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prettyyoungandbored · 4 years

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Becoming Mrs. Wayne [The Dark Knight] Seven

Pairing: Christian Bale!Bruce Wayne x OC

Summary: Demetria Gallagher knew her cozy life would change the second she became engaged to Bruce Wayne. But what she doesn’t know is she’s getting more than what she agreed to. (I am trash at summaries.)

Warning: This chapter contains description of a heavy panic attack. Please read at your own risk.

Taglist: dragonballluver, disgraceful-marvel-trash, barikawho (Let me know if you want to be tagged in this!)

Author’s Note: A chunk of dialogue in this chapter comes from the movie and has been expanded on to fit the storyline.

“And when exactly is your mother planning to visit us?” Monsignor O’Malley inquired as he followed Demetria.

Demetria snapped a photo of the hallway before looking over her shoulder. “Most likely next month. Once I send her the photos , she’ll work on drafts and whenever she comes, we can all sit down and discuss how to go about the process.” She snapped her fingers. “You know what, I have her business card with me because she sometimes does work in Gotham City.”

She pulled out her wallet from her purse and handed Monsignor O’Malley the thing off white card. “She’ll be happy to answer any of your questions and or concerns.”

He smiled as he took the card. “This is awfully generous of you, Ms. Gallagher. We can’t tell you how grateful we are.”

“It’s the least I can do,” she waved her hand. “Both Bruce and I want to make sure you, the sisters, and the boys are taken care of with whatever you need.” She paused. “How are the boys doing?”

“They’re wonderful.”

“Oh good! I was actually wondering if I could go say ‘hi’ or-.”

“Unfortunately the boys are on a field trip with the sisters.”

Demetria nodded understandingly, trying to hide her disappointment. “Absolutely.” Then an idea hit her. “Do the nuns teach the boys?”

“Some do. We’ve been thinking about incorporating more schooling into the boys schedules, but we’re a little short staffed and not all the nuns feel comfortable teaching certain subjects.”

“I’d love to step in,” Demetria offered.

Monsignor O’Malley raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What is it you would teach?”

“I’m excellent at English. All levels. I was a TA my senior year of high school. I even minored in it in college.”

Monsignor O’Malley nodded his head, impressed. “Well, if it doesn’t interfere with your schedule-.”

“I don’t have one,” she laughed.

He chuckled. “Then I suppose it’s something we can try out. Are you free next week?”

Her eyes lit up. “Absolutely!’ I would love that!”

Before she could say more, the sound of her phone ringing cut her off. She gave Monsignor O’Malley an apologetic smile as she dug into her bag. “Excuse me one second.”

She glanced down to see it was a reminder that she had to start getting ready for the fundraiser.

“Please excuse me, but I’ve got to head out,” Demetria said. “Remember, if you have any questions, you have my number as well as my mom’s.”

“Of course. I also look forward to discussing you working here.”

“I do as well.”

The two shook hands and Demetria headed out of the orphanage.

She had taken Bruce’s Cadillac XLR, seeing as it was the only semi-low-key-looking car he owned and the only one she didn’t get anxious driving. She wished he had owned something a little less glamorous for trips like this, hating how it made her look, but it was what it was.

As she she opened the driver’s side door, she noticed a photographer snapping her from the distance. The two stared at each for a moment, acknowledging just what was going on. She exhaled softly, mentally reminding herself to keep it together.

Since her essay was published, the media outlets had backed off a bit. The Gotham Times were still insistent of doing a piece on her and published one on her, but it turned out to be a dud as no one close to her would speak to them with the exception of her former News Director and the Head Booker, her other boss. It also helped that a local mob boss was mysteriously killed and the news decided to fixate on that.

She gave him a quick, tired smile before she slid inside and closed the door, driving off.

===================================================

Back at the Wayne Penthouse, Bruce adjusted the cuffs of his pristine white dress shirt as he made his way down the stairs.

Alfred wrapped up his conversation with the party planners and turned his attention to Bruce.

“I think your fundraiser will be a great success,” Alfred remarked.

“Why do you think I want to hold a party for Harvey Dent?” Bruce questioned, almost annoyed at the thought of it.

“I assumed it was your usual reason for socializing beyond myself and the scum of Gotham’s underbelly to try to impress Miss Gallagher.”

“Very droll, very wrong,” Bruce responded, glancing up for a brief moment.

Alfred looked over his shoulder for a moment, noticing the party planners were not in the room. “Have you considered telling Miss Gallagher what it is you’re doing at night?” Alfred inquired in a voice low enough for Bruce to hear him.

Bruce glanced up. It wasn’t the first time this conversation came up between the two. “Soon.”

“Before or after you say ‘I do’?”

“When the time is right.”

“Perhaps she should truly know what she’s getting herself into.”

Bruce stopped in his tracks. “What are you implying, Alfred?”

“Miss Gallagher has given you every ounce of herself.”

“Who says I-.”

Bruce’s attention was caught by the low sound of the television. He looked over to find GCN airing what appeared to be a figure of Batman, hanging with a rope around it’s neck on a building. The lower third read “BATMAN DEAD?”

Demetria walked down the stairs and into the living room, tightening the belt on her cozy white bathrobe when she saw Bruce and Alfred staring at the tv. Curious, her eyes darted to the tv when she saw the lower third.

Her blood ran cold with disbelief and shock, heart dropping into her stomach.

The camera cut back to GCN anchor, Mike Engel.

“Be aware, the image is disturbing,” he warned.

The camera then cut to a man dressed in a cheap Batman getup, his plump cheeks spilling out of the cowl. He was sat on the floor of what looked like the back kitchen area of a butcher shop with a silver cart and a large pieces of animal meat hanging behind the victim. He had his hands tied behind them, his face lowered to the game.

“Tell them your name,” the camera man said in a menacing, sing-song voice.

“Brian Douglas,” the fake Batman answered weakly.

“Are you the real Batman?” There was a childish, teasing tone in the voice behind the camera to a point where it was menacing. It was almost as if whoever it was took immense pleasure in this man’s torture.

“No.” Brian was barely hanging on.

“No?” the voice repeated back, almost in a whine to mimic Brian’s pain.

“No.”

“No?” The voice giggled. An arm reached over and pulled the cowl off Brian. “Then why do you dress up like him?” The camera pulled back, the arm dangling the cowl in front of Brian. The voice laughed a stomach curdling “Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo!”

“Because he’s a symbol...that we don't have to be afraid of scum like you,” Brian retorted with a slight bit of courage in his weak tone.

“Yeah. You do, Brian.” The hand grabbed the side of Brian’s face, the camera coming in close. “You really do.”

The hand pulled the top of Brian’s head as the man whimpered. The hand turned back and stroked Brian’s cheek. “Oh, shh shh shh.”

Demetria shook her head, her stomach growing weak. Bruce’s eyes fixated on the TV, his expression stone cold with eyes colored in disbelief.

“So,” the voice continued on, “you think the Batman's helped Gotham? Hmm?”

Brian didn’t respond.

“LOOK AT ME!”

The roaring voice caused Demetria to jump back, her hand slapping on her mouth.

The camera swung around to reveal the person behind the voice, the sight causing Demetria to yelp, “Jesus Christ!”

The red smeared smile was complimented by his chalk-white foundation and accentuated the long scars on the sides of his face. Two lazily painted black eyeshadow covered his eyes and he revealed his dark yellow teeth.

“You see, this is how crazy Batman's made Gotham. You want order in Gotham, Batman must take off his mask, and turn himself in.”

It was something behind the clown that Demetria recognized. A memory popped up in her mind, her jaw dropping at the realization.

“Oh, and everyday he doesn’t, people will die. Starting tonight. I’m a man of my word.”

As the camera switched around, the man let out a menacing cackle as Brian screamed in the background. Demetria, overcome with her realization and the man’s grim promise, hurried up the stairs, Bruce and Alfred watching her. Bruce turned off the television and glanced at Alfred who shot him a look. He gave the old man a nod, indicating the message was received.

In their bedroom, Demetria grabbed a notebook from her nightstand as well as a pen. She began writing hurriedly, her cursive handwriting slightly smudged from the pen. Upon finishing, she ripped the page from her notebook and folded it. She reached back into the drawer, grabbing an empty envelope and shoving the folded paper in there. She licked the envelope, sealing tightly with her fingers and placed it back into the drawer.

Just as she went to close the drawer, she heard the door unlock and grabbed her anti-anxiety meds.

Bruce entered the room.

“Everything ok?” he asked, gentle concern laced in his tone.

She waved her hand. “Yeah, yeah. Just that video was, uh, pretty overwhelming to watch. I’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

He eyed the pilll bottle in her hand. “You know you should probably put that in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.”

She chuckled. “You’re right. I’m just used to putting them in nightstand drawer. But considering we’re having a bunch of random people over, I guess you’re right.” She paused, a smirk playing on her lips. “Should I leave some viagra in a little bowl for our older guests trying to impress their much younger dates?”

He sat beside her on the bed, smirking at her. “I don’t have any because I don’t need it.”

She hummed, patting his leg. “I wouldn’t say that.”

He pulled her close, his breath hitting her lips. “Not funny.”

“Oh, but it is. It really is.”

She gave him a chaste kiss, nuzzling her nose against his. “You think maybe we should cancel this party? I mean, I don’t think it’s safe.”

“We’re going to be fine,” Bruce reassured.

She sighed, realizing there was no point in changing his mind. “Then I guess I better continue getting ready.”

He chuckled. “Well, don’t get too excited, sweetheart.”

“It’s just...” she stepped back, “I don’t know.” Her fingers toyed the robed belt. “I figured you’d cancel the party and we could spend the night in here...” She continued to move back toward the bathroom area, throwing off the robe to reveal her naked body to him. “And I’d let you do whatever you want to me. But since you won’t cancel it...” She shrugged. “Oh well.”

Bruce could feel his pants grow a little tight and he was ready to have her pay the price. His hungry eyes stayed on her, like a lion ready to pounce on it’s prey. “You get back here. Right. Now.”

She shook her head. “I have to get ready.” She pointed to the tent in his pants. “I suggest you take care of that situation before you leave this room.”

She grabbed the robe from the floor and closed the door behind her, locking it so Bruce wouldn’t try anything.

She exhaled and ran a hand through her damp hair. She wasn’t sure how long this party would last, but she had to make sure Batman got her letter.

==================================================

Bruce waited outside near the helicopter landing pad, his hands in his pockets. He watched as the navy blue sky took over the sunset, but once he turned his head, his breath was taken away by an even more beautiful sight.

Demetria walked out on to the helicopter landing pad, her black hair in an updo with long, curled strands of hair framing her face. Her navy blue gown was strapless with a subtle reverse sweetheart neckline, and hugged her small curves just right before flowing out on to the floor. Her makeup stayed on the subtle side with her eyeliner and mascara accentuating her warm, emerald green eyes and her Goldilocks lips were the perfect shade of pink.

“Is it too much?” she asked, stopping in her tracks. She put a hand on her stomach, feeling the knot inside tightening. Her face fell into a panic. “Oh shit, it is, isn’t it?”

He shook his head, his thumb grazing her cheek as he smiled at her adoringly. “You look incredible, sweetheart.”

Color filled her cheeks as her pink lips curved into a bashful smile. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Wayne.”

His lips gently crashed on to hers as he cradled the side of her face. For a moment, as they relished in their kiss, the world was still and time froze. Neither of them could remember the last time they shared such a moment, but they truly savored it while they still could.

Bruce pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, his lips hovering over hers. “For the record, you still owe me from before.”

She hummed against his lips. “I’ll take it into consideration.”

He smirked at her. “You’re lucky I like you. C’mon, let’s go.”

He took her hand in his, leading her onto the helicopter. The pilot helped her up first, Bruce following right after. As the two sat in the back, Demetria turned to him. “What’s the point of doing this again?”

He took her hand once again. “Grand entrances are fun. Plus, wait til’ you see the view from above.”

He felt her latch on to his arm as the sound of the choppers roared in. Soon enough, the helicopter began rising, the weight of the ground lifting. As it took off into Gotham City, Demetria watched the twinkling city below her.

As childish as it seemed, Demetria felt like Jasmine did on that magic carpet with Aladdin. Seeing Gotham from a bird’s eye view, the city looked beautiful and peaceful.

Bruce relished in watching his fiancé’s amazement, hoping he could make her feel this way for the rest of their lives.

She looked over at him. “You were right. This is incredible.”

She scooted closer to him, leaning back on his shoulder as she continued to look out the window. Bruce pressed a kiss to her temple, reaching his hand over to hers on her lap, clasping them.

Both stayed in the moment, wishing they could stay like this forever.

But once the helicopter scoured every inch part of Gotham, it was time to descend back onto the landing pad.

Bruce helped Demetria off the helicopter. Her eyes shifted to the once empty ballroom which was now filled with a large crowd inside staring at her. Her chest grew heavy, palms sweating.

“They’re staring at us,” she told Bruce.

He took her hand. “They see how you beautiful you look”. He gave it squeeze. “Remember, I’ve got you.”

She nodded and exhaled softly as the two made their way inside.

She followed him as the door opened to the gala room. All eyes stayed on them. She flashed a closed mouth smile at partygoers until her eyes met Harvey’s. It wasn’t until his familiar, warm smile that hers became more genuine and honest.

“Sorry we’re late,” Bruce announced. “Glad you started without us!” He let go of Demetria’s hand, clapping his together. “Where's Rachel?!”

Demetria eye’s turned to Rachel, who cringed slightly.

Bruce motioned to her. “Rachel Dawes- my oldest friend. When she told me she was dating Harvey Dent, I had one thing to say... ‘the guy from those god-awful campaign commercials? 'I Believe in Harvey Dent?' Nice slogan, Harvey.”

As the crowd chuckled, Demetria’s smile faltered even more. She was thrown off by the Bruce that was speaking. It was like the second his hand left hers, he’d become another man. He’d become like everyone else in the crowd - pompous and slightly arrogance.

He’s putting on a show for them, she thought to herself. This is not the real him.

“Certainly caught Rachel's attention,” Bruce went on. “But then I started paying attention to Harvey, and all he's been doing as our new D.A., and you know what? I believe in Harvey Dent. On his watch, Gotham can feel a little safer. A little more optimistic. But what he’s done for Gotham isn’t just the only good thing Harvey Dent has done.”

He then shifted his tone and his gaze, now looking at Demetria who’s heart dropped to her stomach.

“Harvey convinced his good friend from college, Demetria Gallagher, to move to Gotham,” Bruce continued, smiling at her. “It’s because of Harvey and Rachel that I was introduced to the love of my life.”

The crowd let out a collective “aw” as Demetria gave him a small smile.

“I spent years thinking I’d never find the ‘one’.” He turned back to the crowd. “I figured if I’m never gonna find her, why not have some fun? And I did.”

The crowd laughed. Demetria rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

“Then I ran into Rachel having a lunch with this beautiful woman and I couldn’t help myself. I asked her three times to have dinner with me.” Bruce shifted his attention to Demetria, taking her hand in his. “While I will never know who or what convinced you to say ‘yes’, all I know is that from the moment I left that dinner, I knew this witty, kind, beautiful woman was who I was going to spend the rest of my life with. Demetria, to say you are my heart and my soul is simply not enough. There will never be enough words or adjectives or uses of symbolism to describe how much you mean to me and how happy you make me. I love you more than anything.”

The crowd, once again, “awed” as he pecked Demetria’s cheek. He then grabbed two glasses of champagne off the server’s tray, handing one to Demetria. He then turned back to the crowd, raising his glass. “To-.”

“I just want to say something really quickly,” Demetria spoke up, putting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “If that’s, ok?”

Bruce smiled, her sudden burst of confidence bringing him pride. “By all means.”

She turned to the crowd. “You all know Harvey as your DA, but I know him as my confidant, my greatest friend, and above all, my family. He’s also my get out of jail free card, but that’s neither here nor there.”

Everyone laughed as Harvey shook his head. Demetria turned to her best friend, her smile fading a bit.

“Harvey, you’re selflessness and dedication to making Gotham City a safer one for its citizens is not just admirable, but also inspirational. You fight for the voiceless, the scared, and for those who want to make their home a better place. You’re one of the reasons Gotham has a brighter future.”

“So get out your checkbooks and let's make sure that he stays right where all of Gotham wants him,” Bruce toasted. “All except Gotham's criminals, of course. To the face of Gotham's bright future- Harvey Dent.”

Everyone toasted and took a sip of their champagne.

As the crowd went back to their party, Bruce turned to Demetria.

“I’m going to go outside for a bit,” he told her, pecking her cheek. “Make yourself comfortable.”

She opened her mouth to protest but it was too late - he’d wandered off. She sighed, wondering how he could he just leave her to fend for herself at their first gala together. She took a sip of her champagne, giving up and giving in to the situation at hand.

“You’re a very lucky woman,” an elderly woman marveled. “And quite adorable. I bet Martha would’ve loved you.”

“Thank you, that’s so kind,” Demetria remarked. “Were you a friend of hers?”

“We were both on the chair for many charities. Such a wonderful woman. If you’re interested, I would love to bring you aboard some of them and get you acquainted.”

“I would love that! I’m actually working with the boy’s home and helping them with renovations and whatnot.”

“How wonderful!”

“I’ve also expressed interest in helping them with schooling and whatnot.”

The gleam in the woman’s eyes softened. “Oh...really, now?”

“Yeah, I would love to do some teaching.”

“She’s going to do a fantastic job,” Harvey remarked, chiming in. He threw his hand around Demetria’s shoulders. “Those kids are going to be well looked after thanks to her.”

“I don’t doubt that,” the woman agreed before walking off.

Demetria turned to Harvey. “I think she realized I wasn’t one of them.”

“Who cares?” he shrugged. “But forgetting that, you’re seriously going to become a teacher?”

“I brought it up to Monsignor O’Malley about the possibility of teaching English. Besides, it would give me something to do that I actually like. You know, talking to them about novels and what it means to express yourself in your writing.”

“That’s fantastic!” Harvey remarked. “You would be perfect for that.”

“I hope so. How are you handling this...whatever it is?”

He sighed. “I’m...just here. How about you?”

“I wanna go into my bedroom and go under the covers and wait til’ everyone leaves.”

“Well for what it’s worth, you look beautiful tonight.”

“I’m working with what I’ve got.”

“Bruce is very lucky.”

“Yeah, he should be. But he decided to give up on the party.”

Harvey furrowed his eyebrows as Demetria motioned her head to the outside. He then turned his head, the two watching Bruce and Rachel engage in what appeared to be an intense conversation.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Demetria wondered aloud.

He quickly glanced over and took a look sip of his champagne. “Probably nothing.”

Her lips curved into a smirk as she eyed Harvey. “Don’t be jealous.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re getting defensive.”

“And you’re annoying me.”

“After that heartfelt speech I gave, that’s the thanks I get?”

“It was alright.”

She punched him in the shoulder, causing him to cringe. “Asshole. I gave a beautiful speech.”

He rubbed his shoulder. “Well, hopefully it will be just a nice ad one you’ll give at my wedding.”

Her eyes widened. “Shut the fuck up. You proposed to Rachel?”

“Not yet. I’m planning to.”

Her mouth hung open as she leaned in close. “Holy shit, dude! When?!”

“Well first there are some things I gotta-.”

“So you two are friends, yes?” another female guest inquired, cutting him off. Her arm was linked with a man who looked at least 20 years older than she did.

Harvey and Demetria turned to her. “We most certainly are,” Demetria agreed, pinching his cheek.

“So how long ago did you two date?” one man remarked, chuckling.

Harvey and Demetria’s eyes went wide.

“We never have,” Harvey answered.

The man elbowed Harvey, laughing. “Aw, c’mon son. It’s alright.”

“He’s basically my brother,” Demetria said.

The man shook his head as he and his concerned date turned away. Demetria and Harvey turned to each other.

“Oh my god these people suck,” she giggled to Harvey. “At least they’ll fund you.”

“Yeah, I could give a shit,” he retorted.

“Mind if I steal him for a bit?” Rachel asked, chiming in.

“By all means,” Demetria motioned.

Harvey and Rachel went off when Demetria noticed Bruce still standing outside. She made her way out.

“Doing ok there?”

Bruce turned to her, smiling. “So far, so good.”

“I love you but you’re not the best liar,” she chuckled, her fingers gently combing his hair. “Babe, if you want to leave, say the word and we’ll sneak out. We can go anywhere.”

“Tempting,” he remarked, smirking. “Where do you propose we go?”

She cocked her head back, shoulders shrugging. “Anywhere. We could literally get in a car and go anywhere we want.” She paused. “Anywhere you want.”

Bruce’s body turned to face her, giving her his full undivided attention. She set her glass down on the railing.

“While I think it’s sweet that you threw this for Harvey, I don’t want to be alone in a room with people I don’t know let alone give a shit about. I would rather be with you in the middle of nowhere where we don’t have to pretend we’re people that we’re not.”

His smile faltered, his eyes going to the ground. Demeteria shoulders tightened, fear creeping into her now uneasy stomach.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “What did I do?”

He shook his head. “No, you did nothing wrong. It’s...” He sighed. “I never want to keep anything from you.”

“What have you been keeping from me?” she questioned, her voice low

He scanned the area as well as the inside of the ballroom. Realizing he wasn’t the safest, let alone most secure place, he leaned closer toward her. “I’ll go in the bedroom and grab a couple things. Go tell Alfred we’re heading out. We’ll meet at the elevator, alright?”

“Bruce-.”

He kissed her cheek and made his way inside. Bruce pushed through the crowd, fielding attempts of conversation from partygoers. She threw her hands up in defeat as an annoyed exhale left her mouth.

“At least we’re leaving,” she muttered under her breath.

========================================================

In their bedroom, Bruce grabbed a set of keys for one of the cars from his safe in their closet. Realizing it was probably best to bring her anxiety med, he went into the medicine cabinet only to find it wasn’t there.

He then remembered her saying she always kept it in the drawer in her nightside table.

Figuring she put it back, he went over to it and opened the drawer and there it was. When he pulled it out, he noticed an envelope underneath with ‘For Batman’ written on it.

He quickly glanced back at the door to make sure the door was closed. He then set down the bag and opened the envelope to find a handwritten letter.

My Night Friend ,

There’s something you need to know about that viral video of the copycat.

I recognize the kitchen in the video. It’s the Fatted Calf on East 28th. A guy I briefly saw in college worked there and I hung out with him in the kitchen while he was closing up the shop.

What people don’t know is that there’s a secret room. The guy told me the owner had it made to be used as a bomb shelter back in the day. It’s located right beside the freezer. If you can get into the boss’ office, there’s a special key inside a safe that can open the door. The Joker may be taking shelter in there.

Take what you will with this information. I hope it serves you well.

Sincerely,

Your Rooftop Friend

Bruce’s couldn’t believe what he was reading. His fiancé, the love of his life, was helping the Batman. The severity of the situation as well as time the huge piece of information made him realize he needed to get both of them out of the penthouse and into the Batcave. He could explain everything to her there.

Shoving the letter into the bag, he zipped it up and made his way to the door when something on the security camera screen made him stop.

It was The Joker followed by some henchmen.

He threw the bag in the closet hurriedly, closing the door, and made his way to the party. Seeing Harvey Dent close by talking to Rachel, he figured he’d had enough time to get Harvey to safety and then grab Demetria.

He came up behind Harvey, putting Harvey in a headlock as Rachel’s eyes widened in fear.

“What the hell are you doing?!” she exclaimed.

“They’re coming for him,” Bruce said, using his Batman voice. “Go grab her and get yourselves to safety.”

========================================================

Demetria spotted Alfred near the wall area. She made her way over, catching the old man’s attention.

“There you Miss Gallagher,” he greeted. “Are you having fun?”

“I feel like a zoo animal. I’ve had more people stare at me than actually talk to me. Anyway, Bruce and I are heading out.”

Alfred chuckled. “You and Master Wayne are a truly perfect fit.”

She eyed the room before leaning closer toward Alfred. “Alfred, he said he had something he’d been meaning to tell me. Any idea what it could be?”

Just then, the sound of a single gunshot silence the room. Everyone turned, including Demetria and Alfred, to see The Joker, the man from the video, enter the ballroom with his posse of men behind him wearing clown masks.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen,” he greeted in a sing-song voice.

His posse pointed guns at the crowd, a silent order to step back. The crowd formed a circle around The Joker.

Alfred, who was a few rows behind the crowd, stood in front of Demetria.

“Stay behind me,” he whispered to her.

She watched from behind his shoulder.

The sound of tray hitting the ground, broke the silence. The Joker looked back for a moment before turning back to the crowd.

“We are...tonight’s entertainment.” He grabbed a piece of shrimp from a table, stuffing it into his mouth. He looked around. “Only one question - where is Harvey Dent?”

He eyed around, pointing the gun at a group of women before ripping one of their glasses of champagne from their hands and taking a swig of it. He set back on the table and began questioning those he passed, occasionally grabbing at them.

“You know where Harvey is? Do you know who he is?”

He squeezed one guy’s cheek. “Do you know where Harvey is? I need to talk to him about something. Something little.”

He went up to an old white man. “You know I’ll settle for his loved ones.”

Meanwhile, Demetria felt someone grab her hand. She turned to find Rachel.

“We need to get you out of here,” Rachel whispered.

Demetria went to follow Rachel when she felt someone grab her hand.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going, sweetcheeks?” one of the masked men retorted.

He grabbed Demetria, despite her attempts to break free. Her heart rate quickened, stomach growing weak as the man pushed her in front of the crowd.

“Hey boss!” He called out. “It’s her!”

The Joker turned to her, his fixation on her making her blood run cold. She stood frozen and helpless. He got into her face. “So this is the future Mrs. Wayne. You’re also Harvey Dent’s best friend.”

He grabbed Demetria’s face, cradling it forcefully.

“Harvey is your best friend, isn’t he? Your buddy ol pal?” He let out a vicious cackle. “Possibly an old lover? An unrequited love? Either way, you’re somewhat of an asset to him.”

She moved her eyes, looking around as the crowd watched her in fear.

“C'mere, look at me.”

She whimpered, closing her eyes.

He tightened his grip on her hair “LOOK AT ME!”

She yelped, opening her eyes as tears filled to the brim.

“Please,” she begged, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh shh, shh, shh,” he hushed her teasingly. “Well you look upset.” He asked, pointing to scars on his mouth with his knife. “Is it these? Is it the scars? You wanna know how I got ‘em?”

She didn’t have time to answer, at least he didn’t bother to give her a chance to. She went to move her head when he grabbed her again. “Hey, look at me.”

She stopped moving, her eyes on him. “So, I had a wife, who was beautiful...like you, who tells me I worry too much, who tells me I oughta smile more, who gambles and gets in deep with the sharks.”

She squirmed when The Joker pulled her back. “One day they carve her face. And we got no money for surgeries. She can't take it. I just want to see her smile again. Hmm? I just wanted to let her know that I don't care about the scars. So, I stick a razor in my mouth and do this to myself. ”

She squeaked, frightened as he put the knife to his scars.

“And you know what? She can't stand the sight of me! She leaves! Now I see the funny side. Now, I'm always smiling!”

He pulled her back, took the knife, and slashed her forearm, the sharp stinging, sensation causing her to let out a blood curdling scream. She collapsed onto the ground, blood spilling down her arm and onto the marble floor.

Demetria couldn’t move, her body frozen, mind unable to process what had just happened. She opened her mouth to speak, her chest stinging in pain and her head growing lightheaded as the Joker stepped on her bleeding arm.

“Please help me,” she begged in between her hyperventilating. “Please...I’m...I can’t...help!”

“Why doesn’t Harvey Dent come save his best friend?!” The Joker called out.

“Let her go!”

Rachel made her way. The Joker stomped on Demetria’s arm one last time.

Alfred rushed to her side. “Deep breaths, Miss,” he whispered. “Deep breaths.”

“Alfred...I’m gonna....don’t let me...”

“You’re going to be alright.”

“Step back!” one of the masked henchman ordered, pointing a gun at Alfred.

Alfred held up his hands stepping back from Demetria. The henchman walked away as Demetria continued to hyperventilate.

She was going to die in front of everyone. Her vision became blurry, her breath uncontrollable. She watched in what she thought would be her final moments Batman attack The Joker.

In and out of blackness, she heard glass shatter followed by footsteps.

Tears strolled down her face as she struggled to breathe, trying to hold on to whatever breath she had left, her body shivering. Alfred rushed to her once again.

“Don’t just stand there!” he cried out. “Someone call a bloody ambulance!”

He gave Demetria his hand, which she held onto tightly.

“Stay with me,” he told her. “Stay with me.”

But she wasn’t sure how long she could last. Between the chest pains and the pains from her wound and the light-headedness, she was barely holding on.

How badly she wanted to see Bruce....and how could he leave her like this?

__________________________________________________________________

Dress:

Hair/Makeup:

#bruce wayne x oc #bruce wayne imagine #batman #batman imagine #batman fanfic #the dark knight #the dark knight fanfiction #the joker #christian bale #christian bale x reader #bruce wayne fanfiction #bale!batman

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beatlesdumpsterfire · 3 years

Text

For @pushmipulluridesagain's prompt:

The Beatles go to Target

Brian should have known better than to give the boys the day off, completely unsupervised. Even John, Paul, George, and Ringo were shocked. In fact, they were so shocked that they couldn’t think of a single thing to do to fully take advantage of Brian’s huge mistake.

So, they found themselves in the sitting room of George’s flat, staring around at each other with blank looks plastered across their faces. Finally, John was the one to break the silence with a suggestion:

“Why don’t we go to Target?”

It wasn’t the most exciting option out there, but it sure was something, and it was a lot better than sitting around like their wax figures at Madame Tussauds. None of the other boys had any better ideas to offer, so that was that. Before Brian could change his mind, they all piled into George’s car and sped off to their local Target.

“Are we looking for anything specific?” Paul asked the car. Ringo turned around from the passenger seat and grinned back at Paul.

“It doesn’t matter if there’s something specific we’re looking for, we’re bound to walk out with a cart full of things we didn’t even know we needed.”

“I once went to Target looking for a screwdriver and I came out with an inflatable lawn decoration,” George mused. “I don’t think I’ve even taken it out of the box though.”

“There’s something about Target, it just sucks you dry,” Paul thought aloud. He paused for a second and quickly turned to John, who was obviously on the verge of making a bad joke. “Don’t you dare say it,” Paul warned him.

John luckily listened, which saved him from a hefty slap from Paul, and instead shared some wisdom he had picked up from a TikTok he saw the other day.

“You know, I heard somewhere that you can steal a certain amount of stuff from Target and they won’t stop you. They keep track of what you take, but they’ll only pull the authorities in when you’ve surpassed a certain dollar amount of stolen goods. It’s so they can charge it as a serious felony, I think.”

“Huh,” Ringo thought aloud. “So I could steal just under that amount and waltz out of the store?”

“I doubt it’s that black and white,” Paul interjected. “If they catch you taking something, they’re bound to stop you, right?”

“Why don’t we test it, lads?” John grinned. Paul let out a groan; he should have seen where that conversation was going. He had been a fool to assume they were going to take an innocent trip to Target.

“I’m game,” George said from behind the steering wheel. “We were bound to do something stupid today, I’m glad we figured out what that was.”

“Sounds like fun,” Ringo chirped happily. “I’ve never stolen anything before.”

“You haven’t either, have you, Paul?” John teased Paul.

“I have too,” Paul murmured. He had pocketed a single bean from the grocery store when he was 5 and, while his mom made him return the bean to one of the employees working there, he still felt it counted.

John could see straight through Paul’s fib, but he was confident that his mate would participate, as much as he acted like he was against it. Knowing that they were all on board to rob a Target got John feeling especially energized: he couldn’t wait to kick capitalism in the shins.

“Let’s make a competition out of it, Lads,” he announced, clapping his hands together. “30 minutes on the clock, whoever comes out with the most impressive collection of items wins.”

“What’s the prize?” George asked.

“Bragging rights,” John decided. None of the other boys were especially happy about that but, considering they were going to rob a store, they were all already kind of winning something in a sense.

“And one last thing,” John added, “if you get caught, you’ll be disqualified.”

“That’s straight-forward enough to me,” George nodded as he turned into the Target parking lot. “We’ll meet back at the car once our 30 minutes is up then?”

“Yeah,” John said.

“You’re going to get your asses handed to you!” Ringo cackled, unbuckling his seatbelt and rushing into the store before anyone could even set a timer. Paul, John, and George all exchanged tired glances; they knew Ringo was about to do something stupid.

And, of course, they were right. Ringo tore into the Target, the bell dinging above his head as he scanned around the store, his heart beating up into his throat with a wild look in his eyes. He needed to prove to his mates that he could be the best thief out there, one that was bound to earn their utmost respect. Ringo hadn’t really listened to the rules all that much, but he felt that he got the overall gist of the competition: he just had to take the biggest and most impressive thing and not get caught. That was a piece of cake because he, Ringo Starr, was the Master of Deception.

Ringo sprinted for the electronics department, nearly taking out an older gentleman and a mannequin in the process. The mannequin slowly toppled over, flattening the older gentleman behind Ringo, giving him the most action he had received in well over 50 years.

“Ooh!” the older man squealed.

Ringo made it to the section with the really big televisions and felt his pupils dilate tenfold.

“Yes,” he breathed out. Sure, there were three Target employees on the floor nearby, but Ringo was the Master of Deception. He had this in the bag. He managed to slow his breathing down to a pace that didn’t make him look like a rabid animal, and sauntered to the biggest TV in the store. Ringo looked it up and down and then smiled. He was gonna win this thing so hard. He looked to the left, making direct eye contact with one of the employees, and then looked to the right, making direct eye contact with the other employee, and then turned back to the TV. And, in one big grunt, he dislodged the TV from the wall and proceeded to shove it down his pants.

Both employees probably would have made more of an effort to stop him if they hadn’t been so thrown off guard by the fact that he had just put an 80 inch TV down his rear. It was a mystery how he was able to fit that screen in there, but somehow he did it.

Well, Ringo was the Master of Deception after all, I guess he was just doing what he did best.

While the TV was semi-concealed, the latter half of it stuck out of the seat of Ringo’s pants and rose well-above his head, so there was no denying what he was doing. Ringo had grossly miscalculated how heavy the TV was going to be; he was obviously struggling as he attempted to shuffle his way to the front doors. The two employees who had just witnessed this entire shit show exchanged an uncertain glance and shrugged their shoulders. They weren’t paid enough to deal with shit like that. Let the weirdo shove a TV down his pants if he wanted to.

Somehow, by some miracle, Ringo managed to make it to the front doors without being stopped (although he did attract a lot of strange looks). It was only when the metal detectors started to blare through the store that Ringo was surrounded by seven employees, two of which body slammed him to the ground. In a matter of seconds, the TV was removed from his pants and Ringo was sitting against the Starbucks counter by the front door with his arms shackled behind his back, moping not only because he had been eliminated from the competition and arrested, but also because he could no longer confidently say that he was the Master of Deception.

After Ringo powered into the store, Paul, George, and John synced their watches and agreed to meet back in the parking lot to determine the winner (they already knew that Ringo was going to be disqualified, it was only a matter of time before they found out exactly what he had done to eliminate himself).

George was the second to enter the store behind Ringo. As if he was going on any old Target run, George casually strolled through the front doors and made his way directly to the food section. The second John had initially mentioned theft, George’s stomach growled since it had officially been 20 minutes since his last meal. From that second onwards, George could only think about one thing and one thing only: filling the apparent goddamn void in his stomach.

So, in that food aisle, George went to town, carefully packing his shopping cart to the brim with crackers, cookies, sandwich-making materials, and lots and lots of candy. Satisfied with his load, he retreated to the back of the store where he very quickly found the employee break room and settled there, seated eagerly in front of his stuffed cart. A few employees filed in and out of the room as George worked away at his feast, but none of them bothered to stop him because they could care less. This was just an average day at Target: some guy had shoved a TV down his pants a few minutes ago, so George’s spectacle wasn’t even the worst thing they’d seen all day.

In ten minutes, George had consumed well over 50,000 calories and patted his extended stomach with content before letting out a belch that rattled the whole establishment for well-over 10 seconds.

Across the store in the women’s lingerie section, Paul snapped his head up from a rack of nice bras and scanned around in a panic. When he realized that the shaking wasn’t coming from an angry guard storming up to him, Paul’s shoulders relaxed and he returned back to sifting through the silk fabric, trying to find the flashiest bra available.

George collected all of his empty packages and started to shove them into a plastic Target bag that had been discarded in the breakroom so he had evidence of just how many things he had stolen that were now sitting in the bottom of his stomach. But, George wasn’t going to stop there; as impressive as his feat was, he knew that he was up against some tough competition (aka John, Paul didn’t count), so he really had to step up his game.

As he scanned around the store trying to find something good to snag, it occurred to George that he was wearing a red shirt and a pair of khakis (he was long overdue to do his laundry). He was basically an employee at Target, so George knew that he really could take things the extra mile. And oh boy, did he. He approached a cash register where there was an apron and an employee’s scanner sitting loosely around and tugged the apron over his head, adding the scanner to one of his front pockets. To be an incredibly huge nuisance, George went out of his way to unscrew the credit card reader (with his Target screwdriver, of course) and packed that into his apron as well. He checked his phone and, when he saw he had two minutes to spare, he decided that he had had his fun, and returned to the parking lot.

For Paul, when he first entered the store, he was a nervous wreck. Since the bean incident, he had vowed to never do a wrong thing ever again in his life. But, deep down, he knew that he would much rather become a criminal than let down his mates. He especially didn’t want to see the look of disappointment on John’s face if he came back empty-handed; that just wasn’t acceptable.

So, he decided to go the conservative route and start off small. After sneaking a pack of Trident Layers into his coat pocket without so much as a blink of an eye from those in the vicinity, Paul felt his heart rate slow. It was okay, this was fine, he totally had this. So, from there, Paul started to get more of a feel for the sticky fingers, sliding a pack of soap up his sleeve and a daily planner down his shirt. Now he was really feeling the groove of things, so he boldly made his way to the gift card section and grabbed a $20 Applebee's gift card. He was really going wild now. He was yet to face any consequences for his actions, so he booked it to the best part of Target: the electronic section, where Ringo had just been fucking shit up five minutes prior. Attempting to keep all of his stolen goods concealed, Paul strolled up and down the aisles, trying to decide which items on display were the best to grab (aka what would impress John the most). After checking to see if the coast was clear (which it was, since all the staff in the area were busy dealing with Ringo in the front of the store), Paul slid a Nintendo Switch inside his coat and hustled away from the crime scene, giggling to himself.

Now he was on a high. He was bound to win the competition with his impressive level of skill; the rest of the boys had probably already been caught because they were nowhere near as sneaky as him. As Paul hustled past the home goods aisle, he caught a glimpse of a Rolling Stones poster and turned back around with a smug look. The poster immediately went down his pants, where it belonged, so Mick’s face was pressed up against some stuff I’m not going to list out here. To top off the successful day, Paul made his way to the lingerie section to pick out an especially nice bra to give to John as a joke, to really rub in his victory. With the exception of the quick period of shaking that nearly made Paul crap himself, he was poised with a confidence he had never felt before, like he was immortal. Paul crept his way out a side door and returned to George’s car with his head held high and his pockets completely lined with goods, making it to George and John with three seconds to spare.

John knew exactly what he was doing from the get-go. He knew that his mates would all fall for a friendly competition and get so consumed by it that John could do his dirty work undetected. He knew that Ringo was bound to create a distraction big enough for him to do what he set out to do. He wasn’t sure if Paul and George would get caught too but, if they did, that would just be an additional bonus. After watching George and Paul hurry through the front doors, John stomped out his used cigarette on the pavement and ambled in behind them.

“Hey, Ringo,” he calmly greeted his mate as he made it through the front doors, where Ringo was still handcuffed and swarmed by employees and police officers.

“Hi John,” Ringo attempted to wave back, failing miserably. With a satisfied smirk, John moved to the front registers and, one by one, popped them open with a screwdriver that he himself had stolen from Target just the previous week. You’d think that alarms would have gone off, or someone would have noticed, but no, John was the true Master of Deception. He opened his coat to reveal a large, holographic fanny pack (also stolen) and started to fill it with the 1s, 5s, 10s, 20s, and 100s in each cash register. In under a minute, he had emptied out every register in the store, right under the cops’ noses. It was practically a miracle.

While George and Paul were still trying to make their way around the perimeter of the store, finding the best things to take, John was out the front doors in under three minutes, his fanny pack stuffed to the brim with cash just like George’s stomach was about to be with food.

“Fools,” John couldn’t help but laugh to himself as he lit a new cigarette and took out a long, satisfied drag. And, with that, he let himself back into George’s car and reclined backwards in the front seat, his feet kicked up on the dashboard. He kept an eye out for any commotion if someone caught on to his crime, but the store was incredibly peaceful and still, like a lake on a cool summer’s morning. John found that to be oddly beautiful, so much so that he knew he could write a decent song about it, called “Hey Target I Just Robbed You Blind, Suck It”.

After what felt like ages of waiting, George finally emerged from the store and, not too shortly afterwards, Paul trailed out after him.

“Did you see they arrested Ringo?” Paul asked as he plopped in the back seat, his pockets swishing this way and that and a loud, papery crunching noise coming from his pants.

“I was able to get in a quick word with him,” George told Paul. “Turns out he tried to steal the biggest TV in the store by hiding it in his pants.”

“Classic Ringo,” Paul rolled his eyes. “You’re awfully quiet,” he turned to John. “Nervous to lose?”

“You wish,” John snapped back to life, reclaiming his role as the leader of the competition. “Well, let’s go then, boys, shall we? Show off what you were able to grab.”

George was the first to go, and Paul and John’s eyes widened as he emptied out the opened food packages from his stolen bag. He had enough in there to fill half a trash dump.

“I ate all of that in under 10 minutes,” George proudly shared, before letting out another loud burp. “And, I took this.” George untied his apron and threw it in the pile, adding along the scanner and the credit card reader. “They thought I was an employee,” George couldn’t help but laugh as he looked down at his red shirt and khakis.

“What are you gonna do with a credit card reader?” Paul couldn’t help but ask. It seemed like the stupidest thing George could have taken. Well, actually a toilet plunger from the bathroom would have been stupider, but Paul had come to that conclusion earlier after taking the toilet plunger from the men’s room and talking himself into putting it back.

“Dunno,” George shrugged. “It seemed like it would be hard to take, so I took it.”

“That’s admirable,” John admitted, impressed with his younger mate. “Alright Paul, show us your booty.”

Paul couldn’t help but grin in anticipated excitement at his seemingly inevitable victory as he first retrieved the pack of gum and soap, followed by the daily planner and $20 Applebee’s gift card.

“Hold up,” John stopped him. “You’re disqualified.”

“Disqualified?” Paul nearly shouted in shock. “Why?”

John pointed at the Applebee’s gift card.

“That’s a foul right there. No one in their right mind would steal an Applebee’s gift card and consider themselves a winner. That just spoiled whatever else you took, I don’t even want to see it.”

“But I took a Nintendo Switch!” Paul tried to protest, reaching into his coat to grab it.

“I don’t care,” John held his ground, “you’re disqualified.” George watched onwards in excitement; he loved it when he did better than Paul.

“Now how’s that fair?” Paul protested. “We’re all judges here, your word isn’t above ours!”

“It is when I already know I’ve won,” John retorted. Before Paul could fight against this, John unzipped his jacket, displaying his fanny pack. Both Paul and George broke into fits of laughter.

“You can’t be serious, John,” George howled, “You think you won with that?”

“That’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Paul added in, relief washing over him that John might have just been giving him a hard time. That theory was quickly abandoned, however, when John, sporting the strongest poker face ever seen in the history of mankind, unzipped the fanny pack, revealing the stacks upon stacks of cash inside.

“I counted it all while you were in there wasting your time,” he explained to George and Paul’s gaping faces. “It’s near $20,000.” George recoiled in shock.

“John,” Paul’s voice was shaking now, “I don’t think that was such a great idea…”

“They haven’t caught me though, have they?” John tested Paul with a raised eyebrow, nodding towards the store.

“But I don’t think you should be sitting in their parking lot with the $20,000 you just stole, John,” George told him, trying to keep his cool.

“I’m not worried about it,” John waved George off. “Ringo’s got them all busy. Meanwhile I’m gonna buy me a new car to celebrate.”

“John,” Paul deadpanned, “you already own three cars. And you don’t have a driver’s license.”

“You really do need to consider other ways to live lavishly,” George agreed.

“What matters is that I’m $20,000 richer and you’re not,” John snapped back at them, growing frustrated that they weren’t as in awe of his achievement as he had hoped.

Right as Paul was about to suggest that John go back inside and return the money before they got into any serious trouble, Ringo knocked on George’s window, accompanied by two cops, making them all jump. After glancing back at John to make sure his money was hidden, George rolled down the window.

“They’re taking me to the sin bin,” Ringo explained, nodding at the two cops who were holding him in a deathlock. “Apparently putting a TV down your pants is considered a crime.”

“No kidding,” Paul told him.

“My bail is supposed to be posted at about $20,000,” Ringo continued, ignoring Paul. “Can you help set old Ringo free?”

Paul and George slowly turned to face John, who was scowling downwards.

“Yes,” George answered for him, “in fact, I think we’ve got $20,000 we can spare.”

Ringo smiled.

#I wrote a novel with this one #sorry #beatles ask #beatles fanfic #john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #target #ringo really tried his best

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ineloqueent · 4 years

Text

christmas eve of disaster

Brian May x Reader

synopsis: when Brian’s cousin announces her imminent arrival in town, the night before christmas, Brian sets out to find his niece a present for the occasion, and enlists his best friend to help.

warnings: swearing

word count: 1.4k

see the moodboard here!

⭒

in a parallel dimension, 2019

Brian had called you, sounding completely out of sorts, an incessant anxiety to his tone which announced his desperation for your aid, even before his words did.

“Please, you’ve got to help me,” he said, and you bit back a laugh, because you would never have refused a friend in need, despite how convinced Brian was that you were going to say no to helping him. “Spending Christmas in my dingy flat is going to be horrid enough as it is. I won’t be responsible for ruining the poor girl’s Christmas as well—”

“Brian—”

“—and her mother’s got nothing, with that stingy, slimy bastard husband of hers gone off to god knows where—”

“Brian—”

“—and I simply won’t— no, god dammit, I refuse to be the reason that— fuck’s sake— this is an absolute disaster—”

“Brian, will you shut up?!” you cried, and the other end of the line went silent, aside from a muffled apology. “Of course I’ll come with you to Hamleys, just let me get my blooming coat and shoes on.” You sighed, not with exasperation, but with the effort that it took to stand up from the sofa, when you’d spent the majority of the day curled up very comfortably in its depths. You held the phone between your ear and shoulder as you tugged on your shoes, hopping from foot to foot after nearly losing your balance. “When can you be here?”

The doorbell rang, and you frowned.

“Now,” said Brian over the phone, and you grinned involuntarily, at once hurrying down the stairs and throwing open the door.

Brian stood there with his phone to his ear, and he smiled in greeting as he ended the call and put his mobile away.

Tall and seemingly imposing, though not at all once you got to know him, your best friend had always been a sort of anchor to you. Slim and angular too, one would not have thought him an adept hugger, but that he was.

When you threw your arms around him now, Brian laughed and embraced you with equal enthusiasm, the weight of his arms around your waist and his unusually long, curly hair against your face familiar sensations, ones of comfort and homeliness.

“Have you missed me that much?” he asked, laughingly. “I saw you yesterday, you know.”

“Yes, but I haven’t seen you today,” you sighed into his shoulder, and he patted your hair with a chuckle.

“Thought you said we spend too much time together,” he mused, and you rolled your eyes as you released him.

“Not true. I said that some people might think we spend too much time together, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

“Oh, you’re a sap,” he said, but his tone was as fond as you were of him.

You stuck out your tongue at him, and when he reciprocated, you grabbed your coat from its hook by the door and slipped it on before looping your arm through his.

“C’mon,” you said, shutting the door behind you, “let’s go to Hamleys.”

⭒

Hamleys was packed to the rafters, and you couldn’t have chosen a worse day to go shopping in central London than Christmas Eve.

You and Brian were currently standing in the doorway to the place, feeling rather overwhelmed. Brian looked a little pale, in all honesty.

“So,” he said, “where in the world do we start?”

“Good question.”

It was a good question.

There were screaming babies and mothers fighting over the last sets of Star Wars Lego, bored looking fathers, and other young people your age, who looked as panicked and confused as yourself and Brian.

This was bound to be a disaster.

But luckily, if Hamleys had anything, it was signs, and rather well-placed, informative signs, at that. It would make your quest for a Christmas gift for Brian’s niece quite a bit easier.

You turned to Brian. “How old is she, again?”

He narrowed his eyes, thinking. “Four, I think.”

“So…” You tapped your finger against your lip, as Brian stood and stared rather helplessly into the abyss of Christmas shoppers. “What about watercolours? Versatile, neutral, but also promoting creativity..?”

“Perfect. Let’s go and then let’s get out of here.”

You nodded in agreement, and the two of you made for the staircase which led to Hamleys’ arts and crafts department.

The arts and crafts department was a significantly more calm atmosphere than the Lego department, and you breathed a sigh of relief upon reaching the top of the stairs.

“Got stamina yet?” Brian asked, and you raised your eyebrows. He explained, “I was hoping we could go for dinner afterwards.”

“Alright then,” you agreed, with a wink. “It’s a date.”

Brian flushed. “No! No, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Oh, relax, Brian. I was just teasing you.”

He blushed further, and for the life of you, you couldn’t understand why. This was how it’d always been, the two of you batting flirtatious or spiteful remarks at each other, those the nature of both was always feigned. You and Brian had been friends for as long as you could remember, and nothing would change that.

“Right,” he said, quietly. You opened your mouth to ask him whatever the matter was, but he had already turned on his heel and gone down one of the many art department aisles.

Thinking this would be over faster if the two of you split up, you meandered down the neighbouring aisle, muttering to yourself as you sought the already-elusive watercolours.

“No luck?” you queried when you encountered Brian turning the corner, and he shook his head, his curls falling about his face prettily.

“None at all.” He sighed. “This is a disaster.”

You folded your arms as you glanced around, your jaw set in determination.Why should it be so hard to find the most timeless present for a child? And in a toy shop, for fuck’s sake.

Just then, an idea popped into your head. “If I’m not mistaken,” you said, “Hamleys has an online directory.”

“Oh brilliant,” Brian muttered. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because I’m the clever one,” you deadpanned, and your best friend, the astrophysicist, barked a laugh.

“‘Course you are.”

Pulling your phone out, you realised with dismay that it was dead, and you stuck your hand out with beckoning fingers. “Mine’s dead,” you told Brian.

“Ah.” He handed you his own, and wandered back down the aisle, still in search of a sign that would lead to the watercolours.

“Passcode?!” you called, before he could get too far away.

“You should know that!” he returned, and disappeared around the corner again.

“I should know that?” you asked yourself, tapping your index finger against the side of his phone. Nothing popped into your head, so you shrugged and decided it would serve him right to get locked out of his phone for being so confident in your recollection abilities.

But you lost your train of thought when the screen of Brian’s phone lit up, because smiling back at you, was you.

Well, you weren’t exactly looking straight at the camera, and you didn't remember when or why you’d been laughing, and much less that a picture had been taken, but there you were— laughing as you turned to face the photographer, who, undoubtedly was Brian, your eyes bright and your complexion rosy, the sunlight catching on your hair.

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

“Brian,” you called, beginning to walk in the direction he’d gone. “Brian!” you walked faster, propelled by an urgency you didn’t know the source of. “Brian—”

You had turned a corner, and found him. He was facing away from you, staring straight ahead, as though frozen.

Biting your lip, you walked forward slowly, and reached out your hand to touch his shoulder.

“Bri,” you said softly.

He turned, one hand fisted at his side, his lower lip between his teeth and his eyes narrowed to an apprehensive squint.

“I’m—” you started. “I’m your lock screen?”

Brian pressed his lips together. “You, uh,” he cleared his throat, “you weren’t supposed to see that.”

He glanced down, and his hand rose to muss his curls. You took a tentative step closer.

“Bri.”

That always got him. He looked up.

“Go out with me?” you asked softly, your voice small. “Actually go out with me? On a date?”

A slow smile crept across his lips. “Yeah,” he said in a rush of breath. “I’d like that.”

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach, and your smile mirrored his.

Maybe this day wasn’t so much of a disaster after all.

#s&t celebrate #tina's writing #brian may x reader #fic

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foreverfangirlalways · 4 years

Text

Sander Sides High School Host Club

Sanders Sides OHSHC-

This is simply a bullet fic for a Sanders Sides version of Ouran High School Host Club. Everyone is Supernatural except for Virgil, and if y’all like it enough, I will turn it into a full fledged fic. Just let me know!!

-_-_-_-

Original Character= Sander Side -supernatural identity- tattoo that shows supernatural identity Haruhi=Virgil -human- ??? Tamaki=Janus -shapeshifter- dice surrounded by various shapes Kyouya=Logan -vampire- fangs with a moon and cross Hikaru=Patton -Cupid- bow&arrow w/ heart Kaoru=Emile -Siren- musical notes with emoji Hunny=Roman -fae- willow tree and red mushrooms Mori=Remy -sandman- hourglass combines with a sandstorm Renge=Remus -fae- willow tree and green mushrooms

-_-_-_-

~A bunch of freaking people talking loudly in a freaking library!~

Virgil – [Sigh] ~This place has four library rooms. You'd think one of them would be quiet.~

~How are things in heaven Andy? I can't believe it's been ten years already. I'm beginning to think that rich kids only come to school to have a good time.~

~An abandoned living room. I guess this is the only place I'll be able to study in peace and quiet.~

[Gets buried in an avalanche of petals]

Sides Host Club – "Welcome!"

Virgil– ~When I opened the door, I found the Host Club.~

Janus *background/narration/janus answer to Virgil’s ‘whaaa???’*– "Only those with excellent social standing, filthy rich families, and are supernatural creatures are lucky enough to spend their time here at the elite private school, Sides Academy. The Sides Host Club is where the school's handsomest boys, with too much time on their hands, entertain other handsome boys who also have way too much time on their hands. Just think of it as Sides Academy's elegant playground for the super-rich, supernatural, and beautiful."

Virgil – "This is a cult?"

Patton– "Oh wow, it's a new boy!"

Logan – "Patton, Emile, I believe this young man is in the same class as you, isn't he?"

Emile– "Yeah, but he's so shy and quite! He doesn't act very sociably, so we don't know much about him."

Logan – "Hm. Well, that wasn't very polite." "Welcome to the Sides Host Club, Mr. Honor Student."

Janus – "What? You must be Virgil Storm! You're the exceptional honor student we've heard about."

Virgil – "How did you know my name?"

Roman– "Why, you're infamous. It's not every day that a commoner gains entrance into our academy. You must have a lot of nerve to work hard enough to fight your way into this school as an honor student cutie."

Virgil– "Boi, excuse me?"

Janus – "You're excused. You're a hero to other poor people, Storm. You've shown the world that even a poor person can excel at an elite private academy. It must be hard for you to constantly be looked down upon by others."

Virgil– "Ahhh, you’re that type of asshole. I think you're taking this "poor" thing too far."

Janus – "Spurned. Neglected. But that doesn't matter now. Long live the poor! We welcome you poor man, to our world of beauty."

Virgil– "Bitch, bye. I'm outta here."

Patton– "Hey! Come back here BFF Virgil! You must be like a superhero or something. That's so cool!"

Virgil– "I'm not a hero. I'm an honor student. And who are you calling "BFF Virgil!?"

Janus – "I never would've imagined the famous scholar would be so openly gay."

Virgil – "Openly what? BITCH WE’RE ALL GAY! There are no girls at this school! It’s like, a requirement or something!"

Janus *not listening*– "So tell me what kind of guys you're into. Do you like the strong, silent type? Because we don’t have that. We have Remy instead.

Remy- “You got that right babes. Silence is weakness. That’s why I always be slurping Starbees! *siiiippppp*”

Janus- Then there’s the boy Lolita? That’s Pat and Em! How about the princely type, Roman, or the cool nerd type, Logan?"

Virgil– "None! I was just looking for a quiet place to study."

Janus – "Or maybe... You're into a guy like me. *winky winky nudge nudge* What do you say?"

Virgil– "I will slap you. Back away!"

~Joan enters to see what the club was up too, and hears a ‘crackboom’. He turns to the noise, and sees the club standing over his broken vase.

Joan- “BROOOOOOOO! No effin' way, dude! Who broke this vase? Who broke this vase? Seriously, guys. Everyone who's here at my awesome party... this huge crowd of people that's definitely here right now...”

Virgil- *Mumbling* “Oh my go- wait, are they drunk? Why are they talking like that?”

Joan- “Somebody broke my grandma's vase. And that was the last thing she gave to me... to sell for about 75 thousand dollars! I swear to all things football and/or skateboarding that I will find you. Don't make me cry these incredibly manly tears! Anyone can speak up here and be a part of this scene. Especially those of us who aren't imagined and are actually here on the stage.”

Janus, Logan, Patton, Emile, Roman, and Remy all facepalm.

Joan- “Like, not the people who are imagined to be here through means of suspension of disbelief.”

Logan- I do not understand theatre. Joan, you don’t have to practice your script right now! Besides, you literally watched Virgil break it.”

Joan- “True, but I was very convincing! Now, ima go, but y’all should have the new guy do indentured servitude or something, because that’s the typically way a teenager pays for breaking a vase. Bye!”

All- “Bye Joan!”

Virgil- *gulping and looking around the room*"Uh, I'm gonna have to pay you back."

Remy – "With what money? Babes, you can't even afford a school uniform."

Roman – "What's with that grubby outfit you've got on anyway?"

Virgil- “Hmm, don’t like you either asshat.”

Logan – "Well, what do you think we should do Janus?"

Janus– "There's a famous saying you may have heard Virgil, "When in Rome, you should do as the Romans do." Since you have no money, you can pay with your body!”

Virgil- *raises an eyebrow, flips him off, and moves to leave*

Logan- *grabbing Virgil’s arm and pulling him back* “He doesn’t mean like that! He means-“

Janus- * interrupting* “That means starting today, you're the Host Club's errand boi!"

(Scene change)

Virgil– ~I don't know if I can handle this Andy. I've been captured by a bunch of boys that are calling themselves a host club.~ [Indistinct chattering] Brian– "Um, Janus, what's your favorite song?"

Janus– "What song? The one that reminds me of you, of course."

Steve (the stove) – "I baked you a cake today. Would you like to taste it?"

Janus– "Only if you'll feed it to me darling."

Bill (the drill) – "Oh wow. You're so dreamy."

Chad – "May I have a word with you Janus?"

Janus and Bill – "Huh?"

Chad– "I've recently heard the Host Club is keeping a little kitten without a pedigree."

Janus– "I don't know if I'd call him that. Speak of the devil! Thanks for doing the shopping Count Woe-laf! Did you get everything on our list?"

Virgil– "What? If Roman can’t call me that neither can you. Now here’s your food."

Remy– "Hey, wait a minute, what is this?"

Virgil– "Just what it looks like. It's coffee."

Remy – "I've never seen this kind before. Is this Dunkin Donuts?"

Virgil – *rolling his eyes* "Holy fucking shit. It's just Krueger coffee pods. I even got Starbucks brand!”

Everyone– "It's coffee pods?"

Remy – "Whoa! I've heard of this before. It's commoners' coffee. You just place it into a machine."

Steve – "I didn't know there was such a thing."

Brian – "So it's true then. Poor people don't even have enough money to buy Starbucks from Starbucks!"

Chad – "Mm hmm!"

Virgil- “No, it’s just Starbucks coffee pods. For home. It’s convenient you preppy asshats.”

Logan– *winks* "Commoners are pretty smart and convenient."

Roman – "68 cents per pod?"

Patton – "That's a lot less than we normally pay!"

Virgil – "I'll go back and get regular Starbucks. Excuse me for not knowing y’all orders."

Remy – "No, I'll keep it."

Crowd – [Gasp]

Remy– "I'm going to give it a try."

Crowd – [Gasp]

Remy – "I will drink this coffee!"

Crowd – [Applause]

Remy – "Alright Virgil, get over here and make me some of this commoners' coffee."

Virgil– ~I hate all these damn rich people.~

Chad– "Oh Janus, Logan, now they’re taking the joke too far. His palate won't be able to stomach that crap. Y’all don't have to drink it just because he bought it."

Virgil- "With all do respect, what?"

Chad*verychadlike* – "I'm sorry. I was talking to myself."

Virgil– "Bitc-"

Emile– "Virgil!"

Virgil – "Eh, I'm comin'" "Here."

Remy – "Let the tasting begin."

Brian – "I'm a little scared to drink this stuff."

Jon – "I'm afraid if I drink this my father will yell at me."

Roman– "What if I let you drink it from my mouth?"

Jon – "Well then I would drink it."

Guys – [Squealing]

Virgil – ~This is ridiculous.~

(Scene change)

Emile– [Giggle] "So he had a cookie jar hidden in our room."

Patton– "Emile! Don't tell them that story. I asked you not to tell anyone that. Why are you so mean to me?"

Emile– "I'm sorry Patton."

Guys – [Gasp]

Emile – "I didn't mean to upset you, but you were so adorable when it happened, I had to tell them. I'm sorry."

Patton– "I forgive you."

Guys – [Squeal] "I've never seen roommate love quite like that."

Virgil– "What are they so excited about? I just don't get it."

Roman – [dramatic entrance] "Sorry, we're running late."

Jon – "Hello Roman. Hey Remy."

Apollo – "We've been waiting here for you guys, hi"

Roman– "I'm sorry. I was waiting for Remy to finish his party plans and I simply couldn’t leave a man behind! *wrapping his arms around Remy* especially not the handsomest prince in the world!"

Guys – [Gasp] "So cute!" [Giggling]

Virgil– "Is Roman really a prince?"

Logan – "Roman may seem dramatic, but he is a fae prince."

Virgil – "Really? Damn."

Logan– "And then Remy allure is he’s a sassy, coffee-addicted sandman."

Virgil- "Interesting... tell me more?"

Logan- “Well, Emile is a siren. Patton is a Cupid.”

Virgil-*suprised Pikachu face* “seriously?”

Patton– "Vergie!"

Virgil– [Yelp]

Patton– "Hey Virgie, do you want to go have some cookies with me?"

Virgil– "Thanks, but I don't really like cookies."

Emile– "Then how would you like to hold my Stitch?"

Virgil– "I'm not into stuffed animals."

Emile– "Don’t worry! Stitch isn’t a mere stuffed animal! You look stressed. Stitch is enchanted, he brings luck and happiness to the holder.”

Virgil– [Gasp] "Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt?"

Emile and Patton– [Gasp] *REALIZATION!* "Take good care of him, okay?" [Laugh]

Logan– "You'll notice that our club utilizes each man's unique characteristics to cater to the desires of our guests. Just so you know, Janus is number one around here. He's the king. Just don’t tell Roman. Janus’s request rate is 70%."

Virgil- "What's this world coming to? So, what is he?"

Logan- “Janus is a shapeshifter.”

Virgil- “Figures”

Logan– "And in order for you to pay off your 75 thousand dollar debt with us, you will act as the Sides Host Club's errand boy until you graduate. You can try to run away if you want to Virgil, but just so you know, I can find you anywhere you go. By the way, do you have a passport?"

Virgil – "Huh? What does that matter? And how could you find me? You never told me what you are."

Logan: “oh, of course. *smiles slowly, showing fangs.* “I’m a vampire.”

Virgil~eyes widened. Crap. Why does the one I like best have to be the most dangerous?~

Janus – "You're going to have to work hard to pay off that debt, my little emo." [Blow]

Virgil– [Hyperventilating] "Please don't do that again. Fight or flight, I will punch you."

Janus– "You need a makeover or no guys going to look twice at you."

Virgil – "You seem to be looking at me just fine. Besides, I’m not trying to get guys to look at me."

Janus– "Are you kidding me? That's the most important thing. You have to learn to be a gentleman and please the masses, like me."

Virgil– "I just don't think it's all that important."

Janus– "Hm?"

Virgil– "Why should I care about appearances and labels anyway? I mean, all that really matters is what's on the inside right? I don't understand why you even have a host club like this."

Janus– "It's a cruel reality, isn't it?

Virgil– [Grunt]

Janus– "It's not often that God creates a perfect person like moi, beautiful both inside and out."

Virgil– "And vein all around?"

Janus– "I understand how you feel since not everyone is blessed as I am, but you must console yourself. Otherwise how would you go on living? And think about this Virgil. Why do you think they put works of art in museums? Because beauty should be shared with the world, and those born beautiful should-“

Virgil-(~There's a word to describe people like him.~)

Janus- “promote other beautiful things. That's why I started this club in the first place. I did it for those who are-“

Virgil-(~Hmm. What is it?~)

Janus- “starved for beauty. For those working day and night, pursuing beauty. And although

Virgil-(~Aw man, I wish I could remember that word. Hmmm~)

Janus-“your looks may be average, and you have a few negative characteristics, I've chosen to share my expertise with you. Here's a tip. When setting down your glass, extend your pinky finger as a cushion, and that way when you set it down you won't be making a lot of noise. Gentlemen do not make loud sounds. Besides,” Virgil-(~"a pain in the neck"?~)

Janus-“a gentleman looks much more refined”

Virgil-(~No, there's something that fits him perfectly, better than that~)

Janus-“that way. I like to check my reflection.., but above all else ? Virgil, you must remember, how effective a glance to the side can be.”

Virgil- “Ha. I got it!”

Janus-“Oh, did I strike a chord?”

Virgil- You’re Obnoxious!"

Janus*sulking*

Virgil – "Uh, I'm sorry Janus. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings."

Roman and Remy– [Laugh]

Roman– "You're a hero alright."

Remy – "Uh-huh."

Virgil– ~But he is a pain in the neck.~ "I'm sorry Jan, but your lesson did strike a small chord with me."

Janus– "Really? It did? Let me teach you more, my friend."

Virgil– "Well, he got over that quick."

Janus- “Emile!”

Emile – "Boss?"

Janus– "Call me King."

Roman- “Nope, that’s me! Try again.”

Janus- “Fine. Call me Emperor Now where was I?”

Emile– “I think you were wanting to make Virgil a host. You can teach him all the basics of hosting..."

Patton– "But he's not going to get very far with the fellas if he doesn't look the part you know. HE NEEDS A MAKEOVER!!!"

Virgil– "I thought I already vetoed that?"

Roman– "Yes! Maybe if we moved his bangs out of his eyes it could help."

Virgil– "Hey! I happen to like bangs in my eyes! STEP AWAY FROM THE BRUSH! NO!!!"

Remy Attack Virgil with a hairbrush

Remy realization*

Logan– [Gasp] "Remy."

Remy – "Got it!"

Virgil– "Huh? Bitch what the hell is going on??" [Yell]

Roman– "Emile, what’s the number to my hairstylist?“

Patton – "What about me Lolo?"

Logan– "Patton."

Patton– "Yes sir!"

Logan– "You... go make some cookies."

Patton – "Ok! Virgil, what’s your favorite type of cookie?? You know what, I’ll just make them all!"

Remy – "Here! Change into this uniform."

Virgil– "What? Why?"

Remy– "Don't ask questions!"

Virgil– "No way! Screw you! You know what, I'll change, but you have to GET OUT!"

Remy – [Yell] [Stutter] "Huh?"

Logan– [Sigh]

(Scene change)

Virgil– "Um, guys?"

Janus– "Aren't you done changing yet?"

Logan– "Hmmm?"

Virgil– "You sure it's really okay for me to keep this uniform?"

Patton– "Cute! You're super pretty! Adorable!"

Emile– "Verge, you look so cute!"

Roman– "If we had known that's how you really look..."

Remy– "We would've helped you out sooner. You’re actually pretty hot..."

Logan– "Who knows? Maybe he'll draw in some customers. And I agree, he is extremely aesthetically appeasing."

Janus – "You know, that's just what I was thinking. Our errand boy is moving up the ranks. Starting today, you are an official member of the Host Club. I will personally train you to be a first-rate host. If you can get 100 customers to request your service, we will completely forget about your $75,000 debt."

Virgil – "A host? You people are fucking crazy. And I don’t want you to train me. You are an asshole."

Logan- “Janus? Do you mind if I train him? It could be educational.”

Janus- *slightly offended snake sounds* “If you can get the ungrateful, sassy, mean emo to agree, you can train him.”

Logan- “Virgil, can~”

Virgil- “I’ll let the hot nerd train me. I like him.”

Everyone looks between an extremely pleased Logan and a smug Virgil. ‘Interesting’

(Insert fluffy, flirty Analogical scene of Virgil learning how to be a ‘proper host’ and the others spying)

(Scene change)

Alfredo– "So, tell me Virgil. Do you have any hobbies? What do you like to do?"

Herbert– "I'm curious, what kind of products do you use on your skin?"

Boy(I’m running out of Thomas’s male character names)– "Yes, it's so pretty."

Virgil– ~I can't do this anymore. I’m sorry Logan, but I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. And these people are staring to get annoying. And invasive...~

Boys – "So why did you join the Host Club Virgil?" [Giggle]

Virgil– "Uh." ~All I have to do is get 100 customers to request me, and they'll forget about my $75,000 debt. I just have to seem interesting. Oh! I know just the story.~

(Words)

Alfredo – "I see, your brother was sick and passed away two years ago. Who do you bond with now?"

Virgil– "Oh, I‘m just kind of by myself now. My brother was my best friend and confidante, so I found it hard to make friends since he passed. Now all I have is my Uncle, but he is pretty great, and I have managed to make it through okay."

Herbert – "So uh..."

Boy – "Is it okay if tomorrow..."

Alfredo – "We request to sit with you again?"

Virgil– "Yeah, I'd really appreciate that guys. Y’all are great listeners, and I am interested to hear about y’all next time." *smirk*

Boys- [stifled shrieking]

Roman – "Why is he so popular?"

Logan– "He's a natural."

Janus– "Apparently he didn’t even need training."

Chad– "Have you forgotten about me?"

Janus – "Oh, no. Sorry prince. I'm just a little concerned about our newest host."

Chad – "Well that's obvious Jan. You and Logan sure have been keeping an eye on him."

Janus – "Of course. I have to. I need to make sure he a good host, and Logan is training him to be a gentleman."

Boys – [Giggling]

Janus – "Virgil! Come here for a minute."

Virgil– "What's up?"

Janus– "I'd like you to meet someone. This is my regular guest, Prince Chad."

Virgil– [Gasp] ~It's that asshole from earlier~ "Sir, it's a ‘absolute’ pleasure to meet you."

Janus – "That was so cute! That air of bashfulness was very good! Super good! Amazingly good!"

Chad – "Uh, Logan, what is happening?"

Logan– "Virgil is adorable, so Janus is trying to show affection and make Virgil like him better than me."

Virgil– "Roman! Save me!"

Janus – "Nope, mine now!"

Roman– *Whacks Janus with his sword and grabs Virgil bridal style* [Realization Gasp]

Janus– "Damn it Roman, you didn’t have to go that far. Come on little emo, let your best friend give you a big hug."

Virgil– "Ok. Patton! Janus says I need a hug."

Laughing and offended noises, then Patton jumping in Virgil arms for a giant hug. Guests are very amused, and Chad is very pissed

(Scene change)

Virgil-"Hey, what happened to my bag? [looks out window and sees bag in fountain] Uh, are you kidding me? How did that happen? I didn't think there were bullies at this school. I guess those asshats are everywhere. They’re like McDonalds."

Virgil runs towards the fountain

Chad – "Oh! It's you again. I bet you love having Janus and Logan making you over and fawning over you. It's useless though. You're always going to be a second-class citizen.”

Virgil – ~I bet my Tim Burton posters that he is the bastard that threw my bag in the fountain. I can't be bothered with him right now though. I've gotta find my wallet or I won't have any money for food this week.~

Remy– "Hey, tiny emo! You've got some nerve skipping out on the club like that. Why is your bag all wet?"

Virgil– "It's no big deal. I got it. I just can't find my food money."

Remy– "Hm?"

[jumps into the fountain after taking off his sunglasses]

Virgil– "Hey, you don't have to do that. You'll get wet. And why the hell did you only take off your sunglasses? That does nothing!"

Remy – "A little water never hurt anyone. Besides, people are always telling me that I'm dripping with good looks. Oh, hang on a second. This what you're looking for? What's the matter, you're staring off into space. Ooo! Please tell me your falling for me. Because Logan is gonna be pissed! "

Virgil– "No way!"

Remy– "How did your bag end up in the fountain anyway?"

Virgil– "Well uh, I guess I accidentally dropped it out the window at some point."

(Scene change)

Chad – "Oh really? That must've been terrible. I can't imagine what I'd do if my bag fell into the fountain."

Virgil – ~Why did he request me when it's obvious he doesn't like me? He has a plan. Ima end up decking this guy...~

Chad– "And you actually made Remy search that dirty old thing with you. How astonishing! You do realize he's a blueblood and not a commoner, right? The only reason any of them are paying attention to you is because they’re trying to turn you into a gentleman."

Virgil– [Gasp] ~Dis bitch wanna get punched ~

Chad– "Don't start thinking he cares about you just because he's doting on you."

Virgil– "Now I understand. You're jealous of me."

[grabs Virgil’s arm and yanks to where Virgil knocks the table over and lands on top of Chad]

Chad – [Scream] "No, Virgil! Leave me alone! Somebody help, he just attacked me!"

Virgil– "Bitch please."

Chad– "Somebody do something! Teach this commoner a lesson!"

[Emile and Patton dump water on the two]

Virgil– "Honestly, what the fuck is with you guys?"

Chad – "Why did you do that? Do something, Janus. Virgil just assaulted me."

Janus – "I'm disappointed in you. You threw his bag into the fountain, didn't you?"

Chad – "You don't know that. Do you have any proof that I did?"

Remy- “Yeah, babes, we got proof. It’s called we’re not fucking stupid. Or blind.”

Logan– "You know, you're a handsome guy, but you aren't classy enough to be our guest. If there's one thing I know, Virgil is not that kind of a man."

Chad– "But, why? You are all idiots!" [Cry]

Janus– "Hmmm... Now how am I going to punish you? Because it is your fault after all. Your quota is now 1000!"

Virgil– "Huh? 1000? My fault? Why yo-"

Patton– "Come on. I got high expectations for you, kiddo!"

Virgil– "Really?"

Emile– "Yep! This is the only spare uniform we have. Sorry, but it's better than a wet one, right?"

Virgil– "Thanks a lot you guys. I'm gonna go change."

(Scene change)

Janus – "Virgil, here you go. I brought you some towels."

Virgil– [Gasp] “Please get the hell out!”

Janus blanches and leaves

Virgil walks out in the uniform that shows ones supernatural identity tattoo. It shows off storm clouds and lightning, a rare tattoo but one that’s signifies humanity.

Janus– "Virgil."

Virgil– "Yeah?"

Janus– "So, you're a human?"

Virgil– "No shit Sherlock, yeah. Is there anything wrong with that?"

Janus– “No! I think you are awesome even if you’re human. Who else knows?”

Logan, Patton, Emile, Remy, and Roman all raise their hands

Janus-[Scream]

Virgil– "Listen guys, I don't really care whether you recognize me as a human or not. In my opinion, it's more important for a person to be recognized for who they are rather than for what supernatural identity you have."

Everyone nods

Virgil– ([Stammering]) "Uh, you know, I have to say Logan, I thought you were pretty cool earlier."

Logan– [Stammering]

Virgil *blushing*- “Logan, I know that you figured it out as soon as you saw me. Thank you for not saying anything, that was very cool of you.”

Logan *also blushing* -“Ah, umm, ehh, it is no problem. You’re welcome.”

Emile, nudging Patton and both giggling– "Well isn't this an interesting development?"

Roman and Remy – "Oh, yeah."

Janus – "Now, I could be wrong but I think we may be witnessing the beginnings of love here. Can’t believe that nerd stole the hot emo right out from under me with words. Ssssssssuck up!"

Patton- “Janus, kiddo, your name isn’t Jealous.”

Remy- “Yeah! Calm thy snaktitties.”

Roman- “Snake tits. Snake titties. Snitties.”

Roman and Remy- “OH MY GOSH SNITTIES!”

Emile- “Common guys. We are not a love to hate tumblr post.”

Roman and Remy- *chanting* “SNITTIES, SNITTIES, SNITTIES, SNITT-“

Janus- *chasing Roman and Remy around with a broom* “SAY IT ONE MORE DAMN TIME!”

Virgil- “You know, this might be fun, I actually enjoy being a Host...”

Taglist-

@dragonwithproblems

@five-falseh00ds-ph0nated

@thefingergunsgirl

@kawaiikat54

@sanders-sides-with-quinn

@007ardra

@yikesdodson

@nerdycupcake559

@softestvirgil

@teacupfulofstarshine

@impatentpending

@star-crossed-shipper

@ravenivy2079

@rainbowemonightmare

@ladyartemisia28

@mushroom-dance-mushroom-dance

@resident-trash-goblin

@parx-boiiz

@ninathepancake

@kuroyurishion

@spideythenewkid

@funkyfreshfatherfigure

@pattoncake-and-eyeshadow

@drewwwbydoobydoo

@sure-i-exist

@sophiexteresa

@glitched-cookie

@wellhellothere09

@seraphlies

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desperationandgin · 4 years

Text

Strawberry Wine - Chapter 13

Title: Strawberry wine

Also Read On: AO3

Summary: Claire attempts to find Jamie while the war rages on and eventually ends.

A/N: Thank you so much for everyone’s patience while I finished this story! At one point I wasn’t going to, but I had an incredible support team that cheered me on. Without all of my betas, I would be nothing. The gorgeous mood board is by @veryfaintveryhuman and I am SO GRATEFUL. It’s beautiful, thank you!

Chapter 13: Like Leaves in the Fall

When the war ended and the fighting was over, I had no idea whether or not Jamie was alive.

What I did know, as I took stock on a train to Scotland, was that my uncle was dead, and I was alone.

Losing Lamb had been a blow to my heart, but I didn’t have the luxury of time to process the grief and sorrow while in the midst of saving lives. The telegram I’d received simply said he’d died in his sleep, and within the span of a single sentence, my last piece of family was gone. No more messy-but-organized flat to visit in the wake of my uncle’s retirement. No one to lean on as I recounted the horrors of war. When I woke from the nightmares, there would be no one to smooth my hair until I was calm. I had no one left in the world who loved me.

I had no one to help find the other half of me.

After losing contact with Jamie, each letter I’d sent to Lallybroch remained unanswered; nothing was ever returned. All of my letters were simply gone into the void—the same place prayers went to die when no deity bothered to listen.

Everything had gone to hell in July 1943. The night I left with a trio of Americans to help an understaffed unit five miles away.

I’d been sure the order from the commanding officer had been to leave in the morning at first light, but I was, of course, outranked by the soldiers escorting me. We’d left an hour after sunset and hadn’t been on the road more than eight minutes before there was an ambush, gunfire, and a fireball of explosion. I never could remember anything that happened after the initial blast. When I’d woken up, I was told I’d been in and out of consciousness for two days, and in that time, had been taken by truck to a field hospital twenty miles east of my own unit. Travel between the two camps had since become a blown-out, impassable mess, with no other way to get back. I wrote to Jamie as soon as I could, but with everything so chaotic, I felt before I knew that something was wrong.

I wrote each Sunday for a year to the last address I had for him, even if it was the final, bleary-eyed thing I did before collapsing that night. Some weeks it was only a sentence. Something simple.

I miss you.

Other weeks I poured my soul out to him, weeping over the paper until the ink was so blurred that even if he received it, he wouldn’t have been able to make out half the words. I began writing to Lallybroch, and my alarm ran deeper when there was no response from anyone at all. I had the phone number and attempted to call when I had the rare chance, but the operator could never connect. I felt helpless, and so I threw myself into helping others, trying to send as many boys and men home to their families as I could.

The last letter I’d sent was posted a month before the end of the war (though I hadn’t known it at the time) and was the first I’d written in a long, long while. I’d mailed it to Lallybroch, for no other reason than because I had no idea where else Jamie might be in the world.

I asked you to promise something impossible. I won’t ever believe you broke that vow to me, James Fraser. Not until I see proof with my own eyes.

You are not gone.

If you were, I couldn’t exist. So you must be out there, somewhere.

Now, the war was over. In the life we’d dreamed, we would have been settled with children by now. At least one or two. All of those nights dreaming felt like distant memories; plans two young lovers made before they’d ever stepped into the reality of the world.

How had we ever believed that our fantasies were untouchable?

I was going back to Lallybroch in the hope of discovering what happened to the Frasers. My heart ached for Jamie to walk out of the front door, healthy and whole, surprised to see me but eager to explain. Even knowing that wouldn’t be the case, I couldn’t have anticipated reaching his home only to find…nothing.

I knew something was wrong the moment I pulled into the drive. There was no smoke rising from the chimneys, there were no chickens roaming the yard. Getting out of the car (Lamb’s; now mine), I could see that the fields in the distance hadn’t been plowed, there were no animals grazing. I stumbled my way to the front door, recognizing the curling orange foreclosure notice for what it was before I could even make out the words.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ…”

It felt as if someone had wrapped their hands around my heart and squeezed. I touched the fading paper and realized it’d been there for some time, then turned to sink slowly onto the front steps. I couldn’t fathom what had happened to cause Brian Fraser to lose the home his ancestors built in the name of love, and my mind raced with possibilities. The main question was where everyone had gone, and I knew my answers wouldn’t be found by sitting still. I left the property and drove into Broch Mordha, parking on the street and walking until I found the quaint little bookshop Jamie and I had enjoyed ducking into once or twice.

“Hello?”

A creaky old voice responded, and the proprietor, Mr. Gowan, made his way around the corner. I remembered him, a retired solicitor with a love of literature, and the way he smiled at me seemed to indicate he recalled me as well.

“Miss Beauchamp, was it? Oh aye, to be sure,” he answered for himself. “I hardly thought I would see ye here again with the Frasers gone from the land.”

It seemed we were cutting right to the chase, and I was eager to avoid small talk. “What happened? I haven’t heard anything in...years.” It hurt to say it aloud, to acknowledge that all of the time I was supposed to have with Jamie was slipping by.

Ned Gowan’s eyes went the sort of soft that meant he was to be the bearer of bad news.

It was in that dusty little shop that I learned of Brian Fraser’s death. He’d been at the plow when he collapsed. A stroke rendered him unable to speak or make final arrangements before he died, and so Jenny had been left to find a way to stay afloat—during a war, no less—on her own. She’d done the best she could, letting go of the farmhands who couldn’t go to war, first, then selling off livestock. Eventually, the burden became too much, and she’d been forced to take what she could stuff in a trunk and leave the rest behind.

“Do you know where she went?” I asked, my voice thick with unshed tears.

Ned reached over, patting my hand softly. “That, I cannae be sure of. I ken she stayed with the MacNabs for a spell after her father died, though she isna there now.”

“Do you know what happened to Jamie? Did he come back?”

At my questions, Ned simply squeezed my hand and shook his head. “I’m sorry, my dear.”

For a moment, I simply held onto him, attempting to come to terms with the fact that Jamie had never returned home while my stomach tried to force its way up my throat.

The end of the day saw me no further than the start. The elderly Mrs. MacNab, while kind, hadn’t kept up with Jenny. With the mouths of children and grandchildren alike to feed and keep track of in a small, two-bedroom home, she’d lost the forwarding address. She assured me that when Jenny left she had at least seemed to have a plan, though she had no idea where Jamie’s sister might have gone.

In the days that followed, I spoke to various locals and realized that no one else knew, either.

I hit the final wall in trying to track down Jenny when I couldn’t locate her cousin, Jared. Leaving Paris had likely been the safest decision for him, but with everyone moving constantly during the war, nothing was familiar anymore. No one was where they were supposed to be.

I didn’t know where to go, and so, I went back to Lallybroch.

It was dark when I arrived, but the path to the river hadn’t faded from my memory. I knew, even in the faint moonlight, which branches to shove aside and could almost imagine Jamie ahead of me. As I broke into the clearing and the sound of water blended with the evening insects, I realized I’d been holding my breath with some sort of final hope that he would be there, reaching his hand out for me.

When I finally exhaled, it was on a sob as I sank to my knees.

He was truly gone.

Likely dead and buried somewhere I would never know. The war had chewed us all up and spat us back out in pieces, scattered and lost. I ached and cried, not only for Jamie, but for Jenny, Ian, and Brian, too. So much had been taken from us, and I wept for it all. I had no idea how long I laid there even after the tears stopped, curled in on myself in the mud. When I finally rose, I sat on the bank of the river, slightly damp, and watched the sky turn pink with the dawn of a new day.

I had to find a home on my own now.

Alone.

Over time, I slowly pieced together a life that was more or less what I’d told Jamie I wanted to do the first night we’d met. I took my skills as a nurse to places with little access to medical care, did what I could, and stayed as long as I felt necessary before moving on. My life hardly felt the way I’d thought it once would; I enjoyed helping others, and the call to take care of those in need was enough to motivate me each day. But I felt as if I were a spectator, watching the weeks, months, and years pass by in slow motion.

When my travels took me to North America, I eventually caught wind of a hospital in Boston looking to hire a dozen or so nurses. I’d thought about it for a long while, whether or not I should stop someplace and finally settle. I’d never longed for something permanent before, not until Jamie had put it into my head that we could have a life together, at Lallybroch.

Boston was about as far from the Scottish Highlands as anyplace else; an entire ocean stretched between what I yearned for and what I wound up with. I put all of my time and energy into the job, and even made a friend or two as I tried to put the war and life before it behind me.

But Jamie’s ghost wouldn’t go so easily.

He guided most of my decisions, the voice in my head that battled my doubts. When I debated whether or not to apply for a head nursing position, the voice in my head that whispered you’re just as capable as any other person at this hospital sounded suspiciously like Jamie, and I decided to try. He became my backbone when I stepped into an interview room full of men. When I was offered the job, I couldn’t deny my happiness at the accomplishment, and my colleagues at the hospital celebrated me in a way that was kind and genuine. But as I marked the time passing and settled into my career, I knew I had come to a point where I needed to let Jamie go.

Moving through life with a constant ache hurt too badly, and I’d never let myself accept that he was truly gone. If I was going to say goodbye to him, it needed to be done properly. That was why, five years after last receiving a letter from him, I took a trip to Scotland to leave a message in a bottle.

3rd of September, 1949. Come find me, Jamie.

When that fateful day finally arrived, I watched the sunrise from the front steps of Lallybroch for what I knew would be the last time. The sky was blue and birds were chirping, apathetic to my sorrow as I walked the property. I found the old, rusted truck that had taken us everywhere that summer, the back-half of it gone. We’d carved promises into one another in the bed of that truck, made love and held one another while we gazed at the stars. Looking down, I pressed my thumb against the faded scar before walking toward the front of the home. It still looked as sturdy as ever, but with no life within, the entire structure seemed dull, as if even the stones had given up.

I decided to make my way to the river through the woods knowing that if Jamie had found my note, that’s where he would think to look for me. I paused for a moment to gaze back at the house, finding his bedroom window. There was only broken glass now, and I closed my eyes, a quiet tear rolling down my cheek. I could still picture the first time I’d ever seen him perfectly: shirtless in a kilt, a bale of hay slung over his shoulder as easily as if it had been a bag of feathers. It wasn’t fair, that we’d only had a summer, that my soul had tangled itself with his in a way that was forever knotted. I would say goodbye today, but I couldn’t fathom finding another love like this in my lifetime.

To be frank, I didn’t know if I believed another love like his existed.

Looking up at the window again, I remembered that first night we made love, how warm it’d been. I’d stood in the window naked while we talked, welcoming the evening breeze as we’d made plans to escape to the water.

My only warning that the world was about to tilt on its axis was the soft crunch of gravel underfoot behind me. It was light enough that I didn’t bother to turn and see what made the sound. And then, suddenly, I felt as though I were in free fall.

“...Sassenach?”

The word (my name on his lips), unheard in years, made my heart skip before every ounce of air left my lungs. I turned my body slowly, but stared down for a moment before finally raising my head, afraid that I’d heard nothing at all.

He was there, standing straight and tall, staring at me in slack-jawed surprise.

Jamie was alive and whole, and it was the last thought I had before the world went black.

#outlander #jamie x claire #outlander fic #strawberry wine #my fic

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givemequeen · 4 years

Text

my teddy boy ; john x reader

request: Hi!! I absolutely love your writing and I can’t literally wait for them to drop. Could you please make a hc where lennon’s rowdy when there’s other people around but is really a big baby when it’s just the two of you 🥰🥰 tysm!! xoxo a/n: i hope this was what you meant :) i legit posted twice- wowieeeee, hooray to me pairing: teddy john x reader summary: John’s a teddy boy around other people but when its just the two of you he’s a big baby warnings: nothing year: teddy years (around 1960) word count: 946

There stood John in all his glory. His hair slicked back - he had taken hours to get it “just right” (still looked a bit, erm, questionable? to you) - his jacket made of black leather, tight jeans and proud smile. His chest was sticking out, shoulders rolled back.

You stared at him through the tiny flat you were both currently in. It belonged to one of John’s musician friends. He had a beer in his hand and a smile on his face.

He must’ve felt your stare because at that moment he turned to you and smirked, his eyes travelled the length of our body lingering a second or two extra on your thighs and chest. He visibly swallowed and curled his fingers in a ‘come here’ motion. You nodded, smiling to yourself, and pushed off the wall you were leant against.

Very slowly, and while making sure you swung your hips, you made your way to his side. The circle he was stood in opened slightly to let you in. John slipped his hand around your shoulders and let it rest awfully low on your hips.

“Hand, Johnny.” you snapped earning a couple of laughs from the group.

“Sorry ma’am.” he sent you a cheeky wink and squeezed your hips. You rolled your eyes in response but couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face. You drank, hoping to hide it but your amusement was evident in your eyes.

The group had begun talking again about some venue they had played in. George, the youngest in the group, and Paul, John’s good friend, were stood across from you. What you assumed was their dates stood at either side of them and a couple of other people, musicians or lovers of music, stood between them and John and you.

You had been too zoned out, thanks to John’s finger tracing patterns on your hip and the alcohol in your system, that you barely noticed when the group migrated outside for a smoke. There were some chairs outside. John sat on one, spread his legs and patted his thighs, a smirk on his face.

“Lennon, behave,” you said through your clenched teeth. He crossed his heart with his finger and put on an innocent smile - or what you assumed he thought an innocent smile looked like.

“When do I not?” once again a roar of laughter.

You plopped down on his lap and fought the urge to gasp. There was something rock hard digging against our back. You snapped your head back to look at John but he was simply grinning.

“Calm down love,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you back against what you could’ve sworn was an erection. “Just my cigs.” you wiggled your bum and felt the corners of the box, a sigh left your lips. “But if you do that again, wiggle your bum that way, I will get a boner,” he growled in your ear, he pulled your earlobe with his teeth and lent back on the chair. The tone in his voice sent shivers down your spin.

John dug into his jacket’s pockets where he stored another box of cigarettes and lit one. He took a hit and passed it to you. The rest of the night was spent sharing cigarettes and talking to John’s friends.

You’d never realised how funny the youngest member was. His date surely appreciated it because not even half an hour later they were in a bathroom snogging.

It was long after midnight when you started getting tired. You had just gotten off the dance floor where John had been sure to show off all of you, his hands had been in places his aunt Mimi surely would have not approved.

“Johnnyyy, I’m tired,” you said as you leaned against him with your arms wrapped around his torso and face nuzzled in his neck.

“Let’s get you home.” he leaned down and kissed you. As you headed for the door John made sure to shout a ‘night’ at his friends who all wiggled their eyebrows at the pair of you.

But when you got home less than half an hour later you did nothing worthy of wiggling eyebrows.

First, John helped you out of your clothes but in no way sexual. He helped you into the shower and hopped in himself. He cleaned you and then himself under the warm water and then dried and dressed you in one of his t-shirts.

As you laid on the couch of your tiny flat (much smaller than the one the party had been in) with the telly on, John heated up your favourite snack. You had begged him for coffee but he refused.

“You won’t sleep, love. I know it, you know it, we both know it.” he reasoned.

You did know it, you knew he was right but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to grumble and complain about it or that you wouldn’t cross your arms over your chest and pout.

“Stop being dramatic, love,” he said, his tone sweet as he set down a plate filled with your favourite biscuits. Your face lit up at the thought of the snack.

John sat next to you, you wouldn’t have noticed had it not been for the dip in the couch, and pulled a blanket over the two of you. He pulled you onto his lap, hands wrapping around your body and head resting on your neck. You wiggled an arm out to grab more snacks.

John may be a rowdy, good-for-nothing (according to some of the school’s teachers) teddy boy but in private he was the sweetest man you knew.

tag list;

@thebeatleswritings @beatlevmania @i-love-queen-3000 @brians-metaphor26 @honimello @julessworldd @storiesfrommirkwood @beatles-babee @geostarr @thiccjelly17 @crab-king-69 @in-the-frap-of-the-gods

#john lennon #john lennon x reader #john lennon fluff #john lennon one shot #john lennon imagine #john lennon fanfic #john lennon smut #john lennon angst #the beatles #the beatles x reader #the beatles fluff #the beatles one shot #the beatles imagine #the beatles fanfic #the beatles smut #the beatles angst

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pink-peony-princess · 4 years

Text

From Unpredictability Comes Strength

Are you sure you're okay babe?" Shawn, my boyfriend asked as he walked over to the bed where I was currently laying curled up.

"I'm sure, still exhausted from the jet lag, and my period is giving me grief," I told him causing him to pout. Most girls my age would probably cringe at the thought of telling their boyfriend details about their period, but not me. See Shawn my boyfriend, my older brother Connor, and their friends Dave and Brian were all well respected doctors at the local hospital here in Toronto. That was part of reason for my moving from LA to Canada, I didn't want Shawn to loose such a good job, it was an added bonus that Bri and the other two guys also lived with us so I would get to see all of them.

"Okay," he agreed, though I could tell from the tone that he wasn't completely convinced.

"Call me if you need me, I get off at 6." he added before kissing my head and leaving the now empty house, the other having already left for the hospital.

Several hours later, and the pain just wasn't getting any better. I had always had bad periods. They were made especially bad though by a cyst that I had on my left ovary, something which when I asked my old doctor about she had told me that there was nothing that could be done short of some pain relief. I had tried everything though, hot packs, cold packs, a bath, even drinking green tea, (which I hated) to no avail. Finally I decided that I would try going for a short walk, as I heard that exercise could alleviate pain.

While on the walk I got a call from Shawn, "Babe come home, we all got off early so we're having a family dinner. " he spoke.

"Be there soon, I love you." I told him, before turning around and jogging home. As I went to cross the road, a dog came out of nowhere, and me being deathly afraid of them as I was tried to avoid it, by running the other way only to mis-step and fall directly into gravel. Unfortunately for me, I ended up skinning my knees and as I stood, groaning from the painful sting tht was now emanating from my limbs I realised there was dirt caught in them. Great, just great, I thought as I made my way home slowly, tears falling as I tried to ignore (and failed) how much pain I was in.

"Ana!" Brian called coming over to greet me with a hug. "How was your run?" He asked stepping back to look at me. "Wait, " He paused looking at me more closely. "Ana, you're crying, and bleeding, " he spoke as he looked me up and down before spotting my bloody knees.

" Shawn, " he called, looking over his shoulder to the kitchen where I could hear the other guys all laughing.

"Hi babe, " he started before noticing my knees as Brian had moments earlier and pouted.

"Let me see Princess," he spoke as he helped me into the kitchen and lifted me onto the bench.

"Aw, Poppet, what happend?" My brother asked when he saw me crying as Shawn gently examined my wounds.

"There was a dog." I shivered. I hated dogs except for Tarzan. "So I ran but I tripped." I hiccuped as I tried to slow my breathing.

"One Dr.Brian at your service," Bring sang as he reappeared holding the household first aid box, pulling out tweezers, antiseptic spray, gauze, tape, bandages, cream and pills. "I'm just going to remove the dirt, clean them and then I'll bandage them up. " He explained as he positioned my leg so the kitchen lights were directly above him. "Hold Shawn and Connor's hands for me okay, this will probably hurt."

He wasn't lying it feel like fire was being rubbed into my wounds, and I found myself biting my lip to try and stop myself from crying out loud.

"Nearly done hon," Brian soothed patting my leg as he washed out the last little bits of dirt. A minute later, he stepped back with a smile.

"The worst part is over now Princess," Shawn whispered in my ear, causing me to loosen my grip on their hands just a little. I still clung to them as Brian bandaged them up though, needing the physical contact.

"And you, my fair lady, are all finished," he smiled as he tucked the last bit of bandage in. "You'll need to get me or one of the guys to change it daily for three or so days, but other than that you'll be fine. "

"Thanks Brian," I whispered reaching to give him a hug.

"Ready to get down babe?" Shawn asked, going to grab my hands again.

"Can you just hold me for a minute?" I asked feeling slightly embarrassed.

"Of course. " He smiled before wrapping me in a warm embrace, and allowing me to rest my head in the crook of his neck. "Are you okay? " He asked when I sniffed.

"Mmm," My response was muffled, but they must have heard it because Connor was the next one to speak.

"Why are you so upset Bug?" he asked, using my childhood nickname.

"I don't know!" I cried. "I'm not sleeping because of the jet lag. I'm in pain and now this." I threw my hands up.

"Tell you what, " Connor started. "you have a shower then we'll have dinner and you and your other half-" he gestured to Shawn "can go have sappy cuddles on the couch. How does that sound?" He ruffled my hair softly as he spoke before returning to the cooking.

Fifteen minutes later, I came back down the stairs wearing one of Shawn's old Zeppelin shirts, it reaching my knees and drowning me, but I didn't care. It was comfortable, and it smelt like his aftershave.

"Feeling any better Princess?" he asked coming over and kissing my forehead

"A little," I spoke. Sighing as I leant into his hold. Truth was I was feeling less of the period pain and more of a sharp ache now. But I wasn't going to tell them that, all four of them would be swarming around me like sea gulls if I did.

"I'm hungry," I spoke stealing a piece of tomato that Connor had placed on the counter to add to the salad.

He merely glared at me playfully, but didn't say anymore.

Half an hour later and we were all sat at dinner, the boys all chatting amongst themselves about their work days, discussing patients and funding. While I just pushed my food around my plate, trying to ignore the now increasingly sharp pain radiating from my stomach.

"Ana are you okay?" Dave asked worriedly, watching as I pushed my plate away.

" I don't feel good." I spoke, before grimicing in pain as a particularly bad cramp took hold.

"Dont feel good how?" Shawn asked as he came over to where I was sitting, two seats down from him, bending down.

"Just make it stop." I groaned, reaching for my stomach.

"Make what stop Princess?" he asked, searching my face, and rubbing my leg trying to comfort me.

"The pain, it's like there's a knife there!" I cried, leaning into him and breathing heavily.

"Do you think you can stand up?" Brian asked, coming over to help Shawn support me as I slumped in my chair.

I stood slowly feeling extremely shaky before nearly collapsing as dizziness took over.

"Ana you went for a run right?" Dave asked, coming to stand by my side, taking my wrist so he could take my pulse.

I nodded my head, trying to slow my breathing as the room kept spinning.

"Shit, her pulse is racing, bring her over to the couch." He told Shawn before leaving the room.

Shawn and Dave both held me tightly as we moved slowly. I could barely lift my legs as every time I did pain took hold. "Okay, lay back babe," Shawn spoke as he helped me sit down, and situated me between his legs as he sat behind me.

"Right, Ana where is the pain?" Dave questioned coming to kneel down beside the couch.

"Right here, " I spoke pointing to my left side.

"I'm just going to feel," he spoke as he hiked my shirt up to just under my chest.

Everyone was quiet as Dave concentrated, moving around to press on different sections of my stomach. Finally he said "It is a bit swollen. Do you have any pain in your back or thighs? "

I looked back at Shawn,confused. "If the cyst on your ovary has ruptured or is close to, it can cause pain in the back and thighs," he explained, helping me to pull my shirt back down.

I nodded causing him sigh.

"We'll try some heat, maybe have a bath okay, the water may help to soothe it," Dave added before standing up and taking my wrist again. "Your heart rate is a little high, but we'll just keep an eye on you." He smiled,as Shawn scooped me up into his arms, and carried me up the stairs to our en suite.

"Arms up Princess, do you want bubbles?" he asked as he deposited me onto the closed toilet seat and helped me remove my clothing.

"Please?" I asked, watching as he grabbed my favourite bath lotion, and poured a generous amount in.

"Here we go. In you get," he spoke as he helped me into the tub The difference was almost immediate.

"I think it's time my little invalid gets out," Shawn whispered after about twenty minutes of me just laying back in the water, and letting him massage my scalp from where he sat next to the tub.

"Okay," I agreed, taking his hand as he helped me out of the bath slowly.

It was a slow process getting dressed, as I couldn't make any sudden movements, but Shawn was patient. "There," he said finally. "Snug as a bug, " He had not only redressed me into the shirt I had stolen from him, but had gone and gotten a sweater that he had left lying about and pulled it on me. "Can't have you getting cold little one," he laughed, before pecking my lips.

"It is freezing!" I agreed, as we made our way down the stairs.

"How's my patient?" Dave asked as Shawn placed me gently onto the sofa, covering me with a quilt.

"Sore," I replied, pouting, causing him to laugh.

"Here,this might help," Connor called walking in from the kitchen and placing a heating pad on my stomach.

"Thanks Con," I yawned, readjusting myself so that I could lay against Shawn's side as he squished onto the sofa beside me.

"Get some sleep babe," he whispered, "You need it." He didn't need to tell me twice, it was about three seconds and I was out like a light.

...

When I woke I wasn't sure what time it was, but I was no longer in the couch, instead Shawn had taken me up stairs and tucked me into the bed, and judging by the lack of light and the soft snores coming from Shawn as he slept soundly beside me, it was much later.

Unfortunately for me, there was no way that I was getting back to sleep any time soon, as the pain that had been uncomfortable, but bearable earlier was now causing me agony. So much so that I was literally feeling nauseous.

"Ana, are okay?" Shawn asked, talking into my neck, sleep thick in his muffled voice.

I didn't answer, trying to focus on not passing out.

"Ana," he sighed, as I just sat there crying grabbing fist fulls of sheet as each wave of pain came over me. Sitting up and switching on the lamp beside the bed, he rubbed my arm softly.

"Hold on I'll get the guys." He got up, before quickly exiting the room. A minute or so later I heard the sound of him knocking on the other's doors, and tired voices.

"It's worse? " Dave confirmed, walking into the room closely followed by Shawn,Brian and Connor.

"It never hurts this much, it's so bad!" I cried, pressing on my stomach, wanting the pain gone. I could feel a stronger wave of nausea just as Shawn bent down so that he was at my level, Connor coming to sit with me on the bed as he saw me gag, holding my hair back just in case.

" I'm gonna be sick!" I gasped holding my hand on my mouth, feeling the bile rise.

"Okay, just a second, Bri's gone to get a bucket bub," Shawn soothed coming to rub small circles in my back.

Finally just as I nearly let myself be sick on the bed, Connor spoke, "Here let it all out, " he soothed rubbing my back as Brian held a bucket beneath me that he must have bolted to get from somewhere. I was thankful though, as I could no longer hold it.

After a few minutes, I was able to catch my breath, though I still lay there sweaty and dazed.

"Here,come here Princess." Shawn motioned for me to shuffle over, so he could wipe my face down with a wet washer he had gone and gotten from out bathroom.

"I bleed on the bed," I cried, embarrassed as I shifted and felt the leak, before seeing the masive red stain on the once white sheet

" It's okay, it's normal to have heavy bleeding when a cyst is inflamed. Honestly, we see blood every day babe," Shawn soothed, as he pushed my messy hair out of my face "Besides, they're just sheets, worst case, we'll chuck them out."

"I feel horrible," I groaned letting my head fall onto Shawn's arms half an hour later, when even after a dose of strong pain killers I could barely move.

"Do you want to try sitting in the shower?" Brian suggested as he came back into the room after going to put the dirty sheets in the washer.

"Will it help?" I asked unsure.

"It might," Dave nodded, "The constant stream of warm water may help to loosen some of the muscles in your back and help with the pain and nausea. It's worth a try. "

"Okay," I agreed, watching as Dave stood up and came to stand at the side of the bed.

He held out a hand, helping to support me as Shawn pulled me into an upright position. The room spun a little, and I could feel myself swaying slightly but I managed to stay standing. "Just move very slowly, Ana, no sudden movements honey." Dave grimaced in sympathy as my face tensed with pain as I stepped forward. "

It's okay. We've got you. Breathe Ana. Just breathe," Shawn encouraged as we finally made it to the bathroom.

... Two hours later...

I had sat on the tiled floor of the shower cubicle for almost two hours now, yet nothing was changing and I was miserable. All I wanted to do was sleep. Shawn had sat with me the whole time, holding me gently under the water, not caring that his clothes were now soaked.

"Shawnie I feel dizzy," I told him trying to stay awake. "And my stomach is burning," I groaned, trying to ignore the hot feeling that was now taking over my tummy.

He took my wrist in his hand, before gently taking my pulse.

"Ana we need to go to the hospital honey," he spoke before leaning me against the glass door of the shower and standing up.

"No please can't you just do what you need to do here," I begged crying. I hated hospitals, and he knew it, it had been that way my entire 22 years of life.

"Shhh, calm down," he consoled before calling out to the others. "Dave, Brian, Connor!"

The looks of pity on all of their faces as they stepped into the room and took in my bedraggled state was too much for me to handle.

"Oh Ana, buddy. " Brian sighed, before bending down and helping Shawn to stand me up.

"We need to go to the hospital,she's dizzy her pulse is at 130 beats a minute, she's in more pain than before, she told me a minute ago that her stomach was burning, and she's bleeding more than she should be. I think it may have burst," he told the others as he wrapped a towel around my wet-clothed body.

"Burns," I whimpered as we made our way downstairs, me in my brother's arms, allowing Shawn to run and change into dry clothes.

I heard them muttering amongst themselves, not making out much more than medical word: inflammation and gastritis,and then I was tuning them out.

I couldn't help the tears as we made the short drive to the hospital, me laying across Connor and Shawn's laps.

"I know bub,we'll sort it out okay. But just focus in staying calm. The more upset you are, the worse you'll feel." Connor explained rubbing my stomach softly.

-Connor-

I felt horrible as I watched my little sister in pain, desperately clinging to Shawn as we pulled into the staff carpark. Luckily for us Shawn and I worked as critical care doctors in the ICU while Brian and Dave ran the ER, meaning we could just go straight in, not having to worry about admissions, and insurance just yet.

"I thought you were off tonight? It's been one hell of a night!" Nancy one of the nurses spoke as we walked in.

"We were, but Ana has a burst cyst," I spoke pointing to Shawn who held her in his arms as we walked towards the only available exam room.

Nancy frowned sympathetically, before walking back to the nurses station "You'll need to run it, no doctors available," she called.

Normally we won't treat relatives but she was high priority as as Nancy had said there was no one else there.

"Right Ana I need to run some tests honey, I'm going to get Shawn to change you into this," Dave spoke holding out a gown, as Shawn placed my sister onto the exam table gently.

Once that was done Dave came back over, setting up the portable ultra sound machine next to the bed.

"So I'm just going to put some gel on your stomach, and have a look okay. It might be a little uncomfortable so I apologise in advance."

She whimpered slightly, grabbing Shawn's hand as Dave pressed the wand down."

"I know I'm sorry, " he apologised as he continued to move it around, finally he stopped, zooming in.

"Here it is, you've got a burst cyst on your left ovary, that's why it's hurting so much. When you were running the exertion must have caused it to burst. It also looks as though you have evidence of gastritis too."

"What's that?" she asked looking to me for help.

"Its inflammation of the stomach lining, that's the burning you were feeling.We'll run some more tests though, just to be sure-"

He was interrupted as he spoke by one of the nurses poking her head around the curtin.

"Dr. Craigen would you be able to consult in triage?"

"No," He answered politely. "I'm currently busy looking after a personal patient."

Ana laughed once she had left. "Can you do that? Just ignore?"

"For you, yes, you're our most important patient." He winked. " Good news," he added, " There's no twist, so no surgery but it did burst, and you have lost some blood. So I would like to admit you so we can give you fluids and pain relief," he explained causing her nose to crinkle in distaste.

-Ana-

"Can Shawn stay?" I asked worried that I'd be stuck here by myself.

"I'm not going anywhere Princess," he reassured, me, coming to sit on the side of the bed with me.

Half an hour later and I'd been officially admitted and hooked up to a blood pressure machine, oximeter, and an I.V. with pain meds which was working wonders.

"How you feeling now princess?" Shawn asked, looking at the machines briefly before focusing his attention back to me. We were now the only two in the room, Brian and Connor having gone to the Cafeteria for much needed coffee, and Dave to check my previous file notes, not that I knew how he'd get a hold of them.

"I'm cold." I shivered, trying to burrow myself further into the too think blankets.

"Here, this should help," Shawn smiled, pulling one of his jumpers out of his bag and helping me into it.

There was a knock on the door, before Dave stepped into the room,a clipboard in hand. "Sorry to interupt guys." he apologised. "Ana, I need to ask you some routine questions," he spoke coming to sit next to the bed.

"Is there any chance you could be pregnant?" he asked seriously.

I blushed, "Ummm no," I laughed hiding my face in Shawn's shoulder.

"Sorry,this is just as awkward for you as it is for me. Trust me I don't want to know the details of one of my best mates private this. But this important," he explained smiling sympathetically.

"Well, No, trust me," I laughed, just wanting to move on.

"Okay. Well I'm going to do a blood draw just to rule a couple things out. Make sure nothing additional is going on."

"The doctor basically told me there was nothing she could do," I told him, watching as he grabbed all the necessary supplies.

"Well now that you're over here Dave will take care of you princess," Shawn spoke kissing my head.

"You don't have to worry about a thing." Dave smiled before snapping on a pair of gloves and coming to sit next to me.

"Shawn move your fat bum so I can get this blood work done," he spoke, shoving Shawn off the bed with his hip where he had been sitting next to me.

"Sharp scratch Ana," he warned causing me to squeeze my eyes shut in anticipation. "Just stay nice and relaxed."

Several hours later,and nothing abnormal had shown up in my blood work, meaning that once my pain was under control I was free to go, however Dave did explain to me that he had seen evidence of gastritis as Connor had mentioned earlier a symptom of the strong medications I had been taking to manage my pain. I was prescribed an ant-acid, toldstay away from spicy food, and change medications to something a little less harsh.

"You also need to be on bed rest for a few days to give your stomach time to heal," Shawn had added, laughing when I whined in protest. He knew I hated being stuck immobile.

Days later I had been released on strict orders to rest, something which I reluctantly agreed to.

" I'm so glad your feeling better," Shawn said sitting next to me on the sofa, that had become my temporary home due to not being able to walk easily on my own.

"Well it wasn't exactly the way I wanted to spend my first few days here, but thank you guys," I spoke, looking to the other three who sat across from us. They all smiled. "Seriously. Hopefully this will be the start of a great new chapter! I can't wait to see what living in Canada brings," I shouted causing them all to laugh.

"What would I do without you babe?" Shawn chuckled, kissing me.

"I don't know, your life would certainly be more predictable though," I laughed, snuggling into his shoulder.

"But then life would be boring, besides from unpredictabiliy comes strength, and you Ana, are the strongest person I know," he smiled, kissing my temple and resting his head atop mine.

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes imagines #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes blurb #doctor!shawn #mendes triplets #werewolf!shawn

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creepy-carrion · 4 years

Note

MH guys with a really small, innocent, and shy S/o plzzzz???

Hnngg this kinda shit but I really wanted to finish it ,, hope you enjoy it regardless ;3;

Jay Merrick

Jay is just,,, ,, very soft when it comes to you. Thinks you’re adorable. In some ways you two are pretty similar, which could cause some awkward encounters in the beginning when you’re both unsure of what to say half of the time, but Jay grows more and more fond of you once you two start getting closer.

Also, seeing you get less shy and slowly start trusting him more as you two get closer is something he absolutely lives for. He still will try to do anything to make sure you’re comfortable though, regardless of how far your relationship has progressed.

Jay’s social perception skills are not always the best either, combine that with your innocence and you get two people who often don’t get the hint. When Jay does get Bad Vibes that you don’t get, he’s getting you out of there. And if he can’t, he’ll go confrontation mode. If we have seen anything from Jay it’s that he avoids confrontation but won’t back down if it’s necessary, and the same applies to you.

Tim Wright

Sometimes is not really sure on what to do, he isn’t the best at guessing what you will be oblivious to or what you will dislike, but he tries. He’s not the tallest guy but hey, you are not exactly tall either, which he does actually kind of like. Boosts his confidence just a little :’) also, many head pats.

Likes having you sit in his lap while he’s just doing something else. He just likes chilling on the couch, one arm around your waist to keep you stable in his lap and the hand on his other arm messing with the tv remote. Or maybe you leaning against his chest as he’s working on his laptop.

Definitely the most protective out of everyone. Tim can get a little paranoid when it comes to his loved ones getting hurt, and he tends to think of you as a little vulnerable, so that goes double for you. Might get a little snarky with other people if they make you uncomfortable.

Brian Thomas

HE’S SO DOWN FOR THIS,,, he thinks you are absolutely adorable. This is totally one of the kinds of people he falls for, or at least tends to get small crushes on. So he’s kinda heart eyes for you from the start.

Might actually use your shyness to his advantage and harmlessly tease you with it. He absolutely wouldn’t shame you or anything, but he’s just kind of playful. Always makes it up to you by being sweet afterwards though.

Such a cuddlebug. Might be a little problematic if you aren’t that much PDA, because he really likes giving you random little kisses or holding your hand, no matter if there’s a lot of people around you. He’ll try to hold off if you get really embarassed about it, but maybe he’ll sneak in a lil peck, just when nobody is looking.

Alex Kralie

To be honest, it’s not really something he actively looks or falls for in an s/o or anything along those lines. He’s more the type of guy who likes dating people who are playful and who can keep up with him. They’re not mutually exclusive of course, but he doesn’t fawn over it like Jay or Brian.

Still takes your shyness and obliviousness into consideration once the two of you are actually together though. He’s someone who falls for very specific characteristics, but once he gets into a relationship everything about his s/o will grow on him.

Starts feeling kind of responsible and protective over you. He knows you’re innocent and not the most keen on random social interactions, and he’s more than aware that there’s people out there who’d like to take advantage of that. If anyone tries to mess with you, you bet your ass Alex will be right behind you. Though he’s more awkward when it comes to defending you than he’d like to admit.

#marble hornets x reader #alex kralie x reader #brian thomas x reader #jay merrick x reader #tim wright x reader #alex kralie #brian thomas #tim wright #jay merrick #ask #creepy-carrion #s/o #reader insert

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tabloidtoc · 4 years

Text

OK, March 15

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Britney Spears' revenge

Page 1: Big Pic -- Melissa and Joe Gorga during a beach day in Miami

Page 2: Contents

Page 3: Contents

Page 4: Tiger Woods on the mend -- Tiger is counting his blessings as he recovers from a terrifying car crash

Page 6: Queen Elizabeth announced in a statement that her grandson Prince Harry and his pregnant wife Meghan Markle wouldn't be returning as working royals, noting that it was no longer possible for them to continue with the responsibilities and duties that come with a life of public service, and almost immediately, Harry and Meghan shot back with a seemingly rude reply, saying we can all live a life of service and service is universal -- no one was more disappointed in Harry's response than his brother Prince William and William finds this behavior both baffling and sickening and he can't get his head around it and William feels the family has been understanding and fair while Harry and Meghan continue to sit on their high horse flinging insults and from William's perspective there is simply no excuse for snide and ego-driven swipes made towards the queen -- especially right now, since three days prior to Her Majesty's statement, Prince Philip was rushed to a London hospital and the queen's been worried sick about her husband and should not be dealing with this added stress -- the whole situation has left William feeling hopeless and he fears Harry is too wrapped up in his own self-importance to see the hurt he's caused and that is unforgivable in William's eyes

Page 7: As Soleil Moon Frye's messy divorce drags on, a loyal pal from the past is providing a shoulder to cry on in Brian Austin Green who she reconnected with while shooting her upcoming documentary Kid 90 -- Brian can feel her pain because he's still hashing out his split from Megan Fox so he knows exactly what Soleil is going through -- they've been friends for more than 30 years and they're going to see each other through this tough time

* Tom Cruise got all pumped up for Mission: Impossible 7, but now that filming has wrapped, he's desperate to stay in fighting shape for the next installment -- Tom was thrown for a loop when the studio postponed filming M:I 8 instead of shooting the movies back-to-back so now he's putting himself through the wringer doing crunches, pullups, squats and weights but Tom's brutal, military-style workouts have friends and loved ones, including his rumored new girlfriend, M:I7 costar Hayley Atwell, worried that he could be pushing himself to the breaking point and everyone wants him to take it down a notch, but he won't listen -- physically, Tom still thinks he's invincible, but the fact is he'll be turning 60 in less than two years and if he keeps going at this pace, there's a big change he's going to do some serious damage

* Life has been twice as nice for Christine Quinn since she found out she was expecting -- the Selling Sunset star, who's pregnant with her and businessman husband Christian Richard's first child, isn't holding back when it comes to treating herself -- the famously free-spending realtor has been splurging on designer maternity clothes and lingerie to lounge around in at her L.A. mansion and she has flowers delivered daily for every room in the house

Page 10: Red Hot on the Red Carpet -- stars rock statement-making halter dresses -- Lili Reinhart, Camila Morrone, Brie Larson

Page 11: Chrishell Stause, Naomi Campbell, Rosie Huntington-Whiteley

Page 12: Who Wore It Better? Uzo Aduba vs. Drew Barrymore, Charlize Theron vs. Kaia Gerber, Bella Hadid vs. Naomi Scott

Page 14: News in Photos -- Steve Martin did what he does best while filming scenes of his upcoming mystery-comedy series Only Murders in the Building in NYC

Page 16: Nicole Scherzinger stepped out for lunch with beau Thom Evans in West Hollywood, a casually dressed Reese Witherspoon matched her shirt to her Draper James canvas tote while boarding a private plane in L.A., Paris Hilton and Carter Reum

Page 17: Rebel Wilson stopped by the gas station to fill up her car in L.A., Mariska Hargitay took a selfie while shooting Law & Order: Organized Crime in NYC

Page 18: Sarah Jessica Parker assisted customers at her eponymous shoe line's store in NYC, Chrissy Teigen at lunch at Wolfgang Puck in L.A., Naomi Osaka with her trophy for winning the Australian Open in Melbourne

Page 20: The Masked Singer panelist Jenny McCarthy in a golden tiara and caped dress before taping a new episode, for a recent date night Outer Banks stars Chase Stokes and Madelyn Cline whipped up a cozy plant-based dinner in L.A., Jason Sudeikis filled up on a sandwich on the set of Ted Lasso

Page 22: Bella Hadid strutting around Manhattan, Helena Christensen and her dog Kuma in NYC

Page 23: In partnership with Ziploc Janel Parrish created the Hot Mess Makeup Line in Vancouver, Cara Delevingne in Puma's new eco-friendly line

Page 24: Usher stopped by the dry cleaners West Hollywood, Padma Lakshmi and her pooch braved the cold weather in stylish jackets in NYC

Page 25: Tia Mowry for Late July Tortilla chips, four days before filing for divorce from her husband Kanye West of nearly seven years Kim Kardashian looked somber while out and about in L.A., during a stroll Busy Philipps stopped to check out something on her phone in NYC

Page 26: Scott Disick matched his 'do to his drink at the Sugar Factory in Miami, Justin Long stocked up on groceries in L.A., new couple Mod Sun and Avril Lavigne were inseparable after a date night in L.A.

Page 28: Inside My Home -- Claire Holt's airy abode

Page 30: Zooey Deschanel and Jonathan Scott have taken the next step in their almost two-year relationship: they've secretly tied the knot -- they've been talking about getting married for about a year and just decided to go for it and the intimate ceremony took place in front of a few family members at Jonathan's Las Vegas home on Valentine's Day and it was spur of the moment, but that's how Zooey likes to do things and now Jonathan too and they put it together in a matter of days and everyone got a verbal invite to come -- Zooey wore a Bohemian-inspired gown and flowers in her hair while Jonathan wore an all-white suit and Zooey serenaded Jonathan with a love song she had written -- guests including Jonathan's twin brother Drew Scott and sister-in-law Linda Phan were treated to a gourmet buffet and video and arcade games -- now the couple's eager to grow their family and Jonathan will be a great stepdad to Zooey's children Elsie and Charlie but he's been saying for months that he can't wait to have kids of his own and they've already started trying

Page 31: Blake Lively and husband Ryan Reynolds are one of the most charitable couples in Hollywood and now the big-hearted duo are ready to take the next step by adopting a baby in need -- Blake and Ryan who share daughters James, Inez and Betty have donated millions of dollars to organizations working to protect the rights of immigrant children separated from their families and awaiting deportation -- day by day they've been warming up to the idea of providing an orphan with a forever home -- Ryan jokes that Blake is a baby machine who would have no trouble getting pregnant again, but their hearts really go out to these kids

* Ever since Bridgerton became a monster hit, the sizzling chemistry between Rege-Jean Page and costar Phoebe Dynevor has fans convinced that they're an offscreen item as well, but Rege-Jean's girlfriend Emily Brown is fed up with keeping their real-life romance under wraps and she's starting to feel like Rege's dirty little secret -- Emily has been dating Rege for two years and shares a home with him in East London -- the show's producers have been happy to let the rumors about Rege and Phoebe fly because it made their steamy sex scenes that much more believable -- Emily, a part-time soccer player and copywriter from Manchester, loves to go to pubs and party, which she and Rege used to do before the show came out -- Rege insists that keeping their relationship on the down-low is no big deal, but Emily wants everyone to know that the hunky Duke of Hastings is spoken for

* Mila Kunis and Ashton Kutcher have got the parenting thing down pat, and they're ready to share their know-how by penning a how-to manual -- their friends have been begging them for advice for years and Mila and Ashton make having kids look like a fun adventure and for them, it really is -- now that Ashton has wrapped up shooting his new thriller Vengeance, he and Mila finally have a little downtime and the handbook will include the duo's dos and don'ts for raising their children Wyatt and Dimitri like they never argue in front of the kids and make sure to treat them equally -- Mila's the stricter one and Ashton's the softie, but it's a team effort and it works and they admit it can get a bit chaotic, but they don't sweat the small stuff

Page 32: New parents Kit Harington and Rose Leslie may be in baby heaven, but they're dealing with the home renovation from hell -- the Game of Thrones alums, who recently welcomed their first child, have been up to their ears fixing up their 15th-century country manor, which is turning out to be a huge money pit -- Kit and Rose bought the $2.4 million spread shortly before tying the knot in 2018 and had no idea what they were getting into and the couple got hit by sticker shock when they finally got their plans approved to put in a new kitchen, master bath, pipes and flooring and it's going to cost them an extra half a million at least -- they still think it's the perfect place to raise a family, but overseeing an army of builders and designers with a newborn at home is leading to some serious sleep deprivation

* As Olivia Wilde and Harry Styles' romance heats up, the couple is planning a heart-to-heart with her ex-fiance Jason Sudeikis -- after filming wrapped on their movie Don't Worry (for the love of all that's holy, please put in a comma) Darling, the lovebirds flew to London to meet with Jason, who's been on the set of Ted Lasso in England because Olivia, who shares two kids with Jason, wants to clear the air and have a calm conversation about how everyone moves forward from here, and she wants Jason to realize that Harry is here to stay and Olivia needs Jason to understand this is a serious relationship, whether he likes it or not

* Baby Boom -- these celebs recently welcomed little ones -- Wilmer Valderrama and fiancee Amanda Pacheco welcomed a baby girl, Kansas City Chiefs QB Patrick Mahones and fiancee Brittany Matthews welcomed a daughter named Sterling Skye, Mandy Moore and Taylor Goldsmith welcomed a son named August Harrison

Page 34: Cover Story -- Britney Spears fights back -- she is ready to reclaim her life and she's looking to take down anyone who stands in her way, starting with her father, Jamie Spears

Page 36: In the wake of the #FreeBritney movement, Justin Timberlake who dated Britney Spears from 1999-2002, and publicly insinuated her cheating ruined their relationship, took to Instagram to offer a mea culpa, saying he wanted to apologize to Britney who he cares for and respects and he knows he failed -- he also contacted Britney directly to express his regrets over how he handled their breakup because he wanted to do the right thing and Britney accepted his apology and she was touched by the gesture and thought it was absolutely sincere and they had a nice little chat and it made Justin feel better knowing that Britney didn't hold any grudges

Page 38: They're So Grown Up -- the kids of some of Hollywood's biggest celebs are striking out on their own -- Ava Sambora is the daughter of Heather Locklear and Richie Sambora, Maya Hawke is the daughter of Ethan Hawke and Uma Thurman, Damian Hurley is the son of Elizabeth Hurley and Steve Bing

Page 39: Lily Sheen is the daughter of Kate Beckinsale and Michael Sheen, Jack Depp is the son of Johnny Depp and Vanessa Paradis, Lola Consuelos is the daughter of Kelly Ripa and Mark Consuelos

Page 40: Interview -- Dwayne Johnson -- with a new TV sitcom based on his early years, The Rock reveals all about his rollicking adventures growing up

Page 42: Slim Down for Spring -- how these stars got their best bodies ever just in time for the warmer weather

Page 46: Style Week -- Sara Sampaio is fronting Michael Kors' new campaign for its latest perfume, Gorgeous

Page 48: What's Hot Right Now -- break a sweat stylishly in LoveShackFancy X Beach Riot's limited-edition collection -- Nina Agdal

Page 49: Preppy Tennis Fashion -- Lele Sadoughi turns to '70s and '80s country club looks for its spring/summer 21 accessories

Page 50: Gift Guide -- self-care session -- pampering gifts that benefit body and mind because, hey, there's never been a better time to treat yourself -- Miranda Kerr

Page 52: Chrissy Teigen is a fan of affordable de-puffing and brightening holographic foil eye masks

Page 58: Buzz -- costars reunited -- Christopher Meloni and Mariska Hargitay for Law & Order: Organized Crime, 13 Going on 30's Mark Ruffalo and Jennifer Garner reconnected on the set of their upcoming movie The Adam Project

Page 59: Rachel Bilson shared a snap of herself with O.C. costar Melinda Clarke, Ben Savage and Danielle Fishel who played a beloved couple on Boy Meets World starred in Panera Bread's new commercial for Valentine's Day, Rebel Wilson and Adam Devine of Pitch Perfect met up during Super Bowl LV game in early February

Page 60: Sound Bites -- Jennifer Love Hewitt on her night out with Betty White, Henry Golding on expecting his first child, Drew Barrymore on never going under the knife, Salma Hayek discussing billionaire husband Francois-Henri Pinault

Page 61: Tiffany Haddish on taking a chill day, Colin Jost on letting Scarlett Johansson plan their wedding, Cameron Diaz on whether she plans to return to Hollywood, Kehlani on feeling sexier as a mom

Page 62: Horoscope -- Pisces Connie Britton turned 54 on March 6

Page 64: By the Numbers -- Ana de Armas

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 10: Premonitions]

Several weeks and depressive episodes later...I’m BACK! 😃

And guess what: we’re officially approximately halfway done with BYCNL! (There will probably be nineteen chapters total.)

The Queen/BoRhap fandom is feeling extra quiet lately, so if you’re still out there I’d LOVE it if you dropped me a comment/message/etc to let me know! I appreciate you all so much and hope you are finding things that bring you happiness, fulfillment, and peace. 💜

Chapter summary: Roger makes a purchase, Freddie makes a friend, Y/N makes an unsettling discovery, John makes a bewildering request.

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

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, babies (but not your babies...or are they?!).

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @bookandband @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence @simonedk @herewegoagainniall @stardust-killer-queen

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 😊

“Roger, this is too much.” Your sandals click on the marble tile floor, a sandy gold like the beaches of Ostia. You peer up at the winding staircase, the Tudor-style diamond windows, the chandelier dripping with crystals. “This is way, way, way too much.”

“There’s no such thing as too much,” he parries merrily. “And look!” He pulls back an armful of sheer white curtains that had obscured the backyard. “The pool has a slide!”

You smile because you have to; he’s so elated, so young. “Roger, baby, unless you’re planning to acquire a literal harem of women we will never have a use for six bedrooms.”

“Sure we will!” He counts on his rugged fingers. “There’s one for us, and one can be the guest bedroom for when my mother or your parents visit, and then there’s one for if Chrissie ever wises up and leaves that wanker Brian and requires a place to stay between husbands, and one for when John needs an escape from that mind-numbing domestic purgatory of his, and one for Freddie’s overflow cats...” Roger trails off. He’s lost track.

“That still leaves one unnecessary bedroom.”

He grins. “One for Roger Junior.”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s a wonderful home for children,” the real estate agent chimes, flitting around rearranging pillows and dusting off tabletops. “Plenty of space to spread out in, lots of bedrooms, fenced-in yard, security gate, spectacular school district...and such a lovely garden to explore! Does your wife garden?” she asks Roger.

“Girlfriend,” he corrects. “And no, she’s thoroughly useless in the agricultural department.”

You laugh and shove him away. “I have other talents.”

“You certainly do.” He growls as he grips your waist, inhales you, bites playfully down your neck and collarbones. The real estate agent raises her eyebrows, but politely averts her gaze and pretends to check if an artificial fern needs watering.

It’s the downturn of August, 1976. The sun is glaring and hot and spills in through the windows, setting the metallic flecks in the marble floor alight. It makes you think of the Yellow Brick Road, of fantasies built piece by piece into truth. John and Veronica bought a house in Putney, Brian and Chrissie a far larger one in Chelsea, Freddie and Mary a posh flat in West Kensington. Roger has his heart set on nothing less than a Surrey mansion. On the rare occasion that Queen has been home since the start of the A Night At The Opera Tour, you and Roger stay in his shabby—dodgy, you remind yourself—old apartment and pack boxes late into the evening, giggling over all the random and ancient relics you stumble across, sticks of Freddie’s eyeliner and dust bunnies tangled in strands of Brian’s spiraled hair, crumpled up spheres of paper with excerpts of songs scrawled on them, fossilized crusts of grilled cheese sandwiches beneath the couch. Queen is preparing for a brief UK tour at the start of September, including a free concert in Hyde Park organized by entrepreneur Richard Branson. Then it’ll be back to the studio to record their next album, a highly anticipated album, an album that will make millions regardless of what’s on it; and what’s on it, in your humble and musically unlearned opinion, is pretty goddamn great.

“Seriously,” Roger prompts, quietly now. “Do you like it?”

“Of course I like it. I love it. I just don’t need it.”

He grins. “I know you don’t need it. But I do.”

“That list of yours is getting awfully long.”

“You have no idea. We haven’t even started on the exotic pet collection yet.”

“There’s a marvelous koi pond out in the backyard,” the real estate agent says. “You could add turtles, and frogs, and all different types of fish. I can recommend sturgeon, they have such an alluring primeval sort of look to them, and the shimmer on shubunkins is just delightful...”

“You heard the lady.” Rog stretches his right hand like he does when his arm bothers him, when the bone that will never fully heal aches like something ancient and irredeemable, like hunger, like unrequited love: fingertips sprayed outwards, then folded into his palm, then outwards again.

“Rog...I don’t know.”

“Come on, baby! It has everything. Roman-style master bath. Bedrooms with mirrors on the ceiling. Space for my own studio. Land. Enormous refrigerators. You’ll have abundant room for John’s drawings.”

“Ohhh, now that’s true.” John is always adding to your collection, slipping you sketches as the boys scurry around getting ready before a show, during songwriting sessions that last long after midnight, when the band and its expanding circle of friends and family gather for birthdays and holidays. You don’t ask him about You’re My Best Friend, or, come to think of it, any of his other songs. You don’t ask him how he feels about his new life as a husband and father. And in return, John doesn’t ask whether you’re ever going to marry Roger, if you even want to, if you worry about what the future holds. It’s a loaded peace, but a comfortable one. A safe one.

“It doesn’t bother you, does it?” Roger asks suddenly. “The girlfriend thing. The not-wife thing.”

“No,” you reply, smiling. “Of course not.” Roger isn’t someone who pens love letters, recites all the reasons why he cannot live without you, sings love songs. He rarely speaks of love at all. Roger is as he always is: all action, all energy, eyes forever looking forward. But he does love you; you’re sure he does. Everything he does bleeds with love.

“Good. Because there’s no one I’d rather acquire a harem and zoological park with.”

“Okay,” you relent. “But no lions or tigers or bears. I’m quite attached to your limbs, and you’ve come close enough to ruining them already.”

“Deal.” He taps the Canon that hangs from your shoulder by its strap. “We should document this momentous juncture. One day we can pull out the photo album and show Roger Junior. ‘Hey look kid, this was the day Mum and Dad bought the house you were conceived in.’”

You laugh, almost positive that Roger isn’t serious. “I can guarantee you that precisely zero percent of children would ever want to hear that.” Nevertheless, you ready the camera and hold it as far away as you can, the lens aimed towards you.

“Don’t forget to smile!” Roger trills in his high, victorious voice as he rests his chin in the dip of your collarbone.

You snap the photo. The flash bursts through the kitchen of the Surrey mansion, blinding you both. The artificial bluish light dissipates like smoke.

~~~~~~~~~~

His name is Laszlo, and he’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen...even when he’s not especially well-mannered.

Currently, Laszlo—an Eastern European moniker from somewhere in his mother’s comically vast family tree—is whimpering and squirming against Veronica’s chest as she pats his tiny back and sighs wearily. Veronica, ever the good Polish Catholic wife, is already pregnant again. Chrissie smirks triumphantly and puffs on a cigarette, her rings glimmering on her left hand, her dress violet and new and very expensive. Brian is lost in some deep intellectual conversation with Richard Branson, gesturing with his long nimble hands and nodding empathetically, his dark curls rustling in the breeze like the lithe branches of a willow tree.

“Thank god you’re here,” John calls as you and Roger approach. “Freddie is about to get this concert cancelled.”

“I’m about to make this concert fabulous, darling,” Freddie objects. “We need pyrotechnics, we need sparklers and explosions and fireworks!”

Mr. Branson shakes his head. “Can’t do it, Fred. The embers could travel and set the trees on fire.”

Freddie groans. “Tell him, Roger!”

Roger shrugs, grinning, resting his elbow on John’s shoulder. “I don’t know, maybe we shouldn’t burn down Hyde Park.”

“You’ll be under a huge orange canopy, right over there.” Mr. Branson motions with a sweep of his arm. “You can’t do anything aerial. Flashing lights, sure. Fog, sure. But no fire. No explosions. Oh, and there’s technically a noise ordinance, but we’re working out a deal so the city won’t enforce it on the day of the show.”

“Orange?!” Freddie squeals.

“How will the acoustics be in a tent?” Brian asks, troubled.

John smiles mischievously. “Yes, how dreadful if no one could hear the extraneous guitar solos.”

“I have a gong, Rich,” Roger says. “Everyone will be able to hear my gong, right?”

“Your gong?” Freddie whines. “What about my voice?!”

“I miss stadiums,” Roger grumbles. You exchange a knowing glance with Mary and Chris and Veronica, who is imploring Laszlo to take a bottle. Our boys are difficult, aren’t they?

“The acoustics will be fine,” Mr. Branson snaps. “The tent color will be fine. Everything will be fine. You don’t need any fucking fireworks. Please for the love of god just tell me what kind of sandwiches you want.”

“That’ll be an ordeal as well,” Chrissie quips, and you all laugh; even Laszlo perks up, stops wriggling, glimpses around the open green space with curious greyish eyes like John’s.

Some teenage employee carrying a tangle of cables trots over, sweat dripping down his flushed freckled cheeks. “Mr. Branson? There’s someone from the city here to see you.”

Richard Branson smacks his forehead. “Jesus christ. Okay, I’ll be right there. Hey, Steve, hey, have you seen Dom? Go find Dom and tell her to come over here, okay? Thanks.”

The teenage employee nods and disappears into a sea of bustling people ferrying equipment, fliers, chairs, messages.

“I’m so sorry about this,” Mr. Branson says. “These city bastards are out to crucify me. You’d think they’d be a little more grateful that Queen of all bands is willing to put on a free concert in their backyard, but alas. Hey, Dom, over here!”

He waves to a petite young woman with a glossy shock of black hair and olive Mediterranean skin. She’s wearing all yellow: shorts patterned with daffodils, a tank top the color of butter, a headband like a sunbeam. One of her trim arms is cradling a notebook; the other reaches out so she can shake hands with everyone. The gesture is courteous but somewhat unnatural.

“This,” Mr. Branson begins, “is my personal assistant Dominique. She’s wonderful, she’ll listen to all your pretentious tales of woe and do it with a smile, because she’s a true professional. Better yet, she’s going to ask you the tedious questions I was supposed to so you don’t have to wait for me to finish sparring with the city council. Okay? Okay. Have fun. I’ll be back.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Dom says placidly in a heavy French accent. So that’s why her handshake was off somehow, stilted and weak; the French usually kiss as a greeting. You choke back a snort as you imagine Veronica’s reaction to that. Mr. Branson stalks away muttering about litigious twats.

“Oh, aren’t you just darling!” Freddie circles Dom, admiring her outfit, her hair, her gold hoop earrings. He wafts his cigarette around flamboyantly, completely forgetting to smoke it. “The French are so tasteful, aren’t they? You simply must connect me with your stylist.”

“I would be happy to, Mr. Mercury. But regrettably, I am my own stylist.”

“Ahh!” Freddie exhales, enamored. Mary lifts Laszlo from Veronica’s tired arms and cradles him, tickles his nose, beams down into his fresh and inquisitive face.

Dom pulls a pen from her shirt pocket. “May I ask your sandwich preferences for the day of the show?”

She immediately receives four very different answers, and she raises an eyebrow, her pen hovering over the lined paper of her notebook.

“I’m so sorry about them,” Chrissie says, and Dom chuckles civilly.

“Ham and cheddar,” Freddie tells her, synthesizing the responses. “Bacon, fried fish, steak and onion jam...and something for Brian. Cucumber maybe. Could we get some cucumber sandwiches, dear?”

“You’re a vegetarian?” Dom asks Brian, jotting down notes.

“He’s morally superior to us in every way,” John sighs dreamily, and Rog and Freddie cackle.

“I’m not a strict vegetarian,” Bri clarifies. “But for the sake of the animals and the planet, I try to limit meat when I can.”

Roger adds: “And I order twice as much of it, just to spite him.”

Dominique leads Queen around the portion of Hyde Park where the concert will be held, runs through the itinerary, fields a litany of questions and complaints. And you decide that you like Dom; she’s professional and reserved, yes, but she’s also patient with Freddie, smiles at his jokes, compliments his black-and-yellow striped shirt (“We match, and you remind me of a...oh, what’s the word in English? That bug...it flies around buzzing...buzz buzz...a bee!”), asks him what he’s planning to wear to the show. She assuages Brian, listens to John, takes the time to chat with the women about children, makeup, homes, what it’s like to be in love with rock stars. But Dom mostly ignores Roger, dodges his grins, remains staunchly undazzled. And that would worry you—because Roger loves the chase, you know that firsthand—if he hadn’t already taught you how to trust him, how addictively flawless and exhilarating life with Roger Taylor could be.

When Laszlo begins to fuss in Mary’s grasp, you take your turn holding him; and he blinks up at you with eyes that are wide and clear and seeking, and you find yourself feeling like you always do when you’re around your godson: like maybe you have a stronger opinion about wanting children than you thought you did, like you can’t stop envisioning a baby with Roger’s eyes instead of John’s.

That evening—after leaving Hyde Park, after dinner, after drinks mixed out by the koi pond—as you doze in a sweltering bubble bath and steam curls through the air, you hear Roger’s voice floating from the kitchen downstairs. You rise out of the tub, towel yourself off, slip into a white silk robe as rivulets of bathwater slink down the back of your neck. You tread gingerly towards the kitchen, keep silent so you can hear, lurk in the shadows of the hallway with your palms pressed flat against the wallpaper.

“Hello, is Dominique Beyrand in?” Roger says into the kitchen phone. “I’ve been trying to track her down. Sure, I’ll wait. Thanks.” After a pause, he continues. “Hi, Dom! It’s Roger Taylor, from Queen. The irritating blond one. I was just wondering if you’d happened to stumble across my wallet since this afternoon, I seem to have misplaced it. Oh, you haven’t? Bloody hell. Well, thank you for taking my call. Aw, that’s so kind of you, I’m sure I’ll locate it eventually. I’ve got a terrible habit of losing things. Okay, thanks so much. Goodnight to you too. See you soon. Cheers.” He hangs the phone up as you step into the kitchen. His smile is bright and innocuous. “Hey, baby!”

“Who was that?” Your tone is similarly casual; or so you hope.

“Just Richard Branson’s assistant. That French woman Dominique. I can’t find my wallet and thought I might have left it at Hyde Park, but no dice. Oh well.”

Roger begins rummaging through the drawer full of business cards and address books, tapping his foot, humming to himself. And surely he isn’t trying to avoid my eyes. Your gaze skates over the marble countertop. There, by the refrigerator, just a few feet—a meter, you correct yourself to be properly British—from where Roger stands, is his black leather wallet.

“It’s right there, Rog,” you say, pointing. And now your voice isn’t so nonchalant.

Roger spins to check. “Oh my god, I completely missed it!” He snatches up the wallet with a celebratory chuckle. “I’m such a twit sometimes. You’re too fucking smart, you know that? You’re making me look bad.”

He rushes to you, takes your left hand, bites your knuckles lightly like he did outside Massachusetts General Hospital under dawn skies over two years ago. And then Roger whispers to you, nuzzling your neck scented with lavender soap and doubt.

“Let’s go to bed.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a knock at the door. John is standing on the front porch of the Surrey house with his hands in his pockets and a vague sort of smile on his face. He’s in a black suit.

“Get ready,” he says. “Do your hair, throw on some earrings. Maybe the pearls Roger got you last Christmas. We’re going shopping.”

“Why do I need to look fancy to go shopping?”

John shrugs, feigning indifference; but the puckish glint in his eyes gives him away. Yet there’s something a little sad and weighty in them too, isn’t there?

Your own eyes narrow. “I’m onto you, bassist.”

He laughs as you tug teasingly at a lock of his downy hair. “You always are.”

John takes you to a dress shop on Bond Street where the corsets trickle with gemstones and the designers all have Italian names: Armani, Prada, Abate, Cerruti, Valentino, Biagiotti. He sinks into a leather chair just outside the fitting room and lights a cigarette, takes a long drag, points to you with the lit end.

“Go ahead. Go wild. It’s a blank check.”

“Really?!” You glance around the shop, your pulse racing. “But I don’t know the occasion. I don’t want to be underdressed or overdressed or whatever. Although I don’t think I’ve ever been overdressed in my life.”

“Yes, you can’t seem to shake those pragmatic service industry roots, can you?” Another drag. “You need a dress and matching shoes. Formal, but not too formal. Think a record company party. Elegant but exciting. Lots of sparkle. Slightly slutty, if you’re so inclined.”

“This is an unconventional bonding activity,” you tell John, trying to conceal your nerves.

“Love, this isn’t something you can fail at,” he says, gently now. “You’re going to look amazing no matter what. So just have fun with it. This isn’t a test. This is one of those adventures you’re always searching for.”

I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage; that’s what Roger once told you. But maybe you don’t always want to be quite so free, so unmoored. “Okay. But you have to swear to give honest opinions. I don’t want to show up looking like a wombat because you were too nice to say anything.”

John just chuckles to himself, shakes his head, devours cigarette after cigarette.

With the assistance of one of the shop employees, you climb into a pastel pink dress with a full ruffled skirt, an emerald green dress with an empire waist and loose sheer sleeves, a shimmering metallic silvery dress with a form-fitting silhouette. John nods at all of them, wholeheartedly approves, defers to your judgment. He periodically consults his wristwatch as he taps his cigarettes on the rim of an ashtray, and deflects your questions when you ask him why. Then you step out of the fitting room—balanced on gold heels—in a white dress with a hem that hits just above your knees, a halter neckline, a slim keyhole down the center of your chest; and John’s cigarette tumbles out of his fingers.

“That’s the one,” he breathes, soaking it in. Then he asks the employee to cut off all the tags and whips out his wallet. “Toss your old clothes and shoes in a bag. We gotta catch a cab.”

“We’re going straight to the party?”

“We certainly are.”

“What the hell kind of ridiculously lame party starts at 3 p.m.?”

John smirks craftily. “The kind of party we’re going to. Let’s rock and roll, Florence Nightingale.”

John gives the taxi driver an address and you sail through the streets of London, splashing through shallow evaporating puddles, squinting when sunlight ricochets glaringly off the slick pavement. The taxi rolls to a stop outside of a grand stone building with columns and intricate carvings of leaves and flowers. The sign outside reads: Kensington and Chelsea Register Office.

You turn to John. “Who’s getting married?!”

He just smiles, a deep harbor of secrets.

“It’s Fred and Mary, right? Jesus christ, John, you can’t wear white to someone else’s wedding, Mary’s going to strangle me—”

“It’s not Mary’s wedding.”

Slowly, your jaw falls open. “No,” you whisper in disbelief.

John darts out of the taxi, jogs around to your side, and opens the door for you. You gape up at him senselessly, struggling to remember how to form sentences.

“John...this...this is some bizarre and elaborate joke, right?”

“Nope.” He offers his hand, helps you out of the taxi, leads you up the front steps of the Register Office. Inside, everyone is waiting: Freddie and Mary, Brian and Chrissie, Veronica with babbling baby Laszlo, Roger’s mother and sister...and Roger, of course, in his best black suit and bleached blond hair and trademark guaranteed-to-dazzle (unless of course you’re Dominique Beyrand) grin. He flies to you and takes your hands in his.

“You look incredible, baby.”

“Roger, what’s going on...?”

“Don’t freak out,” he commands, and instantly your panic vanishes. There’s a pink rose pinned to his lapel. “I know we don’t feel like we need to get married. I know we agree it doesn’t mean anything.” Is that still true? “So don’t think that this is about trying to trap you or control you or bullshit white picket fences or anything. And of course you can say no, I won’t be mad, no one will hold that against you, we can find some other reason to party. But the simple facts are that I’m a British national with a mansion and a plethora of perpetual royalties and you’re an American here on a work visa, and the law gets a bit thorny in this situation. And I want to make sure you’re taken care of if something happens to me. That you can carry out my wishes. That you can stay here with the band as long as you want to. So, I’ve got your passport and birth certificate and everything else we need...and some overly-enthusiastic witnesses. Are you cool with signing a piece of paper today?”

“Of course she bloody well is!” Freddie exclaims, and everyone laughs. Mary is carrying a basket full of champagne flutes, Chrissie several bottles of pink champagne, Roger’s sister a tub of ice. Brian has been entrusted to chronicle the event with your Canon. Veronica is more giddy than you’ve ever seen her, even more animated than she was at her own wedding. Well, I suppose she doesn’t have to worry about any illicit pregnancies or condemnatory great aunts this time around.

“Okay,” you tell Roger. And you wish you weren’t beaming so broadly your cheeks ache, because it feels a little pathetic to be this happy about an admittedly meaningless wedding. But it does make you happy, your general aversion towards conventionality be damned.

You sign papers and you toast glasses and you giggle uproariously in the lobby of the Register Office with the best friends you’ve ever had, guzzle pink champagne, pose for photos, take your turn holding Laszlo, kiss Roger beneath the stone arch of the centuries-old building.

It doesn’t mean anything, you remind yourself, suddenly very aware of the missing weight of a ring on your left hand. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything.

But you catch a few furtive glances between Chrissie and Bri, the twist of a frown on Freddie’s face when he thinks no one is watching, the distance in John’s shadowy eyes as he inhales champagne like air.

It doesn’t mean anything.

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nervousmendes · 4 years

Text

Drunken Haze | Shawn Mendes

Shawn x reader (smut)

a/n: this was a failed attempt at writing smut for the first time. (it's very mild, mostly just sexual tension and making out) do check out more of my work on my masterlist right here

summary: Shawn sees the reader at a bar and makes a move.

warnings: mild smut (making out) and very little swearing

Cez does his fair share of research when it comes to choosing a bar to spend the night at, and when you're in Paris (yes, with a French accent) it's totally worth it. Brian walked in first, Shawn and Cez not far behind. "Man I'm so getting shit-faced in here." he sighed as the three of them observed the fancy lights, furniture and wall hangings, taking in the scent of alcohol and cigerettes suspended in in the warm air of the closed space. Cez being the only bright one in the three, quickly spotted an empty booth in the lounge but Shawn's eyes fell straight on a blond haired women, her black dress hugging her hips so well and her toned legs crossed one over the other while she tipped her head back, letting the expensive wine in the glass she was holding flow into her system.

There was something about her that intrigued him. Maybe it was the confidence she radiated, the way she sat with her back poised, the way her silky hair flowed down her shoulders or maybe it had something to do with how her skin glowed in the dim lighting. He felt the urge to approach her, like she pulled him towards her. And it was as if his legs knew what his heart wanted when they started making calculated steps towards the bar counter that she was facing. His thoughts went every which way trying to figure out what to say as he took the stool exactly beside her's, completely ignoring the five (or more) empty stools on his other side.

"Hey." He internally patted himself on the back for sounding a lot more confident than he actually was.

"Do I know you?" Her face broke into a polite smile, and her thick french accent dripped with the words she spoke out of her red stained lips.

"Maybe?"

Too cocky.

"You don't give me a businessman vibe." She said looking at him from head to toe. Looking. She saw the black denim that covered his toned legs, his satin, white shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and the little scar on his cheek that gave his soft facial features a more rugged look. Shawn watched her keenly. His hand went to his hair, fingers pushing a stray curl out of his eye.

"What makes you think I'm a businessman?" He turned in his stool and rested his arm on the bar counter to make her shift her vision from his face to his forearm that flexed under the thin fabric.

"They're usually the cocky ones." He was searching for what to say slightly taken aback by the fact that someone found him cocky, considering that no one has ever called him that before, not in a bad way. He wasn't offended, just surprised. In fact he liked that the whole 'be confident' thing was working.

"But you seem nice, I'll give you that." She chuckled while twirling the empty wine glass in her small hand.

"Will you let me buy you your next drink?"

She considered it, and almost nodded yes for affirmation but then her brows drew in an L shape. "I think I've already had too much to drink." She was mentally trying to count how many times the bartender filled her glass with Chartreuse.

"So why don't you tell me your name, mysterious, handsome, American man?" She said leaning close to him. The already deep cut neck line of her dress plunged down even further, dangerously low, making Shawn draw in a sharp breath through his mouth.

"I love mysterious and handsome, but I'm actually Canadian." He narrowed his eyes at her with a smirk and she couldn't help but smile.

"And nice to meet you, I'm Shawn. Et toi?"

"I can tell you skipped your french classes often back in school." She broke into a chuckle, making Shawn grin right back at her, his face very close to hers.

"You know nothing about me, but I'm afraid this one's true." He whispered, his minty breath fanning her face. She laughed again while placing her hand on Shawn's toned bicep that was rested on the countertop.

"You're funny." Her gaze burned into him.

"I wasn't even trying." Liar.

"I'm guessing that's a lie." They never broke eye contact.

"For someone that guesses a lot, you're pretty accurate."

"You know nothing about me." She said just like he did a minute ago, her lips almost grazing his making sure to not touch them. What a tease.

"How about," the tips of his calloused fingers went to her bare shoulder, "I start with knowing what those pretty lips of yours taste like?" and stroked the soft, supple skin on her arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.

"That's a good start." She inched closer.

"So is that a yes?"

Instead of giving him an answer, she touched his lips with hers, hands going to either side of his neck. He covered her mouth with his, tasting the expensive alcohol she had been drinking all night. He nudged closer to get a better angle, his large hands taking purchase on her waist. Their tongues danced with each other's, deepening the kiss. He moaned under his breath when she licked the roof of his mouth, and he used that as an opportunity to suck on her lower lip. Her nails scratched his scalp, tangling her fingers in his long, soft curls and she quickly figured how much he liked it from the way he kissed her harder in response to tugging his hair. She broke the kiss for air, he assumed but then when he pulled her in again, she opened her mouth to speak.

"I live only ten minutes away, let's get out of here." She was breathing heavily. He nodded and gave her a quick kiss on the lips before getting off the stool and helping her down shortly after. He left a quick text to Brian asking them to carry on with whatever they were upto and rolled his eyes at Brian's response telling him to "not bust that nut too quick". They got in an Uber and sat beside each other, lips red and swollen, breath heavy, and their thoughts everywhere. They didn't say a word to each other. They didn't know what to say but they were both trying to reach out for some sort of connection. She cleared her throat in an attempt to gather the right words before she spoke. Her eyes were set on her hands that played with the hem of her dress.

"Is now a good time to tell you.." He looked up at her, signalling for her to go on. She gulped, "that I actually know who you are, and I acted like I didn't because I didn't want you think of me as someone who would see you as an object just because you're a celebrity." She made air quotes on the word 'celebrity', like it was such a weird thing to say, a word that gives a human, with a little fame they never knew was coming their way, the title of an object.

"That is the best decision you ever made. If I knew you knew I'm sure I wouldn't even have made a move. You have no idea how glad I am that you did that."

She finally dropped the hem of her dress and looked back at him through her long eyelashes. That was it, there was no holding back anymore. Shawn's lips crashed into hers and she kissed his mouth back with that much force, curling her fingers into the collar of his shirt. His one hand went around her waist, palm flat against the small of her back, and the other was tangled in her beautiful, blond locks.

Their lips didn't leave other's even while unlocking the door, and just like you see in the movies, they kissed their way into her bedroom until Shawn's legs hit the cot and his butt landed on the soft spring mattress of her bed. She kicked off her heels and threw one leg to his other side, her knees on either side of his legs, straddling him. His hands slid down from her waist to fill his palms with the flesh of her toned bum. He cooed as he kneaded them with every movement she made sitting right on top his hard-on that strained his tight denims. Shawn drew his lips away from her mouth to leave wet kisses down her jawline and along the expanse of her throat. He attached his lips to the spot under her ear and sucked on the skin there, causing a shivering moan to tumble down her plump lips. He explored her neck and her chest with his hungry lips, tasting the lavender flavour of the soap she lathered on herself earlier that evening. Somewhere along kissing and a lot of exploring later, all the clothing they helped each other get rid of were scattered on the floor, sweat covered bodies moulding and crashing to give each other the climax they longed for.

(I cannot write smut for shit so I cut the crap out and got to the point.)

She woke up to the warmth of the sun shining on her golden skin through the half drawn blinds, feeling a mild headache from all that she had to drink the previous night. That's when she remembered him. She jutted her head out of her pillow to see that his clothes weren't on the floor anymore. She shifted under the sheets to find an empty bed beside her and a post it note neatly placed in the centre, exactly where he slept. She took it in her hand, squinting until she could read what it said.

Sorry, I left without saying goodbye. I'm playing a show today and I have to be there early. Last night was really fun. x

- S.M

Her lips formed a shy smile and her cheeks were tinged a shade of red as she recollected the events of last night. She folded the piece of paper in her hand contemplating whether she had to throw it or save it. She looked down at it one more time, and that's when she noticed that something was written on the other side. She turned the post-it around, to find a phone number written on it and under it he'd written, "maybe I'm glad I didn't say goodbye".

She laughed to herself, carefully placing the paper in her journal, already excited by the idea of seeing him again. She met Shawn less than twenty four hours ago and hardly knew anything about him, but there something about him that drew her in, made her want to get to know him better and of course feel that pretty mouth of his between her legs once again.

_______________________________________________

I'm thinking maybe I'll do a part 2 to this so let me know what you think. Hope you liked this one. Reply to this or leave me a message if you want to get added to my taglist!!

#shawn mendes #shawnblr #shawn mendes fanfiction #fanfic #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes imagines #shawn x reader #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes tumblr

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j0hn-deacons-perm · 4 years

Text

Bizarre Love Triangle

‘86 John x Reader, tail end of the Magic Tour.

word count: ~3.7k

Based off Bizarre Love Triangle by New Order (I recommend listening to it while reading) also the song just slaps

Also a quick author’s note. Did I write this until about 6 AM because I couldn’t sleep? Yeah, my dudes. There might still be a few mistakes and will fix them when found but hey, I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~

Last show. The bloody last show of this summer. Tour life has been nothing but stressful but to your surprise, even more rewarding simply with the audience reception. Every show packed with fans, many singing and bopping about like you were on the side lines. Despite being there for nearly every show, the anticipation never ceases to creep up on you. Shivers can be felt in your bones, ready for whatever is to come and you're not even the one on stage in half an hour.

Standing and grabbing drinks, you sit next to John. His knee bouncing as he reads the paper, spotting he's on the current events. Sighing gently, you roam your eyes around the space around you. Brian is tuning his guitar with Fred and Roger sitting next to him. You spot a scrabble board on the table and Roger looking frustrated as he picks letters from the box's top. Most people on your team are racing around, making sure everything is where it should be and in working order. Hearing a sound from John, you look over and watch him skip over the obituaries. However, seeing a name that surely sounds phallic encites a laugh on your end. He raises an eyebrow in your direction.

"Dark comedy your thing, eh?"

"More like potty humor. I see a name like Medick and it's reflex to chuckle."

He scans the page and you laugh again.

"Damn it John, you're looking at Medick."

You determine the laugh he gives you is one out of pity with how bad your Scottish accent was. After apologizing for assaulting his senses, he gives you a smile and asks the time. Looking at your watch, your co-worker announced to everyone the fifteen minute mark before they were expected on stage.

"I hope that answers your question."

His eyes crinkle around the corners and your heart melts at the sight. Answering you with "It does, yeah", he folds the paper up and places it on the empty seat next to him. Attention now on you.

"Any plans post tour Y/N?"

"Besides catch up on nearly a month of lost sleep and time with Tom, probably nothing for a few days. At least that's the hope."

You can see his face shift into a slight discomfort but it might be out of reflex. Two weeks in you began missing your boyfriend back home and requested no one bring him up in conversation, even yourself. Knowing you slipping his name must have been reflex for him. Right?

"Can't imagine what you'd be losing sleep over besides trying to keep track of four old ladies."

"You guys are a lot. Especially you, Deacon. I swear sometimes it's easier looking after a toddler."

He fakes hurt, hand on his chest and a pronounced distressed face paints his features. The rest of the time passes far too quickly for your liking as the boys are rushed off to play their show. You follow behind, overseeing things go smoothy. Grabbing things they may need between songs and making your way off to the side, you nearly jump as the rise in audience volume increases. The floor beneath you shaking as the first few notes play. Hearing the opening lines to One Vision, you calculate the time to sing along but with the lyrics you happened to hear when bringing them their copious amounts of coffee into the recording room. What you didn't expect is John looking over to see you sing 'one dump, one turd, two tits, John Deacon' followed by 'chicken feet, babe' in his direction. You can see him smile when he looks down at his bass.

As the songs pass, your dancing picks up as well as his. You thought John was called Disco Deacy due to his taste in tunes but turns out he's a regular Belle of the ball. His spins and hops always melted your heart, watching him enjoy the music and play. You bop along with him more often than not, enjoying the beats you've heard now countless amounts of times. When I Want To Break Free ends and Brian's solo begins, he heads over in your direction. Grabbing a towel and a vodka tonic, he pats himself dry while watching from your usual view.

"I swear, this solos get longer with every tour."

"And I swear your hair gets bigger with every tour."

"Optical illusion, my dear. Brian's been getting smaller."

He winks and finishes off his drink. His company is gone as quick as it came, or at least it feels that way. The last half of the show plays out along with two encores. Fatigue dampens down on everyone as the crowd starts to disperse and the roadies begin taking apart set ups. Walking back with the boys, you hand them their normal robes and towels as they head to the dressing room. Making your way back to your post and sitting down, the realization of this is the end dawns on you. A month of tours finished. A month of pain, suffering, blood, sweat, and many tears but also a month of pure bliss. A month of becoming even closer with the band that you've come to know the much more this past year. Seeing them outside of the studio was a shock at first but tour life seems to mellow them out in ways. Less ego if that was even possible knowing them in the first place.

Knowing you probably should attend the after party the hotel Freddie booked, your feet ache as you rise up. Feeling the ripe ol' age of 87 at 29 is a sensation you've grown used to but hearing your joints crack as you rise really made you feel ancient.

"Here I thought I was the old one. I heard that all the way over here!"

John laughs at your cracky joints, walking over to give you an arm to support you. A bird is flipped in his direction and he smiles wider. You can tell someone's got more alcohol in their system.

"Now, Y/N, you ready for one last hurrah before a hangover and drive back home?"

"You're speaking my language, Deacy. I'll meet you at the ballroom, okay? Not really digging the uniform look at the minute, you know?"

"Don't be too late, I might be a goner by the time you arrive."

Following his lead to the bus, you and the rest of the group pile in. John walking up the steps in front of you gave you a view you didn't expect to enjoy so much. Those pants really doing him some favors. Shaking your head, you walk the few steps up and look around for a seat. Taking the only empty one next to Freddie, you lean over to congratulate a job well done and yet another successful tour on their end. Feeling eyes on you, a look over shows a poofy haired bassist waving at you once he has your attention. Waving back and turning back to Freddie, you can tell he has a question burning his tongue.

"You and John sure have gotten close over this tour."

"I guess so, yeah."

"Playing favorites? I see how it is, dear."

You slap his shouder with a 'piss off' and a cackle on his end.

"Are you still mad about the scrabble match the other week, Fred? Don't break up the Y/LN and Deacon dream team."

The last night in France ended with drama and an almost scratched cornea as scrabble pieces went flying. Deciding since Jim was present that night, even teams could be made. Brian and Roger, Fred and Jim, then you and John teamed up and no one's surprise, Freddie's normal strategy of adding one tile to make a bigger word didn't work out in his favor. What did come as a surprise was Brian and Roger not taking the win that night. Tempers flared as you and John danced about. When turned, you couldn't see the rogue piece flying your way. Luckily you blinked in time to save you from a more serious injury.

"Please, I'm not mad over a silly fucking game."

"Yeah, one that nearly took out my eye!"

He rolled his eyes but smiled regardless of what he's trying to front. Pulling up to the hotel, you grab your luggage and is soon presented the key to your room. Not wanting to deal with an overly drunk John Deacon, you slightly rush to get ready. After party outfits normally consisted of a tank top, shorts and sneakers but considering it's the last one, you go more formal. Feeling very gussied up in heels you never thought you would wear at all this tour and a dress, you turn to the bathroom with your makeup bag is tow. What you already had on was fine but needed a touch up. Looking over your appearance and adjusting oddly fitting sections, you deem yourself offically ready. However feeling slightly over dressed and maybe showing more than what you're used to but hell, it's August. Realizing that it wasn't too late to call Tom, you dial the number that's branded in your brain at this point and wait for the phone to pick up.

"Hello?"

He sounds slightly tired but the call was quick so you didn't feel too bad about it.

"Hey, just wanted to call and say I'll be home in the next couple days!"

"Oh shit, that time already? I've already got so used to you being gone!"

You couldn't help but laugh along with him.

"We're throwing one last bash before this ends for good. Freddie's doing of course."

"Well don't let me stop you, go and have fun!"

"Love ya, Tom."

"Love ya too, Y/N."

Hanging up and taking a breath, your chest feels odd. Putting it up to just this being nearly over, you stuff your keycard in your bra, spray on one more mist of perfume. The feeling in your chest worsens as you walk into the ballroom crowded with people, nearly completely naked women servers and the sight of John sitting back and flirting with one of them while talking with Brian. Grabbing one off the nearest tray, you down it then grab another immediately. Shaking your head and walking over to the two men in question, they greet you with side hugs.

"Where are the other two?"

"Around somewhere."

"You know I'll hear it from both of them if I don't come say hi during the party."

Brian smiles, knowing far too well how they get with you at times.

"Regardless, cheers! Cheers to a successful tour and good friends!"

You three clink your glasses together and conversation flows. Brian talks about his plans when arriving home to the wife and kids along with possibly making plans with some actress he's a fan of. Spacing out and looking at your surroundings, the music is pulsing through your lungs with the bass pumping through the speakers. You recognize the song easily, Blue Monday filling your ears and the bass matches your heartbeat once you turn back to your friends and hear John conversing with one of the women attending the party. Watching him shift so she can sit next to him, her body pressing against his while he whispers in her ear, you're in need of a change of scenery. You finally figured out what the sinking feeling in your chest was.

"Hey Bri, care you dance?"

"Not really. Not really my kind of music, Y/N."

"Please?"

Batting your eyelashes in hopes of hiding how uncomfortable you are, it fails and he picks up on your body language.

"I guess you caught me in a good mood."

Sitting up, you two walk over to the other dancing party goers and while stiff as a board, Brian tries to do something with his body.

"Is everything okay? You seemed a bit off when you came in but now I know something's up. Did you call Tom?"

"How dare you say his name?!"

"Figured it'd be safe when you see him in, what, two days?"

"I'm taking the piss and I did. He seems happy to have me back but I think something's happened."

"He's not cheating on you, is he?!"

"Oh god no! I.....I think I've developed feelings for John."

You're pretty sure if he had a drink in his hand, it would've crashed all over the floor.

"Want to head somewhere else and talk about it?"

"Please."

Taking your arm and leading you through the crowd, Brian leads you two outside. A handful of people occupy the space but mostly to get a smoke in quick before heading back in. Spacing yourself away from the others as far as possible, you and Brian sit on one of the benches. Your breathing is unsteady and worsens as you try to calm it down. He puts a hand on your knee and rubs gentle circles in hopes of doing something for your nerves.

"I'm not going to lie, Y/N, can't say I didn't exactly see it coming."

"Gee, thanks Bri. Exactly what I want to hear."

"Is this a recent development?"

Thinking back, it started in the studio. It was around the time they started recording the album and you started just watching them play behind the producer. Wasn't until you watched John lick his fingers before playing the strings on his bass again where something flickered in you.

"....Shit."

That was almost a year ago.

"Well, around the time you guys started recording the new album."

His eyes widened. Blinking slightly resembling that of a reptile in its speed.

"Your 'shit' is valid."

"I know! The more time I spend with him, the more I realize I really care for the guy. But I can't just up and leave Tom. I can't just...hurt him like that. He doesn't deserve it in the slightest."

You sigh, feeling tears wanting to trickle out of your eyes any second.

"But I've been finding my feelings for him fading the more I'm with John. What if I leave Tom, then what? Just go up to John and be like 'oh hey, I have some strong feelings for you. Wanna do something?'"

Brian wraps a curl around his finger, pulling as he thinks. He lets out a sigh of his own.

"Honestly, I'm going through the same thing right now with Chrissie. That actress, Anita...we've been talking and I've developed some feelings for her. Ones I haven't had with Chrissie in a while, now. I have a wife and kids but should I persue this?"

You give him a sympathetic look.

"We're fucked, aren't we?"

"Maybe a little bit. But at least you're not married."

You look at each other in solidarity. Knowing each other's struggles far too well. He brings up the fair point that you aren't married. You also think back to how things were before you left for tour and it wasn't the best. You missed Tom, you really did. But was the passion there like it was previously? Not especially. Sometimes it just felt more like a friends with benefits situation rather than a full blown relationship lasting three years.

"You know what? I'm going for it."

"Positive, love?"

"I think so."

Sitting up and brushing off your dress, Brian stands with you.

"I think I might have a talk with Anita and go from there on how to do this. Chrissie doesn't deserve being left for another woman but sometimes people outgrow each other. Relationships evolves and sometimes they become stagnant."

Walking back to your previous place inside, you're greeted with the sight of the woman gone and replaced with Freddie and Roger. Bending down and asking a quick 'Can we talk?' to John, you two head over to the hallway. You're shaking and can't look him in the eye. Trying to get your sights on him, he lifts a hand to your chin, using a few fingers to guide your sights towards him.

"You're scaring me a bit. Did something happen, love?"

There is not enough alcohol in your system to make this easier.

"I was talking with Brian and came to some conclusions that have been....cloudy for a little while now."

His eyebrows are furrowed together in concern, he's never seen you like this. Nervous was normal in aspects of your job but like this is completely uncharted territory for him. Not knowing how to tread the waters, he takes the hand that was on your chin and rubs your upper arm.

"You can talk to me. You know that, right?"

You swallow, feeling like you're nearly choking on air.

"John I...god..."

Before you could mutter even something resembling a syllable, you hear John's name being called. Turning your head slightly to see it's the woman he was flirting with earlier, danging her bag in front of her.

"Finally remembered where I put the damned thing. You ready to go, Johnny?"

You want to vomit on the spot but knowing if you would, it would be Exorcist levels in the amount purged. Your eyes threaten to release the waterworks and you look up to put the tears back in their place. Beginning to walk away, you feel a grip on your shoulder.

"Sorry but my friend here is going through something. Raincheck, yeah?"

Obviously very annoyed, her eye roll was puntuated with her heels clicking away. He looks over at you and immediately notices tears running down your cheeks. Wiping them away, he leads you out of this area of the hotel and back to his room. Turning the key, your heart beats to the point where it leaves you breathless. He leads you inside and onto the bed but before you get to talk, he doesn't sit quite yet. Grabbing the unwrapped toilet paper roll from the bathroom, he hands it to you then sits down at your side.

"What's going on, Y/N?"

As he rubs your arm again like he did in the hallway, your brain struggles but comes up with some sort of coherent sentence to present.

"I think Tom and I might be over."

He blinks at you, much in the same fashion as Brian had. But before you knew it, he wrapped you in a hug. His head on your shoulders and hand smoothing over your back. He says your name softly followed by an 'I'm so sorry'. Staying like until the tears stop flowing, he peels away from you. You wipe away your tears, noticing your mascara has somehow held up.

"I...I don't mean to pry but, well, what happened?"

The question you were dreading but this band-aid needs to be ripped off.

"I realized we've sort of...grown apart. Also..damn, not again.." as you rip off a piece of toilet paper and dab your eyes. Catching your breath took a minute but you finally get their in due time. With a sigh, you finally let it out.

"I've developed feelings for another person."

Watching him with blurry eyes didn't give you the opportunity to see his shoulders drop slightly or lips tighten.

"They're incredibly lucky to have caught your attention, Y/N."

"I think I'm lucky to have met them is a better statement. He's really great."

You sigh again and finally clear your vision. His expression is hard to read. Almost, seeming disappointed but that's probably your imagination trying to cope with rejection. Rejection that hasn't happened yet.

"I'm sure he is."

He moves away from you and grabs the television remote, flipping through channels until one catches his eye. Sitting back beside you, he looks back at you.

"Sorry, felt like background noise might've been welcome."

"Maybe a bit, yeah. Do you want to hear about him?"

"Am I going to have a choice in the matter? You're destined to bring him up."

"Guess you're right. But you're...already quite familiar with him already."

"It's not Brian, is it? I know you two talk or maybe.." This time putting in air quotes around "Talk".

This time it's your turn to be stunned.

"No! I asked him advice about this guy. So, well...he's a bass player for a pretty well known group, I'm a pretty big fan of his work and writes some absolutely amazing tracks. Some may say he's had some questionable hair choices but I'm a big fan. Also he has these...gorgeous green eyes."

"Is it Paul McCartney?! I know you met him during Live Aid but damn, Y/N. Linda would kick your ass."

"It's not Paul McCartney you dumbass!"

A laugh erupts from you, making him laugh along with you. He dodges the slap on his arm but moving up the bed, sitting up against the headboard. You mirror him, eyes on the television screen. A comfortable silence washes over the room, the soft hum of the air conditioner adds background noise with the show playing before you. Seconds turn into minutes. Minutes turn into almost an hour of contemplation. Should you say something? You've grown close to him this past year, even closer this past month. He's one of your few confidants, a dear source of comfort. Possibly never seeing his smile again gives you literal heartbreak. But what if the risk is worth the reward? What if he views you in that way as well and you're just overreacting? Doubtful but not completely out of the realm of possibility.

It's when it turns into an hour and fifteen minutes when John starts yawning. If you wait, you'll never do it. You'll lose all nerve. You mutter a 'fuck it' under your breath.

"It's you."

He slowly turns his head in your direction.

"What was that? I was zoned out for a while, there."

"The guy I was talking about....it's, well...."

You can do this, you just did it. Come on.

"It's you, John Richard Deacon."

You've never seen someone's eyes go that big in your life. His jaw goes slightly slack as he just looks at you. You see his eyes dart around every point on your face. Before you can even start registering what's happening, His lips assault you. Kisses on your forehead, kisses on your nose, kisses on your cheeks, kisses on your jaw but finally he reaches your lips. One hand laces its fingers in your hair, the other placed just below your jaw. Your breath is completely and utterly taken away and when he pulls away, lips swollen, your chest fills. What fills your heart to capacity is him whispering.

"I've been waiting, Y/N....I've been waiting for that moment when you say the words I couldn't say."

~~~~~~~~~~

May formatting it to be tumblr friendly to read pay off and if you read this, you are a sweet cherub angel and I love you a little bit. Also damn, my first fic published on Tumblr, they grow up so fast.

#john deacon x reader #queen band fic #john deacon x y/n #john deacon x female reader #john deacon imagine #that's the basic tags right? sure...#When you're really not a fic writer but you try!#Also I mentioned blue monday in this..also by new order.. Such a great track plus released in '86 so had to do it to 'em

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ineloqueent · 4 years

Text

Starstruck: Part 18

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is Part 18 of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, the previous part, or the next part of the fic :)

Masterpost / Part 17 / Part 19

Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.

Warnings: swearing, drinking, sentiments of sadness

Historical Inaccuracies: N/A

Word Count: 4k

A/N: this is going to get really fucking sappy from here on until the end. you have been warned.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

You would come to miss those days on tour.

Those days were some of the best days of your life.

It was the eclectic array of nights spent dancing in clubs somewhere halfway across the world, where you had hardly any idea what the reference point for ‘halfway’ was.

You no longer measured the distance from home, because it was with you always now.

You finally understood all those stupidly sappy people, with their stupidly sappy sentiments about how home was not a place but a feeling.

Because Brian was that feeling.

It was the mornings in the UK where you discovered you had not seen all there was to see, the afternoons on the East Coast of the United States where you met a thousand new people, the evenings on the West Coast where you learned to surf, the nights in Japan where you didn’t speak the language and relied on universal symbols to do the talking for you, incoherent late-night-early-morning hours spent on god knew what tour bus or flight, leaned against Brian who slept as little as you. He awoke at every little jolt or sound, but did so with his hand in yours or resting lightly on your thigh, a small smile on his lips to ask if you were alright. You were always far better than simply alright, because it was all those little things that you lived for, because now, they were your life. And they made you feel alive. At home and alive.

When you’d returned to the tour bus on the route to Taunton, you’d been holding his hand, and it seemed that everyone had been anticipating this change, because the reactions were immediate.

“Did you two fucking finally get together?” said Roger, and the rest of the Queen entourage turned to look at you.

“Y/N!” Heather cried. “You didn’t think to tell me?!”

You reddened, fighting the urge to pull your fingers from Brian’s and run out the door. “It’s sort of a new thing—”

“When?” John piped up. “When did it happen?”

“Deacy!” Freddie cried. “Interrupting is rude. Finish your sentence, Y/N darling, then tell us when.”

You stammered, “I— um—”

“Liverpool,” said Brian firmly, wrapping his arm around your waist and dropping a kiss to your head. “We’ll be taking no further questions at this time.”

He then swept you with him to the seats at the back of the bus and proceeded to read to you from one of the many Hermann Hesse novels he’d packed, and his voice lulled you into a much-needed sleep.

And from that day on, the two of you became inseparable.

Every word you breathed was with Brian in mind, orchestrated in sentences to make him laugh in a way that warmed you down to your fingertips and toes, uttered for him because he was there and he would understand what you were talking about. It wasn’t a conscious thing, but it seemed that he was everywhere, influencing all that you did, because everything about him made you so ridiculously happy.

Those days were some of the best days of your life.

And some of the worst.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Bournemouth, 23rd of November, 1975

It was in Bournemouth, on the way down to the lobby, that you found the door to Freddie and Mary’s hotel room open, and the latter packing up her things.

There was no one else there and the empty hallway was quiet, but the kind of quiet in which chaos had only recently departed. A hesitance hung in the air, as though the occupants of the hotel, wherever they were, collectively held their breath.

The door was open in a manner that made you think that it had been left that way, a mess that remained unfixed, rather than an invitation to enter.

Still, Mary was alone, you could tell as much, so, thinking the circumstances strange, you approached the room and rapped your knuckles lightly against the wooden doorframe.

“Mary?”

“I’m going,” she said, without looking up.

You frowned. “Going where?”

“Home,” she slammed the suitcase shut. “To London.”

Surely, it couldn’t be so bad with Freddie that she was really going home. You couldn’t imagine wanting to leave tour life. There were so many places to go, to see, and that first night in the wings— that feeling. You’d never give that up. But maybe Mary no longer got that feeling, when she was watching someone her heart had deemed a stranger.

“Now?”

She sighed, in a way that made her countenance suddenly more sad than angry. “Now,” she affirmed. “Have to figure out what happens next.”

You nodded, your understanding contrite but understanding nonetheless. It would be strange to be around Queen without Mary, now that you were also without Veronica. The feeling was one of falling apart, of growing smaller. The warm days of Ridge Farm were gone, and so were many of the familial bonds.

On her way out the door, Mary touched your shoulder. “I hope you and Brian will be happy together. He’s a lovely soul, and so are you.”

You blushed. “Thank you.”

She flashed you a brief, melancholy smile, and went on her way.

No one left Freddie alone for the next many nights, a support system of bad jokes and too much wine constructed to drive away the loneliness, the loneliness that would have plagued anyone at the loss of their best friend.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

England, Late December, 1975

Roger made a face. “Where the hell is he?”

Deacy only glanced at his watch and shook his head.

“He’s always complaining that I’m late,” Freddie voiced his woe, “but now where’s he? Fucking late, that’s where!” Freddie patted your shoulder. “No offense, darling.”

“Uh,” you said bemusedly, “none taken?”

“Well,” Freddie sighed, “he is your boyfriend after all.”

Just then, as the doors to the lift began to close for the third time, and no one paid any mind to stop them from doing so, Brian hurtled around the corner and slipped through the tightening gap, just in time.

“Why, speak of the devil,” Freddie deadpanned, shuffling farther back to accommodate for the elevator’s fifth passenger.

“The sun,” you said. “It’s the sun.”

Deacy snorted. “It would be, for you.”

Brian glanced around, his complexion rendered in a rosy glow from whatever dash he’d just made to the lift. “Sorry about that. What’d I miss?” He turned to you, one of his pretty smiles skimming across his face like moonlight on river water. “Hi love,” he said, his touch falling to your arms as he leaned in to kiss your cheek.

“Hi gorgeous,” you replied, a swell of warmth in your chest as he lingered in his proximity to you.

“Oh, kiss her properly!” Roger cried.

“Yeah,” John laughed. “Kiss her properly, Brian.”

Brian sighed, but it was adoration that was in his eyes when he bent to kiss your mouth with tenderness that melted you. He pulled away all too soon.

“I would kiss her properly,” he said to Freddie’s tutting, “and I bloody well will—” your skin tingled with the weight of his hand on your waist— “but I have something to tell you all, so if you’d just shut up for a second, that’d be great.”

“Spit it out, then,” Freddie urged with a wave of his hand, and Brian rolled his eyes.

“Your song, Fred,” he said pointedly.

Freddie smirked. “Yes, darling. Which one? I’ve got many you know.”

“Bohemian Rhapsody!” Brian said.

“Our song,” Freddie corrected.

“Well, whatever it is,” Brian shook his head as though in disbelief, “it’s only bloody went and gone to number one on the UK charts!”

Deacy’s mouth fell open. Freddie blinked.

“You’re shitting me,” Roger said.

“No, Rog. Not this time.”

There was a pause.

And then the lift erupted into absolute mania.

Screaming and shouting and jumping up and down, Freddie crushing the lot of you in a fierce hug, Brian peppering your hair with kisses in excitement as tears pricked the eyes of Deacy, and Roger nearly pulled out his hair in running his fingers so violently through it.

You had never before experienced such plain, unbridled joy, and to think that you were not only present to witness this, but that you had been part of the reason for the monumental occasion, floored you, brought your own wave of emotion as you shared in the happiness of your friends.

Until of course the elevator shuddered to a halt, and the five of you were thrown into a contorted heap on the dusty floor.

“Shit, fuck!” Roger swore, having hit his head rather hard on the railing that lined the elevator box.

Freddie rubbed his elbow as he sat up, pulled Deacy up beside him. “Now, dears, is the time to confess if you’re claustrophobic.”

Brian tugged you into a sitting position, his hands fluttering all about you. “Love? You’re not hurt, are you?”

You shook your head. “No, no. I’m fine. Are you okay?”

He nodded, kissed the top of your head. He was rather affectionate these days, but you did not mind in the slightest. It was wonderful to feel so loved, as loved as he made you feel.

“If resident idiot one and resident idiot two are quite finished professing their undying love,” John interrupted, and you blushed, “then we should probably press the emergency call button.”

“Oh, right,” Brian mumbled, and being the closest, reached over and pushed the big red button that mothers were always telling their children not to push.

You all looked on raptly, but no light illuminated the red plastic.

“We’re doomed,” Freddie groaned.

“You can’t actually starve to death within an hour,” Brian said, “which is probably the maximum amount of time it’ll take for someone to notice we’re gone, track us down, and get us out.”

“But I could die of boredom within the hour,” Roger argued. “Or less time than that. Yes… I think I could do it in less time than that.”

“Well,” Deacy grinned, “that’s not going to happen.” He promptly pulled a deck of cards from his jacket pocket.

“Oh, but that’ll never do,” you said, and the others eyed you in confusion. You shrugged. “It’s not Scrabble.”

Brian threw his head back in laughter, and the warmth of the rumble resounded within your heart.

“You’re one of us,” he whispered as Deacy dealt the cards. “You’re one of us.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

London, 24th of December, 1975

The search and rescue party had arrived within the hour, as surely as Brian had predicted, and champagne was toasted at the news of Bohemian Rhapsody’s rampant success.

But it was Christmas Eve when everyone took a turn for the worse.

With the exception of John, Queen had come down with a particularly nasty case of the flu.

Roger could be found in a number of places throughout the day— from the dressing room couch to his tour bus bunk to his actual hotel room, slumped against a wall or draped like a loose swath of fabric in some corner. He was being waited on hand-and-foot by both Heather and Crystal, the latter of whom began to roll his eyes as the hours went on, and muttered something about not being paid enough.

Freddie felt rather sorry for himself, which you equated to meaning that he was the least afflicted out of the three, flailing about and crying for more tea— and biscuits. That was how you knew he was alright; he could still stomach biscuits.

Brian was the one you worried most for, and not only on account of your closeness with him. He said even less than usual, ate and drank as little as he spoke, and hardly moved. His eyes were half-closed and his head dropped to his chest, and even his curls seemed to droop. It quite hurt you to look at him, because his pain was so apparent. He shifted on the bed and his wince lanced pain through your chest. He lifted a glass of water to his lips, and the paleness of his pallor tore at you. It was as though somebody had taken a string and threaded it first through his heart and then through yours, so that you were connected and his pain drained you as much as it drained him.

With two hours until showtime, soundcheck over and done, Brian had crawled back into bed and now lay with at least half a dozen blankets pulled up to his chin, his curls splayed out on the pillow like a halo, as his eyelashes cast spindly shadows over his face in the low lamplight.

You had barely dropped your things to the floor by the time his eyes had fallen shut, but you approached the bed now and watched him pull the covers more tightly around his body.

“Can I help you, love?” he mumbled, not opening his eyes.

You shook your head, kneeling at his side. “No,” you brushed a stray curl from his face. “Nothing for me. Just tell me what I can do for you.”

A soft sigh. “I don’t know.”

Your fingers continued their gentle tracings along his skin. “I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard to convince Freddie to cancel, seeing as three of you are sick.”

His eyes flew open. “No,” he said. “We’re not cancelling on account of me having a bloody cold.”

You pressed your hand to his forehead. “Brian, you’ve got the fucking flu.”

He sighed again. “Didn’t you say you had magic powers?”

“No, Brimi, you said that.”

He slipped his hand out from under the covers and into your grasp. “Did I? I must be very clever, then.”

You rolled your eyes. “The fever is making you delusional.”

A cough rattled his chest and you clutched his fingers in alarm.

“Maybe,” he said, and a sigh caught in his throat. He looked at you. “Stay with me?”

“Is that what you want?”

“More than anything.”

You nodded. Then you climbed into bed beside him, figuring that you would’ve fallen ill too by now if it was going to happen, and besides, there weren’t thousands of people depending on your health.

You kissed the corner of his mouth softly, winding your arms around his torso. “I’m here,” you whispered.

“You’ll get sick,” he murmured back.

“Then you won’t be alone.”

He peered down at you. “What did I do to deserve you?” he asked.

“Everything.”

His lips parted as though he had words prepared, but all that left him was another sigh. He pulled you closer and you held him until both band and crew were hammering at the door for Brian to hurry up and get ready.

He was nearly out the door when you pulled him back and stood on your toes to loop one of your own scarves around his neck, a white one you’d once bought in Kensington Market, near Freddie and Roger’s stall.

Brian had blinked in surprise, but you’d smiled.

“A scarf for a scarf.”

And then you’d ushered him out the door and toward the stage.

He’d doubled back so as to kiss the top of your head. “Happy Christmas, my love.”

“Happy Christmas, Brian.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

January, 1976

It was lucky there was a month gap between the European and North American segments of the tour, because as it happened, you fell just as ill as the others had been. But normally, where you normally would have had no one to take care of you, aside from Heather who was in and out of the house on account of both school and work, you now had the doting presence of Brian May.

He barely left your side, and if he did, it was only to get you something. He stayed with you night and day, and would have done so with his arms around you if you’d let him. But you didn’t want to risk him getting sick again, so he slept on the floor by your bed, and you let your hand dangle over the edge of the sheets to reach for his.

When the end of the month rolled around and you were packing up again for the flight to America, Brian came by and wound his arms around your waist in greeting, nuzzling kisses into your neck.

“Hello Brian,” you said, twisting in his arms.

“Hello love,” he mumbled the words into your skin.

For a moment, you smiled up at him and he smiled down at you, before he kissed you and the world fell away again. The rest of the world always fell away where Brian was concerned. The world, relatively speaking, did not matter, for who was he if not your world?

“Ready to go?” he asked.

You nodded. He smiled and picked up your suitcase, but you stopped him.

Concern creased his brow. “What is it—”

You pulled him down to you and covered his mouth with yours, unable to help yourself.

He hummed in response, and the sound tingled on your lips as his fingertips pressed warmly against your sides, as you leaned on the bed for support, as he leaned his hips against yours.

Time and space blurred in equal amounts when Brian angled his jaw to kiss you more deeply, and gravity tipped, powerless in the wake of this moment except to bring two dazed lovers together in a mess of tangled limbs and stuttering hearts, atop a cottony duvet where they’d once been no more than classmates.

He swept a line of kisses over your jaw and your neck until they reached the hollow of your throat, where they stopped. You opened your eyes to find Brian gazing down at you, his breath laboured and the hazel of his eyes brighter than usual, offset by dilated pupils.

“We have to go,” he whispered, and you groaned aloud. “Else we’ll miss the flight.”

“Why’d you have to be a famous musician, again?”

His smile was infectious. “Because somebody said I was good enough to be.”

“I hate it when my own words come back to bite me.”

Brian only laughed, pressed a stubbornly chaste kiss to your mouth, and pulled you up to stand. “Come on, my love.”

You were almost out of the house when you realised you’d forgotten something. You left Brian at the door and rushed back to your room.

Smiling at the rainbow bundle on your bed, you grabbed it and hurried back to meet Brian outside, locking the front door for the last time in a good while.

You thrust the scarf in his face, and his face twisted in confusion.

“Take it back,” you said.

He shook his head slowly. “Why on Earth would I do that? It’s as much yours as it is mine.”

“Maybe so. But it doesn’t smell like you anymore.”

Brian grinned as you slung the garment around his neck. “So it’s a loan?” he said.

“Definitely a loan.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, and the two of you traipsed toward the road to catch a taxi to the airport.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Midwest United States, Mid-February, 1976

“Do you realise it’s been a year?”

“Hm?” you said.

Following a show and one of Freddie’s exuberant parties, you were sitting across from Deacy, playing, of all things, Scrabble. The others had long since departed or fallen asleep in clustered heaps, alcohol-induced slumbers and post-show exhaustion finally taking hold. Indeed, Brian was asleep with his head in your lap, and you ran your fingers absently through his hair as you pondered how exactly to dismantle John’s winning Scrabble score.

John reiterated, “Do you realise it’s been a year since you came and saw us at the Union, and realised we all knew each other?”

A year. No, you hadn’t realised.

You had not realised that it had been a year since you’d walked with Brian in the sunshine, simply a planet orbiting a star, in lieu of the two-cluster of stars you’d now become, intertwined more often than not.

You had not realised that it had been a year since you’d thought you’d likely never see him again, before you’d known who he was and how your paths would undoubtedly have crossed eventually, no matter how far you might have felt from him. A year since he’d leant you a scarf that was now yours as much as it was his, a year since he’d sent you home because he was concerned you were tired, a year since he’d called you to let you know that your mutual friend was alright, since he’d wished you goodnight with such sincerity that you’d recalled the moments for weeks afterward.

You looked down at Brian, at the angular face, the soft, slack lips that always turned up in a smile at the sight of you, the planed chest you’d slept soundly against, his hands, the ridiculously long legs that accounted for ninety percent of his height, the silly wooden shoes he loved so dearly to stare at when you flustered him.

He shifted in his sleep, and you couldn’t help the smile that broke across your face, turned your composure to mush, because he really was just that beautiful.

“Y/N?”

You looked back up at John.

“No,” you replied softly. “I had no idea.”

Deacy smiled, laying down another score-boosting Scrabble word. It was some electrical engineering term, the meaning of which evaded you, but you countered with syzygy and your smile broadened, because Brian would have been proud of you for using an astronomy term. You could almost see his twinkling eyes as he pressed you to his side and murmured ‘my evening star’.

Deacy groaned as your Scrabble score passed his, rubbing tired eyes.

“Giving up, are we?” you taunted.

John yawned. “Never. I’m just postponing. We’ll finish this another day.”

You narrowed your eyes. “How are we going to remember what the board looks like, hm? No way you’re getting a second chance with a clean board.”

Deacy rolled his eyes, “Fine, fine, just give me a moment.”

He stood and soon disappeared into the adjourning room. A few moments later, he reappeared with a camera.

“I’ve stolen Roger’s polaroid camera now,” he whispered, taking care not to step on Crystal’s hand on the path back to the Scrabble table. He took a picture of the board and tossed it in your direction.

You laughed, and stifled it immediately when Deacy looked pointedly at Brian, who was, miraculously, still asleep in your lap.

“Get your boyfriend to bed,” Deacy said, pulling on his jacket.

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?” you hissed back.

Deacy shrugged. “I don’t know. Wake him up.”

You poked your tongue out at John, who waved cheerily and departed, claiming that the time difference made now the perfect hour to phone his wife and child.

You were left on a couch, surrounded by a floor populated by overtired musicians, roadies, techies, groupies, and the most gangly person of them all preventing you from getting up.

“Bri,” you whispered, brushing the curls back from his face. “Time to go.”

A sharp intake of breath and he was awake; his hand found yours and brought it to his lips, kissing the base of your palm.

It was those little moments you cherished, betwixt the madness of it all, when small gestures quieted the world around you and you found yourself once more wandering through a dreamscape of adoration, adoration for the one who had the ability to make the world fall silent with the touch of a hand.

“Oh,” he sighed, reaching up to touch your cheek, “but I’d so much rather stay with you.”

You shook your head slightly. “Who said I was going anywhere?”

He smiled that lovely smile of his, and you sighed softly.

If you could help it, you’d never go anywhere far from him again.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

taglist: @melting-obelisks @retropetalss @hgmercury39 @topsecretdeacon @joemazzmatazz @perriwiinkle @brianmays-hair @im-an-adult-ish @ilikebigstucks @doing-albri @killer-queen-87 @n0-self-c0ntro1 @archaicmusings @cloudyyspace @annina-96 @themarchoftherainbowqueen @annajolras @mazzell-ro

Masterpost / Part 17 / Part 19

#tina's writing #starstruck #brian may x reader #fic

75 notes · View notes

just-my-sickly-pride · 5 years

Text

Triad - Roger Taylor x fem!Reader x Brian May

summary || never in your wildest dreams would you have expected brian and roger to suggest having a threesome. but never in your wildest dreams would you ever turn it down.

rating || explicit (18+ only). do not read if you are under eighteen. daddy kink, choking, threesome, oral (m receiving, f receiving). no slash.

word count || 13.2k

author’s notes || good god, it’s finally here. the next instalment of the try series. the threesome fic that all of you (some of you) have been waiting for. i somehow went from having 11k useless words to having 13.2k useful words that become this fic. so i guess you could say i wrote about 24.2k for this fic. but again, only just over half of it was useful. so i hope you like these useful words. (ps the title is a half-pun on the word ‘try’. as in, the try series. but it also means three. i thought it was funny, at least)

masterlist

Your stomach twisted in excitement, like a ferret on a sugar high, as you reached the front door. It was warm outside now, flowers blooming, and in your hands you held a very special package that you were very much looking forward to opening.

You knocked a second time, more impatiently than the first.

“Coming, coming,” you heard from inside, and footsteps hurrying to the door.

Roger opened the door. “Hiya,” he said, stepping aside to let you in. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

“A gift,” you said proudly, all but prancing into the flat.

“A gift for me?” Roger purred, following after you.

“Yes,” you said. Brian was at the dining table, bent over a textbook, and you put down the box beside him. “And for you, Bri.”

Brian lifted his head, cocking his head to the side, looking at your curiously. “Right,” he said slowly. “Hello, by the way.”

“Hi,” you said.

“Roger said you’d asked for a chill night, so he said it was fine that I’m here, is that…?”

“Of course,” you said. “Rog told me you’d be here. And Deaky, is that right?”

“He’s in his room,” Roger said. “Fred’s… God knows where.”

“He left his phone charger plugged into the wall in his tute today,” Brian said. “He’s gone to uni to get it.”

You snorted. “If someone hasn’t nicked it by now.”

“Yes, well.” Brian nudged the box with his pen. “What’s in here?”

You gasped happily. “Ah, yes! Look. It’s…” You wrenched the lid off the box. “Cupcakes!”

Roger peered over your shoulder, and Brian sat up to look over the edge of the container. “Cupcakes?” Roger said. “What for?”

“For fun,” you said. “I felt like baking yesterday, randomly, and I decided to bring some over!”

“Oh,” Brian said. “That’s nice of you.”

“Well, have one,” you said, gesturing with the lid. “They’re not just for display, go on. I’ll go get Deaky.”

You headed down the hallway towards the bedrooms. “Deaky!” You stopped outside John’s room, and knocked. “Deaks, I’ve brought cupcakes over, if you want one.”

“Huh?” John said from inside the room. “Just – wait a sec.”

You waited. The door opened. “Hello,” said

“Hey,” you replied. You jerked a thumb towards the living room. “I brought cupcakes.”

“Is that to apologise for hogging the flat, then, is it?”

You frowned. “Hog– What?”

“Well, between you fucking Brian and fucking Roger, I feel like I spend less time in my own flat than you do. They’re always asking if I can find a way to make myself scarce.”

Your stomach dropped to the floor, and your limbs went a little numb. “Oh, y– Did Ronnie…?”

“Ron didn’t tell me, no,” John said. “Not hard to put two and two together.” He stared at your face for a few seconds, as if studying it, and then took your hand, giving it a small squeeze. “Sorry, I was only joking about the hogging-the-flat thing. You look like I’ve just told you I murdered your family.”

You let out a small laugh, a release of tension more than anything else. “I– I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” John said with a chuckle. “I don’t care, do what you want.” He paused, and smiled slyly. “What have you told Ronnie?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly. You sighed, covering your face with your hands. “Fuck, John, I’m sorry. I’m so embarrassed. I’d hoped they were being more subtle than that.”

“Brian and Roger? Subtle?” John snorted. “Well, we already knew about Brian, of course. And if I hadn’t figured out Roger’s involvement the way I did, the fact that he drools over you every time you walk into the room would have clued me in.”

You groaned. “Aw, shit.”

“Fred knows, too. Just… so you’re aware.”

“Fantastic.”

“But I don’t think Brian and Roger know that we know. We haven’t exactly talked about it.”

“Wonderful.”

“Can I just ask…”

You finally lifted your head. “Yeah?”

John hesitated. “Are you… dating them?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “No. God, can you imagine? Dating both of them? I’d never get any sleep.”

John’s eyebrows went high in surprise, and he started laughing.

You gasped, clapping a hand over your mouth. “No, I didn’t mean it like that!” you cried, giggling. “I meant it would be stressful! I didn’t… No! John, stop it.” You gave him a light shove.

“Yeah, yeah, all right,” he said lightly, holding up his hands in defence.

“Don’t say it like that,” you scolded him, your mouth still twisted in a smile. “And we’re not dating. It’s just casual.”

“I was just asking. Seeing as you and Brian have kept this up for a while now, I just thought…”

“No,” you said. You were eager for this conversation to end. “Anyway,” you said, backing up down the hallway. “Like I said. Cupcakes. So.”

“I’ll get one on my way out,” John said. “I’m heading round to Ronnie’s in about ten minutes. I think Fred should be home soon.”

“All right.” You chuckled, and shook your head. “See you in ten minutes, then.”

“Yep,” John said, and you could hear the laughter in his voice. He disappeared back into his room.

“What happened down there?” Roger said, pointing down the hallway with an icing-spotted finger. He spied the icing, and licked it off.

“Oh, nothing,” you said with a smile and an exasperated sigh. “Just John being John. How are the cupcakes?”

“Very good,” Brian said, nodding appreciatively.

“Thank you.”

“Hey, can I show you something?” Roger said. He shoved the last third of his cupcake into his mouth. “On my guitar.”

“Eugh, Rog,” you said, screwing up your nose.

“Sorry.” He kept his mouth firmly closed, and then raised his eyebrows in question, pointing to his room.

“Yeah, sure,” you said, and left Brian to keep studying.

Roger seemed nervous as he strummed his guitar. John had left the house maybe fifteen minutes ago, and ever since he’d left, anxiety had begun radiating from Roger. The bits and pieces of the song he was writing were good, he really had a lovely voice, but you could tell his mind was halfway somewhere else.

“Did you want to talk about something?” you prodded gently. You were laid out on his bed, on your stomach, your arms acting as your pillow.

Roger sat near you, perched on the edge of the bed. He slipped his hand under the collar of his shirt, massaging his shoulder. “Um, er, not really,” he said unconvincingly. “I– Well, yes. But it’s me and Brian. Both of us, so.”

Your thoughts immediately took the most stress-inducing path of questioning. You sat up. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes!” Roger said immediately. “Yes. Very all right.”

“So…?”

“Ah, shit.” Roger put his guitar away. “Okay, I’ll get Brian.”

“Okay,” you said nervously.

“Please don’t stress,” Roger said. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, seriously. Just wait here.”

So you did, chewing on your bottom lip.

You could hear Roger and Brian hissing at each other as they came back to the room, although you couldn’t make out anything further.

And then they were in the room, and Brian was shooting mild daggers at Roger. “I just want to preface this conversation by saying that we’d decided to not talk about this tonight,” Brian said through gritted teeth.

“She asked,” Roger fired back.

“You could’ve just–” Brian sighed, rolling his eyes. “Whatever. It’s happening now, I suppose.”

Roger sat on the bed beside you, and Brian on your other side.

Your heart was in your throat. “What is this?” you asked.

“God, Rog, what did you say to her?” Brian said. He patted your knee comfortingly. “There’s nothing to stress about.”

“That’s what I said,” Roger said defensively.

“Can we just get on with it, please?” you said tersely.

“Of course.” Brian cleared his throat, and he and Roger exchanged glances. “Well, we’ve been… talking.”

“Doing that thing where we talk about our… feelings and stuff,” Roger said. “Y’know, so we don’t get pissed at each other.”

“As often,” Brian added.

“Right, yeah. Just being open and honest and all that stuff. Mainly when it comes to you, because you’re the one that gets hurt when we don’t get our shit together, and we don’t want that.”

You were surprised, to say the least. And a little touched. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Brian said. “I know, literally the bare minimum, but it’s… It doesn’t exactly…”

“Come natural,” Roger supplied, and Brian nodded sheepishly.

“But anyway,” Roger continued, “we’ve been having these conversations, la de dah, long story short, we have a proposition for you.”

You paused, looking between them. “A proposition?”

“Threesome.”

You blinked in shock.

Brian huffed. “You couldn’t have explained that a little more bluntly, could you, Rog?”

“We’ve dragged it out for long enough,” Roger grumbled.

“Obviously, it’s entirely up to you,” Brian said quickly. “But we’re both comfortable with it, and–”

“And we think it’d be really hot,” Roger added with a grin and a waggle of his eyebrows. “And Brian mentioned that you’d seemed interested in the idea, and that time we had him on the phone while we were together, we think that worked pretty well, and you were so good at handling both of us – like, really good.”

“And it doesn’t have to be today,” Brian said. “Clearly. Or soon, even, if you don’t want. We can lead up to it, maybe, if you like, or we’re both happy for it to happen spontaneously, or whatever. We just, um…”

“We want it,” Roger admitted. “Like. Bad.”

They looked at you expectantly.

You were still reeling. Surely you were dreaming. “When did you even talk about this?” you said, unable to think of anything else to ask.

“After you and me had Brian on the phone,” Roger said. “We just wanted to…” He looked to Brian.

“We wanted to make sure we were both fine with it,” Brian said. “No jealousy stuff, y’know.”

“And I did sort of spring that on him,” Roger said. “So I wanted to make sure I hadn’t crossed a line.”

“Which he hadn’t,” Brian added. “I, uh– It–” His cheeks went pink.

“He thought it was hot as fuck,” Roger said, dragging out the last word for comedic value, giving Brian a teasing grin.

“So did you,” Brian shot back in retaliation.

“Well, yeah,” Roger said, but you could tell he was a little embarrassed himself.

“Hold up,” you said.

They did.

“I’m just… processing still,” you said.

“You can say so if you don’t want it,” Brian said. “It’s fine.”

“Yeah,” Roger seconded.

You gave them both a bewildered look. “Are you dumb? Of course I want it. I’ve been dreaming about it for a month. I’m just processing the fact that you both want it. I mean, I’d come to the conclusion that it was never gonna happen, because as if you two would be comfortable seeing each other like that.”

“We have talked about that,” Roger said. “But we’re all right with it. We don’t want to… do anything with each other, but if it’s all about you, we’re cool with it. We want it.”

You took a deep breath in, and let it out slowly. “Holy shit,” you said with a laugh.

“Is that a… good ‘holy shit’?” Brian said hesitantly.

You blinked at him. “Um… yeah, yeah, it is. Wow. Okay. Like, yeah, yes. I am so on board.”

Brian and Roger grinned at each other, and then at you. “Nice,” Roger said happily.

“But not today,” you added.

“No, course not,” Brian said quickly, shaking his head. “You wanted a chill night, so it’s just going to be a chill night.”

“We can talk about it later,” Roger said. “We just wanted to ask.”

“Yeah, course,” you said.

A silence settled between the three of you, and, after some furtive glances and half-awkward, half-excited smiles, Brian said, “Right, I should really get back to studying, so…”

“Yes, go study,” you said.

“And I was thinking, maybe a game of Scrabble?” Roger suggested.

You made a face. Did you really feel up to getting into an argument over a board game? “What about a card game first?”

“Fine. You’ll join us later, Brian, yeah?”

“Yes,” Brian said.

“Promise?” you said.

Brian sighed. “Yes, I promise.”

“I’ll come get you in about an hour.”

“An hour?”

“Yes. Go on.”

“Two hours, at least.”

“An hour and a half. Final offer. Go study.”

Brian scowled. “Bastard,” he muttered, and left the room.

The next two or three weeks were wrought with tension. Due to scheduling conflicts – neither flat was free, last-minute study sessions, family birthday dinners – any normal opportunity to meet up with either of the boys had to be postponed. The most action you’d gotten was making out with Brian behind the science building at uni for all of five minutes.

If you hadn’t known that Brian was also not getting any action for those three weeks, the fact that he was almost fully hard after those five minutes – in public, near the loud and intrusive construction site, no less – was a very good indication.

It had been a few days shy of four weeks (a whole-ass month) when you decided that getting yourself off just wasn’t doing it for you anymore. You needed your boys.

Both of them.

Badly.

So you made a group chat.

please tell me next friday works for both of you

You stared at the phone, chewing your thumbnail, but neither of them were online at the moment. You threw your phone down beside you with a frustrated growl.

You didn’t get a response for another fifteen minutes, during which time you’d scrolled through a number of porn sites, but found nothing that was really doing it for you.

The response was from Brian. I can do the evening. What’s this for?

You rolled your eyes. take a guess

OH.

You chuckled.

I know Roger’s free, Brian said. He was just saying yesterday about how he was thinking of going out clubbing. Which means he doesn’t have anything.

tf is this chat, Roger said, immediately followed by, wait WAIT im dumb

so ur both free next friday night?

YES, Roger sent.

Very free, Brian added.

You got an idea, and clambered off your bed, racing to your wardrobe. You had to do this quickly, before the conversation ended, or you’d be left without any response, and, well, you couldn’t have that.

You could hear your phone vibrating on the bed as you scrambled to get changed into your lingerie. You only had the one outfit – it was maroon and lacy, with a push-up bra and garters attached to the panties – but you didn’t wear it often. You weren’t even sure Roger had seen you wearing it before. Oh, wait, maybe – but not for a while. Brian hadn’t seen you in it for months.

You checked your hair in the mirror – fine enough – and opened the messages.

From Brian: I don’t know if our flat is free that Friday.

Roger: i thought it was?

Brian: No, I don’t think so. Was it this Friday that Freddie was having Jim over, or next Friday?

Roger: oh shit yeah ur right, next friday. fuuuuuck. if this keeps happening i’m gonna die

Brian: You’re going to die from blue balls?

Roger: yes fuck u

Then Roger again, driving the point home: as if ur not dying rn i know u haven’t shagged any1 recently

Brian: And how do you know that?

Roger: i bloody know what it looks like in the way u walk when you’ve had a good night

Brian: The way I walk?

You let them bicker, taking the time instead to pose in front of the mirror. Sexy selfies weren’t something you were a world-class expert in, but you’d had some practice keeping two young men occupied for half a year. You knew what Brian and Roger liked to see, anyway.

When you were done, you opened the chat once more. They had stopped their argument, and were now asking after you, and whether your flat would be free.

yes it’s free, you said. all night

You sent them a couple of the photos you’d taken. think I should wear this? you added, smiling to yourself.

yesssssss holy fuck, Roger said.

Now you’re just being rude, Brian said.

Your phone buzzed – Brian had sent you a private message. God, you’re a tease. The shit I would do to you right now…

if u got something to say, say it in the group chat, you responded, feeling smug. ur gonna have to get used to roger hearing u dirty talk

Then you received a private message from Roger. thought id let u know I am definitely jerking off to those photos u sent later 2night. He added a kissy emoji at the end for good measure, and it made you laugh.

You sent a similar response to him as you’d sent to Brian.

Unsurprisingly, the group chat went very quiet.

You humphed, and put your phone away. If this was an indicator as to how Friday was going to go… Well. Maybe you had to rethink a few things.

You were just about to start doing your homework when your phone buzzed twice.

One message from Brian, and the other from Roger.

They’d copied and pasted the messages they’d sent to you privately, and sent them in the group chat.

You grinned. good boys, you sent.

The following Tuesday – T-minus three days – you received a text from out of the blue. It was from Kayla, a friend of a friend who you’d spoken to a handful of times, but got along with well. Hey girl! the text read. A group of us are going out tonight, just like luka, Priyanka, pat f and a couple others. Do u wanna come? we’d love to have u there! Pre-gaming is at mine at 9, it’ll be fun!

You shouldn’t. You knew you shouldn’t. There was no need to. And you didn’t know any of those people very well anyway. And you didn’t have the money to blow on a whole lot of booze anyway.

“I really shouldn’t,” you muttered to yourself.

yeah sure! you replied.

The minute the clock struck seven, and you realised that you now actually had to get ready, you deeply regretted your decision.

You were just crafting a text to let Kayla down, when your roommate Lucy knocked on your bedroom door.

“Come in,” you called.

She ducked her head in. She was half-dressed, wearing a skirt and her nice bra that you’d told her made her boobs look great. “Hey,” she said with a smile, leaning against the doorjamb. “I don’t suppose you heard from Kayla today?”

“Oh, yeah,” you said, surprised. “She invited me out tonight, why?”

“I asked her to,” Lucy said. “You’re coming, right?”

“You did?” you said.

“Yeah,” Lucy said. “We haven’t been out in forever, I thought it’d be nice. Did you say yes?”

“I… did,” you said unsurely. “That’s weird, she didn’t mention you.”

Lucy shrugged. “Are you gonna start getting ready soon, or…?”

You grimaced. “I dunno if I feel like it now.”

“No, you have to come,” Lucy pleaded. “Come on, please? I’ve been trying to hook up with Priyanka Din for weeks now and I’m so hopeless and I need a wingwoman. Please? Please please please please plea–”

“Jesus, all right!” you cut in with a laugh. “All right, you’ve convinced me.”

“Yes!” Lucy whooped. “Start getting ready, I don’t want to miss pre-gaming.”

You and Lucy made it to Kayla’s dorm, all dolled up, at around half past nine, drinks in hand – well, concealed. You were technically on uni property right now.

“Do you think Pri’s gonna be there?” Lucy murmured as you waited for your knock to be answered.

“Yeah, Kayla said she would,” you said. “Don’t stress, Luce.”

“Yeah, but, like, what if she’s not there yet?”

“Then she’ll come soon enough.” You gave her a smile. “I’m sure she likes you.”

Lucy gave you a nervous smile back. “I hope so.”

The door opened, and a guy whose name you remembered as Dan said, “Oh, hey! Welcome! Come on in.”

He was clearly already tipsy.

You and Lucy headed in. There was music playing, although not too loud, and a healthy handful of people all crowded into the main area. You recognised a few faces, but not all. You spied Priyanka Din near the window.

Kayla saw you two, and leapt to her feet, hurrying over. “Thanks for coming, guys!” she said chirpily, wrapping you and Lucy into a hug. “Come sit down! If you wanna smoke, please do it out of a window, I don’t want to get in trouble. That includes weed.”

You had a water bottle with you, and in it was a strong mix of vodka lemonade. Lucy had two cans of beer hidden in her jacket, and she pulled them out and cracked one open. You nudged her, and gestured subtly to Priyanka. “Go talk to her.”

Lucy’s eyes went wide, and she turned away. “Oh my God, I can’t.”

“No wonder you haven’t hooked up with her,” you said with a laugh. “Go on!”

“I need at least a whole beer inside me first.”

“Then get drinking.”

She responded by taking a huge swig.

You took a sip of your concoction, and made a face. Maybe you’d gone a little too heavy on the vodka.

There was another knock at the door, and Kayla exclaimed, “I’ll get it!” and hopped to her feet, tottering in her heels to the door.

You decided to find somewhere to sit down, and surveyed your options. Ah, there was that girl from your Thursday morning lecture. What was her name? Alice? You could talk to her.

“Oh my God, hi!” Kayla cried from the door as you began picking your way through the clumps of people. “I’m so glad you could make it!”

“Of course, darling, you thought I’d miss it?”

You knew that voice anywhere. You perked up, and turned around.

Kayla was walking back into the room, hanging off Freddie’s arm.

“Freddie!” you said.

He blinked at you like he’d seen a ghost. “Good Lord, what the hell are you doing here?”

You went over to him, and he crushed you in a hug. “Oh, I’ve missed you.”

“You saw me last week,” you giggled.

“Feels like longer.”

He let you go, but kept his arms around your waist. “I didn’t know you knew Kayla.”

“I don’t know her that well,” you confessed. “I was surprised to be invited tonight, to be honest. How do you know her?”

“Oh, I know everyone,” Freddie said.

“Ah, yes, how could I forget,” you said.

Freddie turned towards the door, which had been left open. “The others should be here in a minute.”

“The others?”

“Yes. I don’t know if Deaky’s coming, he said he’ll see, but your two boy toys should be here any minute. They just had to stop off on the way to buy some bourbon or something.”

Your heart thudded in your chest. “They’re not my boy toys,” you said with a laugh that you hoped was light and casual.

Freddie gave you a withering look. “What’s a better term, then? Devotees? Loyal servants?”

You slapped his chest. “Don’t be rude.”

“Am I wrong?”

You rolled your eyes, not even bothering to answer, and he grinned. “They’re going to be infinitely pleased to see you here. Especially when you’re looking like that.”

You glanced down at your outfit. It wasn’t anything too special, just chunky sneakers with cute shorts and a crop top. You’d opted for something comfortable rather than glamorous. But it was nice that Freddie thought you looked good.

You glanced over to Lucy. She was chatting to Kayla, and frantically trying to down her beer as quickly as she could, throwing furtive glances over at Priyanka.

“What’s the matter?” Freddie asked, letting go of your waist and slinging an arm over your shoulders.

“Oh, Lucy’s desperately in love with Priyanka Din,” you muttered, taking a sip of your drink. Freddie held out his hand, and you passed it over. He took a sip, and made a mild choking sound.

“Fucking hell, darling, that’s disgusting,” he wheezed, handing it back.

“I know, too much vodka,” you lamented.

“Too much cheap vodka.”

You screwed up your nose at him. “Fussy.”

“You can keep that entire drink to yourself. I doubt anyone will be trying to steal any of it all night! Lucky you.”

“You’re being rude again,” you muttered, and Freddie laughed.

You heard the front door close, and both of you turned to see Roger and Brian. “Nice of you to show up!” Freddie crowed. “And look what the cat dragged in!”

He stepped aside to gesture broadly to you.

Both Brian and Roger froze where they stood. “Oh,” Brian said, his eyes sweeping your body. “Hi.”

You waved. “Hi.”

“It’s not Friday already, is it?” Roger said suddenly, and you almost burst out laughing.

Freddie frowned. “Friday? No, darling, it’s Tuesday.”

Roger pressed his lips together, his face going red. “Oh, yeah,” he said in a small voice.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” Brian added, moving closer to you.

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” you said.

“You know what I mean.” He wrapped you in a hug. “Hello.”

“Hello.”

“You look great,” Roger said, giving you a hug of his own. He held out his hand. “Can I have a sip?”

“I wouldn’t,” Freddie said, as you passed over your bottle.

Roger took a swig, and made a bit of a face, but then shrugged. “It’s not that bad.”

“God, I live with a goblin,” Freddie sighed.

For the next forty minutes or so, you could almost feel Roger’s and Brian’s eyes never leaving you. It was obvious they’d done the maths – you were here, and Lucy was here, which meant that your flat was free, possibly for another few hours.

But they were holding back, as you were. No one had established exactly what kind of mood they were in – you didn’t know if either Brian or Roger would be down for a spontaneous threesome, and you weren’t even sure if you were ready yourself. So there the three of you were, sneaking curious glances at each other, simultaneously trying to assess your own feelings and thoughts and trying to assess theirs, playing the line between I’m staying friendly so I don’t make you feel pressured if you’re not up for anything and I want you to know that I’m at least interested in possibly doing something more.

It was a complicated dance. One that could have very easily been solved with a conversation, but a conversation meant giving weight to something that none of you were sure was something worth giving weight to.

It was hard enough with two people involved. Three was a whole other game.

You couldn’t tell if the alcohol made things better or worse. You weren’t drunk, but you were certainly tipsy, all fuzzy and warm, and you noted that Brian and Roger had had a few drinks of their own.

It all came to a head when you emerged from the bathroom. Brian was there, the only one in the hall, clearly hoping to catch you alone. “Hey,” he said lowly, and there was no guesswork involved in his tone of voice.

You smiled, stepping in close to him. “Hey,” you said. You tilted your head to the side, watching his face, as he was watching yours.

Then he leant in for a kiss, and you returned it without hesitation. One arm curled around the small of your back, the other cupped the back of your neck, his thumb against your jaw. You hooked your fingers into the loops of his jeans, pulling him closer, and he moved forward, pushing you against the wall in response.

Heat immediately pooled in your gut, and Brian pressed his hips against yours, deepening the kiss.

Then a voice at the end of the hall interrupted things. “Oh, um.”

Not quite an apology, but not quite not an apology, either. You and Brian broke apart to see Roger hovering. Not quite leaving, but not quite not leaving.

“Guess, uh, Brian got in first,” Roger added with a cheeky grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes. He pointed a thumb back to the living area. “I’ll, uh…”

You let go of Brian, and held out your hand to Roger.

Roger immediately dropped the façade with an air of relief, striding over to you. Brian stepped back, just a little, to give you room as Roger cupped your face. He kissed you breathless, with that delicious kind of restraint he used on you all the time was so very him and made you weak in the knees.

Eventually, you broke apart. “Yeah?” you said in questioning, nodding to Roger.

He nodded in return. “Yeah. Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You looked to Brian. “Yeah?”

Brian nodded too, to you and to Roger. “Yeah, uh-huh.” He stepped in close again, capturing your lips with his, and Roger happily went to your neck.

The combination of them both, of Brian’s hand on your cheek and Roger’s on your back, of Brian’s roughness, the sting of his teeth as he nipped at your lips and of Roger’s lips and tongue like velvet against your throat, made you feel heady, overwhelmed in the best way. You made a soft sound, and both boys, so finely tuned to you, your body, every sound you made, responded in kind – Brian’s hand slid around to bury itself in your hair, and Roger’s hand slid up the front of your shirt, thumb stroking along the skin just underneath your bra.

You decided to switch, breaking from Brian, and Roger immediately lifted his head to kiss your mouth; Brian instead dropped his hand from your cheek to your throat, just resting it there, applying the smallest amount of pressure, and he nibbled at your earlobe. His other hand went to your hip, his thumb digging into the flesh just above your hipbone.

You made another sound, a gentle whine in the back of your throat. Brian knew that meant to choke you a little harder, but Roger drew back and murmured, “What do you want, sweetheart?”

Brian kissed your cheek, trying to get your attention, but your head was already swimming. Between having two boys dote on you, plus a hand squeezing your throat, your thoughts were already starting to grow incoherent.

Then Roger spied Brian’s hand on your throat, just as you automatically turned your head to Brian and he kissed you.

“Whoa, Brian,” Roger said loudly. “What are you trying to do, make her pass out?”

Brian barely moved his mouth from yours. “I know what I’m doing, Roger,” he said, and, as if to demonstrate, squeezed a little harder still, making you let out a whine that was most definitely too loud for your current circumstance. Your head fell back against the wall, your eyes closing, feeling your core throb, and you heard Brian say, “See? I can’t believe you’ve never done this with her before. She fucking loves it.”

“Shit,” Roger breathed in amazement. “No, I– I had no idea.”

You clenched your thighs together. “Daddy, please,” you said in a small voice.

“Oh, good girl,” Brian said, sounding infinitely pleased.

“She could’ve meant me,” Roger said.

Brian snorted. “You’re not the one choking her, are you?”

“She could want me to,” Roger countered.

You made an impatient sound.

“Shit, sorry,” Brian said, and eased his hand away.

Just like always, you felt a rush go through your body. Is this what it felt like to do coke? Because you sure felt like you’d just done a line of coke. “You two need to stop bitch-fighting,” you said, breathing heavily, “and take me home, so you can fuck me.”

Brian and Roger nodded. “We can do that,” Roger said.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Brian said. “Right now.”

It had taken some wheedling and needling to leave. Lucy had glared at you in betrayal, so you’d begged for Freddie to take your place as wingman. He’d agreed, but he told you he didn’t want this to become a habit, the three of you sneaking off like this. He’d also added with a wink, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

It was a bus ride back to yours, and you felt giddy with excitement. It was late, so it was a ridiculously long wait, but you were well and truly kept entertained, and, thankfully, you were mostly alone, apart from a smattering of other students sprinkled along the kerb. Brian and Roger could barely keep their hands off you. Every so often one of them would kiss you, just for a moment, like they just couldn’t help themselves.

You realised that the three of you were most certainly making a bit of a scene, as much as you were trying not to. The alcohol made you all talk a little bit louder than you normally would, laugh a little bit more carelessly. Made it a little bit harder to stop touching each other.

Finally, the bus arrived. Roger got in first, sliding in beside you, and Brian sat in front, twisting around, resting his forearms on the back of the seat. The banter between them was sharp, spitting. They were just as excited as you were, and you could hear it in the way they bickered with each other and flirted shamelessly with you.

Roger’s hand curled around your inner thigh. Not too high up that it was wildly inappropriate – although it could perhaps be classified as somewhat inappropriate – but high enough that it was distracting for you, and made you push your legs slightly further apart.

Brian could barely keep his eyes off Roger’s hand. Maybe it was your thigh. Maybe it was both.

Either way, you couldn’t wait to start tearing off clothes as soon as you walked in the door.

“Hurry up,” Roger said as you struggled with the key into your flat.

“I’m trying, it always gets stuck,” you grunted.

Brian pushed your hair out of the way to kiss your neck.

“Oh, God, not helping,” you moaned weakly, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

Roger huffed. “Here.” He batted your hands away and frantically fiddled with the key. You leant back into Brian, and his hands came to rest on your waist. He sucked a bruise into your skin, and your breath caught.

“Got it!” Roger exclaimed, all but shoulder-barging the door open. He grabbed your hand, and you grabbed Brian’s, and Roger towed you inside. Brian closed the door behind you, and Roger whirled around and kissed you.

“God,” he moaned in between kisses. “It’s – been so long – since – I’ve – had sex.”

You had to break away to laugh, and Roger laughed too. “I mean it,” he said. “Like, a whole month.”

“Pretty sure it’s been a whole month for all of us,” Brian said. “Can we move out of the doorway?”

It was a journey to the bedroom. The boys kept pawing and grabbing at you eagerly, their hands all over your body. If one of them kissed you, the other would press themselves up behind you and kiss your neck and slide their hands up your shirt. Brian even went so far as to slide your shorts off, and you kicked them away when they pooled at your ankles. Roger took your shirt off next, before pressing you against a wall and grinding against you, growling into your ear how badly he wanted you. They were stripping themselves as well as they went, and by the time you eventually made it to your bedroom, you were all in your underwear, a trail of discarded clothes littering the floor behind you.

Brian all but shoved you down onto the bed, and you bounced when you hit the mattress, giggling.

“Hey,” Roger said in reprimand, “be nice.”

“This is me being nice,” Brian said. “I haven’t called her a bastard once this whole time.”

“It’s true, he’s being a saint,” you said.

Roger shot you both a slightly bewildered look, but then blew a raspberry, shrugging. “All right, whatever works for you guys, I guess.”

Brian climbed onto the bed, on all fours above you. “But you are a bastard,” he whispered, “and you’re the worst person I know.”

You grinned. “Thanks.”

He kissed you, but just a short one, and then he pulled back again. “Hey, you, uh, called me ‘Daddy’ earlier,” he said, his voice lilting upwards at the end, almost in questioning. “Would that be…?”

“What are you two whispering about?” Roger said. “Don’t leave me out.” He hopped onto the bed, not-so-subtly shouldering Brian as he crawled his way to your side, lying down, propping his head up on his hand. Brian shot him a glare, but it didn’t hold much heat.

“Brian’s just asking if I feel like calling him Daddy,” you explained.

“Oh, yeah, I was wondering the same thing,” Roger said. He placed a finger under your chin, tilting your face towards his. “What do you think?”

His voice was lower, softer. His I’m in control voice. It made you shiver.

“I dunno,” you said unsurely. “Both of you?”

“It’s up to you,” Brian said. But you could very easily tell what he was hoping you’d decide.

“Could be fun,” Roger said. His fingers trailed lightly down your throat, between your breasts, down over your stomach. “It’s been a while since we’ve done it. I dunno about you and Brian.”

“No, it’s been a while,” Brian said.

Roger’s fingers danced along the waistband of your panties, and you shifted, swallowing heavily.

You let out a slightly breathless chuckle. “I don’t think you two realise just how differently you two operate in this dynamic,” you said. “You sure you’ll be able to handle it?”

“Sure it’s not that different,” Roger said.

“You’d be surprised.”

“Would you be able to handle it?” Brian said. “Wouldn’t be too much?”

“I can adapt,” you said.

Roger grinned. “So that’s a yes?”

You bit your lip. Roger’s fingers slipped into your panties, just his fingertips, and your breath caught. You nodded.

Roger’s grin widened. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Yes, Daddy, I’d like to try,” you breathed.

“What’s the safeword?”

“Macca.”

“And what’s ours?” Brian said.

“Nickleback.”

“Good.” Brian sat back, sitting in your lap, and looked to Roger. “Do you want a go first?”

“Doing what?” Roger said.

“I dunno, fucking her?”

Roger snorted. “What? No, we can’t fuck her right away. We have to savour it, y’know? Lead up to it?”

Brian shrugged. “We’ll just fuck her more than once.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” you said wryly.

“No,” Brian said, and you snorted a laugh.

“You’re not talking back, are you?” Roger said, his tone leaving no room for protests.

You shook your head. “No, Daddy, sorry. I’ll be quiet.”

Brian looked flabbergasted. “What?”

“What?” Roger said. “Sorry, did you want to tell her off? Shouldn’t have overstepped, my bad.”

“No, she listened to you,” Brian said, gesturing to you accusingly. “I can barely get her to shut up.”

Roger frowned. “Just tell her to be quiet, then.”

“She doesn’t listen to me!”

Roger’s face lit up in understanding. “Oh, right, yes, I remember. She was quite the brat the first time we did it. Weren’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy, I was,” you said.

“And then I got you to behave, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“And now you’re perfect, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Your heart was racing at the praise. “Just for you, all for you.”

Brian spluttered. “Excuse me? Why aren’t you well-behaved for me?”

You made a face. “I am. Most of the time.”

“You’re the brattiest motherfucker…”

“I am good for you!” you said. “I do what you say.”

“Well, you’re never that good,” Brian said, pointing at Roger. “Where’s my ‘yes Daddy’, ‘sorry Daddy’?”

“Up your ass,” you muttered.

Even Roger laughed at that, while Brian scowled. He climbed off you, and threw you a two-fingered salute. “Shove that up your arse,” he said.

“Dude, come on,” you giggled, as Brian crossed his arms. “Brian.”

You sat up and shuffled closer, sitting up on your haunches, reaching for Brian’s wrist, tugging at it until he uncrossed his arms. “Don’t be like that.”

“Yeah, come on, Brian,” Roger said.

You gently pulled Brian closer, to the edge of the bed. “You can be such a baby sometimes,” you teased, grinning at him.

“Don’t call me a fucking baby,” he mumbled.

“Then stop acting like one.” You took his hand, placed it on your cheek, blinking up at him. He pressed his thumb to your lips, almost as if instinctively, and you bit at it playfully. He watched you with dark eyes.

“Can I suck you off, Daddy?” you asked, softly.

He shivered. “I think I could be convinced to let you do that. If you really want to.”

You heard Roger make an unimpressed sound behind you, a half-grumbled you must be joking, and Brian’s mouth twitched as he smothered a smile.

All right. You could play along. “I really want to, Daddy. Please.”

Brian cocked his head to the side, squinting in thought. “Hmm…”

“I need it, I love it so much. My mouth feels empty without it.” Okay, maybe you were going a little overboard. But you could hear Roger trying to muffle giggles behind you, and Brian’s eyes were alive with amusement, so you kept going. “I think about it all the time. I’ve missed it so much. I haven’t sucked your cock in so long, I’m so desperate, Daddy, please. I need your huge–” You failed to suppress a laugh. “Your huge, ginormous cock in my mouth.” You pulled Brian even closer by his skinny hips, and, keeping your eyes on his, mouthed at his dick through his underwear.

You felt it twitch, and Brian’s eyes went a little wider, and suddenly he didn’t look like he was laughing anymore. He breathed in shakily, his thumb now brushing over your cheek. “You want it?” he asked in a low voice.

You nodded, and pressed your tongue against the head. “Yeah. Want it.”

“Can I go next?” Roger piped up from behind.

You shot him a glance over your shoulder. “Sure, you can have a turn next.”

“Yes,” he hissed.

“But you can suck Brian off any time. You live together.”

Roger recoiled. “That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Rog, stop distracting her,” Brian said.

“Oh, I see, you’re allowed to have a big old sulk in the middle of a threesome, and now you’re about to get your dick sucked, but I ask when I’m getting some attention–”

“I did not have a ‘big old sulk’, thank you.”

“You did! That’s exactly what you did, you utter prick, and now you’re getting rewarded for it.”

“Rewarded,” Brian scoffed. “I’m not getting rewarded, I’m– oh, shit.”

You’d decided to end the argument by wrenching Brian’s underwear down to his knees and sucking him into your mouth in one fluid movement.

His other hand flew to your hair, and you felt him start to quickly harden in your mouth. “Fuck, good girl,” he moaned, and you whimpered.

Despite your joking around, you had missed this. Hearing Brian’s gasps and choked-off moans, his murmured encouragement.

You felt Roger sidle up behind you after not too long, felt his hands smooth down your sides, over your thighs, as he peppered kisses to your shoulder and upper back. “I don’t mean to distract you,” he whispered, “but I am kinda freaking out about how Brian’s dick is literally right there, it’s so near my face.”

You choked out a laugh, and Brian huffed. “Roger, shut up.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Roger said with a laugh, and he went back to kissing your skin, and you went back to sucking Brian off.

You felt yourself growing wetter, and you squeezed your thighs together, drawing Brian in as deep as you could go, making him hiss.

“Oh, feeling a bit needy, huh?” Roger murmured. One of his hands slid into your underwear.

He moaned. “Brian, she’s so wet,” he said.

Brian’s hips jerked forward, and you gagged a little. He rushed out, “Sorry, sorry, fuck.”

“You’re fine, sweetheart, just breathe,” Roger said soothingly, as he started to rub your clit. “You’re doing so well. No one else has touched you in so long, huh?”

You pulled off Brian to catch your breath, jerking him off with your hand. You kept your eyes on him, but you responded to Roger. “No, Daddy,” you panted.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, you don’t have to answer me, just focus on your other Daddy, all right?”

You shuddered, and Brian whispered, “Fuck.”

“Thank you,” you said, and swallowed Brian down again.

Roger took the opportunity to unclasp your bra with one hand, helping you slide your arms out. He dropped the bra beside Brian on the floor, and kissed your neck. One hand still circled your clit, the other now pinching and tugging at your nipples. “God, I’ve missed your tits,” he growled.

You automatically pushed your hips into Roger’s hand, but he pulled away. You whined.

“Fuck, I dunno how much longer I’m gonna last,” Brian groaned.

You pulled off him again, giving him a break, lapping at his head, running your tongue up his shaft.

Roger teased your entrance with his finger, but didn’t press in, just continued teasing your clit. You were running purely on muscle memory, focusing on nothing else but the mounting pleasure in your core.

“Look at you,” Roger breathed. “I’ve barely even touched you and you’re already getting close to coming all over my fingers.”

You let Brian go, arching back into Roger. “Fuck,” you said, your voice high and breathy.

Roger’s hips jerked against the small of your back. His hand let go of your chest to come to rest against your throat, and you moaned helplessly.

“I wouldn’t try choking her if you’ve never done it before,” Brian warned. “You have to do it properly or you’re gonna kill her.”

Oh, fuck, but what a way to go.

“Wasn’t going to,” Roger said. His fingers started rubbing faster, with more purpose, no longer just teasing, and you squirmed in his grip.

“Please let me come, please,” you whimpered.

Brian started leisurely stroking himself. “Christ,” he said. “She looks…”

“I know,” Roger said. “And she’s all ours. Can you believe it?”

“Not in the slightest.” Brian never took his eyes off you. “You gonna let her come?”

Roger’s fingers slowed down, back to teasing, and you twitched. “No, Daddy, please, please,” you sobbed.

“You think I should?” Roger asked casually, like he was asking if he should get pizza for dinner.

Brian shuddered, gripping the base of his cock. “Tease her for a bit more. I want her to come while she’s sucking me off, but if she starts doing it now I’m gonna come, like, immediately. Fucking hell.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you ground out.

Roger’s hand stopped, and your hips bucked forward, trying to find friction again. “Hey, don’t be smart with him,” Roger said sharply. “You try that shit again, you’re not coming at all, understood?”

You made a pathetic noise of protest, but nodded. “Yes, Daddy, I’m sorry.”

“Apologise to him, not to me.”

You looked up Brian. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

Brian bit his lip. “I could get used to having you well-behaved like this. Touch her tits, Rog.”

“Don’t fuckin’ boss me around, thanks,” Roger said, but he did as Brian told him to, moving his hand from your throat back to your chest, playing with your nipples.

“Now, you’re gonna keep sucking my dick,” Brian said, gripping your jaw in his hand. Roger brushed his lips down your throat, pressing a single kiss to where your neck met your shoulder. “And your other Daddy’s gonna touch you until you come everywhere like you clearly so desperately need to.”

Roger ground against you, moaning low in the back of his throat.

“But I don’t want to come just yet,” Brian continued. Your eyelashes fluttered, and he gripped your jaw more firmly. “Listen. Are you listening?”

You hummed in confirmation. You were listening. But it was hard. There was so much happening to distract you.

“I don’t want to come yet,” Brian said again. “So if I get too close, you’re going to stop sucking my dick, but that means that Roger stops touching you. Which means, if you’re going to come, you have to do it quick, otherwise who knows how long we’ll make you wait. Understand?”

You nodded.

“Roger, do you think she gets it?”

“Hard to tell.” Roger’s hand snuck in between your legs again, his touch light over your underwear, and you moaned desperately. “Explain to me what Brian just said, sweetheart.”

“I…” Your breathing was ragged. “I have to – come before Daddy does, otherwise I– I won’t get to come at all.”

“Good girl. Go on, get going, then.”

You leant forward and swallowed Brian down, and Roger resumed touching you, making you whine. You were pretty sure Roger’s hand was a gift to you from God himself.

It was more than a little difficult to focus on your task when you were so close to an orgasm. You could tell you were sloppy, drooling all over Brian’s cock, your hand jerking him off irregularly, your jaw aching. But you could also tell he was holding back, his chest heaving, his skin shining with a thin layer of sweat. You were so close to coming, so close, but you didn’t think you were close enough. You just needed something more, something inside you, and you normally were perfectly happy with coming from clit stimulation alone, but tonight you just needed, you needed–

Brian wrenched you away, panting out, “Fuck, fuck, oh fuck, ah.” He gripped the base of his cock. “Jesus Christ, I almost f– fucking came, oh God I’m so close.”

Roger’s hands were gone from you entirely, and you collapsed forward, bracing your knees, your body twitching as it searched for its release but came up empty. “No, no,” you whined. “No, I was…”

“You were too slow, is what you were,” Brian said. “Oh my God.”

“Sweetheart,” Roger said from behind you, “come here.”

You turned around on all fours, shakily, to find Roger sitting up against your pillow, one hand raking through his hair. He raised his eyebrows expectantly at you. “Don’t make me say it again.”

“Sorry, Daddy,” you said automatically, and crawled over to him. You sat down beside him, your hands in your lap, gnawing on your lip. You hoped you weren’t going to get reprimanded for not coming soon enough.

Roger sighed, and wrapped his hand around the back of your neck, pulling you in closer, then slid to your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “What to do with you,” he murmured.

“Maybe get her naked?” Brian suggested dryly. He’d taken his underwear off completely, and was joining you on the bed. “Do something with her, so I can fuck her, because I am genuinely at my wit’s end.”

You licked the tip of Roger’s thumb, and his eyes flicked to you in thought. “I’m gonna make her come, I reckon.”

“What, you think she deserves it? After that?”

“I’m gonna make her come,” Roger said again, lying you down on your back, “and then you’re gonna make her come.”

Brian was sceptical. “Why?”

“Because I miss hearing the sounds she makes,” Roger said simply. “And I want to get my mouth on her.”

Brian’s eyes lit up. “Huh,” he said.

“And sure, I think she deserves it. Wasn’t her fault you were so close to creaming yourself.”

Brian narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything as Roger lay you down and sat between your legs. You watched with bated breath as you lifted your hips so he could slide your panties down your legs, tossing them away.

“Fucking perfect,” he breathed, staring at your dripping cunt. He looked to Brian. “Changed your mind yet?”

Brian swallowed heavily, his eyes drinking in your naked body. “Maybe,” he mumbled.

You went to press your thighs together, but Roger caught you, pushing your knees apart, flat on the bed. “Ah-ah-ah, I don’t think so,” he said. “You’re keeping them nice and open, all right?”

You nodded, and then remembered your rule, so you blurted out, “Yes, I understand.”

“Good,” Roger said, and then settled on his stomach. “Brian, go kiss her.”

“You’re not allowed to tell me what to do, either,” Brian muttered, but crawled further up your body and leant over you, kissing you deeply.

Roger’s lips and tongue were on your thighs, soft, and adoring, almost, and it made your body tremble. You tried not to complain about how slowly he was going, but soon you started to squirm a little, whining into Brian’s mouth impatiently, gripping his hair. Brian broke the kiss to pin your wrists by your head. “Stop whingeing,” he said.

You pouted, and your back arched a touch as Roger drew even closer to where you needed him most.

Brian let your wrists go, and lightly caressed your body, his eyes never leaving your face. You gritted your teeth, but, Christ, this was torture.

Then Roger’s breath was fanning over you, and your breath was coming in short pants, and Brian’s hand was drifting ever-closer to your throat, and you thought you might die right then and there, but then Roger licked into you, and Brian’s hand closed around your throat, and you thought you might die for an entirely different reason.

One of your hands immediately flew to Roger’s hair, the other to Brian’s wrist, and you blurted out, “Thank you, Daddy, thank you, please.”

Brian blinked at you in confusion, and he twisted to look at Roger, who was eating you out like you were his last meal on Earth. “Is the thanking thing you?”

Roger nodded, humming against you, and you twitched, gasping.

Brian looked back to you, shaking his head a little. “Can’t believe you thank him just for touching you,” he said under his breath, but focused back on task, his grip tightening, making your head swim.

Roger could feel the way your body shifted under Brian’s grip, and he ramped things up, sliding a finger into you, focusing his tongue on your clit. You instinctively rolled your hips against his face, tugging on his hair, making him moan, which in turn shot a bolt of arousal through your blood.

You whined.

Brian squeezed a little tighter, and your mouth fell open. You weren’t struggling to breathe – Brian was an expert at this by now – but it was almost as if you could feel the air dragging against your oesophagus. You wanted to tell him how good it felt, but the effort to do was suddenly overwhelming. All you could do was strengthen your grip on his wrist.

Roger worked a second finger into you, pumping them in and out, and you made a choked sound. You looked up at Brian pleadingly – it was a face Brian knew well, and he leant down to kiss the corner of your lips. “She’s so close, Rog,” he said. Then to you: “I bet it feels so good, having someone hold you down by your throat while someone else goes down on you. You’ve been dreaming about this for months, haven’t you? How many times have you pictured this? Made yourself come thinking about us doing this to you, and you have no control whatsoever?” He nipped at your earlobe, and you yanked Roger’s hair even harder. He moaned, crooking his fingers, searching for your G-spot.

“You look perfect,” Brian added. “Like you were born to do this. Maybe next time I’ll hold you down and fuck your throat while Roger eats you out.”

He let your throat go. You felt like you were about to explode. Then Roger found your G-spot, and he pressed down on it, and your orgasm crashed through you, your body twitching. Roger coaxed you through it, gently, until you made a small sound, and he kissed your thigh and withdrew his fingers. You let go of his hair with stiff fingers.

“I missed the sound you make when you come,” he said with a contented hum, kissing your thigh again. “And you pulling my hair, missed that too.”

Brian ducked his head to kiss your throat. “Tell me when I can have my turn,” he murmured against your skin.

You laughed weakly. “I’m still…” You took a few gulping breaths. “Still recovering from that, Bri.”

“I know.”

Roger wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and crawled up to your other side, hovering above you, and drew you in for a messy kiss. “What do you say?” he said.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you sighed.

“So weird,” Brian muttered. His hand smoothed down your front, to your hip, and he bit at your throat, pressing his thumb into your hip.

You allowed yourself to get lost in the kiss with Roger, tasting yourself on his tongue and lips.

You wondered, briefly, if you had actually died, and gone to Heaven. Could that have happened? Could you be in Heaven right now? Because it sure as fucking hell felt like it.

Brian’s fingers started creeping towards your thighs, and you could tell he was starting to get impatient by how he was most certainly sucking a hickey into your neck. But you didn’t want to break your kiss with Roger, so you just reached down and took his wrist, tugging it between your legs.

Brian lapped at the hickey, soothing it. “You ready?” he said, and you nodded, then deepened your kiss with Roger, who happily obliged.

Brian began kissing down your body – far more quickly than Roger had kissed your thighs – and lay down between your thighs. He wrapped his arms around your thighs and yanked you closer to him, making you yelp and bump noses with Roger. Roger breathed out sharply in a small huff of exasperation, and shuffled further down, capturing your lips again.

Brian’s mouth was needy and reverent, his tongue pressing into your entrance, his nose nudging your clit.

You sighed, and Roger smiled against your mouth, then moved his kisses along your jaw, down your throat, along your collarbone, down to your chest. His tongue dragged over your nipple as Brian slid two fingers into at once, and you let out a shaky cry.

Brian’s fingertips found your G-spot with ease, and he massaged it as his tongue swirled around your clit. Your stomach dropped, and you could rapidly feel yourself climbing again.

“Yes, just like that,” you panted, rolling your hips. “So good, Daddy.”

Roger switched his mouth to your other nipple, and you raked your hand through his hair. Brian pushed a third finger into you, and sped up, fucking you a little faster, his mouth working a little harder.

“Fuck,” you moaned, and Brian took it as a cue to step it up even more.

“Oh, fuck,” you said. “Fuck, I’m close.”

Roger’s kisses remained soft, and he kissed the valley between your breasts, then back up your throat. “You gonna come for us again?” he said, kissing your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. “Come on, sweetheart, let go. Wanna see you come apart.”

You sobbed, and Brian sucked on your clit, then you tumbled over the edge once again, and Roger swallowed your cry.

You’d barely come back to yourself when Brian started biting and sucking at your inner thigh. You managed a smile. Brian could never pass up the opportunity to mark you up.

“How long do you think you’ll need to recover?” Roger asked, sitting back.

You shook your head, then winced when Brian bit down particularly hard. “Uh, a few minutes at most. I’ll be sensitive, though, so it might be a bit harder for me to come again.”

“That’s fine,” Roger said. “We’ll just have to work harder. Isn’t that right, Brian?”

Brian lifted his head. “What?”

“I said, dearest, we’ll just have to work a bit harder.”

“At what?”

“Making me come again,” you explained.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Brian said. He surveyed his work, and then pressed a kiss to where your thigh was throbbing. “Fuck, that looks hot,” he said approvingly.

“You’re not even naked yet, Rog,” you said, plucking at the waistband of his underwear.

He grinned. “Wanna take them off for me?”

He shuffled back, and you sat up. Brian took the opportunity to surge forward and steal a kiss, then sit beside you, still keeping an eye on your thigh hickey, looking proud of himself.

Roger went onto his knees, and you dropped a light kiss to his stomach, then worked his underwear down to his knees. He was half-hard, and you let him sit back to kick his underwear away, then nudged him back onto his knees. You kept eye contact with him as you let a string of saliva fall from your lips into your hand, then slid your fist up and down his cock a few times, then brought your mouth to the tip to suckle at it.

Roger moaned, and it caught Brian’s attention. He pressed up close to you, pressing his teeth into your shoulder.

You resisted rolling your eyes at his neediness, then held out your free hand. “Spit,” you said to him, and he did, then you reached down and started jerking him off, and returned to Roger simultaneously.

Brian curled his fingers around your wrist, helping guide you into a good rhythm, which you appreciated – it was hard to keep track of what you were doing. There was no talking now; the only sounds in the room were the boys panting and moaning, occasionally swearing, and you lightly sucking Roger off, the slick sound of you jerking them off.

You worked them both until they were fully hard, Brian basically pawing at you in desperation, Roger trying not to buck his hips.

“I need to fuck you,” Roger moaned. “I need to fuck you right now, Jesus.”

“We both do,” Brian said, a touch irritably.

“You’ve already just about come,” Roger countered. “I’ve only barely got my undies off.”

Brian sighed heavily. “Ugh, all right, then,” he grumbled.

Roger stopped your hand, guided your head away, and dropped onto his haunches, kissing you. “How d’you want me, sweetheart?” he asked.

“I don’t mind,” you said. “Whatever you want.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“How about riding me, would you wanna ride me? I’ve missed seeing you bouncing in my lap.”

You bit your lip. “Mm, yeah, sounds good to me.”

Roger kissed you again. “Just getting the stuff,” he said. “Keep Brian entertained so he doesn’t start whining again.”

“Oi,” Brian said, but he quickly shut up when you turned to him and kissed him, continuing to wank him off.

You heard Roger heading to his wardrobe and fishing out lube and condoms, and then the bed dipped as he made his way back to you. “My turn,” he said gleefully, wrapping his arms around your middle and kissing your shoulder, making you jump in surprise, giggling.

You twisted in his arms to kiss him, and then he let you go, shuffling back, lying down.

You took a condom and ripped the packet open with your teeth, waggling your eyebrows at him. When you took the condom out, you glanced at Brian. “You wanna put it on him?” you offered, holding it out.

“No,” Brian said, deadpanned, and Roger slapped your thigh.

You shrugged. “Suit yourself.” You rolled it onto Roger, and then drizzled lube onto your palm, slathering it on his cock. He sucked in a breath.

You straddled his lap, and leant down to kiss him. He kissed you back eagerly, and then your hand was reaching behind you to find his cock, only to bump against his hand, which was already gripping it. You lined yourself up, and then slowly slid down, your breath catching at the stretch. Roger moaned, but stayed still as you took your time. It had been a while, after all.

You settled in Roger’s lap, wiggling your hips a little, enjoying the sensation of feeling so full again, finally. You clenched around him, moaning on a soft sigh, and Roger’s breath hitched. “Move,” he said, and you started rocking, building up until you were braced on his shoulders, fucking yourself on his cock.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

You changed the rhythm, slowing down a little, feeling the drag of his cock in and out of you, and you leant down to kiss him. Your kisses small, exchanged between panting into each other’s mouths. His hands went to your waist, feeling the arch of your back, and you sat back again to quicken the pace.

You looked over to Brian, who was watching intently, but looked almost hesitant, like he didn’t want to intrude on such an intimate scene.

“Daddy,” you said, holding out a hand to him.

He crawled over, and you stop bouncing in Roger’s lap to cup his face in your hands, kissing him. “Can you touch me?” you breathed.

He nodded, transfixed by you. “Yeah,” he said softly. His hand went to your clit, massaging, and you rolled your hips against his hand.

“Oh, fuck, yes,” you moaned.

You went to speed up again, but Roger stopped you with a hand on your thigh. “Just take it slow, sweetheart,” he said. “Let Daddy touch you. Feels good, you clenching around me like that.”

Brian moved in closer – almost as if he was happy with getting Roger’s blessing of his involvement – and you tilted your head to the side so Brian could kiss and nip at your neck, your eyes closing, your hips rocking a little, rhythmically.

Roger swore under his breath.

You whimpered. “I…”

“What?” Brian murmured.

You shivered. “I just… It’s…” You didn’t know how to articulate it. Having both of you touch me like this is overwhelming, you wanted to say. I need both of you, all of you, I love this.

“It’s all right,” Roger said soothingly. “You don’t have to say anything.”

You dragged yourself up his cock and back down again, and he groaned, his hands flying to your hips. You pressed your hands against his chest, and then rolled forward, shuddering.

You took Brian’s wrist and guided it away, lifting it to your lips and pressing a kiss to it. “Don’t go too far,” you said. “As soon as Roger comes, I want you fucking me like this, here, from behind. Yeah?”

Brian’s mouth fell open, looking like his brain short-circuited, and you laughed. “W– Uh, yes,” he said. “Roger, are you all right…?”

“Sure,” Roger said with a grin. “Give it a go, why not.”

Brian shuffled a little further back, and you turned to Roger with renewed energy, fucking him with purpose now, and he let out a stuttering moan.

You kept going, feeling your own orgasm building deep within you, and Roger’s hips were thrusting up to meet yours. “Fuck, don’t stop,” Roger gasped. “I’m…”

You were vaguely aware of Brian rummaging around, trying to find the condom that had disappeared off the side of the bed.

Roger hit the perfect spot inside you, and you let out a cry, your hand going to your clit, rubbing furiously, moaning out Roger’s name.

Roger’s hips stuttered. “I’m so cl– close, sweetheart, shit.”

“Want you to come, Daddy, please.”

You were getting close yourself, and you looked to Brian.

He was squeezing his cock, almost in awe at the sight. When he noticed you staring at him, his hips jerked. “You look fucking incredible,” he said.

And that was the final straw. You came, your whole body shuddering, and you doubled over. You heard Roger blurt out your name, and then his chest tensed under your hand as he came right after you.

You took a few seconds to catch your breath, still twitching with the aftershocks. Your face felt hot.

You looked Roger, and the two of you smiled, and you leant down to kiss him. He gently pulled up, helping you lift your hips.

Your ass was in the air. You turned your head to look at Brian.

“Daddy,” you said, breathless. Roger kissed your jaw.

Brian bit his lip. “You sure you’re all right?”

You nodded, drained, but ready. “Fuck me.”

So Brian crawled over, and you turned your head to kiss Roger again as Brian settled on his knees behind you, between Roger’s legs.

When Brian pushed into you, you felt like the air had been sucked from your lungs.

Your head dropped onto Roger’s shoulder, and he rubbed your back soothingly. You bit down on his shoulder, hard, and despite the fact that he usually wasn’t into too much biting, he let you.

Brian hissed. “Christ.”

“Good girl,” Roger whispered, dropping a kiss to your ear. “You’re taking him so well, took both of us so well.”

Then Brian was buried to the hilt. You pulsed around him, an afterthought from your previous orgasm, and you felt him twitch inside you. “You… Is she all right?” he asked.

You let go of Roger’s shoulder, lapping at the bite mark in apology, and you nodded. “I’m good,” you murmured.

“Yeah, she’s good,” Roger said to Brian. Then to you: “Can you lift your head for me, sweetheart?”

You struggled onto all fours, and Roger brushed your hair from your face, his eyes watching yours carefully. Brian squeezed your hip.

“Brian,” you said.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck me. Please.”

So he did. Starting off slower at first, but you could tell how pent-up he was, because it didn’t take much encouragement for him to fuck you faster. You tensed now and again from oversensitivity, but you could feel the beginnings of another orgasm, just out of reach.

Roger murmured praise to you, telling you how good you were, how gorgeous you looked like this, all fucked-out, and he kissed you and kissed you.

Brian kept up praise of his own, one hand still gripping your hip, the other smoothing up your back, down your sides, squeezing your ass every now and again.

You tilted your hips, and then Brian was hitting your G-spot, and you moaned pathetically, your back arching. Roger reached between you and began gently massaging your clit, and you sobbed.

“Fuck, Brian, you should see her face,” Roger said. “She looks incredible, keep fucking her like that.”

“Yeah?” Brian panted.

“Yeah, I think she’s getting close.”

You nodded, and Roger quickened his fingers.

Brian drove into you so hard that you almost bumped your forehead against Roger’s, and you put out a hand on the bed, above Roger’s head, to steady yourself. “Fuck, Brian,” you moaned. “Please, Daddy.”

“Fucking…” Brian maintained the pace, hard and deep. “Come on my cock, come on.”

“Come for us,” Roger said. “Come on, sweetheart, you’re so close, I can feel it, wanna see your face. Come all over Brian’s cock, I know you want to, come on.”

You let out a gasping sob. “Please,” you whined, although you didn’t even know who you were talking to anymore. Both of them at once. You were teetering on the edge, your body screaming at you.

Roger pulled you in for a searing kiss, and then Brian nudged your G-spot again, and you were coming, feeling it roll over you like a broken dam, your heart beating faster than the wings of a hummingbird, your body trembling. Roger felt it under his fingers and he kissed you like it was a victory, like he was over the moon, and Brian cried out, coming as he felt you pulse around him.

“Good girl,” Roger said, kissing you. “So gorgeous, so good for us.”

You were trying not to collapse on top of him with Brian still inside you, but all of your limbs were trembling.

“Fuck,” Brian said weakly, and then he pulled out of you and fell onto all fours, crawling beside Roger. “Come here,” he said, and gently pulled you over towards him.

You fell in a heap between the two of them, and all three of you just lay there for what felt like an eternity. Not speaking, not cuddling. Just lying there, processing everything that had just happened.

You were the first to speak. “I am gonna be so fucking sore tomorrow.”

Brian and Roger chuckled.

“No, I mean it,” you said. “You two are gonna have to carry me everywhere.”

“Hmm, I don’t think so,” Roger said. “You did come more times than either of us.”

“Combined,” Brian added.

“And just look at the consequences,” you said. “Really, you two got off easy.”

“Hmm,” Roger said again in thought, “like I said, you came more times than either of us. I think you’re the one who gets off easily.”

You snorted a laugh, slapping his chest with a floppy hand.

“I’ll go get a towel for you,” he said, rolling onto his elbow to give you a kiss, and then swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

He’d barely stood up before Brian ran his hand over your hip, squeezing it, and when you turned to look at him, he kissed you. “You’re fucking incredible,” he said.

You grinned.

“It’s true,” Roger said, from where he was throwing out his condom and pulling on his underwear. “You are.”

“I could get used to this,” you said. “Getting fucked and then told how amazing I am just for getting fucked.”

“If it meant more of what happened tonight, I’d be more than happy to slather on as much praise as you like,” Roger said. “Back in a sec.”

“Thanks, Daddy,” you called. He gave you a wink as he left.

Brian grimaced, and rolled onto his back to take off his spent condom, tying it closed. “Ugh, I hate it when you do that.” He dropped it beside the bed.

“Do what, Dad?”

“Eugh, no! Not Dad! Why does he get Daddy and I get Dad?”

“Because you hate it so much,” you said with a giggle. “And you’re a drama queen.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “I am not a fucking…” He shook his head, and just kissed you.

Roger returned a few moments later, damp cloth in hand. He didn’t interrupt you and Brian – well, he didn’t intend to, but the moment the cloth touched your skin, you leapt five feet in the air.

“Rog, that’s freezing,” you gasped.

“Oh, shit, forgot to warm up the water, sorry,” Roger said. He scrambled to his feet. “Sorry, I’ll be back.”

He disappeared out the door.

“Check-in?” Brian said.

You smiled at him. “I don’t know how the fuck that worked so well,” you said, “but it worked really fucking well, and I am actually kinda really proud of us.”

Brian smiled. “Me too.”

“And whatever this weird… situation is between us, I really love it, and I don’t want it to change.”

Brian’s smile widened. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

Roger bolted back into the room and closed the door behind him, his eyes wide. “I, er, just walked in on your roommate and some girl getting it on in the hallway,” he said slowly. “And they definitely noticed me. That’s fine, except I can never look Lucy in the eye again, because it’s very clear that I just had wild sex, and I’m in my underwear, and she was only half-dressed, and it’s all very awkward and awful and I’m going to never leave your room again, sorry.”

You laughed, and Roger hurried over, dumping the cloth on Brian’s chest with a wet slap and burying his face in your pillow.

Brian sighed, but picked up the cloth and passed it to you, and you wiped yourself down. “Well, you’re both welcome to stay over,” you said. You went to toss the cloth over the side of the bed, but Brian took it from you, and got to his feet with a groan, pulling on his underwear, tossing out his condom, and heading to the door.

You turned to Roger. “How’re you feeling about all this?” you said.

He turned to his face to you. “Great,” he said, his voice half-muffled by the pillow. “Yeah, I fuckin’ loved it.”

“Same,” you said with a smile.

“Bet you did.”

You sent him a mock-scowl, and he sent one back, making you laugh.

“I’m surprised how, like, not-jealous I was,” Roger added. “Even though Brian and I talked about it a bit beforehand, I was still expecting… I dunno. For me to get all jealous, and for him to get all cranky. But it seemed to work out.” He shrugged. “Probably ’cause it’s you. Everything seems to just work itself out when you’re involved.”

You went to respond, but Brian hurried into the room, and closed the door behind him. “So,” he said, and swallowed heavily, “I also just walked in on Lucy and that girl, but they’re now in the kitchen, and I just automatically went to the kitchen instead of the bathroom, but they were there, and it’s also very clear that I just had wild sex, and I’m in my underwear, and now both Roger and I are never leaving your room again.”

You sighed. “Guys.”

“Not my fault,” both Brian and Roger said simultaneously.

Later that night, you stirred as Brian climbed back into bed. “Sorry, just went to the loo,” he whispered, dropping a kiss to your forehead. You shifted back into Roger behind you, then ushered Brian close, and he wrapped an arm around you. You snuggled into his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

A few minutes later, you were just about to drift back to sleep when you heard Roger whisper behind you, “Brian?”

Brian grunted. “What?”

Roger shushed him. “She asleep?”

“Think so, yeah. Why?”

Roger hesitated. “Did you, um, have a check-in?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“Sorta, yeah.”

“Okay.”

A beat.

“Did you wanna do one?” Roger asked.

“What for?”

“You know what for.”

“We didn’t sleep together.”

“Well, no, but…” Roger sighed. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Wait, no, sorry,” Brian said. “The rule about check-ins is that you can’t back out of one. So. If you’re asking for one, then I can’t say no. And you’re right, anyway.” He took a breath. “I had a really nice time tonight. And I– I felt comfortable. With you. And I… I’m glad we got to do it together. And I’d be happy to do it again.”

“Same,” Roger said. “I, um– I’m happy, with this.”

You tried to suppress a smile. But it was hard. This was fuckin’ cute as hell.

“Great,” Brian said. “Good. That’s– that’s good.”

“Yep,” Roger said. “So, um. G’night.”

“Night, Rog.”

They both settled down again, cuddling in closer to you. You felt Roger’s arm tighten around your stomach, and Brian’s around your ribs. Roger pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, and Brian to your forehead.

You bit your lip, but it was too late – you were beaming, your heart ready to burst.

You closed your eyes, and allowed yourself to sink into the warmth of the two bodies wrapped around you.

“Wait,” Roger hissed. “Brian.”

Brian groaned softly. “What?”

“Do you think Friday’s still on?”

“What?”

“We arranged to do this on Friday. D’you think tonight cancels that out, or...?”

“Christ, Roger–”

“Shh.”

Brian huffed, and then lowered his voice again. “I don’t know, is my answer. We can talk about it in the morning, all right? You’re bloody insatiable.”

“I was just wondering,” Roger said, and you could hear the sulky pout in his voice.

“Yes, it’s still on,” you mumbled.

You felt them both start in surprise, but you just pulled them both close again. “It’s still on,” you said again. “Now go back to sleep.”

They both settled down again.

There was a blissful moment of silence.

“Do you wanna fuck her first next time, or–”

“Roger, I swear to God.”

“I was just trying to be nice! Jeez.”

You smiled.

#mine #my writing #try verse #try series #roger taylor x reader #brian may x reader #roger taylor x reader x brian may #queen fanfiction #smut #rpf

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