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thedazzlesun · 9 months ago

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Balalaika x Fem!Reader

(1.5k+ Word Count) (Suggestive material, some swearing)

Note: Reader has gun trauma/phobia

You hear the clinking of familiar metal. You freeze up, quickly trying to get yourself to brush it off. You were surrounded by drinks and idle chatter; it had to be an unfortunate mixture of sounds that you heard. She looks at you in confusion, eyes contemplating whether or not to worry. She shifts and you hear it again, softer. She has a--

You immediately swallow rising puke in your throat. It had to be a mistake. There was no possible way you could hear a soundless gun in the middle of a nightclub. Even if her scars screamed battle, even if she’s still with the military, there’s no way she’d have a gun.

She opens her mouth to offer to get some water, since you’re turning pale and starting to shake but you break yourself out of whatever trance you were in before she can speak.

“Can I get you anything? You haven’t gotten a drink since you came in.”

She had introduced herself as a military captain on special orders, and she was looking for someone who liked coming to this particular bar.

She shook her head.

“Ah, no, thank you. I’d much rather you stay here. My target fancies pretty girls like you, and I don’t want to jeopardize you in case he’s already here.”

She drums her fingers on the table. The acrylic nails sound softly comforting.

“Right, yeah, I’m helpless and defenseless…”

“No, that’s not what I imp-“

“Don’t sugarcoat it. I’ve heard plenty of it working here.”

She looked pleasantly surprised at your bitterness.

“I see.”

“…are you sure I can’t get you anything, miss….”

“Call me Balalaika.”

“I hope that's a codename.”

She smiled, and it looked genuine amidst the atmosphere.

“Why’s a pretty girl like you working at a place like this?”

“Well, uhm, money. They pay me better here because I’m young and pretty.”

“Does it compensate for how you’re treated?”

“It… it’s better than my other job.”

She doesn’t pry. Her fingers keep tapping away on the table. Your eyes keep wandering to them, getting in a small trance as you watch.

Without a new conversation you look around awkwardly, wanting to get away. Not really, you liked where you were. This strange woman gave you a strange sense of comfort. However, your boss wouldn’t be too happy to find that you’ve been with a new customer since you started your shift…

Speaking of the devil, you see him coming out of the back room. He comes over to you after meeting your eyes.

He slings an arm behind you, his grip going to your shoulder.

“What are you doing all the way back here? The party’s in the front.”

“Ah- Well-”

“Is this your boss?”

The two meet eyes, and she smiles dryly.

His grip tightens and he eyes you sharply. A small sign of ‘look at the trouble you’ve made, I'll punish you later.’

“Why, yes. I’m the owner of this place. Would you like a drink? I’ll send my girl here to fetch you one right away-”

“She’s staying.”

Her fingers stop drumming on the table.

He blinks, taken aback. No one ever spoke back to him.

“Sorry?”

“I said she’s staying here with me. Have you been here so long the moans and music made you fucking deaf?”

Whoever this woman was, you loved her.

Your boss began to speak, probably of his authority or something. But then she stood up.

And took a gun out to point at him.

You jolt.

As if on cue, you hear more guns at the ready around you. In barely lit parts of the room, a few soldiers stand with guns pointed at the man with an arm around you.

Right. Military captain…

“Let’s not act like you don’t know who I am.”

Realizing, your boss clicks his tongue and lets you go to storm off.

The guns are back to being holstered.

But the sound is still in your head.

How fast the things were pulled out, almost as fast as pulling the trigger.

Military captain.

She has a gun.

“You have a gun.”

Balalaika sits back down and looks over you.

“Are you scared?” She sounds almost amused, but not in some derogatory way. In an interested way.

You don’t answer and instead pull over a chair to take a seat in front of her.

Most people laughed when you jolted at the sound of a gun.

Her eyes narrow at you, intrigued by something.

You force yourself not to stare as she starts drumming her fingers again.

I want them inside me.

You jolt, surprised at your own thoughts.

Balalaika raises an eyebrow at your sudden movement.

“Something wrong?”

“Ah- no, it’s…”

You swallow, forcing yourself to relax. And you must’ve had blush on your face because she stares a bit longer and smirks. Her fingers tap a few times more, almost on purpose.

And then she’s back to scanning the crowd like she wasn’t able to just enter your head for a moment. Or maybe you’re just that bad at hiding your thoughts.

Her hands soon began to idle again.

You unconsciously bite your lip as you watch, letting the lewd thoughts slip through. She couldn’t read your thoughts.

She can.

A sly smile comes across her lips and her eyes narrow. She wasn’t scanning the crowd at all. She was waiting for you to let your defenses slip.

Your teeth unhook your lip, a slight gasp coming through your lips as well as blush lining your face.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The soft laugh in her voice. Her fingers tapping in sync with your pulse. Those unreadable eyes consuming you…

“Y-Yeah. I’m fine. I- I’m going to go to the bathroom.”

“I’ll go with you.”

When she gets up the chair scratches the floor, and you hear the entire world go quiet. You can see the breath held in her throat. The small flame in her eyes.

You wanted to get away, to take a moment to breathe.

Was she trying to stay by your side to protect you? Or to have you to herself?

You brush some hair behind your ear.

“I… Thanks. If you’re worried about me, I’ll wait. I appreciate you--”

The soft tap of her heels on the floor shuts you up.

She’s closing in on you, heels impossible louder than everything else.

Pink nails reach out to caress your cheek. Her thumb brushes over the corner of your lip.

Balalaika smiles.

“Oh no, I’m not worried. Not anymore.”

Her other fingers tap in unison on your skin, and you know she can feel the shiver you get from the movement.

You turn away, suddenly blushing more at remembering she has soldiers here. Probably watching her for a signal. Watching you.

You swallow, the saliva catching in your throat when she leans closer. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Kiss her.

Make her feel how hot you are.

Breathe.

Tell her you want her fingers inside you.

Breathe-

The majority of things you wanted to say were beyond dirty, and you were afraid to death that saying one of them would make her see you as a whore. Nothing but a desperate slut, lonely and needy for attention. Wanting someone to put you in your place.

She leans in closer when you don’t answer, bangs fluttering your face and eyes piercing into your very soul.

Her hand is on your waist.

You gasp.

You see stars, your life flashing in slow motion as she’s so quick to capture your open mouth and steal your breath-

The contact never happens.

Balalaika pulls away instead, face serious and eyes scanning behind you. Her hand on your waist tightens, ready to pull you towards her if anything happens.

You breathe hard, caught in a daze.

“M-Miss?”

“He’s here.”

Disoriented, you turn around. You can’t see a thing. The strobing lights dance across your vision like galaxies, and the people are nothing but darker blobs.

You rub your temple, trying to take a step away from how close she was.

“I- I need some water.”

Her grip tightens and her other hand catches your arm.

“Stay.”

You want to but you really feel like you can collapse any second.

She apparently gives some signal, because a minute later a soldier’s handing you a glass.

Still dizzy, you watch him almost immediately disappear back into the shadows.

There’s a sound of hard leather boots coming close.

You choke on a sip of water, almost spitting it out.

“He—“

Your vision starting to clear with the drink, you look around frantically.

You know you heard it. You knew it had to be who she was looking for.

Her eyes scan your face as you look back to her. There’s confusion and something of intrigue in her eyes.

You close your eyes, trying to focus year ears among the sounds. Nothing was there.

“N-Nevermind. I thought I heard leather boots.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“You can hear that well in here?”

You bite you lip and stammer, brushing it off as 'the music dying down at the right time'. You had always had sharper hearing than most, and she would think you insane if you told her.

You excuse yourself as you see a familiar patron waving at you. They were only a few tables over, and she would still have a view of you.

"I'll only be a moment. Still have to do my job you know, or at least look like I'm doing it."

Balalaika smiles and presses a paper into your hands.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I've gotten what I came here for."

You wonder what she meant, since all she's been doing is chatting with you and scanning the crowd. Perhaps a soldier found something.

She leans in close to your ear.

"Call me if you find yourself in trouble. I appreciate your company tonight, and if you need anything from me I'll always answer for you."

You're immediately caught in confusion, but she's already walking away before you can ask anything. Soon the tap of her heels are lost to the atmosphere.

The patron waving at you calls your name. Suddenly out of your trance, you give a smile and walk towards them.

#balalaika x reader #black lagoon #balalaika #sofiya pavlovna irinovskaya #black lagoon x reader #balalaika x fem reader #black lagoon anime

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ohbrotherthisblogstinks · 11 months ago

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ੈ✩‧₊˚ balalaika x fem reader

synopsis: your hot cougar girlfriend has the audacity to bring you flowers :0 warnings: 18+, nsfw, female reader, gratuitous praise (use of ‘good girl’, pretty girl, etc.), implied consumption of alcohol, oral & fingering (receiving), edging/teasing and overstim, rough sex if you squint, striptease, biting &marking other warnings: gratuitous smoking (cigars, cigarettes) because obviously, implied consumption of alcohol but no one’s drunk, y/n is needy as fuck and aggressively bratty, it’s implied that y/n has a past as a dancer, Balalaika generally being the absolute gigachad she is, and implied age gap bc shes cougar milf i love this woman <3

You were absolutely certain that everyone was watching you and internally laughing at your misfortune. You figured the two men chuckling at the bar and grinning at you were placing their bets on whether or not you’d been stood up. The sounds of indistinct chatter, knives and forks scratching against plates, and the clink of wine glasses were slowly starting to drive you insane. The sheer presence of the couples at the surrounding tables was enough to throw you into a rage. You shifted in your seat as you glanced at the door yet another time, agitated. Your date was never late, and it was making you even more bothered. Perhaps you just weren’t that interesting to her anymore, and the thought of this had you fuming.

It had been almost three weeks since the two of you had last spoken, as a trip overseas had required her attention. You were never happy to see her leave for business without you, as you usually accompanied her, and this time around resulted in a teary goodbye at the airport. She’d promised you over and over again, suitcase in hand, that she’d call you whenever she could, as you clung to her and cried into her overcoat. The only contact you ended up having with her was one choppy 20-minute call from a payphone.

The sound of the door and a gust of cool air from outside caught your attention, and you lifted your eyes to see her walking towards you, a rare wide smile on her face and a bouquet in her arms. She looked so unbothered, and it made your blood boil. You’d normally rush right into her arms upon her return from a trip, but instead you stayed seated, blankly staring in her direction. She shot you a confused look, but nonetheless leaned in to greet you with a chaste peck on the cheek, resting the bouquet on the table.

“I missed you, sweetheart,” she whispered in your ear, giving your hand a quick squeeze. You gave her a half smile and pulled your hand away, making her furrow her brow in concern.

“Is something the matter?”

“No,” you said flatly, looking away from her to take a sip of your drink.

“I’m finding that hard to believe.” She shrugged off her overcoat and draped it over the back of her chair. “What happened? Was someone bothering you?”

“I said nothing was wrong.” You continued sulking and avoiding her gaze, and you heard her huff in frustration.

“Well, I thought you’d be happier to see me.”

“I’m not.” You looked up at her, staring at her blankly.

Her glass hit the table with a loud thud, making you jump. She glared at you, and you shifted in your seat, absentmindedly twirling the straw in your drink around.

“You’re not happy to see me?”

You shook your head and slumped back in your chair, crossing your arms.

“And why is that, darling?” Her tone was beginning to frighten you, but you decided to continue playing with fire for as long as she’d let you.

“I think you know why,” you retorted. She scoffed and lit a cigarette.

“It’s a shame. I was telling the man at the flower shop all about how excited I was to see my pretty girl after being away for so long.”

“I’m sure you left out the part where you barely spoke to me for two and a half weeks.”

“Ah. I figured that’s what this is all about.” You glanced down at your hands in your lap, and you heard her scoff. “I know I told you I wouldn’t have a lot of free time, darling. Don’t you remember when I said that?”

“Yes, but-”

She prodded your leg with her shoe. “That’s your explanation, then.”

“Twenty-four hours in a day and you couldn’t give me a call for one?”

“I’ve already explained myself.”

You slumped back in your seat and sighed.

“You’re mean.”

She laughed, blowing a cloud of smoke your way, and you scowled at her. She snuffed out her cigarette and leaned in close to you. You drew in a sharp breath as she reached under the table and squeezed your thigh, hard, digging her nails into your skin and making you wince.

“Keep on being an ungrateful brat, and I guarantee that you’ll regret it later.”

The smirk on her face made blood rush to your cheeks, which you unsuccessfully attempted to hide by taking a sip of your drink.

She gripped your hand, almost painfully so, when she guided you out of the restaurant and into the ride waiting for the two of you. The wordless drive home was an indication that you’d definitely gotten yourself into hot water. You were still pouting, slumped against the door and shooting her a glare every now and then. You’d set the comically large bouquet down on the seat as a barrier between the two of you. She didn’t even look in your direction, and she stared straight ahead, tight-lipped, with her arms folded.

Upon arriving home she unlocked the door and all but herded you into the room, and after she hung up her coat and yours, she guided you over to her desk, her hand resting on the small of your back.

“Still pouting?” she asked you, raising an eyebrow as she sat down in her desk chair. You sighed, leaning back against the cool wood of the desk to face her. You felt her hand squeeze your thigh, and she chuckled at your stubbornness.

“Be a good girl and pour me a drink, will you?” Her fingers moved up your thigh to play with the hem of your dress, a pretty white silk slip that hugged the curves and dips of your body. She’d bought it for you on your first trip together a few years back, and she still remembered how your face lit up when you opened the box, how you kissed and hugged and thanked her over and over again, telling her how much you loved it.

You nodded and wordlessly obeyed her, wandering over to the cabinet of fancy liquor along the wall. You took your time picking out a bottle, and swayed back to her, drink in hand, still avoiding eye contact.

“I’m going to bed,” you said plainly, setting the glass down on the desk. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You slowly turned to leave, but you felt her arms snake around your waist, and she pulled you into her lap, her grip firm around you.

“Do you plan to behave like this all night?” You felt her breath fanning against your exposed neck, and her hand moving up your inner thigh, making you shiver. “Or will I need to fuck the attitude out of you?”

You drew in a sharp breath and squirmed in her lap.

“All flustered now?” She brushed her lips against your neck, gently kissing your hot skin as she squeezed your thigh.

You whimpered and squirmed some more in her lap when she gently bit down on your neck.

“Ah~” you breathed as you felt her fingers brush against your inner thigh, toying with the lace of your underwear.

“Get up.” She let you go with a squeeze to your waist, and you stood and turned around to face her, timid as she scrutinized you with her icy gaze.

“Take off your dress and your tights for me. Put on a show, like old times.”

Your eyes widened. Your days as a dancer were far behind you but it was how you met her, after all. Once in a while she’d ask you to strip for old times’ sake while she looked you up and down, a smirk on her face as she smoked one of her fancy cigars. It always ended with you beneath her on whatever surface was readily available, unsuccessfully trying to stifle the cries she elicited from you.

You fumbled with the sleeves on your dress, loosening them and sliding the sheer fabric down your body until it fell around your ankles. You stood in front of her in your underwear and tights, your face even more flushed. You were barely able to look her in the eyes, so you stared at the ground.

“Keep going,” she ordered, and you heard the creak of her chair as she leaned back in it. “I know you heard me correctly.” You nodded and slowly slid your tights down around your legs, stepping out of them daintily.

“Come sit.” She gestured to her lap and motioned for you to come towards her.

You walked over to her and straddled her lap, and she pulled you in for a kiss, the first real kiss she’d given you since she left. Even though it had been years since you met, her touch still flustered you, making your face flush and your heart race like it had the first time she’d ever kissed you. You kissed her needily, almost feverishly, moaning into her mouth when she gave your waist a gentle squeeze and bit your bottom lip. Desperate for any kind of relief, you started to gently grind against her thigh, but she stopped you, holding you still before you could get any satisfaction. She pulled away from the kiss, and gently brushed a thumb against your bottom lip.

“Can you sit on the desk for me, love?” she said softly. You obeyed her immediately, shivering as the cold wooden surface met your bare thighs. You crossed your arms, suddenly feeling conscious of just how little you were wearing, and how the thin lace adorning your body left very little to the imagination. You felt your face grow hot again, and you looked down at your hands in your lap.

“Look at me.” She tilted your chin up, and your eyes reluctantly met hers. There was a wry smirk on her face, and it made your heart skip a beat.

“I gave you this set for your birthday,” she said softly, brushing her fingertips against the lace of the skimpy bra you wore. “It’s still your favorite, no?” You nodded.

“It looks beautiful on you.” She gently tugged at the pretty bow between your breasts. “You must have worn this for a reason.”

You found it nearly impossible to keep eye contact with her, and your eyes wandered back down to your lap, making her chuckle.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she asked you, teasingly. “ You’re acting like I’ve never seen you like this before.” She ran a hand through your hair and suddenly pulled you closer so your face was inches away from hers.

“Where’s all that attitude you gave me earlier, hm?”

“I-I’m sorry,” you squeaked, “I-”

“Seems you wanted this to happen all along,” she giggled, leaning forward to suck at the exposed flesh of your neck. You gasped as she bit down on the soft skin, trailing her fingertips down your body until she reached the waistband of your underwear. She tugged at the thin lace, helping you lift your hips to slide it down around your ankles.

“Lean back,” she said coolly, firm hands gripping your thighs and pushing them apart. You nodded and obeyed her, resting against the cool surface of the desk. You gasped quietly when you felt her brush her fingertips against your inner thighs, and she shifted closer to the desk.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you all the attention you want,” she whispered. You felt her fingers part the folds of your pussy, and you let a quiet moan escape your lips.

“So wet already,” she chuckled, gently sliding a finger inside you. “So pretty.”

She started to fuck you on her fingers slowly and sensually, making you writhe on the surface of the desk. Her pace was painfully slow, and you began to whimper in frustration. She smirked at you and continued her gentle pace.

“What is it, darling?”

“Nothing, I-“ you stuttered, leaning on your elbows to look at her. “I need more, please. Please.”

“More? But I’m already making you feel so good, aren’t I?”

“Y-yes, but I-“

“Be a good girl and take what I give you.”

You felt her lean forward to press kisses to your thighs, her warm breath fanning against the exposed skin and making you squirm. You whimpered when you felt her flatten her tongue against your pussy, and you sighed when she started to kiss your clit.

“I-I missed you, I’m sorry…,” you babbled, frantically pulling at her hair and grinding against her face.

“I know, sweetheart,” she whispered. “I missed you too.” You moaned again, louder this time, at the feeling of her fingers filling you again, and you writhed beneath her, grabbing her free hand and interlocking your fingers with hers.

You started to shake and your moans grew more desperate, and she pulled away just as you reached the edge, making you whine and huff in frustration. She chuckled and kissed your thigh.

“You didn’t think I would let you off that easily, did you?” she asked you teasingly.

“Please let me-“ You were silenced by her lips meeting yours, the taste of her fancy cigars lingering in your mouth and her cool hands cupping your flushed face.

“Patience, darling,” she giggled, resting her forehead against yours when she pulled away from the kiss.

“I just want to feel you,” you whimpered, looking up at her with pleading eyes and toying with a loose lock of her hair.

“And you will.” She continued to tease you, leaving hickeys down your neck and on your breasts, making you moan and tangle your fingers in her hair.

“Do you know how much I missed you?” she whispered, pressing kisses to the skin of your stomach. “I thought about you all the time, darling. I missed how you taste, how you feel, all those pretty little sounds you make.”

Your back arched off the table as you felt her tongue against you again, and by now your cries were frantic and desperate. You were almost certain unsuspecting passersby could hear you through the open window in the corner of the room, but you were too caught up in her to care.

After a while you’d lost count of how many orgasms you’d had, how many times you’d clenched your thighs around her head or her hand. You were flushed, panting, and practically sobbing, your back arching on the surface of the desk as you writhed while she held you down.

“I-it’s too much, please-“ you blurted out, grabbing her wrist and feebly attempting to tug her hand away from between your legs.

“Oh, darling, it’s too much? I thought you wanted all my attention, so why are you crying?” She turned your head with her free hand so you were looking her in the eyes. “I think you should actually be thanking me.”

The pleasure was so intense you could barely speak, and it was verging on pain. You squeezed your eyes shut, but she grabbed your face roughly this time, squeezing your cheeks and forcing you to look at her again.

“What did I say?”

“Thank- fuck! Thank you,” you gasped, tightening your thighs around the hand between them.

“Good girl.” She leaned in to kiss you and hush your cries as you were hit with yet another orgasm, sucking on your tongue and nipping at your lips until they were red and swollen and glossy with spit. She thought you were a beautiful mess like this, your chest heaving and your skin flushed and covered in her hickeys and bite marks.

“Clean me off,” she ordered, sticking her slick-covered fingers into your open mouth and nearly making you gag. You immediately obeyed her, your wide and glassy eyes fixed on her.

“Do you still think I’m mean, love?” she asked you, brushing the sweat and tear-soaked hair away from your forehead. You nodded once you caught your breath, making her laugh. She kissed your forehead and helped you sit back up, a gentle hand rubbing the small of your back as you sat in front of her.

“Are you all right?” She asked you, taking your hands and squeezing them gently. You nodded, and she pulled you in.

“I love you,” you mumbled into her hair as she held you.

“I know, darling. I love you too.”

You giggled as she scooped you up in her arms and carried you to the bedroom, where she laid you gently on the bed and sat beside you.

“Tired?” she teased, twirling a lock of your hair between her thumb and forefinger. You nodded and snuggled against her, laying your head in her lap.

“I’m not finished with you yet, darling.” She sighed and began to undo the buttons on her blouse, and your eyes widened. You really should have known better.

“Don’t look so surprised,” she teased. “You still have to take care of me, remember?”

You nodded, your face still flushed. She kissed you, taking your hand and guiding it over to the zipper on her skirt.

“Be a good girl and get on your knees.”

#balalaika x reader #balalaika black lagoon #black lagoon x reader #black lagoon smut #balalaika smut #sofiya pavlovna smut #sofiya pavlovna x reader

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mr-bas00nist · 1 month ago

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Balalaika NSFW Alphabet

no one asked but I delivered

Im a man so intended amab reader but can be gn with a dick ig!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

REALLY depends on who’s topping or “bottoming”. Which also depends on how she feels and how well she knows you and trusts you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I think she really likes your face. Something’s just so intimate about it. Seeing your expressions is how she knows if she’s doing good or not.

im gonna say she likes her boobs. Have you seen those things? She knows she can get away with anything with them ❤️

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

She likes it anywhere. I think face, tits and inside are her favorites though. On you, definitely your face from eating her out.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Has humped your pillows before ☝🏽 all of them. Numerous times.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I feel like she’s experienced but hasn’t had a lot of hook ups because of the military? Probably knows a lot about sex but hasn’t but much to work before you

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

cowgirl or full nelson! If she’s on top of you she’ll ride you like there’s no tomorrow. If your the dominant she wants you to put her in the meanest full nelson.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I think very serious. Sex is a big thing for her. She barely trusts and if she’s trusts you to have sex with her, nevertheless dom her? She’s serious about it.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

It’s either trimmed or a bush I feel like. I think she hates it bald because itching but I also don’t know if she’d let it go fully? Your choice I guess!

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

She’s very romantic. If she even got to sex with you she adores you. Drops L-bombs during sex 100%.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Not frequently at all. She never did it in the military and after she only did it to relieve stress rarely. She’s got you, no point in it anymore to be fair.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Honestly feel like she’s got a major breeding kink. Also maybe a bit of ma’am or mommy kink going on.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere private? I don’t think she’d like much risky places. She has a reputation to uphold!

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Anything sweet you do for her or her soldiers. You’re a breath of fresh air behind closed doors whether you are a criminal like them or a civilian that got swept up into the chaos.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No bathroom kinks or stuff like that. No sharing you, any weird fetishes or stuff like that.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

she gives some CRAZY head. Tit jobs are insane. She loves receiving more though. You will be drowning in it (sounds like a good time)

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

She rides fast and rough and expects you to go fast and rough. Unless you two are exhausted it’s pretty aggressive sex.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Pretty often I’d say since she’s so busy.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

like I said, she’s got a reputation to uphold. Riskiest place is in her office I’d say.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Crazy stamina, thighs do not ache for hours.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Maybe a small vibrator for when nights got to lonely before you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

she’s a big tease. Won’t let you cum for a while if she feels like it. Even if your on top she loves to mess around with you and move her hips when your trying to catch your breath.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

A groaner and moaner. Very breathy and hoarse. Probably no screams or whimpers.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I think she wants you to hump her pussy real bad. No penetration. Just watching you rut back and forth hitting her clit is a dream. Wet sounds to the max.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

#F9EBEA or #FADBD8 for her vulva and all that. Meaty pussy‼️🙏🏽

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

All depends on you. Long nights at work where she finally gets a break she wants to feel you close. But otherwise you’ll probably have to initiate.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

really don’t think that fast. I honestly think a lot of the nights you’ll have to fuck her to sleep. Her head runs around like crazy and she just needs to forget it all and doze off.

#dom reader #dom male reader #black lagoon #balalaika #balalaika black lagoon #black lagoon x reader #balalaika smut #male reader

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batmenstrualcycle · 2 years ago

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How would Revy react if Reader was a pro thief because they had a hard time finding a job due to being different as they were bullied for it? The relationship is platonic. Reader isn't a killer like Revy is and helps out sometimes.

finally another request >:)

-i like the idea that the reader isn't a killer cuz i see a lot of readers being like mercenaries or some shit and that's just so fucking dumb like what😐

-but anyways, the reader being a pro thief AND besties with revy?? an unstoppable duo, might i say!

-this is defo before rock comes into the picture, but when you and revy got rejected for the billionth time, that's when you started being a lil pickpocket

-at night revy would see you creeping into your living space with some pocket money and a bunch of nonperishable foods in your hands. revy would be so confused lol

-"where the fuck didja get all this from?"

-"i stole it!♡"

-revy's just looking at you like 👁_👁

"ya stole it?"

-after a while you start getting better and better at it. now you're stealing multiple wallets a day and coming back with hundreds of bucks in your pockets lol.

-IF you ever do get caught, then revy's got your back! she'll happily shoot up the whole bar if someone touches her best friend

-when rock comes into the picture, which is when the show starts, rock is SOOO against the idea of you stealing things😭 you're surprised that he hasn't gotten used to it by now, since he hangs out with revy all the time

-i'll add this but you definitely tried convincing rock to wear that hawaiian shirt😍

-but yeah, you and rock are as thick as thieves! with revy being a killer and you being a pro pickpocket, you two are unstoppable!♡

#black lagoon revy #black lagoon #black lagoon x reader #ngl writing this made me start craving for balalaika👁👁#black lagoon revy x reader

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aerithmybbgmypookiemywife · 3 months ago

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Toy Salesman! Childe x Partner! Reader

your husband is a travelling toy salesman, but is he really just a travelling salesman?

A toy salesman who played a balalaika arrived at your village and quickly became the talk of the town. Not only did he have handsome looks but he was charming too, parents also commented that his toys seemed to be of good quality so they approved of him.

You met him when your little brother wouldn't shut up about wanting a new toy, so your parents told you to accompany him to the toy salesman. As soon as you laid eyes on him, he was the prettiest man you have ever seen... You found his red-tinted nose from the cold cute too.

A little flirty too... But... it turns out it was only towards you.

The short fling didn't last long as he had to leave the village for another one. You thought that was the last time you'd ever have anything close to love but you were wrong. As he came back... and back again... again... again... again...! Soon, your relationship that was just a fling turned into... being a couple!

"Childe!" you smiled as you ran up to him, he opened his arms as he wore that charming smile on his face. You jumped right into his arms as he held you tight, spinning you around a little out of excitement. "You're back... I missed you..." you mumbled as you buried your face in his neck.

He let out a small laugh, "Yeah... It's really great to be back to you." he slowly placed you down and kissed the top of your head. "Come on! My brother was waiting for you... My mother also cooked some soup for us!" you told him but he grabbed your hand, stopping you. You turned to him, confused.

But your eyes widened when he slowly showed a gold ring, before he could even say a thing, you just hugged him and kept chanting 'Yes!'.

The wedding was simple, it was held in the town square. You were surrounded by family, friends, and neighbors during your special day which made you happy but... Leaving them for another town did hurt a little.

"Are you sure? Why can't you both just settle here?" your mother asked. "Well... Childe's work requires him to go from town to town so we decided it'd be best to just move somewhere that can help him with his job." you replied. Your father sighed, "I... still don't really understand what you see in him. He isn't rich, and I fear for your future as he's just a mere toy maker." he commented, your mother smacked his arm.

"Dear, if you ever feel lonely or if anything happens, you can always come back here. You're always welcome back here in the village, alright? Don't hesitate to ask for our help." your mother told you to which you nodded.

You said your final goodbyes and soon set off with Childe to a bigger town with bigger opportunities. When you arrived at your supposed new home, you were surprised! It was huge! You asked how he was even able to afford it to which he just laughed off and said that he saved up.

Things were going great between the two of you, you were starting to adjust to your life there but... Something seemed off... Like Childe was hiding something... It's just... Suspicious how much money he spends to spoil you... Could he really earn that much money as a toy salesman?

Of course, you were grateful, but at the same time it... was suspicious...

Childe seemed to notice you were deep in thought, "Is there something wrong Y/n?" he asked, hands wrapped around your waist as he pulled you closer to him. The two of you were in bed making it a little harder to try to avoid his question.

You hummed in response. "Really?? It seems like you're mad at me... you avoided my kiss this morning." He told you to which you let out a small laugh, "I just got embarrassed because of my morning breath, I just woke up at that time." You replied. It wasn't really a lie... you hated giving kisses when you still hadn't freshened up in the morning but at the same time, you had your suspicions that you didn't really know the full truth of his job.

He didn't say another word and only just hummed in response. You then closed your eyes, thinking that was the end of it only to get jumpscared when he starts leaving wet kisses on your neck.

Safe to say the two of you got intimate that night as you folded so quickly, under zero pressure too. You cursed at yourself in the morning though as you were too sore to even try to investigate what your husband could be doing behind your back.

The following day, you decided to go to the snowy forest, you just chose to distract yourself from any useless thoughts. You were looking for snowberries to make a lotion with. "Hmm... I should give Childe a lot of it... His hands are rough and calloused after all." you mumbled. You soon notice a familiar figure, that build... That structure... That height... Hair... Oh my god...? "Childe!" You shouted his name.

He turned to you, his facial expression looked like he was glaring at you for a second before switching to a smile. "My love! What brings you here?" He asked. Weird, he's not one to call you pet names. "I thought you were supposed to be in another town, what are YOU doing here?" you asked as you looked around.

"Where's your toy st-" he cut you off. "That's not important. Look... How about we just head home, hm?" he asked as he gave you a smile. Weird... Very weird... His smile didn't make your heart skip. Instead, it left a shiver down your spine...

"Al... Alright..." you mumbled as he started heading towards the town, you followed him from behind. Your gut tells you something is very wrong... But you just can't put your finger to i-

Wait... He doesn't have his toy stand... he usually has that... Plus why would he be in a forest- Oh... Oh...!

"Childe... Have you... Thought of something to do on our anniversary for tomorrow yet?" you asked. "Hm? That? Hmm... Maybe we should go to the town for a date." he responded. Your anniversary was months away.

You stopped on your tracks, who the fuck was this man? You knew damn well Childe would never ever forget your anniversary, that... that... weird feeling in your gut... it was... Telling you to run.

So there you go, you fucking booked it. You turned your heel around and started running away from it. It was hard to run away in your heavy clothes, you felt like you were being suffocated or you were running out of air from how much you panted.

It quickly noticed you running away but you didn't dare turn back to see how far away it was from you. That was NOT your husband, that was an imposter... If so then... Where is Childe now?? Is he dead?? What the absolute fuck is happening!?!

You could hear a loud rustle of feathers behind you, why would it sound like fathers...? God it just confused you even mo- "AAAAAAHHHH....!!!!" You let out a loud scream as the creature seemed to have flown in front of you. You abruptly stopped running, causing you to fall down, butt first in the snow.

You couldn't even describe what the fuck you were looking at right now... It looked like a crow but... Big...??? It was frightening... And that... Fucking eyes... It sent a shiver down your spine.

"Ah... How did you even know? It was a perfect disguise..." It spoke as you only trembled in fear, slowly backing away. Is this how you die...?? On the hands of a monster, you don't even know about...? It slowly approached you...

You whimpered in fear as you quickly started backing away, your body froze when your back hit a tree. Was this really how you die?? Without knowing whether your husband is dead or alive?? Oh god... What happens after it kills you?? Will it kill other people in the town too?? What will it do to you?? Is it going to eat you alive or just kill you firs-

*Thud*

You watched the creature's head fall to the ground. Your lower lip trembled as your body felt pure relief when you saw Childe holding some sort of weapon. The head opened its mouth but Childe just crushed it. Childe had an indifferent look on his face, his eyes looked lifeless but...

He looks up at you, his eyes having a gentle gaze. "Y/n..." he rushed to you as he wrapped you around his arms, you held him tight as you sobbed. "Hey... It's okay now, I'm here..." he reassured you.

You didn't know the full truth of his job, but it might be better to not know more. All you knew was that Childe would never bring harm to you.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #childe tartaglia ajax #childe x reader #childe x you #ajax x reader #tartaglia x reader

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musicallisto · 4 years ago

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♕ — 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝; (anya x f!reader)

summary: “Well! What you need right now is a little bit of spirit-lifting. And I know exactly the medicine.”

prompt: “How long as it been since you’ve slept?” song: dodie - Would You Be So Kind | 𝄞

author notes: my entry for @locke-writes ’ 1.5k writing challenge, and also my first time writing for anastasia! I hope you all enjoy this <3 (i don’t know how to say this but anya is dani and reader is jamie from thobm i don’t know why it makes sense but it does). I wrote this in second person at first then changed my mind and switched everything to third, then changed my mind again so if you see inconsistencies in the pronouns, that’s why (lol i’m a mess)

word count: 1.6k features: a bit of sad Anya, but mostly fluff; singing and music. this is really not my best writing but i’m rusty and overworked so please don’t insult me

𝐎𝐇, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃.

“Who is your great-grandmother?”

“Queen Victoria...”

“Who is your great-great-grandmother?”

“Erm — Princess Victoria of Saxe-Coldburg-Saalfeld!”

Through the beaten mahogany doors, Anya’s attempts at ladyship have been reaching your ears all day. Enthusiastic in the beginning, they have grown progressively more frustrated as the night has swollen, and your friends’ demands with it. There’s little in courtly life, you imagine, that Anya hasn’t tried her hand at yet.

Oh, the poor child indeed.

“Your best friend is...”

“My little brother Alexei —”

“Wrong! Your best friend —”

“I know who my best friend is!”

The outrage in Anya’s voice is almost as palpable as the bitter cold in your room, adjacent to their rehearsals; you can’t help looking up from your book at the closed door, as if it could tell you how to avoid the collision threatening your group. You grit your teeth, both in empathy and apprehension.

“What a temper!”

“I don’t like being contradicted!”

“That makes two of us!”

“Continuing on —” Vlad tentatively interjects, but Anya and Dmitry’s exasperation, even muffled, is clear in their voices. A second more and one of them will snap; although you’re uncertain which of the two short fuses will go off first.

“I’ve had it!”

Ah, so Anya it is.

“I hate you both! I’m sorry that we ever met — I’m hungry, I’m frightened, and I’m only human, don’t forget! I don’t remember anything — get out and let me be!”

“Anya, darling...”

But Vlad’s soft tone, ever the cunning mediator, is not enough this time to alleviate the young woman’s turmoil; and before he’s finished his sentence, raging steps echo in the vast hall, and a door slams — your door, at the step of which Anya stares you down, blinks in confusion, frowns, then lets out a harrowing sound.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N, I didn’t know you were here —”

“It’s alright. You can stay here as long as you want.”

Anya lets out a long exhale, heavy as a storm cloud, and slumps down on the foot of your bed with a resounding thud. Her shoulders crumple over themselves like bruised wings, and silence falls on the vast house.

But you can’t keep your attention on your book for very long — not only because the living story before you, defeated and worn, is much more vibrant and bewitching; also due to the racing of your heart whenever Anya stands near you. From the moment you’ve laid eyes on her, and even through the dust and gloom of your night, she’s kept that same regal beauty to her — something neither tatters nor amnesia can erase. It’s not in a long-lost parentage, you think, but all in the way her soul rustles with excitement at anything new and beautiful... rare are the souls, in Saint Petersburg, that gray skies and red stars have not yet tattered.

“They’re making you go through everything, aren’t they?”

“Heavens, yes! It’s too much, and I just want to go home!”

You set your book aside, directing your full attention to Anya.

“How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

“Maybe before the horseriding lessons — I can’t even remember!”

“Horseriding? Was that before the mazurka?”

“Yes, and before ten in the morning! Do you know the order of arrival for each guest at an Imperial ball? First, the Great Princes who come through the entrance in the Saltykov lane, then the bearers of the Court Ranks...”

“Anya, I don’t think that’s neces —”

“And married women must wear diadems! Is that not idiotic? What if I’m unmarried but don’t want to wear flowers in my hair?”

“I think you have way more important problems than your Imperial headpiece, like breathing.”

As if on cue, she takes a sudden gulp of air, and her reddened face, constricted by irritation, somewhat relaxes; maybe from the oxygen, maybe from the slight, amused smile that has crept onto your lips.

“Why haven’t they trained you to be Anastasia?” she resumes, her mouth now curled in a pout.

“Have you seen me?” you chuckle, all holed clothes and creviced skin, but your eyes loving. “I couldn’t even pass for Anastasia’s dog keeper.” (She can’t tell you yet, but she thinks you would make a wonderful princess, gracious and intelligent; but she blushes at the direction her thoughts are taking.)

“Dmitry could be the dog.”

“What a lovely sight.”

You settle into a comfortable silence, cross-legged together on either end of the bed, as the biting wind howls and claws at the window outside; but neither of you feels the cold. December is long forgotten, glowing dim as an ember, as long as you keep your gaze on Anya’s appeased face, the blush on her cheeks, and the romantic delicacy of her features.

“Do you believe you might be the Grand Duchess?”

Your question is but a whisper, and you fear she might not have heard you, even more so since she doesn’t turn her head to face you; but rather her gaze clouds, immobile in the flickering white light. A mist of melancholy traverses her face. A second later, it is gone, save for the last specks of snow in her eyes that never seem to melt.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything,” she responds truly, her words equally as quiet as yours.

“Well, for starters,” you pick up, a little louder this time, “if Anastasia had the temper people say she had... you’ve got that covered.”

She chuckles, like the tinkling of snowflakes twirling in the wind.

“She does sound like she was a lot of trouble, doesn’t she?”

“I think she sounds pretty charming.”

But before you can let the silence stretch for too long, and worry to crease Anya’s porcelain skin again, you enthusiastically slap your thighs and jump from the bed.

“Well! What you need right now is a little bit of spirit-lifting. And I know exactly the medicine.”

After rummaging through the mountain of clutter piled in the corners of your room — what in the world are Vlad’s sketchbooks doing here anyw-- Christ, so that’s where that book was all this time! — you brandish in triumph a triangular-shaped instrument, the one you carved yourself in leftover logs, on a particularly freezing night, the one the three of you painted with care until the crack of dawn to keep you warm and joyful.

“Oh, play me something, please!” Anya’s childlike passion engulfs your heart as you clumsily test out the chords. The balalaika is worn and sanded off at the sides, and severely out of tune, but your hands find their familiar places without hesitation, and the sound of the instrument is clear enough for the both of you on an exhausting and windy night.

You pick up speed, falling into a melody you once knew; what fragments you can’t remember, you improvise, and try your best not to grimace; but Anya’s leaning over, eyes and smile wide as though she wants to drown in your music, and all of a sudden your chest has started to sing on its own.

“Would you be so kind as to fall in love with me? You see, I’m trying; I know you know that I like you, but that’s not enough, so if you will please fall in love, it’s only fair...”

Your eyes leave the strings as your voice rediscovers the words, your fingers the notes; Anya, in front of you, nods her head to the rhythm she savors for the first time, her foot keeping time unconsciously. If she ever had a childhood, this is surely what it was made of: soft, loving voices, gleaming eyes, a ray of light on her face, and the irrepressible urge to laugh.

"There’s gotta be some butterflies somewhere, wanna share? ‘Cause I like you, but that’s not enough, so if you will please fall in love with me...”

You’re grinning wide too, now, but unaware of it; all you see is Anya and her joyful brilliance, and you could swear that despite all the weariness in her body and the bruises on her soles, she’s ready to jump around in utter liberation. If only the music descended by itself from above your heads, you think, and you could drop the balalaika to dance with her — a dance she might enjoy, this time, a dance she doesn’t know the steps to!

Soon enough, you start giggling, without really knowing why; maybe from the silly wiggling of the shoulders Anya does, or maybe from the overflowing of light and sun in your chest; and it’s a pain to let out the last words between your uncontrollable laughter, even more after Anya starts laughing too.

“Oh, I like you, but that’s not enough... so if you will please fall in love with me...”

And so, after your grand finale — holding the last note a little too long and a little too high, and stroking the strings a little too fast like a Russian bolero —, the song comes to an end, the notes hanging in the air like your suspended laughter and hitched breaths... and your sparkling eyes lost in the sea of each other dare to hope, for the first time, that something might happen...

... but it doesn’t.

“Thank you for cheering me up,” she pulls back with a sincere smile, and you can’t fight the cruel disappointment seeping in your chest. Of course — you’re still in Saint Petersburg, where dreams have died long ago, and she has a fate much larger than yours. Still, you return the kind smile. She deserves as much; she deserves everything.

“No, thank you. For letting yourself be cheered up.”

The wind is still howling outside the window, but it carries, like an effervescence, the distant music of a balalaika, and you remain hopeful, your hand resting next to Anya’s.

If she would be so kind...

tagging; @softeninglooks @fives-cup-of-coffee (all my writing) ; @bravelittlesunflower @lxncelot @amortensie (musicals)

#mywriting #anastasia #anastasia broadway #anastasia imagine #anastasia one-shot #anastasia x reader #anastasia fanfiction #anya x reader #anya imagine #anya one-shot

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parfaithaven · 4 years ago

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Can y'all PLEASE make more x fem!readers for Black Lagoon, i am begging please i just want balalaika, revy, shenhua, eda, etc to mARRY ME.

#PLEASE IM BEGGING #parfaitthoughts

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amphibiahawks321 · 2 months ago

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Balalaika : Oh baby, you sure know how to surprise and please a lady don't you...~

M!Reader : More like I know how to be appealing to the mafia boss such as yourself Sofiya...~

[Shows Balalaika sitting on the edge of the bed holding a leash while Y/N kneeling Infront of her with the collar wrapped around his neck]

Balalaika : You wouldn't mind wearing a turtleneck for awhile don't you sweetheart?~

[Y/N grabs Balalaika's hand and gives it a nimble]

M!Reader : Oh trust me, do as you please~

Balalaika : .....

Balalaika : Chuckles... You might regret saying it later sweetheart, because the things I'll do to you for the next hour will be leaving you breathless~

#male reader #balalaika x reader #reader x balalaika #black lagoon balalaika #balalaika #black lagoon x reader #reader x black lagoon #black lagoon

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winnieiscalmeth · 5 months ago

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Notes: Baking with the Black Lagoon women.(Going back to basic scenarios) Very ooc as always. <3

милый=Dear

Proofread?: Nope

Rebbeca "Revy" Lee

I'd be lying if I said Revy would like baking. But with enough begging (and bribing) you'll manage to at least have her help you. She'd only read the instructions to you, not putting any effort into helping. Sometimes, misreading them or lying making you mess up the dessert.

"3 teaspoons of ricotta chees-"

"3 what? Give me that!" You stared at the list. "3 tablespoons of ricotta cheese! Are you trying to mess me up?"

"I didn't want to do this shit in the first place dammit! Ya think I'll fuck this up just to make me suffer for longer?!" She was. Revy takes baking with you as a chance to annoy you.

Sofia "Balalaika" Irinovskaya

Bala's always busy so baking with her is rare. But she is great at it. She can tell you messed an ingredient up just by looking at it. On occasion, if you had started to bake by yourself, she'd start helping you.

"What are you making?" She shifted her gaze from you to the bowl.

"Some pancake batter for something else I'm gonna make later." Balalaika stared at it before chuckling and taking the bowl.

"There's too much flower милый. Let me help you"

"Ahh shit"

Edith "Eda" Blackwater

Whenever she's bored and lounging around she goes to your house with random shit to bake. Baking gets chaotic when it comes to her because while your focused on stirring, she's dancing to whatever song on the radio or bothering you.

"The phone rings in the middle of the night, and my father yells what you gonna do with your life!" Eda danced around you.

"Baby, please chill the fuck out" She wrapped her arms wrap around you and leaned closer to your ear.

"And girls! They want to have fun!"

"Eda!"

Rosarita "Roberta" Cisneros

She loves to bake with you. You wouldn't want her to cook with you but she likes to help you by cleaning the utensils you use. Usually, she just hovers around you quietly or is your taste tester.

"Does this taste ok?" You shoved a spoonful of brownie mix in her mouth.

"Hmmm," It tasted a little bland. Could use a little more sugar is what Roberta wanted to say but didn't want to hurt your feelings.

"...is it bad?"

"No! No, it's good-"

"Nope it's definitely bad"

Shenhua

She's usually the one baking, and bossy too but in a loving way. Asking you to get ingredients from the fridge or telling you to wipe down a counter.

"Get me milk out of the refrigerator! And hurry up!"

"Okaay" You lazily walked over to the fridge.

"Come clean these cups too!"

You sighed. "Oh my god"

"What was that?!"

"Yes ma'am!"

#revy black lagoon #balalaika black lagoon #eda black lagoon #roberta black lagoon #shenhua black lagoon #revy x reader #balalaika x reader #eda x reader #roberta x reader #shenhua x reader #x reader #character x you #this wouldve been out 2 hours ago

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rovewritesit · 4 years ago

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Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 5) John Deacon x Reader Series

GIF: @johndeac

Apologies for the delay! Work has been an absolute shit fest. The big show I’m on got canceled, but we still have to finish the season at some point so oof. Also, my boss is moving to Italy? Pray for my sanity, folks.

Series Summary: After reluctantly joining a band with your childhood best friends, you are thrust into oncoming stardom with no sea legs and an overwhelming sense of anxiety. But you just might find your way, thanks to some seasoned pros by your side. And the interest of one particular bassist.

This series is a work of fiction and is loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Strong language. Feelings of anxiety. Angst (oooo!)

Chapter Notes: I've rewritten this chapter so many times that I don't even know what it is anymore. Angst is hard, my dudes! Why can't it all be flirty glances and quick banter?!

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

Songs Mentioned:

Moonlight in Vermont - Frank Sinatra

Blues Run The Game - Jackson C. Frank

Taglist: @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @brianmays-hair @deacyblues @squishy-geckboye @hae-bee @aprilaady @theresalexis @uglipotata72829

- - - - - - -

September 1982 - The Music Inn, New York City

“Bri, get a load of all these fucking maracas!”

Brian makes his way over to where Roger is gazing at a massive wall adorned with shaker-filled shelves, dipping his head low to avoid the sea of guitars hanging from the ceiling above his long frame.

Queen was back in New York for their first-ever appearance on Saturday Night Live. Finding time in between the intensive rehearsals during the week had been hard, but Freddie insisted they would make the time for his favorite New Yorkers. When the time was finally found, he, of course, was unavailable, off antiquing at some of Manhattan’s luxury spots but promised to meet up with the group later on.

The Limbs managed to snag the other three men for a trip to the historic Music Inn. Nestled in the heart of Greenwich Village, the dingy treasure trove was located a stone’s throw away from the city’s most prominent folk clubs that boasted discovering the talents of Bob Dylan and Simon & Garfunkel.

You were quite confident that your newfound English friends would love it. Every visible space was stuffed or covered with an abundance of musical paraphernalia. So much so that you had been in the store dozens of times without ever finding out what color the walls were. Its layout was always changing to fit the ever-growing amount of items displayed, the familiar specks of dust that sparkled in the sunlight being the only constants.

“Hey, Jeff!” Steve calls out to the eccentric owner. “Where are these from?”

The aging hippie shuffles over. “Mostly South America,” he explains in his usual gravelly drawl. “A customer brought back some new shekeres from West Africa last week that have a nice sound to them.” Jeff motions up the sprawling wall. Roger immediately grabs a few, testing the sounds out against the ones Steve is already playing with - the two of them like kids in a candy store.

Jeff had been a good friend to The Limbs since their early teen years, having let the group spend hours on end attempting to learn every exotic instrument they could get their hands on. Anyone who entered the shop could count on him as a spirit guide of sorts to a wealth of worldly music. And while The Limbs had kept their first album fairly plain in context, they were already itching, particularly Steve, to experiment on the next album. Whenever that would be.

Now that a few more of their singles were moderately successful hits, Columbia Records was focused on milking it for all that it was worth. The execs were currently setting up an extensive American tour of the Mid - West Coast part of the country, all the major cities they hadn’t hit on their first tour.

“Y/N,” Jeff gestures for you to follow him, probably excited to show you a new find seeing as you were always eager and willing to give them a test run. You make your way down the staircase lined with large balalaikas to the musty lower level filled with various sound equipment and electronic instruments.

“What on god’s green earth would you use that for?” you hear Rich’s deep voice implore. He rolls his eyes as Eddie moons over an ornately engraved mandolin.

“It worked for Rod Stewart, didn’t it? That mandolin solo in Maggie May shredded,” he retorts. “Plus, look how pretty she is!”

You watch your feet as you carefully maneuver around the amps and pedals haphazardly strewn around the floor, following Jeff to the back of the room - taking special care to step around John, who is crouched low looking over the wiring of a particularly grody-looking amp.

Upon entering the store, he had taken off on his own right away, immediately entranced by the sprawling selection all about him. But you had caught the worn, far-off look in his eyes when he greeted you with a short wave earlier. You try not to let the lack of attention bother you as you pass him without so much as a glance up. The heartfelt conversation you had the last time they were in town had rooted itself in your memory. Spilling your guts like you did that night wasn't a common occurrence for you- figuring you were already easy enough to read due to the panicked expression often etched onto your face.

Why him? Even your bandmates weren’t privy to the babblings of your intimate thoughts. It couldn’t just be his boyish tooth-gap or the pleasing line of his straight nose. Maybe it was the confusing mix of nerves and comfort you felt whenever in his presence. It was unlike the persistent butterflies you were used to when around attractive humans. Feeling instead like a gentle humming that you somehow sensed everywhere at once.

You’re brought out of your swimming thoughts as Jeff clears his throat loudly to get your attention. You must’ve been staring blankly at the floor for quite a while. He gestures to a bulky item draped in a tarp, as you give him a small apologetic smile.

“Oh yes, very pretty,” you smirk at him.

He rolls his eyes as he attempts to sweep the tarp off in a dramatic reveal, but in reality, it gets stuck. The man scrambles to uncover it, and as soon as it peeks out, you gasp.

“A theremin!”

You gaze at the ordinary-looking wooden cabinet in awe. It must be old, seeing as they were mostly compact now.

“You haven’t had one in ages,” you marvel, locking eyes with Jeff.

“Which means it’s been a while since I’ve heard your ambient screeches plaguing these walls.”

Your finger points to him in protest. “Hey, I was getting better until you sold the last one on me!”

“Well, I didn’t see you making a bid for it,” he playfully shrugs.

“Let’s hear those screeches!” Eddie yells out. Rich claps his hands excitedly beside him. You poke your tongue out at them, but your eyes catch John’s, and you quickly close your mouth. Still crouched, he looks on with mild curiosity wrinkled on his brow. He lightly raises them at you in silent encouragement.

You slowly make your way behind the instrument as Jeff plugs it into the wall. Turning one of the knobs, it hums to life as you check the metal attachments protruding from the wood frame. It really is old. You have no idea how to even begin to calibrate it. Taking a deep breath, you timidly bring your hands up in position.

It lets out a high pitched wail that burns your ears from being so close, and you yank your hands away from the field of current. Eddie and Rich erupt into cheers while John slowly stands, moving a bit closer to see the mechanism properly.

Jeff lightly pushes you back towards it in a gentle coax. This time you slowly bring your curled hand a reasonable distance away from the pitch antenna, keeping your other low on the one for volume. Squeezing your eyes shut to focus on the tone, you slowly move until you find your starting note. It was all about sense memory and your ears to fill the gaps with nothing to physically touch.

Uncurling your fingers, you begin the opening notes of Moonlight in Vermont - the one song you had somewhat taught yourself through hours of painstaking practice. You fumble a bit, eliciting a squeak or two while trying to remember the hand placements that produce the proper notes. While you might “play” many instruments, you were middling at many, master of none. You make it through the first verse before your head starts to pound from your jaw-clenched concentration.

“Fuck the mandolin, let’s get that for the next album!” you hear Rich tell Eddie.

“Ah, yes, you’ve heard Pet Sounds. Now prepare your ears for The Limb’s sophomore attempt, Ghost Sounds,”

Their banter is drowned out as John chimes in. “How on earth did you learn that?” You meet his struck expression and shrug lightly.

“Don’t downplay it, Bun. It’s pretty fucking cool,” Rich assures you. “And her knowing ASL also helps,” he explains to John.

“Sign language?”

“Oh yeah, Y/N’s mom is deaf,” Eddie reveals bluntly. You shoot him a look.

“Sorry, hard of hearing,” he holds his hands out in defense.

John is silent for a moment as he mulls the information over, causing a speck of tension in the room.

“Your mother’s never heard you sing?” he asks incredulously as if he can’t possibly imagine it.

You give a small smile. “No, I guess she hasn’t. But I was in the car with her the first time I heard us on the radio. I turned the treble down and the bass all the way up and she bopped along to the beat pretty well.”

Rich chuckles lightly at the story. “She’s always been hoot, hasn’t she?”

You nod gently. “Aptly put. That’s how she describes herself as a matter of fact.”

John shoves his hands deep in his pockets as he takes a look around the room, his cheeks a light pink. You're unsure of why.

“I’m gonna head out for a quick smoke,” you decide, patting Jeff on the shoulder. “I know how you hate it.”

He gives your hand a light squeeze before you make your way upstairs, hoping to catch John’s eyes, but he avoids yours yet again.

A pleasing blend of harmonies can be heard as you hit the landing. You peek your head around a large assortment of bongos to find Brian strumming a small acoustic on the other side of the store. Roger, Steve, and Lawrence all crammed around, the four of them singing a rendition of Blues Run the Game.

Your heart warms at the sight, remembering the times when you and the boys would sit around a campfire and croon out the same sad tune. Eddie and Rich will be pissed they missed this. Steve notices your presence and silently ticks his head for you to come join. You hold up your pack of Marlborough’s in response to him before finally slipping out the front, trying your best to not jingle the adorned bells too much.

A cool breeze promptly passes through the knit of your sweater. It’s late September, and New York has begun to really cool off. You pull down the sleeves to cover your hands as you light your cigarette, wincing a bit on the first inhale. It was a leftover habit from your college days- scarcely used, only in social situations, or to get out of awkward ones.

Taking in the familiar street, you can’t help but giggle at the day you were having. To be showing Queen around your old hangout still felt absurd. No matter how genuinely they seemed to like the company of your band, you couldn’t fathom them wanting to spend the day with you all. Weren’t there bigger and better musicians in this city to be hanging out with?

The sound of a lighter flicking to life comes from your left, and you turn. John leans against the faded wall as he takes a drag, his eyes trained on the dirty sidewalk.

“I’m sorry, i- if I offended you with my comment about your mother,” he professes quietly.

Your brows shoot up in confusion. “What?”

“We have a friend whose father is deaf. A lovely man. I shouldn’t have been so insensitive.” He sighs, finally turning to face you. “It’s just that the memory of hearing your voice for the first time isn’t something one can easily shake. I mean that in a way that- it’s just a shame really. For her to not be able to share in it when it’s something so...” he looks as if he’s racking his brain for an appropriate word. “Well, singular.”

You suck in a breath at his words. In all your years, you had never gotten that as a response to your mother’s disability. It was mostly a polite, “Oh, really? I’m so sorry to hear that.” His honesty and consideration for your feelings knock the present hum of your body up to 100.

You flinch as gentle burning hits your fingers, and you look down at your forgotten cigarette, quickly flicking it to the ground before crushing it under your heel. John shifts his weight from side to side, never taking his eyes off of you while he waits for you to collect your thoughts.

“I write out my lyrics for her so she can read them as poems,” you state simply, smiling up at him. “Sometimes she makes up her own melodies and sings them around the house. It’s not the easiest on the ears, but she’s pretty inventive.” His eyes crinkle as he returns your grin - his first genuine one of the day.

“So she’s heard music before?”

“Oh yeah. She has nerve deafness, which didn’t start till her late twenties. She actually spent a lot of time around here when she was younger. Bitter End and The Gaslight are just a few blocks away.”

He hums lightly as he stares at you- like you’re a puzzle whose pieces are just beginning to fit together.

“Can you teach me something in sign language?”

Once again, your brows shoot up, shocked by his response. You blink a few times, trying to think of what to say. Going with the only thing that pops to mind, you sign out a phrase as he watches your hands intently.

“And what does that mean?”

You smirk, “You are a cheesy cow.”

“I’m sorry?” he laughs out.

You repeat it back slowly while signing along. “You. Are. A. Cheesy. Cow. It’s the first thing my mother taught me how to sign.”

He runs his hand over his jaw as he chuckles. “Rich was right. A hoot she must be.”

“I’m pretty shit, to be honest, and she read lips, so it’s mostly used for snide comments during extended family gatherings.”

You watch as he puts out his cigarette and carefully takes a step closer to you. “I’m assuming your colourful vocabulary extends to those instances as well.”

“Right you are.”

“Freddie will love that,” he snickers. “He always seems to collect vulgarities in other languages wherever we go.”

Your attention is torn away as a sleek black car rolls up to a stop at the curb. It’s out of place in the middle of the street filled with old and worn buildings, which can similarly describe the people who mill about.

“Speak of the Queen herself,” you laugh as a sunglass-clad Freddie steps onto the sidewalk.

“Oh, isn’t this quaint!” he exclaims, peering into the shop window. He straightens as he turns to you, hands-on-hips.

“Deacy. Thumper. Are we fans of freezing our tits off, or shall we go inside?”

You give John a small smile and push yourself off the wall, making your way over to Freddie, who immediately pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. The bells against the door ring out as you all enter the shop.

“Ah, Deacy,” Brian pokes his head out from one of the narrow aisles, still in a constant crouch to avoid the instruments above his head. “I was looking for you. Found these adorable teeny guitars I thought might be good to bring back for the kids. What do you think?”

“Kids?” you mumble to yourself as John makes his way over to inspect them.

“Brian has two, and John’s already up to 3. Maybe we should’ve nicknamed him Bunny.” Freddie laughs, nudging your arm. “You know… fucking like rabbits,” he expands due to your lack of chuckling.

He leans into your field of vision as he studies your statue-like expression, eyebrows knit in confusion. His eyes take in your ashen face and your lifeless expression. You weren’t even sure if you were breathing. When you lock your eyes with his, you know he understands from the sheer size of how big they become. He straightens up, glancing around quickly as if looking for something to put out a fire.

“Freddie!” Steven dances over, clicking a pair of castanets in his hands. “I wanted to show you thi-”

“So sorry, love, we can’t. Y/N promised to come to a fitting with me, and we’re already late," he announces loudly, pulling you by the arm and out the door before anyone can react.

- - - - - - -

You blankly stare at your reflection in the long mirror. Freddie had instructed his stylist to pull some outfits for you to parade around in as he tried on a bevy of metallic coats.

“You’re an idiot,” you tell the girl staring back at you.

Freddie sashays over, a shag jacket swaying with him as he places his hands on your shoulders, surveying the strappy dress you were currently squeezed into.

“Oh yes, this will do for the after-party,” he instructs.

“I’m not going.”

He heaves a deep sigh. “Darling, you already refused the ticket I got you for the show. You’re coming to the party,” he declares, turning away to look at more options.

“This isn’t really me…” you mumble, gesturing to the dress.

He regards you with a small smile. “Exactly. I say this with love, but you need a look, Y/N. Something that makes you feel unstoppable,” he gestures to his body as he twirls towards you. “Don’t you want to shock them?”

You chew your lip as you ponder that sentiment. Dawn usually just shoved you into whatever ensemble she had picked for you - leather jackets, monochromatic sets, tight jumpsuits. She kept hoping you’d find a style you fancied, but you had yet to find anything remotely likable under the lights of the stage.

“To be honest, I just want to be able to feel comfortable out there," you sigh. "But I can’t strut around in flashy outfits or conduct a whole crowd like you do." Huffing as you collapse onto one of the white couches around you. He perches beside you, throwing an arm around the back of the sofa.

“Then don’t,” he says simply.

You snort a response as you cross your arms over your chest.

“I’m sure you’ve heard this before, but have you tried showing them a bit more of yourself?”

“I can’t do that.”

He turns to you now, grabbing your attention with his eyes.

“And why not?” he questions.

You gaze down at your hands, which you’re now wringing together in your lap. “What if it’s nothing spectacular?” you whisper out the criticism that you'd drilled into your mind for the past year.

Freddie laughs lightly as he stands. “Let’s not start lying to ourselves, shall we?” He moves in front of you and kneels, now at eye level, making so you can’t look away.

“Sometimes people go to a concert for an escape. A big bloody show with dazzling lights and petite men galavanting around a stage in spandex tights,” he smiles.

“But most of the time they just want to find a piece of themselves in it, don’t they? Commonality. They want to hear you, see you, and feel just a little less alone than we all know we are. I saw just a slice of it at your concert, and it was indeed something spectacular. So take that as you will.”

You’re not one to cry much, but your eyes soften as you take in the icon of a man in front of you. A man loved by millions, who was currently filling in as your personal rock n’ roll fairy godmother.

“You’re a fantastic person, you know that?” you tell him genuinely.

“Yes,” he quips as he gets to his feet. “Now, are we done scurrying around the real problem at hand?”

You sigh as you look away, firmly willing yourself not to break the dam of bottled emotions threatening to spill out. Why couldn't you just feel numb? It would be better than the wave of childish self-pity you found yourself in.

Freddie huffs at your reaction. “Oh, you brat. Sorry to tell you, but you’re an open book, my dear. And not one of those big pompous things Brian reads. A bloody children’s book. One filled with pictures.”

You're sure you’ve now bitten through the entire top layer of your lip as you contemplate how to even begin.

“I’m an idiot,” you shrug to yourself yet again.

“No,” he points a finger at you. “You’re decidedly not. Though I am curious as to how someone who’s as big of a fan as your friends say you are, missed out on that detail.”

“I’m not sure either. I mean, I listen to your albums and go to your show, but I guess I didn’t pour over the tabloids or press interviews or anything like that.”

Freddie nods along as he sifts through another rack of jackets, choosing an incredibly tight white leather number.

“I assumed you knew,” he answers while glancing at his reflection. “And I would say Deacy should know better, but he’s not quite himself at the moment.”

“What do you mean?” you press, suddenly much more interested in the conversation.

He turns to you, palms up in explanation. “It’s not that he wouldn’t normally be charmed by your shy presence and occasionally crass mouth… But I’m a bit worried he’s finding comfort in your smiles for the wrong reasons.”

“Huh?”

Sighing heavily as if debating if he should keep skirting around his words, he holds your gaze. “An impending divorce is crippling lonely, even if it is somewhat amicable.”

His mouth is brought into a pout as you suck in a sharp breath.

Divorce. All your previous interactions play through your head from a different angle. Pity sneaks up on you as you remember John’s advice he’d given you. The concept of home is a funny thing. You scoff out loud at how your childlike crush had skewed your interpretation of your relationship with the man.

“I’m usually the one singing his praises,” Freddie muses, breaking you out of your inner monologue of resentment towards yourself. “But he seems more lost than usual at the moment.”

He gently lifts your chin. “I don’t normally meddle in- well, actually I do. Just don’t want to see you get hurt, Bunny. Not when the world is soon to be at your feet.”

"I'm fine," you lie, gently brush away his gesture. "I barely even know the guy. I was just shocked to have my silly fascination with him interrupted. Stupid, really."

"Don't do that," he exhales. "Don't put it on yourself. You'd have to be blind to ignore the fact that he's quite taken with you."

"I'm fine," you repeat, making your way into the back to change out of the ridiculous dress that suddenly felt even tighter now.

Shutting the door slowly, you let out a deep breath. It's all good, you tell yourself. Of course you got caught up in the attention of a world-renown musician. Who wouldn't? It's nothing special. As Freddie said, he's not even acting like himself. Although you were indeed in true form- getting caught up by the slightest of interactions. Unconsciously playing them as a loop in your head. You can't help but cringe at your own escalation of the situation.

Squaring your shoulders, you take in the image of yourself in the dress again. Perhaps it was time for you to shock them all.

- - - - - - -

“And so my grandfather goes out to the alley and sees her just wailing on this scrawny man. I mean, really going to town. So he pulls her off him, and the dude’s got a black eye and a bloody nose. And he’s like, “Thanks mate, thought she was gonna kill me there.”

Roger ruffles your hair in response to your poor attempt at a British accent. The group of cast and crew around you chuckle at the gesture.

You had decided that if you were going to be forcibly dragged to this after-party by your bandmates, you would at least aim to make it worthwhile. A debut of your new mentality. One where you weren't just acting the part of a rising rock star, but living it.

Which is why at the moment, you found yourself the center of attention, surrounded by the cast and crew of SNL laughing along to your amusing story. But this was all hinged on you carefully, avoiding the presence of John Deacon at all costs. Which, in reality, wasn't very hard to do- you had yet to see him since arriving an hour ago.

“Oh my god, who was it?!” the young cast member beside you presses. You think her name is Julia, but the sheer amount of people you'd been introduced to was dizzying.

"That's exactly what we asked him when he told us. All he said was that it was some man with big lips who was in a fur coat and looked like he hadn't eaten in a month..."

The cam op across from you gasps, "It was MICK JAGGER? God bless your grandfather, I would've wept if she murdered him."

"So would my mom AND grandmother," you laugh. "Give us each a glass of wine, and it's basically a Mick fan club."

"Who else?" Brian taps your leg, surprisingly urging you to divulge more gossip.

You can't help but smirk as the group leans forward intently.

"Robin Williams?" you tease as their eyebrows all raise.

"Horrible tipper, but he makes up for it by performing dirty puppet shows with the napkins."

"Sounds about right," funnyman Brad Hall confirms, offering you another drink.

You politely decline, determined to keep your wits about you this evening. "I'm gonna go grab some water. Anyone want anything?"

The group shakes their heads, but Lawrence jumps up to join you on your trek to the crowded bar.

"Wouldn't it be insane if this was us one day?" he exclaims as you weave your way through the mass of bodies littering the Capitol Grill.

You smile up at him, "Dream big, buddy."

"Oh, I intend to," he confirms you as you spot Eddie and Rich waving you over from a spot at the bar.

Rich promptly wraps his arm around your shoulders as you join them. He always had a stoic way of letting you know he saw through the cracks in your poorly constructed armor. Taking the role of a caring older brother, more so than your own.

"Have we lost Steve again?" Lawrence asks the group.

Eddie nods across the room. "He's exactly where you think he'd be," he scoffs as you catch a glimpse of Steve, trailing Freddie like a lost puppy.

"Um, excuse me?" a short girl mumbles from behind Eddies' denim-clad shoulder. He turns, glancing down.

"Hiya," he regards her casually, causing her a deep blush to creep across her cheeks. She shoves a napkin and pen at him.

"C-could I get an autograph? Please?"

Eddie smirks at her flustered appearance, making sure to brush her fingers as he grabs the items out of her trembling hand.

"And what beautiful name should I be making this out to?"

She lets out a jarring high pitched giggle as she stumbles over her words. "Oh, uh, Shelley."

"Well, here ya go, Shelley," he hands the napkin back to her, now adorned with his messy scrawl. "Maybe I'll see you later."

She squeaks as she hurries back to her shrieking friends who are huddled conspicuously off to the side.

"Gross," you state. "She's a child. Probably one of the executive's kids."

He rolls his eyes dramatically. "Gotta keep em' interested, Bun. As the heartthrob of the group, it's my sworn duty."

"Slow your roll there, Rob Lowe," Rich interjects. "I think Y/N's giving you a run for your money in this dress."

You glance down at the Freddie approved ensemble. It was eye-catching for sure, precisely what you were going for. It's black suede straps crisscrossed strategically against your body, giving peaks of the skin underneath.

"It looks good, Bun," Rich assures you.

“Guys,” you all turn your attention to Steve, who has just joined the circle clumsily. His pupils are blown wide from his current blood alcohol content, and he sways slightly on his heels.

"I- I have something to say," he announces to the group, getting your attention. You all wait patiently as he hesitates, clearing his throat twice before lowering his voice. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m gay.”

You glance around to the other boys whose expressions mirror your own warm smile. You’d all known Steve was gay since high school, not that any of you had talked about it. You had just assumed it was something unspoken. That he’d tell you whenever he was ready or met someone good enough to introduce to you all.

Steve gapes at your expressions. "Where is the shock? I was expecting shock and awe, people!"

"Steve, please don’t take this the wrong way. But I’m assuming we’ve all known for a while," Rich says gently. You all nod lightly in agreement.

"How?"

"Do you remember the types of girls who used to throw themselves at you? Like Becky Whale? Man, I would’ve killed for Becky Whale to throw something at me. But you never took them up on it," Lawrence elaborates.

Steve smiles around at all of you, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

“I had a crush on Eddie in high school,” he confesses.

Eddie pumps his fist lightly. “Fuck yeah.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Lawrence exclaims. “You just had to boost that ego, didn’t ya? I know pretty boys are great and all, but I’m the one with the big soft cuddles. People love big soft cuddles!”

Rich expands his arms as he brings you all in for a hug.

You kiss Steve gently on the cheek. “I’m proud of you, bud,” you whisper.

"Thank you guys, I just felt like it was time. And now that that's out of the way," Steve grunts as you all untangle yourselves. “I’m gonna go find Freddie. He said he’s taking me out to a club after this!”

He skips away with a grin, back towards Freddie, who catches your eye with a knowing smile and winks. It seems you weren’t the only band member who had found a fairy godmother in Mr. Mercury.

You all lightly laugh affectionately at your friend until Eddie and Lawrence wander off to scope out the food situation. You lean against the bar next to Rich, glancing around at the loud laughter erupting from the outgoing crowd. One person noticeably sticks out. A sullen John Deacon sits at the end of the bar, hunched over what looks like a glass of whiskey.

"Looks like he's in need of a friend," Rich surmises.

You tear your eyes away from the sorry sight to look at him. "They're around here somewhere," you shrug.

He rubs your arms up and down lightly before slinking into the crowd, knowingly leaving you alone.

You sneak a peek over at John. He runs one hand through his curls as the other absentmindedly stirs the straw of his sweating drink. You watch him sigh, bringing the glass to his lips and gulping down the spirit without so much as a wince.

Hesitantly making your way over to him, you rub your clammy hands over the expensive material of your dress. This is the opposite of avoidance, you scold yourself, silently willing your feet to change direction. But your willpower has seemingly left the building.

You carefully perch yourself on the stool next to his, as not to disturb his brooding. He glances over quickly, doing a double-take when he realizes who it is.

"Oh, hello there," he greets you with a small smile. "I didn't know you had arrived."

You nod your head lightly. "How could you? It seems you set up camp over here."

"Ah, yes," he breathes, straightening his posture. "Wasn't our best tonight, I'm afraid. Not much to celebrate."

You take a sip of your water as you continue to nod silently.

"Actually," he begins, angling his body towards yours, almost slipping off his stool as you notice his apparent intoxication. "I was thinking about that conversation we had. When I met your spritely grandfather."

"Oh?" you question. Keeping your face neutral even though your heart was already buzzing at the fact.

"Yes. Mostly about how naive I was—all that bloody nonsense about finding a home. Do me a favor and never take my advice, will you? You'll end up completely wrecking yours."

This was a bad idea.

"It's just- you draw these lines for yourself in the sand," he drawls, waving his hands about in front of him. "A stupid phrase, really. Where did it even come from?"

"The Bible," you tell him quietly.

He lets out a big sigh, rolling his head back to stare at the ceiling.

"Well, it's gotten it wrong before, hasn't it?"

You simply hum an acknowledgment, too scared to probe for fear of where this was going.

"Anyway, you draw these lines. Moral, physical, promises you make to yourself, things you swear you’d never do, dreams to accomplish," he lists out. "But sand moves about, dunnit? It blows all over the place. Makes a mess. Gets in your sandwich. And those lines blur. Or fade away. And all of a sudden, you've crossed them without even knowing! Broken those promises. Skipped right over those dreams."

He's too far gone in his rant to register the growing panic sweeping across your features.

"You were right. Sometimes you look in the mirror, and it's just a complete stranger staring back at you, isn't it?"

Trying to keep your breathing steady, you stare at the crumbling man before you. He runs his large hands along his face before ducking back into his former position, signaling for the bartender to bring him another drink.

This is precisely why you should've stuck to your original plan. What were you supposed to say to the man who was so obviously hurting from his failed marriage? So much so that it was pouring out of him. You know that if it weren't for the alcohol, he wouldn't be confiding any of this to you.

But there was a reason the boys called you the mom of the group, and it wasn't because you were the only female. You feel a pang of need to comfort him. You gaze at him, not with pity, but an overwhelming sense of empathy for the man and make up your mind.

You clear your throat to answer, brushing away your own warnings about how it would only sink you deeper into your fascination with him.

"I was wrong, actually," you start as he brings his head up to look at you. "And you know what phrase I hate? That people don't change."

He furrows his brow but remains silent as you continue.

"Maybe we're not made up of lines in the sand. Maybe we're the wind?" You try not to cringe at yourself and your poor use of metaphor. "And winds sometimes blow in different directions... but that's okay because it's where life is supposed to take them." Falling silent, you decide to quit while you’re ahead.

You're not ahead. You're not even out of the gate. What the fuck was that?

A slow smile inches onto his face as he holds your stare. "How did you get so wise for someone your age," he teases.

"And what age would that be?"

His mouth opens and closes as he studies your face. "Twenty?"

"Mm, close. Twenty-four."

"Really?" he ponders. "Freddie mentioned you dropped out of university."

"Ah, yes. The university I could only go to after working to afford it," you explain.

He continues to stare, the look in his eyes shifting slightly as he takes you in. A look that matches the color and intensity of uncharted, open water. You need to get out of here.

"Well, that explains your extraordinary use of analogy then."

Dragging your eyes off of his, you glance around at the party you were missing. Gladly missing, unfortunately.

"I should go check on Steve. He's having a bit of a night," you tell him as you stand. "Try not to drown yourself in those," gesturing to the new glass of whiskey in front of him.

"How can I drown myself? I thought I was the wind," he points out with a grin.

Before any more banter can ensue, you simply smile and make your way back to your friends. Thinking to yourself that maybe lines in the sand weren't so bad. And that perhaps it was time for you to start drawing some of your own.

#john deacon #john deacon fic #john deacon imagine #john deacon x reader #angelofmydreams

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