#and even after almost scraping rock bottom? i still adore this show

[milazka]

not the greatest feeling ever | 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝.

the less i know the better masterlist

main masterlist

summary: fuck it, i’m not doing a summary, i’m so bad at it. oh! there’s smut btw.

warnings: smut, cursing, mentions of blood, underrage drinking

last thought: i’m proud of this one, took me a lot of time to write, but i think it was worth it! enjoy your reading! love, milz.

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The gentle breeze twirls her golden locks in all directions. She hums the lyrics of You never can tell, having watched Pulp Fiction for the hundredth time last night. Her irises are fixed to the slightly damp roadside covered with fresh fallen leaves from this morning rainstorm. The last rays of sunlight caress her baby-like skin as they disappear into the horizon, painting the sky in a mixture of orange and rose. 

“C’mon grandpa, you’re slow as hell!” she teases Marcus, turning her head back to stick her tongue out at him. Standing on his skateboard, he sends her the finger, scraping the pavement with his over-used black vans to gain speed and eventually catch up with her. 

“That’s how the turtle won the race, dumbass,” he gently nudges her shoulder with his hand as he rides his board besides her. She gives a sharp turn of the handlebars to move her tires out of the sand and back on the pavement, giving him a death glare. 

“I almost fell in the ditch, shithead!” he simply laughs, his head falling backward. His dark colored hairs, normally slicked back, are ruffled by the warm September wind, giving him a laid back look that fits him perfectly. She adores hearing his laugh; it's one of the purest and most delightful sounds. It was only recently that she heard him laugh again, having not heard it for months after the day they lost the third musketeer of their trio. It was one of the hardest moments of their lives, but sharing this kind of experience brought them closer than ever. Charlie was there for him when he hit rock bottom, stroking his back while he cried on the shower floor, freezing water running down their damped bodies. She was also by his side the first time he went to therapy, soothingly squeezing his hand before he entered the office.

“If someone had to fall in a ditch, it would be me.”

“You know that Max and I made bet on how long it would take you to fall in a ditch?” she replies, checking his reaction at the corner of her cerulean eyes. He grins. 

“How much did you bet?” he curiously asks, one eyebrow arched. 

“Fifty bucks,” his eyes almost snap out of their sockets. He stops, stepping off his board.

“Fifty bucks?! That’s insulting, thought I was worth more than that,” he shouts as she makes a u-turn, retracing her steps, stopping in front of him.

“I’ll give you half of it if you wait ‘till June,” Charlie sarcastically says to him, elbows leaning on the handlebars of her bicycle. He caught a glimpse of light in her gaze; a twinkle of amusement he always finds in the corners of her softly crinkled eyes when she smiles truthfully.

“Deal,” he winks at her, drawing a small laugh from her slightly parted lips. He picks up Charlie's polaroid from the basket at the front of her bike, signaling for her to ride so he can immortalize the moment for her. Marcus knows she keeps those famous polaroids in an old converse box as a source of happiness; they're memories of moments she doesn't want to forget. 

He takes the little camera to his eyes, snapping a picture when Charlie turns her head to the side to look at him, smiling like there is no tomorrow. As the picture is slowly developing, he hears a squeal of tires and a squeal of surprise from the distance. 

“Fuck Charlie!” he shouts, running towards her as she sits, holding firmly her right forearm. His heart tightens at the sight of her painful face, her traits are torn by pain and he can see tears gathering at the corner of her squinted blue eyes. Marcus hates to see her in pain; he knows she's not the type to complain about anything so when he sees her azure eyes filling with water, he knows it's serious. 

“You got a few scratches,” he whispers, running his eyes over her legs and arms. “We’ll go to your house and clean you up, okay?” she nods, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Marcus tucks his skateboard under his arm, grabbing the handlebars and seat of Charlie's bike simultaneously.

─── ° • ❀ ───

“Hold still,” his hazel eyes are focused on the mid-depth cut on her forearm. His bushy eyebrows furrowed, giving him a severe, almost cold sober look. She takes a big gulp of the rich whiskey she borrowed from her father's secret stash. 

“Oh fucking hell!” she swears between her clenched teeth when the rubbing alcohol makes contact with the exposed flesh of her forearm. “That’s not the greatest feeling ever,” she whimpers, her forehead resting on his shoulder covered by his green olive shirt. 

“I know, angel, I know,” he runs his hand through her blonde hair, gently stroking her scalp in a soothing way. She keeps her head resting against his shoulder, holding back the tears that threaten to run down her flushed cheeks.

“I’m usually the one taking care of you,” he knows it refers as much to all the times he fell off his skateboard as it does to when he hit rock bottom when their friend passed away. Charlie isn't used to being taken care of; she has always been able to look after herself without anyone's help.

Crying is for the weak.

She swallows her tears, putting her mask back on with a slight smile.

“Your new neighbor saw me fall,” she changes the subject, pausing to take another gulp directly from the whisky bottle. “Great way to make a first impression,” a light laugh escapes from her lips, but she halts when she notices his gaze turning away almost discreetly. “What’s wrong?” 

Over the years, she has learned to read him like the palm of her hand; she knows he looks away to the left when he is hiding something from her and that he scrapes the back of his neck when he is embarrassed.

“I-I had sex with her,” he blurts out, avoiding her gaze while he still applies pressure on the bandage covering the wound on her forearm. 

“Holy shit,” her eyes widened, not expecting this kind of disclosure. “Wait, what about Padma?” 

“You know she is not my girlfriend, Charlz,” he sighs, finally sustaining her non-judgmental azure irises. It' s one of the things he likes about her; she never judges him and even if she did, he wouldn't know since she hides it so well. 

“Was it good?” she does not insist about Padma, knowing perfectly well that she is the first one to know. He doesn't answer, looking thoughtful as if a million thoughts are running through his head. He steals the bottle of alcohol from her, gulping down a few ounces of the throat-burning liquid.

“What aren’t you telling me, Marcus?” 

He shuts his eyes, exhaling loudly.

“I don’t know if I was good… God, I don’t even know if she came!” her heart tightens; he looks distraught and she knows that this is a big deal to him, after all, he just lost his virginity. He breathes heavily, his jaw as tightly clenched as his fists.

“Show me.” 

“What?!” he opens one eye, eyebrows furrowed as if he was questioning if she was being serious.

“Show me what you did, I’ll tell you if it’s good,” 

“You’re drunk, Charlz…I don-” he stops as soon as her silver rings coated hands grip the hem of his olive shirt, grazing the soft skin of his lower abdomen with her fingertips. Sitting on her knees, she brings her head up to his neck, pressing her lips against the skin. The feeling of her wet lips on his burning skin sends a shiver running through his spine. 

“I’m sober enough to remember everything and give you my consent,” she whispers to his ear and he almost moans when she slightly nibbles his lobe. Her hands slips to the back of his neck, forcing him to hover over her as she lies on her back.

Both his hands are lingering on the buckle of her belt, struggling to undo it. She clutches his chin with one hand, plunging her reassuring gaze into his. He looks nervous, his hands trembling slightly when he takes off her jeans. She presses her lips to his Adam's apple, feeling him tense up at first, but relax as she sensuously slides her tongue up to his sculpted jaw.

“A-are you good with two figers?” he nervously asks, his right hand resting on the edge of her panties. 

“Yes,” he hesitantly slips his hand into her panties, parting her legs with his other hand before sliding his index and middle fingers up and down her folds.  She can see him blush when an almost quiet moan escapes her lips at the feeling of his fingers inside her core. He pumps them in and out slowly, as if he was afraid to hurt her.

“Try to curl them in a ‘come here’ movement,” she demonstrates with her own fingers. He nods and mimics her actions, making her whimper under him. 

“That feels good,” she encourages him. “What did you do next?” she softly asks, rubbing her thumb against his cheek to sooth him. 

“Hum, well, we-um, you know, did it,” he says, blushing like a little child who just got his first kiss with the popular girl. 

“You didn’t go down on her?” she asks, looking quite shocked. He seemed clueless. “I mean, you didn’t use your mouth?” 

“Uh no, should I have?” 

“You boys really know nothing about female pleasure,” she sights. “Try watching lesbian porn next time, you will learn A LOT more,” He almost chokes, not expecting to hear this come out of his best friend's lips while his fingers are still inside her. They've always been comfortable with each other, but not to the point of talking about the kind of porn they listen to. The idea of her best friend watching porn and getting herself off almost made him cum in his pants.

“You do know what a cunniligus is, right?” 

“God, Charlz, I’m not five years old! Yes, I know what it is!” he exclaims, his ego lightly bruised by her question. 

“Well, show me then, playboy,” she challenges him, a cocky smile slipping on her lips. the alcohol going slightly to her head.

He pulls her to the edge of the mattress, kneeling at the foot of the bed between her legs. His lips kiss the skin on the inside of her thighs, sucking it until he sees a dark red mark appear. He gets rid of her underwear in the blink of an eye  before placing her legs over his shoulders. He darts his tongue out of his mouth, licking a long strip between her folds without giving her the chance to acknowledge what was going on. He stops once his tongue rests on the bundle of nerves, licking around it in a circular motion.

“Fuck,” she moans. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“You really think I've never watched lesbian porn?” he teases her, biting the inside of her thigh, making her body jolt. He dives back his head to her core, sucking her clit into his mouth.

At leats he know where the clit is.

"Oh my god Marcus," she moans, squirming against his grip. He places his arm over her lower abdomen, pinning her body against the mattress. She can feel his two fingers sliding back into her core, the sudden feeling causing her hips to buck up against his face.  

“Are you gonna be a good girl and cum for me, hun?” he praises her, fingers curling inside her just like she taught him. She could barely feel herself, letting out a series of high-pitched moans as Marcus tongue was working on her bundle of nerves. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” she whimpers, her head pressed down against the matress. Her fingers tangle in his dark hair, tucking at the roots as she let out a cry, the euphoric feeling taking over her body for a moment. Marcus looks up to see her eyes shut tightly, her legs shaking on his shoulders. He can feel her core pulsating around his fingers as she comes down from her high.

He took a mental picture of her, engraving this moment in his memory forever.

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taglist; @cognacdelights @ellegotohell @janedartist

[maddogofshimano]

Apology Ring: Rikiya Scratcher Event

A new Rikiya event! I was very excited about what nonsense this one would be and it did not disappoint. 

I couldn’t tell you why Kuze’s a reward, but I sure did get 6 of him, so I can’t complain. Let’s get started!

Summary: While Rikiya has come to adore Kiryu as his aniki, Haruka is still cold and distant towards him. In his desperation to win back her favor, he learns that Haruka’s after a prize from the scratcher event happening at the local grocery store, and is determined to win it for her no matter the cost

2008 Shimabukuro Rikiya had been charmed by Kiryu Kazuma, and his yearning to have him as his aniki has led to him often visiting Morning Glory.

Rikiya: Aniki! Let's go get drinks together! Standing by for your answer!

Kiryu: Rikiya...... I already gave you an answer earlier. I'm busy today. You should get back to work. <Kiryu walks away> Rikiya: W-Wait for me anikiiii~!

Rikiya: Haaa.... Alone again..... Though, that's just one of the things that makes him so cool. (Tl note: overwhelmingly tempted to use the "attractive/good looking/handsome" meanings on かっこいい instead of cool lol) Rikiya: ....Oh? Haruka: Ah..... Rikiya-san. Good afternoon. ...............Bye. <She leaves>

Rikiya: Ah, Haruka-chan.... Rikiya: She sure didn't look happy to see me... Guess she still hates me.

Rikiya: Well... I guess being hated by her can't be helped. She was real scared I was going to evict everyone in Morning Glory after all... Rikiya: Kiryu no aniki swore an oath of brotherhood though... So I can't just leave things like this. Rikiya: If I apologize from the bottom of my heart, maybe Haruka-chan will forgive me... Rikiya: .........Hn? Koji: I want to get Haruka a gift for always working so hard, but I can't think of a single thing to get her.... Koji: Have you thought of anything Taichi? Taichi: I got this! Isn't this rock pretty? I found it out on the beach! Koji: ....A rock, huh. Well, Haruka will still be thrilled to get it. Now what am I gonna do.... Taichi: What about the scratchers down at the shopping center? Koji: Scratchers? What's that? Taichi: Haruka said she wanted to the prize from them, and wouldn't doing scratchers be fun? Koji: No way. I don't trust that it won't be a total bust. Taichi: But think about how happy she'd be. Rikiya: ....Scratchers at the shopping center? Hmm, come to think of it I was supposed to go to the super market. Rikiya: ......If I can get that thing Haruka-chan wants, she might forgive me, so it's worth a shot. Rikiya: With a little bit of luck and money, let's take a gamble on scratchers! <He runs downtown> Manager: Hey welcome! Right now we're running a scratcher campaign~.

Manager: The top prize, a trip to Tokyo, has already been claimed, but we still have a ring from a brand that's very popular with women, a coffee maker, an electric razor, and a 100kg of rice among the fabulous prizes jostling around! You can't miss this opportunity! Rikiya: (.....The only thing he listed that a girl her age would want is that ring. That must be what Haruka-chan is after!) Rikiya: Sir! Give me a scratcher! Manager: Ah, Rikiya-kun. Ready to have some fun? One entry for every 1,000 yen you spend at the store! <scratching noises> Manager: Annnnd... no luck. For the bottom prize, here's your free pack of pocket tissues. Rikiya: Damn... Totally drained, huh. I really don't have any more cash to blow on scratchers. Manager: That's a shame, Rikiya-kun. I'll be here with the scratchers for a while longer if you change your mind and want to try again. Rikiya: ....Say, mister. I really just gotta get my hands on that ring. Is there any way we could make that happen? Rikiya: ....I beg you! Truly!! Manager: No, and the answer stays no no matter how many times you ask~. Manager: Right now the odds are stacked in the customer's favor with how many scratchers have been pulled, so good luck. Rikiya: ....Man, that's really how it is, huh. I getcha... Gimme a bit to scrape up some cash. <Rikiya leaves, makes a phonecall> Rikiya: ....I'm all out. Mikio's broke too. I guess I could try getting a loan.... hmmmmm.....

Rikiya: What am I gonna do... My plan to show my sincere apologies to Haruka with that ring is turning out to be a huge bust. Rikiya: I gotta get more cash to do pulls with... If only there was some way to do free pulls...... (Tl note: Rikiya is the prime target for gatcha games) <he moves on> Rikiya: ....I ended up walking all the way around Ryukyu without getting a single idea. What am I gonna do.... Hm? Blond Chinpira A: Hehehe, look at all these scratchers. I'm a almost afraid I'll get sick of doing scratchers from this.

Blond Chinpira B: Mhm~! Hey, did ya see that employee's face? He was so scared, it was hilarious! Hehehe. <they leave> Rikiya: ....What were those bastards up to? <Rikiya returns to the store> Rikiya: !? Manager: Uughh.... Rikiya: Hey, hey..... you're not looking good. All your merch has been scattered and all the shelves are all smashed up....

Rikiya: What the heck happened while I was gone? Manager: Ah, Rikiya-kun... The truth is.... some blond haired chinpira came and stole all the scratchers..... Rikiya: Blond haired chinpira...? You mean those assholes just a minute ago did this? Manager: When they found out the top prize had already been claimed... they flew into a rage and started smashing things.... Manager: They stole all the scratchers and remaining prizes and said "You better have that top prize restocked by the time we're back".... Rikiya: What the hell? Manager: I don't know if the police could do anything, and I have no idea how I could get another trip to Tokyo lined up..... Manager: Rikiya-kun, I'm sorry. I really did want you to have fun with this scratcher campaign... Manager: Haa... I started this up intending to give back to my regulars... but now it's going to end like this... I guess it can't be helped. Rikiya: ..........It's just like you to still be thinking about your customers. Even at a time like this they're the ones you're worried about.... Rikiya: ...Sir, I'm going to crush those assholes. I swear it. Manager: Eh? Rikiya: I can't stand cowardly civilians like that. ....So I'm gonna kick their asses. Rikiya: While I'm at it I'll get back all the scratchers and all the prizes and return them to you. Manager: R-Rikiya-kun.... but.... Rikiya: Don't worry about it. This is my job as a member of the Ryudo Family. My boss would yell at me if I turned a blind eye to this. Rikiya: So, I'm off! <Rikiya leaves> Manager: Rikiya-kun..... <EVENT START>

Blonde Chinpira A: Ughhh......

Rikiya: ......Hand over the scratchers and the prizes.

Blonde Chinpira A: W-Who the fuck are you....

Rikiya: Ryudo family captain, Shimabukuro Rikiya. Chinpira: R-....Ryudo Family!? Y-You're... a professional....... Rikiya: ......We good? I don't think ya want this again.

Rikiya: If I ever hear that you're causing problems for that shop again then I'm going to silence you myself!!!! Chinpira: I-I got it.... it won't happen again. <back at the store> Rikiya: There you are, manager. The scratchers and the prizes. With this, you should be able to continue your campaign, right? Manager: R-Rikiya-kun...... Rikiya: I really nailed those shitheads, so you shouldn't need to worry about them coming after you for revenge. Rikiya: Of course if they do show up, just give me a ring. I'll handle 'em for you. Any time you need. Manager: Th-Thank you Rikiya-kun.... What can I ever do to repay you...... Rikiya: Don't sweat it. This is just the job of a member of the Ryudo Family. <Rikiya begins walking away> Manager: Ah, Rikiya-kun! Rikiya: ......I'm up shit creek here. What about Haruka-chan's present....

Rikiya: What am I gonna do..... I'm outta cash......... I got it. I'm sure I got some pachinko balls tucked away.... ???: Rikiya-kun! <manager runs up> Rikiya: Manager? Manager: Ha... Ha.... This.... I wanted to give this to you. Rikiya: This is..... the ring that was one of the scratcher prizes!? Manager: Yep. You said you wanted it. So I figured to repay you somewhere... I'd like to give this to you. Rikiya: Manager..... But isn't this a real major prize? Manager: It's fine. Without you the scratcher campaign wouldn't have continued at all. Manager: Oh, are you turning this down? I know this doesn't remotely make up for everything you did, and I'm truly sorry. Rikiya: ....I ain't turning it down! Thank you, manager! Manager: Hehe, that makes me glad to hear. Well, I'm heading back to the store now. See ya. <Manager leaves> Rikiya: Hell yes... Now I can give this to Haruka-chan as an apology! Rikiya: Finally we'll be able to wrap this whole thing up and move past things with one big gesture! Rikiya: Wait for me! Haruka-chan! <Rikiya runs off> Rikiya: .......Pardon my intrusion.

Haruka: Ah...... Rikiya-san.

Rikiya: (....She's still so distant. Guess she still doesn't like me one bit....) Kiryu: What is it? Rikiya. I can't get drinks with you today. Rikiya: Nah, I'm actually here for Haruka-chan this time. Kiryu: To see Haruka? Rikiya: Yes... Um, Haruka-chan. I actually have something to give to you. Haruka: Something to give to... me? Rikiya: Here, this. It's some kind of ring from a famous brand. Haruka-chan, this was that thing you wanted, right? Haruka: Eh!?

Kiryu: A ring? What's this about Haruka?

Haruka: N-.... No. I, don't really like rings...

Rikiya: Right. As soon as I heard you wanted this I rushed out frantically to-........ Rikiya: .......Eh!!??

Rikiya: What do you mean, you don't really like rings...... But.... Isn't this the ring you said you wanted? Haruka: ...N-No. I don't remember ever saying I wanted that..... Rikiya: That's.... B-But, you wanted one of the prizes from the scratchers....... Haruka: Scratchers.....? Oh, of course.... Rikiya: Of course....? Haruka: I wanted the rice so that everyone could have it to eat. Is that what you were thinking of? Rikiya: R-Rice!!?? <flashback to the manager talking about all the prizes they had> Rikiya: The thing that Haruka-chan actually wanted..... was the 100kg of rice.......... Rikiya: I was so sure it was the ring.... Seriously, man......... Haruka: I-I'm so sorry. Kiryu: ....Say, Rikiya. What's with the sudden present? Haruka's birthday's still a ways off, right? Rikiya: .........I wanted to give it to Haruka-chan as an apology. Kiryu: ....Apology? Rikiya: Yes. When I came to Morning Glory and threatened to evict everyone, for kids that have nowhere else to go, wouldn't that have been terrifying? Rikiya: Since then, Haruka's hated me. But I wanted to earn Haruka's forgiveness... Rikiya: That's why.... I thought I could give her that ring as an earnest apology. Rikiya: But then I went and got her something she didn't even want, so instead of being happy she's bothered by it... I really am a fool, huh. (Tl note: we might not have gotten to hear Rikiya sing bakamitai but he did at least say the phrase here lol) Haruka: .....Rikiya-san. Even though I never said I wanted it..... I really am happy to get it. Rikiya: ....That's sweet of you to say, Haruka-chan. But you don't have to lie like that to me.... Haruka: No, it's true. Rikiya-san, you picked out that ring to give me because you thought it'd make me happy, right? Haruka: The fact that you were thinking about me like that and working so hard to make me happy, well, how could I not be! Rikiya: Haruka-chan.....

Haruka: Really though.... I don't hate you, okay? Rikiya: Eh? Haruka: I... think you're a good person, Rikiya-san. So I don't have a reason to dislike you. Rikiya: Wait, but... Earlier when you saw my mug you looked real upset and ran off immediately, didn't you? Haruka: That was... sorry... I think I was trying to hold in a sneeze. Rikiya: .......a sneeze? Haruka: Right. Honestly I was dealing with a cold earlier.... I didn't want to get you sick, so I was trying really hard not to sneeze..... Rikiya: --Which explains why you were keeping your distance..... What the hell. Have I just been totally overthinking this........ Kiryu: ...Heh, I'm glad for you Rikiya. Your worries were misplaced, and this is all settled now. Rikiya: A-Anikiii.... Haruka-chan's.... a good kid....... Rikiya: I horribly threaten her and she doesn't hate me...... I don't even get her the present she wants and she's still thrilled..... Rikiya: Even if it was my job to scare her.... She's... She's such a good kid, that Haruka-chan.... <Rikiya drops to the ground> Rikiya: I'M SO SO SORRYYYYYYYYYY!!!!

Haruka: R-Rikiya-san!? Kiryu: H-Hey. Rikiya, quit grovelling!

Rikiya kept his head bowed in apology for a long time, until Kiryu and Haruka were both troubled by the excessiveness.

<END EVENT>

Bonus stuff: 

I was so sure Haruka wanted to trip to Tokyo to give to Kiryu so that he could go visit. The rice was my second guess, but I was so ready for the emotional pain. Shout outs to @agentshilonglang​ for correctly guessing it though! 

This one wasn’t as long or a fraction as difficult to translate as the previous Rikiya board game event, but I am thrilled to have more Rikiya content. This card also has a new character story, and I pulled it so I’ll get that translated sometime soon-ish! I’m actually thinking of holding a poll on which story to do next when I hit 300 followers.

Finally this was the song that played on the main page of the event, tho they skipped the intro portion:

[sleepybutwriting]

Are you okay? | Fatherly!Yamada

_____

Pairing: Fatherly!Yamada x Reader

Summary: Hizashi sees that you, his favorite student, was attacked on the news and immediately goes to check up on you.

Request: “P1. Hizashi's favorite student lives alone and she fights a dangerous villian on her way to go home. She eventually gets out because the police shows up. Hizashi finds out through the news, (please capture his reaction) she goes into her apartment to find him sitting there, looking stern and worried. He's basically like a protective dad to her (just so it doesn't seem weird and inappropriateish) she's all battered and bruised and she tries to aviod the subject by nervously making jokes. P2. He confronts her about and she nervously tries to leave the apartment saying she had a thing going on because she didn't want him to worry about here and he basically cages her/traps her (again, not in a weird way, in a 'you're not going anywhere until you tell me what happened' dad kinda of way) Please make it long.I've requested this to other accounts and I kid you not, people refused to write it because it they didn't read/understand it right and insulted me then called it inappropriate. - Anonymous”

Notes: I had a difficult time keeping Hizashi in character, but I hope this is an okay end result.

_____

You were staying late after school to get extra help with English. It was your worst subject. And even though you hated the class, you loved your teacher. Yamada Sensei was always eager to help you when he saw you struggling. And you would stay after so many days that the two of you naturally grew close.

Your parents had died when you were young and of course, you had mentioned this to him. He was caught off guard at first, but it explained why you were so mature when compared to the rest of the kids in your class. He was ecstatic when you decided to share the information with him, it only succeeded in strengthening your already growing bond. At that moment he had unknowingly taken it upon himself to become your stand-in parent.

It didn’t take long until the two of you became a well-known pair. He was your favorite teacher. And you were his favorite student, and pretty much all of UA knew it. He always hyped you up before matches and cheered you on during. Even when you begged him to stop because it drew unnecessary attention. He even stayed late whenever you needed extra help on an assignment to make sure you understood everything.

“Okay, so which one of these sentences is incorrect?” He questioned, pointing over to one of the questions. They all seemed right to you, but ‘B’ stood out as being slightly odd so you just went with it.

“Yeah! All right, I think you got this down. You keep this up and you’ll rock next week’s test.”

“That’s perfect. I could really use another good grade if I’m going to get my average up.” 

“You’ll do great! Now all ya gotta do is rest up.” He encouraged, glancing down at his watch slightly before speaking up again “Come on, I’ll drop ya off. It’s kinda late.”

“Nah, I’m good. I could use the fresh air.” The two of you often stayed late so it wasn’t uncommon for him to offer you a ride home. He always slept easier knowing that you made it home okay. It stressed him out sometimes knowing that you were home alone with no one to look after you.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, Yamada Sensei, I’m sure.” You assured him. But he still didn’t look like he was ready to give in. “I’ll go straight home. No shortcuts, no scenic routes, just from here to home.” He seemed to ease up slightly at your statement. And after making you promise to go straight home he agreed.

You had made it home fine. It wasn’t until you got there that you remembered that you didn’t really have enough food for dinner. You had forgotten to go grocery shopping earlier in the week and were surviving solely off of takeout. Not sure you could stomach another day of it, you decided to just go grocery shopping now, rather than putting it off for another day. What was the worst that could happen right?

~

After a long day at work, Yamada’s favorite thing to do was just cook. Working three jobs was always stressful. From being a radio host, to being a hero, and teaching, he barely had a moment of free time. But he loved all of it so much he would never give up any of it.

“Our top story tonight…” the news anchor cut in, successfully interrupting the quiet atmosphere in the kitchen, “villains attack.”

“Not this again.” Hizashi sighed, just about ready to change the channel. The one thing he hated more than villains was the media. Villains attacked everyday. And every day, without a break, the media constantly blows it out of proportion. 

Hizashi was just about to change the channel before he saw your picture flash across the tv screen. Immediately stopping him in his tracks.

“Local UA student is believed to have gotten caught in the middle.” 

The remote that was once in his hand had crashed against the floor. His mind was in a panic. Hundreds of questions were swarming to the point where he wasn’t even sure what to ask.

Always working, meant that he never had a personal life. And with no personal life, it meant that no room for a girlfriend or a family was ever able to be made. But he had always seen you as his daughter. You struggled more than the rest of the class to keep up, but that never stopped you from giving it one hundred percent all of the time. He adored you. And the thought of you possibly being injured was enough to just about stop his heart.

He needed to know that you were all right.

~

The police questioning had taken hours. You had been asked the same questions a million times.

“What were you doing out so late?” 

“What did you witness?”

“Did you notice anyone else involved?”

And your personal favorite: “Are you okay?”

That small question had come up more times than any other. From the officers who were the first to arrive on the scene, to the paramedics who you assured that you weren’t badly injured, to even the receptionist at the police station.

By the time the interrogation process was over. you were barely able to tell them your own name. Realizing that they had gotten all that they could out of you, they finally let you return home. One of the officers being kind enough to give you a ride.

But when you opened the door to your apartment, you had really wished they had kept you longer. You would have preferred being asked a hundred more questions to what was about to follow, when you came face to face with a panicked looking Yamada.

He thought that seeing you face to face would calm himself. If he was just able to see you, then he could prove to himself that the media just blew it out of proportion as usual and everything would be okay. But one look at you proved that that wouldn’t be the case.

Barely any part of your body was left without a mark. From small scrapes and markings to bigger bruises. Even your face was littered with them. You had a small cut in your bottom lip, as well as some slight discoloration on your lower eye. Even the way you stood, told him that you were in pain, due to the stiffness in your stance.

“Umm... I’m pretty sure breaking and entering is illegal, but since you gave me an ‘A’ on the last English assignment I’ll let it slide.” You grinned, fidgeting slightly while hoping to break his attention away from your injuries.

“How’d this happen?” he whispered, more to himself than to you. 

The softness in his voice had caught you by surprise. Never had you seen your teacher so quiet and at a physical loss for words. He was always so happy-go-lucky, and you didn’t like the change in emotion, that your state brought him too.

“I was just jogging through the park when some killer squirrel came at me,” you joked in an attempt to lighten the mood a bit.

He didn’t seem to find your joke funny. All he did was frown at your attempt to make light of the situation. “How can you even joke at a time like this Y/N? You could have been seriously injured. Do you realize that?”

His scolding was making you nervous. You pretty much raised yourself, having grown up without parents. So this whole ‘father’ vibe he was giving off was something that you didn’t know how to react to. You had never been in this situation before where you made someone worry about you like this.

It made you feel sad. Seeing the worry in his eyes, and the slightly disheveled look of his hair and clothes that were usually kept so well tame. And knowing that you were the cause only added to the unease of this foreign feeling growing inside you. All you wanted to do now was leave before you embarrassed yourself even more by crying in front of the man before you.

“Hello? Y/N, answer me. Do you realize what time it is? What were you thinking going out on your own this late.”

Your hand began frantically searching for the doorknob as you maintained eye contact with him.“On no! The time, I really need to go. I’m late for… meeting… I promised to meet someone so…” Unable to even finish your half-assed excuse, you tried to open the door and leave before he was able to question you further. But he caught on to what you were doing and walked over to you, quickly placing his hand over your head, and closing the door before you could leave. Successfully caging you in, eye to eye, so you were forced to talk to him now.

You were expecting him to continue on with his lecture even angrier than he was, but he surprised you when you heard his voice crack, almost like he was also fighting back tears. “I was so worried when I saw…”  He paused for a second, taking a deep breath in, in an attempt to calm himself. “I don’t know what I would do if you had…” Once again he trailed off, not even able to finish his sentence at the thought of you dying. “Are you okay?”

“Yamada Sensei, I’m fine. It looks worse than it is.”

“That’s not what I mean, Y/N. Are you okay?” He repeated this time with a slight emphasis. The more he repeated the question, the more you felt as if you would break.

“I said I’m fine!” You responded slightly harsher than what was intended.

The weight of everything was slowly coming down on you. You were scared. You were so scared that you weren’t going to make it. And if it hadn’t been for the police coming when they did, you probably wouldn’t have. You felt sick as those thoughts passed through your head. You’d never see your friends again. You’d never see your teachers again. You’d never become a hero.

“Y/N, you’re trembling,” Yamada whispered, slowly bringing his arms down and enveloping you in a hug. Allowing you to cry into his chest as he held you.

No, you weren’t okay. But Yamada would make sure you would be.

[skullrock]

noel nancy

12 days of Christmas fics, day 4 - noel nancy

pairing: Stancy

summary: Steve and Nancy spend their first Christmas together after the events of S1.

word count: 1.5k

warnings: none <3

a/n: this isn’t really like a STANCY stancy fic it’s more of a character study into Steve and his relationship w Christmas, w Nancy, and with Barb after S1. so even if u hate this ship u can still read <3 xox hope u enjoy!

Steve wasn’t used to second chances. His parents gave up on him the first time he snuck out to try cigarettes with Tommy; his teachers gave up on him at the first signs of difficulty; his other girlfriends gave up on him the first time he let down his cool exterior. Because, really, Steve was a kid. As much as he felt like a grown up, he wasn’t. He was a kid who handled his life poorly, and if it wasn’t for Nancy Wheeler, he never would have handled it well.

So when Nancy gave him a second chance, a month after… Everything, he was quick to jump on it and be on his very best behavior. Jonathan Byers’ fist knocked some sense into him, too, and that’s precisely why Steve went to the store and bought the best camera that the salesman had. He owed them both his life - like, literally, and they probably owed him theirs, but he wouldn’t take it. He just wanted them happy and safe and peaceful for Christmas.

“Steve.” Nancy looked bewildered when Steve showed her the camera, unwrapped, as he didn’t really know how to wrap anything. “He’ll love it.” Her hand touched his and it was warm, and Steve swore he felt the heat creep up his entire arm. He never wanted her to let go. Not again.

“‘s whatever,” he said, a bit bashfully, but his smile was growing. “I owe him at least this much.”

“You’re sweet,” Nancy said, leaning forward and kissing his cheek softly, and Steve melted into her eagerly. He didn’t think he really deserved to be called sweet, not yet, but he still takes her hand and squeezes it.

“Help me wrap it?” he asked.

“You don’t know how?”

“I can’t be good at everything,” he teased, and she hit his chest gently with her free hand before standing.

“I’ll be right back.” Nancy knew she had to promise this. She could see that fear and apprehension and remorse in his eyes every time she went to step away, like she wouldn’t be back.

And she almost wasn’t.

Steve pressed a kiss to her palm before letting her run downstairs to grab the paper. When her frame left the doorway, he let his eyes roam around her room, something he’d done before, but not since Everything. He sees pictures of Nance when she was younger, in a ballerina costume. On a school field trip to the zoo. Pictures of Ted holding her when she was just as big as Holly was then. Her and Mike dressed up like - well, Steve doesn’t know what they’re dressed up as, but they’re having fun.

And then he sees the pictures of Barb and Nance. How happy they were. Their faces smushed together in a photobooth, at each other’s birthday parties - the room was littered with Barb and little reminders of her. Steve checked on Nancy every chance he had, even in that month where they’d only stolen looks at each other. He said he was sorry probably a dozen times, each more tearful than the last, because what Nancy didn’t understand was that Steve couldn’t even look at his pool without feeling like he was going to vomit. He couldn’t lay in his bed at night and sleep. He thought about Barb, about how she cut her hand when they tried to make her do something stupid, about how scared and alone and sad she must have been. How he stole Nancy from her.

Barb Holland probably hated him more in death than she did in life.

It wasn’t supposed to be a competition, Steve promised her. He had a lot of talks with her at night. I just didn’t want to share the glory that is Nancy Wheeler. I’m sure you understand.

“Found some.” Nancy’s voice broke Steve from his melancholy staring, and he quickly blinked some tears out of his eyes. She sat at her desk with the camera and Steve watched her wrap the box, watched her little fingers fold and tape the paper. “He’ll be here to pick up Will later.”

Steve cleared his throat. “Will you give it to him?”

Nancy looked at him with furrowed brows. “Me?”

“I just….” Steve paused. “I don’t want him to think he… like, owes me something. Or that I’m trying to buy his forgiveness.”

“He won’t,” Nancy promised, but Steve shook his head.

“Please? Just say it’s from you.”

Nancy frowned and stood, walking to Steve at the end of her bed. She cupped his face and kissed his lips, softly, before pulling back. Steve smirked, gently grabbing her wrists in his hands. “Guess I should be selfless more often, huh?”

“You are selfless,” Nancy said, staring into his eyes. Steve loved it when Nancy looked at him like that. “And you’re brave.”

But Steve didn’t feel like it.

===

To be honest, Steve never had a great Christmas. Sometimes his cousins and extended family would stop by for Christmas, and that could be fun. But his aunts and uncles didn’t like their kids hanging out with Steve, because he was a “bad influence,” which just meant sometimes Steve would get too carried away during snowball fights and, yeah, he hit Brent in the face with one but it’s not like he lost an eye or anything. Christmas with his mom and dad was impersonal. He would get new things that he didn’t really like - as in, ten new polos and five new khakis, all from expensive retailers - and he would thank them before going up to his room until dinner. Christmas dinner was the worst - it was silent save for forks scraping and mouths chewing, and Steve was pretty sure that when he goes to hell he will be perpetually sitting at the dinner table on December 25th.

But Christmas with Nancy was different.

It wasn’t that Steve didn’t like talking to Ted about sports, or telling Karen about his mom’s new business ventures, or acting like an asshole to Mike just to get a ruse from him, or playing with Holly. He loved it. But that wasn’t the bestpart. The best part was that Nancy, in her pretty yellow sweater, was glued to his side, and was smiling, and was squeezing his hand, and was rolling her eyes and laughing at him. It wasn’t even that much, but it was the closest to an actual Christmas that Steve had ever had. Closest to Christmas that Steve had ever felt. He could even stand Ted’s after-dinner snoring as he held Nancy on the couch, absent-mindedly watching a movie. He was more concerned with her warm body pressed against his.

A month was a long time without Nancy Wheeler.

The front door opened. Karen cried out, “Jonathan!”, and Steve looked to Nancy anxiously. As Jonathan slipped downstairs, Nancy snuck up to her room, leaving Steve alone with a snoring Ted.

Steve was used to being alone, now. Or, well, he should have been. A month without talking to Carol and Tommy was like a well-needed detox without the withdrawals. Still, he missed them - but only sometimes. The thoughts were usually quickly stifled when Steve remembers how Tommy made him pay for a can of coke and some Advil after getting his shit rocked. Some friends. And while Nancy was (thankfully) back in his life, he still felt alone sometimes. Which scared him. He hadn’t felt this alone in a long time, always forcing himself to socialize to avoid being in an empty and cold house. Nancy meant more to him then he knew - not only was he thankful to have her back and be given another chance, but she also got him out of that house.

Nancy, Jonathan, and Will met at the bottom of the steps. Steve couldn’t really see, but he could kind of hear the exchange. His heart hammered in his chest - what if he didn’t like it? What if it was a shitty camera? What if Jonathan finds out he was the one that got it for him? But Nancy came back with an absent-minded grin and Steve smiled wide, relief flowing through him just at the sight of her. She sat beside him and he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her in close. He looked down at her in pure adoration - Nancy Wheeler was the most beautiful, intelligent, thoughtful, and badass person he’d ever met, and she was, somehow, his.

“Did you give it to him?”

Nancy looked up at him and nodded, still smiling a bit. “Yeah.”

Steve rubbed her arm and looked up at the television, suddenly overwhelmed with something. Something good and all consuming and wholesome. He hadn’t felt this good… ever. It was like something was set free in his chest, something that had never quite yet been released before. He looked back down at Nancy, her eyes focused on the television, her body pressed up against his.

He wants to say it. I love you. It’s on the tip of his tongue.

Instead, he presses a kiss to her hair. “Merry Christmas.”

Nancy looked up at him and smiled softly. “Merry Christmas.”

Beside them, Ted snored.

===

tags: @pterawaters​ @mpmarypoppins​

[stopeatingwhales]

stargazing x graham coxon

yes, i’m back again with another graham fic! this was heavily inspired by the submarine ep by alex turner, a very beautiful, lyrical masterpiece which i definitely recommend you listen to if you haven’t already :)

Paring: 90s graham coxon x reader

Warnings: nothing again 

Word count: 1.886

Requested by anon, happy late birthday x

༉‧₊˚✧

Summer in England was something everyone craved. The agonisingly horrible winter days where you’d stiffly trek to the train station for work wrapped up with all sorts of things to maintain your body heat were abominable. Having to put on countless amounts of layers just to get a bag of crisps from the shop down the road was a nightmare, and everyone was sick of it. When the short summer months rolled round, we were all either sweating drearily in our homes or practically naked on the streets. As we rarely ever got sun in England, having it out once in a while with a clear blue sky was gratifying. It was a concept, without the crowded beaches or humid restaurants - due to the amount of people cramming in them - the hot days felt eerie. Everyone was out, until the sun went down for hibernation for a few short hours. 

I personally loved summer nights the best, especially on my birthday. The streets were empty, the only noise you’re able to hear is the short whistles of cars racing by on a motorway a few miles off. The echoing sound of an insect, perhaps a fly, buzzing quietly as it searches for a new settlement for the evening. The whistling noise of polluted air heaving past my face and occasionally in my eyes. My favourite thing in the world was gazing at the atmosphere as it gradually inked darker, admiring the small specs of light that had progressively gotten brighter - the stars. In summer I felt the stars always shone a little brighter. A little more luminous. I was able to identify any star constellation that ever so slightly patterned the skies; my liking for the heavens had me so hooked I ended up finding out all I could about them.

It was my birthday today, and I had hoped I could spend it with Graham, doing the exact thing I loved most. Sadly enough I was unable to do anything today, due to me having to go to work for the most part and Graham only coming back from his band rehearsals around two or something hours ago. Weekdays were usually like this, us both having practically no communication until the late evenings when he would come home from yet another draining day of recording.

Sighing, I came to my senses and stopped glooming my eyes through the kitchen window. It was 10pm, so the skies were somber enough to identify any ball of gas - my want for going out and watching the stars growing the more I pondered about it. The window was opened slightly, the light breeze scraping the little camouflaged hairs on my arms. It was soft, delicate, almost like the air that escapes someones’ mouth when they’re whispering. Gentle. Fragile. Mellowed. Sometimes the wind would pick up, the soft grazing turning into scruffy drags, forming goosebumps on my forearms. I loved it; I loved how simple howls of the wind formed strong structures on my body. Just like the stars, I could sit and admire nature as a whole for days.

Exiting the kitchen, I dropped my empty coffee mug in the sink. My hand caressed my arms softly, grating on small itches that had assembled on them earlier. Strolling into the living room, I stood by the doorway, biting my tongue as I watched my boyfriend Graham, tune his acoustic. I pondered whether I should leave him to it, he seemed extremely preoccupied by something as he always was - which was music. I knew how much being a famous rock star was debilitating him, especially when he wasn’t the centre of attention, putting tolls on his mental health. I felt for him deeply; watching your bandmates receive much more love than you do would definitely hurt, even so as a lead guitarist. 

“Hey, love,” I muttered, my head leaning on the door frame. I watched his head jolt up; he didn’t hear my quiet footsteps to the entrance of the room. “Hehe sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” 

He smiled slightly, echoing a small ‘hey’, before carrying on with his same doings. I bit my lip in thought, wondering whether I should say something or leave the room to let him do his thing. 

When about five minutes - which felt like two hours - passed by, I chose to speak up. “Wanna go and watch the stars for a bit?” I asked, seeing his head rise up from his instrument once again. God, his eyes are so alluring.

It was clear there was a lot on his mind, and the question lingering in the room peppered in his mind until he spoke up. “Yeah alright,” he answered, nodding also. Shifting his guitar to stand on the arm of the sofa he was sitting on, he pushed it away from his body, standing up. He stretched his arms out slightly, as he had been fixated in that same position for god knows how long. He seemed tired, exhausted perhaps, causing a small feeling of guilt to pit in my stomach, my mind forcing myself to push past it quickly. 

A small smile formed on my mouth as I marvelled at his appearance. His hair was just the right amount of messiness, it framing his face perfectly. His eyes softly squinted together, ultimately showing that he was making the most out of his stretch. His lips, forced together to stifle a yawn, in an attempt to hide his tiredness from me. His features were so enthralling. He was always so graceful, my body physically incapable of understanding why he found himself ugly; all he seems to ever be is the most graceful of them all.   

“Come on then,” he said, pushing my body lightly, helping me gain my consciousness again. “You always zone out,” he laughed, resulting in me rolling my eyes at his remark. The only reason I seem to space out so much is because of you, Graham. You and your flawless beauty.

After we left the flat, we began walking up the stairs to the roof of the building. My pace was slightly quicker than Graham’s - my excitement had consumed me entirely. I grabbed hold of his hand, trying to pull him up as I swept the endless amounts of steps, feeling the grip of his palm tighten around my hand as I paced faster. Our flat was nearer to the bottom of the building, meaning the jog up to the top was usually a tiresome one. My legs were beginning to give out, but I never halted. The adrenaline rushed through my veins - I felt as if I was chasing for the stars, and I was chasing them with the one person I adored most. 

Eventually, we managed to reach the roof, both of us inevitably out of gasping for air. My gaze turned to him, our eyes connecting as we stared at each other wholeheartedly. I tiredly beamed at him, him exchanging the same, as my view shifted to lock eyes with the stars. I let out a breathy sigh of satisfaction; we hadn’t done this together in ages, and I missed having endless conversations about whatever escaped our mouths. He was truly a remarkable person to be around, and I was ever so grateful to be able to call him my boyfriend. 

I proceed to lay on the ground, not caring whether any trace of dirt had entwined in my locks. My eyes fixated on the sky above me, the tired smile stilled on my face. I watched Graham do the same through my peripheral, lying down close to me, our arms touching. Squeezing up to him, I grabbed the hand that was touching mine gently, and cradled it with both my hands on my stomach. I ran my index fingers over every vein, every bump of a bone, every piece of skin I could mount to. “Your hands are so beautiful,” I mumbled.

Graham didn’t reply. Instead, he bit his top lip and blushed. I knew he wasn’t going to answer, and I didn’t want him to; I wanted to savour the moment as it was. We rarely were able to just have the clocks stop for a second, not care about what time it was, or whether we had to sleep early for our jobs the following day. It’s like the summer, you never know when you were able to just sit there and let the sun bake you, the unexpected clouds seaming over you just as you thought you had time to yourself. 

Exhaling softly, I shifted my gaze to the twinkling night sky. The darkened colour of the empyrean, glinted with small dazzles of light, fell over me as I drew my eyes to the moon. I stared at it, analysing the aged, grey patterns that decorated it on the only face that was known to man. “I missed this,” I heaved, grabbing hold of his hand again, this time intertwining our fingers together. I felt Graham’s eyes on me, but I didn’t budge. The relishing feeling of his stare roast my body and my face together evoked a sense of warmth within me, something I had never felt before with anyone, but him. 

The silence that fell upon us spoke for itself. It wasn’t a disturbing, unsavory one, it was a blissful, comforting one. It was the kind of silence you could fall asleep to, the silence you feel safe and enclosed by. It was the epiphany of actions speaking louder than words, and I absolutely adored it. 

“Y/n, can I tell you something?” Graham asked, causing me to lock eyes with him. 

“Of course you can,”

He breathed in for a few seconds, before exhaling a breath that was longly needed for an escape. I smiled at him, his beautiful globes of mercury connecting with mine. “I love you more than life,” he whispered, cradling my face in his hands. I smiled at him dearly, my eyes filled entirely with nothing but adoration for him. 

Copying his actions, I held his face with my small palms. My eyes tearing up as his words repeated countless amounts of times in my head. “Don’t love anything more than life,” I muttered, taking a brief moment to delight the moment before nonchalantly reaching to kiss his pretty lips. I grasped hold of him like a candy tasting so divine you suck on it to have the sensational taste for longer. The feeling of our mouths colliding sparked thrills throughout my entire body. The way our tongues brushed against one anothers, so sweet it turned bitter. 

We both pulled away out of breath, our eyes now wide open, staring into each others’ souls. I felt completely and utterly exposed to him in all ways possible, like my shield of clothing was not enough for him to not see the miles of skin laid underneath. I admired him, my mouth wide open as I panted for oxygen to fill my throat from the poisonous kiss. Everyday I fell more and more in love with this man, words unable to explain how much he impacted my life for the better.

“Happy birthday,” he said, smiling with that toothy smile of his. We both turned to gape at the skies once again, hugging each others’ bodies.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #299

“you look so beautiful tonight  /  reminds me how you laid us down and gently smiled before you destroyed my life.”

Ever done any drugs? Besides alcohol, no. How many people have you kissed? Three or four. What’s your favorite show to binge? I could only ever willingly *binge* Meerkat Manor and not get bored after like, two episodes. Do you watch porn? No, it's never appealed to me. What’s one of your fantasies? Being financially stable. :^) Do you have/would you get your nipples pierced? I've lightly considered getting one, but I really doubt I ever will. What’s the most overrated movie? /shrug. Let people like what they like. Tag someone you want to talk to but have been too shy to message. I'd love to get to know my Facebook acquaintance Courtlynn better; I've wanted to for a long time. I think we could be fantastic friends. We'll like each other's stuff regularly and occasionally leave comments, but we don't really talk. Do you like paper books or ebooks better? Paper ones, by a long shot. I just really like the feeling of a book and being able to clearly see how far in you are. I enjoy the smell and sound of turning pages. If you could live in a fictional world, what world would you pick? Probably Wonderland, realistically. I would say Azeroth, but too much world-threatening shit goes on every day lol. If money was no object, what would your wardrobe be like? G O T H Do you still have feelings for any of your exes? Yep. Do you drink? Very, very rarely. Almost exclusively during celebrations or on the once in a blue moon occasion we go to a sit-down restaurant. Do you read erotica? No. It would make me super uncomfortable. What color was the last candle you lit? I don't remember at all. Do you own a treadmill? No, but I want one. Have you ever signed up for a gym membership? Well, not exactly me. Mom and Nicole both had memberships to Planet Fitness, and I was able to come as a guest. It was just cheaper that way. What color was the last fish you had? That I owned or ate? Either way, idr. Is there a garbage can in your room? What color is it? No. If you play The Sims, do you download custom clothes, hair, etc? I don't play it. Does your animal sleep with you? Roman does, yes. He legitimately spoons with me lmao. Sometimes he'll move to the bottom of the bed, other times he'll sleep through most of the night there. Have you ever had to wear a hairnet? Yes. What is your favorite song to play on Guitar Hero or Rock Band? "Hotel California" by The Eagles on expert is so much fun and just feels good. The ending solo is just great. When you drink chocolate milk do you just buy the jug of it or the syrup that you can put into the milk? Almost always just the chocolate syrup. Do you own a robe? What color is it? No. What’s the worst abuse you have done to your phone? I know I've thrown it across the room once. Well, not my current phone, but a really old one. How did you meet your first love? High school. Well, you could maybe say Facebook. He sent me a friend request and I literally only accepted it because I thought it was another Jason. We talked via messenger some and then we ran into each other at school, and tbh I kinda knew I was fucked from there lmao. Have you ever worn the opposite sex’s underwear? I don't believe so, no. Have you ever kissed in a pool? Yeah. Are there any hobbies you have that you don’t perform in front of others? I absolutely cannot write in front of others, and I HATE drawing when people are watching. What do you do when you simply don’t know what to do? Odds are I'll probably be scraping the bottom of the barrel to find something in WoW that sounds even remotely fun, or I'll browse Facebook. How did you find out about your current favorite band? He's one of my mom's favorite singers/bands, so I grew up with some of his music, and when I was getting into rock and metal, I decided to go through her music case and listen to some of it. Ozzy's Black Rain album set the adoration into motion. Where are you most likely to go when you need clothing? The Internet or Wal-Mart, depending on what kind of clothes I need. When was the last time you tried to do something yet failed? I should have an answer for this very quickly... yet I'm unsure. I don't think anything *major* has happened in a while. Oh, this is a tiny thing, but I did look really hard for the pencil sharpener so my niece could finish coloring her drawing, but I couldn't find the damn thing for anything. Do you think your life is comprised more of success or failure? Lots and lots of failure. What’s one personality trait that’s not strong in you? Uhhh outgoing, ig. Are you a difficult individual to get to know? Considering I hide a lot about myself to try and be accepted, yes. When was the last time you opened up to someone and about what? Literally yesterday to my mom about this unreasonably massive fear I've had lately that she doesn't have much longer in her. I'm terrified she's going to get COVID or her cancer just comes back faster than we hope. To whom do you feel the most important? My mom. Is there something you want but might not ever have? Many things. What’s something you’re working to obtain? Mental stability. Do you tend to enjoy your dreams? No, considering they're usually violent and rarely just psychotic nightmares. Are there any projects or goals you’ve recently abandoned? Hm. What in life serves to keep you going? The hope it'll get better, and I'll reach a point of actually being happy and content with my life. What was the last good news you received? Nicole's trip to Maryland to bring back a baby was successful (if that sounds weird, she's a child social worker). He has a heart condition where if his heartbeat or something like that was irregular, she'd have driven all the way up there for nothing; the baby wouldn't have been able to take the ride. Are you more inclined to appreciate sweet or savory foods? Sweet. Are romantic relationships important to you at this point in your life? I mean I'd like to be in one, but I highly doubt it'd be successful, just given where I am in life. I'd be signing up for heartbreak. Who was the last person to apologize to you for something they did? I don't know. Probably Mom for something minor, like just bumping into me or something. Are you wearing a necklace, and if so, who got it for you? No. What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve done lately? Lately? Uh. I don't know, but I can guarantee to you it wasn't long ago at all, considering breathing embarrasses me, pretty much. Do you ‘think out loud’? Sometimes. Do you take gummy vitamins? No. How do you know the majority of the people you know? Former schools. Hell, or maybe various online locations. I just might have more online friends and acquaintances than in-person. Is there a random object you own that has a huge personal significance? I've talked about my pebble from my partial hospitalization program enough. Can you play electric guitar? I used to be able to play a little bit; I took guitar lessons for a short while in high school. Best I could do was the intro to "Crazy Train," but I'd still occasionally mess up. Are you one of those people who chew two pieces of gum, not one? Usually. Do you believe in ghosts/supernatural occurrences? Yes. Without the aid of mascara, do you have long eyelashes? Yeah. Is there a kind of music you listen to that helps you release your anger? Yes, usually songs that are also angry. How does it make you feel looking at pics with your ex and someone else? The only case this has ever happened was with Jason and his gf after me. There are no words to describe the fucking hatred I felt. I haven't seen pictures of him with an s/o in a long time, and I absolutely never plan on seeking them out ever again. What song are you listening to right now? "Rest In Pieces" by Saliva. If you’re not in college, why? I couldn't handle the stress anymore. Just couldn't. Do you own a studded belt from Hot Topic? I have a good number of old ones from high school, actually. I wore them all the time. I could never fit into them now. Favorite fictional character? Um, Darkiplier, duh. Most recent thing you are looking forward to? I think it's finally set in stone that I'm getting my tattoo redone soon. Thanks to my laptop saying "ha fuck you," it's not as soon as I originally planned since I had to pay to fix it, but Mom seems fine with helping me pay for my birthday. Not a guarantee that it'll happen on that date of course, given scheduling, but yeah. It should fucking finally be happening. How many stairs can you climb before you wanna pass out? This is too embarrassing to even answer lmao. Have you ever kissed someone with braces? No. Would you ever consider adoption? I don't want kids, and even if I did, I probably wouldn't. I feel like I'd personally need the "wow this is a part of me (and/or my s/o)" connection. Do you ever go hunting/fishing? I would never go hunting, and the only occasion in which I'd fish again is if Dad asked me. I don't like the idea of fishing for fun anymore, but that's like... always been our bonding experience, and I wouldn't tell him no. Do you know anyone who plays guitar? Knew. What are you currently sitting/laying on? My bed. Who are your godparents? I don't think I have any. Do you have any friends who are famous? I have two friends who are parts of bands, but idk how successful they are. I don't think either are like, huge. Nova Mortis if you're into heavy metal and I think Toukan does rap? When was the last time you stayed at a hotel? Hm. I have no idea. What side of a heart do you draw first? Uhhhh I think the left? What is your mom saved as in your phone? "Mama Bear." Do you want your tongue pierced? I had snake eyes for a while, but I took them out because I kept chipping my teeth. I miss that piercing, it was so cute, but it wasn't worth ruining my teeth. Ever made out in a pool? It's possible very briefly, idr. Do you like to have long hair or short hair? SHORT. SHORT. SHORT. Do you change your phone background a lot? Not really. Would you get back with your last ex if you could? Yeah. Have you ever been strip searched? No. Has the person you like ever seen you in your pajamas? Yes. What is your least favorite type of chocolate? White chocolate is way too sweet. Did anyone see your last kiss? It was at an airport, so probably. Do you want a boyfriend or girlfriend? I mean, I do, but I don't really know how smart it would be right now. Is there anyone you wish you could fix things with? A few. Who IMed you on Facebook last? My friend Girt. Were you kinda scared of the goths in high school? Hell naw man, I looked up to them lmao. What size is your mattress? (single,twin,double,queen,king) Queen. Do you like spaghetti? Hell yeah. It was my favorite food as a kid. What about lasagna? No; I don't like the cheese at all. Have you ever been stung by anything? What was it? Mosquitoes of course, as well as a bee once. Maybe other things, idk. Have you ever worn contacts? (even just to try them out) Yes, but I changed to glasses because I had too much trouble putting them in and taking them out. Have you ever had any suspicious moles removed? No. Have you ever been screened for STDs? No. Did you have your tonsils taken out? No. Did you have your appendix taken out? No. Do you have any collector’s glasses or cups or mugs? What is a "collector's" glass or mug? Were you your parents’ first born? No; I'm the middle child. Do you have a child? Is the father still with you? No. Were you born perfectly healthy or with some (or a lot) of health issues? I was born healthy. Good 'ole days. Did you ever catch any bugs or insects with your friends as a kid? Ohhhh yes, my neighbor and I loved doing that. My favorite was catching fireflies with my sisters, though. Would you prefer to travel around the world by yourself or with a friend? With a friend. I'd get lonely. Do you know anybody who has been diagnosed with cancer? A whole lot, sadly... I'm despising that disease more and more every day that goes by. I know far too many people who have it or have died at its hands. Have you ever had to take care of an intoxicated person? No. Do you and your boyfriend/girlfriend fight a lot? N/A. Do not stay in a relationship where fighting is common. Would you ever share a site password with a family member or partner? I mean sure, depending on the site and person, and the reason they (may) need it. Has anyone ever told you they couldn't trust you? Hm... I actually don't think so? Who in your family has the prettiest eyes? Idk, I don't see enough of my extended family to know. What is an odd food item you would like to try, or have tried? I'm sure there's something I'd like to try, but nothing I think about with consistency, really... Most "odd" food I find unappealing anyway. When/if you drive, do you go the speedlimit? When I did, I certainly always tried to, but I was bad at maintaining a stable speed. I went up and down too much. Are you an aggressive driver? Or more passive-aggressive? I was dangerously passive at driving. Describe a hairstyle you had as a little kid? Well, I had long hair with bangs. What routine of yours would you most hate to break? Probably stopping getting a soda first thing in the morning... That is like so deeply ingrained into my day and is a motivator to get up in the first place. I want to change this to where I'm not allowed to grab one until I've had a full cup of water, but yeah, that hasn't happened yet. Has jealousy ever ruined one of your friendships/relationships? Honestly? I think it's possible that Jason totally split on me because of it. We were in this very unstable "friends" position after the breakup and hung out very briefly and awkwardly twice (which I'm pretty sure he didn't want), and I think one of our last attempts at conversation was who a girl he was talking to via Messenger was. No, before any assumptions are made, I didn't snoop. He showed me something on his phone and I just inevitably saw the little Facebook chat icon of a girl I didn't recognize. I don't even remember his answer. I just know it wasn't too long later I was blocked and everything. What is one restaurant you would NOT recommend? I personally am not a Chili's fan. What was your last conversation about? Mom and I were just talking about what a mush the cat is, haha. Who is your favorite person to debate or discuss with? Yo fuck debates, I got mad anxiety over that kind of stuff. Are you more likely to praise or insult yourself? Why? Insult. I don't even believe myself when I try praising, so it's not worth the effort. I have a billion and two reasons. Do you enjoy cloudy days? Why or why not? Honestly, not very much anymore. I've found that it actually does affect my mood. I like some cloud coverage, though. Would it bother you to be forgotten after death? Yes, even though when you think about it, most of us will be. I want to do stomething so badly; not even particularly something major, but just contribute to things and causes that matter and slowly change the world for the better. It's especially likely I will be forgotten though at some point because I don't want kids, so my blood isn't carrying on. Do you tend to prefer healthy or unhealthy snacks? Ugh, unhealthy. Has anyone ever asked you for diet advice? I think so, back when I started recovery and lost like 60 lbs fast as fuck. I wasn't even dieting though, just... came off awful meds. What age is your youngest aunt? Ummmm I have no clue. Do you like bowling? Yeah, it's fun, but I'm not good at it. Do you like roasting marshmallows on a bonfire? Totally. Do you prefer sweet or sour fruits? Sweet. How're your dancing skills? Rusted to the point of just not functional anymore lmao. What brand of batteries do you usually get? I don't pay attention to the kind Mom gets. Are any of your friends pregnant or have kids? A lot of my FB friends have kids. At least two are pregnant, but I only consider myself remotely close to one. I'm beyond worried about how she's going to be as a mom. Where's the strangest place a fast food restaurant was located? I've certainly seen some questionable placement in busy areas, but none that are super odd. Do you stay up all night on New Years Eve/Day or go to bed after 12am? I don't care nowadays; I just stay up until I'm tired like every other night.

[ashes-and-ashes]

Dreams

Angsty Drarry. Some pretty descriptive injuries here!

~

He’s dreaming again.

Harry always hated his dreams, the ones full of Voldemort and the War, of Sirius falling and Remus dying and blood and bone and screams. Even after everything happened - when the dust had settled and the bodies buried - the dreams remained.

He never was able to sleep fully through the night, but he was at least able to manage fitful dozes. 4-5 hours of light sleep was barely enough for him to function, but Harry was used to exhaustion, the agonizing work of repairs and rebuilding, trying to patch together all the shattered pieces. He almost enjoyed it, the tediousness of exhaustion, because at least it made him forget about everything that had happened.

He’s almost used to it now, the nightmares. When they first happened he would wake up screaming, the dead bodies imprinted against his eyelids like they had been etched there. Eyes flying open, chest heaving, throat hoarse from screaming, covered in sweat and tears and shaking from guilt.

At first there were always hands to hold him, wrapped around his heaving chest, legs entangling with his. Draco always knew what to do whenever Harry was having one of his panic attacks, whether it was hugs or tea or fucking him until he couldn’t think any more. Harry used to be able to fall asleep watching him, the grey eyes and blond hair, used to imagine that the two of them would be together always.

After he had left, the dreams still came, ripping through his mind and racking his body with sobs. There were no arms to hold him now; Draco and him were long over, and this time there was no one to wake with his screams. The dreams always stayed the same though; walking into a room, finding Ron dead, Hermione dead, Luna and Neville and Sirius and Lupin and Fred and Ginny and Draco…

And he’s never been alone like this, not truly, never been so heartbreakingly, agonizingly alone. It was like a Draco had carved a piece of his heart when he left, spun a web of silk and silver and blown it all to mist. He felt it, like a hollowness in his body, something so fundamentally wrong that he often wondered how he was able to wake up in the morning.

They had both agreed to leave. Both agreed that they were too damaged, too broken. Both agreed that Harry was the Angel and Draco was the Demon and maybe it was better if Heaven and Hell didn’t mix.

But God, what Harry wouldn’t give to have Draco with him, those sharp edges and shattered lines cutting through the absolute numbness in his life.

He’s not sure if he’s awake or dreaming when a light floods from the corner of his room. It’s bright, illuminating the rumpled sheets and the cracking walls, coming from the small chest in the corner.

Blearily, Harry rolled out of bed, swearing as he stubbed his toe against the stool that lay on the thick carpet. He clumsily flung the chest open, rummaging around inside for the source of the light.

It was coming from a mirror, he realized, face down at the bottom of the trunk. Gently, Harry lifted it up, the silver handle fitting in his hand like an old friend.

He remembers the night Draco gave this to him, 5th year, standing on the shore of the lake. The familiar dread that accompanied him whenever he thought about leaving Draco, of abandoning him with his parents and Death Eaters and Voldemort.

“Here,” Draco said, handing him the mirror. “It’s 2 way. So we can...we can - “

“It’s like a telephone!” Harry exclaimed. “See, the light shines when we are talking, and we can hear each other…”

Draco wrinkled his nose adorably. “I don’t know what that is. But sure.”

The mirror was glowing now, light pouring from its surface like the moon in a frozen lake. Harry started at it, heart pounding, before touching his lips to the cool surface. “Et erit in perpetuum,” he whispered, and his reflection rippled.

He almost dropped the mirror at the scene unfolding undid the of him. He recognized the park, the trees and the small river that cut across the rocks. It was only a 5 minute walk away from his flat.

Standing in the middle was Draco. It was dark, the moonlight angled away so that Harry couldn’t make out his face, but he could recognize those eyes anywhere.

Draco was bleeding, cuts on his face and his cheekbones, blood on his lips and under his eyes. He looked wrecked, covered in dirt and leaves, eyes a little bit wild as he stared into the mirror.

“Harry. Harry, please, please can I come over, they’re coming - “

Harry interrupted him. “Same place. Do you need me to - “

Draco shook his head. The light switched off abruptly, leaving Harry blinking in the dim light. He swore as he rubbed at his eyes, yanking on a moth-eaten sweater and heading down the hallway.

It had barely been 5 minutes before there was a frantic banging at the door. Harry pulled at it frantically; it swung open, Draco stumbling inside before Harry slammed it shut.

Harry swore, whirling around. “What the fuck…”

He trailed off. Draco had collapsed on the couch, his head in his hands. There was blood everywhere; his face, his neck, down his wrists and smeared all over his jacket. His knuckles were raw and dead - clearly he had split them open by punching something. Or someone, thought Harry, studying Draco’s face, the way his eyes were closed and how his teeth were digging into his bottom lip.

“Are you - “ started Harry, then swore as Draco started coughing. “God. What happened?”

Draco shook his head wildly. He was cradling himself, hands wrapped around his ribs, trembling against the sofa. He coughed again, swearing; Harry saw blood well between his teeth before he slammed a bowl down. “Spit in that,” he said - Draco nodded.

“Jesus fuck, Draco. What happened?”

Draco just laughed, through clenched teeth. “Did you forget? It’s the anniversary of the Second Battle.”

“And?” demanded Harry. God, he forgot how infuriating Draco was, the arrogance dripping from every syllable.

Draco let his head fall back against the sofa, exposing his neck. There were cuts there too, deep slashes against the pale skin, and Harry winced. “Draco. What. Happened?”

“Anniversary of the Second Battle,” Draco repeated. He closed his eyes. “People are pissed. They lost family, friends, loved ones. Of course they would take it out on me.”

Harry fell silent. “Did they - “

“No,” Draco said. He didn’t need to wait for Harry to finish - they knew each other too well. “They didn’t use Unforgivable Curses. Though I wouldn't have stopped them if they did.”

“How many,” breathed Harry.

Draco smirked, then winced. “I don’t know. Maybe 20?”

Harry frowned. Draco had fought in the War - he knew how to fight. There was only one way he could have gotten this injured and that was…

“You didn’t fight back?”

“God,” Draco scoffed. He slowly rolled his head around, until he was sitting up, one hand still pressed firmly against his ribs. “No. I didn’t. You know why? Because I deserve it. I helped tear their families apart. Why should I cause any more pain?”

“You’re 19, Goddamn it! They shouldn’t - “

“I’d do the same,” Draco said quietly. “If I saw someone who killed my family. Killed my parents. I’d try to tear them apart.”

“It’s a wonder we lasted for so long then,” Harry said coldly. “You with Voldemort and all.”

Draco gave him a half smirk, the sort he knew infuriated Harry. “Thank goodness you didn’t kill me then. Otherwise you’d be dead. Mother’s love and all. Even if you don’t really have one, I suppose.”

Harry shut his mouth, shaking his head angrily. They used to fight like this all the time, huge, explosive screaming matches, the kind you only had when someone you were losing someone you loved. Him and Draco were always like a time bomb, slowly winding down towards an explosion, euphoric and devastating all at once. For a moment he was tempted to kick Draco out.

Draco’s face crumpled, that half smile fading away. His face was tight, the skin around his lips bloodied from where he had bitten it. “Please,” Draco whispered. He didn’t need to say anything more; Harry could read it all over his face. Let me stay.

With a sigh, Harry pulled out his wand, kneeling down in front of Draco. Everything was covered in blood and dirt, mixed together to form some kind of sludge coating Draco’s clothes. He picked at it hopelessly until he threw his hands in the air. “Take your pants off.”

Draco was too tired to argue. He unzipped then, kicking them off with a series of stifled groans, leaving them collected in a crumpled heap on the floor.

His legs didn’t look too bad. There were a few deep cuts, and a rather nasty one behind the knees, but nothing that Harry couldn’t fix. He ran his wand over the worst of the cuts, putting Dittany on the few minor scrapes, letting the wounds slowly knit together.

“Better?” he asked, and Draco nodded, his jaw tight.

“My ribs are...worse.”

Harry took a deep breath. “We’ll handle it.”

Draco shrugged out of his jacket without another word, tossing it to join his pants on the floor. His shirt was a different story - it was so soaked in dried blood that Harry had to slice it off using a spell. He vanished it with a wave of his wand - it was stained beyond repair anyways.

He took a deep breath, turning to face Draco, before swearing low and viciously under his breath.

It’s familiar, Draco’s body, his chest and his arms, the way his collar bones stood out and how the bones created deep shadows by his hips. He recognizes the scars; tiny, silvery slashes, little cuts worn down over and over again to the bone. His father was very careful never to let anything show; a few nicks here and there that could easily be explained as an accident.

It’s covered in a film of blood though; there are a couple of deep slashes by his stomach, countless numbers of bruises along his ribs. The cuts arch all the way up to Draco’s neck as well, along the familiar paths that Harry used to trace late at night.

But the wound that caught Harry’s attention was the bleeding, bloodied mass of flesh on Draco’s arm. It looked as if someone had hacked away at the Dark Mark with a knife - ribbons of skin hung down from the wound, bits of jagged edges and paper-thin strings.

“They thought it was just a skin thing,” said Draco, his voice brittle. “They didn’t know that Voldemort burnt it down to the bone.”

“God,” murmured Harry, as he gently took Draco’s hand in his. Draco stiffened; he took a deep breath in, holding it as Harry gently ran the tip of his wand over the wound. “How long did this last for?”

Draco let out a breathless laugh. “30 minutes?”

“Shit,” Harry murmured, as he ran his wand over the cuts on Draco’s torso. Dimly he realized that this was the closest he’s been to Draco for ages, since before the War. He absentmindedly brushed a hand over Draco’s skin, smoothing away the blood.

Draco’s breath hitched. Startled, Harry pulled his hand away, heart pounding. “Sorry,” he said.

Draco was trembling, from pain or exhaustion Harry didn’t know. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Just...fuck.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah.” He sniffed, turning away, trying to keep his voice steady. “Why did we even stop anyways.”

“Your idea,” Draco said, his voice bitter. “You needed someone else. Someone that reminded you of the future, instead of dragging you into the past. Someone who fought for you, instead of against you. How did you describe it again? Someone more?”

Harry winced. That fight had been massive, raging and raging until Draco had simply walked out.

He’d never come back.

“Yeah. Jeez. I don’t know.” Harry raked his hands through his hair. “God. It’s 2 in the morning. I should get some sleep.”

“Please,” Draco whispered. “I can’t go back out there.”

Harry gestured at the couch. “Stay.”

A look of relief passed over Draco’s face, relief as slowly Harry watches the muscles in his body relax. He winced at the pain from his wounds, letting his eyes drift shut.

“Is there anything you need?” Harry asked.

Draco hesitated. He played at his bottom lip with his teeth, ripping a piece of skin off. It started to bleed, crimson droplets gathering at the tip of his lip. “It’s just...Nightmares.”

Nightmares. Harry remembered Draco’s. If Harry was a screamer then Draco was a whisperer - he always went completely rigid, his heart slowing down until it was almost non existent. He remembers Draco jolting awake, completely numb, remembers holding him and rocking him until the tears finally began to flow.

Harry paused, at the doorway to his bedroom. “Do you want me to stay?”

Draco paused, then nodded, a sharp, quick motion. “Do you...do you mind?”

Harry took a deep breath. “Okay.”

He paced over, Draco scouting aside to let him share the couch. Harry took a deep breath, remembering this feeling, the comforting weight of Draco at his side. He stretched out, his body automatically pressing up next to Draco, legs slipping to intertwine with Draco’s.

He let Draco freeze, stiffen up for a moment, and Harry was about to pull back when Draco smiled. He closed his eyes, letting his head rest on Harry’s shoulder, stretching out on the sofa.

And when Harry finally fell asleep, for the first time since the war ended, he didn’t dream.

[taylorroger-s]

heartsick.

a/n my first (kinda) deaky fic!! IT’S A LOVE TRIANGLE LADS!!! i just kinda needed to write this? it has been a work in progress since february and i haven’t found the push to finish it until recently when i looked through my google docs and started finishing some wips. this is wild as hell man. kinda sad i cut it off right before THAT japan trip tho… part two anyone??

masterlist here! 

people who asked to be tagged: @jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​​ @johndeaconsgf​ @cowparsleys​

warnings : angst, curse words, some partying, briefest suggestion of infidelity, the whole shebang. 9.1k words baby

enjoy :)

⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱

john had always loved your smile. the way your eyes crinkled at the edges and your dimples showed. the hint of white teeth behind your plush lips. he would walk heaven and earth just to make you happy. 

now you were smiling that beautiful smile, but it wasn’t for him. it was for your newly minted fiancé. 

you had met john the first day of secondary school. you were placed in the same french class, seated diagonal to him. the first time you heard his voice was about an hour into the lesson when the teacher said something you couldn’t remember, and deaky muttered a dirty comment. you snorted out of laughter, drawing his attention. when your eyes met his, john knew he was a goner. 

from that day onward, the two of you were ingrained in each other’s lives. from birthdays to holidays, sickness and health, he was there for you as you were for him. it took it an almost ridiculous amount of time for him to realize his feelings for you.

the kicker was that he couldn’t tell if you felt the same. you were almost inhumanly hard to read, with a devilish grin and sharp wit. you treated most with the same cool attitude, same suave confidence that drove him insane. it didn’t help that you were also devastatingly attractive. 

every time you showed interest in him his heart would race and cheeks flush, stumbling over his words to find a response somehow as witty as you. you were unafraid of eye contact, able to make deaky crazy with just a smirk and eyebrow raise. 

for years, john had convinced himself that you were harboring feelings for him just as he was for you. it might have been true, you were always quite affectionate towards him and particular, giving you an unproportional amount of attention when around other people. but sometimes that would flip, and you would ignore him all together for hours. that didn’t stop him from twisting each bit of witty banter into a sign that you were in to him. only you knew your true feelings, but that didn’t stop deaky from speculating. from what he could tell, you were also horribly oblivious and most likely didn’t have a single inkling of his feelings. 

despite this, your friendship was still good and sincere. john could put away his feelings to keep that alive, tiptoeing around the idea of being something more.

through either a strain of luck or misfortune you ended up going to the same university, growing even closer through shared classes and drunken nights. by then, deaky’s feelings had only intensified, while yours stayed a closely guarded secret. who knows? maybe you did have feelings for him. you sure as hell wouldn’t admit anything, and neither would john. so the two of you stayed in that limbo for ages. 

until john joined queen. your world and, by association, his flipped upside down because of a certain blond haired drummer. 

his first official queen gig. july 2nd, 1971. it was a college gig in surrey, and the first time deaky introduced you to his bandmates. he had joined the band in february of that year, but hadn’t let you meet his new bandmates quite yet. when the day finally came, you dressed up much more than you would for a typical rock concert. when you rolled up to deaky’s flat, john swore that his jaw hit the floor. 

distressed leather jacket and tight black skinny jeans, with a low cut, patterned tank top. you wore high heeled, stained white combat books and silver stud earrings. your smoked out eyeliner just added to your addicting mystique, as did your blood red lipstick. compared to you, deaky looked like a broke college student, which he was. you looked even more like a rockstar than he did. john could barely believe his luck when you ran up and gave him a big hug, confessing how excited you were for him. it assured deaky that you were still his.

right?

you chatted excitedly during the ride about one of your various passions while he stayed quiet. it wasn’t like he was bored, quite the opposite actually. deaky could listen to you talk for hours and hours. he adored the way your voice changed pitch as you got more excited, the way you acted out your thoughts animatedly with your hands, and that goddamn smile you would offer him after pausing for breath. your eyes would show that rare glimmer of emotion. and it was all for him. 

once you reached the venue, john was having second thoughts. he didn’t want to share you with everyone, which he was embarrassed to admit. he knew that the magnetic nature of his bandmates would draw you away from him, which was almost debilitatingly terrifying. he wouldn’t be able to stand growing apart from you. so he devised a small scheme to hold off the inevitable. 

“hey y/n? how about you stay out here. i can meet you backstage after. i think it would be better to experience it from the crowd.” your face fell slightly. you were excited to be part of the behind the scenes experience of a rock band, it was one of the few things you had yet to do. but you understood his concern. it made your heart flutter just a bit. you gave him a quick embrace and kiss on the cheek before going off to find some alcohol.

he breathed a sigh of relief as he watched you weave your way in between the crowd. he still had you to himself, even if it was just until the end of the gig. shoving down his feelings, deaky made his way to the backstage space where his bandmates were lounging around, going through their pre-show rituals. 

roger was sitting on a drum case, a cigarette hanging precariously from his lips. his thin fingers tapped away on his thighs, cycling through the drum patterns he had memorized. brian sipped from a half empty beer bottle, eyes trained on the ceiling. freddie was hunched over a mirror, fluffing his hair with a frown on his face. 

freddie turned to john, looking at his outfit with lips twisted in a look of disapproval. freddie was dressed quite extravagantly, while deaky had opted for a simple t-shirt and jeans.

“dear god deaky, what are you wearing?” john frowned, looking down at his outfit and then back up to freddie.

“uhh, clothes?”

“oh no, that won’t do.” he shook his shoulder length curls, waving a black nailed hand at deaky’s gig attire. 

“please tell me why it won’t.”

“it’s so… plain. we’re queen for god’s sake! we have to look the part!” freddie waved his hands dramatically, showing off his tight leather jumpsuit, one leg in white and the other in black. his dark eyes were lined with smoky eyeliner, making his strong features pop even more. deaky just had his hair brushed, wearing a ‘the who’ shirt and bell bottoms. 

john had to admit, he looked quite plain compared to the rest of the band. brian was wearing a sequined black top with batwing sleeves, and tight leather trousers. roger opted for an open floral blazer, with zebra stripe patterned trousers for no discernible reason. john looked more like a concert goer than a rockstar. but he wasn’t about to back down. 

“i’m alright with the plain then.”

“one day… i will change your mind, mark my words.” freddie said with a mischievous grin. john just rolled his eyes, trying to suppress a smile. though he had only been a part of the group for a few months, they already felt like brothers to him. 

deaky walked over to his bass, resting it on his lap. he absentmindedly plucked away to a random beat, letting the music cycle through him and calm him down. his eyes fluttered shut. he fell back on a memory to soothe his nerves. he thought of you, sitting with your head on his shoulder as he strummed softly on his bass. he could almost feel your hair tickling his cheek as you shifted to sit up and look at him. 

“that’s beautiful.” you had said, toying with the ends of deaky’s long hair. your chin was rested on his shoulder, nose just barely touching his jawline. 

“think it has potential.” your closeness drowned out any rational thought he could scrape up, but each brush of your skin against his brought him back to earth. you were a drug that sent him reeling with his head in the clouds, heart pounding at every sly look and smile. he was far, far gone for you.

“that’s some grade a bullshit john.” you pulled his hand from the bass and laced your fingers with his, tracing small circles on the back of his palm. that was his favorite memory of you. you were so relaxed and peaceful, which made him feel the same. it was always the last thing he thought of before he ever had to confront a crowd. 

“you alright deaks?” roger asked, pulling john back from his memory into the gritty reality of the cramped backstage in that tiny pub. he nodded, taking off the strap of the bass and resting it against the arm of his chair. roger offered him his cigarette and deaky gave him a gracious smile, taking a long drag before blowing the smoke out through his mouth and nose. after a couple more puffs, they got the signal that it was time. john took one last pull before stubbing the cigarette out and picking up his bass. here goes nothing. 

the small main room was packed, people standing shoulder to shoulder to watch them play. it was flat out electrifying. they cheered raucously as brian strummed the opening note of liar, freddie joining with vocals not long after. john scrunched his eyebrows in concentration during his solo, skilled fingers rapidly plucking away at the four strings of his bass guitar. after his part ended, he looked up, searching the crowd for you. 

after just a moment, he caught a glimpse of you near the center of the crowd, dancing and singing along wildly. your face almost immediately brightened when you caught him watching, and you shot him a bright smile with some enthusiastic thumbs up. it made john’s heart swell, and he returned your smile. soon freddie’s iconic line “mama i’m gonna be your slave” and deaky rushed to his side to sing the “all day long” line.

every time he sang, he locked eyes with you, which gave him just enough confidence to sing in front of the crowd, especially since he had always considered himself a bad singer. you had always vehemently disagreed, saying that you absolutely loved john’s singing voice, but he couldn’t really tell if you were humoring him or not. for the record, you weren’t.

but only one song later, when john had nothing to play, he looked back at you, hoping to see you smile one more time. but you weren’t focused on him. you were focused on the drummer right behind him. deaky whipped his head around, stomach twisting when he saw the look in roger’s eyes. one that he had seen during practices whenever he would bring along a groupie. a lustful, dangerous look now aimed entirely at you from across the cramped stage, you being barely close enough for roger to see you with full clarity (he had atrocious eyesight). and you seemed to be returning his coy smile, even grinning and breaking his gaze when roger gave you a cheeky wink. john was so busy looking between the two of you that he almost missed his cue. this was going to be a long evening. 

the rest of the show passed in a blur, one filled with sly glances and flirtatious gestures from across the room. but they weren’t for john, on the contrary. they were all for roger, who you were basically eye-fucking from the crowd. and he was certainly enjoying it. deaky was decidedly not. he could feel the regret pooling in his gut. you were just too irresistible to deny, and when you begged to go to his first gig, he couldn’t say no. 

but now you were completely enamored by that blond casanova, one of john’s closest friends. that was when he knew that it was the beginning of the end. he could feel you slipping through his fingers. and it was absolutely terrifying. you had been by his side for so long, that a world without you next to him was unfathomable. 

after the show, you came straight to deaky, almost jumping into his arms. he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in, placing a hand on the back of your head to hold you close. that was the same position you had been in after your highschool boyfriend broke your heart, or when your grandma died. deaky had held you close and let you weep into his jacket, whispering soothing words. 

“deaks! you did so amazing!” you pulled back a little, placing a hand on his cheek. he melted into your touch, consciously aware of the goofy grin he must be sporting. you had such an intoxicating effect on him. 

“i’m very proud of you, don’t you forget it.” your thumb slowly moved back and forth across the skin of his cheek, leaving a trail of warmth in your wake. john pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around your back. he wanted to drink in that moment for as long as possible. but he felt you start to back up, and he knew exactly why. because over his shoulder came a cloud of cigarette smoke and expensive shampoo fragrance, and john let you go, even though it felt like you were being ripped away instead. 

roger clapped john on the back, startling him. deaky looked over his shoulder and saw roger looking you up and down with a dangerous look in his eyes. he glanced between the two of you for a few moments, heart rate steadily increasing as time went on. 

“you must be y/n, i’m roger, the drummer.” he took your hand, raised it to his lips and placed a soft kiss on the back of your palm. you were frozen in shock for a moment before responding. 

“nice to meet you roger.”

“so you’re not a myth?”

“what’s that’s supposed to mean hm?”

“well, john always talks about you like you are some sort of goddess. we didn’t believe him for a long while, but now that you’re standing here? he certainly wasn’t exaggerating.” roger looked you up and down, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue. you smiled, genuinely smiled at his words. john had never seen you so instantly smitten. roger had you, you of all people, in the palm of his hand. 

“well aren’t you a flatterer.” you gave him a sly smile, giving roger a quick once over and a cocky eyebrow raise. deaky felt his heart crack just a little more. the two of you were so charismatic and confident that it was almost unfair. two people that bewitching should be forbidden from flirting with each other, in john’s opinion. 

“only with gorgeous women.” john’s stomach flipped and churned, and he felt lightheaded. seeing you so clearly enamored with his best friend sent deaky reeling. he and roger had always had a special connection being the two youngest members of queen. they were extremely close, and roger was john’s best friend second only to you. john couldn’t imagine having both you and roger separate from him. it would break his heart.

while deaky was silently spiraling, roger had taken a step closer to you, nudging john just a little bit further away. as if he was no longer inhabiting his body, john took another step back, though every cell in his body was screaming to take you by the hand and head to his flat for one of your impromptu movie nights. but it was too late, even though john had yet to accept it. 

after a few more minutes of lip bites and silver-tongued words, freddie waltzed over, announced there was an after party at the nearby pub, and pulled john to his side for the walk, leaving you next to roger. the door swung open as the small posse walked out, high on post-show adrenaline. john was standing in front of you, harnessing all of his willpower that wasn’t swept away by the cool summer night to not look over his shoulder, because he knew he wouldn’t like what he saw. 

from what he could hear over freddie’s rapid story about some debaucherous party in his uni days, you and roger were pulling each other in ever so slightly as the seconds passed. every time he heard your airy laughter deaky could practically see the gorgeous smile that would adorn your features, the way your eyes would crinkle at the edges as the conversation drew on. 

soon enough, they reached the pub, all primed and ready to get drunk in celebration of their first queen gig together. that would surely take the edge off of john’s steadily growing headache at roger and yours closeness. when he turned around, what he saw made him want to down at least three tequila shots to purge it from his mind.

you were bundled up in roger’s plush fur coat, despite the mild temperature. his arm was slung dangerously low across your back, nimble fingers tracing circles along your hip bone as you strode through the pub’s creaky wooden doors. you were laughing at something he said, a painted nail trailing down his chest. it was almost like no one was in the room. 

what really hurt deaky’s heart was your myriad of traditions the two of you shared on every night out ever since his eighteenth birthday, that you had decided to ignore. one shot of cheap tequila, then a gin and tonic for the both of you. but while john was walking toward you with two shot glasses in hand, you were leaning into roger heavily while he whispered something in your ear, a glass of whiskey and a cigarette in one of his hands, the other on your thigh. 

before you could see the hurt in his eyes, john turned, downed the shots, and walked towards the dance floor, determined to forget your awe-struck eyes as you looked up at roger. and it was just his luck that the song playing was “how deep is your love” one of your’s and deaky’s favorite songs to dance together. yet by some cruel twist of fate, he was alone, shuffling to the beat while stealing brief glances at you whenever possible.

two gin and tonics later, he had nearly forgotten about you and roger just across the bar as he bobbed his head to the music, sipping his drink every now and then. he was so distracted by the music that he barely noticed a tug on his long wavy hair, a habit you had picked up to draw his attention since he was a good few inches taller than you. it was clear to see you were a little tipsy by how heavily you were leaning against the bar, one hand gripping deaky’s bicep. 

“deaks, i’m gonna head. it was a long night, and i really need some… rest. but i can’t tell you enough how proud i am of you okay? you are an amazing best friend and i am so happy for you. good night johnny-boy.” your words were a little too airy for his liking, and as he bid you goodbye, he could see why. 

wrapped in rogers fur coat, you smiled as the drummer whispered something in your ear. john nearly dropped his drink, but instead stood back and stared as you left the bar under roger's spell. he could feel you slipping away, into the embrace of his best friend and bandmate. 

that was the beginning of the end.

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“whatcha thinkin bout deaks?”

“huh?” john mumbled, eyes closed as your fingers slipped in between his wavy hair, forming a long braid against his back. he always loved when you played with his hair. it calmed him down immensely, which was desperately needed. he had tried to ignore that you were at queen’s recording sessions more often than not, cooly ignoring him- or at least in john’s mind - in favor of watching roger. 

he could only hold on to the sick, twisted hope that you would see roger’s youthful promiscuity and let him go, sending things back to how it was before. but john was kidding himself. it felt like he had been from the start. 

“you seem a little… distracted,” you mused, resting your head on his shoulder as your gaze shifted to the quiet tv program inching by on your beat up box telly. there was a stillness in the air, sharp and cool, sticking to your skin. 

“‘m busy, that’s all. band is getting more popular, starting ideas for an album,” he murmured after a minute or two, placing his head against yours as an olive branch to break the alien tension surrounding the room. john couldn’t get the image of you in roger’s coat from his eyes, a smile he knew so well etched on your lips. 

“that’s amazing john. i am not kidding when i say queen might be the greatest band ever conceived.” he just laughed, nudging your shoulder playfully. the same old pattern reborn once more. 

“even more than the bee gees? marvin gaye?”

“okay, maybe not gaye,”

“you wound me, love.” you just smiled, slowly untangling yourself from the pile of blankets, tip-toeing over to the record player tucked in your bookshelf. john shifted to watch as you flipped through the impressive vinyl collection filling the empty shelves. you quickly turned once the needle was gently placed on your chosen song, holding out a hand to deaky with an eyebrow raised. after a few seconds, the song started playing, and john matched your soft smile.

listen baby, ain’t no mountain high

ain’t no valley low, ain’t no river wide enough baby

he pulled you gently into his arms, with one hand in the center of your back, the other gripping yours so tightly as if he was holding on for dear life. you either didn’t notice his desperate hold or declined to mention it. you just kept on whispering the words, slowly swaying back and forth to the relaxed beginning of the song. 

‘cause baby there ain’t no mountain high enough

ain’t no valley low enough 

john drew back, twirling you along with the rising tempo. your smile only grew, growing more goofy as your dancing continued. he could barely register the music, focused solely on the feel of your warm hand against his, the sweet scent you carried everywhere you went. you giggled at his dance moves, mirroring the exaggerated slow dance 

ain’t no river wide enough

to keep me from getting to you babe

without warning, john dipped you, fingers intertwined. a beat passed as he simply looked at you, eyes scanning your face hungrily as if he would never see you again. you were so close, his warm breath tickled your cheek. your heart skipped a beat, and he could only hold tight as the song spiraled to its end. you cleared your throat and flicked your gaze from him to the record player. getting the hint, he slowly, deliberately lifted you back up onto steady feet. 

deaky watched as you hurried to the record player. he could feel his stomach drop to his feet at your quick change in posture. did he make a mistake? did he overstep his boundaries? with each hypothetical his doubt and anxiety rose, rooted to one spot, incapable of moving while your back was turned. you cleared your throat, head lifting with you still facing the records. 

“you should…”

“yeah, see you later then?”

“goodnight johnny-boy”

“goodnight” 

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deaky was on his knees in the crowded backstage, various screws and wires around him as his deft fingers worked on adjusting his amp, making sure that everything was just right for the last show of their very first american tour. there were supposed to be more, but brian contracted hepatitis so the tour was cut short. 

may eleventh, 1974, just under three years after john’s first queen gig, and your first time meeting the band. meeting roger. things had continued as he had expected. you at every gig, on rogers arm whenever free, often disappearing and returned some time later looking noticeably disheveled. time had made the pain less sharp, but the ache was still there. the ache for you to be by his side instead of roger’s. 

john missed being close to you. they were across the atlantic ocean, muscling through long rehearsals and, as the evening before played out, two gigs in one day. in his distraction, a sharp edge scraped his thumb, drawing a thin line of blood that glistened under the lights. he muttered a soft curse, considering wiping the blood on his pants before hearing freddie’s voice in his head. “go change deaky, we can’t have you drawing too much attention!” john smiled to himself at the thought, winding his way through the faceless crew, searching for the dressing room. once he reached the door and reached for the handle, a noise came from the door that caused him to draw back his hand as if the handle was a thousand degrees. 

it was a name. roger’s name. high and giggly, and certainly not in your voice. deaky wanted to throw up. he knew it. roger was like a brother to him but he couldn’t shake the wave of anger that coursed through his veins. john expected this to happen, though he knew it was wrong- so very wrong- to think the worst of his bandmate. your tear stained face filled his mind’s eye, bringing with it crippling waves of guilt. he didn’t want to get involved, it was your business. but goddammit john wanted you to see the truth.

his internal debate was cut short when you rounded the corner, absolutely stopping any brain activity in its tracks. you weren’t supposed to be there. they were in new york for god sakes, and you weren’t supposed to be there. his internal monologue snapped back into action, keenly aware of the activities most likely occurring behind that closed door. 

“deaks!!! i’ve missed you! how has america been?” john barely registered the action as you threw your arms around him, squeezing him tight. every muscle in his body was tense with anger, guilt, sadness, that squishy feeling your presence always brought him. you loosened your grip after noticing his lack of reciprocation, but john quickly moved to pull you close, burying his face in your hair. 

“missed you too love.” you drew back, bright smile on your face. but your focus was clearly no longer on john, eyes scanning the hallway behind him for a certain someone. a certain someone who deaky suspected wasn’t being as faithful as you. 

“hey where’s rog?”

“he’s uhh… look, love, i think he might be with someone else right now. through that door. i’m so sorry. i’m here for you.” he had to force the words out. they scorched his tongue and hung in the air like thick, harsh smog. his heart dropped as your eyes widened, hands coming up to cover your mouth. some sick part of john was almost joyful at the prospect of your relationship with roger ending. you would certainly come to him for comfort, you would hang out more, and then his highschool fantasy would finally play out.

right?

“are you… but… john…” the way your voice wavered hammered a crack in his heart. a sharp stinging picked at his guilty cheer, slowly dragging him down to earth. this wasn’t anything to be excited about. 

“i’m so sorry love.” deaky stepped forward, arms open to embrace you, but your hand went up to stop him. your other hand was clutched tight to your chest. it was dead silent in your small section of the corridor, save for your irregular breaths and deaky’s heavy ones. your gaze was focused on the crack at the bottom of the door, breath hitching as your bright eyes followed another shadow. there weren't many words he could discern through the dressing room door, but that uncertainty only made the doubt worse. what could have caused the sudden quiet?

“don’t. i need to see him. right. now.” your spine straightened and you held your chin high. though you still sounded shaky, john could tell that your temper was about to boil over. 

“alright, i’m right here if you need me. that menace doesn’t know what you can do.” he watched your expression as you took a shuddering breath, slowly lifting your eyes from the floor. tears clung to the corners of your lashes, stubbornly refusing to fall. deaky reached out a tentative hand, and you waited a moment before taking it. your shoulders relaxed as his fingers intertwined with yours, and john felt his heart swell just a little. maybe there was hope for him yet. 

“thank you john, i mean it. you are the only thing i can depend on, apparently.” your weary tone made his hand squeeze tighter. deaky brought your clasped hands up and pressed a soft kiss to the back of your hand. the soft smile that appeared on your lips gave him another boost. you were strong enough to not be broken by roger, and even if you were hurt, john would be there to hold you. with another deep breath, you reached for the door knob and pushed the door open, ready to see what john had been anticipating. 

both of you were wrong. 

freddie fucking mercury stood in front of a sitting roger, eye pencil in hand. they were both laughing, freddie clearly mocking some critic or interviewer he encountered. freddie stepped back, taking hold of roger’s chin as he admired his handiwork.

“gorgeous rog, our dear y/n won’t be able to keep her eyes off you.” freddie had a mischievous smirk, everything clicking together as john surveyed the scene. roger’s eyes widened, and he turned towards the doorway where you stood. the fear drained from your eyes and was replaced with anger. anger reserved specifically for john. you dropped his hand, curling it into a fist by your side. 

“love! what are you doing here?” roger immediately hopped off his stool, racing to sweep you off your feet with an excited squeak from you. he held you in the air for a moment before placing you back down, making sure to pepper your skin with feather light kisses while he waited for an answer. 

“freddie flew me out here for the rest of the tour…”

“something wrong love?” roger asked, genuine concern in his soft voice. deaky’s guilt was mounting by the second, manifesting as a dense weight collecting in the pit of his stomach. oh lord. he really messed up now. the look of seething contempt on your face was enough to make his entire world crumble. 

he fucked up. he really, truly fucked up. john's growing fixation on yours and roger's relationship was driving you farther away. in that moment, he felt something break. your trust. 

"nope, just waiting for a fascinating discussion with our dear john here. i love you little drummer boy." roger grinned, leaning down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. he seemed over the moon just to have you by his side, gazing at you with a childlike wonder. and john selfishly doubted that devotion. though an outsider would shrug off this fumble and move on, the dynamic that formed since you had met roger wrote this severance in stone. 

roger wasn’t oblivious as john assumed when it came to your relationship with deaky. he noticed that john was in love with you, even if you couldn’t see it. so once the drummer picked up on your scorching glare, and john’s palpable guilt, his heart broke as well. there was no need for him to say the words. roger wasn’t mad, just disappointed that deaky would think so low of him. 

“mind if i listen in on this fascinating discussion my love?” 

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you decidedly avoided john until the gig began, and roger followed suit. deaky was wracked with guilt, stumbling through the show. his fingers slipped across the strings without much reason, causing fred to occasionally shoot a glance to get him back on track. the drums seemed a bit… louder than usual, aggressively perfect timing contrasting with john’s fumbling performance. the crowd didn’t seem to mind, but the band members were far from alright. 

after the show, things weren’t much better. brian tried to catch deaky on their way off, presumably to give him an earful about their “god awful performance john, good lord” but he slammed the door to the bathroom shut and locked it before he had to face anymore reckoning. freddie was the next to demand an answer, taking the slightly more conservative route of screaming “pull that shit again or so help me god of rock and roll, i will break every…” and so on. 

you didn’t bless john with your presence, but your absence spoke wonders. roger didn’t show up in front of the bathroom door either. once deaky crept out a vague amount of time later, the boys were far from calm, but there was no longer a threat of being burnt alive from their anger. the energy in the dressing room was horribly tense. brian and freddie seemed clueless to the reason for roger’s anger, both just focused on the show. 

“wanna give us an explanation deaky?” brian muttered, leaning against a wall where multiple mirrors stood. john could see himself reflected in one of the smudged surfaces, brown eyes dark with a storm of emotions. roger was reflected in another, sitting with his elbows on his knees on a beat up couch. his face was a stony mask; completely unreadable. 

“well uh… roger and,” john attempted to explain, but couldn’t seem to grasp the right words. each time he reached for something cohesive, it slipped through his fingers and he was left at square one. while deaky struggled with his words, freddie was getting impatient. 

“i cannot deal with this sober. you two stay here and work out your fucking problems. better now than tomorrow morning. we’ll be at that bar across the street.” freddie declared, grabbing brian by the arm and pulling him out the door to mumbled protest. freddie silenced him with a loud hush sound, pushing brian out the door and slamming it behind him. 

“so uh…” john started off, still not able to look roger in the eyes. instead, he focused on the reflection, dingy fluorescents shiny on roger’s dirty blond hair. but he didn’t seem angry. his body language spoke more of defeat and disheartenment. somehow, that hurt worse than your harsh words. 

“look, i’m not mad. just disappointed that you think i would ever do that to her. i know she’s your best friend, but i love her and i would never hurt her like that,” roger was so sincere, locking eyes with john through the mirror. disappointment was certainly a word to describe the look in his eyes, along with sadness and just a hint of guilt. roger was guilty because as a younger student, there was a bit of infidelity present, and there was some weight to john’s concern. but he had grown, and he really loved you. 

“i know, and i’m so sorry. you’re also one of my best friends, and i just got ahead of myself because…” john ran a hand through his long hair, gearing up for a confession of what he had known for years, but never had the strength to say out loud. 

“you love her too. i know. i can’t and won’t try to change your mind, because i get it. and yeah, i haven’t known her nearly as long as you, but i love her so much,” roger’s voice cracked at the end, sending a similar crack through john’s heart. roger leaned back on the couch, a distinctly sad smile on his face. this was really all deaky had ever wanted for you. someone who loved you unconditionally, and just wanted you to be happy. someone who would never hurt you. john desperately wanted to be that person for you. but that ship might have sailed. 

“yeah… i- i do. but now i think she wants nothing to do with me.” now it was john’s turn to break. losing you would hurt him irreparably, but maybe it would be the best for you. he wanted you to be happy more than anything. however, john’s selfish side yearned to tether you to him and never let go. 

“just give her time, i’ll talk to her. you still are her best friend, she’ll forgive you.” roger felt weird to be comforting john when he was the one hurt. and it really hurt. because one: you were hurting, two: john, one of his best friends, caused it, and three: said best friend though he was capable of cheating so blatantly in such a serious relationship. roger watched deaky in the mirror as the moment stretched on, mind buzzing with all the events of the day. 

“time… i think she still might be mad at me for breaking her calculator when we were seventeen, what if she never forgives me? because oh boy, she loves you, and i don’t know if she could let this all go…” john began to pace, messing with his hair even more. his gaze was unfocused, eyes sweeping back and forth across the room as he tried to gather his thoughts into some cohesive train. 

“well, i forgive you. this tour won’t get any easier if we are at each other’s throats.” john nearly slumped to the ground in relief. he wouldn’t be able to stand losing two friends. roger got up from the couch, walking over to deaky. without hesitation, he folded him into a hug, clapping john on the back. conversation over, friend forgiven, and now you were the only uncertainty in deaky’s life. 

“now come on, let’s go find y/n and head to the bar. after today’s gig, i need a strong drink or two.” roger sounded relieved and ready to move on from the days events, and john was all for it. but he knew that you would be in no mood to see him, and that would definitely put a damper on the evening. truthfully? he wanted to sleep. sleep, and forget the entire day preferably. 

“you go on ahead, i don’t think she wants to see me right now.” john muttered, roger’s hand on his shoulder after stepping back.

“alright, take care deaks.”

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true to deaky’s word, you were not quick to forgive. it took six months for a major step towards healing took place at their “night at the rainbow” shows in late november, where roger infamously trashed his drumset on stage.

you had decided to accompany them for the uk and american legs of the sheer heart attack tour, so there had been a handful of shows you were present during where deaky was soundly ignored. he did an alright job of ignoring you, no matter how much it pained him. he had adopted freddie’s flair for the dramatic clothing wise by that point. roger was always ready to go all out, and you were almost always up for helping him get ready. john had walked in on you two in compromising positions multiple times, which definitely didn’t help your frosty attitude towards deaky.

but at the rainbow theater those nights, something was off between you and roger. from what he could hear, there was some wild misunderstanding before the first show, resulting in a major shouting match while the rest of the band waited outside the dressing room. some time later, you stormed out, leaving roger alone inside. freddie glared at john aggressively until he got the message to follow you and fix his mistakes.

deaky found you right in the wings of the stage, sitting on a spare amplifier while the roadies were doing a soundcheck. your shoulders were slumped forward, eyes trained on the dust streaked stage while chaos whirled around you. the sad eye of the storm. 

“i know you’re there johnny-boy. and no, i don’t want to talk.” his heart unconsciously skipped a beat when you used his nickname, before plummeting back to earth from the gravity of the situation. you sounded more hurt than angry, and as to why deaky didn’t know. but he had waited so long for a chance at reconciliation, and this was the best chance he had gotten in ages. he wasn’t about to let it slip by.

“that’s alright. i’ll wait.” john took a seat on a box just a few feet behind you, crossing one leg over the other while he waited. he knew you long enough to understand that you would immediately clam up when interrogated. so he waited, letting you relax into his presence. after five straight minutes of silence, you finally spoke.

“he can be so stupid sometimes. all i wanted was to know how long he would be gone tonight, and he just snapped. i know you guys are under a lot of stress, but he was the one who asked me to come. i just want to spend time with him.” you sounded so defeated, but john couldn’t be more excited that you finally decided to really talk with him. 

“yeah, he can be a real arse.” you chuckled to yourself at his response, lifting your eyes from the floor to focus more on the stage lights and various instruments being towed around. 

“you could say that again. but… he really loves you. i’m sure you’ll be alright.” deaky had to force the words out, no matter how deeply he knew them to be true. he still was crazy about you, and jealousy ripped through his body when you mentioned roger.

“thanks for listening john. i know things have been a little… iffy between us. maybe a lot iffy. and don’t take this as forgiveness. but i miss my best friend. i am not ready to let your mistrust go just yet, but consider this… progress.” john’s heart swelled at your… well… acceptance of his mistake. 

“i’ll take anything at this point.” you laughed lightly at his words, going quiet again right after. the moment was over. progress was certainly made, but the conversation just made john miss you more. that evening, roger trashed his drum set, fuming as he walked offstage when the show was done. you were there waiting for him and the two of you made up. the next day, things were essentially back to the way before the rainbow theater. but you would actually talk to john now. you would laugh at his jokes, tease him; progress.

things weren’t truly, totally, alright between the two of you until the very last show of the american leg, right before they went on stage. after the show, things were a little up in the air. 

but before, everything became perfectly mended. john was getting ready in the dressing room, in the back of a venue in seattle he did not know the name of. the rest of the boys were there, goofing off as usual. brian was taking photos of roger posing with ridiculous faces, occasionally calling out directions for how he should look. roger was just laughing, fluffing his hair in front of a tall standing mirror.

john sat on a low sofa pushed against one of the cracked brick walls, you sitting on the other side. there was a tense silence in your side of the room, both you and john doing anything to ignore each other’s presence. they were heading to japan the next day, which means you were heading back home to the uk, and the boys weren’t going to be back until may. 

john fell back to his pre-performance memory of you and him. without even knowing it, his gaze shifted to you. just as beautiful as ever. he could almost feel the soft brush of your hair against his cheek, the comforting weight of your hand in his. your whispered words from that day prickled his skin, sending a brief shiver down his spine.

“something you need from me, john?” you caught john staring at you with a wistful look in his eye, breaking his gaze almost immediately after making eye contact. you focused instead on the soft curls of his brown hair until he responded.

“just… antsy i guess.” john wouldn’t look at you once caught, glancing down to his fidgeting hands, freddie preening in front of the mirror, brian fiddling with his camera. he wanted to avoid a potential blowout, no matter how nice it felt to casually talk with you. 

“you’re gonna do great. you always do great johnny.” he still couldn’t face you, but the sincerity of your words eased his spirit. no matter how much time passed without speaking, you would always find each other. and deaky was pretty sure he had found you once more. 

“well i have my best friends here, i can’t in good conscience give less than my best.” john spoke as casually as possible, gathering the courage to finally look you in the eye. what he saw almost made him melt. you were looking at him with a soft smile that made his world right itself and revolve around you. 

“you’re a good man deaky. and i forgive you. truthfully, i’m sorry as well.” a beat passed before you scooted closer to him, tension slowly building in the shrinking space between you. it was broken by you surging forward and wrapping your arms around john’s neck, inhaling his scent with deep, calming breaths. he fell stiff for a moment before embracing you back, almost shedding a tear as he tightened his grip little by little. the room fell away and it was just you and deaky. 

“never apologize to me, love. i’m just glad to have you back.” john whispered breathily against your neck, closing his eyes for one long moment before he felt you soften your hold and pull back, stolen from the moment by roger taking a seat on your other side. he couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment of rejection, but the feel of you in his arms chased away the worries he might have clung to before the show began.

“so you two have finally made up?” roger said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. you leaned into him, resting a hand on his chest through the open vest he wore. the peaceful, dopey grin john had fell just a tad, but for the moment, just for a moment, he was content. 

“i think we have, my love.” you responded lazily, pressing a kiss to the underside of roger’s jaw. that was john’s que to leave. he playfully ruffle your hair just like he once did to you as a teen, then reluctantly got up, walking over to where freddie fussed over his leather jumpsuit and shimmering wristlet. 

after just a few minutes of having freddie fuss over john’s appearance, the band was called to the stage. you followed them to the door, giving roger a deep kiss and the rest of the band tight hugs. you whispered faintly in deaky’s ear before pulling away, to which he responded by just squeezing you tighter. he heard roger cough, and slowly released his grip around your waist. 

“i’m very proud of you, don’t you forget it.” you smiled after john released you, somehow feeling bold enough to place a hand on his cheek. for a second, a river of unspoken words flowed from him to you, deflected smoothly by your emotional walls. john sighed, taking your wrist between his calloused fingers. he squeezed your hand, then let it fall to your side.                                              

“never. i’ll see you soon.” he waved on his way out the door, sneaking one look over his shoulder just before turning the corner and being rewarded with roger kissing you in one last goodbye. splendid. 

that show might have been the jewel in the crown of sheer heart attack’s american tour. john and roger were shockingly in sync, brian’s solos sounded better than ever, and freddie’s voice was clearer than it had been in weeks. they hit their groove, and the crowd could feel it too. their undeniable energy just raised the band’s spirits, and their last songs were met with cheers for an encore. after jailhouse rock, the second to last song, john was poised to start playing “god save the queen” until brian caught his eye and mouthed an agressive “NO.” note taken, but john shot him a questioning glance. with a huff, brian strode over to deaky, taking him by the upper arm and pulling him to the far side of the stage.

“what the fuck brian?” john angrily whispered, yanking his arm back once they were on the other side of roger’s drum kit. speaking of roger, he was standing by freddie in the center of the stage. you were standing clear across on the other side of the stage, mouthing a similar “what the fuck?” towards john, who just shrugged and looked confused. he was very, very confused. 

“just shut up. you might want to hold on to something.” brian mumbled, clutching his red special a little tighter. deaky was about to bite back until freddie cut him off. 

“before we go lovies, roger has a little something to say. so pretty boy, the stage is yours.” freddie spoke plainly, a teasing lilt to his words. he wriggled his eyebrows at roger, who simply swiped the microphone and stuck his tongue out at the singer. freddie retaliated by blowing a kiss and prancing over to where john and brian stood.

“fred, what the-”

“oh just be quiet and listen. our boy has a lot on his mind.” freddie cooed, still not dropping his playful tone. john was understandably agitated, while brian just stood to the side with the smallest of smiles on his lips. something was going on. just before john was able to demand clarification, roger piped up and handed john an answer on a golden platter. 

“hey lads, so you know me, of course. who doesn’t?” roger joked with the crowd, sending a ripple of laughter throughout the ranks of their adoring fans. john was slow to catch on, still glaring at freddie and brian at equal intervals. both astutely ignored him, smiling at roger speaking downstage.

“but i’d like to introduce you to someone very special to me. y/n, can you come one out here?” uh oh. it all clicked for john. he knew what was happening, he knew what roger was going to ask. he knew what your answer would be. john knew that he was extremely close to running offstage and throwing up. but life had other plans, and life’s name was roger. he surged on, smile brighter than the sun as you slowly stepped onto the stage. 

“this is y/n, my gorgeous, intelligent girlfriend,” roger spoke to the crowd, before turning his attention to a highly confused you. a wall of glass rose up between john and you; he could only stand by as roger got down on one knee in front of their cheering fans, all going ballistic at the prospect of what was happening to their idol, right before their eyes.

“honey, dearest, angel, my love. i was such a mess when we met. university student, head full of dreams and too much shampoo. but john brought you to his very first show with us and from then on, i knew it was over for me,” roger talked directly to you, the room falling away until everyone could only watch one of the most important moments of your life. your hands went up to cover your mouth, tears visible in the corners of your eyes. roger seemed a little worse for wear as well, blinking rapidly to keep tears from falling. john wanted to wake up from this terrible nightmare, but there was no stopping what was already in motion.

“you are the light in my life, my rock, and i don’t know how i survived that long without you. i am so ridiculously, embarrassingly in love with you y/n. and there is no one i would rather share my future with,” roger reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small, blue velvet box. with one smooth motion, he flicked it open, letting the burning stage lights glint off of simple diamond ring. your happy tears finally spilled over, and roger’s soft smile brightened as he spoke his final words. 

“so, would you please accept this ring and, oh, i don’t know… marry me?” you nodded rapidly before he even finished talking. roger started to stand, but you ran into his arms, sinking to the ground with your arms desperately wrapped around each other. the microphone rolled away from the happy couple, squealing with feedback before a roadie came and swooped it up. 

john could barely stand as he watched you hold out a shaking hand to roger. he slid the elegant ring onto your finger, smiling all the way. you pulled him in for a deep kiss, nearly toppling roger over with your excitement. once you pulled back from him, john was nearly in tears himself. he had a tragically perfect view of your tearstained face. and there sat the biggest and brightest smile in the room, one john would march heaven and earth to see. 

except that moment. he wanted to give into every selfish desire and break your heart so you would never want to see roger ever again. but he couldn’t. he just couldn’t. john loved you way too much to ruin your moment. roger’s proposal was something his good heart refused to ruin. but that smile.

that goddamn smile.

⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱

first “deaky” fic (team deaks or team rog??) so yeah. hope y’all enjoyed. i actually liked writing from the boy’s perspectives. lmk if you’re down for a part two ;))))

[hermannsthumb]

concept/prompt idea if you feel so inclined: newt had a cute but incredibly shitty local public access show as a little kid where he screeches about frogs and lizards and whatnot like a tiny coyote peterson, hermann finds out somehow and never lets him live it down ever but is also endeared because oh my GOD

hehehehe....

“You’ll be fine,” Newton says, as he struggles, in vain, to do up Hermann’s bowtie. “Really. It’s a piece of cake. I’ve done it a million times.” He drops his hands in frustration. “Jesus, how does this thing work?”

Hermann tsks, and then begins to fret a bit, one-handed, over the bow tie himself. Fretting is second nature to Hermann. Today has him fretting even more than usual: there were early alarms to be set, dry-cleaning to be picked up (Newton’s singular good suit had a large splotch of cocktail sauce on the lapel from years ago, Hermann’s good trousers had chalk on the seat and cocktail sauce from where Newton, incensed at Hermann for mocking him over his spilled cocktail sauce, smeared it in retaliation), cabs to be hailed, and, in nine minutes and twenty-five seconds, a television interview to be had. “Oh, we should’ve gone with the clip-on.”

“Clip-on’s not professional enough,” Newton says. “Everyone would be able to tell.”

The irony of Newton pointing something out as unprofessional is not lost on Hermann. Nor is the full meaning of Newton’s earlier statement; realization hits Hermann belatedly, but it still hits him. “What do you mean you’ve done it ‘a million times’?”

“Oh,” Newton says, airily. “You know.”

“I don’t,” Hermann says.

“TV,” Newton says. He finally manages to correctly knot Hermann’s bow tie, and cuts off Hermann’s attempts to question just what, exactly, he’s referring to by TV, by crowing in triumph. “Ha! There.” He curls up onto the toes of his boots--no amount of sweet-talking from Hermann could coerce him into wearing dress shoes, or even scraping off a little bit of mud from the soles--and plants a kiss on Hermann’s cheek. “Looking good, hottie.”

Hermann begins to flush. “Newton,” he half-chastises, because they’re in plain view of the backstage crew.

Newton plants another kiss at the corner of his mouth, this time, and smooths his palms down the front of Hermann’s dress jacket. “Looking really good.” He noses at Hermann’s neck, and lowers his voice, “I can’t wait to until we get back to the hotel, and I can—”

“Newton,” Hermann hisses, and Newton merely grins.

The interview goes smoothly. For Newton, anyway; Hermann’s sure he sat stiff-as-a-board for all of it, his eyes wandering everywhere, twisting the head of his cane over and over in his fingers, startling and stuttering for ten seconds whenever a question was posed to him before launching into a meandering and confusing response. But Newton really did seem at home: he smiled, he joked, he bantered, he touched Hermann’s knee, flung an arm around him at one point, had an answer prepared for every single question and then some.

Hermann would chalk it all up to Newton’s rock-star flamboyance bravado if Newton hadn’t led him to suspect otherwise. As it is, it’s clear that he has done this sort of thing before.

Hermann waits until they make it back to their hotel room, and Newton is cracking open the overpriced minibar--for celebratory off-brand sodas, he said--before he accosts Newton.

“So,” he says, at Newton’s hunched-over back. “Will you tell me what you meant now?”

Newton rises to his feet too quickly and knocks his head on the top of the fridge. “Fuck,” he says, and Hermann winces in sympathy. “Ow. Tell you what I meant about what?” He presses one of the soda cans to the spot he’d just hit.

“Being on television before,” Hermann says.

A very strange look flits across Newton’s face. “Uh,” he says. “You know. Those interviews I did years ago, back in 2013 or something.”

Hermann does remember, now that Newton mentions it. It’d been around the time they’d started corresponding. Newton had gone on television to voice his support for the kaiju being extraterrestrial in origin, and everyone’d taken one look at him--twenty-three, short, pink streaks in his hair, piercings, Buddy Holly glasses with a crack running across the bottom of one lens--and ruthlessly mocked him for weeks to come. Then invited him back to more talk shows to mock him some more. “Ah,” Hermann says. “I do remember.”

It doesn’t feel entirely the truth--Newton still looks oddly shifty, like he’s concealing something from Hermann--but Hermann feels guilty for making Newton relive a bad memory anyway, so he drops it.

“Soda?” Newton says. He offers the one not pressed to his forehead, but the act seems to remind him of why he pressed the other to his forehead in the first place. “Fucking hope this doesn’t bruise,” he says, darkly. Then he bats his eyelashes. “Will you kiss it for me?”

Hermann beckons Newton over.

Two years later, the conversation has slipped from Hermann’s mind entirely. He and Newton have better things to do, after all, besides give television interviews about their work during the war and make appearances at galas which require them to buy new ties and dryclean out cocktail sauce. They’re teaching again, and working on compiling their wartime research in their free time (three books--individual and joint), and, most importantly, enjoying each other. (Newton is skilled in a lot of areas in which Hermann is not, and he’s more than happy to share those skills with Hermann.)

Then one day, Hermann walks in to his eleven-AM lecture to find half of his students huddled around a single cell phone. They snap up, guiltily, to his attention, but only after Hermann has to resort to knocking his cane against the wood of his podium and clearing his throat repeatedly.

“...Yes?” Hermann says.

None of them speak. Then, after a few shared glances, the boy who’s phone it is says “We found your husband’s old TV show.”

Hermann furrows his brow. “You must be mistaken,” he says. “Newton’s never—”

The boy holds up his phone.

“When were you going to tell me?” Hermann says, the instant he walks through their apartment door that afternoon. Newton had off today, which means he spent the day running errands and finishing up household chores (taking out the trash, loading the dishwasher). He’s also started dinner, as the pot boiling over on the stove and Newton’s bright pink apron suggest.

“Hi, babe,” Newton says. He turns down the burner and smiles over his shoulder. “Tell you what?”

“Into the Wild with Newt,” Hermann says, ominously, and Newton blanches.

The video had not, truthfully, been very embarrassing. More endearing than anything, though with terrifically poor camera quality. (Nothing like the clips of Newton at twenty-three they’d featured on Buzzfeed for days after word got out that that was the Dr. Newton Geiszler who almost fried his brain to help save the world.) Newton had been no older than ten, with coke-bottle glasses and a missing front tooth, and it’d featured him on a cheap soundstage with equally cheap (and clearly hand-painted) cardboard safari sets, along with a few oversized ferns, as he squeaked excitedly about a type of iguana. The whole thing had been no longer than twenty minutes.

What more: there were more of them. Nearly thirty more. All featuring a tiny, freckled Newton going on and on about different amphibians and reptiles and insects, often with the amphibian or reptile or insect in question resting in the palm of his hand or (in the case of a lazy-looking snake) curled around his shoulders.

Hermann is charmed. Newton is not.

“I was eight,” he moans, hiding his face in his hands as Hermann clicks play on yet another. “It was a public access thing. My uncle made the sets.”

On Hermann’s laptop screen, Newton laughs as a fat tree frog eats a dead cricket from his fingers.

“You were adorable, darling,” Hermann teases. “Look at your safari hat.”

Newton swipes for the laptop, but Hermann holds it out of his reach; meanwhile, eight-year-old Newton kisses the frog’s head with a big grin. “How’d you even find this, anyway?” Newton huffs, even redder than before. “I deleted them off everywhere.”

“My students showed me,” Hermann says. He pauses the video to scroll to the YouTube channel name; it looks as if it might be the network Newton’s television show aired on decades ago. The uploads themselves are only a few months old. “I reckon they found the old recordings and uploaded them.” He adds, heavily sarcastic, “Since you’re such a rockstar now.”

Newton hides his face in Hermann’s shoulder. “Turn it offfff.”

Hermann shuts the laptop. For now. He doesn’t stop grinning. “You should revive it. Do you still have the sets?”

“You’re the worst,” Newton says. “Oh my God. I can’t believe I married you.”

[branlovestowrite]

CSJJ Day 15: Catching Snowflakes

Catching Snowflakes

Rating: T until the last section and then M because @kmomof4 bullied me into including some smut :-)

Words: ~5,000

Summary: Emma and Henry have just moved to Storybrooke from Tallahassee, and Emma is having a harder time adjusting than her son. She’d feel better about the cold weather if she could just see some friggin’ snow. She’d also feel better if she wasn’t so attracted to her neighbor, best friend, and local barman, Killian Jones.

Notes: This is my story for @csjanuaryjoy and was based on the prompt I’m walking home from the bar and it’s snowing and you see me trying to catch snowflakes on my tongue. As a resident of North Florida, I still remember the first time I saw snow falling and how magical it looked. I thought that magic would be perfect for our favorite couple.

Thanks to @shireness-says and @kmomof4 for being my betas. I love you both!

Also on AO3

Emma walked into the Rabbit Hole and settled on a barstool in the far corner. Placing her clutch on the counter, she pulled off her coat and laid it next to her. By the time she looked up, her savior had arrived.

"Swan," he said with a smile, the lines around his eyes crinkling adorably.

"Jones," she responded, flashing him a small smile of her own.

"Rum and coke?" he asked, already turning to grab the bottle of her preferred spirit.

"No soda tonight. Just the rum, on the rocks."

"Rough night?" He finished preparing the drink and set it down in front of her.

"You have no idea."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, leaning over and resting his hands against the bar. In doing so he gave her a tantalizing view of the thatch of chest hair peeking out from above the deep vee of his t-shirt. She picked up her drink and took a fortifying sip to distract herself from that line of thought. Killian Jones was off limits.

They'd met six months ago when she and her son Henry had moved into the apartment above his, after coming to Storybrooke, Maine, so Henry could be close to his newly discovered father. Before that, they'd lived in Tallahassee, Florida for the entirety of Henry's life.

Growing up in the foster system, Emma had never had anyone to rely on. When she met Neal, Henry's father, she'd fallen hard and fast. On a silly whim, they'd picked Tallahassee as the place they were going to settle down, which made her giddy with joy. She was a bright-eyed, naive seventeen year-old who'd thought she'd finally found her family.

Two days later she learned just how naive she'd truly been, when Neal set her up to take the fall for some jewelry he'd stolen. Because she had a piece of the stolen goods on her person (which he'd said was her engagement ring), she was arrested and charged with grand theft. Her sentence was six months jail time. They charitably released her just one month before Henry was to be born. Neal had disappeared in the wind. Emma had a faint hope that it had all been some big misunderstanding and that Neal was out there, somewhere, waiting for her. So, she scraped together enough money to get to Tallahassee, hoping one day he would find them.

Despite the unfavorable beginning, she'd been happy in Florida. After Henry was born, she met some truly good people who helped her get her life in order. These people became their support system. They helped her get a job, which led her to a career. She began as a secretary at the police department and worked her way up to deputy. She was able to cobble together a good life for herself and her son.

But their nice little bubble had begun to crack two years ago, when Neal made a reappearance in their lives. He was living in Maine, in a small town called Storybrooke where he'd apparently grown up, and found Emma on Facebook.

"How could you never have told me I had a son, Emma?!"

"YOU left me, Neal! You abandoned me to serve time for a crime YOU committed. How was I supposed to find you when I was fresh out of jail with a newborn?!"

Neal was chastened by her words. He backed off, but still insisted on being a part of their lives. He wanted them to move to Storybrooke to be closer, but Emma had refused. Their life was in Tallahassee. She couldn't just pick up and move.

That excuse had worked for about six months, but Neal kept pestering her. Then he convinced her to let Henry spend Christmas with him. Henry immediately fell in love with the town, but seeing snow had been what sealed the deal for him. He came home and talked about nothing other than how badly he wanted to live in Storybrooke.

Emma still insisted they stay put until she could find a job there. She refused to take any handouts from Neal. It took another year before she was able to secure a job as a deputy with the Storybrooke PD. The offer had come in the middle of a heat wave and the idea of moving to a cooler climate was extremely appealing. Emma still had reservations, but she decided to take a chance and accepted the job.

She was able to find an apartment - a large, industrial style open space with a loft area for Henry's bedroom. The place was owned by her new boss, the sheriff, David Nolan and his wife Mary Margaret. They'd lived there for several years before buying a large farm on the outskirts of town to accommodate their growing family. The building was an old warehouse Mary Margaret's family had owned which had been converted into a four-unit apartment building. The only other occupant currently was Emma's downstairs neighbor, Killian.

On they day they were moving in, she'd run into Jones - literally run into him, while she was carrying a box full of kitchen equipment. The bottom obviously hadn't been taped up very well, and the collision had not only knocked them both the ground, but had broken the box, scattering her utensils and tupperware all over the entryway to the building.

"Oh shit!" she yelled, already exhausted from the long drive and just ready to get the move over with.

"Are you alright, love?" he'd asked, his smooth, crisp, accented voice sending chills up her spine. She'd looked up and almost had her breath taken away. He was a gorgeous man, with inky black hair, striking blue eyes, and a chiseled jawline. His facial hair was a few days old, not quite long enough to be a beard, but still an extremely attractive look for him. The light coming through the door caught on his face, highlighting his stubble and revealing more than a few ginger-colored hairs.

"Oh… yes" she'd replied, finally coming back to herself.

"Mom! What happened?" Henry had asked, coming through the door with a box of his own things.

"Nothing dire, I assure you," her new neighbor had replied as he stood and offered her his hand. "Killian Jones, pleased to meet you. I assume you must be moving into the apartment upstairs. Emma and Henry, right?"

"Yes," Emma had responded, suddenly wary. How did he know their names?

"Killian! There you are," Mary Margaret had called out as she stepped through the door. "Whoa," she added as she took in the scene, "what happened here?"

"I bumped into him, I think."

"Okay, well, let's get this stuff picked up." Her new landlord bent over and began collecting the various items that had gone flying. "I see you've met Killian," she added, placing a few utensils into the now overturned box. "I stopped by yesterday and let him know you guys were moving in."

Mary Margaret, after unknowingly calming Emma's anxiety, convinced Killian to help them complete the move-in.

Almost immediately, Emma and Killian struck up a good friendship. He worked at a nearby bar, The Rabbit Hole, which he co-owned with his brother. Emma often found herself visiting Killian there on nights where Henry was sleeping over at his dad's house. That was where she met the other Jones brother, Liam, and his wife, Elsa. Emma took an instant liking to Elsa, and they became fast friends. As a natural result, she ended up spending a lot of time at Liam and Elsa's house, thereby seeing Killian even more frequently.

Over the last six months, she'd become close to Killian and had come to think of him as one of the best friends she'd ever had. There were more than a few romantic thoughts about him, but Emma refused to act on them. She didn't want to mess up their friendship, and she especially didn't want to get involved with a neighbor.

"Emma?" Killian asked, bringing her back to herself. She looked down and saw that she'd finished her rum while lost in thought.

"Can I have another?"

Killian smiled and grabbed the bottle to refill her glass. "Was tonight so bad that you lost yourself in thought while trying to figure out what to tell me?"

She chuckled nervously, afraid to tell him that her thoughts were actually about how she'd rather have been with him than anywhere else. Straightening her shoulders, she met his gaze, determined to be the master of her feelings. "No, nothing like that. It's just… well, I finally agreed to let Walsh take me on a date."

§§§§§§§§§§

Killian felt his heart stop at her words. She'd been on a date? Although the context led him to believe she hadn't had the best time out, he couldn't stop the jealous streak that coursed through his veins. What he wouldn't give to go on a date with Emma Swan, the woman of his dreams.

He'd been stunned by her from the moment they met, when she crashed into him in the entryway of their building. The way the morning sunshine illuminated her golden hair made her appear like an angel, but what truly did him in was the way she looked at him when their gazes met. He was mesmerized by her shining green eyes, creamy skin, and high cheekbones, but her expression was guarded, showing him a strong woman who would broker no bullshit. And few things were more attractive to Killian Jones than a strong woman.

As he got to know Emma and Henry better, he found himself falling hopelessly in love with them both. Henry was a wonderful child: curious, friendly, and smart as a whip. And Emma, once he got past her tough exterior, was one of the kindest and most genuine people he'd ever met. Emma cared deeply for the wellbeing of others, sometimes to the detriment of her own health, and Killian found his life's purpose lately was helping to make her life easier.

Despite the fact that she'd been set up on a few dates, he had sincerely hoped he and Emma could begin explore what he was certain was a mutual attraction. He wasn't oblivious; he saw how she looked at him when she thought no one was watching. But Killian also knew that Emma had to be the one to make the first move. For the last six months he'd been waiting for her to do so, but nothing had happened yet.

And now she was letting that simpering simian Walsh take her out. It was almost too much to bear.

He coughed to clear his throat. "I take it the date didn't go so well?"

"I mean… it wasn't the worst date I've ever been on, but definitely in the top five."

"What made it so terrible?"

"Well, for starters, he took me to Granny's."

"You love Granny's," Killian countered, remembering fondly the meal there he'd shared with her and Henry not even a week ago.

"I do, but not for a date. Granny's is where you go for family dinners. The place doesn't exactly scream romance."

"Don't let the Lady Lucas hear you criticizing her establishment," he admonished, while mentally filed away that little tidbit for future reference. "What else made the date bad?"

"He was just boring," Emma bemoaned. "He spent the majority of the time talking about his store and why he decided to start a furniture business, and how it was booming and how he made so much money on Etsy and blah, blah blah, blah blah. He and I have nothing in common." She drained her glass as if she were trying to wash away the very mention of him.

"Why did you agree to the date?" Killian refilled her glass as he spoke, refusing to make eye contact.

"I don't know… because he kept pestering me. And because he's so different from guys I usually go for. I thought maybe I'd have better luck with someone I normally wouldn't look at twice. And also this town is desperately lacking eligible men."

Killian couldn't help himself. "There's really no one more eligible than Mr. Ozman the furniture maker?" He lifted his eyebrows and threw her a wry smile.

"Well… yeah," she said, looking away as she took another sip. "I mean, there are maybe men in town that are more eligible, but they're not options for me."

"No one?"

"No!" she said, slamming her fist on the counter next to her nearly empty drink. "Pour me another, please."

"You're knocking those back rather fast, Swan. Are you sure you don't want some water?"

"Nope. I'm good with my rum. Fill 'er up barkeep!" She gave him a flirty smile, and, god help him, he couldn't deny her anything. The bar was empty, and entertaining Emma made the time pass by faster. He poured her another measure and set the bottle on the counter behind him.

By the time she finished her fourth glass, she was quite inebriated, as evidenced by her constant talking. Emma Swan was normally very stoic, but get a few drinks in her and she became a chatterbox. Killian surmised that she must have had a few beers at Granny's before she made her way to the bar.

"I mean, what even is this town?" she asked as she waved her hand in the air. "There are less than 3,000 people living here! That's so tiny! You know how many people Tallahassee has? 191,000! That's like six… sixty… you know, it's just a fuck ton more people, that's what it is!"

"Alright Swan," he said, walking around the bar to join her at her side, "I believe you've had enough. Why don't you come sit in my office while I wrap a few things up and then I'll walk you home?"

She stood and didn't protest as he grabbed her things and escorted her toward the back, but she also continued talking. "And the weather… what the hell is up with this weather? I've been here six months, and it's been cold as balls, but there's no fucking snow! That's not right! I haven't seen a good snowfall in more than a decade. If I have to deal with this cold weather, I at least deserve to see some damned snow, right?"

"Couldn't agree with you more, love." He settled her in his office chair and leaned over her slightly to grab the keys from their hook on the wall.

Emma smiled and blushed when he did so, but mercifully her mouth remained closed. He departed the office and went about closing up the few remainings items in the bar before returning.

"Ready love?" he asked as he stepped over the threshold twenty minutes later. He paused as he looked down and saw that she was fast asleep, her head pillowed on her arms as she leaned over his desk. Smiling, he stepped over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Emma? Love? It's time to go home."

She awoke with a groan. "Tired…" she mumbled into her bicep.

"I know darling. But we are only a few steps from home. You will be glad in the morning when you wake up in your bed rather than with a sore neck from sleeping on my desk."

"You're right," she said, sitting up. "Besides," she said with a yawn, "there are other bedroom things I'd like to do on this desk." She seemed to realize what she said a moment too late and looked up at him in shock, her faced flushing a deep red.

Ever the gentleman, Killian chose to ignore her words. He picked up her coat and motioned for her to stand up. She did so reluctantly, but he was able to help her into the garment and get it buttoned up. He looked warily at her shoes. There may not be snow on the ground, but there was still ice and he wasn't sure how he felt about her walking on slippery roads in four-inch heels.

Emma recognized where he was looking and stomped her foot defiantly. "I'll be fine, Jones," she said, reading his mind. "Let's go."

Killian set the alarm and locked up the building. Once everything was secure, he turned to see Emma leaning against the brick wall and staring at him unevenly. He smiled and grabbed her hand, threading it through his arm. They proceeded to walk the two blocks it would take to get to their apartment building.

As they walked along, he looked up at the sky and had to do a double take. Sure enough, flakes were starting to fall. Emma seemed oblivious, so he shook her hand a bit. "Look up."

She turned her head skyward and her face broke out in a grin so radiant it could outshine the moon. "Snow!" she squealed, pulling away from him and spinning in a circle. "I haven't seen snow since I was a kid!" She tilted her head further back and opened her mouth wide to catch a few flakes. Her pure, childlike joy warmed his heart.

"Finally!" she cried out, spinning once more. She stopped suddenly, dropping her chin and giving him a sultry look. Sauntering over, she grabbed onto the lapels of his jacket. "Aren't you happy for the snow?" she whispered, her mouth mere inches from his own.

"I'm happy to see you so happy, love," he replied, beaming down at her.

Emma stared into his eyes a moment longer before she surged forward and captured his lips with her own. The kiss caught him off guard, but he'd wanted it too long to push her away now. He returned the embrace, capturing her upper lip between his own and sucking gently. She moaned and opened her mouth wider, moving her hands to grab the back of his head and deepen the kiss. Time stopped in that moment, the only sound being their short breaths as they desperately tried to keep going.

Finally it became too much and she pulled away, once more holding onto his lapels and resting her forehead against his. They both gulped in deep breaths of air, the cold stinging their lungs.

Killian came back to himself and abruptly reared his head back as he recalled her drunken state. "Emma… I shouldn't have-"

"Don't," she interrupted, pressing a finger to his lips. "Don't apologize for what was the greatest kiss of my life. I may be drunk, but not drunk enough to kiss you against my will. I fully and totally consented to it, and I'd gladly do it again."

"Truly, you don't know how much of a relief it is to hear that." She smiled and lifted up on her toes to kiss him again, but he dodged her. "I'd still rather we waited for a repeat performance until after you've slept it off."

"Fine," she grunted, releasing him and stomping ahead a few paces. "Killian Jones, the gentleman, everyone!" She swung her arms around to gesture at him Vanna White-style. "Step right up and see it for yourself! A man who doesn't want to take advantage of a drunk woman who is dying to jump his bones! Truly a marvel!"

She was hurt, he could see that clear as day, but he would not relent. He quickened his pace and caught up just as her feet slipped out from underneath and she went tumbling to the ground. "Damnit!" she yelled as she struggled to pick herself up. "I'm such a klutz. No wonder you don't want me."

"Now wait a damn minute!" He raised his voice to stop her drunken spiral. "I never said that." Effortlessly he lifted her back to her feet, steadying her with his hands on her shoulders. "I've wanted you since the moment I met you." His eyes pleaded with her as he spoke. "I just don't want you to have any chance to regret things between us."

Emma looked down with a huff. "You are such a… a…" she lifted her eyes once more and her gaze suddenly softened. "You're a good guy, Killian Jones."

He smirked at her. "Come on, let's go home." He pulled her into his side and continued their trek.

§§§§§§§§§§

The sunlight pouring through the window was blinding and Emma groaned, pulling her pillow over her face. She tried in vain to will her blistering headache to go away, thanking the fates that Henry was staying with Neal one more night, and she could stay at home and nurse her hangover while avoiding the world in the process.

She snuggled deeper into the plush bedding as her awareness slowly returned. Her eyes were still firmly closed, but she began to recognize the smell of the bedding. There was the distinct scent of man surrounding her. She ran a hand along the sheets and could feel they were made of a very tight weave, much nicer than her own. And the comforter was infinitely warmer. She'd have to make note of the brand so she could buy a proper one, rather than the light quilt she'd been using that only worked in Florida winters.

Taking another deep inhale, Emma realized she knew that scent. It was Killian's smell. Making a quick check, she found that, rather wearing her own clothes, she was dressed in a men's t-shirt and boxers. She groaned again and threw her arm over her pillow-covered head. What had they done last night?

"Good morning love," Killian said as he stepped into the room. There was the sound of a thunk, followed by the aroma of coffee, indicating that he'd brought her a mug of the amazing brew he liked to make in his french press. "How do you feel?"

"Lower your voice!" she hissed. His volume was not loud, but in light of her pounding headache, he may as well have been yelling. Taking a deep breath, she slowly peeled the pillow away from her face, keeping her eyes squinted while they adjusted to the light. Once she sat up Killian offered her a bottle of water and two ibuprofen. She smiled at him gratefully and took the painkillers, downing half the water with them.

"I'm sorry I was so drunk you couldn't even get me up the stairs."

"You were nearly asleep by the time we made it to building. I figured it would be easier to have you rest here."

"What happened? What did I do?"

He grimaced. "Do you remember any of it?"

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying hard to clear her mind and recall what happened just a few hours ago. It all came back in a flash. "I kissed you."

"Aye," he responded, reaching over and handing her the coffee mug.

Emma took a fortifying sip, enjoying the taste of the rich brew doctored with cream and sugar just how she liked it. They sat in silence for a moment, Killian watching Emma while she watched her cup of coffee.

"Do you regret it?" he asked, finally breaking the tension.

She took another deep breath before peering up to meet his eyes. "No. I don't."

"Is it something you'd like to do again?"

She looked pensive for a moment longer before cracking a smile. "Yes, I want to kiss you again, Killian." He began to lean forward, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest. "Not yet, though. I'd like to shower and brush my teeth first."

He smirked in response. "I think you'll find, Swan, that I am an infinitely patient man."

Their flirty banter, along with the water, painkillers, and coffee, had Emma feeling ten times better than when she'd woken up only moments ago. She tilted her head and looked at him coquettishly. "I think you'll find, Jones, that I am not a patient woman. Give me thirty minutes to get cleaned up, and then I'm gonna come back down here and rock your world."

"Oh, there will be coming, alright."

Emma broke into a full cackle at his words. "Seriously? I know you have better game than that, Jones."

"Go get cleaned up, darling, and then you can find out."

Emma practically leapt out of the bed, grabbing her clutch and racing upstairs. She showered quickly, but made sure to take a few moments for some body hair removal. The shower helped to shake off the last vestiges of her hangover. Standing in front of her closet, wrapped in only her plush navy blue bathrobe, she contemplated what the wear when there was a knock on the front door. She groaned at the intrusion, mourning the potential loss of time alone with Killian, before tightening her robe and moving to answer the knock.

She opened the door to find Killian standing there, looking sinfully sexy in a pair of low-slung jeans and a loose t-shirt. He stared down at her preditorially. "Swan," he breathed before stepping into her space and capturing her mouth with his own.

Emma stepped back and he followed, slamming the door and locking it behind them. He then spun their bodies, pinning her to the wall as his lips traveled down her jaw. "Not that I'm complaining," she said, pausing to moan wantonly, "but I thought we were going to do this at your place."

"I guess I'm not as patient as I claim to be," he replied, tracing her collarbone with his tongue. "Take this off," he commanded, tugging at her robe, and she hurried to comply. Her hands fumbled with the belt for a moment before it fell open, revealing her naked body. He stepped back and admired her as she squirmed under his scrutiny. "Gorgeous," he breathed before pushing the robe off her shoulders.

The cold air on her heated skin was a shock. Emma silently thanked herself for deciding not to wash her hair this morning. She could only imagine how much colder she'd feel with wet hair dripping down her back.

His hands warmed her body as they roamed over her breasts, across her stomach, and around to her rear before encouraging her to spread her legs and wrap them around his hips. With her core pressed to his own, he ground their bodies together while his mouth dove down to take a hardened pink nipple between his lips. Emma hissed at the sensation of his warm mouth on the stiffened peak, speeding up the motions of her pelvis. She could feel the erection underneath his jeans, and the combination of it and the ridge of his fly gave her just the right amount of pressure on her clit. She'd been so worked up thinking about him in the shower that it only took a few more minutes until she felt the first blush of her orgasm wash over her body.

"Oh my god… Killian… I'm gonna… I'm… ahhh!" she moaned, throwing her head back and crying out in ecstacy.

"You are so bloody beautiful, Swan," he said, gently kissing her as she came down from her high.

"Your turn," she said in a rush, placing her legs back down on the ground. She took a moment to steady herself before putting her hands on his shoulders and making to turn them.

"No, Emma," he said, his voice commanding. "I'm in charge right now, and you will do as I say. Go sit on the bed, on your knees."

Emma shivered, and not from the cold air in the room. "Yes sir," she replied breathily before complying with his order. When she was positioned how he wanted, he walked over and stood at the foot of the bed, removing his shirt and jeans until he stood before her in all his naked glory. She bit her lip as she looked up at him.

"See something you like, darling?" he asked, wrapping his long fingers around his cock and pumping slowly.

"Mmmm… yes sir," she moaned.

He crawled on the bed, placing his knees on either side of her hips. His hand slid down and lightly grazed her outer lips before he slid two fingers inside her. "Bloody fuck you're wet," he groaned. He pumped his fingers two more times before removing them and spreading some of the moisture on his cock. "Where do you keep your condoms, love?"

"I don't have any," she breathed. "The ones I had were expired and I threw them out before the move."

"Then it's a good thing I came prepared," he replied with a chuckle. He stood up and grabbed his jeans, extracting a foil square. Quickly sheathing his length, he slid back onto the bed, this time behind her, and wrapped his hands around her waist. With a squeeze of his hips he encouraged her to lift herself so he could position his aching cock just below her entrance. After a torturously slow few seconds, she sank all the way down.

They both moaned when he bottomed out. The feeling of being full was almost too much. His hands wandered, one landing on her breast and the other slipping down to her clit. He rubbed it in ever tightening circles before pushing her body forward, changing their position to doggy style as he pumped his hips faster. Emma cried out at the quickened pace of his fingers, and she once again felt the tinglings of an orgasm. They continued for a moment longer before, all at once, she was hit with another flood of sensation. She cried out and squeezed him tight, her release triggering his own. The room was filled with their cries as they both took their pleasure.

They collapsed onto the bed, Killian pulling her to him so that her back lined up with his front. They both panted heavily as their heart rates slowed. Once they were each more composed, Emma sighed contentedly.

"I guess I should be grateful for rum and the snow finally giving me the courage I needed to make a move."

"If you aren't, then I will be grateful enough for the both of us."

She smiled and lightly slapped his arm before settling more into his embrace.

"I am curious about one thing," he said a moment later.

"Yeah?" she asked.

"If it took rum and snow for that to happen, what will it take for you to act on the urge to do those 'other bedroom things' in my office you mentioned last night?"

Emma blushed momentarily before smiling to herself. "You'll just need to wait to find out."

@artistic-writer @bleebug @cat-sophia @courtorderedcake @distant-rose @flslp87 @gingerchangeling @hollyethecurious @initiala @jonirobinson64 @kmomof4 @kymbersmith-90 @laschatzi @lassluna @lillpon @nerdyhuntress @resident-of-storybrooke @rouhn @searchingwardrobes @sherlockianwhovian @shireness-says @snidgetsafan @snowbellewells @teamhook @thejollyroger-writer @thislassishooked @winterbythesea @winterbaby89 @wingedlioness @wyntereyez @yayimallamaagain​

[allimariexf]

Olicity reunion kiss drabble

My muse is strange and demanding. I dunno, 7x05 suddenly made it possible - and necessary - that I write this.

Inspired by some stuff Oliver and Felicity independently said in 7x05, which makes me think they might each be ready to move forward with a lot less angst than I previously thought was possible.

Oliver said: “My father pushed people away. He kept secrets. And I made those same mistakes. If I choose to break the cycle, I'm gonna do it my way."

Felicity said: “I was pissed about [Oliver deciding to go to prison]! I should have visited him more. I should have been able to prevent this! I thought that the worst thing that could happen was me losing my husband to prison. What if I lose him permanently?”

read on Ao3 here

The door opened and finally he was there in front of her, no walls between them but those of their own making.

His face was nearly unrecognizable, brutish and covered in scrapes and bruises, a darkened brow and that long beard.

Felicity was frozen in place by his sudden strangeness, and by the need to get this right. But then she saw his eyes. “Oliver.”

And she had no memory of moving toward him, but suddenly she was holding his face in her hands, scanning his injuries, reassuring herself that he was  real, that he was okay. He turned his cheek to her palm and closed his eyes.

“Felicity, I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

“Shh.” She brushed her thumbs soothingly along his jaw, letting him rub his cheeks against her fingers as she inspected the cuts on his face. “Oliver.”

Oliver slid his hands gently over her hips, wrapping his arms around her waist but afraid to hold her too tightly. Afraid that this might all yet still be a dream, or, worse, that it was real and that his eagerness might somehow drive her away. They had been apart for over 6 months, and he knew that just like him, she’d been through a lot. He couldn’t be sure that what he wanted was what she needed.

He opened his eyes looked at her, afraid but needing to show her that he was done keeping secrets.  

Felicity’s breath hitched in her chest as she recognized that the only wall between them now was made up of her own residual anger and guilt.

He was leaning down, slowly, deliberately, eyes on her lips. He was going to kiss her, and she wanted to kiss him so, so badly, but she needed their first kiss to be completely honest. “Oliver.”

He paused his descent, his hooded eyes meeting hers.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Oliver’s eyebrows lifted, but she continued speaking before he could say anything. “I was so, so angry with you, and a part of me just wanted to..p-punish you for what you did. But -”

“Felicity.” Oliver’s eyes had softened at her confession. “You had every right to be angry. And I want to talk about this. I do.  And more than that I want to show you. That I’m done keeping secrets. I’m done pushing people away.”

She nodded, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“But right now I really want to kiss you.” He expelled a nervous breath. “Can I kiss you?”

She wet her lips in unconscious anticipation. “Please.”

He lowered his head and she stood on her toes to meet him.

Their lips met gently, and Felicity was almost overwhelmed by the press of skin against skin after spending so long apart from him. She held his face in her hands and brushed her lips over his, feeling no hurry to deepen the kiss. The soft, chaste touch was more than enough after so many nights spent trying to remember that feeling, trying to recreate it while pressing the back of her hand to her lips.

She pulled back just far enough to meet his eyes. He was looking at her with such love and adoration that even he seemed caught off guard by it, and her heart started hammering in her chest as the moment stretched between them.

They were going to be okay.

Oliver’s eyes flicked to her mouth and he lifted a hand to her face, caressing her bottom lip with his thumb in apparent fascination. “Felicity.”

She turned her head and pressed a kiss against his thumb before opening her lips and licking it, sucking it into her mouth. She met his eyes and suddenly that familiar heat was sparking between them as if no time had passed.

They were going to be better than okay.

Oliver was breathing shallowly, eyes locked with Felicity’s as she teased his thumb with her lips and teeth and tongue until the pull of her sexy mouth proved too tempting, and he leaned down suddenly, stopping her with his mouth.

He pressed a dozen open mouthed kisses over her lips, taking conscious pleasure in all the things he had missed most about kissing her: her taste, the pressure of her lips, their fullness, the feel of her breath panting against his mouth, her little moans of pleasure. His hands were buried in her hair and hers were roaming up and down his back, pulling him toward her as close as she could get.

And then he slid his hands down her body to cup her ass, and she sank bonelessly against him with a groan. He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around him out of long habit, giving him the perfect opportunity to turn his head and slide his tongue into her mouth, tasting her fully for the first time in half a year. She accepted him eagerly, stroking against his tongue and sucking his bottom lip into her mouth as she grazed her fingernails through his short hair.

They were going to be amazing.

Eventually Oliver realized he had turned them so that he had Felicity pressed up against the wall, his rock hard cock grinding into her. She was meeting his thrusts in a perfect counter rhythm.

He pulled away slightly to press a line of kisses down her neck. “Felicity.”

“Mmmm.” She leaned her head back against the wall, giving him better access.

His lips reached her collarbone, and he pulled her jacket aside so his mouth could follow his desire.

“Oh god, Oliver.” She slipped a finger under his chin and pulled his face back up to hers, nipping and sucking and playing with his lips between deep kisses.

Not able to stop, Oliver spoke between kisses. “Felicity.”

“Hmm?”

He gathered his willpower, meeting her kisses but not deepening them, disengaging his tongue and then his lips, pulling back enough so that she had no choice but to meet his eyes.

And when she did, her head cleared immediately because the earnest look in his eyes was one that immediately recalled various marriage proposals and vows from their long, complicated, love-filled history.

“Let’s go home.”

She nodded and leaned down to kiss him one last time before they left this place forever and began the rest of their lives together, never again to part.

[freefallingforfanfiction]

Midnight Skies

Pairing: John Murphy X Reader (if you squint real hard) & Bellamy X Reader X Octavia (Platonic)

Anon requested: Hiya! I love your writing!! I just wanted to know if I could request a John Murphy imagine where the reader has a small crush on him but she knows he has no heart and it won’t work. Also, emori is involved with Murphy so it’s hard to tell. So Bellamy and Octavia cheer her up

Warnings: A single swear. 

Authors Note: I am not caught up Season Five of The 100 so this is taking place sometime before that.

Everyone in camp Jaha knew that John Murphy was nothing but trouble. The list of betrayals he had committed was vast, the amount of times he perpetrated his people felt almost endless, and amount of people he had hurt through those actions was countless. Everyone knew this; everyone including yourself. However, it seemed that a certain cardiovascular muscle in your chest did not get them memo.

To your heart, it did not seem to matter that John Murphy was a raging psychopath that lacked a heart all his own. No, it only seemed to focus on his beautiful blue eyes that always seemed to gaze at you a little longer than necessary or the way he always seemed to brush your arm as he passed by you in an empty hallway. Or, most importantly, that Murphy was dating Emori, the impossibly beautiful Grounder he had met on his journey with Jaha through the dead zone.

No, none of these facts appeared to matter to your heart as you still found yourself crushing on Murphy against your better judgment. Sighing to yourself, you pulled your dangling feet from the open air and tucked them underneath you. The thick bark of the tree scraped against your exposed skin, but you paid the minor abrasions no minds and instead focused on the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Y/N/N,” a voice from below you called. Slowly, you tilted your head downwards so that you could sweep your E/C eyes over the deep green foliage of the forest in search of the barer of the voice. You did not have to search long though, as Octavia’s dark clothing stuck out amongst the vast shades of green that decorated the forest floor.

“Hey, O!” you called down from your spot amid the leaves and branches of the tall Oak tree. Octavia Blake had been your best friend since you landed on Earth; she had been naïve and curious after living beneath the floor boards of her family’s home and you had been the party daughter of a Councilmen willing to teach her whatever she wished to know. Despite the differences of your upbringing, the two of you just seemed to click, the trials of Earth only strengthening your friendship.

Below you, Octavia put a hand over her deep blue eyes to shield them from the light peeking through the trees so that she could look at you.

“What are you doing up there?” she called, her strong voice carrying.

“Collecting my thoughts,” you called back as you shifted yourself so that you were no longer leaning against the trunk of the tree, but leaning over your crisscrossed legs that were firmly pressed against the impossibly thick tree branch.

“About?” Octavia called. You rolled your eyes before you rose to your feet using a branch that was hovering above you to keep your balance.

“Hold on,” You sighed, “I’m coming down.”

Beneath you, Octavia smiled. You knew from the moment she arrived that she was going to get you from your tree. While Octavia was exceptionally skilled in combat she was not as nimble tree climber as you were, making her slightly uneasy with the idea of scaling a few dozen yards up a tree on sketchy branches.

Elegantly, you swing from branch to branch, flipping limberly between your hands and legs every now and then just to show off before you planted your feet firmly on the forest floor, holding your arms out in a confident manor.

“Show off,” Octavia mused as you bowed and walked over to her. She slung an arm over your shoulder and the two of you began to walk further into the forest, Octavia repeating her question from earlier.

Your lips were pursed together for a long moment before you let a sigh leave them and stopped in your tracks. Octavia had taken a few more steps before she felt you slip from under her arm and turned around slowly to face you.

“You have to promise me that you won’t judge me,” you said as you looked at her with pleading E/C eyes.

Octavia frowned, “You know I’d never judge you Y/N. What’s got you so upset?”

“John Murphy,” you said, pausing dramatically between the names.

Octavia’s eyes darkened and her hand unconsciously went to the weapon strapped to her side, “Did he do something to you?”

“No, O,” you waved your friend off as you crossed your arms over your chest and chewed on your bottom lip nervously before you found the will to continue with your confession. “I kind of, sort of, maybe, have a crush on him,” you whisper, letting your arms fall to your sides.

You watched O’s face as she took in your confession. First, her two perfect eyebrows furrowed in confusion, then she puckered her lips out as she typically did when she was deep in thought, and finally her stunning blue eyes met yours and all you could see was puzzlement.

“You,” Octavia’s voice trailed off as she lifted a hand to her chin, “Like Murphy?”

“Yes,” You admitted as you drug a hand through your loose H/C locks, “I don’t know why, exactly,” you admitted.

“I know he’s a total lunatic and that he doesn’t care about anyone but himself,” you explained before your expression turned slightly sour, “And Emori, apparently. But,” you pointed to your chest, “This fucking malfunction organ failed to read the memo, if it even got it.”

O took a step toward you, a serious expression on her face, “Listen, Y/N-” she started, but you cut her off.

“It’s okay, O, really. I’m not going to try anything with Murphy, I know where that will leave me: heartbroken. But I can’t help the way I feel,” you sighed.

“I was hoping that maybe if I just ignored it long enough that it would just go away,” you shrugged sadly.

Octavia raised her brows at you before she walked up to and wrapped her arms around you in a firm hug, rocking the two of you back and forth. Her hand found its way to your hair and she pet it softly as you rested your head on her shoulder, tears pricking at your irises.

“But O, what if it doesn’t?” you whispered and Octavia’s hands paused from smoothing down your hair.

“I could always kill him,” Octavia whispered causing you to snort out a laugh, the tears brimming your watermark topped over and ran down your face, but you ignored them as your best friend held you tightly in her safe embrace.

Bellamy had a tight grip on both you and Octavia’s hands as he lead the way through the dense forest, lighted by only the dim rays of moonlight and the flashlight manned by Octavia. Only thirty minutes earlier Octavia had barged into your tent, proclaiming that you needed to stop your moping over Murphy because Bellamy had something to show the both of you.

“Where are we going?” you asked as you trudged along beside the Blake siblings.

“If I told you,” Bellamy drawled as he paused momentarily to look at you and flash a smile, “Then it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

“Touché,” you muttered as you jogged to keep up the same pace as the tall man.

“But how much longer?” Octavia asked from beside you. It was clear that she had been pulled from bed as well, her dark locks were loose from the tight braids that adored her head most days and were now settled around her shoulders, her warrior outfit was also exchanged for a loose shirts and pair of thin tights.

“We’ll be there in a minute,” Bellamy answered, trudging up the incline he was leading the lot of you up. You and O both exchanged a look before she let her head loll back in an exasperated manor. You muffled a laugh at her antics and turned your eyes back towards the front of you, and that’s when you saw it.

A gasp left your lips as the clearing came into view. It appeared to be a small overhang that was covered in tall grass, gently swaying in the cool night breeze. The air was fresh and crisp, the scent of flowers hung in the air and you could see small blossoms poking out from above the swaying grass. However, it wasn’t the overhang that made you gasp, as lovely as it was, it was the crystal clear view of the sky. There was not a thing obstructing your view; as far as the eye could see there were vividly bright stars littering the night sky. The waxing moon hung high in the sky, shining down brightly on the three of you.

“Wow,” you breathed, “Bellamy, it’s beautiful.”

“Yea,” Octavia whispered in agreement as her deep blue eyes locked on the view of the sky, her lips were parted slightly in awe.

“O said you were feeling a little down over something, Y/N/N, I figured this might take your mind off of things,” Bellamy explained, a sweet smile you were unaccustomed to gracing his lips. Sure, you and Bellamy were on good terms. He was Octavia’s brother after all, but the two of you were not especially close, so Bellamy taking time out of his night to help perk up your damped mood both shocked and meant a lot to you.

“Mission accomplished,” you said lightly, smiling up at the older male, “Thank you, Bellamy.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N,” Bellamy said as he pulled you to him in a one armed hug, rubbing his hand up and down your shoulder momentarily before releasing you.

“But this is only part one of what I wanted to show the two of you,” a charming smile made its way to Bellamy’s lips as he walked forward and dropped to the ground, stretching himself before he settled with his arms behind his head.

“You guys coming?” Bellamy called over his shoulder.

You and Octavia shared a look before you bolted forward, each taking a spot beside Bellamy.

“What are you showing us?” O asked excitedly as the two of you laid down beside the oldest Blake.

“Constellations,” Bellamy answered as his deep brown eyes gazed out across the night sky.

“Constellations?” you asked curiously.

“Yea, those shapes in the sky that stars make,” Octavia answered, “Even I knew that when I lived under the floor. Come one Y/N/N.”

You reached over Bellamy to swat Octavia, “I know what they are! I just never paid attention to them when we covered them in astrology. We couldn’t see them from space away,” you explained.

“Well,” Bellamy began, “Luckily for the bot of you I did. Now hush up and watch,” Bellamy shushed the two of you quickly.

“That one there,” Bellamy lifted a finger into the air to trace out the constellation for you and Octavia to see, “Is Canis Major, the Great Dog.” Your eyes watched Bellamy’s hand carefully as he connected the dots. “Legend has it that Canis follows Orion, his master, across the southern skies of winter.”

“I see it!” you whispered excitedly, turning your face to look at Bellamy, who turned to meet your excited gaze. Bellamy smiled at you before he turned his attention back the brilliant lights above you.

“It’s beautiful,” you hear Octavia say from Bellamy’s left.

Bellamy hummed under his breath, moving his hand across the night sky, “And that one over there is Orin. He’s a hunter that Zeus put in the stars upon Artemis and Leto request after his death by” Bellamy moved his hand again, this time tracing out another constellation for you and O, “The scorpion.”

“The dog and man I see,” Octavia said slowly, “But the scorpion, not so much.”

“That’s because you have to use a little imagination, O,” you laugh as your raise your own hand in the air, tracing the pattern Bellamy had just shown you, only this time you went into more detail, showing Octavia how she could connect the smaller stars together and make the head of the scorpion.

“That’s a little better, I guess,” Octavia said as she nodded her head before she turned to face her older brother.

“Do you know any more?” she asked eagerly. Bellamy nodded yes.

“Can you show us?” you asked softly. Slowly, Bellamy turned his head to face you, he smiled sleepily but nodded as he pulled his arm out from under his head to ruffle your H/L, H/C locks.

“Sure thing,” Bellamy answered, a soft affection laying in his eyes as he looked between you and his baby sister.

Smiling, you placed your head on Bellamy’s chest as Octavia rested her head on his opposite shoulder, Bellamy’s arm remained up in the air, tracing out the constellations he knew and telling you stories of Greek and Roman mythology well into the night. And as your E/C irises gazed up at the stunning midnight sky, you found John Murphy was the furthest thing from your mind that night.

[nialledfromfics]

- four: part two -

“I’ll let you drag me to hell if it means you’ll hold my hand.”

After helping me take off my coat, he tossed it down onto the edge of the chair and grabbed my small hand in his to lead me down the short hallway towards the room. I would’ve been lying if I said my heart wasn’t fluttering in my chest at the heavy feeling of his big palm pressed to mine. I peeked down to our lightly intertwined fingers, taking notice of the rough skin surrounding his nails, slightly cracked and blistering red in places. His skin was worn down and over worked, but it was so warm and unexpectedly soft against my own.

He flicked his eyes back over his shoulder at me, my stare shooting up and catching the slight smirk of his lips right as I had let my thumb ghost across the span of one of his fingers. I knew he had felt it.

previous chapters

“Well, we both know what’s in there,” he joked, pointing over to his own bedroom that sat right across the hall from the baby’s room. Glancing over, I felt a sudden wrench of warmth spread from my lower tummy, the thoughts of his mouth on mine and his large hands pushed against my body flashed vivid through my head.

“Um...yeah,” I choked out, bringing my eyes back to his. He gave me a chuckle as he let go of my hand and reached out for the door handle of the closed room to gently open it.

I don’t think my eyes ever scanned across a room as fast as they did right then. My lips parted slightly, my mind trying to soak in every single detail I was seeing. It was probably one of the most intricate and beautifully decorated rooms I had ever seen in my life. Painted a calming light grey blue with muted camel toned accents, everything matched, everything had its place. It was absolutely pristine. He had spared no expense for this baby. It was like a dream.

“Wow.”

Letting out a laugh, he proudly crossed his arms over his chest as I stepped just past the door frame. I halted to a stop, glancing down at the floor and noticing the exceptionally clean carpet, almost afraid to go any further. “Wanted him to have everythin’ I didn’t, ya know? He’s a good little man.”

I mumbled out a faint ‘uh-huh’, turning my head to the left to see the gorgeous dark oak crib that rested up against a window. It had a large white canopy hanging above, like a lone fluffy cloud floating in the bright sky of day and I let a smile tug at my lips at the serenity of it. Right off to the side, the door to his closet was slightly opened and I could see just a glimpse of the many expensive outfits and shoes Niall had lined up for him. “This is…” I stopped, looking back over my shoulder at him, “he must mean a lot to you.”

He nodded his head, dropping it slightly to reach up and ruffle a hand up through the back of his hair. “He does. A lot.”

All I could do was stare at him, I was completely tongue tied on what to say. No words that reared up in my head seemed right. I could see the adoration in his face, that blissful gleam in his eye as he spoke about him. All the love and fondness he felt for this little boy. Even if he didn’t care about the mother, he cared for him. It was surprising and honestly, refreshing. This was not what I expected at all, he was not what I expected. This was something that no one would have ever thought about him. This was a side of him that no one ever got to see, let alone knew about. And he was sharing it with me.

Swallowing hard, I gave him a half smile as he caught my stare again. “Why me?” I blurted out, his brows pulling in at the question.

“What’d’ya mean?” he shot back, his head tipping to the side as I turned slightly towards him with my back to the opened door.

I scraped my teeth at the corner of my bottom lip, sucking in a breath. “I...I just mean, like, why me? Why...are you showing me and...telling me all this?”

Watching the corners of his mouth tug up, his eyelids lagged a bit heavy as he licked at his lips and ran his stare down my frame. The sudden rise in temperature caused my palms to trickle sweat and I discreetly tried to wipe my hands on the sides of my thighs. Taking a step towards me, I stumbled back slightly as I kept my stare glued to his, my back hitting up against the door as his big hand raised up to flat palm right beside my head.

I gulped in a jumbled breath, my heart thumping loud in my chest as he hovered over me. Our foreheads barely brushed as he leaned down into me and with the front of his body so close, I could literally feel the heat penetrating right through our layers of clothes. He didn’t say a word, just tilted his head slightly, my eyes flitting down to watch his pink lips part open just a bit. His tongue rolled against his teeth, my stomach flipping as his hot breath beat out against my face.

All I could think about was having that fucking mouth on mine.

“ ‘Cause I trust ya, Jules,” he whispered finally, his voice so deep it rattled right from his chest to mine. “And I like ya.”

“I like you too.” I wasn’t even sure if the words made it coherently past my lips or not, my focus not breaking from the movements of his mouth as he spoke. Gasping in a breath, my eyes shot up to his as I felt the grasp of his large hand around my hip, his strong grip yanking my lower body flush into his.

My arms stayed hanging by my sides, powerless as my body helplessly gave into him. Fluttering my eyes closed, I felt the brush of his nose at my cheek and the burning hot ghost of his lips at mine as I let my head fall back against the plane of the door. Tipping my chin up slightly, I sucked in his warm breath, letting it fill my mouth and lungs as he hovered his lips and teasingly slipped them across my open begging mouth.

“Never really got to shift ya like I wanted to,” he breathed out, my eyes squeezing hard and my fingers curling into my clammy fists as I fought off the urge to smash my mouth to his. “Really fuckin’ shift ya good...”

A broken whimper slipped past my lips just as my breath hitched in my throat. I felt his grip tighten to my hip, fingers pressing in deep as the very subtle rock of his hips made my body melt like ice against his. He pushed his nose into the skin of my cheek, the tip of his tongue darting out of his mouth to lick lightly at my open mouth. I was literally screaming on the inside. Already soaking for him, I silently pleaded: Just kiss me, just fucking kiss me!

“You taste sweet,” he whispered, the hot of his breath beat out firm against my lips as I felt his mouth slightly curl into a smirk. “Bet your mouth ain’t the only thing that’s sweet on ya.”

Swallowing back the desperate cry that left my mouth, I felt lightheaded and completely vulnerable as he finally pushed his mouth to mine. His tongue slipped past my lips, running across as he kissed me hard. I hummed out into his mouth, letting him suck wild at my tongue, bite at my lips and tear my much needed breath straight from my lungs. I let him overtake me, let him make me his.

His bearish hand squeezed at my hip before slipping up the curve of my waist and over my ribcage. My chest halted as I held my breath; his wet tongue filling my mouth, sweeping and licking, tasting so fervently at me. His hand slid further up my body, gently cupping over my clothed breast and my hands idled at my sides before shakily raising up to grab at his t-shirt, tugging his body closer into mine.

His thumb traced over the peak of my nipple, making me gasp in a breath between a short break in the kiss before his mouth was roughly pressed back to mine again. I could feel his rough fingers drag up over my chest, flick lightly at the jut of my exposed collarbone before wrapping firmly around the curve of my neck. His thumb held my face to his, placed right at my jaw, and I felt him push himself even closer into me. In my entire life, I had never been kissed like this before. Never with so much heat, so much fervor and passion. So much want. I could taste him; the slight mint on his tongue with the aftertaste of cigarettes. I could smell him; faintly sweet and musty with sweat. I could feel everything; my entire body blazing hot with need and my senses going wild. I never fucking wanted this to end.

With my knuckles spreading white from my intense grip on him, his chin tipped up slightly as he finally broke the kiss, our chests heaving as we both tried to catch our breath. I licked at my lips, savoring the lingering taste of his mouth on mine but I couldn’t even dare open my eyes to look at him. Not yet.

His nose brushed at mine again, the grip he had on my neck loosening a bit as he ran his hand up to cup at my cheek and let the rough pad of his thumb trace over my puffy kiss bitten mouth. “Wanna suck me off?” he breathed out to me, the bluntness of his question making my eyes pop open. I tried to focus on him, my body still reveling in the intensity of the moment and I watched his eyes drop to my mouth, his thumb gently running across my bottom lip. “Been dreamin’ ‘bout these pretty lips wrapped ‘round me.”

I couldn’t speak, my chest rising quick as I struggled to breath. I did. I so fucking did. But God, was I fucking scared. He watched me, the deafening silence making him lock his stare with mine. Those bright baby blues gone a solid pitch dark, eyes half lidded and drunk with lust. His pale cheeks were flushed a bright patchy pink and I could feel a slight sheen of sweat right at his brow bone. He was so fucking gorgeous. “I-I want to...I, um,...I-I just…” I swear the words stumbled off my lips so broken and muddled, I wouldn’t have even called it english.

I flicked my eyes away from his. God, could I be anymore embarrassing right now.

He smirked at me, his hand sliding down and around to the back of my neck, right up under my hair as his thick fingers twisted in. “You don’t wanna make Niall feel good?” he whispered, the words making me squirm against him.  

“I, um...I-”

“Fuck, I love that I make ya so nervous,” he blurted out, cutting me off. I shot my stare back to his, the look on his face smug as he lifted his forehead from mine. My grip slowly uncurled from his shirt, my fingernails scraping gently at his sides.

“I’m not nervous,” I retorted, mustering up all the courage I could to force my voice not to tremble. He let out a breathy chuckle.

“Yes, you are,” he quipped back, his voice dipping low. “Can see it in your face.” I gasped in a short breath as he bent his face down, his mouth attaching roughly to the side of my neck. My eyes fell closed, my throat moving under the slick of his tongue as I swallowed hard. “Feel your pulse racin’.”

I bit at my lip as the heat of his mouth spread across my tender skin. He sucked up the curve of my neck, all the way to the dip below my ear. I could feel his fingers tighten in my hair, pulling a bit as he licked under my earlobe before hovering his lips at my skin. “I want ya so fuckin’ bad.”

“I haven’t been with very many guys before,” I admitted, my voice shaky as I tried to settle myself from the intense reaction that he was causing me. He pulled away slightly, staring at me as his body leaned on his outstretched arm that was still planted beside my head. “Only one actually.”

“One?” he repeated, his brows raising in surprise.

Nodding my head, I slowly spread my small hands up around the sides of his chest, the excessive heat of his body unmeasurable. “And it was never...never like this,” I finished, my voice drifting off.  

I watched his mouth tug up at the corners and his eyes fall closed in a breathy chuckle before he leaned back into me, his mouth once again pressed to mine. I kissed him harder this time, my fingers curling into the material of his shirt up under his armpits as I intently kept his body flush up against mine. “Niall will show ya all ya need to know, baby,” he breathed out hot into my mouth. I smiled against his lips, my eyes fluttering open as his mouth slid from mine. “How ‘bout I make ya feel good instead, yeah?”

Giving him a slight nod, my head tipped back again as he stuck his mouth to my neck, sucking across the jut of my throat. “But..” I stammered out softly, making sure he knew exactly what I wanted, “I...I wanna do you.”

He lifted his face to mine, his lips leaving my skin with a smack. “Huh?”

“I wanna suck you off.”

I felt the slight brush of his thumb at the shell of my ear as his darkened stare floated over my face. “You don’t have to do anythin’ you don’t want to do, Jules,” he lightly reassured me.

Narrowing my eyes, I yanked at his shirt causing his body to fall against me. I pushed my hips up slightly to let his crotch rub gently against my pubic bone. “I need to suck you off,” I demanded, my voice more stern than I ever thought possible. I don’t know what it was and I had no idea why, but there was just something about Niall that did things to me. Savagely wicked things. This boy brought something out in me, this need, this primal feral need that I had never felt before and that I didn’t even know I had. I wanted him, I wanted him so bad. Every single part of him. I wanted to feel him, I wanted to pleasure him, to make him feel good. I wanted to prove to him that I could be the best fucking lay he could ever have. I wanted to make him want me with every fucking fiber of his being. I wanted him to feel for me just like I was feeling for him. I wanted to be the one.

I watched his tongue dart out to lap at his lips, the one corner of his mouth tugging up slightly as his brow quirked. “Not gonna fuckin’ stop ya then, little one.”

Pushing his body into me, he slammed our mouths together; teeth crashing and tongues forcing. His greedy fingers tugged wild at my hair to make my head dip back onto my shoulders. I cried out into his mouth, slipping my hands up over his chest and around the curve of his neck to card my fingers up through the back of his thick hair. I could feel him growing hard for me in his pants, I could feel the solid head of his cock throb with every sweep of my tongue against his and at that moment I didn’t want anything more than to feel him completely fill my mouth, to taste everything he had to offer.

Dragging my spit-coated mouth from his, I slid my wet lips over his stubbled jaw, his head tipping back slightly as I sucked rampant at his neck. Salty with sweat and blistering hot under my tongue, I raked my fingers further up through his hair, pushing my body away from the door and up to my tips toes to bury my nose deep into his sticky flesh. I could feel his chest rising high against mine, trying to steady himself as I grazed my teeth along his pale freckled skin. Hissing in a breath, his thick fingers yanked back at my hair, a cry falling from my mouth as my swollen lips popped from his heated skin and his face fell to look back down at me. I darted eyes with him, rapidly to match the wicked heaving of our chests as he licked at his lips, a smirk slowly spreading across them. He tugged hard at my hair, my body falling shamelessly at his mercy. With my small fingers slipping down the front of his body, he led me to my knees in front of him, my eyes still fully locked on his.

With raised brows and his jaw slightly cocked, he fixated at me and I began to feel the red heat rise to my cheeks. The spread of my hands slid down over his tummy, my fingers lingering right at his waist as I shakily gulped in a breath. This wasn’t something I did often at all, but as I slowly flicked my eyes away from his and down the lean span of his body, I couldn’t wait to get my mouth on him. I grasped the bottom hem of his tee, pushing it up over the front of his tummy, a smile pulling at my lips as I peered at the small patch of dark hair that settled around his belly button. It delicately trailed down right into the waistband of his boxers, the hem standing up a bit higher then the waistband of his jeans.

With my other hand, I lightly ghosted my fingers across his lower stomach, biting at my lip at the warmth of his skin that penetrated through the pads of my fingertips. Glancing back up at him, his palm was still flat to the door and his head tipped down, I caught glimpse of his engorged pupils, bleeding black into the light blue as he licked at his slightly parted lips. He tugged gently at my hair, hinting at me to keep going.  

Swallowing hard, I looked back to where my fingers were planted on his skin and quickly moved them down to the button of his jeans. Giving me a low chuckle as my nervous fingers fumbled with the button, I slowly slid the zipper down over his bulge, entranced by how perfect it looked straining against the material. I could feel his hand flatten a bit at the back of my head, fingers rubbing tenderly at my scalp as he watched me.

Blowing a deep breath past my parted lips, I spread open the fly of his jeans and tucked my fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down to let just the top of his dark pubic hair peek out. Without thinking, I pushed my face forward, my mouth attaching to the hair covered skin. I squeezed my eyes closed, inhaling deep as my tongue twirled lightly at the skin. His hand pressed against my head, holding me against him before I lifted my face just a bit, tipping my head back to peer up at him.

“Like that don’t ya?” he mewed at me, accent so deep I could barely understand him. Nodding my head, I gave him a small smile as I looked back down at his crotch, my eyes floating across the outline of his hard cock that pushed up against the very thin white fabric of his boxers. It yearned to be free, twitching faintly as it begged to be sucked. Sliding my fingers along the edge of the waistband to his hips, I gently tugged at his underwear, sliding them and his pants down to his thighs.

Choking back a breath, my eyes fluttered as I took in the sight of him. Thick, so fucking thick and perfectly round at the head that was bursting a bright pink. A few prominent veins wound their way up his shaft which curved slightly upwards, just enough to make a girl lose her mind. A light pale pink in comparison to the tip, he wasn’t very long but I could tell that posed no problem for him at all. Coarse dark hair surrounded the base and my mouth had already began to water from the slight taste of it that I had had moments before. Honestly, it was the most beautiful cock I had ever seen. It was gorgeous, he was gorgeous.

Leaning towards him, I kept my fingers curled tight to his underwear as I immediately opened my mouth and laid my tongue flat, swiping it right across the tip. My eyes fluttered closed as I heard a hiss slip past his lips, the tip of my tongue slipping down into the small slit to gather up the salty precum that had begun to drip out.

He tasted just as I had imagined. My heart pounded in my chest as I slowly wrapped my lips around him, gently sucking at his head. Yanking me back with a fist in my hair, my eyes shot up to his as my lips popped off his cock and I watched in surprise as he bent over slightly and spit right on the top of his shaft. Catching my stare, he raised a brow to me as I brought my hand over and wrapped my fingers around him, spreading the hot spit along his hardened length. I squeezed gently as I held him in my hand, hot and pulsing against my palm as I quickly brought him back to my lips, pushing him into my mouth.

I jerked him as I sucked, my fingers meeting my lips as I flicked my tongue around the head. I tried pushing him down my throat, but gagged horribly around him, strings of spit falling from my lips as I pulled away to catch my breath. He smirked down at me, his eyes rolling back a bit as I put him back into my mouth to work him some more.

“So fuckin’ good,” he mumbled, the sound of his bitten fingernails scraping into the wood of the door matching the sloppy echos of my sucks. I hummed out against him, my free hand laying flat against his bare hip to steady myself. His fingers pulled and tugged at my hair, helping me along as I flicked my eyes up to his face. His skin was spotted pink and dripping with sweat and I watched as his teeth bit down into his lip, his head bobbing against his fully flexed bicep as my wet mouth slipped along the heated flesh of his shaft. Popping him from my mouth, I caught my breath, my eyes wide as I stroked him a few good times before lifting his cock and placing my mouth right to the front of his balls.

He moaned out loud, his grip in my hair tightening as I flicked my tongue around, slowly rolling him in and out of my mouth. Smiling to myself, I pushed my nose into the thick hair around his base and breathed him in, musty and a bit sour, I could feel the wetness grow between my legs as I began to slowly suck all the way up the underside of his shaft.

He heard him draw in a shaky breath. “Fuckin’ Christ,” he groaned, his eyes shooting open to peer down at me. He rolled his hips towards my face, my fingernails digging into the burning skin of his hip before he yanked my head back once more.

Heavy lidded eyes and pupils blown wide, his cheeks were flushed red with that utterly fucked out look on his face and his puffy bright pink lips parted slightly as his chest heaved above me. I was infectiously mesmerized. Trailing his eyes down my face, he smirked as he got to my mouth. Swollen and used with spit and precum smeared across my cheeks and chin, he licked at his lips, his hand falling from my hair and slipping over to my cheek.

I gasped in a breath as his thumb roughly ran over my lips and dipped into my mouth. “Can I fuck your mouth?” The words rumbled out deep from his throat, his lips barely moving as he focused solely on my heavily used mouth. I stroked him slow, my hand coming to a stop as I faintly nodded my head. The corner of his mouth tugged up slightly at my answer. “Good girl,” he whispered.

With a breath hitched in my throat, he dropped his hand from my face. “Gimmie your hands,” he demanded, my eyes still darting with his. Pressing my mouth closed, I swallowed hard as I slipped my fingers from his warm body and he reached down to grab both my wrists in one of his large hands. My eyes fluttered at him as he brought them straight above my head, my body thumping back against the door as he pinned them hard against the wood.

Shifting his feet on either side of my bent knees in front of me, he widened his stance and dropped his free hand from its place on the door to grab at his achingly hard cock. I whimpered slightly as I stared up at him, my entire body feeling as it were setting itself ablaze. “Open up,” he growled, voice so raspy it vibrated through my body. Locking eyes with him, the heat that sweltered between us began to make me feel delirious, my breathing quickening as I slowly parted my lips for him. I was powerless, useless, his grip on my wrists so tight I could feel the bruises already forming. “Tongue out.”

I slipped my tongue out, laying it flat for him and let my eyes fall closed. He held himself out, lightly slapping the head of his cock against my tongue before I heard him spit down on his shaft again, his hand slopping over to spread it across just before he pushed himself into my mouth.

My head thumped back against the door, the head of his cock slipping down my throat. It hit the back roughly, causing me to gag around him again, my eyes instinctively squeezing tight. I tried to hold my reflex back, breathing deep to try to settle myself as spit fell past my lips. He rocked his hips towards me, continuing to thrust into my face.

Grunting loud above me, he pulled back slightly every so often to let me catch my breath. “So fuckin’ pretty,” he said under his breath, his eyes glued to me as he watched himself disappear over and over again down my throat. My eyes began to water, the tears building up hot behind my eyelids as he gradually pushed himself further down my throat.

Forcing my eyes open, I looked up at him and let a tear slip down the side of my cheek. His chest heaved, his face dripping in sweat and he pulled his hips back, freeing my constricted throat from the thickness of his cock. “You okay?” he asked softly, almost breathless. I gasped for air, letting my tongue lap at my lips as I darted eyes with him. I hated to admit it, I hated to admit that I had never been more turned on in my life than at that very moment, that I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted him to go harder. I wanted him to use me, use me for everything he wanted. I wanted to feel him come in my mouth. I needed it, I needed him. Fuck yes, I was more than fucking okay.

“Yes,” I shakily breathed out, tipping my head back a bit and opening my mouth to him. He let out a chuckle, smirking down at me before slipping himself back into my mouth, no mercy left this time as he immediately slid himself down my sore and over-worked throat. I sucked at him when I could, my arms starting to ache from being held high above my head and I tried to keep my stare on him, my gaze becoming blurry as the tears began to build back up.

I watched his face scrunch up a bit, his eyes squeezing shut as he pushed his cock deep down my throat, so deep I couldn’t breath and my nose was buried in the wet coarse hair that laid across his pubic bone. “Fuck…” he grunted out broken, the strength in his fingers around my wrists cutting into my skin, his other hand planted back to the door to help to balance himself as his head rolled back to his shoulders. “Jesus Christ…Jules, I’m gonna…”

The spit out words echoed loud in the room, my eyes glued to him as he pushed himself down my throat once more, stalling his hips right against my face. A few tears slipped down my cheeks before he sucked in a held breath, retracting his hips and dropping his face down to lock eyes with me.

Quickly pulling his cock from my used mouth, he reached down and grabbed around his shaft, his thick fingers stroking himself as he laid the head at the tip of my tongue. I struggled to catch my breath, my eyes flicking between him and his throbbing cock, his own breath hitching in his throat. Glancing up at him, his eyes fluttered, his mouth falling open right as I felt the hot splatter of his cum hit the flat of my tongue and a deep guttural groan slip past his puffy pink lips. He stroked himself a few more times, tiny grunts bursting out of his mouth as he milked the last remaining drops of his cum out onto my tongue.

“Christ,” he sighed out, desperately trying to catch his breath. He dropped the hold on his cock and reached up to wipe the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. I stayed motionless, my big glassy eyes planted on his and my mouth wide open as I waited for his next demands. He caught my stare, a smile pulling over his fucked out face as a tiny chuckle slipped out.

Bringing his hand down, I drew in a breath as he pushed two of his fingers in my mouth, slipping them down my over-worked throat before swiping them across my cum covered tongue and dragging them over my lips and down my chin. His head tipped to the side a bit, watching his fingers as they ran down the jut of my throat, dragging his white load across my heated skin.

I pulled my tongue back into my mouth as he looked back into my eyes. “So fuckin’ pretty like this,” he whispered out to me, “If only you were naked.” His fingers uncurled from my wrists to let my arms fall to my sides as my eyes slowly drifted shut. Before I could move, he wrapped his hand around my neck, tenderly but willfully strong and snapped my attention back to his.

Gasping under the pressure of his hand, he slowly began moving me back to my feet, his darkened half lidded stare never once faltering from mine. I could feel the warmth seeping up from my center, my stomach filling with a heat that I had never felt before in my life. The rough pads of his fingers dug deep into the skin of my neck as he pushed me back up against the door, his body pressing up against mine. Leaning in, he tipped my head back slightly, my chest rising high with curious breaths. My eyes fell closed as I felt the wet warmth of his tongue press right at the jut of my bared throat, sucking lightly for a moment before he began to slide his tongue up the trail of his cum. He licked me clean, following it up over my chin and I let my face drop slightly just as his lips brushed at mine.

Pushing his forehead to mine, his hot thick breaths pelted out against my mouth. My hands slapped to the wooden door beside me, fingernails scraping as my eyes peeled open to stare at him. “Like Niall fuckin’ your mouth, don’t ya?”

I stayed silent, his hand slipping up to cup rough around my chin as the remaining bits of his bitter load began to seep into my tongue. “Like tastin’ me cum?” Darting eyes with him, my heart was beating rapid in my chest. “Like bein’ me dirty little slut, yeah?” he finished, a smirk falling over his mouth.

Nodding my head, he moved his hand to cup around my cheek, the slight brush of his nose at mine making my eyes fall closed. My chin tilted up, his mouth softly pressing to mine as he kissed me. He swallowed my shallow breaths, delicately slipping his tongue inside my mouth. We moved sweetly together, my hands reaching out to slip around his slim waist, fingers holding him against me. He moaned soft against my tongue, his still exposed and overly sensitive cock pressing up between our bodies. I pressed myself tighter into him as he rubbed his fingertips across my jaw.

Slipping his mouth from mine, I gulped in a breath, the slick side of his sweaty face resting at my cheek. I could feel the hot sweltering pelts of his breath pant out against my neck as he still struggled to settle himself. “You were-...fuck, you were amazin' Jules,” he whispered lowly between broken pants.

I slipped my hands up the sides of his back, leaning my face forward and burying my nose into the clothed crook of his neck. My eyes fluttered closed, his hand shifting to cup around the back of my head, brushing my damp wild blonde hair away from our faces. I hugged him tight, tighter than I thought I ever could and sucked in a jumbled breath, that sweet mustiness of his sweat filling my senses.

His pink lips brushed at the side of my neck, nose pushing at my ear. “I really wanna-...can I touch ya?” he breathed out, the question barring surprise to me and making me lift my face from the warm tuck of his neck. He met my stare, his eyes falling over the soft features of my face as his fingers brushed away strands of my hair that stuck to my cheek. My tummy flipped inside itself, my lips parting slightly as I reached up with my hand and grabbed at his fingers, slowly bringing his hand down to the front of my body.

Holding a solid breath in my lungs, he locked eyes with me, the tiniest grin pulling at his lips as his big hand slipped up under the bottom hem on my top. I dropped my fingers from his, the balmy heat of his palm penetrating straight through my body. He rubbed across my lower tummy, slow and teasingly soft. I watched his head tilt to the side a bit, the tip of his tongue pressing out of his mouth as his dark eyes soaked up my reaction.

My skin tingled under his touch, a path of goosebumps forming under his fingertips. I couldn't shake my stare from his, like a deeply intense game of chicken almost afraid to blink. I could feel my heart racing and I choked back a breath, sucking in my belly just as I felt his hand turn over and his rough knuckles press deep into my flesh as he slowly pushed his fingers down the front of my jeans.

Smirking at me, he brushed his fingers back and forth, the tips skimming just at the small patch of hair. My mouth fell open, my hand coming up from my side to grip around his wrist as I tipped my head back slightly against the door. Leaning in, his open mouth hovered over my throat and I whined out to him, his thumb working to undo the button of my pants just as we heard a loud knock at his front door.

Both of us freezing on the spot, I shot my eyes open as he pulled away from my neck, my chin dropping to look at him. He raised a finger to his lips, silently shushing me as we stood against the door, his other hand remaining still in my pants as our eyes darted wild.

Another loud bang followed by the yell of Niall's name.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, yanking his hand from my jeans, my heart sinking as I watched him tuck himself back into his own pants and zip himself up. I stood quiet, confused as my eyes watched him. “Don't fuckin' move, okay?” he whispered harsh to me, both his hands slapping to the door beside my head. “Stay right here.”

I nodded my head at him, words not being able to form on my tongue as he turned his face towards the rapturous knocking. He pushed away from me, backing up slightly and wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand as he stepped out of the room. Resting my head back against the door, I stared up at the ceiling, my eyes flicking about as I strained to hear what was going on and who was at the door. Hushed whispers turned to Niall yelling and I whipped my head to the side, knitting my brows.

Quickly doing up my pants, I dipped my head past the door frame to peek out of the room. It was clear. Biting at my lip, I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I began tip toeing down his hallway. I was uncertain as to what I was going to be met with, almost afraid to see who was at the door. Is it another girl? Someone that he is also seeing behind my back?

Coming to the end of his hallway, I rested my palms at the corner of the wall and leaned out slightly to see past the lounge towards his front door. My stomach was in knots, my heart pounding against my ears. The voices yelled louder, curse words flying left and right. It wasn't a girl. Actually, quite the opposite. My face scrunched up and my brows furrowed deep as I watched Niall grip hard to the door, purposely keeping it only open a few mere inches. I could see his ears blaring red, his head shaking as his voice bellowed out loud and filled the hallway. I watched intently and stayed silent, my eyes narrowing as Niall moved the door slightly to unknowingly let me get a glimpse of the man at the door.

Dressed in all black, with a leather jacket and a bald head, he was older, very much older, possibly in his 50's and I gasped in a breath as I watched his face screw up and his hand ball into his fist at his side.

Just as I was about to call out to Niall, he slammed the door closed in the man's face, both his hands coming up to run roughly through the front of his hair as he tipped his head down. He let out a frustrated groan, pulling at his hair before dropping his hands and throwing his head back. “Fuck!”

The floor creaked under my foot and Niall shot his eyes back over his shoulder at me. “Shit, Jules. What'd ya see?”

I shook my head, stepping out from behind the wall. “Nothing,” I said back, my voice weak as I swallowed. God, my throat is killing me. "Heard some yelling and I-”

“You gotta go home,” he barked out at me, cutting me off. My mouth dropped open, his eyes flicking with mine. “You can't fuckin' be here right now, Jules, okay? You gotta go. Now.”

[technoskittles]

Fin-de-Siècle Saphique

Fandom: Overwatch

Pairing: Widowtracer 

Rating: T

Summary: 1892, Victorian London. Amelie Hollings. has just moved from her hometown in Annecy with her fiance, Gerard Lacroix. It's been a rough adjusting period, but one visit to a local music hall where she first sees male impersonator, Lena Oxton promises a smoother transition. Or so it would first seem.

This is my story for the OW Big Bang (which I’m super late on ugh).

Read it here!

FFnet //  AO3

Or below the cut!

Amelie ran a hand down her skirt, meticulously smoothing out the wrinkles caused from sitting as she tilted her chin skywards to take in the glowing lights of the building before her. Along the outer walls were pasted posters on brick, extravagant illustrations and bold words announcing performers that housed their acts here, each one more exciting and extraordinary than the one before it. Though it was early with the sun just barely beyond the horizon and a half hour before the show was to begin, a steady crowd was already gathered around the outside of the music hall - young boys with their sweethearts draped across their arms, married couples freshened and giddy with their first night out in weeks, tittering groups of young women fawning over the fresh young man selling tickets with a blinding grin and chiseled chin - as they slowly filed in. It was a mixed group of individuals, all from different walks of life it seemed, yet even the brightest reds were faded and the shiniest pearls were frauds.

Amelie fidgeted with her own pearls that hung loosely around her neck, running a satin glove over the smooth service. "I feel dreadfully overdressed for such an occasion."

Behind her, the carriage finally took off with instructions of when to return and soon she was joined by a man not much older than her. He followed her gaze to the crowd before grinning broadly and reached for the hand that fidgeted with her necklace, giving it a gentle squeeze. Amelie looked over to her fiance, taking in the stubble on his chin that he hadn't shaved off prior to their evening out ("It will be dark, who will see, ma cherie? Besides, I find I'm rather dashing with a little shadow, don't you think?"). She watched as he brought her knuckles to his lips and pressed them together. It was not quite a kiss, but the sentiment was all the same and Amelie found it charming nonetheless.

"I think you look just fine, ma petite."

Amelie scoffed and pulled back her hand, swatting his away when he reached for it with a chuckle. "You are to wed me in four months. If you only see me as 'fine' by this point I fear to think that you've engaged the wrong woman."

At that he gave a thoughtful hum with a quirk of his lips. "Perhaps I have." He turned his gaze towards the long line of people steadily filing into the building, his eyes sweeping across the crowd. "You don't suppose a frenchman like me would have a chance with a Brit, would I?" Amelie frowned and followed his gaze towards the crowd, missing the sly glance he shot her with a twinkle of mirth in his eye and mischief in his hidden smile.

"It'd be quite the downgrade if you ask me," she replied tartly, a sour scowl on her lips, her brows knit together. "'Scraping the bottom of the barrel' as my mother would say."

"I wasn't aware your mother had such strong feelings towards the British."

Amelie turned her head a fraction, brow now uplifted in amusement, a coy smile on glossed lips. "I was referring to you," she said and sidestepped away when he reached out to prod her side with a ring of laughter in her voice.

"Are you telling me I should be wary of you running away with an Englishman?"

Amelie turned to her fiance with a softness in her eyes and reached up to cup his cheek, her fingertips lightly skimming the line of his jaw while the pad of her thumb ran across his bottom lip. Mon Dieu, did she adore this man. The absurdness of his previous statement made her want to laugh but she subtly bit her lip to keep it in before locking eyes with him, a husky sincerity taking over her voice.

"Oh mon cheri, you do not have to fret over such impossibilities." She leaned up, because even with her height she still did not amount to his, to better reach his lips before giving him a chaste kiss, one that conveyed her love and devotion to him and only him and refused to part until it was clear he understood. When she pulled away she saw her own love reflected in his eyes and knew that nothing could ever drive them apart: not distance, not hardships, and not even death itself. She would latch onto this one with every fiber of her being and never let go.

She stroked his bottom lip again and smiled, so happy to be here, safe and happy with her true love.

"There is not an Englishman….no, not a man out there that would ever take me from you."

Gerard smiled, so broad and genuinely happy that Amelie felt her heart soar from her chest. He cupped the back of her hand with his and turned his face so that he could kiss the palm of her hand. "And that makes me the happiest man in all of Europe to hear."

She had just been about to retort when a shriek of excitement sounded from within the crowd, startling her. Both her and Gerard turned to the source of the noise to see an bouncing girl, fair-skinned with dark hair draped in a braid around one shoulder. She was pointing at one of the posters on the wall while clutching to the shoulder of the girl next to her who looked a mix between amused and annoyed. They had much the same face and hair, with the bouncing girl's hair a touch darker than the other's and the calmer girl a bit taller with a more pointed face. Amelie immediately supposed them as sisters or family of a sort.

"Nancy! Nancy, look there!"

"Oh would you calm yourself, Kitty? You're giving the rest of these poor people a fright with all that shouting and jumping around. They might think you're right mad."

"Oh, but Nan, would you look? It's Lena Oxton! Here! In London of all places! Would you have ever guessed that she'd perform here in our theatre?"

Nancy rolled her eyes and raised her hand to press down on Kitty's shoulder in a placating gesture, but there was a small upturn of her lips. "Be careful now. With all your ravin' and screamin' you might just scare her off."

This seemed to damper most of Kitty's actions as she stopped her bouncing, but she still rocked back and forth on her heels and the balls of her feet, her grin never wavering. "Bridgette over in Canterbury says that she throws a rose to a girl in the audience when her performance is over. Oh Nan! We have to sit close enough so that she might throw it my way!"

Nancy only laughed as she handed her ticket to the employee working the door and the rest of their conversation was lost as they disappeared inside the building. The rest of the crowd seemed mostly unperturbed by the disturbance, but Amelie noticed that an excited buzz of chatter had risen amongst most of the girls as well as some of the young men. She hummed thoughtfully as she looked for the poster announcing this "Lena Oxton" but before she could find it a short burst of laughter sounded to her left.

"Well, it seems as if we're in for quite the show tonight! We'd better head on in to get some good seats." Gerard offered out his arm and Amelie took it with grace and followed him towards the doors of the building where the ticketmaster was waiting for them.

The theatre was only half-filled when they arrived inside so finding seats wouldn't have been an issue, but they had been recognized immediately by the coordinator. It was one of Gerard's new colleagues that had gotten them these tickets free of charge as he was cousins with the owner and event coordinator of the music hall. After they had exchanged greetings and pleasantries the coordinator, Mr. Tony Reeves, had all but shoved them into one of their box seats, elevated from the crowded common seating and in clear view of the stage. When they had politely tried to decline his offer, insisting they hadn't even paid to get in to begin with, he had brushed them off with a scoff and hearty laugh.

("Any friends of my dear ole' Freddy are revered guests of mine in this theatre! Just relax and enjoy yourselves! You're in for the best show in all of England!")

Amelie smoothed out her skirt again once they had sat down in the chairs, sinking into the plush of the soft velvet. She was pleasantly surprised at its authenticity, almost fully expecting a cheap imitation or lack of luxury to begin with. Yet once her gloves had been removed and sat on her lap, she ran her hand over the soft cushion of the chair, immediately confirming that it was the genuine article. A quiet pang of humiliation hit her when she had realized that perhaps she had judged too quickly.

Gerard had seemed to pick up on the exquisite furniture himself. His hand reached over and covered hers, giving it a comforting squeeze accompanied by a wink. "It would seem that you dressed perfectly for the occasion, mon cœur."

Amelie offered him a small smile and they fell into quiet chatter as they waited for the show to begin. Below them others did the same and up at the stage in the pit the orchestra crew were getting into their places, testing and tuning their instruments while the conductor sorted through his pages of music. They were dressed in black and white tuxes and their hair was slicked back in a professional and formal manner, yet Amelie noticed how stiff and cheap the fabric was, even from the distance of her elevated box seat. Some wore sizes too big and others had on sizes too small. She clicked her tongue and turned to face the stage as Gerard went on about how his job was finally picking up after a month there in London.

The stage seemed ordinary enough with polished wooden paneled floors and a thick heavy red curtain concealed a great majority of it. Golden tassels hung at either end to later tie off the curtains to hold them in places during the show, but they seemed frayed and dirtied. The lights shining on the stage - she was surprised to find they were electric - were dimmed for the moment in time, but they looked rather new. The hall must've just made the switch. She clicked her tongue again.

"It's rather…..quaint here, isn't it?" she mused.

Gerard took a sweeping glance around the hall, making his own observations and coming to his own conclusions. "I find it rather charming. It's more comfortable. A man can be himself here."

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it."

She saw him shift in his seat with a thoughtful furrow in his brow and knew he was going to respond but the lights over the audience dimmed until they were practically visible. The stage lights brightened considerably and a man off to the stage's left stood in a raised booth, a wooden gavel in his hand and top hat on his head. He wore a tux much the same as the pit members did, except his seemed to be finely pressed rather than stiff and moved with his body as it should have.

Amelie sat up straighter in her seat as all conversations came to a halt as all eyes turned to the man now pounding away with his gavel. He grinned at them all, a large boasting grin before his booming voice sounded out for all the theater to hear.

"Ladies and gentleman!" he shouted, his arms outstretched and chest protruding out. "Boys and girls! You all 'ave traveled out 'ere to our lovely Wilton's Music Hall for a show that'll amaze you and blow yer knickers righ' off ya! Well...I'm happy ta say that the acts we got lined up tonight won't disappoint! So, put yer hands together for the first act o' the night, a duo that will flip and toss and turn until yer hearts are leapin' right out ya chest! Give it up...for Jasper King…..and Ivor Beckett!"

Two men in tight gymnast suits ran on stage as the audience cheered the the announcer pounded his gavel some more to rivel them up further. Amelie and Gerard clapped politely with a hint of a smile on each of their faces. The orchestra began to play and the men began their performance of acrobatics. Which each flip they gasped. Each tumble they ooh'd and each rumble they ahh'd. They twisted and turned, jumped and leaped, and Amelie and Gerard found themselves laughing with each bound and trick they pulled off, giddy off the excitement and awe they felt watching them.

Soon their act was over and the audience sent them off with a giant hurrah as they bowed and ran off the stage, one of them throwing the crowd in a tizzy by doing a finally flip before disappearing backstage. The announcer pounded his gavel to regain attention before announcing the next act who entered centerstage while the audience applauded and welcomed them.

This went on for several more acts and Amelie found that she was rather enjoying herself. She had had her aversions to attending such a spectacle, more accustomed to the ballet and opera that was put on in the much nicer grand theatres of Annecy. But Gerard was right: there was a charm to the place that she couldn't shut out or turn her nose up at. It was relaxed and fun and people were encouraged to be as loud as they wanted. They laughed until they cried and an ache settled in their chests, they were encouraged to sing along with some of the acts, and even managed to drag a performer back out once or twice in pleads of an encore.

A man could be himself here, that much was for sure. And so could she as it would seem.

The announcer began his speech for the next oncoming act, but the audience was still reeling with laughter from the departed comedian that his words - though spoken with that deep, bellowing voice - were hardly heard. Amelie wiped some stray tears from the corner of her eyes and next to her Gerard still wheezed with laughter, huffing out choice lines and jokes from the previous act, broken up by more wheezed guffaws.

"-yer hands together for the much awaited and anticipated, a model of class and elegance, Miss Lena Oxton!"

The crowd went ballistic. The cacophony was enough to startle Amelie to hit the back of her chair and she blinked her eyes as a young boy - probably eighteen or nineteen years of age - walked out on stage, twirling a brown wooden cane. A straw hat was pulled over wild and mussed brunette hair, poking out at odd angles from underneath of it. He donned tan slacks and a woven vest over a pinstriped, collared shirt. He stopped in the middle of the stage and looked out over the still cheering audience, lifting his hand to his hat to tip it and then waving at them.

Amelie frowned and looked past the curtains eyes searching. Had this Lena Oxton missed her cue? Surely with someone so highly anticipated she would be better prepared for her performance slot. And to make matters worse this boy on stage must've been rather confused to have mistakenly walked out when it wasn't even his turn…

She turned to Gerard to point out these glaring mistakes when the boy spoke, his voice high and loud and she turned back to the stage with wide eyes.

"G'evenin', everyone!" He placed his cane down in front of him, resting both hands on the cane and standing with his feet shoulder-width apart. "Pretty smart, don't'cha think?" And with that he struck a pose to which the audience cheered and he laughed - a high-pitched giggle, akin to the chiming of bells. Amelie looked closer at him, squinting against the stage lights until she finally noticed what had been obvious to everyone but her.

"Well I'll be damned," Gerard whispered next to her and she found herself sharing the sentiment.

No mistakes had been made. That voice, the slimness of the shoulders and roundness of the chin, the swell of the vest in the chest area and the fullness of the hips….

Lena Oxton stood right before them, clear as day, dressed as a boy.

Amelie leaned back and pursed her lips as she pondered over this new information. "A girl posing as a boy? The English sure are odd."

She had no idea if Gerard agreed with her or not because the music started up and Lena jumped to a different stance, taking the cane and tucking it up underneath her arm as she began to march across the stage. Her singing was much like her laughter, high and flighty, with an enthusiasm Amelie was not aware could be contained in such a small frame. The audience picked up quickly and began to sing along, swaying to the tune as Lena paraded and skipped across the stage.

By the time the song was over Amelie found herself humming along.

Lena dashed off stage and Amelie was partially disappointed in how quick her performance was, but in seconds she had rushed back out into the spotlight, now sporting a brown paper boy's cap and brown trousers with knee-high white socks that tucked in underneath the legs. The audience cheered for her again and Amelie inhaled sharply at the more casual button shirt she was wearing, the top two buttons loose. Lena started up another song and once again the audience was quick to join in. Beside her even Gerard was finally getting in on the fun, but Amelie found she could not remember the words and the few she did she stumbled over. So she settled for staying silent and listening to Lena instead, watching her prance and skip around stage as if there was nowhere else she belonged.

The music tapered off again when she rushed backstage and Amelie found herself scooting forward to the edge of her seat, balancing there and craning her neck in an attempt to get a glimpse of backstage to see Lena's next outfit. The crowd below cheered and shouted for more in her absence but the noise dulled in her ears, distant and muffled as she looked for brown messy hair and a red-painted smile.

The next time Lena stepped out she was dressed in a fancy black and white tux, two coat tails trailing behind her as she swaggered in polished black shoes and a glossy black cane propped on her shoulder. A top hat, shimmering like genuine silk, sat on her head which she took off as she offered a short bow to the crowd upon her entrance. They went wild and some of the women even laughed and giggled when Lena sent a wink their way. Amelie could only stare, admiring the cut of the suit, how it dipped and curved where it ought to, accentuating her hips and her bust in a way that a gown just wouldn't do. It was odd, indeed, to see a woman pull off man's clothing better than a man could.

With the hat replaced on top of her head, the lights of the stage dimmed until there was just a spotlight illuminating her, and a couple of stagehands hurriedly brought out a white clothed round table and a wire-framed chair one might see in an outdoor cafe. They set it down quietly as the music picked back up and a hush washed over the crowd, while a woman came to place down a bottle of wine, a single glass, and a slim vase holding a singular rose on the table before leaving as well.

The song this time was more somber and slow, her voice and words lilting and yearning as she sung of some woman she had loved that left her, heartbroken and alone. A different mood settled over the crowd, some of the women had gotten misty-eyed. Rose petals fell from above Lena, gently cascading down like a rain shower of scented silk. The whole audience was captivated and Amelie would be lying if she had said she did not feel the same effect.

Soon enough the song had ended and a burst of applause, not raucous like before, sounded out. Lena took off her top hat again and bowed before striding over to the table, picking out the rose from the rose and twirling the stem between her fingers. With the hat and cane in one hand and the rose to the other, she walked back to the front of the stage, rose lifted to her lips while she thoughtfully gazed out into the audience.

"Ya know," she began, a sweet smile on her lips that brightened her already rosy cheeks. "Now that I think of it, there's a lot of pretty girls out 'ere tonight, too." An excited yet hushed chatter overcame the audience, girls tittering and fidgeting in their seats. Amelie noticed the girl from earlier with her sister in the front, frantically patting down her hair and shifting happily in her seat.

With only a second of further hesitation, Lena decided to have come to some choice or another because she pulled the rose from her lips and grinned brightly before pulling her arm back and whipping it forward, tossing the rose into the crowd. It arced in the air before dropping into the middle of one of the further back rows, where a girl in a dress dress caught it, her eyes alight and lips turned up into an impossible grin.

The moment was broken when the audience erupted into applause once more as Lena bowed off stage, waving and sending air kisses before disappearing behind the red curtains for the last time. Amelie slunk back into her seat as the announcer introduced the next act, words she hardly heard, and a woman stepped out, a person she hardly noticed.

There were only a couple of acts that followed, but Amelie found it hard to pay attention, her mind still stuck on the absurdity of a girl posing as a boy. It was peculiar and certainly unheard of, but she supposed it did have a charm to it and a uniqueness that set her apart from most. It gave it that extra spunk that most of the previous acts had lacked and had a captivating aspect to it that made it quite difficult to put out of one's mind. Compared to the rest of the night's show, everything else had seemed lackluster and unoriginal.

For the next few minutes Amelie sat in complacent boredom before the last act took their bows and the announcer officially ended the show, wishing everyone a safe departure and pleasant evening. Gerard gathered their coats from the spot beside the door to their box, helping Amelie stand from her seat before helping her shrug her coat on. They joined hands as they walked outside into the night's chill with the rest of the leaving crowd. Around them was excited talk replaying favorite moments of the show, laughter drunk on glee, a flush in everyone's face from a successful night out.

Gerard cleared his throat and Amelie snapped out of her own musings to gaze up at him, nodding when he gestured to where their carriage awaited them just outside of the theatre. He helped lift her into the carriage before climbing in himself and soon they were off, headed back home to turn in for the evening.

There were a few seconds of silence before Gerard said, "I understand that it wasn't quite the ballet or opera that you're used to, but it was entertaining nonetheless, non?"

Amelie sighed, her mind drifting back to rosy cheeks and mussed brown hair. "I should say so. It was a wonderful evening, Gerard. Thank you."

Her words seemed to give him some reprieve as his shoulders relaxed and his grin returned, following the strong line of his jaw. She felt a faint flicker of adoration in her chest at how boyish he looked. "I'm glad you think so. If you'd like, we could return here again for another show whenever we need to unwind a bit. What do you say?"

Her eyes lit up and she leaned forward eagerly. "Oh, could we?"

He laughed and leaned forward to plant a kiss on her forehead, his hand tucking a stray lock behind her ear. "Of course, ma cherie. Anything your heart desires."

They spent the rest of the ride discussing their favorite acts and quoting lines from some of the comedians, singing songs from the singers, and retelling to one another the awe-inspiring stunts that had been pulled in front of their very eyes.

Not once was Lena Oxton mentioned.

[trendingnewsb]

Forget heroes: The Marvel Cinematic Universe needs more supervillains

Thanos deserves more than this.

Image: marvel studios

Warning: This post contains MAJOR spoilers for the end of Avengers: Infinity War

Maybe I’m a monster, but the moment I cheered the loudest during Avengers: Infinity War was when all the superheroes disintegrated and the bad guy got his happy ending.

I’m certainly not a fan of genocide (to put it mildly), or even a Thanos groupie. But I do like compelling stories, and a villain-centric arc that refused to let the heroes win was the first time a Marvel movie has surprised me.

SEE ALSO: After ‘Infinity War,’ which ‘Avengers 4’ heroes will lead the fight?

So what’s the problem? Well, the ending leaves me itching for a Thanos prequel instead of the next Avengers or even Captain Marvel — which will undoubtedly undo this unhappy ending. And the knowledge that we’ll probably never get that prequel is why the Marvel Cinematic Universe is starting to lose me.

Every two-bit comic book fan will tell you heroes are only as great as their villains. Everyone, it seems, except for the folks at Marvel Studios.

I’m not the first to point out Marvel’s “villain problem,” or how evil characters tend to be disposable onscreen. Many had high hopes that the introduction of Thanos would fix this problem, but he’s only shined a spotlight on it. Marvel’s villain problem runs deep, requiring a total shift in the MCU franchise formula. 

But it won’t be fixed until Marvel actually admits it’s a problem. Head of studio Kevin Feige told io9 that he recognizes the issue with their villains — yet he feels pretty OK about it. “It always starts with what serves the story the most and what serves the hero the most,” he said. 

I could do with getting rid of, like, two-thirds of these characters.

Image: marvel studios

But by failing to see how villains are as integral as heroes, the MCU fundamentally misunderstands what makes a good superhero story. 

At first, the MCU got away with wasting great superheroes on forgettable villains who were plot devices disguised as characters. But Avengers: Infinity War showed how short-sighted that was. And it ain’t gonna cut it anymore.

SEE ALSO: What happens in the end credits of ‘Avengers: Infinity War’

I’m tired of paint-by-numbers movies introducing hordes of new bad guys that the hero can Hulk-smash until the next round and round and around we go, ad infinitum. Infinity War’s ending was powerful because it finally broke from that cycle … until the end credits, at which point Nick Fury reminds us it’ll be business as usual soon enough. 

What’s next for the MCU once it wraps on the biggest bad’s inevitable defeat in Avengers 4? I hope investing in villains is a top priority. From the looks of Venom, it just might be (though don’t put all your eggs in that basket).

Once the Infinity Gauntlet conflict ends, villains will be key to keeping audiences engaged in this increasingly expansive crossover machine. Here’s why, and how.

Villains need their own arcs, developed over multiple movies

The first step is to invest time and effort into establishing villains who evolve throughout the franchise. Marvel was so careful about slowly introducing and incorporating its heroes into the larger MCU. Why don’t villains get half as much thought?

I’m legitimately crying.

Image: marvel studios

This shift toward villains would set the stage for more meaningful conflicts, and allow for experimentation with the kind of stories Marvel tells. Why not bring Ryan Coogler and Michael B. Jordan back for a prequel? Or zoom in on Thanos and Gamora’s backstory?

There’s a reason Loki was crowned “best Marvel villain” for so long. It’s because the first Thor movie was as much his origin story as Thor’s. Loki’s reappearances across the franchise made us as attached to him as we were to any Avenger. 

Then there’s Captain America: Winter Soldier and Civil War, which succeeded because the original Captain America established the foundation of Bucky’s character — and then twisted it and his relationship to Cap in a gut-wrenching way.

SEE ALSO: Jeff Goldblum picks his Avengers champion (and it’s not Thor)

And don’t forget Erik Killmonger, who captivated our hearts and minds in about 30 minutes of screen time. Black Panther started with Killmonger, as J’Bou tells his son the story of Wakanda, leading to an entire opening scene establishing Erik’s motivations.

Thanos had the best Infinity War arc, but it was still wasted

Sure, Thanos was better than, say, Ultron. 

I was really hoping Thanos would kill Tony Stark.

Image: Marvel Studios

But many comic book fans felt the movie squandered his story. Our own Adam Rosenberg wrote an explainer on the character’s comic book iteration, showing moviegoers just how many missed opportunities there were in Infinity War. Like how “the sight of a rough-skinned, misshapen Baby Thanos was too much for his mother to bear. It drove her instantly mad, and she tried to kill her newborn.” 

It’s a detail that would have given much more depth to his and Gamora’s story.

For general audiences, Thanos came across as, at first, laughable. So much so that Peter Quill feels the need to speak roast Thanos, almost as if the movie anticipated the criticism. Marvel probably did anticipate it, because despite 10 years and 19 movies of carefully fitting superheroes into the Infinity War puzzle, it’s never really been about the villain. When the time came, they were like, “Shit — no one even knows why this big dumb purple gummy bear even matters.”

SEE ALSO: Thanos isn’t as lame as the MCU has made him seem

Thanos was basically relegated to after-credits scenes for 10 years, only being more prominently featured in Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 1. as a disembodied giant stone monster. 

Marvel’s run out of heroes — but there are plenty of great villains left

Marvel’s done such a good job of establishing a wide array of heroes that it’s basically run out of top tier IP for more franchises. Ant-Man should be indication enough that we’re scraping the bottom of the barrel, and it only gets Hawkeye levels of mediocre from here.

You know what Marvel Studios hasn’t capitalized on? Its fantastic villain-centric comics.

We’ve already mentioned the wasted material of Thanos Rising. But in the comicverse, there’s also a whole run after Civil War where Green Goblin takes control of S.H.I.E.L.D. and assembles a “Dark Avengers,” re-appropriating our favorite hero costumes as villains: Bullseye becomes Daredevil and Venom takes over for Spider-Man. That’s just two relevant examples. 

You can get rid of all of these except Spidey and the big dude.

Image: marvel studios

Fix Marvel’s arms race for bigger, badder threats with better villains

Ever since the first Avengers, Marvel’s been chasing bigger catastrophes than the attack on New York —  but that’s the wrong way to go about it.

The result is a franchise stuck in a disaster-porn arms race. The cost of this increasingly enormous and ridiculous scale is personal stakes (and apartment buildings). Infinity War kept needing to remind us that the risk of Thanos winning was universal genocide, because we’re that desensitized to world-ending threats.

Spider-Man: Homecoming, on the other hand, is a great example of how villains can ground the whole story, introducing personal stakes on a smaller scale. Yes, that’s kinda Spidey’s thing, while the Avengers deal with universe-ending stuff. But actually, Captain America: Winter Soldier, Civil War, Black Panther, and even Logan all took similar approaches to villains and scale. 

SEE ALSO: One Doctor Strange line from ‘Infinity War’ basically sets up ‘Avengers 4’

We live in the age of the anti-hero

Just look at some of the biggest pop culture phenomenons over the past few years: Breaking Bad, Dexter, Mad Men. Or, if you want to go closer to home, Marvel’s own Jessica Jones or Deadpool.

No one is wholly good or wholly bad. That’s why we adore Game of Thrones, with its heroes who commit villainous act and its villains who have undeniable humanity. Blurring the lines between good and evil is the point of George R.R. Martin’s series, which deconstructs the common fantasy genre trope. 

I need about 100x more of this.

Image: marvel studios

Marvel movies almost always fail at making even the heroes relatable. Save for Black Panther, Marvel stories are usually irrelevant to the real world. But it doesn’t have to be that way. Superheroes inherently engage with our society’s ideals, morals, and struggle to be good. Shouldn’t Marvel reflect how difficult that question is to answer?

Which reminds me…

This sanctimonious heroic bullshit is getting old

Show of hands: How many times did you yell at the heroes of Infinity War for repeatedly losing stone after stone to Thanos because of an aggressively simple-minded and selfish moral compass?

Yes, I know Cap: “We don’t trade lives.” That’s the summary of this entire movie’s conflict. Thanos believes in sacrificing half the universe’s population for a greater good, while the Avengers think they shouldn’t have to sacrifice anything at all to save half of the universe’s population. 

SEE ALSO: The Marvel Cinematic Universe would be 1,000 times better if EVERY hero rocked facial hair

That’s not only a really narrow definition of heroism, but also astoundingly unsophisticated ethics. 

The Avengers could use some lessons from The Good Place, namely the trolley problem. Because the idea of sacrificing one to save the lives of many isn’t a rosy concept, but there’s enough ethical grounds to warrant some debate!

But no. Cap grunts, everyone agrees. Ultimately, we have their moral high horses to thank for saving Vision (not even) at the cost of half a universe full of lives. Hope that clean conscience is worth it!

Avengers’ morality is tired, outdated, and underdeveloped. Sacrifice is part of the superhero job description. Heroes do trade lives. Just ask 9/11 first responders, or other everyday people risking their lives for others. Hell, ask Groot! Or Peter Quill! Even annoyingly uncompromising heroes like Batman are willing to sacrifice reputation and love for the greater good of Gotham.

I’m only watching Avengers 4 if Vision stays dead.

Image: marvel studios

This Care Bear heroism plagues the Marvel franchise, preventing fresh, original storytelling. Black Panther was the first movie in a long time to complicate the Marvel moral ethos. We can’t just keep relying on Cap and Iron Man’s creative differences.

It’ll be increasingly hard for us to care about another two hours of dudes in tights fighting when we know the good guy wins, almost always without consequence. Infinity War dared to break that mold, and we hope Avengers 4 genuinely wrestles with the mistakes the heroes made in it. But I’ll eat my laptop if the Infinity Gauntlet story doesn’t end with most of the heroes being revived.

I’m not arguing the bad guys should take over the MCU. But the MCU needs to let bad guys do what they do best: Force us and our heroes to complicate our understanding of what it means to fight for good.

If it doesn’t, we’re just going to keep getting superhero movies where the good guys win — because that’s how the MCU business model works. And that’s not ultimately very entertaining.

WATCH: Everything you need recapped about the Marvel Cinematic Universe before ‘Avengers: Infinity War’

Read more: https://mashable.com/2018/05/01/avengers-infinity-war-villain-movies-mcu-thanos/

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Roaming with Buffalo in a 2017 Audi A4 Allroad

It’s a good day to get lost out here,” Steve Dobrett says, his voice calm and comforting as it crackles over the radio. During his 24 years as the manager of New Mexico’s Ladder Ranch, he’s explored every inch of this 156,000-plus acre property. As he guides us to one of his favorite spots at the ranch’s north end, his white Chevrolet Silverado bounces over rocks that we edge around in our Gotland Green 2017 Audi A4 Allroad. The wagon’s ground clearance is good, but it’s no truck. Gray rain clouds hang low, and thick fog obscures the rutted two-track, so we take it slow as we scan the horizon for bison.

“Do you hear the music playing?” Dobrett jokes as we climb up and over a ridge and see some 200 bison huddled together, their damp, dark-brown fur matted and dripping. Dobrett comes to a stop but waves us on, telling us we can drive into the heart of the herd if we go slowly and keep quiet. The Allroad’s 252-horsepower, turbocharged inline-four faintly hums as the stout Michelin Defender LTX light-truck tires we strapped on for this trip delicately crush bushes and brush. When grunting bison fill each of the Allroad’s windows and mirrors, we turn off the engine, get out of the Audi, and lean against the driver’s door, listening to the deep, powerful breaths of the broadchested bovines.

Media mogul Ted Turner had the right idea buying this property in the early ’90s, wanting somewhere to kick back, hunt quail, and concentrate on his ongoing conservation efforts. Ladder Ranch sits just outside the small town of Truth or Consequences, which changed its name from Hot Springs in 1950 when the NBC Radio quiz show “Truth or Consequences” offered an annual party to any town that renamed itself after the program. The ranch rests in the foothills of the mountainous Black Range, with elevation spanning from 4,500 to 10,000 feet, and it shelters four tributaries of the Rio Grande river — the Animas, Seco, Palomas, and Cuchillo — which help support breathtaking biodiversity.

The Allroad feels surefooted on this red gravel trail. Its body stays composed as its suspension soaks up the washboard earth.

Turner’s then-wife Jane Fonda decorated the property’s adorable, two-story ranch house (Turner still visits often, and the house can be rented as part of a Ted Turner Expeditions experience), while he focused on creating a privately owned preservation for New Mexico’s flora and fauna. Throughout Ladder Ranch’s 245 square miles, you can see elk, deer, antelope, mountain lions, bears, buffalo, turkeys, and wolves wandering through cottonwoods and pines and across desert grasslands. There are even petroglyphs carved into rocks by ancient indigenous peoples. The rich habitat around Ladder Ranch allows at-risk species, such as leopard frogs and cutthroat trout, to survive and also helps healthy species thrive.

Turner brought in Dobrett — a respected biologist researching quail — from the outset to build up the property’s quail population as well as nurture habitats for other sensitive species. Dobrett started by removing 250 miles of perimeter fence so Turner could bring buffalo onto the property. Now, a quarter century later, Dobrett oversees a team of employees and a herd of more than 1,000 bison. “I never had any experience with bison when I came here,” he says. “Twenty-four years of handling buffalo has taught me a lot about that species. It’s been an all-around education to the facets of ranching and managing wildlife on the property.”

It’s hard to believe places like this exist. Staring out on the open expanses of land at Ladder Ranch is overwhelming, almost as overwhelming as standing in a herd of a couple hundred bison

Through the bison’s measured inhalations, we hear one sharp, snappy snort and turn to see a giant female with her tail pointed straight up. Dobrett says she probably thinks the Audi is a “critter” because of its peering, eye-like LED headlights and tells us to move slowly as we get back into the Allroad. We shift the wagon’s seven-speed automatic transmission into drive and begin to herd the bison, but it’s not long before they buck and run toward the hills where we can’t follow.

Ladder Ranch is lovely but also daunting, with the majority of its rugged terrain pretty much inaccessible to anything without hooves or paws. “There are about 500 miles of ‘road’ on the ranch,” Dobrett says. “We try to get out and clean them once a year if we can. Some of the roads, we don’t, and they’re not very passable.” It’s a 20-mile straight shot to Turner’s ranch house where we’re shacking up, but we’ll need most of the day to get there, winding our way up and down tight mountain passes, tiptoeing through deep creeks, and doing our best not to beach the Audi on a boulder. The Allroad’s plastic-covered belly can handle scratches from small stones and tall grass, but it’s best to avoid the big stuff.

The rain slows to a stop, and we set off south with Dobrett leading the way. The car’s adaptive dampers are set in off-road mode, and the Allroad feels surefooted on this red gravel trail. Its body stays composed as its suspension soaks up the washboard earth, and its rear end breaks loose and slides as we power out of slippery corners. Dobrett heads up a particularly steep stretch of road, and after the crest his taillights disappear in the fog. We charge after him but stomp on the brakes near the top, stopping to turn on hill-descent control, which holds the Allroad at a set speed. The ABS gnaws at the brake rotors as the car saunters down the slope at a steady 6 mph. We land in a stark, narrow offshoot of Cuchillo Creek, where the dried-up bed is a craggy mess of sharp stones and bulging landmasses laced in loose gravel. Worse yet, heavy mist has once again settled on top of us, so visibility is nil. We switch on the Allroad’s front and rear fog lights before crawling forward, getting out every few hundred feet to lift and heave particularly gnarly stones; the heated steering wheel, part of the $500 cold-weather package, is now much appreciated.

The Allroad shimmies as the tires claw at the glassy, muddy route, which thankfully turns to gravel when we eventually reach the top.

Slivers of sunlight leak through the overcast sky as we slowly make progress. We’re happy to have satellite radio playing through the wagon’s Bang & Olufsen audio system, the music helping to keep the mood light as we navigate the ranch’s remote and wild terrain. As the creek jogs left, the bed turns to soft, smooth sand that the Allroad plows across. “That should be the worst of it,” an apologetic Dobrett says. We begin to climb again, and as we snake up narrow passes, horses and stallions start to appear in the mist, steam shooting from their splayed nostrils. The clouds clear, and we see snowcapped mountains jutting up from the skyline, and in the foreground a huge herd of giant elk prances up the face of a verdant slope.

We stop on the spine of a tall hill, pull up Google Maps on the Allroad’s navigation system and confirm what we already know: We’re in the middle of nowhere. We stare out across the boundless landscape, appreciating the opposing color palette that seems like it shouldn’t blend together as well as it does. As we walk, we scoop up black, pearly white, and pink dirt sandwiched together like Neapolitan ice cream — an amazing soil variety the likes of which we’ve never seen before. We get back in and press on, but it’s not long before we stop again near the edge of Animas Creek, where Dobrett points toward a humongous tree with a thick trunk. “I like that tree,” he says looking up at its lanky branches, spinning and twisting out in every direction like long, white ribbons. “It’s mystical. It’s a mystery how these trees got here. It’s the only canyon in this drainage that has these Arizona sycamores. They’re more common west of Continental Divide, but for some reason we have them here. And they’re ancient trees.”

Back in the Audi we cross the first of about two dozen creeks that grow wider and deeper as we get closer to the ranch house. We enter each creek slowly, making sure the Audi won’t bottom out, then go flat out toward the far bank. The rushing water overwhelms the Allroad’s flared wheel wells, flies up, and lands on the windshield, causing the rain-sensing wipers to turn on. Fortunately the wagon has no issues fording the little rivers. “I know you’ve heard me say it before, but that should be the worst of it,” Dobrett says just as we come to an appropriately named pass called Greasy Hill. Not a minute after Dobrett jinxed us, we hit a slick patch of road that sends the Allroad into a four-wheel slide, and the passenger-side tires land in a deep rut on the edge of the trail. The wagon is fine, but we have to back down the hill to level ground and take another shot at the ascent. The Allroad shimmies as the tires claw at the glassy, muddy route, which thankfully turns to gravel when we eventually reach the top. Just below us is the white ranch house.

The Audi Allroad isn’t a rugged, do-it-all, off-road machine, but it doesn’t mind having some fun with a little light rock crawling. Who cares about a few scrapes on the underbelly of an all-wheel-drive wagon?

“I was concerned that we were going to tear up the car or get stuck where we’d blow a tire or bust something, but as it turns out, it performed just fine, especially in the rocks and mud,” Dobrett says as we drink coffee next to a hissing fireplace. “It just doesn’t have enough clearance.” Maybe not to make it across Ladder Ranch completely unscathed, sure, but the Allroad has plenty of clearance and absolutely enough talent to be considered a light off-road vehicle. Ladder Ranch turned out to be more treacherous than originally expected, but the Allroad handled it just fine, and its underbody has a few scars to prove it. The ranch’s chef, Tatsu Miyazaki, cooks us an unexpectedly luxurious meal that starts with salad and soup made from locally sourced, seasonable vegetables, moves to a perfectly cooked, prime cut of bison that comes from the same place that processes Turner’s herd, and ends with a delicious mousse sitting atop a frothing mixture of water and dry ice.

When we ask Dobrett what he’s going to do now after such a long tenure at Ladder Ranch, he says, “I’ll stay connected to this ranch as long as Ted wants me. I think it’s an example to others how a ranch can be managed, balancing commerce and conservation.” After a handshake, he tips his cowboy hat as a goodbye. We can barely keep our eyes open as we slink back toward the fire and collapse onto one of the house’s bison-fur rugs, rubbing our bare feet along the soft center. We smile as we drift to sleep, recalling the hauntingly beautiful sound of 200 bison taking deep, heavy breaths.

About Ladder Ranch Ladder Ranch is part of the larger Ted Turner Expeditions luxury travel experiences, featuring eco-conscious adventures individually tailored to guests interested in anything from mountain biking to bison photography to simply exploring the ranch’s 156,000 acres of unspoiled wilderness. A three-night expedition for two people with accommodations at Ted’s house starts at $9,000. Visit theladderranch.com.

2017 Audi A4 Allroad Specifications

ON SALE Now PRICE $44,950/$52,625 (base/as tested) ENGINE 2.0L turbo DOHC 16-valve I-4/252 hp @ 5,000-6,000 rpm, 273 lb-ft @1,600-4,500 rpm TRANSMISSION  7-speed automatic LAYOUT 4-door, 5-passenger, front-engine, AWD wagon EPA MILEAGE 23/28 mpg (city/hwy) L x W x H 187.0 x 72.5 x 58.8 in WHEELBASE  110.9 in WEIGHT 3,825 lb 0-60 MPH  5.9 sec (est) TOP SPEED  130 mph

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