushed it beneath the heel of your shoes,” you spit back, “I called Dworkin because I didn’t want you to go to jail — nothing more, nothing less.”

You hear his heart breaking, “I love you—”

“I don’t,” you don’t let him see the tears falling from your eyes, “I can’t do this again. I can’t uproot my life for someone who could change their mind tomorrow. You had your chance. You lost it.”

“Don’t say that,”

“I did,” you wipe away your tears, you’ve cried enough for him, “it’s over. I don’t know what else will make it clearer to you.”

“Look at me, please, look—” and you whirl on him, and you see him on his knees still — “Tell me you don’t love me — say that you don’t. And I’ll leave.”

“I don’t love you anymore, Rafael,” and you wished that your words were truer than they were — that those words didn’t hurt as much to say as they were to hear. But they did and they were. You wanted to hate him, you hated to have no inch of remorse, but feelings were always two fold — and with anger came passion, with sadness came joy, and with hate came love. And the lines blurred until they were no more. And as much as you wanted to hate him — you knew you didn’t.

But you had to say that you did.

Because you couldn’t do this again for him to change his mind again — your heart couldn’t take that. You didn’t deserve to take that.

And there was nothing left to be said.

He slowly rises from his knees, tucking the ring into his pocket, along with the broken pieces of his heart.

You should let him leave without another word, you should let him leave without having to look at your face, you should let him leave — but a part of you doesn’t want to let go, a part of you doesn’t want to believe this will be the last time you see his face or hear his voice.

But still you ask, “Are you leaving New York?”

He nods, “I am — I can’t stay here.”

“Where are you going?” A part of you wonders if he’ll just ignore you, rush out of the door — let you wonder about his plans, wonder about him — but you know you’ll do that anyway.

You find him softly smiling, unable to quite meet your gaze, and he steps towards you, slowly, allowing you the time and space to step away — but you don’t, you can’t — not when this may be the last time you can touch him — but it was your choice to have this be the last time.

“I don’t know,” he replies, leaning forward slowly to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering only a moment, his fingers brushing your cheek, “but you don’t need to worry about that. Goodbye… mi amor.”

“Goodbye, Rafael,” you whisper, unable to watch him leave — not again.

#rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagines #sonny carisi #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi imagines #svu #law and order: svu #svu imagines #svu fanfiction

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tommykinkard · 4 years ago

Note

ADJSJS BUCKS “ IM FINE IM NOT THE ONE WHO GOT SHOT”

LIKE SIR

SURE IT WASNT YOU WHO GOT SHOT BUT IT WAS UR HUSBAND UR ALLOWED TO NOT BE OKAY

OH GOD NO BUCK DONT THROW YOURSELF INTO DANGER JUST CAUSE YOU DONT WANT TO THINK ABOUT HOW SCARED YOU ARE

NO WAIT IS THAT THE SNIPER

BUCK HOW CAN YOU JUST SEE THAT AND NOT TELL ANYONE

OH MY GOD NO HE BLAMES HIMSELF FOR WHAT HAPPENED

IM CRYING

ikr??? Buck not being okay AT ALL to the point where he blames himself so much that he thinks it would've been best if it was him instead of Eddie and he wanted to get shot by the sniper. I just alsjsjshehehe Buck bby let me hug you.

WAIT NO TAYLOR WTF

WHYD YOU KISS HIM HIS HUSBANDS IN THE HOSPITAL

SHDJSNS NOW SHES LEAVING

YAY EDDIE'S AWAKE

'his husbands in the hospital' alajsjsh 😂😅 and seriously! Like Taylor I get this is an emotional time and Buck could've gotten shot again but now is not the time to kiss Buck. I'm still not over the timing of Eddie waking up right when Taylor kissed him. Eddie's Jealous Ho senses were tingling and had to wake up immediately and talk to the Buck 😂😂

yo wait i just realized this is the first time i’ve seen ana since he got shot kinda sus how the “love interest” has been absent 👀

Very sus indeed. Like Ana said one line this entire episode. Hell we didn't even see Eddie wake up to her or her reaction to him getting shot (both of which we saw with Ali when Buck's leg got crushed). All we saw was her sitting at Eddie's bedside one time, then when Buck arrives, she literally stepped aside so that Buck and Eddie can fully see each other and reunite (I'm sensing a symbolism here). My sister described her as an ornament and she basically was. Interesting how the love interest is a bg character that doesn't have one-on-one moments with Eddie while Buck's entire arc this ep was pretty much what usually a love interest's role is when something like this happens 👀🤔

OH MY GID NO BOBBY

BOBBY GOT SHOT

I WAS NOT PREPARED FOR THIS

Bobby getting hurt too was so hard. But I just LOVED how Buck and Athena worked together (along with everyone else) to save Bobby. Mother and son working together to go save the dad. AND WHEN ATHENA LITERALLY WALKED THROUGH FIRE. Aksjshsjsj these two are SUCH goals I swear.

OH MY GOD MADDIE MY LOVE

IM SO WORRIED ABOUT HER

I know my poor Maddie. But I'm so freaking happy that she asked for help. That scene and this entire sl in general is so incredibly important. This is a giant step in a better direction for her and I'm so yet again so freaking glad that she has Chimney in her life. Hope things get better for them.

OH MY GOD ITS THIS SCENE

OH MY GOD THE WAY THEY TRUST EACH OTHER

“ NO ONE WILL EVER FIGHT FOR MY SON AS HARD AS YOU”

IM SCREAMING

“YOU ACT LIKE YOURE EXPENDABLE BUT YOURE WRONG”

I'M SCREAMING RIGHT THERE WITH YOU. It's officially been a week (crying about it) and I'm STILL screaming about this scene. Will I ever stop? Absolutely not. The way they trust each other indeed. Like good luck Ana and Taylor or anyone else who wants to date them bc Buck and Eddie sure as hell aren't gonna trust anyone more than they trust each other, which includes their SO's. Can't wait for them to realize what's wrong with this picture and actually do something about it. But yeah this scene will forever make me feral I can't even. (It's like the emotional version of The Kitchen Scene™ if tho that one had emotional moments but still).

OH MY GOD AND HEN AND KAREN SEEING NIA AND HER MOM

THE PICNIC

listen I am SOOO freaking happy that we saw Nia again and her being happy but still remembering Hen and Karen and Denny. And then her mom.thanking them. And the picnic asdfghjkllsha. I cried ngl.

THE WELCOME HOME PARTY

Ah the welcome home party. Where we see Eddie reunite with his everyone, but especially Christopher as the camera focuses on the father and son and then pans to Buck smiling brightly at them. Like they're girlfriends are literally RIGHT THERE and yet we focus on the Buckley Diaz family. Ajajsssksjsh. That entire moment warmed my heart.

WAIT OH MY GOD ALBERTS A FIREFIGHTER

"FIREFIGHTER HAN"

AGDJAKMSKSJ

right??? like earlier this episode when Albert picked up Hen's phone my mind immediately went "hmmm I wonder if Albert will be a firefighter next season" but then I completely forgot about that thought and then that ending scene came I aksjsjshssksjs I was so freaking happy I can't even (also Ravi the Probie was there in that scene which made me really happy bc I really love him). Seeing the 118 firefam being there to support Firefighter Albert just alwjakajshshshs *clenches heart*

OH MY GOD AND THE SUPPORT NOTICE FOR PEOPLE WITH POSTPARTUM DEPRESSION

THIS SHOW REALLY IS DOING A LOT TO BRING ATTENTION TO LOTS OF SERIOUS THINGS AND THAT IS SO AMAZING

I know right?? ngl I'm in awe with how many important and serious things they bring up that need to be talked about. Especially something like Postpartum which is incredibly important to talk about and show but rarely is. Along with everything else they talk about which is either rarely shown or not at all (like Hen's story with the medical racism and prejudices or the conversation that Athena and Hen had about that missing girl). One of the many, many reasons why Iove this show so damn much.

IM CRYING WHY IS IT OVER

I'M CRYING RIGHT THERE WITH YOU. Tonight was the first night without a new episode and I'm a mess. idk how I'm gonna handle this summer hiatus until s5. I'm probably gonna do a rewatch lol.

Anyways, sorry this is late and I hope it's okay that I put the rest of the asks together. But I'm freaking glad you finished the show and loved it so much too! It truly is *chef's kiss*

#kj gets an ask #the rosee tag #911 #buddie #911 fox

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sweet-sammy-kisses · 3 years ago

Text

The Sun Leading Me Out of the Storm

Title: The Sun Leading Me Out of the Storm Link : AO3 Square Filled: Thunderstorm Ship: Eddie x Buck Rating: Teen Tags: Shannon Diaz Lives, Divorced Eddie and Shannon, Background Taylor/Shannon, Minor Eddie/Ana, Soft and Pining Eddie and Buck Summary: Eddie had already lived a life without Buck in it during the lawsuit and it had been worse than living without Shannon. It had been like half his soul had been ripped out of him, he had been lost in a storm than as well. Only that had been a storm of rage because he had been left adrift without his sun.

Buck is his sun.

Buck never failed to fill him with warmth when he needed it or shine the light dispelling the darkness. Created for @911bingo and @anyfandomfluffbingo

Eddie felt like he was trapped in a never-ending thunderstorm, lost in the rain, his voice drowned out by the thunder and his vision blinded by the lightning. He had felt that way since he started dating Ana and Buck began to distance himself from him.

He was lost in the storm and he didn't know which way it was out.

Ana was sweet, she was beautiful and it was easy being with her. She is everything that Shannon is not. He knows his parents would love her, she is their ideal partner for him. He can already hear his mother asking him when their wedding will be. His father would be proud of him. He would finally have their respect and that is all he wants.

Or at least that is thought he wanted.

There was no passion with Ana.

And then there is Christopher, his whole world. Christopher likes Ana but isn't fond of their relationship or fully supportive.

"She makes me feel like I can't do certain things. Not like Buck does."

Christopher's words echoed in him.

Ana was nice and easy to be with but he wasn't happy. Neither was Chris. And he didn't feel like he was himself with her. Like he was wearing a mask or acting a part. To Ana, he is Edmundo, not Eddie and she doesn't seem to want to get to know Eddie, she is happy with Edmundo.

Buck loves Eddie. He loves the imperfect man that has flaws but does his best.

Buck loves with his full heart, who just wants to be loved and not left behind and Eddie feels like he has failed in that. Since Ana came around Eddie has allowed the distance between them to grow because how was he supposed to be with Ana when the one that completes his and Chris' world is already with them?

There were two paths out of the storm one was with Ana and the other, the one his heart and soul are tugging him towards is with Buck.

If he continued down his path with Ana, where neither he and Chris are truly happy he would end up making his parents happy and finally feel like they truly love him. He would spend his life playing a role that he doesn't want.

But if he took the chance, if he acted on what is between him and Buck. What has been building between them since they met and Buck was so determined to hate him, which didn't last long, he could have a taste of true happiness.

Don't get him wrong he loved Shannon, she will always be special to him and he will always be grateful to her for giving him their son. But she had been right in divorcing him. They just weren't meant to be. They had been happy but now they were happier as co-parents to the most amazing kid and Shannon seemed to be happy with Taylor Kelly of all people. He can't believe that Buck set them up.

Shannon studied her ex-husband, "So I hear you are dating again."

A groan escaped Eddie, he had known that this was coming. "Yes, I am. Is that going to be a problem?" The last thing that he needed was for Shannon to have issues with Ana, okay so Shannon still hadn't completely gotten over Ana's attitude towards Chris and saying he needs limits after the whole skateboard incident.

"No, I am just wondering why you are going after your parent's dream girl and not following your heart."

Eddie froze, "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Oh Eddie, you can lie to yourself but you can't lie to me. We both know that while you might be attracted to Ana you are only dating her because she would make your parents happy. And you shouldn't have to pretend to be someone you are not to get their approval. You, Eddie Diaz, are amazing as who you are." Eddie hadn't even seen Shannon move until she was standing before him and had her hands on her shoulders. "And we both know that there is someone out there who loves Eddie Diaz with all of his heart. But in the end, it is up to you, do you want to be Eddie or do you want to be Edmundo."

Shannon's words stuck with him, they buried themselves deep into his heart and whispered in his ear when he was with Ana and he tucked who he was away and played the role of Edmundo for her.

"Make sure you are following your heart and not Christopher's."

Carla's words stayed with him as well and they both knew that he wasn't following either his heart or Chris'. Chris had made it clear who he saw as his third parent, who he loves so deeply. Chris had made his choice long ago and now he was just waiting for his dad to make his.

Getting shot and seeing Buck covered in blood haunted him as did reaching out to him the need to know that Buck wasn't harmed. Buck told him that it should have been him filled his nightmares. Telling Buck that he was Christopher's guardian should anything happen to both he and Shannon had been easy because Eddie needed Buck to see that he wasn't expendable, that he is love more than he realizes.

Eddie had already lived a life without Buck in it during the lawsuit and it had been worse than living without Shannon. It had been like half his soul had been ripped out of him, he had been lost in a storm than as well. Only that had been a storm of rage because he had been left adrift without his sun.

Buck is his sun.

Buck never failed to fill him with warmth when he needed it or shine the light dispelling the darkness.

"I am a fool." Eddie knew which path he needed to take to get out of the storm.

+******+

Buck was bored. Shannon had his favourite Diaz for the weekend and she had a full weekend planned. He didn't want to disrupt the mother and son weekend, plus it seemed off that Eddie wasn't with him and Christopher, so he stayed away.

He could have visited his beautiful niece and checked in with his sister to make sure that she was doing okay but Chimney had been playing a special weekend for him and Maddie could read him like a book and the surprise would be ruined.

So here Buck was wandering around his loft unsure as what to do. He could call up Eddie but he didn't want to risk the chance that he was out with Ana or she was over at his place finally staying the night like she had been hinting at every since Eddie had recovered. There was only so much feeling his heart ripped out of his chest he could take pretending to be happy that Eddie, his best friend, the love of his life, was finally moving on.

He just wishes it was him Eddie was moving on with.

The sound of frantic knocking pulled Buck out of his thoughts and since he hadn't been expecting anyone and hadn't ordered any food he had no clue who was there. Still, at least it was something other than sitting around and pining for his best friend.

"Eddie?" When Buck opened his door he never expected to come face-to-face with a frantic-looking Eddie.

"I'm in love with you."

Or for Eddie to say that.

Given the look on Eddie's face, he hadn't expected to say that. "Why don't you come in." Stepping back for the door Buck waited for Eddie to move past him and then he shut the door.

Buck could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he turned to look at Eddie. "Did you mean it?"

Eddie wasted no time in closing the distance between them and cupping Buck's face with his hands, "I do. I am in love with you Evan Buckley. I have been for a long time. You are the sunshine that pulls me out of the raging storms and brings back the warmth into my life. Without you, I would be lost and adrift."

"I'm in love with you Eddie Diaz. I have been for so long that I can't remember a time that I didn't love you. Even when Abby still had a place in my heart I knew that what I felt for her was a shadow compared to what I felt for you and those feelings have only grown." Buck admitted in a soft voice.

Stroking Buck's cheek Eddie felt like his whole world had settled, "I'm sorry it took me so long to get here. I'm sorry I hurt you with Ana. I went with what my parents would want instead of following my own heart."

Resting his forehead against Eddie's Buck smile was full of love, "All that matters is that you got here. And now you are stuck with me for life."

Eddie's eyes shone with pure love, "Good because I wouldn't have it any other way." And then he was moving and doing something he had been dreaming of for so long kissing Buck.

Buck melted into the kiss as he clung to Eddie. Never had a kiss left him so weak in the knees and he wondered if this is what it felt like kissing your soulmate.

Eddie would still have storms but Buck would always be there showing him the way out of them and back into the sunshine.

#buddie #buck x eddie #otp: you can have my back anytime #911 bingo #sherri writes #my fics #any fandom fluffy bingo #any fandom fluff bingo

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miracleonice87 · 4 years ago

Text

Full of Surprises

a Matthew Tkachuk one-shot

a/n: I rewatched the Tkachuk family Spittin Chiclets interview this morning from the All-Star game in St. Louis and it got me in my Matty feelings. Here’s a proposal story full of fun surprises. Enjoy!

warnings: just swearing — otherwise, total and complete fluff

_____

“Do they know?” I whispered, one arm entwined with one of Matthew’s as both of us stared at the glimmering ring on my left hand.

“Does who know?” Matthew asked in a matching whisper, ducking his head in front of my face. I knew just what he was after — I placed a kiss on the top part of his ear, his favorite, and allowed my tongue to dart out just slightly, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Does your family know?” I clarified as he sat up straight, smirking at me.

We were flying first class, headed to the Tkachuks’ summer home in Cape Cod. I knew that his parents and both of his siblings would be there, but had no concept of how many of them, if any, knew of the engagement that had begun only about eight hours beforehand, on the beach in Bimini.

What I had seen simply as a much-needed getaway from Matthew’s rigid summer workout schedule and from my own bustling days as a graphic designer had quickly turned into the official start of a lifetime together, complete with a Bahamian backdrop.

Matthew shook his head. “No, they have no idea,” he informed me as he pressed a kiss to my temple. I nuzzled my head against his bicep and let my eyes flutter closed, partially in bliss and partially because Matthew and I had gotten maybe two hours of sleep total since the moment he proposed, what with all the celebrating the two of us had done in our hotel room.

I was suddenly so anxious to share our news with our loved ones, starting with Matthew’s family. I smiled at the thought of rehashing the story for any and all who wanted to hear it.

_____

“Matty...” I whispered, tears swiftly filling my eyes and an enormous lump sneaking into my throat.

Matthew had suggested a walk on the beach following our final dinner at the Bimini resort, where we had we spent the evening holding hands over a candlelit table on a private balcony of one of the resort’s fabulous restaurants. After we finished our seafood dinner entrees, he had fed me my half of a delectable piece of chocolate cake as we laughed together behind glasses of red wine.

Little did I know that the sweetest treat was about to come.

Here he was, kneeling in the sand before me, holding a black velvet box, propped open to display the most gorgeous oval-cut diamond ring I’d ever laid eyes on.

“Matty,” I repeated, this time aloud, as I found my voice again. I took a cautious step toward him and wrapped my hands around his outstretched wrist.

“Taylor... baby?” Matthew prompted, his voice strained, shaky. I suddenly realized that the man in front of me had just poured out his soul to me — promising forever, promising a home together, promising a shared legacy of love, joy, and children. And I had yet to give him the answer he was seeking, or any answer at all. His question hung in the ocean air — time stood still.

“Yes! Oh, yes, Matty, yes! Of course!” I choked out, both of us suddenly overcome with nervous and relieved giggles. He sprung to his feet to kiss me, taking my face in his hands and giving me a firm, lingering kiss.

“Can I put the ring on you now?” Matthew asked when he finally pried his lips away from mine. It was then that reality hit and the tears started to flow.

“Yes! Yes, baby.” I held out a shaking left hand to him, which he stroked with his thumb and kissed sweetly before pulling the ring from the box and slipping it onto my finger.

“Oh, my god, it fits perfectly! It’s so beautiful, Matthew!” I exclaimed, gasping at how truly remarkable it looked on my hand. I had imagined what this moment would be like for so many years, ever since I was a young girl with blue glasses in Mrs. Kingsley’s first grade class at McKinley Elementary, watching Matthew play tag from across the playground. The gravity of this moment overwhelmed me and exceeded my every long-held expectation.

The tears continued as I held my hand up to Matthew, showing off my newest accessory. He grinned widely.

“Stay right there, baby,” he instructed, fumbling for his phone in his shorts pocket. “I wanna remember this.” He eventually retrieved the device from his pocket and snapped a quick photo of the momentous occasion before putting his phone away once more. He pulled me in close, our chests flush against each other, hearts racing, and we shared dozens more kisses and laughs there on the shore, both realizing that our forever started tonight.

_____

“Are you happy?” Matthew whispered. My eyes opened and I turned my face up toward his.

“Am I happy?” I asked with an incredulous scoff. “Baby, I’m the happiest,” I reassured. “You make me the happiest.” I sat up further in my plane seat and kissed his cheek, and he smiled down lazily at me. “Good. That’s all that matters to me,” he said.

“Are you happy?” I countered.

He waited a beat, looking deeply into my hazel eyes. “The happiest. The luckiest,” he whispered, stroking my chin with his thumb. I kissed the digit as we stared at each other in content, peaceful silence.

_____

An hour later, our flight landed at Boston Logan Airport. Matthew picked up our suitcases from baggage claim, and we were off to join the Tkachuks at the Cape.

I placed my aviators on my nose as I walked through the automatic doors at the airport’s exit, my newly dubbed fiancé just a step behind me.

“Where’s the car?” I asked over my shoulder, knowing that Matt had arranged for his usual car service to pick us up and haul us to the vacation home.

“Oh, uh... right there.” Matthew threw his head casually in the direction of a black stretch limousine further down the pickup lane. My jaw went slack.

“Matty...” I whispered, peering at him over my sunglasses. “You never get a limo!” He threw his head back in an easy laugh. “Well, I never get engaged, either! Until now,” he remarked. He kissed my cheek and patted my ass lightly with the closed hand that also held his duffle.

“Now, come on, my bride-to-be,” he encouraged. “We’ve got places to be.” I shook my head in disbelief as he sauntered toward the limousine.

_____

Just over an hour later, Matthew and I were pulling into the driveway of the beautiful summer home his family had owned for years. My heart flooded with anticipation. I could not wait for us both to go bounding into the house with our big announcement and be surrounded by loved ones.

“Should I wear my ring? Or should I try and hide it somehow?” I asked quickly, turning toward Matthew as I finished applying some lip gloss, the last step of freshening up my appearance after a long flight.

“You can do whatever you wanna do, babe,” he said, leaning forward and insisting on kissing my freshly-glossed pout. He licked his lips immediately and moaned. “Mmm, peppermint,” he said in a low voice. I chuckled and placed a hand against his cheek, knowing we were sure to celebrate the occasion alone many more times throughout tonight, hopefully after some rest.

“I’m just gonna wear it,” I told him. A grin spread wide across my face as I added, “I’m not gonna be able to keep the news in for long anyway.” Matthew smiled brightly. “Me either, T. Me either,” he told me, kissing my left hand as he had countless times already.

I drew a deep breath and smoothed my fingers over the fabric of my white sundress as the car pulled to a stop in the circular drive in front of the house. It was only when I looked out the window that I noticed all the cars parked alongside the perimeter that I had apparently been too busy to see while primping.

“Matty... what are all of these cars doing here? Who’s here?” I asked softly, frozen, eyes wide. Matthew’s smirk overtook one side of his face.

“Why don’t you go see, babe?” he prompted. I opened my mouth and closed it again, unsure of what to do, or say, or even think.

“Okay,” I finally whispered, taking the hand he had offered me as we moved out of our seats, leaving our belongings behind.

Hand in hand, we walked into the breezeway and through the side door of the house. It was... empty?

I looked up at Matthew, about to ask again why there were so many vehicles in the drive, when a familiar voice called out to us from the back porch.

“Out here!” Chantal...

Matthew was now openly beaming at me, ornery chuckles racking his chest as he gently guided my rigid form to the back sliding glass door. One glance outside stole my breath.

All of his family, all of my family, and dozens of our friends and his teammates stood together in the yard, crowded around tables decked in white, with bundles of silver and white balloons tied together with gold tulle scattered across the lawn. Among the balloon bunches were giant helium-filled diamond rings, and a banner reading “Congratulations, Matthew and Taylor!” was draped across the front of the cabana by the pool.

From where I stood just inside the door, I saw all four of the Tkachuks, my parents, my brother Sean, and my sister Erin huddled together on the deck, the other guests in the yard below starting to cheer as Matthew tenderly pulled me outside. “Come on, babe,” he coaxed with a smile. “There are some people here to see you.”

Tears stung my eyes as I finally stepped outside, clutching Matthew’s hand tightly, fully relying on him to support me and hold me up, both physically and emotionally, just as he always had.

My mom stepped forward from the group first, cupping my face in her hands, tears falling freely onto our cheeks.

“Mommy... you knew!” I said breathlessly. My dad came toward me next, eyes damp, kissing the top of my head. “You all knew!” I exclaimed, loudly enough that many of our other guests several yards away started laughing.

“We knew, sweetheart. Your wonderful fiancé has had all of this planned for quite some time!” my mother explained, pulling away from a tight hug.

“I can’t believe you came all the way from St. Louis!” I told my parents. With a squeeze of my hand, my dad said, “Of course we did. We wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I threw my arms around them once more, then turned to Keith and Chantal, the sight of them causing me to cry harder.

“Oh, honey! Don’t cry! We’re so happy for you guys,” Keith told me, pulling me close for a hug and kiss on the cheek, his chest vibrating with laughter, as Chantal put her arms around both of us. “So happy, Taylor,” she said, her voice tight as tears escaped her.

Matthew came toward us, having already been greeted warmly by his parents and siblings, and rubbed my back soothingly, his siblings in tow. “I would say welcome to the family, but you’ve already been part of the family for years now, so congratulations, T!” Brady mused, ducking past his brother to wrap me in a suffocating hug, lifting me slightly off the ground.

“Don’t break my sister!” Taryn warned, swiping under her damp eyes. The three of us laughed together, Brady slinging an arm around my shoulder while Taryn enveloped me warmly, sobs shuddering our shoulders. “You’re marrying my stupid brother! What the hell,” she laughed. I pulled back and looked at her with a giddy chuckle. “What the hell!” I echoed emphatically.

Matthew laughed along as he pulled away from hugging both my siblings, who then stepped forward to greet me, Erin squealing as the three of us jumped up and down a few times, arms circling one another. Matthew put his arms around my waist after Erin and Sean each hugged me and kissed my face, rushed words of congratulations and disbelief flying from their lips, as if they’d been holding them in for ages. I leaned back against Matthew’s chest for a moment before turning in his grasp.

“They all knew,” I said in awe. “Everybody knew!” Matthew nodded, carefully swiping his thumb under my eyes so as not to completely wreck my makeup. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to tell them yourself, but I just wanted everyone to be here with us to celebrate,” he said.

“Matty, don’t you dare apologize! The last twelve hours have made me so goddamn happy — I can’t even explain it,” I told him, gripping his white button-down at his waistline as I kissed him firmly, his insistence about the two of us wearing similar outfits for the flight home finally making sense.

“Me too, Taylor. Honestly. I just wanna spend the rest of my days making you as happy as I possibly can,” he told me, his blue eyes sparkling from a few happy tears.

I could not believe that my strong, stubborn, sassy fiancé was crying again for the second time in less than one full day. I kissed the tip of his nose and tucked some of his hair behind his ear.

“You are just full of surprises, Matthew Tkachuk,” I told him, slinging my arms around his neck.

He angled his face closer, stopping just short of pressing his lips on mine.

“You sure you’re ready for a lifetime of me, future Mrs. Tkachuk?” he asked. My heart soared. He guided my hips to sway back and forth gently, the sort of natural, comfortable, everyday dance I was fully prepared to enjoy for the rest of time.

“Hell yeah,” I mumbled against his lips, joyful tears springing to my eyes once more, as our mouths finally met.

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illfoandillfie · 4 years ago

Text

What You Want Me To Be

FUTURE MANAGEMENT MASTERLIST

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Summery: Roger makes a suggestion that leads to a little role reversal

Warnings: SMUT (18+), hypnosis, bimbofication, sub!roger, dom!reader, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex,mild feminzation/sissification - specifically through appearance

Words: 9222

A/N: So this was a request from my 1000 follower celebration. It took me roughly a year to actually write the damn thing but I’m really glad I finally did it! At first I wasn’t quite sure how to write himbo Roger but I think I did an alright job... I just hope he’s dumb enough lmao. Also this took a bit of a turn into a kink I didn’t think I was actually into so I’m not sure what came over me but thank god it did.

Song title is taken from Closer To You by The Cross (yet another song by them with big sub energy). Inspo for the hypnosis parts came from a few “intro to hypnosis” videos that are on youtube but the biggest inspo was THIS sleep hypnosis asmr that popped up in my feed months ago.

Taglist: @laedymoon @vee-ndetta @kellypenac @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @supersonicfreddie @taron-egrotten @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies @ohladymoon

“I have a proposition for you,” Roger said out of the blue as he pulled himself up to sit on the kitchen bench. You looked up from the pot of soup you were keeping an eye on, watching that it didn’t boil over, “What sort of proposition?” you asked with narrowed eyes. With Roger a statement like that could lead to just about anything and you were instantly suspicious. “What if we…filmed ourselves having sex.” The wooden spoon you’d been holding clattered against the side of the pot as you dropped it into the soup, “You want to make a sex tape?” “Yeah, does that excite you?” He raised his brows suggestively. “Maybe a little. What inspired this idea?” “Well what’s the point in owning a video camera if we don’t put it to use?” he laughed, “Plus I guess I was thinking it’d be kind of hot to film you when you’re all bimbo-y,” That was certainly not what you’d expected. A sex tape was one thing, maybe a thing you could get on board with if the right precautions were taken, but a tape of you under his hypnosis was a whole other question. “Close your mouth, love, unless you want to catch flies,” He laughed again, “What do you think?” “What I think...,” you took a breath, struggled to find the right words, “I can’t believe you’d ask that of me.” Roger seemed a little taken aback at your suddenly negative response but quickly recovered, “If you’re worried about someone seeing it then there’s no need. It’s not like we’d show anyone. It’d just be for us, when we’re away from each other or, I don’t know, just for fun. You could see yourself when you’re all spaced out. I know you’re curious about it and this would be your chance to see yourself like that.” He was right, you were curious. How could you not be? You knew what it felt like to be in that headspace, knew what it felt like to go blank and to obey whatever was asked of you, but you didn’t know what it was like for Roger, why he enjoyed seeing you that way as much as he did. “Just think about it for a second, think about how fucking hot that would be. And really you’ve got nothing to l-” “Don’t. You can’t just say that and expect me to suddenly agree to whatever you want. I’m not a bloody puppet you can control with a magic phrase.” “That’s not what I was trying to do!” “We both know what that phrase means in the context of this relationship Roger. Nothing to lose,” you scoffed, “Nice fucking try but this isn’t a question of getting me to be less inhibited or convincing me it’d be fun or brainwashing me into agreeing.” “I didn’t mean it like that, you know I wouldn’t do-” “And I don’t care how hot it would be for you. Do you have any idea how scary the thought of us filming that is? How vulnerable I am when I’m like that?” “Of cou-” “No, you don’t. You don’t or you wouldn’t have ask- Fuck,” you swore as the forgotten soup that had been bubbling away began to boil over. Turning the knob until the stove was off you quickly focused back on Roger, “This isn't the same as spanking or, or being restrained or anything like that. I’m literally giving up part of myself every time we play with hypnosis, giving up control in a way that is so…complete. I know we have backup triggers in place so that I can safeword if I need to and I know you wouldn’t abuse your power over me, but fuck Roger. Asking me to go into that headspace while you record proof of it, asking me to be that vulnerable for an audience, even if that audience is just us, is asking a fucking lot.” You sighed and looked over at the pot, “I’m not hungry anymore, I’m going to have a shower.”

“Y/N wait,” Roger slid from the bench and tried to take your hand but you shook him off and headed upstairs to the bathroom where you could think in peace without Roger’s concerned eyes or a ruined dinner to distract you. You worried you’d overreacted; it was only a suggestion after all. Not like he’d been saying you should film it right that second. He’d only been feeling out your interest. But it was also undeniably bold of him to consider making that request, seemingly without considering how big of a request it was.

You took your time in the shower, let your heart stop racing, let your mind calm. You still didn’t know what you were going to say to Roger. Maybe you could compromise, film something that wasn’t quite so exposing. Ruling it out completely didn’t feel right, not when it was something Roger was interested in trying and he’d been so supportive of trying things that interested you. And it wasn’t like you didn’t understand why he’d find the idea exciting. It was risqué in a way that made it thrilling. A light form of danger like having a quickie in the bathroom at a party – knowing there's a slim chance someone will see you but also knowing you can lock the door. Plus there was that element of an ego boost, seeing yourselves on tape, proof that he was as good a lay as he’d always claimed, proof you fit together as well as you felt you did. And if that had been where the suggestion stopped, just you and him in front of a camera, that could have been fun. But then he’d gone and said the b word and turned it into something else, something performative and invasive and terrifying. You only left the shower, thoughts still jumbled, when the water began to run cold. Wrapping yourself in a towel you headed towards the bedroom to find your pyjamas. Roger was already there. “Can I at least put some knickers on before you start in on it again,” you said, failing to keep your tone civil. “Can you stop trying to bite my head off when I’m about to apologise?” You turned away from your closet and crossed your arms over your chest, pinning the towel in place, as you waited for Roger to continue. “I’m sorry I didn’t consider the magnitude of what I was asking. And I’m sorry I said that phrase too. You’re right, it does hold a lot of context for us and I never want you to feel like I’m trying to manipulate you or to exploit your hypnotic triggers to get my way.” You sighed, all the fight leaving you with Roger’s apology, “It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry I stormed off like that. It’s just a lot y’know? Even thinking about filming that. There’s a reason you are the only person in the world who knows that I get off on that kind of thing. I had chances to tell exes and never took them because none of them would have got it, but you made me feel safe enough to share it and you understand it.” “I thought I did but you’re right, I don’t know what it’s like for you-" “No bu-” “But maybe I should.” “-t really I shouldn’t have expect- wait, what?” “Maybe I should know. And not because I’m trying to change your mind about the sex tape but I- I guess it doesn’t feel fair that I get to put you in that state without fully understanding it.” “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” “If you think I’m suggesting that you hypnotise me, then yeah, that’s what I’m suggesting.” “Really?” “I’ve thought about it before. You mentioned it once a few months ago, about turning me into your bimbo,” “That was a joke,” you said incredulously. “And a very funny one. But I kept thinking about it a bit anyway and then tonight...it makes sense to try it, don’t you think.” “Rog, I don’t know,” “Just consider it, please? I would like to understand what it feels like for you when you’re tranced. And I think if we both had an idea of what it was like from the other side it would just make it better and more fun.”

“Okay, I’ll consider it.”

“Thank you,” Roger stepped in close to you, laying his hand on your cheek as the other settled on your waist, “I just want to look after you,” “You already do,” you lay your hand over his, keeping him pressed against you as you leaned into his touch. “Then I want to make you happy,” “You do that too,” “You’re an argumentative missy aren’t you,” he said with a shake of his head. “You wouldn’t like me half as much if I wasn’t,” Roger laughed and let his fingers fall down to toy with the top of your towel, threatening to pull it loose, “Can we kiss and make up now? You’re already almost dressed for it,” his sweet smile and soft laughter was infectious, making it impossible for you not to join in. As the moment faded he caught your lips, still smiling, “I love you,” “I love you too.”

Later that evening, curled up in front of the TV with Roger’s arm loosely slung around your waist, you dared to broach the subject again. “Did you really mean it about me hypnotising you?” “What part of everything I said made you think it was a joke?” “Okay, I guess what I’m really asking is are you sure you want to try that?” You readjusted yourself, turning to face Roger more, “For one thing I’m not sure I could take charge the way you do. And you remember how long it took us to get it to work on me, right? I don’t know that I’d be capable of doing it to you.” “Well to be fair to us, part of why it took so long to make it work was that we had no idea what we were doing.” “Mmm yeah, that’s true,” “But we know more now. And it doesn’t have to work straight away, we can take our time with it and try out different things.” “And what about me not being good at being the dominant one,” “Love, I think you’re selling yourself short. I’ve seen you handle the people who work for you, I’ve listened to you control a conversation even with those dicks who try to talk over you constantly. I know how bossy you can be, and I mean that in the best way possible. All you need is to know what you want and to tell me and it’ll happen. Anything else – the dirty talk and stuff – that's gravy.” “I can be kinda bossy, can’t I?” you laughed, “Yeah, maybe I could try it.” “You wanna give it a try right now?” “Now?” your heart began racing at the thought. “Nothing big or serious. But I'm feeling very relaxed and mellow right now, figured it might be a good time to start.” “Um, okay, yeah.” “Just do what I normally do to you,” You pushed yourself to sit up a little and Roger shifted to lean his head against your stomach. With a breath to calm yourself, you brought your hand to Roger’s hair and began raking your fingers through it the way he liked. He hummed softly. “I, um, I don’t know what to say,” Roger looked up at you and smiled, “Remember how we first started, the inductions we tried? Just talk me through what you want to happen. If it works, I’ll drop right to sleep when you tell me to, and you can suggest I cluck like a chicken or act like a mime or whatever you want. Then it’s just a matter of waking me and watching it happen.” “It sounds so easy when you say it like that,” “It kind of is once you get the hang of it. Or maybe you’re just an easy subject,” “Are you still feeling relaxed?” “Mmhmm,” Roger looked up at you and smiled, “You’ve got this, love,” You took a breath and tried to copy what you’d seen Roger do so many times before, the calming, confident way he spoke, as you continued to stroke his hair, “Focus on me, baby, just focus on my voice. Feel your eyes get heavier with everything I say. Feel yourself relaxing more,” Roger hummed softly as his eyes fluttered shut. “That’s right, just relax, you’re doing so well baby. Feeling so nice and calm and relaxed. And just sinking deeper and deeper. Sleep, baby, nice and deep.” Roger’s eyes tightened and his lips twisted into a slight frown. “It’s okay baby, just relax for me.” “Sorry,” Roger said, opening his eyes, “It’s not working,” “I knew I wasn’t going to be any good at this,” “No, you’re doing well, it takes a bit of getting used to it all. Also the TV’s still on which makes it hard to focus. What you were saying was good though, maybe throw in some more repetition. And I think there’s something about how you’re saying it that isn’t working. You need to sound more confidant, like you actually believe it’s possible.” “Okay, noted. Um, can we try it with you sitting up? Then I can try some other stuff I remember from when you were learning, the forehead tap induction and the arm drop thing.” “Brilliant idea,” Roger pushed himself to sit up on the couch, getting comfortable as you stood to turn off the TV. You dropped back into the seat beside him, crossing your legs under you as you faced Roger. Once again you centred yourself and tried to conjure up the confidence you’d been missing. When you felt ready to try again you reached for Roger’s hand, tracing your fingertips over his palm, along the length of each finger, his thumb, the back of his hand. “Okay, here we go. I want you to relax for me, focus on your breathing, feel each breath filling your lungs, nice and deep. And feel the air leaving you as you breathe out again. And then back in, big deep breath. Feel yourself relaxing with each breath, feeling sleepy. That’s right baby, in...and out...and in again. Each deep breath making you relax more and more.” Roger’s eyes were shut, leaning his weight against the back of the couch as he breathed in time with your words. “That’s right,” you brought your hand up to his forehead and gave him a small tap, the way you remembered him doing to you the first few times he put you under, “And sleep.” Roger’s head slumped forward. “Good boy. That’s right, now keep breathing, keep relaxing. Deeper and deeper with each breath.” You couldn’t help but smile at seeing just how you were affecting Roger, how loose his shoulders were, how heavy his head hung. Maybe you were starting to understand why he enjoyed it. “That’s right, just let yourself relax, let yourself feel loose and calm. In a moment I’m going to lift your arm a few inches and drop it back down into your lap. Let me do all the work. All you need to do is stay nice and loose and limp and relaxed. And when you feel your arm drop down, you’ll notice how much more you can relax.” You reached for Roger’s arm again, taking it by the wrist, and tried to lift it just above where it rested. “Relax for me baby, nice and loose.” Once more you tried to lift his arm by the wrist but again he tensed up. With a sigh you tapped on his forehead again, “Wake up Roger,” Roger lifted his head and smiled at you, “that went better.” “Right up until you wouldn’t let me lift your arm.” “I didn’t?” “Nope.” “It’s harder being hypnotised than I expected,” he shrugged, “But we can try again, right?” “Yes, definitely. Maybe after I’ve had a bit more warning though, some time to prep.”

It took another couple of weeks for you to find an evening when you both felt up to trying again. But the break gave you time to prepare. You found an old library book Roger had never returned from when he’d been researching hypnotism and skimmed through it, making a few notes of things to try and how to try them. When it came time to test them you and Roger took up your spots on the couch once more as you got him to breathe calmly and focus on you. You dropped him into the trance with the same forehead tap you’d used before, since you knew it worked, and talking to him with as much calm and as much confidence as you could muster. But once more, as you attempted to lift his arm, you found him resisting. “Nice deep breaths baby, relax and let yourself go loose. You’ve got nothing to lose.” You were almost surprised when Roger made a small humming noise as you reached for his arm again and found yourself able to lift it a couple of inches into the air before dropping it back to his lap. “Doing so well for me baby, being so good, just let yourself sink deeper. Deeper. That’s right, nice and relaxed.” You played around with a few of the deepening techniques the book had suggested to strengthen the hypnosis, asking him to slowly and softly count to ten, asking him to repeat mantras. You had to cover your mouth to keep from laughing when you realised it had worked. You’d successfully hypnotised Roger. “Very good baby. Now in a moment I’m going to wake you up but when I do, you’ll feel as if you’ve been glued to the couch. You won’t be able to stand up and the more you try the harder it’ll be, okay? Three, two, one,” you tapped his forehead again, “wake up.” Roger raised his head, blinked a few times as he readjusted to the light. “How was that?” “Really good, I felt more comfortable not being in control that time. Still a weird sensation though. It doesn’t feel how I thought it would.” “How so?” “I guess I expected to like black out completely but that’s not really it, is it? I still feel...alert?” “I know what you mean. It’s like you still feel like your awake even though everyone talks about sleep and it kind of doesn’t feel like its working, right?” “Exactly! What about for you?” “It all worked I think. You resisted a bit at first but I kept talking to you and got you to relax more and everything was fine.” “God that’s hot,” “I know right,” you laughed, “actually, do you mind getting me a glass of water, I’ve been talking a fair bit and my throat feels a little scratchy,” “Sure thing love,” Roger nodded, flashing you a soft, dreamy smile, as he braced his hands on the edge of the couch. But as he tried to stand the smile slipped from his face and his brow crinkled in confusion. “You okay Rog?” “Yeah, uh, just,” he tried to stand again, “I can’t ge- Y/N you fucker,” “I wanted to see if giving you a suggestion would actually work,” you laughed, “apparently it does.” “Alright you can stop this now. Please,” “Sleep,” you tapped on his forehead, watching as his head dropped forward once more,” “When I wake you, you won’t feel stuck to the couch anymore, you’ll feel entirely normal and be able to stand with ease. Wake up.” The tap brought Roger’s attention back to you for a moment before he pushed himself to his feet successfully. “Thank you,” “You’re welcome. How do you feel?” “Like normal. That was great though.” “It’s fun isn’t it, being put under like that,” “Almost as fun as putting you under.”

You laughed along with Roger as you headed to the kitchen, “I do feel more confident about it all now though. But I’m still not entirely sure how to do the next part and get you to go all bimbo-y.” “The trick is to try a longer induction. Just talking, almost like a conversation. I find it makes for a better drop than the suddenness of a forehead tap or a click or anything like that. I guess because there’s more opportunity to make you feel like it’s all your idea, which granted it often is. But it gets the brain to accept the bimbo-ness more easily. The only time I might use a quicker induction is if we’re playing with fractionation but that’s more advanced, and we want to keep this fairly basic.” “Easier for both of us then. Do you have a script you follow?” “Not exactly. I mostly wing it but there are a few things I tend to try and use. If I can tie it into something you’ve said, that always helps. Like if you say I’ve had a shitty day at work and need to stop thinking about it all, then I’d talk to you about letting go of the day, forgetting about work, stuff like that. If you say you want to play because you’re bored, I’d say something about how you can’t be bored without a brain or how taking dick is a good way to fill time or something like that. It builds on your existing feelings and makes everything stick better. Repetition is always helpful, counting, ummm what else,” Roger clicked his tongue thoughtfully, “You respond really well to touch so I try and play with your hair or rub your back as I talk just to focus your attention. Oh, of course I try to say you’ve got nothing to lose, or variations of it, at least a couple of times. Partly because that’s one of the trigger phrases I set up when we started doing this properly but also because, well, y’know, us.” “I think I can remember all of that,” “Don’t overthink it, love. Just say whatever comes to mind in the moment and go from there. You can always adjust what you’re doing as you do it.”

The next few attempts you made at hypnotising Roger were spent trying to get the hang of the longer, more conversational inductions. You tried the same methods he adopted, running your fingers over his arms and through his hair as you asked him to count his breaths, talking to him about his day or whatever was on his mind. Another time you tried something more traditional, getting him to watch one of his old necklaces as you swung it before his eyes. You had some mild success, able to put him under long enough to make small suggestions but not all of the suggestions worked. The real breakthrough came on a drizzly Saturday afternoon, sitting across from Roger on your bed, as you tried not to get too frustrated with how hard you were finding it to hypnotise him. “Love, don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of it. Honestly, hypnosis and drumming are kind of similar because-” Roger kept talking but you’d stopped listening, struck by a sudden idea. “So if you think of it like that the,...wait, where are you -?” “Just give me two seconds,” You quickly sped down the hallway and around to Roger’s office slash music room. Sitting on the shelf that hung over his desk – neat excluding the open notebook, the visible pages covered in lyrics that had been crossed out and scribbled over, and his journal where he kept track of all his meetings and other goings on – was what you were looking for. An old metronome Roger had been given to help him learn how to keep time on his first ever drumkit. Obviously unused now, though he held onto it thanks to a slight sentimental streak and the idea that one day he may be able to teach your children how to play. He seemed surprised to see it in your hands as you re-entered the bedroom. “Well,” you said as you placed it on the bedside table, “I figure that, since you’re so musically inclined, having a rhythm to focus on might help you drop. I hope this thing still works.” “Worth a shot,” “If this does make it easier to drop you, what, um, what should I do?” “Are you asking how to initiate sex with me?” “So you do want to take it in that direction? You don’t want to start smaller? We haven’t done any of the prep stuff with setting safe word triggers and all that.” “We hadn’t done any of that the first time we had sex while you were all bimbo-y, it was only after we decided to play with it more regularly that we add all the safety precautions. “Yeah, I know, but-“ “I don’t think you’ll be doing anything too kinky, right?” “I wasn’t planning on it,” “Exactly. It’s not like there’s going to be restraints or anything like that. Just good old fashioned missionary or whatever you decide. And you know I trust you.” “I just want to make sure you feel okay with it all. I know how important it is to feel safe for hypnosis to work,” “Y/N, it’s fine. If you can turn me into a dumb slut, please do. That’s kind of the whole point of this. Also, if we don’t fuck now then I’m just going to try it on before bed anyway.” You laughed and nodded, “dumb slut it is. Now, can you sit over here for me?” Roger nodded and scooted along the bed, turning to face the metronome as you set it ticking on a slower speed. When you were sure it was working you hopped onto the bed beside him, walking on your knees until you were kneeling behind his back. “You mean I don’t get to watch you?” Roger pouted over his shoulder, throwing an arm behind him to try and find your hand. You caught his flailing limb and gave it a squeeze as you took a breath and tried once again to summon the right voice, “No, I want you to watch the metronome,” gently you pressed on the side of his jaw, encouraging him to turn and face the metronome, “follow it with your eyes. Watch as it swings back and forth. Back. And forth. And listen to my voice. Watch the metronome, listen to me. Of course, you know what a metronome is for, don’t you?” Roger nodded, though his eyes remained glued to the swaying device. “Of course you do. You know it’s for helping to keep the correct tempo, tempo, tempo. Especially for anyone just starting to learn an instrument.” You spoke close to his ear, trailing your fingers down until you were resting your hands on his shoulders, “But today it’s going to help you learn something else. Or, rather, forget. Focus on the beat as you watch the pendulum. Back and forth, back and forth. That’s right, just like that. Focus on the beat, focus on the pendulum. Every click of the beat pushes your focus deeper and deeper as you watch it swing back and forth. Swinging and clicking. Clicking and swinging. Just like that. Let it take you deeper. You’ve got nothing to lose by going deeper. Good boy, keep listening to the beat. Every click pushes you deeper, every click. Deeper. Click. Click. Click. Deeper and deeper. And every time you sink deeper, you find it harder to keep your eyes open. Feel your eyes wanting to close with every click. Click. Click.” Roger rapidly blinked as he tried to keep his eyes open, humming in agreement. “Don’t fight it baby, just listen to the beat, listen to my voice. Your eyes are getting more and more heavy. Getting more and more tired. With every sway of the pendulum, back and forth, back and forth.” Roger’s head nodded forwards as his eyes slid shut. “That’s right, just like that. Being so good. You know there’s nothing to lose by following my instructions, getting sleepier and sleepier. I’m going to count you down now. Ten. Keep listening to that click, click, click. No need to fight it, baby. Listen to the clicking, listen to my voice. Nine. Letting go of all control and all your thoughts. Eight. Letting your brain empty. Every click makes your brain emptier and emptier. Nice and easy. Seven. No room for thoughts. Just the click, click, click of the pendulum and my voice, my instructions. Six. Nothing to lose by letting go of your thoughts, letting your brain empty. Becoming so good and dumb for me. Five. And as you feel your head empty, as all your thoughts fly out of your brain with that clicking, you feel something else. You feel hornier and hornier. Four. With every click, click, click, feel more and more leave your brain. Hornier and emptier, emptier and hornier. So easy and dumb for me. Nothing left to lose. Nothing in your head except for me. Two. Good boy, nice and deep and dumb and horny. One.” You paused for a moment but Roger didn’t stir, just kept breathing deeply, eyes shut. Trying not to panic that you’d done something wrong you gave him a final instruction, “When you feel ready, when your head feels empty and dumb I want you to wake up okay?” You fell silent again, nervously rubbing your hands over Roger’s shoulders as you waited for him to respond.

Thirty seconds or so later Roger slowly lifted his head, blinking his eyes open. You breathed a sigh of relief and stood up to stop the metronome. Roger looked at you, frowning slightly. “Hey, baby, how do you feel?” you asked, bending down to look him in the eye. “Um,” he scrunched his nose up, “head…heavy.” It was odd to say the least, seeing Roger, who was normally so quick witted and intelligent and well-spoken struggle to put together two little words, “Is that all?” “No?” He thought for a moment more, face breaking out into a grin, “Good. I feel good.” “I knew that you would now,” “You did?” “No, like the song Rog. I Feel Good by James Brown?” You moved back to the middle of the bed, taking a seat, cross legged, Roger watching closely and imitating you. “Song?” “You play the record constantly.” “Record?” “Fuck. This really worked,” you laughed, excited that, seemingly, you’d managed to pull it off. “What?” Roger cocked his head to the side, face once again crinkled up in concentration as he tried to understand. You had to laugh again, “Sorry baby but you look very cute when your confused,” Another smile crept onto Roger’s face. “What’s got you so happy?” “You said I’m cute,” “Okay well, you’re still Roger then.” “Am I still cute?” “Absolutely,” you giggled, “Can I ask you some questions?” Roger nodded rapidly. “What are you thinking about right now?” “Cunt.” There was no hesitation, no trying to find the right word this time, “I love cunt. Your cunt most of all.” “Some things don’t change,” you muttered more to yourself than Roger, “Any other thoughts?” This time he thought a bit harder, smile getting bigger as he voiced each one “Orgasms. Making you wet. Cunt.” “Christ, am I this one tracked when I’m tranced?” “What?” “Nothing baby. I have another question for you, what can you tell me about the drums?” you were curious to see how deep the hypnosis went, and because the drums were such an integral part of Roger’s life, his psyche, thought that it would be a good indication. “Umm…. Drums are,” he drew the word out as he thought, “loud. Loud and...fun.” “Can you tell me anything about playing the drums?” Roger concentrated for a moment, expression shifting to worry, “No?” “That’s okay, I’m just checking something. How do you feel now?” “Still good. Also...” “Also what baby?” “Horny? Yeah, horny.” It was like Roger had only just become aware that that’s what the feeling was, “Very horny.” “Very horny? That’s a good feeling though, isn’t it?” Roger nodded again, enthusiastic agreement. “And what should we do about it?” “Ummm,” “That’s okay, I’ll think of something,” you winked at Roger sending him into a fit of giggles. It was hard to wrap your head around seeing him like that but hearing him laugh helped. He wasn’t as giggly as you knew you were when you were tranced. Roger always mentioned the giggling after you’d woken back up, said it was one of his favourite things about bimbo you, how amusing you found everything. But he was a different breed of bimbo. You’d been expecting more laugher if you were honest since that’s how he got when he was drunk. (Well, he either fell about laughing and acting like a child, or he was suddenly ready to debate anyone about anything, depending on what and how much he’d had, but you could hardly expect someone with no braincells to even know what a debate was, so you’d expected laughter.) He was definitely happy, though, just smiley more than giggly. And he was very agreeable if the speed and enthusiasm he showed for your questions was anything to go by. You’d have to be careful when you eventually let him touch you or else he’d explode from happiness. The biggest difference though was his voice. He’d never had a terribly deep voice but now it was lighter than normal, less rough, more vapid. Nothing he said sounded certain and coming from a man who was normally sure of himself and who spoke like it, that was a big difference. But it was all quite arousing really. Knowing you’d been able to put him in this state, knowing that all his thoughts were directed at you. The very small part of you that got jealous and clingy purred at the notion. No band to share him with, no friends, no fans. He was all yours. And he was thrilled about it. “Are you ready yet?” “So impatient baby,” “Mmmmaybe. I want to touch you,” “You can in a minute,” you laughed at his eagerness, “I’m just not quite sure what to do with you. Normally you’d be the one bossing me around and I spent so much time worrying about how to turn you into a bimbo that I didn’t consider what to do with you once you were under.” Roger gave you another happily confused look though he was momentarily distracted by drops of rain running down the window behind you. You had to tap his knee to get his attention again. “Alright, alright. I’m pretty horny myself and I think I’d like to get off so….” You considered your options for a moment, “You always like making me go down on you when I’m all brainless and stupid, so I think that’s what we’ll start with. You can eat me out.” Roger jumped to his knees, practically bouncing with excitement as you lay back and let your legs part. “Thank you,” he said as he quickly tugged off your pants and underwear. “Such good manners,” Roger hummed as he buried himself between your legs, pushing them a little wider. His enthusiasm continued; his whole attention focused on your pussy as he dragged his tongue along it. “Jesus, you don’t muck around,” you laughed, getting comfortable. Roger mumbled something against you. “Speak up Dummy, can’t hear you.” He lifted his head long enough to say, “you taste good,” before licking along your slit again. “You’re so cute with a head full of cunt,” Roger hummed in agreement which made you laugh though it turned into a gasp as his tongue brushed past your clit. Without thinking you brought your hand to rest against the back of Roger’s head, twisting his hair around your fingers. He barely noticed, much more concerned with making you as wet as possible with just his mouth, both of his hands gripping your thighs tightly. It was different to most of the times he’d gone down on you. Normally there was an element of teasing to his head game, even if it was just a casual lazy session. There was always the threat of being edged, even when you knew neither of you were in the mood for that. Kisses and grazed teeth on your thigh when you wanted his lips elsewhere, as if he were just reminding you that you liked it when he took charge. And that was fun. You enjoyed it a lot, wouldn’t trade it for anything. But there was something to be said for this version of Roger. This brainless version who wouldn’t even consider teasing you, who only wanted to make you feel good, who didn’t have any motivations outside your pleasure. He was meticulous, seemingly determined to touch every erogenous spot you had, every nerve ending. Sucking and licking with such fervour and glee that the sound made you dizzy. When he did something that made your breath catch in your throat or, even better, pulled a moan from you, he made sure to repeat it, taking your half-formed expletives as praise. And then he’d find a new spot to make you moan. By the time he decided to focus his attention entirely on your clit, you could feel how wet you were on the inside of your thighs. You were sure you would have been making a terrible mess of the sheets if Roger hadn’t been devouring every drop. “Just like that Dummy,” you panted, “fuck, don’t stop” Roger took your words to heart, tightening his lips around your clit and refusing to move until your legs clamped tight around his head as you came. Even after you relaxed again he didn’t stop entirely, dragging his tongue through your creamy arousal until you physically pushed him away. He pouted in disappointment. “Don’t look so sad baby. I just need a little break because you were so good,” “Oh!” He beamed dopily at the praise, “Thank you!” “How are you feeling?” “Um, I made you feel good so I feel good.” You laughed, “You’d do just about anything if I said it would make me happy, even something like hump the mattress, wouldn’t you?” Before you’d even finished speaking Roger had repositioned himself and begun rutting against the mattress, “Like this?” “Fuck,” “Can I lick your cunt again?” You were tempted to say yes but you still felt sensitive and besides, other ideas were forming, “no, not right now. I just want to watch you for a minute.” “Okay,” he sighed. “Does that feel good Dummy?” “Yes,” “Don’t cum,” “Okay,” "You look very pretty like this,” you indicated his messy hair and the sheen of cum and saliva that still coated his chin, “But something’s missing. When I let you hypnotise me I always dress for the occasion. Stop.” Roger stilled once more, sitting up to watch you as you walked over to your dresser and dug through the draws. “What’s that?” “Shhh Dummy, just sit. Show me that pout again,” Roger sat still as you swiped the hot pink over his lips. “This is a shade called Bimbo and it suits you. You look very pretty,” “Thank you!” he blushed at the praise. “I think you could look sluttier though. Clothes off, except your undies.” Roger stood and began stripping off his shirt immediately, dropping it to the floor as he hurried to unbutton his jeans. “Aww you’re so hard baby. No wonder you wanted to hump,” “Can I touch you now?” “You can kiss me,” “Really?!” You didn’t even have time to confirm the suggestion before he was diving on you, pressing his lips to yours excitedly.

When he finally let you breathe, the lipstick was smeared across both your faces. “Much sluttier,” you laughed, getting only another of his confused looks in response, “Hump the bed again Dummy, show me what a good, dumb slut you are. Good boy,” Roger whined at the friction, but you ignored him, pulling your shirt and bra off before you settled back on the bed, right in front of him, letting your legs spread. Roger whined again. “Do you see how wet you’ve made me?” you asked, running two fingers between your lips, “just from knowing how brainless you are. I get it now, why you like seeing me act like a dumb fuckdoll. It’s fun. Powerful. You wanna touch me so badly, don’t you? Practically drooling,” Roger nodded, “can I?” “No, you can watch for now. Make sure you slow down or stop if you feel like you’re going to cum.” You made sure his eyes were on your pussy as you slowly spread your wetness up to your clit and back down, teasing yourself a little before slipping two fingers into your hole. “Keep watching me Dummy,” you slowly pushed the fingers deeper into you before pulling them back out and then repeated the motion. Roger’s hips sped up in time with your fingers, though he slowed again before long, always mindful of how close he was, only wanting to be good and follow your instructions. By the time you could easily slide three fingers into yourself you’d decided it wasn’t enough, you needed him. “Stop baby. Good boy, good Dummy. What do you want now?” “Your cunt.” “I should have known.” “What does that mean?” “Don’t you worry your pretty little empty head about it. Now lie down for me, baby, on your back. I’m going to reward you by riding your cock,” Roger beamed again and hurried to do as you’d asked. You passed him the pillows from the top of the bed and told him to prop his head up. “I want you to watch Dummy. Watch me take you, watch how deep you fit inside me.” Roger nodded and gave you another dopey smile as you pulled his underwear off and crawled over his lap. His eyes went wide as you lined him up and slowly started to sink down on him. “You watching pretty boy?” “Yes,” “How does it make you feel?” “G-good.” “Yeah? It makes me feel good too,” you leaned forward to kiss his stained lips again as you sank a little lower, his breath hitching, “You’re being such a good boy. Maybe I’ll let you finish in me and then clean up the mess with that pretty mouth. Would you like that?” “So much!” You grunted as you sank lower still, Roger bottoming out and groaning quietly. After a moment to adjust you began to leisurely grind on him, circling your hips, rocking back and forth. He reached up and spread his hands on your chest, eyes wide as if surprised by his own movement. “Nice to see you diversifying your interests,” you laughed. Roger fell into giggles too, though he clearly didn’t understand why. His breath hitched as you quickened your pace, building up a faster rhythm, but his attention kept bouncing between his hands on your breasts and where he was disappearing into you. “Breathe baby,” Roger let out a breath, panting softly. “Such a dummy. Can’t even remember to breathe,” you felt yourself clench and Roger’s head dropped back against the pillows, his eyes rolling and mouth falling open. The sight of him looking so dazed, with hot pink lipstick smudged from his lips to his chin and his hair in a wild mess, made you moan. “You l-look so f-f-ucked out Dummy. Cunt drunk. Fuck it’s hot. You’re s-such a hot sl-ut,” you raised yourself higher, dropped back down harder, riding Roger roughly as you drew closer to the edge. But you needed more. His hands still lay on your breasts, squeezing and palming them lightly, but he let you grab one and reposition it, bending it towards his own mouth. “Suck,” Dutifully he took the fingers you offered him, coating them in his saliva before you pulled his hand back towards you, placing his wet fingers on your clit. “Th-at’s right Dummy, such a-a good f-uck toy. Gon-gonna get me off,” Roger nodded, moaning as you fucked yourself on him until you reached the peak, your release making you shake. You slumped forward, letting it wash over you, trying to get your breath back as you listened to Roger’s own ragged breath and small whimpers. “Sorry baby,” you said, leaning in to kiss him softly before easing yourself off of him, “are you okay?” “Yes,” he smiled though you were still a little worried. Once glance at is cock was all it took to see just how painfully hard he was, tip flushed a redy-purple. “Are you sure you’re okay? I don’t want to push you too far, I want this to be fun,” “I am having fun, silly,” he giggled. “Yeah? You like being my fuck doll?” “Mhmm! I love it! I’m a good dumb doll,” “You are baby, so good. Do you want to cum now?” “Maybe?” You chuckled to yourself, understanding exactly why he was unsure. You remembered what it was like, the confused mix of feelings. Knowing that an orgasm would feel good for you but still not wanting it unless you also knew it would feel good for your Sir, “It would make me happy to watch you cum,” “Really?” “Very much. Would you like to make me happy?” “Of course!” another grin stretched over Roger’s face and you couldn’t help but grin back. “Alright but first I want you to stand up and go over to my closet okay,” Roger nodded as he rolled out of bed. “Now open the third draw. No not that one Dummy, the next one down. There you go. I want you to have a look and find a pair of panties you’d like to wear.” You watched as Roger looked through the draw, considering your underwear as if this was the single most important decision he’d ever have to make. He picked a pair out, discarded it, furrowed his brow and looked again. There was obviously some sort of criteria in whatever was left of his mind, but you’d be damned if you could figure out what was influencing his opinions. Eventually he settled on a lacy pink thong, stepping into it at your word. “Good choice baby. Do you like how it feels?” Roger gently let his fingers run over the scrap of material along his hip and down over his straining cock before nodding happily, “feels...naughty,” he started giggling when you laughed. “Naughty is a good way to feel,” you crooked your finger and Roger followed, standing in front of you, waiting for his next instruction, “and it’ll feel even naughtier when your pretty cock cums in those pretty knickers. Do you want to ride my thigh like a pretty, dumb slut?” “Yes please,” “I can’t get over how fucking adorable you are when you’re like this.” you shuffled back a little, stretching out your legs and leaning back on your hands before tapping your thigh, Roger bouncing with excitement as he settled in place. He let out a soft oh as he began grinding on your thigh, rubbing his dick again you. “That’s right pretty boy. I think next time I might dress you up from the beginning. You’d look very pretty in my lacy knickers with your head between my thighs.” Roger whimpered again, hips jolting as his cock twitched. “You like the sound of that Dummy? Gonna make a mess on my thigh thinking about how good it would feel to lick my cunt while I tell you how pretty and slutty you look? C’mon Dummy, cum for me. Be a good brainless doll and cum to make me happy.” “Yes. I wi-ll, yes-s” Roger muttered, concentrating so hard on keeping his rhythm and getting to the edge. He moaned when he reached it, his movements becoming stuttered and jerky as he soaked the fabric, cum spilling from the gaps in the lace and being spread across your skin as he kept rutting as best he could. “Good boy, good Dummy,” you said, pushing your fingers through his hair, leaning in to kiss his jaw and then his lips.

While he was recovering, getting his breath back, he lay down beside you, grinning again, delighted and proud. You quietly praised him some more as you pulled off his underwear. “Might have ruined these,” you said, throwing them into a corner of the room before turning and restarting the metronome. “What’s that sound?” “It’s a metronome,” you explained, resuming your spot beside Roger, stroking his arm, “I want you to close your eyes and listen to the noise, listen to that click, click, click. And as you listen, you’ll start to remember, start to bring back all your thoughts and all your control. Click. Click. Click. Feel your mind coming back, rising up, up, up, out of the deep sleep. Coming back to yourself, back to normal. No longer so deep and dumb and horny. Just normal, just Roger. Every click makes you feel more and more like yourself. Every click makes it easier to remember, easier to think. That’s right, feeling more like yourself.” You wished you’d thought to ask Roger about this part, about waking him back up, a little fearful that you’d get it wrong and he’d have lost something important, “Nothing to lose by coming back to yourself, nothing to lose by remembering. Bringing back your mind and your thoughts. That’s right, coming back up. No longer deep and dumb and horny and easy.” You kept going until Roger opened his eyes and sat up, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Rog? Feeling okay?” You asked nervously. “A little fuzzy but pretty great,” he said, smiling as his eyes settled on you, “That was fun,” “And you remember everything about playing the drums?” “Of course,” “Thank god. I wouldn’t know how to explain to the others if I’d accidentally erased that for good,” Roger laughed and shook his head again, “The fuzziness does go away eventually right?” “Yeah it does, give it ten minutes, maybe a little more since it’s your first time. It’s just your brain readjusting.” “Okay,” he reached out to grab your hand, “What about you though? How did you find it being in charge?” “Um, yeah, I definitely liked it more than I thought I would.” “You seemed to take to it like a duck to water. Have I still got lipstick on?” “A little bit,” you chuckled, “I can get you a makeup wipe,” “In a minute. Let’s just cuddle for a bit, talk about it all,” “Yeah alright,” you let Roger pull you against him, your head leaning on his chest as your thumb slowly rubbed back and forth on his stomach, “You were okay with that stuff right? The lipstick and my knickers and all that,” “Definitely into it. More than I ever thought I would be. But I kind of think I should remind you why you enjoy being all subby for me before you get carried away. I could turn your brain on for a bit, make you put those panties on and wear them for the rest of the day. I’d get you to suck me off too but you’d have to stand still while I came into the knickers while you were wearing them. Gotta keep them topped up for you.” You squirmed a little at the thought, “Maybe I’ll have to buy you your own set of pretty lacy underwear to wear next time. And your own lipstick.” Both of you fell into giggles. “Wait, if I was the domme, shouldn’t I be the one cuddling you,” “Love, I wore pink lipstick and women’s underwear today, I need to maintain some of my masculinity. Besides I like holding you anyway.” “Alright,” “No, but, I do think I better understand you now, why you wouldn’t want to be filmed like that and what you meant when you said you were vulnerable. I mean, while I was under all I cared about was what you wanted. It didn’t matter how it felt for me, just how it felt for you. Which is kind of scary from both perspectives really. I suppose you have to trust that if things did cross a line into something you weren’t comfortable with, your subconscious wouldn’t let you do it, at least without putting up a fight.” “Yeah that’s definitely a concern but remember we have the safeword triggers in place so I can stop things if I don’t want them, and if you ever want to be the hypnotised one again then we can do the same thing for you. But, all that being said, I um, I was kind of thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. Filming ourselves. With me as the bimbo. You were right, it would be hot.” “You know you don’t have to say that to try and impress me or make me happy or whatever. I really do get it. It’s insane how easy you become to influence under the trance and you really do have to have full trust in the person doing it to you. I wouldn’t necessarily want proof of that on video either.” “No, Rog, listen. I am in. As long as we’re careful about what happens to the tape afterwards, then I want to. Seeing you all mindless was so hot and I kind of really want to see myself like that too. It’s hard not to be curious about that. And I want to see what you do too – how you talk to me and interact with me because on one hand I already know and have watched you do it so many times, but it’s always been while you’re putting me under or while I’m already under so I’ve never really paid attention to how you do it. I’d love to see it from the perspective of someone who isn’t a mindless doll that can’t stop thinking about dick. Especially if we do want to play more with you being the bimbo. I don’t know, I could pick up some tips from it maybe.” “If you really want to then I’m in too. We’ll need to talk about maybe redoing the safeword triggers because I want us to be sure they work and that they aren’t fading with time and that they’re still strong enough. And of course, we’ll be super careful with the tape. We can talk about that too. I’m happy to do anything you need to feel secure. I’d destroy the tape after we watched it if you wanted.” “I don’t know if we need to go that far. I might want to watch it more than once,” “I love you. Adore you,” “Shut up,” “Nope, you are the most incredible woman and the most amazing partner,” “It’s a sex tape Rog, nothing to get poetic over,” you rolled your eyes teasingly. “If I can’t get poetic over sex then what’s the fucking point of poetry?”

#my writing #my fics #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor smut #me watching asmr videos on youtube jotting down fic ideas ksdhkjfs #anyway #☁️#I hope you like it!!

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whateverthedragonswant · 3 years ago

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Okay I have to talk about this scene for a moment because it just makes me want to pull at my hair nonstop:

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Firstly, Buck's expressions kill me. Oliver does an amazing job but holy shit, you can see the sadness at being left behind again. Whoever keeps trying to say that Oliver can't act, you're really missing each facet of his performance inside this character. He nails it every single time and this scene, even from the first season, is no different. This isn't Buck who is sad, this is Evan. And the reason I know that besides the expressions is Buck's responses: "I'm excited for you. Almost as much as I am, um, sad for me." "I'm gonna miss you, too." - they're said in a way that's him obviously trying to tell her what he thinks she wants to hear, that he's trying to do what he thinks is the right thing and be happy for her, be supportive, even though it's hurting him to do so. And we saw similar responses in this scene:

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"Um, I'm sorry about Daniel. I can't imagine what that must have felt like to not be able to save someone you love." "Well, I still wish I could have done more."

Tbf, he is Buck most of this scene (and even asserts himself as such) but when Phillip says that they never blamed him and it was never his fault, we see Evan slightly but still mostly Buck:

and then when Margaret reaches out to him to tell him that he was born to save someone and that's what he does every day and they're proud of him, Evan comes out fully, not quite sure what to make of this and being slightly vulnerable:

Maddie always gives Buck affectionate touches (like they made sure to show us in 4x04) whether that be hugs, pinky promises, hand on the knee as she crouches down to talk to him (like in 2x18), that kind of thing. We never really saw that from Margaret at all. In the flashback, when Evan was hurt from the bike, she stayed back, also being shocked by seeing the bike was Daniel's. She clapped his leg after delivering him cereal after the skateboard incident. In the two episodes we saw Margaret, she never reached out to touch Buck at all. No hug, no touch on the arm or shoulder, no handshake even. Only Phillip reached out to Buck to clap him on the arm when they first saw each other in 4x04, a very father son type greeting (if there aren't any hugs). Maddie has been the one to give him all of the motherly touches all of these years. So when Margaret does this, it brings Evan completely to the surface and he's unsure, not really sure if he can trust it. Which is why the shot of Maddie holding onto Buck in the ending scene after giving him her equivalent of memories in a baby box I think is such a beautiful contrast. Evan knows who has really given him the love his parents should have been giving him all along:

But back to the Abby scene above. It makes me want to chomp on bricks for a few reasons:

1) "You've been so amazing and these last few months, I think you've gotten me at least halfway to the person I want to be."' -> how is this line not a fuck you to Buck? If you need to find yourself, fine, do it. Do what you gotta do. But don't you dare say something like that. It only makes you sound like you used him. Look, I was all for Abby and Buck (before Eddie showed up) but when she said that line and then did what she did, yeah not so much Team Abby anymore to be honest. Like the man is in love with you, is more invested in the relationship than you are (which is completely obvious), a dating relationship you pursued, and you say that as your goodbye when you're leaving without ending things between you? Knowing he's going to be waiting for you? Nope. Fuck you very much.

2) I find it very interesting that Abby got upset with the ghosted girls and in the very same scene Buck is apologizing to her and explaining the mix-up, she's getting ready to ghost him. And then does. (we knew Connie was leaving after the end of season 1, but damn that was cruel to do Buck, Tim)

3) While I understand Abby wants to find herself and needs some space, girl, you're in a relationship and you're planning on leaving for a few months. So, #1, did you not think to maybe invite him for a week to go with you and then he could come back and have your space? Or at least give him the option even if he couldn't go due to work or whatever? #2, alright, if you wanted to go solo, that's totally fine, but did you think to discuss it with him first? Not that you need his permission, you're a grown woman and you do you, but did you ever think to discuss the state of your relationship before you decided to jet off, bought your ticket, and started packing your bags? This is why I keep saying Abby absolutely knew she wasn't coming back, not to Buck anyway. Personally, I think she was waiting him out (while doing her own thing), thinking he would eventually get sick of waiting and move on, and she was trying to avoid the uncomfortable conversation. Shitty. Thing. To. Do.

And this is why Evan deserves so much better.

I mean, can you imagine Taylor or Eddie or even Maddie thanking Buck for getting them halfway to the person they want to be after everything? I just...I kind of wish Eddie or Maddie or Athena or Hen or Bobby or even Taylor had been able to have a word with Abby before she skipped town again.

#i had to say it #i just had to #that scene pisses me off every time i watch it #i'm protective of my chaotic firefighter son #evan buck buckely #evan buckley #evan buckley my beloved #911 fox #911 fox posts #911 rewatch #911 1x10 #911: a whole new you #buck and abby #Youtube

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my-major-is-k-howard · 4 years ago

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Lover

Inspired by “Lover” by Taylor Swift. I had a really fun time writing this chapter (which is why it’s so long... oops). I was listening to “Two” by Sleeping at Last and “The End of All Things” by Panic! at the Disco while writing so I threw in a couple lyrics from those songs into the vows. I hope you all enjoy! 💚💙

Word Count: 3915

Trigger Warning: lead up to sex (at the end)

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4

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Ch. 5 - To End Up With You

If Anne wasn’t already crying at her proposal, the next picture definitely got her to cry. Her eyes landed on the next Polaroid and instantly felt tears streaming down her cheeks. It pictured her wedding day, the day Anne got to marry her best friend and love of her life.

The year following the proposal was hectic to say the least. Cathy did many book signings and press conferences in the months following the release of her book. It was a massive hit and, though it did receive some criticism for its inclusion of queer characters, the public enjoyed the novel and praised the author for shedding light on such important topics. Cathy was astounded by the amount of support her novel received, showing her gratitude in every speech she gave and every note she wrote as she signed each copy of her book. Anne never doubted for a second that Cathy’s novel would be a best-seller and when it happened, the couple celebrated together in a mix of tears, champagne, and kisses.

On top of that, Cathy and Anne began planning for their wedding. They set the date for a little less than a year after the proposal so that they would have adequate time to make their special day perfect. They toured so many venues before finally settling on a quaint spot outside of the city. The house was small and old-fashioned, paired with a beautiful garden where the couple planned on getting married. They tasted cakes together, picked flowers, and chose color schemes, each new milestone filling them with anticipation for the big day. They also went dress shopping and each managed to keep their dresses hidden from each other until the day of the wedding.

As Anne strained to see through the blur of tears, she took in all of the beautiful details of the photo. Kat had captured the first moment that Anne and Cathy saw each other in their wedding dresses. The garden gazebo they were in was white with vines climbing up the pillars, making it a picturesque backdrop for the Polaroid. The two brides were facing each other, clearly admiring the beauty of the other. They both looked on the verge of tears, the love they shared evident in every part of their posture and gaze. The flow of tears only increased as Anne got lost in the memories that the picture brought to mind.

~~~~~

Anne flinched as a bright flash flared from the Polaroid camera to her right.

“Kat, you almost made me mess up my eyeliner!” Anne squeaked, turning to the girl next to her.

Her cousin flashed her an apologetic smile. “Sorry! I took one of Cathy getting ready and thought it would be cute if you each had one.”

“If you show me hers, I might forgive you,” Anne responded and gave Kat her best pleading face in hopes of getting a sneak peak of Cathy before seeing her in person.

Kat’s smile wavered and she shook her head, not making eye contact with Anne. “I can’t! I promised I wouldn’t spoil anything!”

“At least I tried,” Anne mumbled before shifting her attention back to her eyeliner. After several failed attempts at completing her left wing, the Boleyn girl sighed in defeat.

“Hey Kat,” Anne spoke up shyly. “Could you, you know, help me with my eyeliner?” Anne felt embarrassed as the question left her mouth. She never liked asking others for help, especially since she always felt helpless and weak when doing so. Cathy had always made an effort to ease Anne’s fear of asking for help, even with tasks as simple as applying eyeliner. That was one of the many things she loved about her bride.

Anne subconsciously smiled at that thought. Cathy was her bride. And, in a few short hours, she would be her wife. I really am the luckiest person in the world, Anne thought to herself.

“Yes, of course!” Kat’s excited response snapped Anne out of her reverie. The younger girl quickly rushed to her aid, grabbing the eyeliner pen and doing her best to complete the bride’s makeup.

After a few tries and many “sorry”s later, Kat finally perfected Anne’s wing and proudly gestured for her cousin to look in the mirror at her finished product. “Kat, you really outdid yourself. You’re almost as good as Cathy!”

Anne admired her reflection, truly taking in every detail and committing it to memory. This was the day she had been waiting for since she first started dating Cathy. She was ready to take her beautiful fiancée as her wife and share their first kiss as newlyweds. Anne could barely contain her excitement for the day ahead of her.

“Are you ready?” Kat asked.

“Yeah, almost. I just need to put on my dress and I’ll be good to go,” Anne responded, gesturing to the sleeveless, lace wedding dress hanging up behind her. She stood up and prepared to change into it.

Kat quickly rushed to her side to help her put on the dress. “I meant more emotionally, actually. How are you feeling?”

Anne stepped into the dress and slid it up. She took a second to actually think before giving the girl an answer. Of course, she was beyond excited to marry the love of her life but there was also a little voice in the back of her head that made her anxious about the hours to come. What if something went wrong? What if Cathy changed her mind? What if Anne messed everything up? Anne sighed as all the “what if”s swirled around her mind.

Kat gave her a worried look before she finally spoke up. “If I’m honest, I am excited but also a little scared. I’ve been looking forward to this day for years and I just want it to be perfect. I don’t want to mess it up, not only for me but for Cathy. God, she deserves the world and I’m so scared that I’ll disappoint her.”

Kat zipped up the dress before turning the bride to face her. “Anne, everything’s going to be fine. Cathy loves you more than anything, and I know that for a fact. You could literally be wearing a trash bag and she would still marry you just as you are. And if things aren’t perfect, that’s okay. It’s those little mishaps that you’ll look back on together and smile about. I love you so much, Anne.” Kat finished her little speech by giving Anne a big hug that nearly made Anne cry.

“I love you too, Kitty Kat,” Anne whispered and hugged her even tighter. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Kat whispered as she pulled away. “Wow, Anne! You look amazing!” Kat marveled at how stunning Anne looked in her wedding dress and full face of makeup.

“Aww thanks,” Anne responded before turning to look at herself in the mirror. She admired how her dress perfectly accentuated her curves and how her makeup brought out the green in her eyes. She hoped more than anything that Cathy would like her appearance.

Anne began daydreaming about what Cathy would look like in her dress. She imagined her shy smile as their eyes met and the glimmer in her eyes as they admired each other’s beauty. Anne was glad they had decided to meet in the gazebo before the ceremony to see each other for the first time because Anne wasn’t sure she could wait until the ceremony to see her bride.

“Do you have your vows ready?” Kat asked.

“Yeah, I wrote them down,” Anne said as she picked up a small, folded piece of paper that was lying on the vanity desk. She opened it up to reveal her handwritten calligraphy script professing her love and promises to Cathy.

A small knock on the door sounded and Anne looked over to see Aragon in the doorway. “Hi, Anne. Cathy’s almost ready now. We’re going to head to the gazebo soon.” The older woman gave her a warm smile. “Oh! Also, Cathy wanted me to tell you she loves you.”

Anne blushed before responding. “Okay, thanks Catherine. Tell Cathy I love her more,” Anne replied.

“I certainly will,” Aragon said as she closed the door. Anne couldn’t help but smile at the fact that in a few short minutes she would be seeing Cathy in her wedding dress for the first time.

“Kat, do you have your camera ready?” Anne asked her cousin.

“Of course I do,” Kat responded and picked up her camera from its place on the desk. Anne gave herself a quick glance through the mirror, running her fingers through her perfectly curled hair one last time before standing up to meet her cousin by the door.

“Then let’s go see my bride.”

At the gazebo, the four other queens managed to get the two brides back-to-back without either of them peeking, a truly impressive feat since Anne repeatedly tried to look before they were ready. Now, Anne’s back was pressed gently against Cathy’s and she was buzzing with excitement. Anne slowly reached her hand behind her until it brushed Cathy’s.

“Can we turn around now?” Cathy asked, almost as impatient as Anne was at this point.

“Almost. I’ll count down and then you two turn around. Okay?” The two girls hummed in agreement as Kat fidgeted a little more with her Polaroid camera. “Alright. 3, 2, 1. Turn around!”

Time seemed to slow as Anne turned to face Cathy. She caught a glimpse of her dress first, an elegant long-sleeved gown that suited Cathy perfectly. As she completed the turn, Anne took in the sight fully and couldn’t help but gawk at the beauty in front of her. Cathy’s hair was done up so that her curls graced the sides of her face and her makeup was simple yet stunning.

Anne barely registered the flash of Kat’s camera, too smitten with the woman in front of her to even notice. She felt her breath catch in her throat as she met Cathy’s eyes. She could see tears forming in them and a wave of emotions crashed over Anne, threatening to knock her off her feet. She took a small step forward and reached out to take Cathy’s hand. Cathy immediately obliged and Anne lifted it to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“Anne…” Cathy whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You are so beautiful.” Anne felt a tear slip down her cheek as she heard Cathy say those words.

“You’re more beautiful Cathy,” Anne whispered back, leaning closer to her bride as she pressed their foreheads together and wrapped her arms around her waist. Cathy in turn leaned into Anne and wrapped her arms around Anne’s neck. They stayed in that position for a few seconds, eyes closed, just reveling in each other’s presence. “I love you, Catherine Parr. I love you so much more than you know.”

Cathy pulled back far enough to meet her bride’s eyes. She opened her mouth to say something before changing her mind and swooping in to kiss Anne’s lips. Anne reciprocated with the same passion, before Cathy pulled away a couple seconds later.

“Isn’t it bad luck to kiss your bride before the ceremony?” Anne cheekily asked. Cathy let out a chuckle before pecking her lips again.

“I can’t help it when you look like you just descended from heaven with your wings intact. You’re irresistible, Anne.” Cathy brushed a strand of dark hair behind Anne’s ear.

“And you look like a goddess that just emerged from the sea, my love. I’m so lucky that I get to call you mine,” Anne whispered back.

Anne was broken out of her bubble when she heard someone sniffle off to their left. She turned to look and was surprised to see Cleves wiping furiously at her eyes. The other queens were all in similar situations. Catherine was holding onto Jane, both of them with tears streaming down their faces. Kat, of course, had a bright smile on her face despite the tears that were pooling in her eyes.

“Well, Anna, I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you cry,” Anne spoke up with a mischievous smile on her face. She loosened her grip on Cathy as they both turned to face the other queens.

Cleves scoffed before responding. “What? Would you prefer for me to gag like I usually do?”

The queens broke out into giggles after that comment before composing themselves once more.

“Should we read our vows now, Anne?” Cathy asked. The couple had decided to read vows before the ceremony with only the queens to keep the intimate moment as private as possible. They thought the perfect moment would be at the gazebo after seeing each other’s dresses for the first time.

Anne nodded before turning to her cousin, who she had given her vows to before her walk to the gazebo. “Kat, can I have my vows now?”

Kat shuffled a bit between the several pictures she’d taken until she finally pulled out the slip of paper Anne had given her earlier. She walked over and handed it to her with a small smile. “Here you go!”

Cathy went to get hers from Aragon before returning to stand in front of Anne. They got lost in each other’s eyes momentarily before beginning their vows.

“Love, you go first,” Cathy said and motioned for Anne to start.

Anne slowly unfolded the paper and cleared her throat nervously before reading her vows.

“Catherine Parr, as I stand before you today, I can say with the utmost confidence I have never loved anything or anyone as much as I love you. Every part of you, every vice and every virtue, has taken my world and flipped it on its head. You challenge me to be a better person, to think harder, to work harder, to love harder. You are my perfect match in every way and you inspire me to live up to my potential. My whole life I thought that love was supposed to be painful, to have your heart broken and mended over and over again. You changed that definition with your constant and unwavering love. Your love is home that, no matter in sunshine or in rain, will always be a safe haven for me to return to.

“I promise that I will be that haven for you too, that I will hold you close whether you are laughing or crying. I will be dependable and steadfast. I will always try to make you laugh and brighten your day when the world feels like it's caving in. I’ll even hold up the sky on my back if it means keeping you safe. I promise to make sure you eat and sleep, even if I have to force you out of your study and away from your writing to do so. I promise to spend the rest of our lives falling deeper in love with you. Everything in my life thus far has led up to this moment, led up to you. Now, Cathy, I dedicate the rest of my life to you, until the end of all things.”

Anne finished reading her vows and looked up to meet Cathy’s tear-filled eyes. She was proud that she got through the entire speech without crying, a feat she didn’t think was possible while writing it. Cathy sniffled shyly and dabbed lightly at her eyes in a vain attempt to prevent the tears from falling down her face.

Anne cupped her face with her free hand and caught a tear that was slowly making its way down Cathy’s cheek with the pad of her thumb. Cathy leaned into her touch softly before speaking up. “That was so beautiful, Annie.”

Anne averted her gaze to the floor as she blushed a deep crimson at the praise. “Thanks, love.” After a brief pause, Anne removed her hand from Cathy's cheek and spoke up again. “I think it’s your turn now, Cathy.”

Cathy blushed and shuffled with the paper in her hands. “Right, of course.” Cathy opened the paper and gave Anne a shy glance before starting.

“My dearest Anne Boleyn, before I met you my life was a dull shade of blue, almost grey, a sea of sadness and loneliness. I spent days, sometimes weeks, at a time in my bedroom drowning in my own fear. I feared the world, I feared vulnerability, I feared love. When I met you, you shattered my blue-tinted glasses and I finally saw the world for what it truly was, a paradise filled with every shade of color with you by my side. You filled my life with joy and laughter. You saved me from drowning in my own thoughts and fears. Most of all, you taught me how to love. The more you showed me of yourself, the less I feared being vulnerable. You listened to my thoughts, you cared about my feelings, you showed me how beautiful true love can be.

“I vow to be the loving wife you deserve for the rest of our days. I will love you unabashedly, without any strings attached. I will care for you in sickness and in health, and kiss all your boo boos when you hurt yourself on your heelys. I vow to support you and stand by your side, to see things from your perspective while offering mine in exchange. The times will change and the oceans will rage but I promise, Anne, that I will always choose you. I can’t express how much of a privilege and honor it is to support you, to love you. I am yours forever, Anne Boleyn, and I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life with anybody but you. I love you.”

By the time Cathy finished her speech, Anne was a crying mess. Cathy always had such a beautiful way with words and it made Anne fall in love with her a little more each time she shared her writing with her. Cathy gently took Anne’s face in her hand, wiping away the stray tears with her thumb. Anne smiled softly at her before whispering, “No wonder you’re a writer. That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Cathy blushed and then leaned up to kiss Anne on the forehead. “I meant every word of it, Anne. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“We have to get through the actual wedding first. And I’ll have to redo my makeup before then too.” Anne chuckled to herself.

“It’s not too bad. Your mascara is a little messed up but the rest is fine.” Cathy gave her an encouraging smile before continuing. “Your eyeliner looks great! Did you do it yourself?”

“No, I did it!” Kat chirped before flashing Anne an embarrassed smile, afraid she’d said too much.

“Babe, you know I can never do it properly on my own,” Anne added as Cathy laughed. “Which is why you’ll be doing it for the rest of our lives.”

“I’ll gladly do it for the rest of our lives, Anne.” Cathy pressed one last kiss to Anne’s lips before the one they shared at the altar after officially being pronounced Mrs. & Mrs. Boleyn-Parr.

If Anne was honest, the day had passed in a blur and before she knew it she and Cathy were back at their home, a little tipsy but more happy than they had ever been in their lives. When they got to their bedroom, Anne turned on the fairy lights to shed some soft light around the room so they could see.

Anne sat on the edge of the bed and shuffled through the several Polaroids Kat had taken throughout the day. There was one of them at the altar sharing a kiss, a few from the reception with the queens, and even the ones that Kat had taken while each of them were getting ready. Cathy’s picture showed the queen applying blush while pulling a silly face at the camera.

Anne laughed to herself at her wife’s antics before feeling the bed dip next to her. Cathy rested her head on Anne’s shoulder, peering down at the pictures she was holding. She noticed the one Anne was currently looking at and chuckled.

“I tried to get Kat to show me this picture before we met at the gazebo. I wanted a sneak peek so badly but I doubt even this would’ve prepared me for how breathtaking you were,” Anne whispered to the queen next to her.

Cathy laughed before responding. “I tried to blackmail Aragon into showing me a picture of what you looked like. I was so excited to see you I could barely wait.”

Anne rested her head on top of Cathy’s. “I guess we’re more alike than we thought.”

Anne shuffled the photo to the bottom of the stack she was holding and revealed the final Polaroid she had yet to see. It was the picture of them at the gazebo, turning to look at each other for the first time. Her eyes filled with tears instantly and she struggled to keep her composure. She left out a soft sigh before speaking.

“I think this one is my favorite.”

“We should hang it up then,” Cathy suggested softly and lifted her head from Anne’s shoulder. Anne turned to meet Cathy’s gaze and smiled. She stood up and placed the other pictures on their nightstand before taking her favorite and hanging it up on one of the free clips. She admired the Polaroid in the warm light, taking in every detail as if it was the last time she’d ever see it.

When she finally turned back around, Cathy was shimmying out of her dress. Anne approached her quietly and wrapped her arms around her from behind. She pressed feather soft kisses to her back leading up to her shoulder and then her neck.

Cathy hummed with contentment and leaned back in Anne’s embrace. Anne began tracing different shapes on Cathy’s bare abdomen as she repeatedly pecked Cathy’s neck. Slowly, Cathy turned to face Anne and caught her lips in hers, beginning soft and slow but quickly turning heated and passionate. Cathy moved her hands to the zipper of Anne’s dress and slowly tugged it down.

They parted as Anne’s dress hit the floor, leaving only enough time for Anne to step out of it before reconnecting their lips in a heat of passion and desire. They inched their way backward until the backs of Anne’s knees hit the edge of the bed, causing her to unexpectedly lose her balance and fall back onto the soft sheets.

Cathy chuckled at the sight until Anne grabbed her wrists and pulled her onto the bed as well. She landed on top of Anne, causing the taller girl to huff at the sudden weight before laughing. She gazed up lovingly at Cathy before kissing her once more. Anne grabbed Cathy’s waist and slowly rolled them over until they were in the middle of the bed.

Anne pulled away to catch her breath and looked down at her beautiful wife, surrounded by a sea of white sheets. Cathy’s chest was rising and falling rapidly as she stared up into Anne’s eyes. They didn’t need words to express the love they had for each other. They showed it and felt it in different ways that night.

#parrlyn #parrleyn #parrlyn fanfic #six the musical #six the musical fanfic #anne boleyn #catherine parr #anne boleyn x catherine parr

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aoifeanamadan · 4 years ago

Text

After School Special

Fandom: Minecraft YouTube rpf (mcyt)

Word count: 6488

Relationship: DreamNotFound (DreamxGeorgeNotFound)

Summary:

Montague versus Capulet, Taylor versus Katy, Dream versus George.

It was one of those fueds, the kind you barely even had to acknowledge. The sky is blue, we breathe air, Dream hated George.

Needless to say, neither of them were over the moon when they found out they had to spend two months working together in weekend detention.

Support this work on AO3 :)

Chapter Four: Hat Trick

Dream didn’t think texting George was meant to be this exciting. He didn’t think texting any of his friends was meant to be exciting point-blank . Not in the way texting George was. Every time his phone buzzed he was rushing to grab it, always on guard, always waiting. He had spent years calling his friends stupid for the way their faces lit up reading their phones. Now he was worse than all of them. But, it was different. This was George. And texting George was fun.

Dream was certain now that he was definitely funny. And he was smart, in the hard kind of way. He was unpredictable. Dream never knew what was coming. And he was nice to talk to. Every message sent, every message received, Dream felt them growing closer.

So, yeah, maybe his eyes were constantly scouring his phone screen. But he had a good reason. He was talking to George.

George, who said he didn’t normally talk to be people through the phone. He called it a handicapped form of communication, just as George-like as ever. Dream had forgotten to make fun of him for it, mind too busy with ‘ He doesn’t normally talk to people over the phone. He talks to you over the phone’. It meant he was special.

George (2:20 am)

i dont want to annoy you lol

Dream (2:20 am)

if you sending me memes at fuck o clock in the morning was annoying me i wouldn’t have kept sending them back

George didn’t read the message for a full minute. Staring at the tiny symbol, showing his message was unopened, Dream couldn’t bring himself to feel pathetic. In the back of his mind he thought he should, but the rest of him was buzzing. Every cell was humming with a new kind of want. He wanted to know what George thought, hear how he felt. It was overwhelming. There was no room left for shame.

George (2:23 am)

i dont want to keep you up

Dont you have that match tomorrow

Dream did. It was against ‘ Saint Joseph’s Preparatory Institute ’ a private school just half an hour away from Dream and George’s school. The kids there were spoiled in ways Dream found difficult to understand, summer homes in Italy and money thrown away on nights out in the city. The person Dream thought Geoge had been just two weeks ago was nothing compared to the Saint Joseph boys. It was as if all of them wanted to play God, a family of clashing entitled titans, a Grecian mess.

Dream was certain if anyone on his team brushed against one of their arms they’d be on the floor, crying for the referee. It was the first match of the season, only a challenge, but he had been preparing his boys for almost three weeks to make sure they didn’t give away any fouls. Even if it didn’t affect their standing in the league it would affect team morale. It was important. He wanted to win, just like he always did.

But, that night, Dream couldn’t have cared less. The match, less than 24 hours away, was pushed to the back of his brain. His entire frontal lobe was taken up with George’s words, glaring brightly up at him from his screen, awaiting Dream’s reply.

Dream (2:24 am)

ur coming right?

Dream hit send, he always did. He was a full-send person down to the bone. For him, it was easy. He did everything with complete confidence, full fucking send. He couldn't imagine it any other way, not when everyone was hanging off his every word. Shame was foreign to him.

But, the second he hit the arrow on that message, something foreign happened. His stomach knotted itself, his heart sped up. His eyes glued themselves to the screen, trapping him in the silence of his bedroom, waiting for any kind of reply. Dream didn’t understand why he cared so much about a stupid message.

No matter how hard he tried to tell himself to calm down, it didn’t work. His mind couldn’t be reasoned with. Logic was out the window, replaced with the thought of George standing on the sidelines while Dream scored a winning goal. His heart was in palpitations for an agonising 40 seconds. George’s message was the first morsel of food in a year to Dream’s hungry eyes.

George (2:24 am)

do you want me to

Dream was typing a response before he could think. He didn’t need to think.

Dream (2:24 am)

yes

It wasn’t until he sent it that he realised how it could be read. Desperate. It was overwhelming, this new way of thinking. Dream had never considered how other people might read his texts. His mind never had the time to consider how he was perceived, always racing away from him. This new thing, it was dwelling. Dream hadn’t dwelled before.

George (2:25 am)

okay

ill go then

everyone knows i love to spend my saturday evenings outside in the cold

Dream didn’t mean to grin the way that he did when he read the reply. He didn’t even notice the smile snaking its way onto his. He had never smiled at someone's texts before.

George (2:26 am)

what time

Dream didn’t mean to lie. But he did accidentally tell George to be there an hour early so they had more time, away from the pressure of his role as captain. By accident . He felt justified in his deceit, his new constant urge to make George his friend was enough to allow it. He wanted to be around him, talking and laughing, bickering and disagreeing and teasing. He wanted all of it, the before and after of the years of resentment. The new growing fondness that Dream was trying his best to ignore.

Above all, he wanted to be liked by George. He wanted the reassurance of his approval.

If George, who had hated him for years, who had been on the receiving end of his cold stares and scoffs, could like him then it would be sure. Dream could be certain that he was a good person.

They kept texting until George sent his death sentence, in the form of a digital message.

George (2:31 am)

go to sleep

And that was that. George’s status switched to inactive and Dream was left staring at the tiny dot where his green light used to be, the Daisy to his Gatsby.

Dream (2:31 am)

george

georgie

Dream forced himself to turn off his phone, it felt as if he was cutting off a hand. Giving up the hope of hearing anything more from George that night and accepting the isolation. But he could do it, almost happily, comforted by the knowledge he would see George the next day.

He recentered his weight and let his head sink into his pillow. It smelled old. Not bad, but old. Dream couldn’t stop himself from smiling, sad and gentle. He held his phone to his chest and squeezed. The metal didn’t move but his fingers ached with the force.

In the back of his mind, Dream realised it was dangerous. This smiling, this thing burrowing itself into his heart. But he couldn’t stop himself. He let himself imagine a world where he knew George fully, recognised every part of him as George. A jigsaw in the shape of a man where Dream knew the place of each part as if it were the back of his hand. It was a different kind of friendship than what Dream had known. He wanted to understand him, to uncover all the secrets he was holding so close to his chest. It felt as if knowing George was inevitable. And he wanted George to do the same to him, to see all of him and like it. To prove he could be known in full and still seen as himself, still Dream. Still human.

Dream didn’t feel himself falling asleep but he didn’t wake up until 3 in the afternoon, his phone still lying over his heart.

Sapnap collected him before George, so he had time to explain his misleading statement before George got in the truck clueless at half four in the afternoon, three hours before the match started.

George understood what had happened once they arrived at the empty pitch. Dream was thankful he had briefed Sapnap before their arrival, because without Sapnap there he was convinced he would have ended up in a morgue.

Once George had accepted and made peace with the situation, that is to say 95 minutes and multiple very stern telling offs later, Dream and Sapnap decided the only natural thing to do was warm up an hour early.

With a ball from Sapnap’s truck, they started to pass gently to each other. George only managed to claim he couldn’t play for 10 minutes before Dream and Sapnap convinced him to join in.

Dream had been sure George was exaggerating his incompatibility with the sport. Fundamentally, it was just kicking a ball. But Dream was very wrong. Dream tried to tip him the ball, a gentle touch, but somehow George still fumbled it. He managed to stand on the ball three times before kicking it past Sapnap.

They spend half an hour trying to explain the basics of soccer to an increasingly annoyed George, who thanked God when the real team started to trickle in. It meant he was released from the seventh circle of hell - soccer drills

Dream went through the motions of his pre-match routine; the warm-up and laughter and tieing of boots. The coach, their chemistry teacher, arrived ten minutes before the match started. Dream gave a particularly rousing speech and then suddenly they were in the tunnel, waiting for the referee to call them onto the field.

Normally, the time in the tunnel made any other time spent on the field feel tiny, irrelevant. It was a place that didn’t obey the laws of time. Four seconds in the tunnel made a month on the field feel like maybe ten minutes.

That day, Dream had spent three hours on the field before the match. Normally, the tunnel would have made that feel like a millisecond. A blip.

But, Dream could recall the hours spent easily. He barely had to think before George yelling at him and Sapnap rushed to mind. George trying to score a goal from the penalty line, with no goalie, and somehow hitting the crossbar . George’s sigh of relief when he saw one of the players approaching to relieve him of his place in the drill. It was all cased in amber in Dream’s brain. It was proof that he had prepared for this match. There was a time before it and there would be a time after.

Standing on the tunnel, waiting to be called out to play the first match of the year, Dream was calm.

Before he could think too deeply, Sapnap turned to Dream. His eyes were almost pleading. He grabbed ream by the shoulders and tried to look deep into his soul.

“Promise me that you won't start any fights this time.” Dream couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped him. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. He never started fights, but he replied anyway to put Sapnap at ease.

“I promise I won’t start any fights.” Sapnap breathed a sigh of relief, ever the drama queen.

“Thank you.” Sapnap turned to head to the team huddle, everyone waiting for Dream’s final good luck. Before Sapnap could walk away Dream grinned, lopsided and hyper.

“I will finish them though.”

Dream was walking out before Sapnap could protest, the team behind him. Dream didn’t want to prolong their wait any longer. They knew what he was going to say, and he knew they didn't need to hear it. The atmosphere changed the second the crowd could see them

Oakland had walked out stiff and straight-backed. Proper as always. Beside them, Dream and his team’s causal jogs and crowd-pleasing waves were even more charming. Dream allowed himself a moment to revel in the cheers before locking his eyes on the ball.

Once he adjusted to the floodlights, Dream’s eyes raked over the crowds until they locked on George, leaning on the low fence. He shot him his lopsided grin and waved. He was charm personified. The crowd’s heads swivelled in search of the recipient, but no one looked at George smiling as he rolled his eyes.

Once the whistle was blown, the team came alive. The state champions ran circles around Oakwood. Dream was two-thirds of the way to his aspired hat trick by half time, with the total score at 4 - nil. Their team worked seamlessly together, everyone exactly where they needed to be. It was like watching a well-oiled machine, or embroidery at super speed.

Dream and Sapnap were shining through, their natural chemistry turned to telepathy on the soccer field. It was as if the ball was a piece of metal and they were the magnets. It stuck to them, gravitated to their feet.

By the second half, Oakwood were angry. It showed in their game. They started to slip up, losing easy balls. Their footwork got sloppy. But they also got more aggressive. Somehow, the referee was turning a blind eye to every misplaced kick and accidental shove in the back. But, Dream had trained everyone for this. They stayed calm, took their deep deep breaths and played fair.

Oakwood did not take the same approach. The more time they spent on the field, the rougher they played. Dream had cycled through six of the ten substitutes by the time the second half rolled around. He was convinced the referee had optional cataracts.

With twenty minutes left, Dream’s team were 3 goals up - the only three goals of the match. But, Dream was still a goal away from his hat trick, and he was getting tired.

The rest of the team was playing defence, just like Dream had told them to do during training. He had said it would be stupid to go for glory in this situation, three goals up and approaching the end of the match. It would be plain dumb.

Dream knew all this, thought about it even. He knew it was right, but he saw an Oakland striker, who he was not supposed to be marking, running up the field. He didn’t have the ball, it was on the opposite end of the pitch, but Dream could see it in his mind’s eye. Two easy, unlikely passes and it would be at the striker’s open feet.

There were other boys closer to him, it would’ve made more sense for them to run to mark him. It would have been easy. But Dream couldn’t stop thinking of the one goal he needed for a hat trick.

Aching feet and heaving lungs Dream ran towards him. The striker saw him coming from a mile off.

His leg connected with Dream’s, and suddenly Dream was on the floor clutching his shin.

At first, there was no feeling. Then, just as suddenly as the air had left Dream’s lungs when he hit the floor, there was intense pain.

Dream looked down at his leg, curled up on the floor. He couldn’t hear the referee’s whistle blowing. But he could see the blood.

Before he could make a scene, he was pushing himself up unto his feet. The Oakwood striker didn’t offer him a hand up.

Dream was sent off to the sidelines, limping with an arm around Sapnap’s shoulder. Someone’s mother was a nurse. She assured him it was just a surface wound. Dream saw his parents in the stand, he hadn’t noticed them before. He would’ve waved weakly, or shot them a thumbs up, but he couldn’t focus on them. His mind was racing through anger and pain and anger again.

From the bench, Dream nodded to Sapnap to take the penalty. It wasn’t a question.

He had to sit the final fifteen minutes out, screaming from the bench. The only benefit was George’s spot in the crowd behind him was right behind the bench. He was sitting with his friends, making sarcastic comments about Oakwood. It was nice to listen to, distracting.

With Oakwood playing a man down, the team won 4 - 0.

After the obligatory post-win speech, Dream enjoyed a long warm shower in the changing rooms. It was a scarce rarity for him, only his third long shower in the changing block in four years.

After, Dream was alone in the dressing room, all aching muscles and sore lungs. He was sitting on the bench, legs shaking with the exhaustion of it all. His hair was wet and his shoulders were slumped. There was a low humming echoing off the concrete walls. Dream barely noticed it. He had screwed his eyes tightly shut and had his head hanging between his shoulders. He was waiting there until it was firmly ten minutes since anyone had left, just like he always did. And he was humming, which he did not always do.

It was coming from the base of his throat. The tune of ‘Call Me Maybe’ was raspy, hidden under his breath. But it was there, soft and delicate. The rise and fall, the soft lilts. It made the cold of air of the changing room warmer, familiar. He didn’t think about it, didn’t imagine he would be heard. He just sat there, hair dripping and voice humming. It was tender and charged, too patient.

Hey, I just met you,

And this is crazy,

“Well done, you. You did great” George’s voice came from the doorway, distant and delicate. It shattered Dream’s bubble of gentle calm.

Dream’s brain froze. It caught him off guard, disarmed him. The softness of George’s tone. Too genuine. Before he could unfreeze his mind to think about it, George was talking again.

“Except when you fell. That was embarrassing.”

Dream lifted his head from the wall and cracked open his eyes. George was smiling softly at him. It made Dream feel as if he was bending back his ribs one by one to get a closer look at his panting heart. He couldn’t quite bring himself to stand.

“Brave words Mr Speed Chess.” This was easy, this was Dream and George. Sharp banter and too intense bickering. It was easier than the alternative, the thing Dream wanted once the sun went down. The symbiotic vulnerability.

Dream realised just how tired he really was, listening to his own fragile voice. He was sure George had to have noticed it too. He was sure his smile was too soft, his words too tender to be teasing.

He didn’t know what it was, this new wall he was building. This refusal to let George see him vulnerable. Dream tried to rationalise, call to mind the years of hatred and distrust. It didn’t work, he was met with the hours he and George had spent laughing, the simple rhythm they had so quickly fallen into. George’s quiet jokes, Dream’s beaming grin. There was no reason for this guard Dream was invoking. Yet still, he couldn’t stop it. The hand always hovering over his mouth, ready to slap it closed.

Sapnap was coming in behind George before Dream could leave himself exposed.

“I swear to God, whenever I see you two together it’s like I get to watch a chihuahua provoke a wolfhound." Sapnap was next to George in the doorway, grinning. Dream smiled back, heaving himself up off the bench. Dream wasn’t sure if he was meant to be the chihuahua or wolfhound.

“Fuck off, Sapnap.” He muttered it at the same time as George, shouldering his way past them towards Sapnap’s truck.

“You two are the closest thing I have to a real-life soap opera!” Sapnap was calling out as he followed behind. Despite his best efforts, Dream smiled.

Once the three of them were in the truck, they could really talk. Sapnap and Dream were trying to convince George to come to a party at one of the player’s houses in place of their normal bickering. It was only right to celebrate the win, but George was insisting he couldn’t go.

Dream and Sapnap had matching that’s bullshit looks on their faces,

Through a mix of begging and empty threats, they managed to get George to agree to come inside, just to congratulate the team.

He stuck to his word, entering, finding the team all together in the front room and saying a single ‘Great Game’. Then, he turned on his heel and made his way to the front door with his head down. Sapnap and Dream rushed after him.

By the time they caught up, his hand was on the doorknob. But, before he pulled it, he was turning his head to the space on his left. Dream and Sapnap were still standing in the doorway to his right.

“Bad?” Bad’s face lit up as he abandoned his conversation to turn towards George.

“George!” He ran to hug a laughing George.

“Since when were you the partying type?”

“Since when were you?”

Dream and Sapnap couldn’t believe they had forgotten to tell him Bad would be there.

Twenty minutes in, George was on his fifth shot. Dream and Sapnap looked like Christmas had come early. Bad looked like a concerned father spotting his child in the boxing ring with Muhammad Ali.

“George, oh my God! What are you doing?” George was drinking straight from the vodka bottle while Sapnap and George watched.

George kept drinking from the bottle until Bad took it off him.

“It’s been a boring week. I'm about to fix that.” Dream had never seen George like this.

George’s grin was devilish, the kind that would have made Dream’s heart flutter and stomach drop if he was a girl. But he was not a girl. And so he thought nothing of George’s gleaming teeth and impish eyes. Nothing.

One thing Dream realised, an hour into the party, was that George was just as clumsy with his mouth when he was drunk as his limbs when he was sober.

Dream was standing in one of the doorways to the kitchen, talking to a girl. She was nice. She liked swimming and pc gaming, not worlds away from Dream. He figured they could be friends. She left to dance with her friends and Dream left to get himself another drink. George was standing next to the spirits.

“She’s not good for you. She was a dick to my friends last year. Hell, even I would be better for you and you hate me”

He hated the way George made his breath stop with stupid comments like that. Dream gritted his teeth.

“Don’t hate you anymore, Georgie.” His shoulders were stiffer than he wanted them to be.

George grinned back at him and drawled.

“For now, Dreamer.”

That fucking grin, sprawling between his aristocratic cheekbones. And that fucking nickname. He hated the way it made his stomach flip, acrobatic routines in the pit of his stomach. Dreamer, Dreamer, Dreamer . A mantra.

“Are you drunk, George?”

George opened his mouth, ready to deny it, but the cogs of his brain snapped his mouth closed before he could get the words out.

“You know what? Nevermind, you’ll know I’m lying to you anyway.”

Dream didn’t know what it was, the resignation in George’s voice, the gentle familiarity. It made him mad. He made it make him mad, because the alternative was wobbly knees and blushing cheeks. And George didn't have the power to do that to him.

George grabbed his arm, slender fingers gripping strong.

“Come on, let’s dance.” He started to pull him towards the front room, where the speakers were.

“Wait, George, wait,” Dream pulled George back to him gently. He was still clinging to his arm. Dream shrugged him off as softly as he could. His touch felt like hot coals, the way it made Dream’s skin burn. He couldn’t handle it.

“Why?” Dream didn’t like the disappointment painted all over George, stitched on his face and laced through his muscles. He couldn’t hide his emotions the way he normally did. Not here, not drunk and tired looking as if he wanted to beg Dream to dance. Dream had to explain.

“I can’t dance.” George’s face didn’t change.

“Yeah, why?” He was looking up at him expectantly, which had not been the plan.

“What do you- I’m bad at it. I can’t dance.” Dream gestured to his long legs and stretched arms. George’s face lit up, a lightbulb moment. Dream realised, George had thought he couldn’t dance because of his injured shin. He cursed himself internally for not being more dramatic.

“You don’t have to be good at something to do it, Dream. Dancing at parties is fun. It’s like exercise, but for your brain.” George pointed to his two temples with both hands, grinning. Not the plan.

“It’s very literally exercise for your body.” Dream didn’t realise there was a smile on his face.

“Fine, it’s exercise for your soul. Now, come on. Dance with me.”

Dream managed to down a shot while he was dragged out by George, it felt like fire down his raw throat. Before he could say no, George was pulling him to the speakers. Dream didn’t dance, he had never known how to. His limbs were too jerky, arms too awkward. And bad dancing didn’t fit the Dream image , not cool and nonchalant enough.

But George was looking up at him with a messy grin and the speakers were thumping and the bodies around him were thrumming. He tried to justify it to himself, the lights were low, no one would see him, but Dream couldn’t have said no in a million years. Not to George, not there, not then.

It was easy to tell the song was on its outro as Dream and George stumbled in. Dream laughed easily at his accidental win.

“Oh no! There goes that idea. Come on, let’s find Sapnap and Bad.” He went to tug George out, but George tugged him back. It caught Dream off balance, making him stumble after George to keep from falling.

George rolled his eyes, slinking his way to the boy with the aux cord and dragging Dream with him.

“Hey, Toby, what’s up?” George talked to the boy, who he was apparently friendly with. Dream knew he went to their school, but he didn’t know the boy. If George hadn’t just said his name, he would’ve had no idea. He stood awkwardly behind George, unsure whether or not he should introduce himself. He was too caught up in the unfamiliar awkwardness to listen to what they were saying. Before he knew it, George was smiling Toby a thanks and dragging him back into the crowd.

“What was that about?” Dream had to bend down to whis[er into George’s ear. George didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

The iconic opening of Carly Rae Jepsen's ‘Call Me Maybe’ started to play. Dream couldn’t stop the barking laugh he let out. George smiled so widely Dream was sure his cheeks would rip open.

Dream wasn’t sure if it was the shots, or the crowds or the boy standing open and soft before him, but he felt the hardened rock around his muscles and tendons melt away. He couldn’t dance, but he could sway next to George while Carly Rae Jepsen sang one of her masterpieces.

George was his only salvation from the heaving, living heat of the crowd. His flushed face and ruined hair were all Dream could see. He tried his casual swaying, but George’s energy called for more.

Dream couldn’t help but sing along.

I threw a wish in a well,

I looked at you as it fell.

George was not a great dancer, really he just flailed and hopped. He yelled to the beat and flung his arms about him. Dream had to apologise on his behalf to a girl he had accidentally whacked. She didn’t acknowledge it.

Dream realised, no one there cared. Everyone just wanted to dance. Dream looked to George, laughing and jumping to the mirage of singing violins. It was all so intense, Dream couldn’t resist it.

His thudding, thumping body didn’t quite match George’s plasmic flow. His muses thrashed with the musical pulses, throat raw from the singing. No matter how loud he was, everyone around him was louder.

It felt like indulgence, sweeping slowly over his skin and through his veins. He had to choose to let himself enjoy it.

His dancing was horrible, but George loved it. Dream felt like it was a newfound candour, this allowance. He was bad, he was having fun. There was no contradiction. He could do both.

Where you think you’re going, baby?

Dream’s thudding stomps didn’t match George’s rough edged-grace, but he was there. And he was dancing. It felt like a win. It felt human, more human than Dream had felt in days. In those three minutes, he wasn’t the Dream. He was just another person.

He felt like one cell in the body of a giant, doing the same as everyone around him, but for the first time he liked it. He was doing the same as George, who was jumping offbeat.

But here’s my number, so call me maybe?

Dream’s panting chest felt like it was holding corporal freedom inside it. He thought his heart was about to beat it’s way out of his cell wall chest and soar away.

Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad.

I missed you so, so bad.

Dream couldn’t believe he had ever thought George was restrained and standoffish.

The George Dream had thought he had known for years, detached and reserved, quiet and reclusive; Dream watched in his mind as he died and was replaced with this new man. This new George had an unrelenting mind and thrashing heart. It fit perfectly with Dream’s aching body and delicate soul. There, sweating next to George as he sang his throat raw, Dream was sure George had to be his missing part. His final puzzle piece. If there was an empty cave in Dream he would stretch and chip away at it until it was the perfect size for George to settle in.

As the song ended, Dream tried to sort out his jumbled thoughts. His brain felt like a smoothie. Before he could take an internal inventory, Sapnap was beside him. It was easy to guide a panting Dream and George away from the dance floor and down a quiet hall, muttering about ‘totally unlike you, both of you’.

Dream couldn’t process the moving. He shut his eyes to keep it out, only opening his eyes for sporadic flashes of the house. He knew they were going down a hall together, but it all blended into one.

Sapnap got more and more excited the closer they got to the end of the hall. When he finally opened the last door, he was practically hopping.

Dream’s muddied brain recognised it as some kind of game’s room, like the basement in Sapnap’s old house. There was an easily ignored pool table, and on the pool table was an open bottle.

George got to the bottle first. He offered it to Dream and Sapnap before drinking from it. He coughed and spluttered as it went down.

“Gin.” His grimace was enough to deter them all.

Sapnap found a VR headset, the kind none of them had at home. They had to arm wrestle for it. Sapnap won, through methods involving plain cheating if you asked Dream. He had kicked Dream’s blooded shin ‘accidentally ’ mid-wrestle and refused a rematch. George hadn’t wanted to get involved.

Sapnap got to play on the VR first.

George was a nice drunk to be around. He wasn’t loud or annoying or excitable. He was just George, but less guarded. He thought out loud about the universe and the human condition and why goldfish were called goldfish when they were orange. Dream sat cross-legged in front of him while he spoke, slow and heavy. His brain felt cloudy, but in a nice way. A buffer between Dream and George, and everything else.

George liked to do things wrong. The more he talked about random things, the clearer it became. He ate pasta at breakfast time. He sat on chairs backwards and sideways and even upside down, laying his back on the seat and letting the blood rush to his head. He used his conditioner before his shampoo.

Dream tried to tell him, tried to enlighten him that he was living wrong.

“Well, I’m doing perfectly fine.”

Dream didn’t know how George managed to slip this gentle tenderness into everything he did. He swapped from sitting cross-legged to lying down, sprawling like a starfish. Dream did the same. He could feel their fingers brushing against each other.

Sapnap was immersed in his own digital world, but Dream was sure they were feeling the same thing, total separation from reality It was as if he and George had escaped time. They just lay there on the dirty carpet together, fingertips barely brushing.

“Ow!” The serenity didn’t last long. Sapnap had walked into a wall.

George laughed aloud. “That's going to hurt in the morning.”

Sapnap held up his middle finger, in the wrong direction. The headset was still on.

“It hurts now, idiot.” Dream grinned between them. He wasn’t used to their friendship.

“Well, at least you did your best!” Dream tried to give his positive input from his position on the floor. Sapnap shuddered.

“God, I hope not.” He went into the game again.

Dream turned his body back to the ceiling, but it wasn’t the same. The bubble was popped and he couldn’t stitch it back together.

Instead, he sat up to face George again so they could talk.

Ten minutes later, Sapnap was still alive and thriving in the game, while Dream and George were falling back into the natural rhythm of their conversations.

“Why did you think I hated you?” George’s voice was a rock skimmed on the pond of quiet. Dream was laying back on the couch, eyes again locked on the ceiling. It made it easier, not having to look at George on the other end of the couch. Their feet were tangled together. George was being gentle with Dream’s recovering shin. Dream didn’t think about it before replying.

“Didn’t you?” He didn’t see the gentle shake of George’s head.

“No. If anything, you hated me.” His voice bounced from the ceiling to Dream’s ears. Dream sat up to face him, ceiling tainted.

“No I didn’t. No, I don’t.” It was Dream’s turn now to shake his head. He wanted to lean forward and tell George a hundred times. He didn’t, he doesn’t.

“Okay, Dream.” George hadn’t sat up, still staring at the white ceiling.

Neither of them said anything for a minute. Dream looked at George, George looked up. Dream couldn’t handle the quiet, the noncommitment in George’s voice. He needed to fix it. He spoke into the silence.

“You just, you stopped talking to me. Like, overnight. So, I just thought you hated me.” Dream couldn’t keep looking at him. He tilted his head back, closed his eyes. He wished he hadn’t had that vodka. It was shoving cotton in his mouth and down his throat. There was morphine in his lips, he couldn’t get his words out.

“Yeah. I was anxious. I wasn’t talking to anyone.” George’s gaze was deadset, not on Dream.

“Well, you ignored me. I thought you hated me.” Dream tried to justify himself to George, to rationalise his behaviour at nine years old. George just hummed.

“So all of that, the years of dirty looks and rolling eyes, it was because I hurt your feelings by being too quiet?” George finally looked at him. Dream couldn’t believe he had ever wanted him to. His eyes were cold stone.

“Don’t say it like that.” Dream wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. His voice sounded small. Sapnap still had the headset on, he couldn’t hear them. He wasn’t coming to save him.

“Well, how would you say it, Dream?” George was still staring at him. Dream wanted to sew his eyes shut.

“I-” He looked away, but found himself looking back in George’s eyes before speaking again. “You weren’t just quiet . You ignored me.” It was all too quiet.

“You were too busy for me Dream. I wanted to be your friend, for years. Don’t try and spin this as if I dropped you. You couldn’t deal with me being quiet, with me going through a hard time. You needed my attention, you wanted it, 24/7. You were selfish.”

Dream couldn’t speak. He felt like someone was sucking the air slowly from his lungs and then the last traces of oxygen from his blood. George stood up and it was the final kick.

Sapnap must have sensed the movement, because just then he took off the headset.

“I think I saw some of my friends in another room. I’m going to go and say hi.”

“Hey, we’re your friends.” Dream had no idea how Sapnap knew to make his voice so soft at that moment. He had always had a sixth sense for those things.

“Yeah.” Dream managed to choke the word out.

“Come on Dream. Sometimes I think if you saw me bleeding out on your kitchen floor, you’d act like you hadn’t seen me.” George smiled tightly to Sapnap and left.

Dream let him go. He hated the tightness in his chest, the bitter taste in his mouth. He made himself feel angry in a way he knew he didn’t deserve to be. For the first time in his life, he knew George was right about what had happened. A lot of it had been his fault.

#mcyt #mcyt fic #dnf #dreamnotfound #dreamsmp #dream/george #dreamxgeorge #psa i actually dont ship them i just like creative writing and heat waves made me obsessed with their characters #dream #georgenotfound

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all-you-need-is-paul-mccartney · 5 years ago

Text

The Couple Next Door III (Roger Taylor x Female!Reader)

Find Part II Here

A/N: Okay, yes, I may or may not have written this in less than a day, and no, I’m not the happiest with it. Then again, I’m not exactly always happy with what I produce. As long as my works entertain others, that’s all that matters.

But anywho, I wrote this part of the series in 3rd person Omniscient for Roger because we need to know what’s going inside that tiny head of his.

Don’t forget to leave notes, show your support and interest in my pieces by sending in a reply. All support and feedback is greatly appreciated! :)

Summary: Roger and you spend dinner at the Garrisons, and Roger does some thinking.

(Again, Borhap! or Canon! Rog, whatever tickles your peaches)

WARNINGS: Swearing, slow burn, mentions of sex (nO sMuT), mentions of drugs, alcohol, overthinking(?) idk this part made me a tiny bit sad)

I’m rating this a T, but the subject matter is a little heavier than my previous parts of this fic. I would advise you to proceed with caution.

Roger stepped out of the shower, staring at his muted reflection in the foggy mirror before reaching for a towel. He took his time towel-drying his hair, and by the time he’d dried himself completely off, the steam in the bathroom dissipated just enough for him to be able to make out his facial features in that same mirror.

At this point he reached for the blow dryer on the right side of the counter. After fully removing the vapour off the mirror with it, he used it to completely dry his hair.

His fingers ran through his blond strands carefully as he tried to make sure he didn’t leave anything wet.

As much as Roger liked his hair, he’d rather have some girl pulling on it than him.

But that was besides the point.

Roger set down the blow dryer after a while, and just stared at himself in the mirror, his hands on either side of the vanity.

What the fuck was he doing?

He decided to fake a relationship with you, (on a limb, I may add) for the benefits of having a nice place to live.

It sucked that his days of sleeping around were coming to an end, though he didn’t exactly mind it.

In a way, Roger loved you. But it was like… a weird love. Almost like a “you-are-my-best-friend-and-I-would-die-for-you-but-if-you-totally-wanted-to-kiss-me-I-wouldn’t-think-twice-about-reciprocating” kind of love.

He’d felt like this towards you since high school, but you were with someone, and he forced his feelings down by sleeping with so many women he probably couldn’t remember any of their names if he tried.

Eventually, with all the drugs and alcohol he consumed, and all the skirts he’d been under for the last five years, that other, almost forbidden feeling towards you, was gone.

Well… Until now.

"Rog, you good in there?“ You called through the bathroom door. The sound of your voice almost had his heart jump up into his throat. He circled a towel around his waist, and opened the door.

You looked him up and down, and Roger could swear he saw your cheeks glow. "Damn, you’re looking good, Rogie."

He choked out a strained laugh, averting his eyes to the small droplets of water on his feet. "Wel-uh.. th-thanks, um… y/n."

You rolled your eyes, a dopey smile on your face. "And you thought I took those compliments seriously.” You squeezed past a nearly heartbroken Roger in the threshold of the door, and you reached into the medicine cabinet for your toothbrush.

“All I need to do after this is put on my lipstick, and you’re not even dressed! We’re supposed to be over there in five minutes!"

This had Roger disappearing immediately into the second guest room on the left, the one you decided would be his room after he forfeited the master bedroom over to you.

You just shook your head before shoving your tooth brush into your mouth.

_______________________________

"Just… be calm."

"I am calm. You’re the one that’s not calm."

"Why would I tell you to be calm if I’m not?"

Roger was about to respond just before Anna opened the door. Roger and you immediately slapped painfully wide grins on your faces, and greeted the older woman with a soft hello as you stepped inside.

"Something smells good,” Roger complimented as he removed his jacket. "Thank you, Roger. It’s almost ready. I’d give it another fifteen minutes, and then we’ll dine.“

Roger nodded to Anna with a smile and turned towards you. He helped you take your jacket off, and you watched as he placed the coats on an empty hook on the wall.

He faced you again, and winked. He reached down and grabbed your hand, giving it a warm squeeze before you were both led further into the Garrison’s home.

Anna encouraged you both to take a seat on the sofa while she continued watching the food.

"Charlie kept an eye on the casserole while I grabbed the door. He’ll be out in just a minute, loves."

"Take your time,” you called to her as she made a beeline to the kitchen, leaving Roger and you alone.

Roger pursed his lips, twirling his thumbs in the sudden, and awkward silence. He took this time to examine the tidy, well-furnished home.

He began silently counting all of the framed photographs on the wall.

He came across one of Anna and Charles. It seemed to have been an older one compared to some of the others. They were in wedding attire, Roger guessed, from the thirties or forties, the newlyweds brandishing bright, and ecstatic grins.

He couldn’t help but smile back at the photograph.

He didn’t feel as if it were a necessity to get married, but he wished he would find pure elation being with you.

It didn’t matter if he could never properly marry you; if he discovered you were never in love with him in the first place… or even if things did turn out that way; he just saw you. No one else.

It had to be you.

Roger’s eyes flitted to the right when Charles returned from the kitchen.

"Sorry to keep you kids waiting,“ he said sincerely, sitting down in his living room chair.

” ’S no rush, Mr. Garrison,“ Roger assured him.

No one really decided to say anything after that. It was silent for a few second too long, and Charles laughed a little.

"Geez, are you guys uncomfortable? You both look tense. You’re good here. You can relax. Been a long day for you two–"

"Charlie?"

"Oop– Excuse me,"

Charles pardoned himself from your presence to see what his wife needed.

You sighed heavily, and Roger’s head began to spin.

How could this look more natural…?

”… hey um…“ Roger mumbled gently, successfully grabbing your attention, and you raised an eyebrow in confusion.

Roger licked his lips, his hand slowly lifting and moving to hover just over your knee. His eyes refused to look back into your own.

You caught sight of his hand in your peripherals, and after looking downwards, you glanced back up at Roger.

"Is uh… is it okay If I…?”

You simply nodded, and Roger sighed in relief, his hand lowering onto your leg. You shifted the smallest bit closer to him, and you smiled a little at how embarrassed he was to be touching you like he would with any other girl.

You placed your hand affectionately over top of his when he started rubbing circles on your pant leg with his thumb.

Your cheeks were a pretty shade of pink, and Roger’s were, too.

Charles returned from the kitchen just then. “She "lost her glasses”. They were right on her face and neither of us even noticed until she saw herself in the window!“

You and Roger laughed along with Charles in regards to his wife’s antics.

"But enough about her, I see her every day. Tell me more about you. How long have you had this one for, Roger?"

The drummer smiled at you, taking a moment to himself to search your entire face for an imperfection; maybe a loose eyebrow hair, some smeared makeup, lipstick on your teeth, or even an ugly zit he could make fun of you for later. But there was nothing wrong with you.

He couldn’t find one thing on your entire face he didn’t like.

"I wish I could tell you I’ve had her forever, Charles…"

You looked into his eyes. There was something… not quite right.

It was the way he was looking at you.

He’d never looked at you like that before.

Not with that much adoration; and never, did you ever think, you’d describe Roger’s tone as "dripping with affection”. At least, not when he spoke of you.

“It’s been about five years.” Roger concluded. “Best years of my life."

"And the fact you’re still going strong makes me very happy,” Charles mused, his eyes shining with joy.

"Things’ll get even better. Wait until you’re married and have children!“

That statement had your blood run ice cold, and you could swear Roger’s eye twitched at the word.

Children.

"I remember when my wife told me she was pregnant. It was one of the greatest days in my life, though their actual births and my wedding day are easily the top two."

You opened your mouth, but no words would come out. You cleared your throat and tried again. "Uhm…” Charles turned your way. “We never really um…” you took a deep breath and tried again. “Well, we’ve never really sat down and really… discussed whether or not we even want kids.”

“No um… we just… can’t see ourselves as parents. To a baby. With our face. It just seems so… surreal.”

“Roger,” The blond swallowed, and nodded to Charles in acknowledgement.

“Becoming a father is so rewarding. Wait ‘till you have a baby girl or a little boy, and you hold 'em in your arms for the first time. All that doubt will just wash away. Anna and I were so confident in our parenting skills, we had four more little ones!”

You couldn’t imagine having more than just one child, let alone five, or any of Roger’s, for that matter. The concept was so foreign to you, especially when it’s suggested that the father of these kids is the man who purposely puts the toilet roll on backwards because, and only because, it pisses you off.

Anna called the three of you to the table, cutting the conversation short, though you were relieved to get your mind off how hilariously ridiculous it sounded that you were sort of expected to give birth to Roger Meddows Taylor’s offspring.

He, on the other hand, couldn’t shake the idea. He spent the whole dinner on auto-pilot, trying to imagine how a child could share both his and your features.

He watched you a lot during dessert, trying to decide his favourite part of your face, something that he would be happy for your hypothetical child with him to be graced with.

But much like earlier, he realized he loved your face so much, he couldn’t make an ultimate decision.

Much like you, Roger thought the concept was close to impossible, as well.

He didn’t want to come down with a “Baby Fever”, so he took the next chance he could to talk about something distracting. The subject was averted to music, and Roger’s drumming and things like that.

He was just glad his subconscious wasn’t focused anymore about which room in the condo would hypothetically be the baby’s.

_______________________________

“Thank you for inviting us over, Anna. That was the best casserole I’ve had in my life. Just don’t tell my mother.” Anna laughed at your joke, and teasingly assured you she wouldn’t.

Roger, after helping you put your jacket back on, held the door open for you, and after saying your final good byes to both Anna and Charles, the both of you were left alone in the cool summer night.

Your slow walk down the drive with Roger was very quiet. You two didn’t say anything.

You both took slow, careful steps towards your new home, two pairs of eyes searching the sky for constellations.

Roger’s hands were stuffed into his jean pockets, and you had your arms crossed over your chest.

He expected you to start rambling about how much of a disaster the entire visit was, and how there was certainly not enough casserole for left overs as Anna suspected, but you said nothing.

So he said nothing.

Roger climbed the stairs up to your front door, and unlocked it, wordlessly holding it open for you. You just nodded in thanks, and stepped inside, Roger close behind.

That’s where you both disbanded. You went right upstairs, leaving Roger alone in the dark front corridor. He just sighed, and locked the door as his eyes fixed to the blackness of the room.

He went straight to the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator. There were a few beer bottles in the fridge, and he reached for one, twisting the cap off with his shirt before taking a swig.

He shed his jacket and tossed it on the couch before sitting in the chair on the other side of the living room, and propping his feet up on the ottoman.

Upstairs, he could hear the tub’s faucet running. You were showering.

Taking another sip of his beer, Roger decided to wait until you were out of the shower and in bed before he went upstairs.

"… Rog?“

Roger’s eyes snapped open and he sat up with a start, gaze shooting to the hand on his arm.

Your hand.

Roger exhaled, and rubbed his tired eyes, his brain registering that you’d turned some of the lights on.

"Scared the bloody ‘ell outta me, y/n,” He slurred groggily, rubbing his forehead and combing his hair back with his fingers.

“I’m so sorry! I went to knock on your door and you weren’t in there!"

"I was waitin’ here for you t’ go t’ bed…” he must have fallen asleep, you thought as you rubbed the side of his arm.

“Well I was checking in on you to let you know the bathroom was free if you needed in."

” ’M fine, Love. Thanks, though.“ He removed his feet from the ottoman, and rubbed the back of his neck, a number of empty beer bottles falling from his lap and onto the carpet below.

”… I swear I only 'member grabbin’ one.“

”… You go upstairs, okay? I’ll put you to bed.“ You bent down and started picking up the bottles.

Roger, who was on his feet, and turning the corner, stopped to watch you. He counted every bottle you picked up off the floor.

The higher the number, the guiltier he felt.

By the time you picked up five, Roger was already gone, upstairs and changing into some nighttime clothes.

He blindly chose his clothes, the combination being a pair of checkered pants and a Rolling Stones t-shirt.

He didn’t even bother trying to make an effort to get up and brush his teeth. He just climbed into bed and shut his eyes.

But as promised, you walked into his room, and sat on his bed.

”… Roger, you know I didn’t hear the faucet running.“

That’s how easily convincing you were to him: Seconds later Roger was in the blinding luminescent light of the bathroom, you sitting behind him on the edge of the bathtub as he drunkenly brushed his teeth.

"Spit, rinse, and I’ll meet you in the room.” You rubbed his back gently before leaving him alone in the room.

Roger removed the brush from his mouth, and stared at himself in the mirror, toothpaste froth lining his lips and dripping down his chin in an almost comedic manner.

Roger thought the froth kind of looked like facial hair. He even giggled a little at the idea of him maybe one day having a beard.

But then his smile disappeared, and he wiped his mouth off. Although he remembered only drinking one, he knew why he drank so much more.

Those thoughts about you were returning. The more time he spent with you, the more giddy he’d feel, and the more close he’d want to get.

Roger wondered how he used to be able to teasingly slap your ass and make sexual jokes with you all the time without feeling at the very least flustered with his own actions.

He did it in front of the band all the time when you were around, but it was like he was in high school again.

He always had the urge to kiss you at least once before he died. The constant suppression over the last few years buried that urge six feet under, but it seemed the suppression wasn’t working anymore.

What if, Roger thought, this would be different? He technically had no reason to suppress any feelings he had towards you; well, maybe except for dignity purposes, but that was all.

What if luck and pre-destiny existed, and his chance to be with you just so happened to be now, under these awkward circumstances that would overall result in a blissful future with nothing but happiness…

But why would someone like her want to be with someone like you?

With the depressing thought hanging over him like an obedient rain cloud, he shut the bathroom light off, and moped to his room, where you sat in wait.

You helped Roger climb into bed, and you tucked him in, kissing his forehead like a child.

“If you need me in the night, you know where I am, Blondie.”

Roger nodded, and mumbled his good nights to you before rolling over.

When his bedroom door closed, Roger opened his eyes despite not being able to see anything in the room.

He blinked.

At the beginning of this commitment, pretending to be with you seemed like a piece of cake to him…

… But Roger didn’t know how much longer it would be until his behaviour towards you wasn’t pretend anymore.

_______________________________

A/A/N: Wow, This is a lot longer than I expected it to be, but I’m glad this part is done. I think I may write in Roger’s perspective more in this fic because he’s got lots of shit running through his mind, clearly. What are y’all’s opinions though?

Anywho, enjoy this, I’m gonna go find something to inspire me for the next chapter.

PERMENANT TAGLIST:

@culturefiendtrashqueen

FIC TAG LIST:

@amy-brooklyn99 @scarsout @kimmietea @ohtheseboysilove @demo-wise @suavishowell @bohemianahoy

#Queen #queen x reader #queen fanfiction #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #bohemian rhapsody movie #bohemian rhapsody #freddie mercury #Brian May #John Deacon #Fic #fanfic #fanfiction #series #romance

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thejoshscogin · 5 years ago

Text

In most tragic events, both global and regional, I typically like to do my part to assist or help, while remaining in the background. Whether it is donating money, protesting, physically building houses, traveling out to give food and water to people, or any other potential aid I am able to contribute...these are done as “under the radar” as possible. Because, I am not usually a fan of the “look at me“ spotlight mentality, while the issues of the world should be getting the spotlight.

Now, I understand it is 2020 and “If you didn’t Gram it, it didn’t happen!“ but as a very private-introvert with a very strong moral compass, I personally don’t need the verification from social media to affirm my actions. Or, to put it more correctly, I don’t need the verification of social media to stroke an ego. In short, social media can often (but not always) take advantage of the “Never let a good crisis go to waste“ dogma. It can feel more about gaining “LIKES” and followers and a general “look at what I did“ pat-on-the-back, than focusing on the real issue at hand.

With all of that being said, this time it feels different. I’m still contributing in areas that I’m able, but the overwhelming morality of making it clear where I stand, outweighs the morality of not seeking vanity/self-aggrandizement. Obviously I’m still NOT here for vanity/self-aggrandizement but keeping in the background doesn’t feel like the correct path to take on this particular event dealing with race and humanity. So let me be clear.

The short version goes like this…

- I support Black Lives Matter! (duh)

- I support peaceful protests of civilians.

- I don’t support the violent looting and destruction of properties, but I understand them. I’ll speak more on that later.

- I don’t support the riots brought on by the police.

- I don’t support any authoritarian/dictator/tyrant in office that tries to hinder or remove our freedom of speech.

The long version goes like this…

I love America, or to put it more correctly, I love the potential of America. I have been fortunate enough to travel around the world many, many times (sweet brag Josh 😑) and there are so many wonderful places on this planet I would love to live but I always return home, to America.

We are not perfect (duh, no country is) and the harsh truth is that we will probably never fully end racism. I reckon there will always be idiots who hate other humans for something as pointless as skin color or as trivial as “Your pants are too tight.” or (insert any other juvenile scenario) but as Americans, if we feel like those idiots have become the people in power (police, leaders, presidents etc etc.) we have the right to freedom of speech. We have the right to voice our feelings against authority, and make a change. We have the right to protest.

Now let me be very clear, I am a full believer in peace! I believe that hate breeds more hate. I believe that violence breeds more violence. So, when these protests turn into looting and destruction of properties, it can feel like those people have lost the focus of the original task at hand. However, I also understand that when the pendulum has been so far on one side for so long, it is only natural for it to swing to the other side with brute force. Also, when the (very) peaceful protests of people like Colin Kaepernick are ignored, and in many ways punished, I can fully understand why stronger actions are felt justified and needed.

As Americans, we have the right to raise our voice when we see something needs to be corrected. So, when the peaceful, “indoor voice”, of the calm and collected Kaepernick doesn’t reach the ears of the giants in power ...or to put it more correctly, when it reaches the ears of the giants in power and yet, is completely ignored... it is only a matter of time before America feels like only a scream will suffice.

We must not forget that Kaepernick originally sat on the bench during the national anthem. It was only later that he decided it would be MORE respectful if he joined his team mates on the field and simply took a knee. I don’t know how he could have protested in a more peaceful (and respectful) way. That was like 4 or maybe 5 years ago, and yet, here we are. He tried. He gave peace a chance. Yet, here we are.

The cyclical tragedy of what happened to George Floyd is a real shame to the American powers that be. If only real measures and actions would’ve been taken from the lessons that should have been learned from Breonna Taylor or Freddie Gray or Eric Garner or Michael Brown or any of these people below (to name a few) with very similar scenarios.

Now I don’t even claim to know how to instantly fix these problems, but there are a few basic things that sure seem like it would have at least helped. First of all, people should have been fired! I’m not just talking about the individuals directly dealing with the deaths, they should be in jail, but I’m talking about any and all police officers who had a history of racism or known violent tendencies, they should have been fired, all across the nation. Secondly, real actions should have been taken after these events. I understand that eventually things like body cameras etc. came into affect but what’s the point, if it’s okay to just turn them off whenever they feel like it, with no repercussions in doing so.

Side Note: Hey cops, if you feel the need to turn your cameras off, then you are doing something wrong. If you feel the need to cover up your badge in anyway, then you are doing something wrong. If you feel the need to force other people with cameras to leave the scene, then you are doing something wrong. And there should be deep and drastic consequences for any cops doing any of the above mentioned. Also, to be clear, I am not necessarily anti-cop (in theory). I know a few cops and in fact, I feel like some of our other issues of today’s police force might have been sorted or at least minimized if, a long time ago, we would have paid cops a whole lot more money. But that’s a topic for another time and not on social media. End of side note:

1991 is the first scenario I can personally remember of police brutality of an unarmed black man that became very publicized. If only dramatic measures would have been taken from the lessons that should have been learned from way back when Rodney King was in the spotlight. Imagine what nearly 30 years of progress would look like today if we would have started it back then. Our situation now, would be very different and I could assume many lives would have been spared and generally just an overall quality-of-life would be better. Shame on the powers that be, that nearly 30 years later we are still watching, shot for shot, the exact same movie unfold again and again. It blows my mind that we are still dealing with the vastness of this issue.

So where do we go from here? What are some productive steps towards ending police brutality on black people? Well, unfortunately, the quickest and most sustainable solutions would have to come from the top. If the police chiefs of the nation would fire all of the racist idiots, there would be an instant and obvious difference in the right direction. I have more thoughts on that but, assuming there is no Chief of police reading this, I’ll save you the time...

As civilians, there are still things that can be done to assist the steps to getting us further towards the right direction. Since the majority of the people reading this are most likely NOT the closed-minded-racists who are the problems, the solutions can seem less direct but every step (big or small) in the correct direction adds up.

In the short term, I think the most direct thing you can do is to donate money or protest if you are able. If you are someone in power then you should fire all the racist idiots. I’m not just talking about the police force. If you are an employer of any sort, you should remove the bad apples and do your best to never hire them in the first place.

In the long term I think the best actions are to vote! Or, to put it more correctly, study up on politicians, know where they stand on topics that are important to you, and then VOTE! Please, for the love of America, don’t JUST VOTE without the due diligence. Vote big, like the presidential candidates etc. Vote small, like local jurisdictions and authorities etc. Lastly, I think it is very important to mix and mingle with folks outside of your top 8. It will do you good, it will do our country good. As I mentioned before, if you are reading this then you’re likely already fairly open minded but just remember, it can be a subtle and steady danger to ONLY communicate with the same inner sanctum of people that believe the exact same intricacies as you do. Communicate with lots of people, with lots of backgrounds. Diversify, and remember, communication is a dialogue not a monologue.

There are so many other things that can be done. These are just the first few that popped in my head.

Last thing and then I’m out. I do believe we will come out on the other side of this better than when we went in. The death of George Floyd is a tragedy and it is compounded by all of the previous tragedies that took place before him, regardless if they got publicity or not. But, look around, we are not sitting idly by.

When we all share the same voice and sing the same song, the mountains can be moved.

I would love to, in my lifetime, live in a country where every human felt safe, respected and appreciated. I would love to, in my lifetime, live in a nation where we celebrated all of our extensive differences. I would love to, in my lifetime, live in a land where the police were there to protect and the police were there serve. And I would love to, in my lifetime, have all humans feel truly equal. Change is coming. Or, to put it more correctly, change is upon us.

Sincerely,

Josh Scogin

“Your old road is rapidly agin'

Please get out of the new one

If you can't lend your hand

For the times they are a-changin' “

-Bob Dylan

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hh-rose · 5 years ago

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Pre Finale

The goal was to have a party better than the first party. Obviously, that goal was reached when the idea for open mic was brought up. The goal was more than reached when the whole gang joined together and sang Dancing Queen. At least, that’s when everyone thought it hit its peak, but there was still a whole night ahead of them.

“Uuuggggghhhhh,” Cyrus groaned when he sat down next to Buffy. She was outside alone. Cyrus assumed that she just needed to get away from everyone for a second. He thought it was the perfect time to have a conversation with her.

“I feel that,” Buffy said quietly. “I just *unintelligible noise*. You know?”

“Trust me, I know,” Cyrus answered. “Like, I completely and utterly know exactly what you mean. Boys. I like TJ so much, and there’s times when I think he likes me too, but then he hangs out with Kira or I remember that he’s probably straight.”

Buffy nodded in agreement. Cyrus wasn’t done ranting. “Did you see how he looked at me when he walked in? And, did you notice how I was all set on singing alone, but he put my microphone next to him? Literally, the microphone was on top of him. I’m not crazy, right? Am I just imagining all of this? I was probably just deluding myself.”

“You weren’t deluding yourself,” Buffy stated. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Obviously, I can’t say for sure, but I’m pretty positive that he likes you, Cy. I, on the other hand, completely missed my shot with Marty. He doesn’t like me anymore.”

“That’s not true, Buff,” Cyrus said sweetly. Buffy rolled her eyes. “No, seriously. I think he told you that he doesn’t like you anymore because he was scared of being rejected again.”

“You know there’s only one way for us to figure all this out, right?” Buffy questioned. They both pretended to shiver. “We have to talk to them.” Buffy pointed at someone on the bench by the fire. “Speak of the devil.”

“Oh, God,” Cyrus said, standing up. Buffy stood up too. “I can do this.”

“Yeah, you can,” Buffy said supportively. “Tell me everything right after, okay? Good luck.”

“You too,” Cyrus said before he turned on his heel and headed toward TJ. “Can I sit?”

“Sure,” TJ answered with a grin.

“I didn’t know that you could play the piano,” Cyrus stated. TJ shrugged.

“I have layers,” he replied. Cyrus smiled remembering the first time TJ said that to him.

“So, I’ve heard,” Cyrus said with a smile.

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know about me,” TJ said sincerely. “All you have to do is ask. Go for it.”

“Okay,” Cyrus said. He thought for a second. “What does TJ stand for?”

“TJ stands for,” TJ took a breath, “Taylor James.”

“Taylor James? Like, James Taylor backwards?” Cyrus asked, half joking. TJ shook his head fondly. “Taylor James. That’s a great name. I love it.”

“I never really liked it because people used to make fun of me because they thought that Taylor was more of a feminine name,” TJ explained. “I don’t know. I guess it was kind of embarrassing, so that’s why I started going by TJ.”

“Well, I love the name Taylor,” Cyrus said enthusiastically. “But, I also love the name TJ. I think you should go by whatever makes you feel comfortable, and people should respect that.”

“You’re literally the only person I can talk to like this,” TJ says.

“So I’ve heard,” Cyrus said, giggling slightly. Neither of them said anything for a second. Then, TJ got the nerve to ask Cyrus a question.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” he asked. Cyrus took a breath. Slowly, slowly, TJ’s hand traveled to meet Cyrus’s. His fingertips brushed Cyrus’s.

“Uh,” Cyrus let out another breath. “I’m gay.” TJ smiled at him. Like, full on gigantic grin. “And I like you,” Cyrus said quietly.

“I like you, too,” TJ said, holding up their intertwined hands. Cyrus grinned back.

“I love holding hands,” Cyrus said. TJ put their hands in his lap and squeezed.

“I love holding your hand.”

…

Buffy watched Cyrus walk over to TJ, and then she went into the house. Marty was at the mic performing some sort of stand-up thing. He was actually pretty funny, and Buffy was going to tell him that.

“Hey,” she said when he walked over to her after. “You were pretty funny up there.”

“That sounded like an actual compliment,” Marty responded. Buffy blushed slightly. “What’s happening here?”

“Do you really not like me anymore?” Buffy asked. Marty looked at her, slightly, confused. “I mean, I completely get it if you don’t. I said we were better off as friends, and you thought that I didn’t like you.”

“Buffy,” Marty said, but she ignored him.

“I realized that I liked you after I rejected you, and then it was too late,” Buffy continued. “And, it’s probably too late now. I just had to tell you in case maybe you still liked me, but you don’t. That’s completely fine. Trust me, it’s fine.”

“Buffy!” Marty said loudly. Buffy stopped talking and looked at Marty. “You ramble when you’re nervous.” Buffy blushed. “You have nothing to be nervous about, though. I still like you. I never stopped. How could I stop liking The Buffy Driscoll?”

“That is one of the universe’s great unanswered questions,” Buffy said with a smirk. Marty grinned at her.

“She’s back,” he said. Buffy was about to respond when she saw Cyrus and TJ walking toward them holding hands. She had to physically stop herself from screaming.

“Hi, Marty,” Cyrus greeted. “This is my…TJ.”

“You can say boyfriend, Underdog,” TJ whispered to him. Cyrus smiled and turned to Buffy.

“I can say boyfriend,” he said excitedly. TJ grinned.

“It’s fine, anyway. TJ and I already know each other,” Marty said. TJ reached over and did some sort of secret handshake with Marty. Cyrus and Buffy shared a very confused look. “Guys, we’re brothers.”

“You’re what?” Cyrus and Buffy asked in unison.

“Hey, sis,” Marty said to someone. Amber walked over to them. Buffy and Cyrus didn’t know what to say.

“Hey, losers,” she greeted.

“What on Earth is happening?” Cyrus asked Buffy.

“I think the universe is imploding because we finally got together with the…Kippen Brothers,” Buffy offered. Amber shrieked.

“No way! I’m so happy for you guys!” she yelled, hugging both of her brothers.

“What is going on in here?” Andi asked when she and Jonah joined the group.

“Amber, TJ, and Marty are siblings,” Buffy stated, still not fully comprehending.

“What?” Andi asked, completely shocked.

“You didn’t know that?” Jonah asked. Andi, Cyrus, and Buffy all looked at him.

“You did?” Andi countered. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I thought you knew,” he said defensively. He pointed at Cyrus and TJ holding hands. “Cyrus is dating TJ, and he’s friends with Amber.” He pointed at Marty’s arm around Buffy. “Buffy is dating Marty, and she played basketball with TJ. And you and Amber,” both girls blushed, “are you and Amber. You tell each other everything.”

“We should have known,” Andi said. Buffy looked at her.

“Where have you guys been all night?” Buffy asked. Jonah smiled and nodded at Andi.

“I was showing him something. Something that I have to show you guys now,” Andi explained. She began walking to Andi Shack, and everyone followed her. Bex and Bowie were both outside. “Mom, dad, come here.”

Andi opened the door to Andi Shack and let everyone see what was in there: she turned all her old Grant Middle School and Jefferson High paraphernalia into a shape that resembled the word goodbye.

“Why would you do this? Why are you saying goodbye?” Buffy asked. Andi let out a breath.

“I got into Shadyside Academy of Visual Arts, and I’m going there instead of Jefferson,” Andi explained.

“Did you know about this?” Bowie asked Bex. Bex looked at Andi.

“No,” she said softly.

“I didn’t want to tell anyone because I was scared that I wouldn’t get in,” Andi explained. “I had to make sure that I got accepted first.”

“We’ll give you guys a minute,” Bowie said when he saw the sad looks on Buffy and Cyrus’s faces. The three of them stood there not really knowing what to say.

“Are you guys mad?” Andi asked.

“Of course, we aren’t mad,” Cyrus stated.

“Maybe we’re a little sad, but we’re mostly proud of you,” Buffy explained. Cyrus nodded.

“But,” Cyrus began, “it’s not like you’re moving across the country. You’re just going to a different school. We’ll still see you all the time.”

“All the time,” Andi said, trying not to cry. Buffy and Cyrus moved forward and hugged her. Cyrus pulled away and smiled.

“We have a party to get to,” he said. “I also have a boyfriend to get to.”

“Cy, you know how proud of you we are, right?” Andi asked. Cyrus nodded. “We’re also really happy for you.”

“I’m really happy, too,” Cyrus said. “Come on, let’s get out there.”

Cyrus and Buffy both went over to the fire and sat down next to TJ and Marty, respectively. Andi was about to go over too when she felt someone grab her arm. She turned around to see Jonah.

“I have something to give you,” Jonah said. Andi prepared herself for another horrible present, but, instead, she was greeted by a very familiar bracelet.

“I thought you lost this at camp,” she said, reaching out as Jonah put it in her hands. He shrugged.

“I thought that if I told you that I still had it, then you would want me to give it back. I didn’t want to give it back,” Jonah explained. “When you first gave it to me, I couldn’t believe that you made it. It was so amazing. I knew that you were a ridiculously talented artist. Now, it’s your turn to look at this bracelet every day and remember how talented you are.”

“Jonah, you are literally the best friend ever,” Andi said, hugging him. Jonah let out a small laugh.

“You’re gonna be docious magocious at art school,” he said when they she pulled away. She smiled at the term she hadn’t heard in what felt like an eternity.

They both walked over to the rest of the group at the campfire. Andi sat down next to Amber who smiled sheepishly at her. Jonah sat at his own bench. There they sat: the Good Hair Crew, the Kippen Siblings, and Jonah Beck. The ultimate group. The group to end all groups. Sure, they still had a whole lot to get through (they were nowhere near the end of their story) but in that moment they were untouchable. They were together. They were here.

#andi mack #tyrus #tj kippen #cyrus goodman #muffy #buffy driscoll #marty kippen #ambi #amber kippen #jonah beck

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zodiacal-dust-and-curls · 5 years ago

Text

Princess

A/N: Here it is! The last 500 piece and my 3,000th post. Thank you to @clogwearingspacepoodle for the request and @rogers-wristbands for proofreading for me! Enjoy!

Warnings: angst, cheating, drinking, swearing

Word Count: 2k

You loved to watch Roger on stage.

There was just something about his presence that was truly electrifying. Maybe it was the way he couldn't keep his face still to save his life. Maybe it was the way he could look like a man possessed during a solo. Or maybe it was the way he would always flash a smile in your direction. Either way, you loved watching him work.

Today was their last pub show. They'd been working on an album and had actually been picked up for a mini tour. Brian and Roger had come bounding into your apartment like two uncontrollable puppies to tell you.

"Y/N! Y/N!" You heard Roger yelling before he'd even formally opened the door. "You won't believe the news!"

He and Brian tripped over each other to get to you on the couch.

"We're going - ow, Rog!" Brian caught one of those sharp elbows to the ribs.

"My girlfriend, my news!" Roger stuck his tongue out before turning to you, beaming once again. "Y/N, princess, we got picked up for a tour! The label wants to try us out on the road!"

You literally leapt into his arms to celebrate the news. Of course, celebrating also involved calling Deaky and Freddie and getting absolutely hammered, which was always a good idea.

But that was weeks ago. They'd been finishing their scheduled pub appearances in preparation. Sadly, you'd only been able to make the last one with work and school getting in the way.

It was a promise you and Roger had made to each other. No messing with the other’s education or career path. And you both had been absolutely faithful to it. You'd supported his dreams with Queen and he'd supported you with your thesis. Equal work, if you were being completely honest.

Tonight he shone like the sun god incarnate that he was. But you'd noticed him staring in another direction.

To be fair, you hadn't told him you were free. You wanted to surprise him. And he seemed to keep his eyes trained on Freddie. Always interacting to entertain the crowd.

Once the set was finished, you gave him a few minutes to slip backstage and cool off. You wanted to see him immediately, but wanted to give him time with his bandmates.

They were on the brink of greatness. You could all feel it. Why not let them revel in the feeling of their last pub show?

The minute you saw Brian emerge from backstage, you leapt off your barstool and made a beeline for him. He spotted you at the exact same moment and couldn't quite place the emotion you watched cross his face.

"Y/N! You made it!" Whatever it was seemed to pass quickly. Maybe his wrist was hurting from all the practicing he and Rog had been doing at your flat. Always working on new songs.

"Of course! I wouldn't miss this for the world." You smiled up at him. "Where's Roggie?"

Brian seemed to grimace before telling you that he was still changing.

You took off as soon as he finished the word stage. You couldn't wait to tell Roger what you thought of the show and how proud you were. Mostly you wanted to tell him how sorry you were to have missed the last several shows if they were anywhere near as good as tonight's.

You found the door with a piece of notebook paper taped to it that read 'Queen'. The amount of detail told you that Freddie had made the sign. You and the band (yes, the entire band) had seen each other in various states of undress due to a serious lack of personal boundaries, so you thought nothing of walking right into the little room.

That proved to be a bit of a mistake.

Okay, a bit was an understatement. A massive understatement.

There on the crappy little couch sat none other than your sun god, with his hands and lips planted firmly on some brunette you'd never seen in your life.

"Wow." That pulled his eyes to you, but he didn't quite stop his actions. "Not even on your first tour and you've already caught a groupie."

That made the girl pull away, some smart remark already on the tip of her tongue, but Roger spoke first.

"Honestly, princess, I don't know what you expected. I am a rockstar, after all." The look in his eyes was one that you couldn't believe.

He'd been a "rockstar" for all of 6 weeks. Before that he was a dentist with a crackpot dream.

"Don't call me princess, asshole." You left before anything could progress further. The only thing on your mind was getting out of here. It was your turn to do things he wouldn't believe.

You found Brian at the bar with Freddie. To say Brian looked pleased to see you would be an outright lie.

"Y/N." Was all he offered in greeting, along with the rest of his drink.

He and Freddie sat in silence as you chugged what was left of the drink. Truth be told, it was basically untouched, so this took a moment.

"What did you think, darling?" Freddie always wanted feedback.

"Truth be told, you were all absolutely electric, Mr. Mercury." You shot him a tight smile, "but this is the last place I want to be right now."

You leveled Brian with a look. He still hadn't said more than your name since you'd rejoined the crowd. "Want to get out of here?"

Brian simply nodded and took your hand, pulling the two of you from the noise of the crowd and out onto the cool street.

"Back to the flat?" He was used to taking you home after a fight with Roger. He never liked getting in between the two of you, his best friends, but he was quick to diffuse the situation. He always took you home and Freddie took Roger back to his place.

Reflecting back on those fights, you wondered how long Roger had been seeing other girls. You'd been together over a year now. That wasn't something so easily thrown away, or so you thought.

"It's been happening for about 2 weeks now, Y/N/N." You hadn't realized that you'd actually voiced your thoughts. "Never the same girl, but always complaining that she wasn't you and you weren't there. I couldn't bear to tell you over the phone."

So Roger was going to try to pin this on you? You pursuing your education over attending his music career? Was he joking?

"Brian," he paused your progress down the street to look at you. "I need to do something stupid, and I need your help."

You could tell he didn't quite like the look in your eyes, but he nodded for you to proceed.

"I need to get very, very drunk and I need to retaliate." He eyed you, waiting for more information.

"I think there is nothing in this world that would piss him off more than coming home to his two best friends the morning after." His eyes wandered to a space above your head, almost as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Do you really think that fucking his best friend is a great plan of action?" He didn't seem to understand exactly what had happened, so it was time to spell it out for him.

"Brimi," you pulled him in close by the lapels of his jacket, pressing his body to yours. "Mr. Taylor has made his position on our relationship crystal clear. If I am going to continue my education, instead of becoming his favorite groupie, then I am of no use to him."

You pressed your forehead to his locking your eyes. "He has officially and completely broken the only two promises we've ever made to each other."

You paused for dramatic effect, resituating yourself against him. "Now, I am going to get absolutely plastered, with or without you, but I would prefer the company of my best friend while making all of my bad decisions today. Are you in or are you out?"

You could feel just how hard the decision was for him to make.

Quickly, he spun the two of you back towards the bars. Picking one at random, he pushed the two of you inside.

"If I'm going to get any payback for keeping his little indiscretions a secret for so long, this might as well be it."

With that, he ordered the first of many shots for the pair of you. Somewhere after number 6, you lost count. After the second bar, things started to really run together. Who knew what would happen at the end of the night? Certainly, not you.

The next morning you woke up to beating on your door and in your head. How on earth did they manage to line up so perfectly?

"Fuck off!" You heard come from somewhere next to you. Right, Brian.

At least it made the pounding stop.

You sighed and relaxed back into the bed. The feeling of someone else's smooth skin meeting your own. You decided to cling to it and were met with arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you farther into the bed.

"Are you joking?" Ah, there was Roger. Right on time.

You looked up from where you lay sprawled across your bed. Surely you were a tangle of limbs and curls, all tied up with his guitarist.

"One little fight, and you fuck my best mate?" He was seething. This worked better than you'd hoped. "Tell me, is this the first time, or have you done this every time he takes you home after one of our little tiffs?"

Something inside of you snapped, and you saw nothing but white.

"Roger Meddows Taylor! I know you must be out of your mind to think this is just another row." You stood up fully from the bed, headache and hangover forgotten, along with your sheets.

"You have broken every promise you ever made to me in one night. Do you even know how many promises that is?" You continued without giving him a chance to answer. "It's two! Only two promises and you couldn't even manage that!"

You had found the bag of his things you'd haphazardly packed in your drunken stupor the night before. Just things he'd left lying around; a shirt, a necklace, a book, a broken drumstick. They started flying from your hands as you backed him towards the front door.

"Just two promises! But I guess a rockstar doesn't have to worry about those." You finally had him backed all the way against the door. "I mean what did I expect? That I could have it all? A career and a good man? No. That would be far too easy." You threw the bag down at his feet.

"Get your shit and get out, Taylor. We're done." You turned your back on him only to see that Brian had followed you. Despite the sheet wrapped around his waist and the deep purple marks on his chest, the only thing you could focus on was the intense sadness in his eyes.

Instead of saying something in front of Roger, he just led you back to the bedroom. Always trying to put space between the two of you while fighting.

"Y/N -," you cut him off before he could begin.

"Brian, I'm not sorry for this and it wasn't a mistake." You had finally found a robe to pull on. You had faced Roger nude, the evidence of your choices there for all to see. "I may not be ready for whatever this could turn into," you motioned between the two of you, "but I will say that I'd be proud to be your first groupie."

Brian just gave you a sad, soft smile. He gently reached out to take your wrist and pull you to his chest. He pressed a kiss into your hair and echoed your sentiment.

"That, I'll gladly take. The great Y/N/N, the girl no other groupie could ever compare to."

---

A/N: let me know what you thought! The secret codeword is pineapples!

Taglist: @rogers-wristbands @deakydeckme @bitemerog @brianandthemays

Bonus: a gif of Bri

#roger taylor #brian may #roger taylor angst #roger taylor fic #brian may angst #brian may fic #cheating #drinking #swearing #t writes

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