#for the record this can also be the night they bang in a closet

[keij0h]

⌗ BAD IDEA, RIGHT? ┆ the8

After finding out about your cheating boyfriend, your pettiness leads you to ask another one of your exes for a favor. The ex in question: Minghao.

CAUTION : profanities. college au. ex!minghao. afab reader. a bit suggestive. cheating. (Minghao’s not involved with it.)

tap to listen !

No way. No fucking way.

Phone in hand, you stared intently at the pile of screenshots you just opened, trying your hardest to not pop a vessel and break every single thing near you as you stormed down the dorm halls.

It was a known rule to not leave your dorms once 10 pm strikes, yet that wasn’t refraining you from banging on a certain door, evidence right in your hand that apparently, your boyfriend has been sleeping around, and was stupid enough to post pictures of him doing it. So you figured that was worth being caught and suspended for, if it meant you could strangle him.

“it’s not as bad as you think, if you could just—“

“I don’t wanna fucking hear it.” you snarled, pushing past him as you stormed inside his dorm, barging his closet open, gathering a few of your clothes that you left in his dorm.

“Should’ve left you when that goddamn counselor told me to.” you muttered, shoving the pieces of clothing into a pile, simultaneously knocking a few of his things as you could hear his retorts from behind.

It wasn’t all the time that you felt rage like this. It just so happens that you managed to get so unlucky that your fate lands on a total douche, and you just refuse to muster up the fact that you endured a whole year with someone like him.

So when you finally slam his door closed, you’ve solemnly swear to not look back. But of course, you also weren’t leaving without a proper comeback.

And what better way to do that than to ask another person you’ve dated for assistance.

You had no idea what came to you that night, but you just found yourself back in the men’s dormitory, face to face with the “easiest” person you can reach out of everyone you’ve ever dated. Xu Minghao. At least, that’s what you thought.

“So, what do you say?” you hummed, still catching your breath with the amount of explaining you just said.

But even after all that, you were still met with that all too familiar, bitter: “No.”

The remaining hope you had on your face suddenly faltered, now replaced with a stoic glare. “I thought you said you’d be there for me even if we’re through? Huh? What happened to that?”

Minghao huffed, letting his shoulders slightly slump down as you recalled the same exact words he said two years ago when you broke up.

It was rather a weird way to remember, especially now that you’ve presented him your plan. The plan being simple: the same thing your (now ex) boyfriend did, make out, take pictures of it happening, and spread it around campus, then boom. Done.

“This is quite far from what I meant.” he pointed out, never breaking eye contact with your dejected state.

You could only click your tongue at this, not having a clue that this would be harder than you pictured it to be. “How the hell am I supposed to know what you meant? It’s not like you specified anything..”

For the record, he never did mentioned anything against something like this when he made the vow. But shit, it wasn’t like Minghao expected you to remember his words so easily, let alone recite it right in his face.

“Don’t even start acting like you don’t want this—“

“I really don’t.” he interferes, watching as the frown on your lips suddenly turns upwards as you tilt your head to the side.

“Oh, really?” you spurred, folding your arms to your chest. “Well, rumor has it..” you trail off, lowering your voice as you slightly lean towards him, enough to hear you mumble. “..you haven’t moved on from me.”

Truth be told, you weren’t so certain that it is a rumor, as you’ve only heard it from one of Minghao’s friends: who all still tend to tease him about you despite already calling it quits. Though he never seemed to have much of a response to it, which sucked to you.

He scoffs, rubbing a hand on his temple. “Did Jun tell you that?”

“Would it bother you if I said yes?”

“Then he’s full of shit.” he nods, smirking as he sees your expression shift back to a frown.

“Look, if you came here to just pester me and use my own words against me, then you’re free to go.” he shifts, pushing the door to close it on you, but failed as you slipped a foot right in the crack of it.

“Hate to say it, but this would’ve been so much easier if you would just agree.” you coo sarcastically, clasping both of your hands together. “You wouldn't even realize this ever happened, I swear.”

Minghao looks at you as you said that, this time, actually considering. It’s not like you want to make out with him, it’s just a petty little move to get back on your ex. Right? Whatever it was, it suddenly made him shiver.

With one final sigh, he spoke. “Three minutes. And that’s it. Clear?”

“Crystal.” you furiously nodded, letting yourself in before he could even do that himself.

Oh, boy.

“What are you even..” you sigh out loud. Not even a minute in, you were already having complications on making it seem.. real.

You were now situated on his lap, while he sat up with his back on the headboard. You tried your best to ignore the awkward tension, knowingly convinced yourself that it’ll all be worth it. It just had to be

As for Hao.. he just didn’t know where to put his hands.

“Can’t you make it more natural?” you scolded, grabbing a hold of both of his arms.

“Don’t expect me to be good at this, it’s been a while since I’ve touched you like this for fucks sake..” he argued, mumbling the last part as he looked down to his arms. All the while, your stomach churned at what he said, blinking away to stop yourself from thinking further.

“Just- just do it the way you normally did..” you sigh, now feeling his arms wrap around your figure, simultaneously feeling the tips of your ears heat up.

“This alright?” he muttered huskily, looking up at you. You heaved a breath, briefly staring right into him before nodding. “Mhm. It’s fine.”

The way his dorm room smelt, how warm he felt, it was all familiar, and you’d be caught dead if you said it didn’t calm you down. You struggled to reach for your phone beside you as you attempted to angle it down to a natural level. It was mostly focused on Minghao, while your face was a bit hidden, but enough to recognize who it was.

You cleared your throat, signaling that you should, well, start. You took a moment to observe him more, eyes gazing from his cheeks to his lips, until he pulled you out of your trance.

“Hey,” he called out. “Time’s ticking.”

Shit, right.

Your free hand found its way to the back of his neck, finally pressing your lips against his. You felt that certain shockwave as soon as you felt him kissing back, hand trailing through your cheek as you blindly snapped the pictures in your shaking hands.

“Hao, wait–”

You gasped into his mouth, Minghao purposely swatting your phone away, letting it fall somewhere on the bed.

You could feel your throat beating as he pulled you further to deepen the kiss, his plump lips moving so rhythmically with yours. You’ve missed this, more than you’ll ever admit. He’s always been such a skilled kisser, and you never understood that. All you knew was it felt too good, the sensation alone enough to drive you crazy.

A shiver ran up your spine as you felt his hand slip under your cotton shirt, gently caressing the soft skin of your back, accidentally letting out a hitched moan through the kiss, lighting a surge of pride on Minghao as his lips twitched into a smirk.

The three minutes you both agreed on was already over, yet he kept his grip firm, refusing to let go just yet.

Just as his hands reached the hem of your shirt, the loud tone of your phone going off filled your senses, making you abruptly pull away from Minghao, breathless as you got off his lap, hastily fumbling through his sheets in search of your phone.

A hint of panic suddenly washed over you, the contact name of your roommate right on the screen. You looked over your shoulder, catching a glance of Minghao’s slight weary state, not missing the subtle kiss marks you left all over his face as his lips parted, his eyes motioning you to go ahead.

Shaken a bit, you swiped the answer button, placing it right in your ear.

“Hey–”

“Where are you?? You never told me you were going out..” the alarmed tone on your roommate’s voice loomed over you, making you silently hiss.

“I, uh, I fell asleep..” you looked at the Minghao as you said that, causing another smirk from him, mocking your stupid excuse as you glared at him before turning away. “..in the library.”

“Oh, do you need me to get you there, or–

“No!” you exclaimed, sheepishly clearing your throat as you realized how forward it sounded. “Sorry, it's just that.. I'm already on my way back.”

Liar. Minghao thought, softly shaking his head in disbelief, biting back an amused smile.

A breath of relief left your lips as you ended the call, shoving your phone back in the pockets of your sweatpants.

“That wasn't three minutes, by the way.” you remarked plainly, standing up to pat down on your shirt, getting ready to leave.

“You didn't pull away either.” Minghao added in a matter-of-fact tone. All the while you rolled your eyes at him. God, him and his sly remarks, you kinda hoped that he got rid of that trait by now.

“Hey,” he suddenly called out before you could reach the door, cautiously making you look back. “Yeah?”

You watched as he faltered, somehow hesitant to just say it as you waited. With a sigh, he spoke up.

“Would it bother you if I said that Jun was telling the truth?” A slight reference to what you said earlier. The scary part was that he seemed a bit too serious, but anyway, you saw it coming from miles away.

You snorted, shaking your head simultaneously. “I never believed you anyway.”

Honestly, Minghao agrees that your presence can be infuriating at times. Though he can never say that he didn't miss it, and was willing to see more of it. That is, if you'd let him.

Considering that all of this was for some idiotic, and needless to say, petty comeback, you couldn't lie, you'd do it again.

“Goodnight, Hao. I'll see you.”

He chuckles. “Oh, you will.”

a/n : this took so long for what smh. also I'm obsessed with the Guts album rn, so hereee!

[antiyourwokehomophobia2]

Severance is eldritch horror. Dylan meets his son, and, in the blink of an eye, he's back to his outie self and is incapable of coming back at will. Can you imagine that? All you've know your entire life is work. All you know about yourself is what your job is. Then, suddenly, you're aware that you're a father. Your son comes into a closet---your closet, with clothes you've never worn but belong to you. You bought them. You're seeing your style and preferences for the first time. Your son is so happy to see you that he wraps you in a hug. You don't know what his name is. You don't know that you have more children. You don't remember any of them being born. You only know that this boy is your son because he calls you "daddy". And then you're gone. He's gone. You wake up in your office with absolutely no way of going back.

Helly wants to leave. She learns that she's the daughter and heiress to the man/company who is keeping her trapped. Her chance of escaping rests entirely on her outies willingness to let her go. This is never going to happen. Her power rests in the hands of a woman who is her but also not her. She is enslaved to herself. All she has to do is go outside and say "I don't want this anymore" and she will be free! The moment she steps outside, she loses every desire to do that. The person she is when she's outside does not want to do that. She watches a video of herself where she tells herself "you are not [a person]". The person she was when she sat down to record it and the person she was when she watched it are somehow entirely different and entirely the same. She tries to hang herself in order to hurt the version of herself who made that video. I'd like to take a second to talk about the eldritch horror of being an outie, too. Imagine being outie Helly. Imagine walking into work and bring perfectly okay. The next thing you know, you've hung yourself and are actively suffocating. You have no way of saving yourself. Your innie self made sure of that. You are in the process of dying and you don't remember why.

Burt retires from his job. Burt, who has just started to fall in love, is ripped away from the man he loves because of... Well, himself. His outie has decided to retire, and Burt has no choice but to follow him. He is him. Except he's not. Except he is. Except he's not because the man who has decided to retire is married. In Burt's retirement video, his outie states that he's aware that someone is making his innie very happy. He knows that it's another man. That's incredibly scary? Imagine having no memory of the last eight hours but being able to feel the effects that they have on you? Imagine going into work in whatever mood, and then leaving in an elated one and having no concrete idea as to why. Imagine being faithfully married and knowing that there's a part of your day where you don't know that you're married. You have absolutely zero control over whether you cheat on your husband. You do cheat on your husband! You are not aware of his existence while you're living as your innie. You have no clue how devastated you've left the man you're cheating on your husband with. You have no clue why he's banging on your door in the middle of the night. You don't know him. Even without your memories, you can feel how happy he makes you. Your husband is holding you while he bangs on the door.

Mark saves Helly from suicide. He's forced to leave work. If Burt is anything to go by then Mark, the outie, is suddenly extremely distressed and crying while having no idea as to why. He walked into work okay and left with tears on his cheeks. Suddenly, innie mark is at a party. He sees people who he knows but has never met before. He has no idea the woman standing in front of him is his sister. He sees a photo of a woman that all the people in the outside world believe to be dead. He works with this woman. She's alive! He has the power to change the lives of the people outside. He's gone in the flick of a switch. Outie mark doesn't remember shouting "she's alive". He doesn't know why everyone is staring at him funny. He doesn't know that his wife is not dead. He doesn't know that the person he's trying so hard to forget is his co-worker.

Irving. Poor Irving. The man he loves is taken away from him. They will never see each other again. Even if they do, they will not know each other. The man he loves gets to live the rest of his life without the knowledge that he ever even met Irving. Irving has to walk into work every day and mourn the loss of a man who will never come back. This man is not dead. He's just not himself. Except he is. Except he's not. Except he kinda is dead. Without work, your innie is effectively dead. Your innie and outie are two completely different people. Irving used to follow all the rules. Who knew that the heart of a rebel is born from the broken pieces of a good man's? Irving gets a chance to find the man he loves. He finds him embracing another man. This does not deter him. He throws his weight at the door and starts banging on it.

[bakawitch]

i love ghosts i love crime (stories), telll us more! :D

Well, lucky for you, this wip actually contains two separate crime stories! And just in time for Halloween too! XD

Sometimes, when I'm writing random scene ideas, I get a sudden idea surge for a completely separate fic, so I quickly jot those down in the same document before I could forget them. Not the most ideal organising, but it sort of works 🙃

So! Story number 1:

tw: death, cause y'know. ghosts.

Here For The Boos

This one is more ghost than crime, but the other part of this wip is more crime than ghosts. This fic is primarily puzzleshipping (that's a first for me lol) and there's also some tendershipping and eclipse on the side.

Yugi inherits an old rural house in Kyoto from his grandfather after he tragically passed away inside it. Due to having some financial difficulties and running out of options, he has to move into the house, leaving his old life behind. It doesn't take him long to realise that there is something wrong with the house; the light bulbs keep flickering no matter how many times he changes them, doors slide open by themselves, the house always smells like it's burning, he can always see something lingering behind him just out of the corner of his eye, but disappearing as soon as he turns around to get a better look. And there's also banging and screaming coming out of the basement at night, which probably should have been a dead giveaway.

Not having the option of moving out, Yugi decides to investigate. He sets up cameras, capturing a few odd things, scatters around a few religious symbols, discovering that they all rust away or get destroyed under a single night and he also locates a mysterious black spot behind a closet where the smell of smoke is the strongest.

Leaving the basement for last, Yugi ventures in at night when he knows the noises would be loudest. After waiting in silence for awhile he gets jumped by a black shadow which seems really keen on clawing him to bits, but just before Yugi's arms would give out he gets pulled out from under the shadow and of the basement by a mysterious force.

After this experience, Yugi does some research about the house and comes across Mura (Yami Malik), a self-proclaimed medium, by chance who offers to help Yugi hold a séance. Yugi invites two of the friends he's made in Kyoto, Malik and Ryou, and the four of them hold a seance in the room with the burn mark.

Throughout the event they discover that the house is inhabited by two spirits, an investigator and a thief. Due to some strange interference in the house Mura can't invite either of the spirits to possess him, but they do manage to communicate with the investigator through knocks. They manage to find out that it was the investigator that saved Yugi from the basement and that both him and the thief died in the house fire that was started by the thief as far as he knows, but he doesn’t remember his death very clearly.

Yugi does more historical research and he finds two names that seem to have stopped making appearances in records at the same time. Rurikawa Yami the son of the local lord who was a high ranking officer and a local bandit that went by the name of Touzokou. Yugi takes the risk and tries to contact Yami by himself with more information about his past in hopes of figuring out what truly happened in the house all those decades ago.

This is where the story is now (albeit in bits and missing chapters).

Onto story number 2:

Cat And Mouse

tw again: murder, death

So this one is a messed up little clashshipping crime au fic where the killer and the detective are both equally aware of who the other is and they meet up and stuff, they just don't say that they know what the others intentions are.

Malak Ishtar (Yami Malik) is a morally dubious homicide detective who works in Domino, but it's been awhile since he's taken an interest in a case. That was until a serial killer made his entrance into the crime scene. One so brutal and sadistic that it immediately made Malak want to catch them himself. The press dubbed them the Puzzle Killer, after the puzzling states his crime scenes has been discovered, almost appearing like the aftermath of a twisted game session.

While tailing one of the suspects, Malak bumps into an intriguing man who surprisingly holds many of the same ideologies as he does. After introducing themselves Malak finds out that the stranger is Dr Yami Muto, a rather esteemed psychiatrist in the business. They have a long chat, but after they part ways so Malak can keep following his mark, he finds the suspect brutally slain in a public bathroom. More puzzled than ever, Malak starts to put together all the odd things Yami said and grows suspicious of him.

Without any proof, he decides to pursue Yami as a suspect in his own time under the guise of friendly get-togethers, which slowly evolve into something more.

And this one, I actually have a quick excerpt for:

He looks back at Yami only briefly, noticing the strikingly calm demeanour that was radiating of him. "What's your doctor profession? Surgery? Pediatrics?", inquiries continued on for the other, deciding to take a seat on the subway seat. "You either must have a lot of patience or you must be enjoying yourself."

It's a half witted joke on Malak's part, something to ease the conversation rather than the intensifying atmisohere.

"Psychiatry, actually. But I can't say you're wrong about the last part." He smiles back at Malak, laughing a little, never actually clarifying which statement the other man was right about.

"If you think about it, this is a bit like an impromptu social experiment." The doctor explains, motioning around the wagon with an open hand with a certain eagerness in his movements. "All these people from different demographics trapped in a small enclosed space for an undetermined amount of time with possibly limited resources isn't something you'd get to observe every day."

[kaizo-files]

Brown's Family Demon.

Case #001

Part 2

The Investigation

As night approaches,I prepared everything for the investigation while Brown's family stay on their Motel. Knowing that this might be a dangerous investigation, I contacted my friend to help me on the investigation. Just as we about to start,...

*Bang*

An unexplainable loud bang can be heard upstairs right inside Annie's room. With no time to waste, we quickly start the investigation on her room. We conduct an EVP session. We asked few questions and wait for the answers. Here is our dialogue.

"Is there anyone in here?",asked me.

.....

"Is there something malevolent in this house?",asked Ken,a friend of mine who helped me in this investigation.

.....

"Is there someone here that you want to harm? If there is, who is it?",asked Sarah,who is also a friend of mine.

.....

*Doors slams*

"Was that you that slammed the door?",I asked.

.....

With the asking questions is over,time to listen back on our recording.

For the first question I asked if there is something/someone here, the answer I get is:

"Yes...",a deep voice says yes.

Ken asked if there is something malevolent terrorizing inside the house. The answer he gets:

"Why...asked...if you know...the answer".

That response just sent a chill to our body. Now we know that this is not an ordinary spirit but a demonic one. Sarah asked if there is someone inside the house that the demon want to harm. Here is what we captured:

"Her..."

In that moment we confused. Who was the person that it mentioned. We thought that it might be Emma but I think it probably want to harm Annie as the girl is being attacked physically before.

As we reviewed back the last recording,we heard some footsteps coming at downstairs. Knowing the activity is becoming more active,we conduct a session known as Estes Method.

Ps: Estes Method is a way where one person is blindfolded while wearing headsets that were connected on a spirit box. The person will completely blind a d only hear everything they hear on the spirit box. While the other person will asking question. Spirits will answer the question by the person who is blindfolded. This method is always get used by Sam And Colby. Estes Method is more effective when doing it on a rocking chair.

So Sarah is be the one that will be blindfolded while Ken and me will asking questions for the demon. We know that Estes Method is more effective when using it on a rocking chair,so we use a rocking chair on Annie's room and started the session.

"Are you a demon that terrorizing people that lived here?", I asked.

"Yes...I am...",Sarah replied. It means the thing that we were facing here is demon.

"Who is she? The person you mentioned by 'her', was it Annie the little girl?",Ken asked.

Sarah is shocked by what she heard. She find it really creepy. "I just heard a deep laugh...it says...You...have...find...out".

Ken and I started to stare each other with shocked face as the demon answer clearly says that we have find out it's meaning. This possibly meaning Annie is in danger.

"What the fuck?!", Ken is shocked as he saw a dark shadow figure passing outside Annie's room. "Dude. I swear I just saw a dark shadow figure passing outside this room". From Ken's face I know that he really does saw something.

"Did you captured it on camera?",I asked. He nodded meaning he captured it.

"Stop...",Sarah speaks.

"Stopped what? Was that you that Ken saw outside?", I asked.

All of sudden Sarah jumps and quickly take off the blindfold and the headsets. "Oh my god. Oh my god",she scream.

"What is wrong?",Ken asked.

Sarah then explained what she heard. She said that she heard a growl and some voice told her to get out. This is a shocking evidence we got so far. Just as we about to continue it, my emf reader shows some high spikes while I pointed it at the closets. This is not normal. Mostly it will spikes to green but this time it turns to red. We immediately get out of the room as we begin to feel our head spinning.

The investigation was about to get more violent as I get a phone call from Simon Brown.

"Kaizo! Help us!",he said in panicked.

"Mr. Brown what happened?",I asked him.

"Annie. She got crazy and starts harming people. I...I think...the demon possessed her!", he screams.

Continue again in part 3

[wooyoungwitchcakle]

The Big League

You’re Y/N L/N. Aka Big Sug, the front person of your 5 person group. You guys shot to stardom by uploading some of your original self produced songs on YouTube, which then caught the eye of a major big named artist. But as of right now, instead of laying tracks and recording for your 6th album, you are doing a live on TikTok conversing with fans/ doing your makeup.

“So user @mymonkeyballs is asking if any of the members are single. OOO yes! If you know any nice ladies that love a sassy man send them our way thanks!” Then your brother/ manger Xiuan L/N storms in and takes your phone, “Alright Sug your live is over.” You put down your eyebrow pencil and pout. “But Xi I wasn’t even done!” He gives you the side eye and locks your phone. Knowing Xi, he was waiting for the opportunity to bust in and ruin it anyway.

 “Did you even read half the comments people were saying on there? They keep asking if you’re a boy or a girl.” He says while messing with your wigs in your walk in closet. “I as starting to get mad so be glad I ended it instead of cussing people out.” You huff, lean back in your desk chair and cross your arms over your chest. “They only say that cause I’m flat chested. If you and artist would let me take time off to get a BBL, the questions would stop.” Xi *tsks* and tries on your 70 inch red wig. “Xi are you even listening?” “I was.” You turn to the door and see one half of the twin duo, Dae-hyun, standing up against the frame. “How.. how.. You know what? Forget it. As a matter of fact, take Mr. Minaj with you!” Xi then turns around, now wearing sunglasses and a pair of your highest heels. “I was aiming for Cardi B!” “I don’t care! OUT!” Dae-hyun takes your wig off of Xi and leads him out by his collar.

  Later on that night, you have a meeting with your producer, who has a big announcement. “Hey Hey!” He says watching you all file in. As a 5 person group, it can be hard getting along and making sure the personalities mesh well and so everybody’s talents can shine. But since all of you basically grew up together, you know how to mix and mesh, and also able to step back so other members can shine. “So what’s the news? I’m missing my shows for this,” the other half of the twin duo, Dae-seong, whined. “I had 3 new episodes coming on tonight!” Your producer pats him on that back and apologizes for interrupting his shows. “So you know how you guys wanted to collab with someone who’s pretty popular in South Korea? We got a very hot group called ATEEZ to put out a mini album with you guys.” Dae-hyun actually starts screaming and jumping as soon as he hears ATEEZ. “YES! MY PRAYERS WERE ANSWERED!” You and Xi turn and look at him. “Why are you so excited?” Dae-hyun, who has had a small smile the whole time, starts smirking.”I get a free trip to my homeland on the company's dime. And I get to see the guy who I’ve been carrying in League for the past 4 years.” Ah, now you get it. He’s killing several birds with one stone. Right as Xi was about to get on Dae-hyun for being selfish, your producer cuts him off. “Oh! I called you guys in here so we can meet on video before a face to face meeting. You know, intros and all that.” Xi then nods and puts his manager hat on. “Alright everyone listen up! This could potentially lead to our first #1 hit in South Korea. So please make a good impression and be on your best behavior. Now line up so I can check everyone out.”

  Pretty soon you, Xi, Dae-seong, Dae-hyun, Blayze (the last and quietest member), and your producer were sitting in front of a big TV. You and Dae-hyun turned to each other, straightening hair and clothing so you don’t look too disheveled. “How’s my skin?” You ask, moving your hair out of your face and behind your ear. “Glowing, sparking, beautiful and gorgeous! Your caramel skin is cramelling.” You frown at that. “Don't ever say that again.” “Noted. So how do I look?” You look at him for a second, then fix his front bangs and his eyebrows. “Ethereal. Wonderful. Beautiful. I’m loving the tan you got when you went to California.” He grins and then moves back to his seat. “I know I just wanted to hear it again.” Xi’s quiet murmuring to himself is stopped when you see a video call coming through. He mentions for everyone to stand up as the call is connecting. As soon as it does you see 8 Korean men, with various eye popping hair colors come on the screen “8 makes 1 team! Hello, we are ATEEZ!” They say after bowing. At the count of three, you and the other four members bow and then take turns introducing yourself. “Hello I’m the manager, guitarist and leader Xiuan L/N. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

“Hello! I’m the bassist and best looking member Dae-hyun Lee! Just call me DK!” He throws a peace sign, but the can hear him yelp off camera. Dae-seong sighs.

“Hello, I’m the other guitarist and the other half to Dae-hyun, Dae-seong Lee. Just call me DT.” He bows then goes to check on his brother.

“Good evening. I’m the drummer and the quiet one. My name is Blayze Matthews.” He also bows then stiffly walks off. “Is that everybody? We were told there were 5 of you.” You slowly walk up and face the camera. “Hello. I’m the front person of the group,” You look directly to the camera with an unwavering stare. “Just call me Big Sug.”

[quantummindclassicalheart]

a dream of flight

Inspired by @tali-zorahs's art of Laerryn and Loquatius, 1223 words about their first dance (and what comes after).

It has always been easy for Laerryn Coramar to take the lead in her life. She has always charted her own course, probed and tested every limit with a methodical and exacting eye for detail.

Centuries after her city falls, other arcane seekers will find bits and pieces of Laerryn’s machinery and puzzle at their intricate workings. Even with the whole apparatus before them, it is doubtful many would even begin to comprehend what the Architect Arcane has wrought.

For each system within the arcane engines, conduits, and capacitors of Avalir is optimized by her hand, forming a beautiful design that is as elegant as it is functional. And of all the people in this city—a city filled with mages and artificers and all manner of brilliant arcanists—she is the only one who can see it in its entirety. And she is the only one who sees what it could be.

It is her gift to be so singular. It is her burden to have no peer.

So Laerryn is accustomed to leading.

And yet. When Loquatius Seelie asks her to dance, she thinks to herself—it might not be so bad to follow, once in a while.

It’s not for his slick words or his effortless charm that she trusts him. Laerryn has known many schemers who have wielded charm like a ornamental knife that one realizes too late is not just for show. No, it is the man between the masks who intrigues and perplexes her in equal measure. It is the light shining through a multitude of stained glass faces whom she wants to know better. And to be honest, he is the only genuinely interesting person at this party (with most of the other guests ranking just below the hodmedods in terms of their capacity to carry on a stimulating conversation).

“Would you care for a dance, Madame Architect?” says Loquatius, all perfect teeth and meticulously sculpted cheekbones. She wonders idly if he’s focus group-tested different facial structures to find out which ones people found most charming and/or trustworthy. It’s not lost on her that he’s chosen his words carefully so that he can spin them as cheeky or deferent, depending on how she responds.

As she’s pondering this, it takes a few seconds for her mouth to catch up to her brain. “Um. Yes.” She blinks. “That sounds good. And just Laerryn is fine. Titles are…” She hesitates to say unnecessary, because she has worked damn hard for this one.

“…titles are for strangers,” she concludes. And even though they have only known each other a few weeks at this point, the words nevertheless ring true. Even now they are not strangers, and for all that is to come, they never will be again.

“All right. Laerryn, then,” says Loquatius. “I hope it’s all right that I take the lead here? You’ll have to forgive me if my moves are a little out of date. The last time I visited this plane, this dance hadn’t been invented yet." He shrugs apologetically.

Laerryn pauses for a moment, trying to figure out if he is joking or not. Analysis: inconclusive. She ultimately decides it’s irrelevant and nods politely, taking his hand as he leads her gently out onto the ballroom floor.

Right on cue, a new song begins to play. Out of the corner of her eye Laerryn sees the music is coming from a small ensemble of self-playing five-stringed instruments, their strings a fine gold and synthetic alloy and their sound amplified by a permanent sonic enchantment. Her thoughts shift briefly to their construction and whether similar techniques might be incorporated into some sort of maintenance apparatus for the engines that power the city.

She doesn’t have much time to dwell on this particular bit of spellcraft, however, as her eyes meet those of Loquatius (he has been graciously waiting) and on the next downbeat he is sweeping her into the dance.

Though she is capable, she’s not used to dancing the follow role. Her first instinct is to take control, ensure that the right sequences of steps are executed precisely on time and in tempo. But Loquatius, flexible and fluid as he may be, is no pushover, and there’s a playful glint in his eyes and a smile on his lips as he deftly redirects her momentum into a pivoting step that whips the two of them around in a tight orbit.

She wants to calculate and analyze and predict, to calibrate the torques like she’s done so often in her laboratory-cathedral beneath the gilded city streets. That would be easy. Natural. Familiar. But she looks at him—sweet Avalir, she looks at him—and decides instead to follow his lead.

And take the lead he does. Loquatius is light on his feet, endlessly creative with his steps and generous with his cues. He is smart and confident and decisive and he’s never been more attractive. In this moment, Laerryn thinks of the twelve Eldritch Batteries that power the city’s engines, and she thinks of the weaving channels and circuits through which their ether flows.

That’s how she feels now, in his arms. She is raw distilled potential, flowing in an intricate design towards a distant goal that is simultaneously impossible and inevitable. On a night much like this one and not too far off in the future, her city will fall. Laerryn Coramar-Seelie will fall, and her beloved with her.

But in this one shining moment, they are here and they are together and they are flying. And nothing else matters.

As the music comes to a climax, Loquatius spins her to hook her right arm around his neck, shifts his own hand to the small of her back (she can feel the steady pressure supporting her weight), and lowers her into a dramatic final dip. They’re both a little out of breath and a little sweaty (though the latter is easily cleaned up with a bit of Prestidigitation), and she looks up at him through a bit of a haze.

Gradually, he helps her back to her feet and they make their way off the ballroom floor.

“I hope that was as good for you as it was for me?” says Loquatius, and though the innuendo’s not lost on her, Laerryn also observes there’s a sincerity in what he says.

“Yes, that was… actually really fun. Thank you for the dance.” She can see the wave of relief wash over his face, though it’s immediately replaced by that picture-perfect smile he loves to wear.

“Believe me, the pleasure was all mine. Guess I’ll Seelie you around, Laerryn.” He flashes a pair of finger guns at her, then turns to rejoin the party.

As she watches him walk away, Laerryn runs a quick mental calculation. If he leaves, it could be weeks before she sees him again. But if she stops him now, maybe their fun doesn’t have to end just yet. To be honest, it’s the easiest calculation she’s ever done.

“Hey, Quay?” she calls out. “You doing anything later?”

He stops. “I mean, just schmoozing and boozing like you do at these things. Why, you got a better idea?”

“I might have a few. Quick question, though. Academic curiosity,” says Laerryn. “As far as your shapeshifting abilities go: is your face the only thing you can change?”

[millllenniawrites]

warmth (Poe Dameron x Reader)

words: 5.6k yes it is the longest thing on this blog shush

summary: The Resistance’s victory celebration quickly turns sour when their trusted Commander, Poe Dameron, recognizes a toxin in the air. This favourite doctor is the only one he trusts with the information he has. You’re the only one you trust to look after him.

warnings: smut (this is 18+ people); afab!reader; porn with plot; sex pollen so that automatically makes it dubcon; doctor!reader; swearing, drugs, dirty talk, Poe Dameron is so whiny when he’s horny holy fuck; bondage; oral (f receiving); unprotected sex (wrap it up folks); pet names (good girl, honey, sweetheart, baby); this relies on Poe’s spice runner past (the one I use in Helix, not the gross canon one) but it’s not directly dealt with and it’s super vague 

a/n: I was trying to find a place to feature Kade Sol who is my baby sunshine light of my life from the Helix series and I snuck him in here! also this was a worldbuilding writing exercise that somehow turned into the filthiest smut I’ve ever written so there’s that 

__

As the last First Order ship disappeared from the sky, a victory cry sounded through the Resistance fighters. Poe Dameron landed on the tarmac of Cida’s Travel Station, popping the hood of his X-Wing. He grinned, watching the rest of Black and Blue squadron land around him, all hopping out of their ships and rejoicing on the deck.

They didn’t lose anyone in the air today. That alone was cause for celebration.

It had been three weeks of trying to break the First Order’s blockade on the Cida system. King Caran had graciously accepted the help of the Resistance, backed by the New Republic’s ships, and allowed them to set up a temporary base on Cida Prime. In exchange for liberating their system, His Majesty had granted the Resistance usage of their hyperspace lanes, which would cut the transport time from the Hosnian system to D’Qar in half. An easy trade, if anyone had bothered to ask Poe.

Which no one did, these days. But he was doing his best. 

Kade, his captain, shook him from his thoughts as he called from the ground, “The King is asking for you, Dameron.”

He dropped out of his ship, quickly hugging Kade, grateful as always to have his best friend by his side, before jogging into the command centre of the makeshift air base, where King Caran and Admiral Ackbar were waiting.

“Commander Dameron,” the King’s booming voice sounded through the small room as Poe entered.

Poe bowed low, nearly folding himself completely in half. “Your Majesty.” 

A pair of Cidan guards’ in navy uniforms flanked him as he trailed behind the King and Ackbar. Poe found himself tuning out the negotiations, agreeing with Ackbar on instinct as the two men spoke. They took more twists and turns than Poe could count. He began marking various basins, leaking different coloured smoke as landmarks, in case he needed to find his way out. 

Not that he thought the King wasn’t deserving of their trust. This was a war. He just wasn’t going to risk it. 

As they entered what appeared to be the King’s office, Poe felt almost out of place. Like he was floating, a gentle burning feeling in his gut the only thing grounding him. 

In a turn of events Poe was not expecting, he found himself missing you.

He loved Kade. Of course, he loved Kade. His second. His partner in crime. But the flight home was sure to be a boring one without you.

It wasn’t tradition, necessarily. But each time the two of you had taken a mission together, it had been a resounding success. And on your way home, he’d celebrated between your legs. 

And you’d taken care of him after, like the good girl he knew you were. 

The burning moved lower, a sweet smell settling in his nose. One Poe recognized, from a time before the New Republic Navy. 

Fuck.

Voice panicked, “King Caran,” Poe stood, realizing he had interrupted the King. Breathing heavily, he scanned the room, eyes locking on a small stone in the corner. It sat on a warming plate, small tendrils of yellow smoke disappearing into the air.

Caran laughed, following Poe’s gaze. “You know your therapies, my boy.” The man seemed… pleased. Proud. “A gift, from us to you.”

“With all due respect, your Majesty,” Poe coughed, a phantom of the sensation he had only felt once before aching deep in his lungs. “Most organisms outside of the Cidan’s can’t handle Stiima the way your graciousness can.”

“My apologies, my friend. We thought that it would help to calm things. For negotiations, of course.” Caran met Ackbar’s eyes, anxiety evident. “Please understand it is simply the way we celebrate such a great success as we have seen today.”

“I understand, your Majesty.” Ackbar side-eyed Poe, concern evident. “Are you alright, Commander?” 

The ringing in Poe’s ears drowned out the last of their conversation. The next thing he knew, he was back on the tarmac, shouting, “Kade. Get everyone in the air. Now.”

He beelined for his shuttle, locking himself in the cockpit. Hand clenching as he felt himself relax into the passenger seat, the pain of his nails digging into his palm grounding him. 

“Poe, you good?” Kade banged on the door.

He didn’t answer, focusing on the 

Kade finally got the door open. “Poe, what the fuck?” 

“Fly.” Poe said through gritted teeth. “I need you to fly.” 

So Kade did. 

They didn’t dock to the main carrier, flying above it. They would wait until it jumped to hyperspace before they followed. 

Poe watched as fighter after fighter flew into the large ship. Ears filled with cotton, he barely heard Ackbar’s order over the comms for anyone in a shuttle to stay away from the ship.

Code Orange.

Quarantine protocol.

Poe couldn’t stop his mind from going back to you. The last time you were on mission together. The way your mouth felt.

Your eyes. 

The innocent way you would smile, naked and spread out under him… 

“Poe?” Kade asked, sitting forward in his seat. “Are you alright?” 

Poe hit a comm button on his dash, connecting him directly to command. 

“Commander Dameron, are you alright?” A young man’s voice came through his headset. 

“I need you to connect me to med.” 

“Is someone—” 

“Connect me to med, officer. I need to speak with the doctor.” 

*

You opened the hull door of Poe Dameron’s shuttle, a small case of bacta and other various medications tucked under your arm. Coughing into your mask as you entered the dark ship, you quickly located the panel to seal the door behind you, saluting the mech on the ground that would lock you in after the door eased shut.

The convoy had landed hours ago. The medic team had been slowly working through shuttles, administering antidotes to those that could take them.  

It wasn’t poison. You’d ruled that out early. But the obvious effects of dehydration were evident. Poe seemed to know what it was, from the way he sounded in the recording Ackbar had passed off to med, but no one else was familiar with the symptoms everyone seemed to be presenting. 

Looking around, you stayed still for a moment, letting your eyes adjust to the dark. You had been in his shuttle before; you knew you were in the cargo bay, and if you followed the wall to your right, you would find the ladder that would lead you to the cockpit. Your mission. The plan. Assessing Poe and Captain Kade Sol’s symptoms. 

But if you went to the left and pushed the thin black curtain aside, you would find the small closet that served as his bed on long missions.

Your bed, when you joined him. 

It was hard not to smile, remembering the long nights in hyperspace with the famous Commander. The way his curls tangled around your fingers. How his stubble felt against the inside of your thighs…

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you shook your head with a small embarrassed laugh and began to work your way to the ladder.

Even with the grey cloth pulled tight across your mouth and nose, you could still smell the musk of the air, heavy in your lungs. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it had a true weight to it, like slightly overripe fruit or warm spices, much worse than the three shuttles you had cleared before this. The rungs of the ladder were warm like the air, slick with moisture, a telltale sign that Poe and Kade had done as asked. There had been no air circulating in the ship since they landed. If any of the airborne toxins had gotten into the ship, it wouldn’t have had the chance to escape outside. 

You smiled as your hands brushed their oxygen canisters, hearing the slow leak of fluid. Always thorough, Dameron…

Your hands grazed the small railing that guarded the catwalk to the cockpit as you made your way down to the sealed door.

“Commander Dameron? Captain Sol?” you called, hoping they could hear you through the dense metal. “It’s Doctor--”

The hiss of the door caused you to jump and you stepped back, taking in the form of the Captain. The large man nearly filled the doorway, dark clothes making it difficult to see him in the blackness of the ship. “I know who you are. Command came through a little while ago.” His voice as gruff as always, but he said it with a smile. “I’ve had no symptoms, but I figure you still need to check me out?”

“Yes, Captain.” You nod, “If you wouldn’t mind going back into the cockpit for me…”

He grumbled something you couldn’t make out but did what you asked, sitting in the only passenger seat in the small room, empty save for them.

“Where’s Commander Dameron?” you asked as you knelt in beside Kade, fingers on his wrist.

You ran through the basics of your training as he talked. 

“Poe didn’t get so lucky. Got hit worse than most people, from what we’ve heard. He was in the King’s office. Said something about a… diffuser?” When you nodded, he seemed to relax. “That’s why he made the call. Asked me to lock him up until a medic got here. He was specifically asking for you, so I guess we got lucky.”

You were grateful for the dark, hiding the way you flushed. “Guess so.” Unable to hide the warmth in your voice, you gave Kade a small smile. “There isn’t a brig on this ship. Where—"

“His quarters. Stun cuffs magnetized to the wall.” He seemed almost embarrassed, ducking his head. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with him, exactly. Just that he hasn’t really stopped making noise since about twenty minutes after we landed.”

You hesitated. Generally careful about the information you give out to patients, you weren’t sure it would be appropriate to explain, but Kade and Poe were a package deal. Rarely did you see one without the other. They’d been joined at the hip since long before they had defected to the Resistance together.

“It’s a potent aphrodisiac.” You murmured, standing behind him and tilting his head to check for discolouration on his neck, “Most people got hit with… well, let’s call it Level 1 symptoms. Loose tongue. Unable to really control what they’re saying, or at least not thinking it through. Level 2 are action: making choices you wouldn’t ordinarily make. The… aphrodisiac part. If you get to level two, we’ve found they wear off in about three hours. No antidote needed. Just fluids and rest, after it all. But you’ve been in here almost a whole day…” and Poe’s condition hadn’t improved.

“Which means what? He’s at level 3?”

There wasn’t a level 3. 

Coming around in front of Kade, you nodded slowly. “Was he complaining of… pain?” you flinched as you said the word, knowing the man had no idea what you were truly asking.

“Right before he asked me to gag him. He had moments he was lucid… basically told me to leave him locked up, no matter what he said.” 

There was only one other person that had said the drug hurt, and she had been fine for a few hours now. 

Kade chewed idly on his bottom lip, seemingly lost in thought. “Not easy being locked in while your best friend is raving like a madman.”

“The gag was a good call. He’ll thank you once he’s back to himself.” You tried for another smile. “You seem okay. Vitals are normal. Rosa is just outside. I’ll let her know that she can open the door. She’ll give you a mask and escort you to showers, and then back to your quarters. They’ll send a medical droid to check you out fully before you’re allowed to intermix with the base. Just in case.”

“Thank you, doc.” Kade stood, heading out the door to the rest of the shuttle. “Poe is—”

“I know.” You nodded, not really thinking through your words. “Closet. Curtain.”

Kade paused, turning to look at you for a moment. His eyebrow twitched, just slightly, before he dropped down the ladder. You appreciated that he hadn’t said anything, having a sneaking suspicion that he didn’t know you only off your medical reputation.

Your excursions with Poe were a relative secret, not wanting command to restrict you going on missions together because of your… you weren’t really sure what to call it. Enough people had stories about him that you knew you weren’t exclusive, but being with him was different. It had always been different. 

Though you supposed all the people he took to bed could say the same thing. 

You pushed the heavy curtain aside.

He was laid back on his cot, only one of his boots on. Poe struggled against his cuffs, attached to the wall above his head, and whined through the gag in his mouth. The bed squeaked and shook. It was a significantly less pleasant sound when you were standing there, not on top of him…

You shook your head quickly, a reminder that you were working, before you knelt on the ground next to Poe’s head. His eyes widened as he focused on you. Reaching for the fabric cutting into his cheeks, your fingertips grazed his jaw. “I’m gonna remove this, okay?” you murmured before eased the gag out of his mouth, letting the loop of dark cloth hanging around his neck.

“Sweetheart…” he whined the moment his mouth was free to move, his voice cracking around the dryness of his throat. You set your med case on the floor and opened it quickly, digging through bandages and bacta patches before finding what you needed. You lifted a small canteen to his lips, letting the water trickle into his mouth. He coughed, spluttering a little before he was tilting his head away, gasping, “Please, sweetheart. I need…”

You shushed him gently, swiping a cloth over his lips. Trying to distract him, you softened your voice, “You got everyone out before it could get bad, Poe. Everyone else is safe.” 

He turned his head to look up at the ceiling, seeming to relax a little. Your eyes found his throat. Watching him breathe, swallow, reminded you of the way his skin tasted… 

Fuck. 

You coughed again into your mask, murmuring, “I’ll be right back.” and ignoring the way Poe whined as you let the curtain fall behind you. 

Once you were a few steps away from him, you could breathe a little easier. The air was hot, fucking scalding through your mask, and you tilted your head back a bit to force yourself to breathe deeply. Slowly. Calmingly. 

You reached up, touching the pad of the in-ear to firmly press it into your head, “Rosa? You copy?” 

The woman’s high voice came through, louder than before. Her voice seemed to be directed straight into your skull. “Everything alright in there, doc?” 

“Everything’s fine. Commander Dameron has symptoms we haven’t seen before and I think I’m contaminated. It’s not bad. I can work through it. But I’m going to take my comm out just in case.” You really didn’t need command hearing your unfiltered thoughts.

She grumbled, “Maker. You sure you’re alright?” You swore you could almost see the way her eyebrows furrowed. 

“Yeah, Rosa. I’m good. Level 1 or less. Just make sure those doors stay locked until we come off it. Don’t open them for anyone. Even the General.” 

She turned on the link long enough that you heard her laugh before she said, “Sounds good. If we need you, we’ll come through the cockpit.” A brief pause, “Stay safe, doc.” 

“You too, Rosa.” 

Pulling the plastic out of your ear, you double checked that you had it turned it off before returning to Poe’s side. 

He relaxed the moment you were back in view, hips stilling on the bed. You tried not to stare at the obvious tent in his pants. 

His eyes seemed to focus better than before, saying quietly, “I heard you. Talking to Rosa. You shouldn’t have touched me.” 

He was right. It was probably your proximity to him that did it. But you had to do your job. That was your only priority, of course. Of course…

“Like I’ve ever been good at keeping my hands to myself with you around.” You froze as the words slipped past your lips, unable to stop them. 

He didn’t seem bothered by the sudden accidental honesty, but his eyes glazed over again, trailing over you. “I miss your hands…” he groaned, biting his lip and sending a wave of heat through you. 

“Careful, or I’m gonna put that gag back in.” Voice sounding forced even to your own ears, you sat down on the floor, your back resting against the bed. 

He mumbled something you couldn’t quite understand, until he repeated himself. “Take yours off. The… the mask. If you’ve got it…” 

He was right. If you’d already been exposed, there wasn’t any point in keeping it on. It was hot. There was no one in there but you. You weren’t hurting anyone. You could take the mask off. It would be fine. You—

“Sweetheart…” Poe groaned, rattling the cuffs. 

You ripped the mask off your face, tossing it near your medical kit. 

“G-good. Can you… can you please take my arms down, honey?” he tugged at the cuffs again. If you had turned to look at him, you would have seen the desperation you knew was painted across his features. “It hurts.”  

His whine sent a pang of guilt through you. “Why did you know what the drug was?” you asked, hoping it would distract him.

“It’s used in party drugs. The way it burns… it’s not like anything else I’ve ever—” He shifted, trying to get more comfortable, despite the way his pants were twisted around his legs from hours of struggling. The fabric stuck against him and pulled, and he moaned, guttural and sweet and chipping away at the wall of self-control you had haphazardly built against him. 

“Poe,” Meant to be chastising, the word landed somewhere in the realm of yearning and breathless. 

“Anything, sweetheart. Please.” Rolling his head back and forth on the bedroll under his head, he sounded close to tears as he whined, “I think my dick is going to fall off if you don’t touch it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, helping to break the cloud of arousal circling your head. “I don’t think that’s a medically sound diagnosis, Commander.” 

“Say that again…” he breathed. 

“Medically—”

“No.” 

Your sharp intake of breath was the only sound in the shuttle. 

“Commander?” 

He tilted his head back, groaning, “You say my title and I can’t stop thinking about being inside you.” 

“It’s just the drugs.” 

“You know it’s not just the drugs.” You could have sworn it was a growl with the way the low sound of his voice tore through you. “I need you to touch me, honey.” 

“Will you stop talking if I do?” 

“Come lay with me and give me one hand back. Then I’ll stop talking.” 

Negotiating meant he was lucid, if only partially. 

“I thought you said it makes it worse if I touch you.” You squeezed your eyes shut, like that could block out the image that his soft gasps conjured in your mind. 

“It’ll get worse before it gets better.” 

“Always got a fucking answer for everything…” You grumbled, but it worked. Carefully, you eased yourself up off the floor and onto his small cot and leaned over him. One ring of the cuffs released with the click of a few buttons. 

After freeing the gag from around his neck and tossing it to the floor, Poe’s free hand immediately reached for you, gripping your thigh. Even though the thick fabric of your pants, you could feel how warm he was. “Sweetheart…” 

“You said you’d stop talking.” 

“Lay down. Lay down and I’ll stop talking.” 

You had agreed to it. And when his fingers dug into your thigh and the wave of relief washed over you at his touch, you weren’t about to argue. 

So you laid down, back to him, letting his free hand roam up and down your side. Under your shirt. Down under the top of your pants that he didn’t bother to undo. There wasn’t any focus to his movements. Where he touched you, you relaxed, and as his touch moved on, your skin burned. 

You didn’t notice the high-pitched whine leaving your parted lips until Poe’s hand came to rest on your throat. 

“Does it hurt?” He traced from your jaw to your collarbone, over and over, putting just enough pressure on your neck that you were gasping. 

“N-no… Are you…? Does it hurt for you?” 

“This is better. You being close makes it better.” 

“It’s just warm.” That was the only way to describe it. It was like he had set you on fire. Everywhere he had touched ached. 

He groaned, breath hot against your ear as he rutted his hips against you. “Let me help, sweetheart…” No amount of squirming was going to make the heat go away and you couldn’t figure out how he could be so slow about all of this. “I can make you feel good. I can make it go away. Please…” His fingers trailed across the exposed skin of your stomach, soothing the burning feeling that wracked your body. 

You gripped his wrist, bringing his hand up under the hem of your shirt, needing his cooling touch. Arching your back, your ass grazed him and you groaned together.  

“Please sweetheart.” he begged, voice low and sending vibrations through your back where he pressed against you. “Let my other hand down. I promise I’ll make it worth it.” He rattled the cuff still glued to the wall for good measure. 

He didn’t have to ask you twice. Rolling over, you shoved him onto his back and swung a leg over his hips. Grinding down as you reached over him, you released his hands, leaving the cuffs on the wall, up and out of the way. He was quick to flip you onto your back, hand cradling the back of your head as his lips met your neck. 

“Pretty girl…” Poe murmured as his hand tangled in your hair, wrenching your head back to expose your neck. “Such a pretty girl for me… so fucking sweet…” 

“Poe… Poe, please.” The whine left you before you could fully decide what you were begging for. Just more. More of him. His hands on your body. His lips on your skin. 

The heaviness of the air weighed you to the cot, your knees down to the thin mattress as he slotted himself between your legs – still fully clothed – and you fell apart in his arms. Gasping into his mouth, body convulsing, you could barely move with the way he was positioned above you. You couldn’t open your eyes. You could barely breathe with the way every small movement sent searing heat straight to your core. 

“Fuck.” His dark eyes focused on your heaving chest. “Do that again.” 

He fought with the ties on your pants, tearing the sides as he forced them down your legs, taking your underwear with them.

 It was all you could do to keep from screaming as he sunk two fingers into you. 

Each movement of his fingers battled the heat coursing through you and let you come back to yourself, if only for a moment. His other hand splayed out on your stomach to keep you still. He pushed your shirt up and you ripped it over your head. 

Your head spun as you realized he was still completely clothed. 

Leaning down, he sunk his teeth into the inside of your thigh. Where you expected pain, pleasure ran down your legs. Following his trail of bite marks with soft kisses, up closer to where you needed him, he blew softly on your folds and you cried out, bucking off the cot. 

You could hear the squeaking of the bed as you squirmed. Each laboured breath Poe took as he nestled himself between your trembling legs. The rasp in his voice as he murmured, “...wettest fucking cunt I’ve ever seen...” before he lowered his face to meet the apex of your thighs. 

His mouth on you didn’t offer the relief you were so desperately searching for. It somehow made it worse, every swipe of his tongue followed by a trail of fire. 

You pushed at his head but he barely responded. “Poe… Poe please… I need your cock…” 

He hummed lightly against you, his tongue working you slowly, like you weren’t threatening to burn up underneath him. 

Finally, you grabbed onto a handful of his curls and pulled. 

He only looked up in mild annoyance. Gripping your wrist tight, he forced your hand to the cot. “I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.” Though the words were soft, his tone was gruff. 

Poe slowed his soft circles on your clit and you whined again, pushing up into his mouth. “Stay still.” He mumbled against you. 

Each of his motions were so methodical, you could have sworn you were the only one dealing with symptoms. Until he glanced up at you with his almost-black eyes. 

You stopped breathing.

You weren’t afraid. You could never be afraid of Poe. But you’d never seen him so unhinged. Like he was going to jump, and you were coming with him. 

He snatched up both your wrists, leaning over you. Tipping your head back, you tried to kiss him but he moved further, up above your head. 

In one quick motion, he locked both your hands in the cuffs on the wall. 

“I need it. Please. I need--” He didn’t finish the sentence, hooking his hands under your knees and spreading you out for him. His tongue found your clit again and you couldn’t hear your own scream over the rush of blood in your head. 

He’d always been accommodating. He took constructive criticism well and was determined to get you off, no matter what he had to relearn, when the two of you had fucked before. 

Now, he took each of those little pieces and, like he’d been given the code to your body, he took you apart. 

Every stroke of his tongue would have seemed planned if not for the way he moaned into your skin, the way he grinded his hips into the cot beneath him. You gave up fighting against the cuffs, instead focusing on rolling your hips against his face. 

He held still, letting you move the way you wanted. Letting you use his tongue. Guiding your hips. It wasn’t until he set you down and you opened your eyes that you realized that he was dripping with you.

His chin glistened as he sat up and yanked his shirt over his head. His eyes didn't leave yours as he undid his pants, shucking them off and tossing them somewhere with his shirt. You didn't care. You didn’t care where his clothes were or where yours had disappeared to. 

“My-- the cuffs. Poe, I need to touch you…” 

Your hands were in his hair the moment he released you, pulling his mouth to yours. He tasted of you, and the heaviness in the air, and the familiarity of him that you’d grown so intoxicated by. 

Ordinarily, he’d tease you. Just like this, your legs spread for him. He’d drag the head of his cock over you until you stopped threatening him, until you melted and became putty in his hands and your begging became wordless. 

But he didn’t have the patience. You could see it in his face. He angled his hips, sliding into you slowly. 

With this, there was relief. But it came as quick as it went and you were again whining under him, your cunt clenched tight around him. 

He pushed deeper, his face tucked into your neck. “Relax, baby. Relax. You’re so-- so fucking…”

You didn’t know how he was going so slow. You didn’t know how he managed to stop, only halfway inside you. 

All you knew was that you needed him. 

You pulled his hips into yours. After two orgasms, there was no resistance. He bottomed out, gasping into your mouth. “Pretty girl…” 

“Fu… Fuck me. Poe please please fuck me--” You pulled at his shoulders, his hair, grinding up into him as much as you could with him fully on top of you. “It hurts. Please…” 

Whatever well of self control he’d been drawing from seemed to have dried up. Snapping his hips into yours, he kissed you. 

His tongue dominated your mouth, not giving you space to breathe. Or think. Or do anything other than take what he was giving you. Your nails dug into his upper arms, leaving little crescent moons behind. His soft gasps of encouragement had you writhing beneath him. 

“Perfect little… You take me so well, honey. Like you were fucking made for me…” 

His words alone threatened to take you over the edge. 

The burning came to a throbbing head in your core and you arched up into him, trying to pull him closer. Deeper. Anything to quell the fire inside you. 

“Poe… Commander… P-please let me cum…” You weren’t in control of your words anymore. You weren’t in control of anything. “I need you.” 

You wrapped your legs more tightly around him and his hips stuttered but he wasn’t stopping. Not for fucking anything.

“Let me feel you, pretty girl.” He growled against your neck. 

And you unraveled. 

The relief washed over you in waves as you lay beneath him. Between each peak, you could hear your own panting, feel the way your body fluttered around him. 

You floated in the bliss.

Vaguely, you felt yourself roll over. Something cold dug into your side, but you couldn’t figure out how to move. Or figure out how to want to. 

Your chest was still heaving as he traced along your ribs. A warm body came flush with your back. Fire trailed his dancing fingers. 

“Sweetheart…” A soft moan at your ear. Breath, warm on your neck, sending a ripple through you. He pressed his hips forward, his hard cock sliding against your ass. “I need more. Please?” 

You shifted your aching hips back towards him. “Please.” 

*

You weren’t sure how long passed before you returned to normal – sated and thoroughly exhausted, but normal. Your skin no longer burned at the gentlest of touches. You could stand to look at him, to draw over the planes of his chest as he laid beside you without feeling the unyielding need for his cock inside you. 

Your fingertips traced gently over the straining cords of muscle in his neck and he shuddered. 

“You bit me.” He finally whispered. 

You dissolved into a fit of giggles, curled up against his side. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you onto his chest. 

“I’m sorry.” You laughed against his neck, kissing over the hickies you’d left behind. 

“Don’t be. It was hot.” 

“Where’d I bite you?” You propped yourself up on an elbow, looking down at him. 

He tapped his upper arm, right underneath a series of bite marks. Ducking your head, you kissed over them, murmuring soft ‘I’m sorry’s between pecks. 

“It’s okay. Really.” He tapped under your chin and you met his gaze. “Was that okay? We’ve never used cuffs or anything before and I’m really sorry--” 

You kissed him to cut him off. “I’m okay. I trust you. You know that, right?” 

He didn’t answer. Instead, he rolled on top of you, an intensity in his eyes that would have scared you if you didn’t know him. 

“I’m glad it was you.” Forehead pressed to yours, you shuddered as his soft breaths fanned across your lips. “I was hoping it would be you.” 

Your breath caught. Gently, you brushed away the curls that fell in his face, tilting your face up and bringing your lips to his again. 

He mumbled between kisses, “Can I take you for dinner?” You were too stunned to say anything, letting him kiss your bottom lip gently. He lingered at the corners of your mouth, leaving light kisses behind. “Hm? Will you let me take you out, sweetheart?” 

“On a date?” 

“If you don’t want it to be a date, it can just be a thank-you dinner--” 

“It can be a date. Can it be a date?” 

Giggling against your mouth, he said, “It can. I’d like it to be.” 

“We should probably get out of this shuttle first.” 

“Maybe put some clothes on before that?” 

“Maybe.” Your nose brushed his. “Maybe I’d like to kiss you first.” 

“Maybe I’ll let you.” 

[flareflarerp]

Music Update Time!!!

Hey everyone! Yeah I know it’s been a few days. Yes! I am still Re-Mastering and Re-Uploading all my music. I haven’t been able to the last few days due to a few things.  First, I have been working my day job since last Wednesday with no days off so I am finally able to relax for a day and then it’s just a couple days til payday! I am so exhausted but I have someone in my life now that makes me happy a lot which brings me to my second thing. I am (as of  Friday) am dating @nox-lunarwing’s mod (Please don’t be confused, Flare Flare is dating Harvest, but one mod is straight, the other is bi/closeted pan ((me)) so just to clear that up we are just shipping our characters and I am dating Nox’s mod OOC) Okay okay okay cue cards cue cards cue cards straightens my glasses ah yes the links to my music. Yes Right now I have a few things up and in the coming weeks I will have the rest up. I need time to re-mastered and upload also, make time to re-mastered and upload my music. They are two different things so here are the list of my links to music: Bandcamp Spotify Apple Music YouTube Music Amazon Music & Dezzer Again, if you want me to add a store you don’t see here don’t hesitate to send me a request in my inbox or reply to this post.  This is how I will be paid. So please share this post or one of the links to your friends. Musicians are severely underpaid on platforms. So with your support, I can be paid somewhat a fair amount. So please forget liking this post and re-blog it please!  Ah yeah. “The Equestrain Night Mares” update! for @lil-mizz-jay! I am continuing to write the album and I have plans for this album (Ice Nine Kills will be a big inspiration for this album so y’all should give them a listen) I want a Nightmare Night release so it’ll probably be next year. I want some cool Brony musicians to back this (*cough* Princewhateverer *cough*) and I even have a friend in makeup who give me a little makeover and give me a scratch over my eye and a dark contact lens for me to wear while I record in the studio. Eh? Neat right? Already got a few tracks for LMR. Mommy will always be pretty lol So yeah. That’s it! Keep head banging! blegh

[farfromsugafanfic]

Sutures - Chapter Two: Conjugate

Genre: Soulmates AU, Idiots to Lovers, slight Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: Yoongi/Named Reader

Warnings (chapter specific): invasions of privacy

Synopsis: “A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.” –Jean de la Fontaine

There was only one thing you and Min Yoongi had in common that night. You were both brokenhearted. You only intended to be together for one night, but when you both end up in the hospital the next day you discover that you are soulmates. It could kill you to be apart. As you and Yoongi attempt to sever the bond between you, will another be formed?

Notes: This was originally written and completed on Wattpad between 2018 and the beginning of 2020. I’ll be slowly posting the chapters here. I may make a tag list depending on if enough people want to follow along with updates. Leave me some feedback if you would like added to a tag list.

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You sighed as the nurse pulled the IV out of your arm. The muscles in your body relaxing for the first time in hours.

"There we are," the nurse said. "Looks like you'll be out of here in a few hours. Just make sure not to get too far from that man of yours."

You smiled up at her, not wanting to explain that he wasn't your man and that you'd only just learned his name from a news broadcast a few hours ago. When Eunji had texted you that he was an idol, you'd thought she was joking. She was drunk after all and probably would've called any guy flirting with you an idol.

"This is crazy," Eunji said. "What're you going to do?"

"I don't know," you said. "I guess I'll have to contact him somehow."

"Did you get his number?"

"No, we never intended to see each other again."

"Well, he's looking for you."

---

"Jang Sumi?" a man asked, knocking politely as he entered.

"Yes?"

He bowed politely as he entered.

"I'm Bang Sihyuk, CEO of BigHit Entertainment," he said.

Your eyes grew wide and you immediately bowed, feeling slightly embarrassed you hadn't recognized him and done so before.

"We would like to discuss a proposal with you. If you'd please sit down," he said, pointing to the newly made hospital bed.

You sat down and the man sat down in the chair Eunji sat when you first awoke. "We have reason to believe you are Min Yoongi's soulmate. I'm sure the doctors have already explained that this means the two of you must remain near each other."

You nodded.

"In order to protect his career, we would like you to move into the BTS dorm. We will pay you and compensate you for any trouble."

"What about my career?" you asked.

The man nodded, his shoulders relaxing as if he'd expected you to question him.

"We've done our research and you're an English tutor? You can continue online sessions and do occasional in-person sessions away from the dorm. We don't want to take away your livelihood by any means. We want to protect both of you."

Your mind overflowed with thoughts. You'd be living with seven guys. Seven idols. Would girls get jealous? Would their fans even know? You had too many questions for the man to possibly answer.

You could certainly use the extra money and without having to pay rent, it would allow you to begin saving money. Something you'd wanted since you'd moved out.

You'd have to work less though, but you were sure the compensation that BigHit offered would be more than enough to make up for the fewer hours.

"All right," you said. "As long as I can keep my job, I agree."

---

"Boys, this is Jang Sumi," Bang PD said.

You bowed to the seven boys in front of you, secretly wishing the much more charming Eunji hadn't gone home. Even though it was obvious they had rushed to the hospital based on the various array of sweatpants and messy hair, they all still looked gorgeous.

The boys bowed back and their gazes wandered down to your neck, their eyes wide. You hadn't noticed the bruises there from the night before. You shyly broke eye contact and looked over to Yoongi who sat with his feet dangling off the hospital bed.

You met his dark eyes. Instead of the mysterious and hungry look they'd held the night before, they now looked exhausted and slightly annoyed. His gaze left yours momentarily as his eyes looked down at the bruises on your neck. His face remained expressionless except for a small flick of his tongue between his lips.

"The doctors need to run a few more tests and talk with Yoongi and Sumi," Bang PD said. "We should leave them alone"

The six other boys filed out of the room and you took a seat on the bed next to Yoongi, leaving a large space between you, so that it would be nearly impossible to accidentally brush against one another.

"Hi," you said. "So, it's been an interesting day, huh?"

The boy didn't respond and before you could make more futile attempts to fill the silence two doctors walked into the room.

"Min Yoongi and Jang Sumi?"

You both nodded and bowed.

"All right, I know this is all a bit overwhelming right now, but once we all discuss and decide on the various options, I'm sure you'll feel better." The doctor flipped a few pages on his clipboard before looking back up at you. "So, as you both know, this is still a fairly rare condition. Finding one's soulmate and having it cause heart attack like symptoms is not well understood. Due to this, we request at least monthly check-ups for at least the first year for both of you to ensure your heart is okay and to check your overall health. The rest depends on how the two of you choose to proceed. Are you two currently in a relationship?"

"No," you both answered.

The doctor nodded.

"The easiest and best way to proceed is to attempt a relationship. While it might be awkward at first, for your overall general health, it will be the best way to adjust and will allow the withdrawals to be less frequent and violent in the future. If--"

"No," Yoongi said. "We can't do a relationship."

"What do you mean?" you asked, your head whipping around to face him. The last thing you wanted was to be in a relationship with a man you barely knew, especially the day after you'd officially ended it with your ex. But if the doctors said it was the best way to deal with the situation, you were inclined to listen.

"It's for both of our own good," he said. "You have no idea what a relationship with an idol would be like."

"Well, there are other options," the doctor said, glancing between the two of you. "If you truly don't want to be together, we can work on trying to weaken or even sever the connection between you. It is rare and difficult to do, but it has been achieved. You will have to stay in the same building as the other person most of the time. There do seem to be some exceptions such as work or situations where the other absolutely can't be present. However, at first, these withdrawals will be powerful and you may not be able to leave the building without the other person at all. For the first week, we suggest not doing so.

"In order to attempt to sever the connection, we will have to monitor your mental health and work to keep the relationship on track. While you don't have to remain distant from each other, it is important to not have feelings for each other, or else it will not work. You will have monthly or bi-weekly appointments with a psychiatrist who is trained to work with cases like this.

"You will also experience something we like to call urges. These are instances of extreme attraction to one another. It will be extremely difficult to be apart from each other during these times. It is important that you be together in these times, but if you are choosing not to pursue a relationship, you must do your best to resist the attraction."

After the doctor was done explaining everything and had recorded your decision to attempt and sever the connection, they drew blood from both of you and allowed you to leave.

---

You'd spent the rest of the day packing. Your things were going to be confined mostly to one room, meaning you had to downsize and choose what was most important to you.

You heard a knock on the door and before you could answer it, it was already open and Eunji and the entirety of BTS came through your door.

"Sorry if I scared you," Eunji said. "I let them in."

"Sumi," the tallest one said. He was the leader, Kim Namjoon, according to Google. You figured you should at least try to learn your new roommates. He introduced himself and the rest of the boys, other than Yoongi. "We decided to help you pack up before the movers get here. I'm sure it's quite overwhelming to have to move all of a sudden."

"Yes," you said. "This is very sweet. I guess, um, you could help clean up a bit? I haven't had a chance to clean the kitchen since I got home. And, maybe someone else wouldn't mind getting dinner?"

"No problem," Namjoon said, motioning to the members.

"I'll be in my bedroom if you have any questions or need me for anything."

Eunji was already bonding with the younger members of the band and showed them where all of the cleaning supplies were kept. You smiled at her ability to make friends quickly and headed back to your bedroom.

Your suitcase laid open on your bed as you sorted through your clothes, trying to decide what to keep. You'd already packed the essentials, the rest of your closet spread out around the suitcase.

You felt something soft beneath your foot. You bent down and picked up the fabric, recognizing it as the dress you'd worn out the night before. You hated to leave it behind it, but you weren't sure you would need such a nice dress again. And if you did, you could just borrow one of Eunji's. You folded the dress and were attempting to make a decision when a knock sounded on your door.

"Come in."

The door opened and Yoongi walked in. He wore a beanie, a sweatshirt, and a pair of jeans. You almost liked the more casual look on him more than the slightly more dressed up look he'd worn when you first met. You weren't sure if you truly liked it better or if it was just the connection between you talking.

"Sorry to intrude," he said. "I was just wondering if you needed any more help? The rest of the boys pretty much have it handled out there."

You tried to put aside the resentment you felt for the boy from earlier in the day when he so bluntly decided not to follow the best option and try the relationship.

"You can pack up my knitting stuff," you said pointing over to your desk in the corner where you kept yarn, knitting needles, and the various guides. "Just be careful not to tangle the different yarns together."

He nodded and grabbed an empty box and carefully placing each skein in the box. You turned back to the dress in your hands. You fingered the soft fabric and sighed as you went to set aside. Before you could set the dress with the rest of your discarded clothes, you felt a hand take it from you. You looked up at Yoongi, who held the dress and placed it into the suitcase.

"It looks good on you."

---

"You like to knit?" Yoongi asked, a few minutes later.

"Yeah," you said. "It calms me down when I'm stressed."

He nodded as he placed the rest of the items from the desk into the box.

"Sumi!" someone called from the hallway.

"What do you want us to do with this?" one of the boys asked, you believed his name was Jimin, followed by a blond-haired boy, Taehyung. Jimin dangled your stuffed cat in the air, a smirk across his face.

"Hey!" you said. "Don't hold Kitty that way!"

The boy laughed as you snatched the stuffed animal from him. One of Kitty's button eyes was loose and dangled slightly, causing her eyes to look uneven.

"You named it Kitty?" Jimin asked laughing.

Eunji came into the room. She seemed slightly annoyed with the two boys who had run off from their duties.

"I was four!" you said, looking down at the stuffed cat. "Besides, it's an English name!"

"All right, all right," Jimin said, relenting his taunts. "Do you want to take Kitty or not?"

You made eye contact with Eunji who's eyes were wide. She knew what Kitty meant to you, but Kitty was also falling apart. Her eye was the least of her trouble, you'd sewed the majority of her seams back together multiple times. You didn't want to risk Kitty getting lost or falling apart altogether. You knew it was time to let her go.

"She is pretty old and I'm getting too old for toys anyway. Um, I guess put her in with the donation pile." You handed the stuffed animal back to Jimin who took it and hesitantly walked from the room.

You felt tears pricking at your eyes, but you held them back and went back to sorting through your clothes. The task felt harder all of a sudden, but eventually, you finished, zipping up the suitcase.

---

It was late by the time you arrived at the dorm. It was huge, the biggest apartment you'd ever seen. It was surprisingly clean for being inhabited by seven boys, but you figured they were just too busy to cause much of a mess.

The extra bedroom they'd been using as storage was already clear for you. You made your bed and then opened your suitcase and began emptying it into the dresser.

"Need some help?" Namjoon asked, standing in the doorway.

You smiled at the boy as he began sorting your clothes, making it easier for you to put away.

"Thank you," you said. "I'm exhausted and I'm honestly dreading the rest of the boxes getting here tomorrow."

He nodded.

"We've moved a lot," he said. "Sometimes I feel more tired after moving than dance practice."

You both laughed lightly.

"They told me you're an English tutor?"

"Yeah," you said.

"It'll be nice having someone else who can speak English."

"None of the other boys can?"

He shook his head.

"No, they all understand a little. But none of them are fluent."

"We'll have to change that then," you said, laughing.

"How'd you learn it?"

"My mom grew up in the US. Her parents were from here but moved to the US when my mom was a baby. She met my dad when she was here visiting family and she ended up moving when they got married. So, I grew up speaking both Korean and English. My parents recently moved to the US actually, to be closer to my grandparents."

"Wow," he said. "That's a better story than mine. I just watched Friends."

You laughed.

"That's more impressive though. You taught yourself. I kind of just learned it the same time I learned Korean."

You felt some of the nerves you'd felt coming into the dorm beginning to leave you. While you were sure it would talk longer for you to adjust, the boys had all tried to be as helpful and welcoming as possible. Even Yoongi. Despite the fact he'd barely talked to you, he still helped pack up your apartment.

"Sumi," you heard another voice say. You turned around and saw Yoongi standing in the doorway, his eyes focused on his phone. "We have a problem."

"What?" you asked, your eyebrows knitting together.

"Someone found your shoes."

"My shoes? You mean, the ones I left at the bar last night?"

Yoongi nodded.

"Someone is selling them online. They're using the connection to me to get attention. The bidding ends tomorrow."

You grabbed onto the dresser and tried to steady yourself. You'd expected something like this to happen eventually, but just twenty four hours after you'd even met Min Yoongi?

You heard Namjoon say something to Yoongi, but you didn't catch what it was. You felt a hand on your shoulder and saw the leader looking straight at you.

"We're going to get this figured out."

All you could do was nod.

[bythebonefire]

knowing your partner well can potentially make writing together a lot easier. repost, do not reblog!

name: Spacy

pronouns: she/her

preference of communication: Discord once we get into a flow of plotting, but IMs are fine too

name of muse(s): lol a bunch of ‘em now. W. D. Gaster (both Undertale verse and Mafiafell verse), Grillby, Ferno (Underfell Grillby), Flambeau (Underswap Grillby), Luciano (Mobtale Grillby), Orion (Outertale Grillby), and Papyrus specifically from Mafiafell.

rp experience / how long (months / years?): I first started RPing Sailor Moon OCs based on my gal pals when I was in 5th grade so uhhh coming up on 25 years?

platforms you’ve used: AIM, Livejournal, Discord, and eventually Tumblr

best experience: Meeting two of my best friends, @abracaxfuckxyou​ and @puzzlebones​, after joining the UT fandom, and doing a two-week road trip with them along Route 66 last summer. We got lost on spooky backroads! And stayed at kitschy motels! We visited the World’s Largest Ketchup Bottle! It was a highlight of my life frankly lmao

rp pet peeves / dealbreakers:  People not having any indication of their age anywhere on their blog. I don’t need to know your exact age, but at least whether you’re 18+. Other than that, let’s see... this doesn’t happen too often, but does happen occasionally writing a character like Ferno--I’ve written with some folks in the past who even before we directly interact, seem to go into it with the expectation of a ship because he is very flirtatious. I do love ships! I love Ferno ships! But just because a character is very charismatic and charming doesn’t mean a ship between my muse and someone else’s is going to work out. 

fluff, angst or smut: I enjoy a healthy, balanced diet of all three. 😌

plots or memes: I enjoy both! I’d love to do more extended plotlines, but I think memes are a great way to build dynamics that can be fleshed out in plots. Sort of like how good filler episodes in a series develop the relationships between the characters that enriches the story around it. 

long or short replies: Both are good! I tend towards medium to longer. 

best time to write: It really varies lol, my day-to-day schedule is a joke for a lot of reasons. But I would say usually right after waking up in the morning--during my recording days I’ll usually try and bang out a post or two while I’m hydrating and warming my voice up--and late at night. 

are you like your muse(s): In some ways. I’m not as neat and tidy as Grillby for sure, though I relate a lot to the anxious tendencies he’s developed over my time writing him. I also tend to bottle things up until I am a powder keg of stress, and it is definitely not good for either of us, lol.  What’s kind of interesting to me is the feedback loop that’s come out of writing my muses? Grillby’s love of music that gradually became a part of his character wasn’t like necessarily autobiographical--music is still really important to me, but I play it up with Grillbz past the point I’d take it partly because sometimes it’s really funny to see someone so put together be just really weird and excited about something? But also because I think it emphasizes one thing I love about my version of Grillby, which is that he gives the impression of a stoic, silent gentleman, but deep down inside is an overly passionate nerd who can get so swept up in something he adores that he struggles to keep that composed image. It shows his hand as a bit of a closet romantic and a dreamer, and it’s something that endears him to me. But also (to get to the original point of this tangent), I think writing that out through Grillby has given me a greater appreciation for music, and enhanced my own love of it as a medium of art and communication.  So I guess I do see a lot of myself in my muses sometimes, but I feel like writing my muses in some ways has altered the way I see the world and appreciate things too, and that’s just kinda neat. 

tagged by: Stole from @megalobonia​ 

tagging: Take it, nerd

[wincestisasincest]

Gimme a Ring (Ringo Starr x Reader)

Okay so there’s lowkey highkey not enough Ringo out there which is a massive disappointment and we as a community should be ashamed. 

Idea for this fic came about when I was thorsting (romantically + also a little not) with @carpebeatles.

Description: You are trying on some of Ringo’s clothes like the fashionista you are, but you are caught!!

Words: 1,296

Warnings: Actually none. This is a very wholesome fic. 

The rings looped around your comparatively smaller fingers. There was a large gap of space between your finger and the bottom of the ring, but not too big. You could make it work if you wanted to. Fashion is all we have, after all.

The jewels, real or otherwise, glinted in the sunshine that was streaming through the windows. 

Moving in with Ringo had been so stupidly easy. You had had both adapted to each other so quickly that you never really had to the chance to properly explore and examine how the other functions domestically. For example, this was the first time you had noticed that Ringo had a larger jewelry collection than you, and just how fantastic that was. 

His namesake definitely suited him. 

Right now, he was building that namesake even more, working tirelessly with his band in that cramped recording studio banging away at his drum set. Some days he would come home terribly stressed and you would have to calm him down, and make him some tea to relax. Other days, he would come home euphoric, and would lift you in his arms and twirl you in the air just because he wanted to hold you. 

Too bad you couldn’t really do that in public. 

You set the rings down gently, organizing them by color, and cracked open the door to his closet curiously.

You’d been in here a few times because of laundry duty, but as a couple you both made a point to respect each other’s privacy. You normally did a very good job at that, but with the reality of him being gone for another month you felt like you couldn’t get enough of him in the meantime. 

Of course, that was the reason why you were at home and not at work. You were meant to help him pack. Ringo was leaving on tour tomorrow. 

The closet was lined with several loose silhouettes of your boyfriend, all the jackets and coats perfectly adapted to his frame. You ran your fingers across the fabric. 

Oh. It was this one. 

You pulled it out for old time’s sake. You’d actually met Ringo during the filming for A Hard Day’s Night, so his characteristic coat brought back certain memories. 

You slipped your arms through the coat and let fall down to your knees. It was warm, and it smelled like his cologne. 

It was missing something, you knew. You got on your toes and reached up to the shelf above the hangers in the closet. Your fingers prodded the different textures and folds before you landed on a pleated newsboy cap. You pulled it down and plopped it on your head. 

It was slightly too big, but you didn’t mind. You propped it back a little bit to show your face. 

You stepped out of the closet and looked in the mirror. You’d have to borrow his clothes more often, they really did suit you. 

You returned to your ring pile and began slipping them on your fingers, careful not to drop any. 

You twirled around in the mirror as you added the finishing touches to your look. When you spun around and looked at your back, you almost couldn’t tell the difference between yourself and Ringo. 

You saw his back a lot. 

You remembered that you would see it again tomorrow when he got on the plane for his tour. 

“Well, I seem to ‘ave found me a doppelganger,” a Liverpudlian accent announced from the doorway.

You grinned and turned to look at him. 

He was leaning against the door frame, clearly very tired. His hands were folded across his chest but even from here you could see the callouses on his fingers. He was smiling, which suited his face perfectly, and some of his bangs had stuck to his forehead because he was sweating in the hot studio. 

He looked perfect. 

“Well, I’m sorry sir, I don’t know who you are, but I am definitely Richard Starkey, otherwise known as Ringo Starr of the Beatles,” you bowed dramatically and he snorted. 

“Oh, terribly sorry sir, I’d better introduce myself. I’m (f/n) (l/n), pleased to meet you,” he stretched out his hand. 

“A pleasure,” you reached your more gilded hand forward and shook his hand vigorously. The rings on your hands and his clinked together metallically. 

You reached to pull your hand away but he was still holding onto it, gently but firmly, examining your rings. 

“You have excellent taste in rings, Mr. Starr,” he was still looking at your hands. 

“Why thank you. You have excellent taste in people, (f/n),” you added. He smiled again before releasing your hand.

“Well, maybe I can convince the lads to have you replace me on tour,” he chuckled and stretched his arms out. 

You could feel your smile taking more effort to maintain. 

“Yeah, maybe,” you turned around and began taking the rings off. He would need to pack them. 

There was a small silence as you slowly messed around with the jewelry box. 

You felt someone grab your torso from behind. 

“I know, I know, you don’t like ‘avin me gone,” he started, leaning his head on your shoulder a bit. You held onto his hands and sighed. 

“Yes, but it’s your job. And you’re happy. And I can’t exactly say no to that.”

“You’re too good to me, y’know tha’?”

“You make it terribly easy,” you quickly turned around and kissed him on the nose, “just don’t forget to give me a ring while you’re gone, okay?” 

“Yeah, speaking of Rings, look, uh,” he was fiddling around with the ones on his fingers now as he backed away from you. He did that when he was nervous. 

“Is everything alright?” you asked softly.

“No, no, everything is wonderful, which is why, I guess, I wanted to, uh....” he trailed off before swallowing deeply and catching his breath. You just watched not really sure how to intervene. 

“(y/n), you mean the world to me, you really do. I’m so lucky to have you, and I’m so lucky that you’ll have me. And I’m sorry that we have to live life like this, because it’s difficult, but I think I’ve realized that I want to spend the rest of this difficult life with you. So, uh,” he got down on one knee, “will you marry me when I get back?” 

He fished a small box out of his pocket and held it open for you. A rather simple diamond ring flashed. 

You could feel yourself tearing up as your cheeks flushed.

“Oh my goodness, yes! Yes!!!” You skipped the ring and went straight to his level on the floor, hugging him around the neck and kissing him on the lips. 

He was clearly a little taken aback, but then returned the kiss once he collected himself. You’re not sure how long you were there, and you didn’t care. 

When you finally left to catch your breath, you spotted Ringo’s newsboy cap on the floor and realized that it must have fallen off. 

You gently backed away and picked up the hat, affectionately plopping it on Ringo’s head. You took the box from his hands and slipped the ring on your finger. It was so different from all of the other rings that he owned, and yet, it was perfect. 

You felt a hand clamp down on your head and the rustling of your hair with pleated fabric. You saw the newsboy cap back on your head in the mirror.

“You wear it better,” Ringo said as you turned around yet again and kissed him deeply. 

“I love you, (y/n),” you whispered in his ear, smiling a little bit.

“And I love you, Ringo,” he returned, gentle grin still on his face. 

[pedros-mustache-main]

baby, it’s cold outside

summary: for too long you’ve been cooped up. perhaps they will be the ones to change that...

word count: 12k

warnings: mostly tropey-wintery goodness, however: accident related trauma and nightmares, language, innuendo, brief suggestive content, absolute timeline inaccuracy but i don’t care!!!!, could also be described as queen x reader but we’ll ignore that

a/n: this is a little different from my normal, but i hope you enjoy this slow and gentle fic as much as i do. happy holidays, dear ones!! 

also thank you to @dancingdiscofloof​ for your help with this one! (if you aren’t reading rove’s deaky fic, you are sincerely missing out.) 

december, 1981. montreux, switzerland. 

day zero.

in the aftermath of the accident, the cabin in the alps has been your saving grace. though the home is overly large for just one person and a cat, you cannot imagine living anywhere other than here. it is a balm to your weary soul, having nursed your broken bones and shattered spirit better than any modern medicine. it is here you began again, rising like a phoenix from the ashes, and it is here you will remain—happily.

you cherish the cabin and all the memories etched within the handcrafted walls and sturdy pine beams. each morning as you make your tea and scratch behind marmalade’s ears, you hear the laughter of your childhood echoing through time and space to reach you in the here and now. each evening as you shut off the lights and secure the doors, you smell your grandfather’s pipe smoke, though the artifact is tucked away on the fireplace mantle, now cold with neglect.

your mother, father, grandfather—they’re all gone now. it’s just you and marmalade. you’re content, though, even as you crawl in bed and snuggle beneath the covers night after night and wake up morning after morning with the promise of another solitary day.

truly, the isolation does not bother you. after the accident, it’s people—crowds and gatherings and meetings—who have become the irritant. wherever people congregate, so too does danger. you’ve experienced your fair share of hazardous situations, so you prefer the quiet mountainside now. there’s less peril, less chance for heartache.

each year, after the last of autumn’s leaves have fallen and snow begins to blanket the alpine hills, you tuck yourself away in the cabin until the end of winter. the larder in your basement remains well-stocked with all the essentials—human, feline, or otherwise—and the weeks come and go without issue. you play your records in the afternoons to fill the silence and watch the television as you eat your suppers. marmalade makes for a good conversational partner when the loneliness creeps in—and it does on occasion. still, the orange tabby cat, fat with laziness and all the love you have to offer, tilts her head when you speak and meows softly when you lift your eyebrows in expectation of a response. she’s all you need, really; but the infrequent calls you have with your boss do make up for your lack of human interaction. editing manuscripts can be done anywhere, and, so long as you meet your deadlines, your boss doesn’t care where you get the work done.

early in december, on a dreary evening, the radio encourages all listeners to batten down the hatches in preparation for a nasty snowstorm due to sweep through the mountain and the valley overnight. you look away from your mug of steaming hot cocoa and shoot marmalade a grin.

“sounds fun, yeah?” you ask her, wiggling your eyebrows.

from her place on the yellow laminate tabletop, marmalade pauses her grooming session. her paw hangs midair, the tip of her tongue hanging over her small chin. she drops her paw as you move to curl your hand beneath her stomach and lift her to your hip.

“i know you like snowstorms just as much as i do,” you say.

leaving the kitchen in favor of the open living room, you nudge the overhead light off with your knuckle. it flickers before shutting off, but soon leaves the cabin illuminated solely by the lights of the christmas tree in the corner. the cocoa trembles along the lip of the mug, so you step gingerly. your socks snag against the faded carpet, but you make it to the sofa in one piece. marmalade hops from your arms and curls herself on the far side of the couch, her tail tucked snug around her body.

knees against your chest, you sip your cocoa and bounce your eyes between the christmas tree and the bay window overlooking montreux’s city-center at the base of the mountain. both the lights of the tree and the lights of the city twinkle in the darkness, rivaling any of the brightest stars. tree branches scrape against the roof, following the path of the wind, and, if you squint hard enough, the first of the snowstorm’s flakes are visible through the pale beam of the floodlight outside.

a sigh rattles your chest, and you smile.

it’s a quiet life. some might say a lonely one. but even if they’re right, you wouldn’t change it.

not for anything.

day one.

you wake up late.

normally, you rise with your alarm and keep to a consistent schedule. it helps with the monotony of your life and stops you from wasting time lounging in the comfort of your bed. some days, though, you allow yourself a few extra hours, and the morning after a snowstorm seems the perfect day to sleep in a tad longer.

it reminds you of childhood—the mornings you listened to the radio beneath your bed covers, fingers crossed your school would be announced as closed due to inclement weather. when the inevitable joy came, you would snuggle back in bed; though by then, the glee of a surprise day off of school was all too much too bear, and you were up and moving within moments.

you smile to yourself at the memory, at the way your mother made pancakes every snow day, without fail. you miss her pancakes.

when marmalade pounces onto the end of your bed, meowing sharply, you sit up. “what? are you hungry?” twisting, you glance at the analog clock across your bedroom. “it’s only nine, marmy.”

she presses your foot with her paw, meowing again.

“fine.”

slipping from bed, you cross to your dresser and drag a brush through your sleep-rustled hair. as always, a sliver of cold seeps in through the skylight overhead, and you lift your face, smiling at the sight of snow obscuring the heavens. your smile only widens as you hurry down the stairs, elbows fighting against the arms of your robe.

the world is drenched in snow. you trip to the bay window, press your hand against the cold glass, and grin. a layer of fluffy white powder clings to every nook and cranny of the mountainside. hints of evergreen peak through as the only spots of color in an otherwise white world. even the sky reflects the dazzling brilliance of the snow, and you have to blink rapidly to keep from going blind.

marmalade’s bell collar jingles as she makes her way down the stairs. she stretches at the bottom step, meowing again when she sees you.

“okay, okay, miss impatient.” you shake your head as you turn from the window. “we have the whole day, you know? ‘s not like there will be much else going on around here.”

you turn on the radio as you enter the kitchen. a soft melody—“merry christmas darling” by the carpenters—sets you to a gentle sway as you pour marmalade’s food and set about making your own breakfast.

karen’s warm voice distracts you from the first knock on your door.

keeping marmalade away from the bacon in the cast-iron skillets hinders you from answering the second.

the third, though—the third knock makes you scream.

it’s not so much of a knock as it is a hand slammed against the outside of the bay window, dark eyes peering into your sanctuary, winter cap pulled tight over any discernible features save a thick mustache. you screech, dropping the spatula in your hand to the floor. marmalade drives for the grease-covered utensil, and you trip over her in your haste to hide in the narrow closet beneath the stairs.

perhaps he hadn’t heard you? perhaps he hadn’t seen the streak of multi-colored fabric as you rushed across the living room in your purple robe and bright yellow socks?

who are you kidding? the bay window offers a glimpse into the majority of your home: the small living room, equally as small kitchen, stairs leading to the bedrooms on the second floor. he probably even saw you fling open the closet door and close it. if he did make it inside, he wouldn’t have to search for long in order to find you.

you press a hand over your mouth, squeezing your eyes shut, at the sound of another bang against the door.

this—this was why your aunt in sheffield had pleaded for you not to take the cabin after the accident. she was so afraid you’d be murdered by a crazed hiker or wayward bear. you’d laughed at the thought back then.

but here you are now, cowering in your closet between a hoover and a winter coat, preparing to make her worst fear a living reality. you only hope marmalade enjoyed the bacon grease as a parting gift.

a muffled voice drifts through the walls after a beat of silence. “for god’s sake, we know you’re in there!”

we? your heart rate triples at the simple, two-letter word. we!

drawing in a deep breath, you root around in the darkened closet for a makeshift weapon. this is your home; you will defend it. or at least do your best to scare off the intruders with whatever fake bravado you can muster.

finding nothing, you inch out of the closet and crawl on your hands and knees toward the kitchen. you pause long enough behind the sofa to peer over the arm. another man has his face pressed against the window, his eyes narrowed as he looks over the room. he looks to his right, long curls bobbing with the motion. his mouth moves, but only garbled sounds meet your ears. while he’s distracted, you crawl into the kitchen and grab the cast-iron skillet. it feels hefty in your palm, and you judge the weight with a turn of your wrist. it could do some serious damage if handled correctly. flicking the oven off and dumping the burnt bacon in the trash, you curl both hands around the handle of the skillet and slink toward the door.

no one stands before the window as you make your way through the living room. no one bangs against the door. yet you can feel their presence on the other side of the flimsy piece of wood separating you from them.

you swallow hard as you grasp the cold doorknob, twisting the lock to the side.

steeling yourself, you grit your jaw, and, in one quick motion, throw open the door, brandish the skillet overhead, and roar like a lioness.

“oh fuck!” one of the four men on your front porch stumbles backward in surprise. his arms pinwheel as he loses his balance and drops to his backside on the snowy ground.

the one with the cascading curls can only stare at you with wide eyes and parted lips, stunned to frozen. for his part, the one with the mustache shields himself behind the one with the curls, shouting for someone named deaky to get her to understand.

it is the one with the straight, grecian nose and storm cloud eyes—deaky, you surmise—who speaks to you first. he holds his arms out in defense, his long fingers splayed wide. he glances between the skillet over your head and your face.

“we’re not here to hurt you,” he says. his voice is even and calm, though more unique than you would have originally guessed. you thought all bad guys had deep voices. his voice is too pleasant, and it sets you further on edge.

you deepen your frown, drawing in another breath. “isn’t that what they all say?”

he frowns. “i don’t know who they are.”

“thieves. murderers. criminals!” you lift your skillet slightly higher, and he flinches backward, hands raising a fraction. “i’m not afraid to use this!”

“i don’t doubt it!” he shakes his head, and his eyelashes flutter when a wayward snowflake catches in his vision. “really, though, we just want to use your phone.”

“my… phone?”

with an exasperated sigh, the blond who’d fallen to his rump in the snow shoulders past deaky. “yes, your phone. you do have one, don’t you? we need to get down this godforsaken mountain before our tits freeze off!”

deaky twists and scowls at his friend, hissing, “roger!”

roger waves him off with a dark look. “deaky, i nearly broke my ass with that stunt she pulled. i’m cold, my trousers are wet, and i want to go home. you’ll have to forgive me if i’m a little terse, you twat.”

the one with long curls and sharp facial features gently moves roger out from under deaky’s increasingly cold stare. he places himself between the pair, towering over the other two. despite his height, he holds his shoulders in a noticeable hunch, as though attempting to make himself smaller. he offers you a wry grin.

“sorry for startling you,” he says. his voice is soft and decidedly unthreatening; your tight hold on the skillet goes slack. “i’m brian. these are my friends—roger, john, and freddie. we’re kind of in a bind, and we’d really appreciate it if you lent us your phone. just for a quick call. then we’ll be gone.”

you glance between the foursome. though roger’s face is still shadowed by frustration, they seem harmless enough. maybe a little cranky, but mostly harmless.

unless, of course, that’s what they want you to think.

your aunt’s warning that you trust too easily plays in the back of your mind, and you consider that she might be right. you bite your lower lip, prepared to turn them away, when marmalade jingles her way into the conversation. she curls around your ankle, head lifted to stare at the four men on her porch. the bell around her neck sounds as she turns from side to side around your leg.

“you didn’t say you had a cat!” the one with the mustache—freddie—coos in delight. he crouches, clicking his tongue to gain marmalade’s attention. after a beat of hesitation, she inches forward to sniff the proffered hand. you watch, and when marmalade nuzzles her nose against freddie’s palm, the tension in your shoulders dissipates.  

you sigh with a conciliatory smile. “well, if she trusts you, i suppose i will too.” stepping to the side, you nod to the living room. “come in and warm up.”

the men mumble various forms of gratitude and shuffle past you, sure to stomp their snowy boots against the welcome mat outside the door. they crowd around the low fire in the fireplace, and you hurry to toss a few logs on the dying embers. deaky takes the fire poker from your hand when you grab it from its place nestled along the extra pile of wood. his fingertips skim your knuckles, and you’re struck by how warm he feelings despite the weather outside. you meet his gaze, your eyes wide as you wait for him to explain.

“i can do that,” he says. “maybe you can show brian the phone?”

now that he’s shed his overcoat, you note the way his pale blue sweater brings out the pale blue of his eyes. he really is quite handsome. they all are, and it’s been a long time since you were in the presence of a handsome man, let alone four. who can blame you for being a little tongue tied?

you blink when you realize you’ve stared a bit too long. heat rushes to your cheeks, and you turn away, scanning the small room for brian. “right, yes. the phone.”

you find brian stood between the living area and the kitchen, his hands in his pockets, stiff while his counterparts make themselves comfortable. roger lounges on the sofa, his legs spread toward the fire. freddie sits at the kitchen table, marmalade snuggled beneath his chin. and with the fire now flooding the cabin with warmth, deaky drops to the single armchair facing the kitchen.

you motion to brian’s wet coat. “would you like to take your coat off, brian? you look awfully damp.”

he shakes his head. “i’m alright.”

you decide not to press and instead point to the phone attached to the wall. “the phone’s just there. do you need a number? or do you have what you need?”

“actually, do you have a number for the gondola lift?”

“yeah, of course.”

you step past him to pull open a junk drawer. apart from a winding, perilous road, the gondola lift is the only way down the mountain for the few people who live mountainside year round.  you’ve gotten to know the owner and operator—jimmy schmits—well after your several years living in the cabin. he or someone on his staff is only a phone call away should you need travel assistance, and you prefer the gondola ride to taking your beat-up car down the rocky, poorly paved road.

you hand brian a small, cardstock business card. “that’s the number there.”

he glances down then gives you a tight smile. “thanks.”

turning to allow him what privacy you can in the cramped space, you glance around the room at the three pairs of eyes staring back at you. the laugh that escapes from behind your lips is decidedly nervous, wavering and forced. “sorry. i just—this is a bit weird for me. i would have dressed the part had i known people were coming over.” you suck in a breath and nod to the refrigerator. “have any of you eaten?”

roger opens his mouth to say something, but deaky hurries to speak first, leaning forward in the armchair. “yes, thank you. we ate early this morning.”

roger’s face contorts to a frown, and, in what you assume is supposed to be a surreptitious move, deaky kicks his friend’s shin to silence any further protest. you look away when deaky’s eyes find yours again, his gaze apologetic.

“i’ll just make some tea, then,” you mumble.

the quiet in the room is thick, save for brian’s soft voice coming from the hall as he talks on the phone. you keep your back to the three men as you prepare a kettle for tea.

you spend much of winter in solitude, and truly, you like it that way. this sudden influx of company has you on edge, especially considering your less-than-becoming attire, bedhead, and sleepy eyes. you don’t know what to say to alleviate the discomfort in the room, aren’t really sure if it’s your job to make them feel comfortable.

really, you aren’t sure about anything this morning.

as you wait for the water to boil, you lean against the kitchen counter and cross your arms over your chest. the fuzzy neck of your robe rubs against your chin as you duck your head, and you study the worn tile floor beneath your long socks.

“what’s your cat’s name?”

you look up. it’s the one with the mustache—freddie. his brown eyes are warm, and he scratches beneath marmalade’s chin as he waits for your answer. for marmalade’s part, she purrs happily in his arms, seemingly more comfortable with your guests than yourself. “marmalade,” you say.

freddie grins, and you can’t help but find yourself smiling back. “perfect name. yet we seem to be missing one important thing…”

“what’s that?”

“your name. if we’re going to intrude upon your cabin and make you uncomfortable, i think we should know who to send the gift basket to once we’re rescued.”

your brow pinches slightly in confusion. freddie speaks with a certain air that you can’t quite place—one of regality, you think. you glance at deaky across the room, and he moves his eyes to the fire as he gnaws on his lower lip.

you look back at freddie, give him your name, then say, “and you’re not making me uncomfortable.”

“please,” freddie deadpans. “i know discomfort when i see it.” he lets marmalade go, who jumps to the floor, padding her way from the tiled kitchen to the carpeted living room. he stands from the table and points to the stove. “the kettle is ready, love.”

you hadn’t heard the sharp whistle, so engrossed were you in your own thoughts.

“oh!” spinning on your heel, you flip the stove-top off and remove the kettle, the whistle dying to a light trill. freddie arranges a ramshackle collection of mugs along the counter, pulled from the spinning rack in the corner. “thank you,” you whisper, as you divvy out the hot water and he drops the tea bags into the mugs.

freddie gathers the milk and sugar, making himself both useful and right at home, which you find you don’t mind too much, though it surprises you how he moves with such ease and command around a home not his own. he must be comfortable anywhere and with anyone, and you envy him that.

he carefully sets the tea tray on the low coffee table in the living room. “how do you take your tea, darling?” he asks you, bending over, his ass pointed near the fire, as he makes to prepare your cup.

you skirt into the living room, shaking your head. “oh, you don’t have to—”

he arches an eyebrow, and his voice is firm when he speaks. “how do you take your tea?”

with a small smile, you lower yourself beside roger on the couch, careful to keep a large space between you. “more sugar than milk, please.”

freddie prepares your cup then passes you the steaming mug. your smile widens in gratitude as you take the warm ceramic from his hands. he prepares his own tea before dropping to the brick ledge of the fireplace. he waves his hand in dismissal at roger and deaky.

“you two make your own,” he quips. “you’ve thoroughly pissed me off this morning.”

from behind the lip of your mug, you pull your mouth into an amused line. your eyes dart to deaky, who is bent forward, frozen as he reaches for a mug of tea. he skewers freddie with an unamused look.

“this isn’t my fault, fred,” he says.

from beside you, roger’s deliciously high voice pipes up. “nor mine!”

“no, of course it isn’t your fault, roger. we wouldn’t dare accuse you of—”

before freddie can finish his sentence, brian returns from the side hall. you shift, turning your head along with the others to hear what came of his conversation with the gondola lift owner.

brian rubs the back of his neck, his eyebrows tilted upward in apology. “well, the gondola is down today.”

“all day?” you speak a little too quickly, and you wince, dropping your eyes to the pale liquid in your mug.

brian nods. “yeah—at least until tomorrow. i guess a tree fell after we were dropped off this morning and struck a line on the lift. and the road isn’t clear, so… we’re stuck.” he glances between his friends, the hunch of his shoulders growing as the weight of their predicament sets in.

“well…” you start. you lean forward to place your tea on a worn coaster. “i certainly won’t turn you out with nowhere to go.” for what feels like the tenth time this morning, you draw in a deep breath through your teeth to steady yourself. “i suppose you lot can stay the night, then. that is, if you want to...”

there’s a beat, a moment of heavy silence, before brian says, “we couldn’t impose like that.”

you frown. “where else would you go?”

roger snorts. “brian would sleep beneath a tree if he thought it might make your life a little easier.”

you glance at roger, uncertain if his words are more jest than jab. the half-smile on his face fades under your questioning gaze, and he shifts. “i just mean,” he continues, “that brian is the most chivalrous out of all of us. not that we have any ugly intentions—”

“roger.” it’s deaky this time, and he sounds more than a little perturbed. “stop talking.”

you hesitate before explaining your offer further. “it’ll be a squeeze,” you say. “but we can make it work. i would rather you spend the night here then wander around in the cold and freeze to death. my closest neighbor is four kilometers off, and she doesn’t have electricity. you won’t be able to find her cabin if it gets dark.”

freddie shivers, though you’re sure his backside is nice and toasty from where he sits close to the fire. “oh good god,” he mutters, bringing his tea close to his mouth. “you people are insane.”

deaky catches your eye, and his brow arches. “if you’re sure…”

you nod. “i’m sure.”

“thank you. honestly, you’re a life-saver.” brian’s shoulders seem to straighten as a smile eases the lines on his forehead. he offers you his hand, which you shake, as he says, “and i’m sorry, but i didn’t catch your name while i was on the phone.”

you give him your name, and he grins, nodding to his friends. “in case you forgot: i’m brian may, and that’s roger taylor, john deacon, and freddie mercury.”

there’s something vaguely familiar about the names, particularly freddie’s, but you can’t quite put your finger on where you’ve heard that lineup before. frowning, you glance between the four men, who stare back at you with expectant sort of faces, as if they’re waiting for the lightbulb above your head to illuminate. you run through the rolodex of names in your brain, but come up short.

“are you performers or something? i swear i’ve heard your names before.”

“we’re in a band,” roger says.

you cringe in apology. “i’m afraid i don’t know bands very well. my radio—i only get one station up here, and it’s mostly yodeling. christmas is the only time of year i can pick up anything worthwhile. got any christmas songs?”

“no, and i’m not sure we will.”

“what band, then? maybe i’ve heard of you on the off chance, but don’t take it to heart if i haven’t.”

freddie leans forward in expectation. “we’re called queen. ring any bells?”

you consider before nodding. “i think so. there’s only one song that comes to mind, though. another one bites the… something? dust, maybe?”

with a laugh, freddie slaps his hand against deaky—john’s knee. “that’s deaky’s song!”

you find yourself smiling—and easily—for the first time since waking. “really? i like it!” shrugging your shoulders in time with the bassline, you do a poor imitation of the song’s opening. beside you, roger laughs, shoving john’s shoulder when a flush creeps up his cheeks. “it’s fun!”

john nods once, mumbling, “thanks.” he drops his cheek to his hand, eyes falling to the carpet, and your smile softens.

you look away, sparing him further embarrassment. “so, i’m in the presence of royalty, i guess, but all i have to offer you is my parent’s old bed, which can fit two, a trundle mattress in my bedroom, and a military cot in the basement.”

brian squeezes your arm in reassurance. “anything will suit us fine. we’re just glad we found you.”

“i’m glad i can help,” you say, and even if it were for this moment alone, you’re glad you never listened to your aunt in sheffield.

day two.

you wake the next morning with a gasp, panic shooting straight to your heart when you roll over and see a man lying on the floor next to your bed. your first instinct is to scream, to call for help, but then the fogginess of slumber lifts from your mind. you recognize the man on the floor, and your defenses drop in relief.

you’d forgotten.

the previous day’s events seem more like something out of a dream than reality. four men—four famous men—appearing on your doorstep? getting stuck in your cabin after a technological malfunction? challenging one another to a game of rock-paper-scissors in order to determine sleeping arrangements? surely you’d made that up, a dream produced by an overactive imagination and too much time alone.

but no—the presence of one john deacon, asleep on the trundle bed extended from beneath your mattress confirms your current reality. you run your eyes over his sleeping face and note the stillness with which he softly snores, one arm tucked behind his pillow. he looks peaceful.

you hope you didn’t disturb his sleep during the night. ever since the accident, nightmares tend to plague your dreams. at least twice a week, you shoot out of bed, drenched in sweat and crying out in the empty darkness of your room. you can’t remember if you’d dreamt at all last night, but you’d shrivel up and die of embarrassment if any of your frantic kicking or mumbling had woken him.

“do you always stare at people when they sleep?”

“shit!” you crash backwards against the wall in surprise at the sound of john’s sleepy voice. your head connects with the paneled wood behind you, and you curse again, rubbing the sore spot on your skull.

“do you always have such a dirty mouth too?” he’s propped up on his elbow now, eyes gleaming with a mischief you hadn’t seen yesterday. his curls lay askew on his head, and his shirt—a flannel pulled from the depths of your grandfather’s belongings—swallows his torso.

continuing to rub your head, you frown. “do you always insist on asking so many questions this early in the morning?”

“only when people stare at me while i sleep.”

you drop your hand, wrinkling your nose in embarrassment. “sorry.” although the tip of your nose is cold, your cheeks feel warm with a flush. “i didn’t think you were awake, and i was… thinking. i wasn’t really staring at you.”

half-truth. maybe a quarter-truth. your four guests are handsome—each of them in their own right—but john… he has the potential to make your knees go wobbly should he flash you one of his secretive and elusive grins.

but, in all truth, you were thinking of other things as you’d looked down at him: thinking about the day and your work and how soft his hair looked and the strength of his nose and—

john rolls off the trundle bed. when he stands, he swivels his arms back and forth, stretching his back muscles. “’s okay. i’m getting used to it.” before you can ask him what he means, he points to the skylight in the middle of your room. “i’ve got a feeling we’re in for a rude awakening.”

your gaze follows his extended finger, and you huff when you see the skylight entirely darkened by a heavy layer of snow. yesterday afternoon, you had still been able to make out the sun’s rays through the unmelted snow leftover from the recent storm. now, the skylight serves more as an extension of your stippled ceiling than an opportunity to glimpse the night sky.

“must have been another storm last night,” you say, slipping out of bed.

you don’t miss the way john’s eyes immediately flit to your legs and your exposed thighs. your nightshirt falls to the middle of your thighs, a long pair of socks pulled over your knees your only leg coverings. his eyebrows shoot up his forehead, his lips slightly parted, but he looks away when you shift uncomfortably with the hem of your shirt. damn your mother for passing on her penchant for hot sleeping!

he gathers his clothes from a chair in the corner and nods to the door. “i’ll just go… change downstairs.”

your nod is too enthusiastic to be anything but embarrassed. “yeah, okay. i’ll be down in a moment. help yourself to whatever you find in the kitchen.”

john, holding his clothes to his chest, leaves the room in a hurry, his head down and eyes averted. when the door shuts, the lock giving a soft click as it slides home, you drop to your bed with a groan.

it might be a long day.

after fixing your hair and pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and sweater, you make your way down the stairs and into the living room. a chill hangs in the air, one much deeper than the general winter cold. it goes straight to your bones and makes your teeth chatter in your skull. shivering, you circle your arms around your waist, prepared to go start a fresh fire in the hearth, but something in the corner of your eye stops you.

your guests—all four of them in a line, their mismatched heights on full display—staring out the bay window.

“what is it?” you ask, bending to lift marmalade from the floor when she jingles her way over from the kitchen. “did it really snow that much?”

roger looks over his shoulder, and the disappointment shadowing his face gives you pause. “come see for yourself.” he drops to the couch with a defeated groan, cradling his forehead in his hand.

holding marmalade against your shoulder, you tiptoe to the window, the floor beneath your feet unusually frigid. you exhale at the sight of the fresh snowfall, and your breath clouds the windowpane. a thick layer of white powder covers the mountainside. as far as your eye can see, there’s nothing but pure white. it’s blinding in the morning sun, and you blink against the glistening snowflakes.

“it’s got to be at least one meter,” brian whispers. “maybe more.”

freddie shakes his head back and forth, gesturing to the side. “i can’t even see the bloody porch steps. they’ve been swallowed!”

john shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “no power either.”

you twist to stare at him in shock. “what? no power?”

he gives you the briefest of glances then returns his gaze to the window. “i checked the breaker. it’s all out.”

from the couch, roger groans again. “which means we are stuck for the foreseeable future. brian called the gondola and they couldn’t even pick up, so that’s out of the question.” he slumps further down the couch cushions. “i had a fucking holiday party planned for next week.”

“now wait a minute.” brian turns from the window and reaches over to give roger’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “the snow will clear up before then. it’ll just be a few more days. that is”—his eyes slide to you—“if you’ll let us stay?”

you glance between your guests before laughing in indignation. “you didn’t really think i’d turn you out, did you?” marmalade hops from your arms when you plant your hands on your hips. “honestly, i might be somewhat of a recluse, but i’m not completely rude.”

freddie skirts around john to place both hands on your shoulders and steer you toward the kitchen. “no one thinks you’re rude, darling. we just didn’t want to assume.” he jerks his head toward john. “now, john will start the fire and we’ll all get cozy and perhaps play a game of scrabble. roger found the board downstairs last night. how does that sound?”

you meet john’s eyes over freddie’s shoulder, and he smiles—ever so slightly, but enough to drop your defensive stance. you nudge freddie with your arm and nod. “scrabble it is.”

after breakfast, you are quickly bested in the shortest game of scrabble you’ve ever played. it seems your guests are quite the experts, so you leave them to their fun in order to complete a series of edits on your latest manuscript. from the kitchen table, you can hear them bickering over whether or not freddie’s addition is a dictionary defined word or whether or not john can go twice in one turn because roger knocked his letters from the coffee table.

the gentle hum of conversation—of life—warms your chest. it’s been a long time since your home felt lived in. for so long you have simply subsisted, moving from room to room to change the scenery, leaving the mountain only when necessary, never truly engaging with the outside world. it’s easier to live alone—there’s less risk in it, less wondering if today could be the last day you interact with a loved one because fate has some cruel trick up its sleeve.

but, damn, if having roger and john and brian and freddie grace your living room doesn’t remind you of how irritatingly necessary other people are to living a truly fulfilled life.

brian asks if he can prepare a light lunch, and while he does, you gather your work and set it aside. you have a deadline—the first of the year—but for the moment, you’d rather engage with others instead of shoving your head deep within the made-up realms of your novelists.

with a dramatic stretch, you raise your arms above your head and groan as the muscles pop in your back.

“all done, then?” freddie asks.

“for now,” you say.

he pats the open spot of the couch between himself and john, and you squeeze between them, tilting your socked feet toward the roaring fire. you find yourself still shivering slightly, despite the extra layer beneath your sweater and warm wool socks. if you remember correctly, your father had complained of poor insulation in the attic. you wish, perhaps a bit selfishly, he’d gotten that fixed before his passing.

“here.” john shimmies one side of the blanket draped over his shoulders around yours. “we can share.”

“thanks,” you whisper, grabbing the corner he offers and pulling it around your back. the movement draws him closer, the outside of his thigh pressed tightly against yours. he feels warm, though, like your own little space heater, and you resist the urge to lean into him for further comfort. instead, you focus your attention on freddie, who explains how he and his bandmates came to be stranded on a swiss mountainside.

“so, really, it’s roger’s fault that we’re in this predicament,” freddie says. “he was the one who wanted to go skiing.”

you tilt your head to the side, confused as you glance toward the front door. “where is all your gear, then? you didn’t bring any in.”

john sighs with a shake of his head. “we forgot that in the hotel.”

“no one is brilliant at five am, dear. except for maybe brian, but even he failed to remind us that the first rule of skiing is you need skis.” freddie shrugs his shoulders. “oh well. it brought us to you, didn’t it?”

smiling, you nod. beside you, john shifts a little closer. his free hand rests on his leg, but his pinky finger extends outward, brushing along the outer seam of your jeans. your grin widens.

“yeah, i suppose it did.”

day three.

it’s just past midnight when you tumble from the depths of your nightmare.

the accident—replaying—over and over and over. the twist of the car over the edge of the ravine. you, powerless, helpless as you watch from the safety of your grandfather’s truck. the crunch of metal against rock and tree and—

—and the ultimate knowledge that there was no way your parents could survive such a fall settling over your heart like a three-ton brick.

you jerk awake with a barely-contained screech. clamping your hand over your mouth, you squeeze your eyes shut, willing away the images that flash through your mind like some sort of cruel slideshow. blood and guts and screams and—

a warm hand on your shoulder, soft voice in your ear saying your name, pulls you back to reality. “hey. hey, wake up.”

your eyes flutter open, sleeve of your shirt caught between your teeth where you bite down hard. in the dim light of the room, you can make out the angles of john’s face, the line of his nose, pout of his lips. a soft glow—from the nightlight in the corner, you think—shrouds the curls on his head, giving him the curve of a halo.

your ribs shudders as you exhale. he looks like an angel, an angel sent to save you perhaps. never in your lift have you so badly wanted to embrace someone in relief.

instead, you drop the hand from your mouth and lean closer to the wall at your side, away from him. “huh? wha—oh… john, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to wake you.”

his grip on your shoulder tightens, and he ignores your apology. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing. just a nightmare.”

“some nightmare.” john’s hand slips from your shoulder to your elbow, and he rubs his cheek with his opposite hand. “you hit me.”

“fuck, did i? oh hell, john.”

scrambling to your knees, you frown into the darkness, searching for a welt or bruise blossoming on his cheek. it’s too dark to see clearly, though, and you sigh in defeat, hanging your head. embarrassment swells in your stomach, wrenching it side to side, and you turn your face away, hoping against hope that he can’t see the evidence of your fluster.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper.

more than anything, more than the embarrassment roiling through your system and the nerves wracking your chest, you find yourself feeling frustrated. two day—two days with queen in the house, and two days you’ve felt a magnetic pull towards john. maybe you’re just lonely and maybe you’re just reading too much into the stolen glances and brushes of his hand against yours, but having him here in the house with you? tossing your sideways looks when freddie says something that makes you laugh and helping you pull the biscuit tin from its place on the top of the shelf? you’d thought that maybe—just maybe—he might see something worthwhile in you, too.

but no rockstar could put up with you. surely, he must see that plainly now. your fear of crowds and loud noises and your night terrors—that’s not made for the high life. he would go once he got the chance, forget about you and you cat in the cabin on the mountainside. why you ever considered for a moment he would do otherwise further stokes the shame threatening to consume you.

you fiddle with the sheets and blankets gathered around your knees. “you can sleep downstairs, if you like,” you say in a rush. your grip tightens on the quilt binding, and you rub your thumb back and forth across a frayed string. “i won’t mind.”

john remains still and quiet for so long you think he must’ve fallen back asleep. but then he stands, and he gently nudges your shoulder.

“scoot over,” he urges, and you find yourself inching closer to the wall without a second thought. john slides into bed next to you, his body warm and strong. “is this okay?”

you nod because, truly, yes, it is okay with you. very much okay.

“when i was little,” he starts, adjusting the quilts around his chest, his ankle brushing your leg. “i had this dog, and any time i had a nightmare, he would crawl into bed with me, help it all go away. i know i’m not as fluffy as a dog, but… well, i thought maybe we might see if this helps it go away.” he pauses for a breath and asks again, “is that okay?”

“yeah, yeah, it’s okay.” your voice is a puff of air, and if it were any colder, you’re sure your breath would crystalize.

“good.” he settles deeper into your shared pillow, and you catch a whiff of your shampoo in his hair. it makes your stomach clench, not from embarrassment, but an entirely different emotion. beneath the covers, one of his hands slips over the curve of your wrist, and his fingers tangle with yours. he gives your palm a squeeze. “go back to sleep.”

you do—easily.

john’s heartbeat is steady beneath your ear when your eyes flutter open for the second time. you’d rested without struggle for the first time in a long time. your shoulders feel loose, your eyes free from heavy circles.

and it’s all because of john.

your cheek is firm against his chest, and the fabric of your grandfather’s flannel still smells like his cigar smoke, but there’s something else, something distinctly john, and it’s all you can do to not turn your face further into his chest and snuggle closer to his side. he’s warm, and you’re still cold despite the heavy blankets cocooning you. his arm is slung over your back, drawing you tighter to his chest, his face turned to the side as he breathes softly in sleep.

you should get up, go downstairs, and find something to eat, check to see if the power has returned. you’d rather stay here, in this quiet, still moment, until the rest of the world fades away and you are left with him and him alone. your wish isn’t meant to be, it seems, because just as you are prepared to lean further into john’s warmth and return to sleep, freddie bursts through the door.

you jolt upwards at the sound of the door slamming against the wall. john is right behind you, and his arm instinctively tightens around your back.  

the grin on freddie’s face is positively shit-eating, and he puts his hands on his hips as he looks between you and john with something between pride and amusement. “oh! well, well, well, what do we have here?!”

“fuck, fred.” john releases his hold on you, moving to run a hand down his face to cover his yawn. “damn near pissed myself.”

“yes, i’m sure.” freddie chuckles to himself then cocks his head toward the open door. “make yourselves presentable. we’ve got decorating to do.”

he exits without further explanation, leaving a ball of confusion and uncertainty in your stomach and a proverbial elephant in the room. you fiddle with the end of your sleeve, wondering if john thinks the silence is as thick as you do.

“you seem to have slept better,” he says at last.

you turn, and his face is so near yours you could kiss him. instead, you just nod and say, “yes, i did. thanks to you.”

he shrugs, shaking his head. “i’m a selfish guy. i didn’t want to get hit again. seemed the easiest way to spare me the pain.”

somehow you know he’s joking. you know he slept as well as you because of your body pressed against his. you know he feels the spark, and he’s waiting for the moment to light the flame.

perhaps it’s the crinkles around his eyes when he smiles, or the quick wink you nearly miss, that tell you you’re not crazy, that he feels it too. or maybe… maybe he’s the other half of the string that’s tied beneath your ribs. the string is no longer stretched and pulled taut, but relaxed, made light by fate and nature conspiring to bring you together.

or maybe you’re reading something that isn’t there again.

you look away first, but can’t keep the giddy smile from your face. he makes your heart feel weightless. and after being weighed down for so long, you feel as if you could do anything.

john gathers his clothes and changes downstairs while you get dressed for the day. by the time you make it to the living room, brian hands you a warm-ish glass of orange juice and a bowl of cereal while roger tends the fire and freddie sits on the floor, marmalade sniffing around the open boxes of christmas décor at his feet. 

unbidden, tears spring to your eyes, and you tighten your hold on the glass in your hand.

three christmases you’ve been alone. three christmases you’ve avoided the tried and true rituals of your childhood. three years you’ve missed this, the warmth of friendship and togetherness.

your heart gives a painful lurch at the thought of all you’ve missed out on, all you’ve neglected in order to save yourself from pain. only, perhaps you’ve driven yourself to much more pain, shutting yourself away on the mountain as you have.

john appears at your side, and his hand comes to rest on the curve of your neck, his finger tracing the edge of your jaw. “what is it?” he whispers, low enough so only you can hear.

clearing your throat, you grin up at him. “i’m just happy.”

his eyes scan the room before he dips his head and presses his lips to your temple. his grip on the back of your neck tightens as he lingers against your skin. your eyes flutter shut, and you lean closer to him, warmth spreading from the crown of your head to the soles of your feet. he releases you after a moment, nudging you forward with a hand to the small of your back.

you drop to the carpet beside freddie and take a bite of your cereal. “where did you find all this? i didn’t know i’d kept it.”

“i found it, actually,” roger says from his place in the kitchen.

“and you found the scrabble board too… if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were snooping around my house.”

“so what if i am?” roger shrugs. “i’m bored as hell without the tellie. there’s loads of stuff downstairs just waiting for me to snoop through.” he finishing tacking something to the archway of the kitchen before stepping into the living room, hands in his pockets.

“roger, stop your griping and sit down.” brian nods to the open armchair. “we haven’t had this much time off in ages. enjoy it while you can.”

“really, why do you keep all this marvelous stuff downstairs?” freddie asks. he sifts his hands through the box on his lap, filled with tinsel and ribbons your mother collected over the years. “you have a tree, but that’s it. your entire cabin could be dripping with christmas cheer if you wanted.”

“it’s just me,” you say. as if understanding, marmalade gives a petulant meow. you smile and scratch behind her ears. “and marmy, i guess. there’s no reason to go above and beyond if it’s just me.”

brian’s brow furrows in concern. “your parents? siblings?”

“my parents died about five years ago, my grandfather shortly after. there’s no siblings. just me.” rising from your place on the floor, you gather your empty breakfast bowl and the leftover plate sitting adjacent.

it’s quiet as you deposit the dishes in the sink. the story of your parent’s tragic accident and grandfather’s health decline has never been a mood booster; this you well know. still, you feel obligated to tell your guests. no—not obligated. willing. you love your parents and your grandfather, but you’ve neglected their memory too long.

you turn from the sink. “why don’t we put the decorations up? in their memory.”

freddie’s smile is soft, affectionate. he nods resolutely. “a lovely idea.”

brian puts a christmas record on the turntable, and the house seems to sigh in relief as life, happiness, and festive cheer fills the rooms after so long. roger tosses handfuls of tinsel upon the sparsely decorated tree, his hips swaying to the beat of the music, and freddie directs brian in hanging garland over the mantelpiece and around the staircase banister. you sit beside john on the floor, stringing popcorn along a piece of string. your hands are salty and warm from the popcorn, and his shoulder brushes yours as you work.

“you know,” he says. “my dad died when i was young.”

you pause, an unpopped kernel between your fingers. “really? sorry—i don’t mean to sound so surprised. i just—you didn’t say anything, so…”

he brushes your hurried apology away with a shake of his head. “i was eleven. changed me forever. i don’t really remember much of my childhood, you know, ‘cause of that.”

“oh, john.” though your fingers are slick with salt and butter and grease, you cover his hand with yours. he looks up from the half-filled bowl, and leans closer, his shoulder pushing against yours. “i’m sorry. that—no child should have to lose their parent at a young age.”

“i don’t tell you to feel sorry for me.” he removes his hand from beneath yours and continues to string the popcorn, but there’s no malice or hostility in his words—just truth. “i’m just saying it because i know how it feels to lose a parent early. it’s… devastating.”

you nod, twisting your mouth to side and looking away from his searching gaze. “yes, it is.” drawing in a deep breath, you face him again. “i think i dwell too much on the sadness, though. there’s happiness in their memory, and i forget that. but you lot helped me remember. you helped me remember.”

john ducks his head on a shy grin, his cheeks pink with blush.

heart tripping in your chest, you stand and return to the kitchen to refill the popcorn bowl while he drapes the first completed string around the tree. as the popcorn pops, you tuck your face near your shoulder, smiling to yourself. three days ago, you’d gone to bed thinking you knew what christmas would look like this year: desolate and lonely, with only your cat by your side and work to fill your days. how could you have guessed? how could you have known what nature would bring your way?

when you turn, the freshly filled bowl cradled in the crook of your arm, you stop short. roger, a sideway grin on his face, stands in the doorway of the kitchen. he jerks his chin upwards, and you follow his eyeline to the sprig of faux mistletoe tacked to the ceiling.

you roll your eyes. “so, that’s what you were doing. you really are a trouble-maker, roger.”

“come on, it’s tradition, love. just one kiss?” he opens his arms slightly, beckoning with a wave of his fingers.

you huff with mock indignance, but your cheeks warm at the thought of roger taylor wanting to kiss you of all people. the little you know of queen and their stardom is knowledge enough to tell you that roger has kissed far worthier people. they all have, probably. you—you’re just a country bumpkin, hardly interesting or captivating enough for his—or any of their—attentions.

that, at least, is what you would have told yourself three days ago. today, the thoughts tumble through your head, but you push them aside with a newfound sense of confidence. it doesn’t mean anything, anyway. it’s just a mistletoe kiss. and you think you’d regret it forever if you turned him down.

before you can stop yourself, you step forward, and roger rightly takes the movement as an agreement. he kisses you soundly, one hand feather-light in the center of your back. you don’t let the connection linger too long for fear you will lose yourself to the moment. roger is kind and charming, but he’s not… well, he’s not john, and the thought of john and whatever it is he means to you makes you pull away after a few seconds.

from their place in the living room, freddie and brian cheer, clapping in response to the good-natured fun. you duck your head, but smile all the same and drop to your spot beside john. you hand him the bowl of popcorn, but he doesn’t start stringing the new line. he just looks at you, his eyes roaming your face, barely so much as a frown pulling his brow tight or downward tilt of his mouth wringing his lips in a scowl. he just… stares, openly, without pretense, and you suddenly wish you’d turned roger down. though the feeling of roger’s lips still lingers on yours and the kiss wasn’t unpleasant in the slightest, john’s arms around your waist while you sleep leaves much more of an imprint on your skin. his soft breath when he sleeps, the perfect rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear—it all is so much better than a silly mistletoe kiss with roger.

a muscle ticks in john’s jaw, the only evidence of possible frustration. you look away and continue stringing popcorn along the line.

“i wanted to be the one to kiss you.”

at the sound of john’s mumbled words, you trip over a mislaid shoe in the middle of your darkened room. he’d gone to bed earlier than everyone else, leaving you and the others to play another round of scrabble until well after the sun disappeared. you’d considered following him when he made his exit and explaining your kiss with roger, but you’d decided it against it.

neither roger nor john could stake any claim over you or your actions, and you’d wanted to kiss roger. not to piss john off, not to push him away, but purely because you’d wanted to. maybe you wouldn’t do it again, not after seeing the crestfallen look on john’s face. but you’d done it, and there was no shame in it.

you grip the edge of the bed frame, bent at the waist, frozen in the way you’d tripped. “what?” the word is a sharp exhale in the already tense room.

“you heard me: i wanted to be the one to kiss you.”

you aren’t sure what to say, so the first thing that comes to mind slips from your mouth. “well… you didn’t.”

john huffs and hops off his spot atop your bed. the snow covering your skylight has started to melt in the last day or so, allowing slim rays of moonlight to pierce the darkness of your room. the moonlight coupled with your nightlight illuminates only the sharpest features on john’s face, and while any other evening you might think the line of his jaw or definition of his nose might be alluring, tonight, coupled with the scowl on his brow, you wish you could see him clearly. he stands in the center of the room, hands on his hips, and you straighten, run your fingers through your rumpled hair.

“you could have,” you whisper. “but you didn’t.”

“beneath the mistletoe?” he scoffs like the mere implication is an offense. “no. that’s not what i meant.”

“what did you mean, then? you can’t just say you wanted to be the one to kiss me with no explanation. i’m not some plaything, john. you boys might be used to that, being famous or whatever, but—”

“no.” his voice is stern, commanding, resolute. you shut your mouth with a snap. “you drive me crazy, you know that?” he steps forward; you step back. “you think you’re so insignificant, that you’re not good enough for anybody.”

your frown and retreat another step when he advances. “i don’t know what you’re—”

he cuts you off as though your protest went in one ear and out the other. “you’re shy, sure, but you’re brave. i mean, dammit you live all the way up here by yourself, and you nearly fought us off with a fuckin’ frying pan.”

he sighs. but then his arm extends, his fingers hovering over your cheek. when you don’t flinch, don’t so much as move a muscle, he covers your cheek with his palm, his fingertips tracing the edges of your hair. “you’re a lot like me. we have a lot in common.”

your heart lurches—not out of pain or regret, but anticipation. a lump of excitement clogs your throat, and it’s hard to swallow, hard to think, hard to breathe, with john so near and his words so intoxicating.

“john…” your eyelids flutter shut, your head tilting into the warmth of his palm. “i—”

“i wanted to kiss you because i like you, not because you’re the only bird here, but because i like you and i think we have a lot—”

you surge forward on a burst of assertiveness. grabbing the edges of john’s night shirt, you drag him forward and slot your mouth over his. his lips are smooth, and once he registers what you’ve done, he responds with equal parts ferocity and tenderness. one hand bunches the fabric of your shirt at your waist, the other grips the back of your neck, holding you against him like you might be blown away by the wind at any moment.

after a moment, he pulls away, rolling his forehead over yours. “tell me to stop and i will.”

you kiss him again, chaste and fast enough to draw back and murmur, “don’t stop,” before losing your nerve.

john circles his arms around your back, then, resuming his careful but hungry attack on your mouth, your cheeks, your neck. you wind your arms around his shoulders, drawing him tight, and you don’t make it to the bed before collapsing to the floor in a heap of passion.

day four.

the power comes back on the next day, and by late evening, jimmy schmits from the gondola service calls to tell you everything will be back up and running by morning. your guests are pleased. they’re eager to get back to the comforts they’re accustomed to, and you don’t blame them. four days in an unheated cabin with rapidly spoiling food in the fridge is not typical rockstar accoutrement. still, they tell you they’ve thoroughly enjoyed their break from reality, and you respond in kind. it was as much as break for you as it was for them.

on that last evening, the lights are kept off for the final time. the fire in the hearth permeates the room with its light, though you don’t need its warmth as much now that the heater is back on. the christmas tree sparkles in the corner, and a few candles flicker in the kitchen and hallway. brian sits in the armchair, your father’s old acoustic on his lap. roger, of course, had found it buried in a spare closet, and he suggests brian play to close out the night.

you lean your back against john’s chest where he sits on the couch. his arm is draped around your body, his fingers running nonsensical patterns over your waist. the back of your head rests against his shoulder, and you feel like you could walk on water you’re so light. all the stress, the aches and pains you’ve carried for so long, have melted like the snow. john is to thank for that, as are the others, but mostly him. he’d pegged you quite right with his speech the night before: shy and unsure of yourself and entirely unconvinced of your own worth. but you’re on the mend, you think.

insignificant? you? no, not anymore. not when he looks at you and holds you close.

brian cringes when he gives an experimental strum of the guitar and something akin to a high-pitched whine hits the air. “oh wow. this hasn’t been played in a while.” he looks up, pulling his mouth to the side in a wry grin. “sorry,” he says when he meets your eyes. “i just have to tune it some.”

“go ahead,” you say. “do what you have to.”

brian adjusts the tuners at the top of the guitar before plucking and pulling the strings in time to a gentle rhythm. when he opens his mouth, he begins to sing. “have yourself a merry little christmas. let your heart be light.”

freddie joins him, scooting forward on the other side of the couch, marmalade snug in his lap. “from now on our troubles will be out of sight.”

when roger jumps in for the bridge, the trio’s voices mingle together in the air like pieces of a puzzle. each part is distinctive and unique, but no less important to creating the larger picture. you snuggle closer to john and feel the vibrations of his chest against your back as he hums, his finger tapping along your shoulder.

“once again, as in olden days, happy golden days of yore. faithful friends who are dear to us will be near to us once more.”

tears cloud your vision, and you tighten your grip on the arm draped over your stomach.

tomorrow your guests will return to their normal lives, lives of fantasy and extravagance. you will return to your hum-drum existence, and the holiday will come and go with little fanfare. but if this is the only gift you will receive this christmas—this time with the hodge-podge musicians that make up queen, this time with john—you will take it with no expectation for anything more.

you’d forgotten what it was like to live with joy and freedom, some semblance of your life prior to the accident. john, freddie, roger, brian—they’d helped you remember, and for that you are forever indebted to them.

clearing your throat, you twist slightly in john’s arms, enough to tilt your head back and let your eyes roam his face. he looks down at you, lips caught in a serene smile. you brush your fingers along the line of his jaw.

“merry christmas, john,” you whisper.

he hums in approval, grinning, before lowering his mouth to kiss you softly. “merry christmas, darling.”

six months later.

it’s hot out, the summer sun roasting you through the thick glass of the gondola. you could drive your car down the mountain, but you prefer the gondola. the gentle sway of the hanging car, the way the buildings in montreux slowly grow taller as you inch closer to the city—it’s all a part of the journey, and you enjoy it, find a comforting rhythm in the predictability.

today, you have an empty basket on your lap, your ankles tucked beneath the bench, as you make your way to the farmer’s market that pops up once a month. it’s a simple little thing, and you often only leave with a few ripe fruits and handful of fresh-cut flowers, but ever since your christmas with queen, you’ve been venturing out more. not enough to truly consider yourself a social butterfly, but you enjoy the odd afternoon at the farmer’s market or dinner in one of the pubs where you listen to the local bands play. you’ve made a friend—your first friend in ages—and heather only further helps to draw you out of your reclusive nature.

then, of course, there’s john. he helps too, always does.

when he’d left in december, he made no promises, and you didn’t expect him to. after all, you’ve only really been with him in person for four days; that’s hardly enough time to build a lasting sort of connection.

still, he calls when he can, and you catch up, but there’s no real agreement between you both. yet he continues you to encourage you to get out more, going so far as to ship you a bicycle you can ride the mountain trails on. he promises to come ride with you one day, but you won’t hold him to it. it’s the thought that counts.

for the first time in years, you’re happy, sincerely happy. you once thought that living by yourself, away from the world so you couldn’t be hurt, was enough to be content, and for a time, you were content. but then you’d been forced to remember, to remember how much you need others, and now that you can accept that, loneliness no longer pervades your home or your person. you walk with purpose; your smile comes naturally; your shoulders sway with ease.

it’s still a quiet life, but a much happier one.

you disembark the gondola with your eyes scanning the small list of items it would be worthwhile to buy—a new vase, a bouquet of flowers for the dinner party you’re hosting for heather and her siblings in two days, a necklace to replace the one marmalade broke—and you barely noticed when you bump shoulders with someone boarding the gondola car. you startle, though, when a hand wraps around your wrist and someone says your name.

you turn, lift your eyes, and gasp, your heart leaping to your throat. “john deacon!” it’s practically a squeal, and john shushes you with a fast hand over your mouth.

he glances around to see if anyone heard you or cares, and it seems the world is too busy with their own affairs to study john deacon and the girl he has pinned against his chest, his arm around her back and hand over her mouth. his eyes sparkle when he returns his gaze to you. “hush! don’t blow my cover!”

you swat his hand away, but don’t move out of his grasp. “what are you doing here?!”

he nods his head to the gondola car, now filled, the doors shut and prepared for departure. “i could ask you the same thing.”

you flush unwillingly and shrug your shoulders. “i actually leave the house now.”

“really?!” john releases his tight hold on your back, giving you breathing space, but doesn’t move his feet. when he speaks, his breath—recently freshened with a mint—fans your face. “i was actually on my way up to surprise you, but it looks like you’ve beaten me to the surprise.”

your heart, still lodged in your throat, skips a beat. “you were coming to see me?”

“’course i was.”

“i didn’t know you were in montreux.”

he nods. “we’re recording. should be here a month or two. just got here yesterday.”

you grin. your cheeks pinch in a slight ache, such unrestrained joy still uncustomary to your muscles. “and you were coming to see me?”

while you grin and reach forward to toy with the edge of john’s shirt, he frowns. “’course i was,” he repeats. “you say that like you’re surprised.”

“well, it was your intention to surprise me, right?”

“of course i would come see you if i was in town.” john nudges your shoulder with his hand then covers your bicep with his palm, squeezing lightly. “you’re my girl.”

you tilt your head to the side. “your girl?”

he nods, steps closer, and holds your other arm. “yeah,” he says, his voice gone deeper, gravely. “my girl.” this thumb brushes along the exposed skin of your shoulder, tanned by the sun. “i told you in december: i like you. the last six months have been… hectic, but i was always going to come back.”

tucking your lower lip between your teeth, you narrow your eyes as you wind your arms around his neck. the hair at the nape of his neck is soft as you play with it. “i would say really and not believe you. but i seem to remember someone telling me that i’m a lot more significant than i give myself credit for.”

john laughs, and the sound pierces your heart like cupid’s bow. “what genius said that?”

you shrug your shoulders, rolling your eyes. “i dunno, but i took it to heart.”

“did you? good. then maybe you’ll be more inclined to say yes when i ask you to come on tour with me, with all of us.”

“oh, you were going to ask that?”

“part of my surprise.”

leaning forward, you feather your lips over john’s. “ask me, then,” you whisper, grinning even further when you feel a shiver run down his back.

“come with us. come with me. let me take you around the world.”

the you of six months ago flares in your chest, telling you to say no, to stay home where it is safe. the you of six months ago tells you that john is just being nice, that he doesn’t see you as anything serious.

but the you of today…

the you of today just smiles and kisses john soundly. you move your mouth over his like he is your dance partner, like you were made for one another, and maybe you were. he tastes sweet, feels even sweeter against your body, and you wonder if this is what your parents felt like when they first fell in love. as your mother tells it, she thought your father had hung the stars in the sky, and when you pull back to look at john, the same thought comes to mind.

“so is that a yes?”

you nod. “i’d go anywhere with you, john deacon.” another thought pops to the forefront of your mind, and you fist your hand in john’s shirt with a frown. “but wait: who will watch marmalade?”

[donttouchthegun]

Whatever you do don’t think about Nicole Haught getting back to Purgatory and spending the day with Rachel treating her leg, probably laughing to herself as she thought about Waverly’s reaction to finding out that her girlfriend’s leg got broken because of some black badge scientist-zombies.

Whatever you do, don’t think about that first night going by with still no sign of Waverly, Wynonna or Doc, or about Nicole likely spending that entire night awake on the couch since she couldn’t walk up the stairs yet, watching the door in hopes that at any moment it would swing open with a loud bang and she would be greeted by the people she had grown to love more than anything else in the world, only to watch the sun rise the next morning alone.

Whatever you do, don’t think about the end of the first week back at the homestead where Nicole is still spending her days eyeing the door every few seconds and passing the time talking with Rachel on the couch for hours on end, and how nice the company they offered one another was.

Whatever you do, don’t think about the first day- probably two weeks in or so- that Nicole’s mind starts to wander to a place she tried so desperately to ignore but she can’t help the worried thoughts in her head about all the terrible things that could have happened or still be happening in the garden.

Whatever you do, don’t think about the night Nicole can finally make it up the stairs on her leg (with some assistance from Rachel of course) and she finally gets the chance to sleep in a real bed- the one she shared with Waverly countless times before- but the familiar smell of the bedsheets and the empty space beside her only serve as a reminder that just over a month has passed but nobody’s come home, and it’s the first of many nights that Nicole cries herself to sleep.

Whatever you do, don’t think about the days in which Nicole doesn’t say a word, drowning in the sea of fears and growing paranoia that flood her mind more and more all the time, and how Rachel goes about herself as if she doesn’t even notice, but of course she does- any living person would- and as she and Nicole become closer every day it breaks her heart to watch her suffer in silence.

Whatever you do, don’t think about the day a deceptively innocent woman with an eccentric personality named Cleo arrives in town and shortly after attempts to elect a new sheriff, or about Nicole making the decision to give up her career and everything she’s worked for to make something of herself to Holt Claybourne, and the heart-wrenching pain that must have torn through her chest at watching a stranger step into the position she killed herself for every day and was only able to give up because the people she loves are the only things that matter more.

Whatever you do, don’t think about Nicole spending September 8th alone in bed all day, going endlessly over all the plans she once had to make whatever happened that day special for Waverly and convincing herself that she is responsible for letting the woman she loves so much down on yet another birthday.

Whatever you do, don’t think about Nicole organizing Waverly’s closet four or five times every day, always convinced by the end of it that it would be better to have done it a different way and falling into such a fixation with routine that she can’t sleep unless the closet looks the way she wants.

Whatever you do, don’t think about the day Nicole looks in the mirror and realizes her hair is well past her shoulders reaching the middle section of her back, the memories of the French braid she almost exclusively wore for work during her first months in Purgatory, and the first days she ever learned or had a reason to care about the name Waverly Earp.

Whatever you do, don’t think about the day Nicole realizes Jeremy isn’t going to call her back anymore now that he is working for someone important, and the damaging psychological impact that realization has on her mental health while she already thinks herself a letdown to the people she is starting to become afraid of loving.

Whatever you do, don’t think about the eerily similar passing days Nicole spends mindlessly checking and baiting traps, patrolling for monsters around the homestead, or throwing herself into any repetitive tasks she can think of that will distract her for a few brief moments of relief.

Whatever you do, don’t think about Nicole keeping a record in something like a journal of all the time that passes by since her return to the homestead, how each new tally mark that represents another lonely day crushes her because she is all to aware of how long it’s been even before she writes it down each night.

Whatever you do, don’t think about Nicole shooting haphazardly in the direction of approaching footsteps on a day that feels no different than any other, only to be hit with a tsunami of overwhelming emotions at the sight of an all too familiar face- one she had started to doubt she would ever again have the pleasure of seeing with her own two eyes- and the weight of the world falling from her shoulders as she and Waverly collapse in each other’s arms.

Whatever you do, don’t think about Nicole being afraid to stop touching Waverly or look away for even a second because she isn’t entirely sure she isn’t dreaming again, or how the moment her girlfriend’s lips finally connect with hers once again, the feeling becomes immediately as essential as oxygen itself.

And finally- for your potential well being and mental stability- whatever you do, don’t think about the cool, even confidence and the steady eye contact Waverly maintains when she tells Nicole she loves her while they’re naked on the staircase in a way that says she isn’t scared anymore, but now it’s Nicole who has become afraid of love because of the trauma and the loneliness and the heartbreak that it’s absence caused in her, or that after 18 months, 3 weeks, and 4 days Nicole doesn’t remember how to be strong anymore, so for now it’s up to Waverly to be strong for the both of them.

Anyways these are just the ones that immediately popped into my brain even though hundreds of other memories have to also exist, and in conclusion Nicole Rayleigh Haught is a fragile precious baby that must be protected at all costs and the very thought of her suffering in any way breaks my heart in all the right- and horribly- painful ways.

[creativewritingpracticestudio]

Upcoming Fics That I’m Working On:

If it has a line through it, it’s been completed!

Guns N Roses:

Axl Rose NSFW alphabet

Duff McKagan NSFW alphabet

Slash Hudson NSFW alphabet

Izzy Stradlin x Reader smut fic: He gets turned on when you eat a popsicle in front of him.

Older!Axl Rose x Reader smut fic: You’re his younger girlfriend, and the media is saying a lot of awful things that make Axl feel insecure, so you show him that you love him for who he is, no matter what the paparazzi wants to say about it.

Duff McKagan x Reader smut: size kink.

Slash Hudson x Reader(no smut): You and Slash are a laid back couple, and you accidentally forget about Valentine’s Day, so Axl plans a fancy double date for the two of you, and for him and Stephanie.

Izzy Stradlin x Reader x Axl Rose threesome smut fic: Axl’s been flirting with you and teasing Izzy about possibly stealing you from him for the entirety of the tour, so Izzy fucks you senseless in front of Axl to show him who you belong to(also, Axl joins in towards the end.)

Steven Adler x Reader Hurt/Comfort Smut fic: After Steven finds out that his girlfriend cheated on him with Axl, and that it’s been recorded for a song, he’s hurt. So, he comes to you for comfort.

Izzy Stradlin x Reader Hurt/Comfort and Angry Smut fic: Izzy can usually put up with Axl’s outbursts. But when Axl decided to turn his anger on you, that’s when Izzy’s had enough.

Axl Rose x Reader Hurt/Comfort fic: An argument with Axl turns into him confiding in you about his childhood abuse as you hold him in your arms.

Izzy Stradlin x Reader Smut fic: Stephanie wants Axl to go on a date with her, but the tables for two always take forever, so they decide to make it a double date. How? By setting Izzy up on a blind date with one of Stephanie’s friends, AKA you. Izzy’s less than excited, until he sees how hot you are. Maybe the night won’t be a waste, after all.

Older Axl Rose x Assistant!Reader Smut: You’re Axl’s younger assistant, helping him out backstage. But this day isn’t like most others; Axl’s got a little problem, and it definitely requires your help, but it might be a little above your pay grade. (Hint: the problem requires you to do some work on your knees.)

Older! Slash Hudson x Younger!Reader Smut fic: You’re Richard Fortus’s 20-something niece who he brings with him backstage one night to introduce to his bandmates, including the famous Slash. Unbeknownst to him, you and Slash instantly like each other, and begin dating despite the large age difference. It’s a great relationship; the only issue is making sure Richard doesn’t find out.

Slash x Reader Song fic: Based off the song “Do I Wanna Know” by Artic Monkeys; Slash meets the reader at a bar one night and is instantly taken by her; he begins to come see her there every night, even though he knows that it will probably never go anywhere(or will it? You gotta read to find out!)

Older! Duff McKagan x Reader blurb: watching art restoration videos in bed while eating takeout.

Slash Hudson x Reader angst-fluff fic: During a heated argument, Slash says something to you that he shouldn’t have. You get angry and try to leave, but Slash can’t lose you.

Duff McKagan x Reader fluff fic: You and Duff adopt a pig together!!! :)

Duff McKagan x Reader x Steven Adler Smut fic: You and Duff have been together for a long time now, and he finally works up the courage to ask you-will you have a threesome with him and his best friend, Steven? Obviously, the answer is yes, but how will it go?

Izzy Stradlin x Reader Fluff: You meet Izzy after he becomes sober.

Older! Insecure! Izzy Stradlin x Reader Smut: Izzy’s feeling insecure about his age and the age gap between you and him, so you decide to cheer him up ;)

Duff McKagan x Reader Smut: Duff walls in on you looking at porn magazines, and wants to join in. Stuff goes down.

Current! Axl Rose x Reader Smut: You’re Slash’s daughter, and you’re having a secret relationship with Axl. Slash catches the two of you having sex.

Izzy Stradlin x Reader Smut: You and Izzy are two close friends. You’re tired of being a virgin, and you just want to get the first time having sex over with, so he decides to help you out.

Sub! Steven Adler x Femdom! Reader Smut: A self-indulgent fic of mine where Steven finally agrees to let you dominant him in bed. This was literally just an excuse for me to write Steven being all innocent and flustered and shit, btw. I won’t include pegging in this, but I’m really close to writing a pegging fic. This will have degrading, praising, bondage, and basically just you babying the fuck outta Steven while he acts all innocent and confused.

Sub! Steven x Femdom! Reader Smut: Steven likes sitting in your lap, and you like embarrassing him in front of his bandmates. So, when he’s sitting in your lap at a band practice and gets hard, you naturally decide to have a little bit of fun.

Current! Steven Adler x Younger!Reader Fluff and Smut: You’re a younger, famous singer who Steven falls in love with. He decides not to tell you, out of fear that you couldn’t possibly feel the same way, but he actually couldn’t be more wrong.

Current! Axl Rose x Daughter! Reader Fluff: Axl discovers that he has a long-lost daughter who’s been living in a group home, and decides that he has meet her.

Current! Axl Rose x Reader Smut: As was requested, this is an absolutely dirty fic; spit kink, choking, daddy kink, etc. Axl shows zero mercy, and it’s very sexy.

Mötley Crüe

Tommy Lee x Reader Smut fic: overstimulation kink.

Mick Mars x Reader Smut fic: You write him a love letter before every concert, just to boost his self esteem. This time, however, you’ve got a surprise; the letter isn’t as innocent as usual(basically, you sext him through a letter, and he has to read it in front of his bandmates.)

Oblivious!Tommy Lee x Reader Smut: You’re really horny, but Tommy, being his energetic and slightly ditzy self, doesn’t seem to be getting the hints. Guess you’ll have to show him in a hands-on way.

Mick Mars x Reader Fluff fic: Mick’s back is hurting him, so you give him a nice back massage.

Tommy Lee x Reader Smut fic: You and Tommy are a hedonistic couple with one goal: experience as much pleasure as possible without dying. Your relationship is sex, drugs, and alcohol, and that doesn’t change tonight: the two of you go to a party, get high in a broom closet, and explore each other’s bodies.

Tommy Lee Prompt Fic: “Wow, do you want subtlety to go with that makeup look? Because you don’t have any.”

Nikk Sixx Prompt Fic: “Your stamina is admirable. I wouldn’t be able to fuck ten groupies in a row and then still have the energy to get a hotdog.”

Mick Mars x Reader Smut Fic: You and Mick are taking a ride through town on his motorbike, when you decide to tease him, knowing he can’t do anything about it. Just wait til the two of you get home.

Vince Neil x Reader Sugar Daddy Headcanons

Nikki Sixx x Cheating!Reader Angst: A dark, angsty fic about you cheating on Nikki when he’s at his lowest point.

Tommy Lee x Reader Fluff: You buy Tommy some roses as a joke, but he turns out to love them a lot more than you expected him to.

Hanoi Rocks

Andy McCoy NSFW alphabet

Razzle Dingley x Reader Smut fic: kinky cuddles

Platonic Razzle Dingley x Reader prompt fic: “Your stamina is admirable. I wouldn’t be able to fuck ten groupies in a row and then still have the energy to get a hotdog.”

Nasty Suicide x Male!Reader Smut fic: Just sweet, fluffy smut!

All Members x Reader Smut fic: Literally just a gang-bang fic, not even gonna lie. You have sex with Michael, Razzle, Jan, Andy and Sami at the same time, and it’s basically the best experience of your life.

KISS

Eric Carr NSFW Alphabet

Ace Frehley NSFW Alphabet

Paul Stanley x Reader Headcanons-Headcanons about a gender neutral S/O who’s dealing with depression and can’t feel happy or sad.

Bruce Kulick NSFW Alphabet

Eric Carr x Reader Fluff: A cute fluffy fic about you and Eric having a beach day!

Ace Frehley x Reader Fluff: Just you and Ace cuddling and watching movies.

Marilyn Manson

Marilyn Manson NSFW Alphabet

Older!Marilyn Manson x Reader Smut: Hooking up before a concert.

John 5 x Pinup! Reader Smut: Reader looks like Dita Von Teese, and John sees her before a concert and decides to meet her.

Marilyn Manson x Reader x Ozzy Osbourne Smut fic: Threesome.

Dating Daisy Berkowitz Would Include

Daisy Berkowitz NSFW Alphabet

Dating Marilyn Manson Would Include

Daisy Berkowitz x Reader Smut/Fluff: Just you and Daisy doing couple shit, with a little bit of smut.

Twiggy Ramirez x Reader Angst: A songfic based off of the song Mechanical Animals; You and Twiggy are in a toxic relationship like in the song: he’s empty and unfeeling, you’re always angry and explosive, and the only thing keeping the two of you together is drug addiction.

Slipknot

Young Joey Jordison x Reader fic: No smut, just life on the road.

Iron Maiden

Nicko NSFW Alphabet

Ramones

Joey Ramone NSFW Alphabet

Joey Ramone x Reader Smut: An awkwardly sweet fic about you and Joey being each other’s first times.

Joey Ramone x Reader Smut: Based off of the part of my NSFW Alphabet for Joey, where I mentioned his dirty secrets, which are that he likes to be rough/give orders, and that he likes red lingerie.

Metallica

Lars NSFW Alphabet

Current! James Hetfield x Plus Size!Reader Fluff/Slight Smut: You think that no one can pick you up due to your size, so James proves you wrong.

Johnny Thunders

Dating Johnny Thunders Would Include

Johnny Thunders NSFW Alphabet

Poison

Bret Michaels NSFW Alphabet

Skid Row

Rachel Bolan NSFW Alphabet

Snake NSFW Alphabet

Dating Snake Would Include

Scotti Hill NSFW Alphabet

Rob Affuso NSFW Alphabet

Dating Scotti Hill Would Include

Dating Rob Affuso Would Include

Van Halen

Eddie Van Halen NSFW Alphabet

Ratt

Warren Demartini NSFW Alphabet

The Beatles

The Beatles x Reader Fluff/Smut: The four guys pull a prank on you, but it goes too far and they make you cry. They decide to be sweet to you to make up for it..and by sweet, I mean sweetttttt ;)))

LA Guns

Kelly Nickels NSFW Alphabet

Phil Lewis NSFW Alphabet

Kelly Nickels x Reader Smut: Just some nice smut between you and Kelly!

Machine Gun Kelly + His Band

JP Cappelletty/Rook NSFW Alphabet

Nine Inch Nails/Trent Reznor

Trent Reznor NSFW Alphabet

Dating Trent Reznor Would Include

Type O Negative

Peter Steele NSFW Alphabet

Def Leppard

Steve Clark NSFW Alphabet

Aerosmith

Joe Perry NSFW Alphabet

Rammstein

Till x British! Reader x Richard Smut: A threesome between Till, Richard and the reader; they really, really like your accent.

[sanzu-sanzu-sanzu]

Ok so I had a really weird nightmare and you're the first person I thought of when I woke up so I NEED to tell you about it. It's kinda long lol.

In this nightmare I didn't live where I currently do and I wasn't with my sister but with my boyfriend (he absolutely doesn't exist and we'll call him X since I don't know his name). And it's so weird cuz I remember everything about this place and when I say everything it's e.ve.ry.thing like how the rooms were placed and even all the decorations. I drew it so it'd be easier to explain.

(architects better watch out for their jobs lol)

Anyways, a lot of weird things happened like things would move by themselves like not in front of my eyes but for example at one point in my dream I put my bag in the kitchen and then I found it in the bedroom. And anyways it was things like that but also I would hear myself like videos of me and X and the first thing I thought was someone broke into my place and robbed some videos and I was so sure they came from the door behind the bed (the little circle). This door was scary af cuz even if it was just next to the kitchen, it was another entrance door like when you opened it you'd see the hall. But then I thought that it was impossible cuz the only videos we had were either on my phone or X's phone. So the only thing possible was that this person recorded us themselve it wasn't anything weird most of the audios were just both of us talking but it was scary af to think that someone knows almost everything about your life like that and I'm so sure they came from that weird door. Anyways X wouldn't believe me, he'd even make fun of me and idk why but one of my sisters was there and she understood why I was afraid while he really didn't. And one moment the switch of the kitchen started to melt just like that by itself and there were water drops coming from the light and because of that some things started to catch fire and X was trying to save any pieces he could and I was like wtf how can you still not believe me after that ? This mf had a horror movie father behaviour lmao not believing shit telling his wife it's all in her head. Anyways he managed to stop the fire on time and idk what happened but I suddenly found myself in a BIG VERY BIG school. Like yk a school for rich ppl I was the only mid-class there and I'm pretty sure I was considered poor af but anyways I don't remember all the details but the students would die one by one and for very very stupid reasons like crossing the road when they're not supposed to and we'd scream "don't don't there's a car" but they wouldn't hear and I know they weren't killing themselves and that's when I understood that I was in fact the problem.

Then I found myself (suddenly again) in my bed and I was sleeping and I had a sleep paralysis (still in my nightmare) I felt something around my neck and something like caging me on either sides of my hips and I could barely open my eyes and it was all blurry and the only thing I could make out was a tall shape/shadow in front of the bed and I didn't know if it was X or some sort of demon but I'm pretty sure it was the latter lol. And ik that when you have a sleep paralysis you can't move anything but in my dream I could move my fist so I started to bang on the wall behind me and I wanted to scream but I couldn't.

Then I woke up banging the wall next to me crying lmao.

I've been having nightmares almost every night for a while now sometimes I remember them clearly sometimes I remember just a few things like just the main "plot" and if they're not nightmares they're weird or stressful dreams so you'll be served 😂

oh my god. that is one WILD dream 😭 the thing with the videos is legit terrifying it's like one of those yk those stories of people finding out that there's someone who's been living in their closet (or like, inside the walls) this whole time and taking vids of them n shit? creepy behavior man i can't stand that 😭 the things catching fire are so weird, too?? and, honestly, idk which one's freakier: the house having secret actual human occupants, or a poltergeist............. and, of course, the horror movie boyfriend has to be a gaslighter and everything 🙃 MEN

also the fact that you really remembered the entire layout of the house is both creepy and interesting lmao dreams (and the way our minds work when it comes to dreaming) are interesting huhhh. it's like you were watching a movie with the cam zooming in and out and all, that's cool.

the thing about the school & students dying weirdly is soooo weird it makes me smile hahahaha 😭 i'm sorry it's slightly funny....the crossing the road bit bc they couldn't hear the warning huhuhu

and o h my god.....sleep paralysis stories always freak me out ☹️ though this one was happening in the dream, right? still, just any headspace where you're trapped/unable to breathe or move is fucking scary as hell and huhuhu i'm sorry you had to dream something like that.......the shadow/demon....god, you're supposed to feel safe in your bed!!

i'm all for bizarre and very senseless dreams, really, like i love the weirdness of all of it 😭 but nightmares are just sad and exhausting huhuhu and i'm so sorry you've been having those lately. i hope you feel better now, or that you at least had someone in the house with you when you woke up, or if not then at least sharing this to someone had made u feel less alone or sumth huhu (actually, i hope recounting this wasn't so distressful on your part!!)

thank u for sharing and remembering meee. i wish you no nightmares tonight and in all your nights.

[taylizmasterpost]

TayLiz Returns (August 2011 - January 2012)

Now, Taylor’s music suggests her and Liz got back together and broke up a bunch of times. It’s kind of hard to pinpoint that exactly, since they’re on tour together constantly and can’t really have a break from each other that would be discernable by an outside source such as myself. However, this is the time for it! Time for mess! Time for fun!

9 August 2011 - Speak Now in Chicago. Taylor covers Sugar, We’re Going Down by Fall Out Boy:

The lyrics that stand out here to me are:

Is this more than you bargained for, yet? Oh don’t mind me, I’m watching you two from the closet Wishing to be the friction in your jeans Isn’t it messed up how I’m just dying to be him? I’m just a notch in your bedpost But you’re just a line in a song

Of course, once again. Taylor could just like the song. But I think it’s interesting.

10 August 2011 - Speak Now in Chicago night 2. Taylor covers I Want You to Want Me:

This one is REALLY INTERESTING in the wake of Liz’s breakup. Some choice lyrics:

I want you to want me I need you to need me I’d love you to love me I’m begging you to beg me

Oh, didn’t I, didn’t I, didn’t I see you crying? Feeling all alone without a friend, you know you feel like dying

So does Taylor want her back? Or does she just like the song? Could go either way.

16 August 2011 - Taylor goes on a Girls Trip to Charleston with Liz, Caitlin, and a few other friends. Now, in a birthday post years down the line, Liz would reveal that Taylor specifically planned this trip because Liz was having a good time (We’ll get there in Late-Stage TayLiz). This feels like healing breakup blues to me.

While there, Liz tweets about possibly sharing a bed with Taylor again:

Taylor takes some great black and white photos of everyone that will show up in a later photo blog and Liz tweets about how much she loves retro photographer Taylor:

18 August 2011 - End of Charleston trip. 

Liz tweets about Taylor healing her heartbreak blues:

That night is Speak Now in Alberta. Arm lyrics: “Find the Grace in the things you can’t change, and help somebody if you can.” Taylor covers Complicated by Carolyn Dawn Johnson:

Choice lyrics, you know the drill:

I’m so scared that the way I feel is written all over my face We used to laugh, we used to hug, the way that old friends do But now a smile and a touch of your hand makes me come unglued

I wanna hold you close, I wanna push you away I wanna make you go, I wanna make you stay

Another friend tells me that my name is always on your lips They say I’m more than just a friend, they say I must be blind Well, I’ll admit I’ve seen you watch me from the corner of your eye

What an utterly appropriate post-Charleston trip song.

19 August 2011 - Speak Now in Alberta. Arm lyrics: “Hey brother, we’re all learning to love again.” – Mat Kearny’s Learning To Love Again.

22 August 2011 - Taylor posts “The Charleston Photo blog” on MySpace, featuring pictures from the Charleston trip:

So, clearly, they had a good time.

23 August 2011 - Liz quote tweets Taylor about the Charleston photo blog:

27 August 2011 - Speak Now in LA. Taylor covers Bette Davis Eyes:

Now, not only is this an EXTREMELY GAY COVER considering it’s about how beautiful a woman is, but Bette/Betty is a popular nickname for Elizabeth. And just look at the lyrics:

And she’ll tease you And unease you All the better, just to please you She’s precocious And she knows just What it takes to make a pro blush

IS THIS NOT EXACTLY WHAT’S BEEN HAPPENING EVERY NIGHT DURING BETTER THAN REVENGE? TEASING? UNEASING? MAKING A PRO BLUSH??? Hmm, Taylor, what an interesting choice of a cover in the wake of the Charleston Trip...

It’s worth noting that Liz also grew up in the LA area, making this even more special if it is about Liz.

5 September 2011 - Taylor and Dianna Agron meet for the first time at the Fairfax Flea Market after being introduced by mutual friend, Ashley, who was working for Dianna’s hairstylist at the time. Dianna had lowkey outed herself that summer with #Shirtgate and considering all the mess going on with Liz, it’s possible Ashley (among Taylor’s other friends) were looking to introduce her to someone else.

8 September 2011 - Taylor diaries about writing Red the previous day and then recording it:

In a later interview, Taylor described Red like this:

“So this is a song that I wrote about the kind of relationship that is both the best thing and the worst thing at the same time and that’s why you can’t forget about it. It’s called Red.”

So, I have a two big theories about Taylor writing and recording Red at this point in the timeline:

1) TayLiz have IMMEDIATELY broken up again after the Charleston trip, and that’s why a mutual friend decided to introduce Taylor to Dianna.

2) Taylor and Liz are about to get back together again, and Taylor writes Red as a way of looking back on what she had with Liz back in 2009 before diving into a relationship with her again.

I’m leaning towards 2, but 1 could be true too. Who knows?

13 September 2011 - Rodarte show at NY Fashion Week. Taylor is interviewed by Vogue while there. She says there’s “just been this earth-shattering, not recent, but absolute crash and burn heartbreak” and that that’s what the next album is about. This really makes me think TayLiz breaks up IMMEDIATELY again after Charleston.

Taylor also gives these four things she’s learned about love and life recently:

Number two and four read like Jake shade to me.

16 September 2011 - Speak Now in Nashville. Taylor brings out Hayley as a special guest, they sing “That’s What You Get.” Hayley would later say she was surprised Taylor didn’t ask for Misery Business as That’s What You Get wasn’t one of their more popular songs at the time. (Keep in mind this is the song TayLiz jammed to years ago at the Paramore concert):

This song makes me think there’s a lot of back and forth happening between TayLiz right now if we look at it lyrically. However, things could be great in TayLiz land and Taylor just chose to perform this song because she knew Liz liked it.

19 September 2011 - Liz performs Jenny Turn Around with Tyler Hilton after Speak Now in Nashville. Tyler tells a story about how he went to the TS concert just before and Taylor had said that her and Liz both really love this song.

29 September 2011 - Liz tweets about crying to the song “The Heart Won’t Lie” by Vince Gill.

And thus, the back and forth continues.

16 October 2011 - Taylor recommends Liz’s YouTube channel and she gets an influx of subscribers:

30 October 2011 - Taylor diaries about being sick on tour, getting Meredith, and having written two songs in the last few days:

This usually signifies there’s a lot going on for her emotionally, although it’s hard to tell what since we don’t know which songs these are. (My best guess might be Treacherous??)

31 October 2011 - Liz tweets about getting married. 

Taylor posts a photo of her, Liz, and Caitlin on Instagram:

8 November 2011 - TayLiz have a “soul feeding time” together:

9 November 2011 -  Taylor posts a wedding dress train picture to IG with the caption “Dress train…”

12 November 2011 - TayLiz flirt more onstage during BTR:

18 November 2011 - Speak Now in Columbia South Carolina. Arm Lyrics: “Where would we be today, if I never drove that car away?” These are from the song “Don’t Think About It” by Darius Rucker. The lines before this go:

When we make choices we got to live with them Heard you found a real good man and you married him I wonder if sometimes I cross your mind Where would we be today If I never drove that car away?

To me, this plus the dress train pictures reads as Taylor’s reaction to Emily getting married the following day.

19 November 2011 - Emily gets married.  TayLiz are papped leaving a restaurant in London:

27 November 2011 - CMT Awards in Nashville. Taylor arrives with Liz and others.

1 December 2011 - Taylor shoots her vogue cover where she cuts her bangs at the Bowery Hotel. Her band (including Liz) comes to support her and her and Liz take a photo with their matching hair:

13 December 2011 - Taylor’s birthday. She’s recording something in the studio and posts a photo to tease the Red album (presumably she’s already titled it at this point).

Here are some pictures from the party:

22 December 2011 - Safe and Sound is released. TayLiz both tweet about it:

Taylor also posts about it on IG:

IN CONCLUSION: After Taylor pursuing her all summer, and Liz’s breakup with Jason, TayLiz took off again. They (maybe) shared a bed during Charleston, and Taylor certainly seems to have covered Bette Davis Eyes with her in mind. Their relationship is a little less obvious than they were in 2009, but that makes sense, considering the way Taylor has skyrocketed in popularity since then. Of course, they still are going to have some problems...

TayLiz Breaks Down (January 2012 - March 2012)