#roger taylor series

[anonymityisfunwriter]

"Slut!"

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader Summary - It was perfect. Lovelorn and nobody knows. Love thorns all over this rose. You almost forgot just how hard the fall back to reality is. But if they call you a slut, it might be worth it for once.

Steve Rogers Masterlist | Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

"She goes through guys like a train-"

You immediately change the channel. The next one isn't better. You don't know why you thought it would be.

"The Stark last name and the long list of ex-lovers, that's her claim to fame. I mean, let's be honest here, she's a slu-" The tabloid reporter is abruptly cut off as the screen before you goes dark.

You look up to find Steve with the remote in his hand. He glares at the screen like the reporter was still talking, "You shouldn't be watching that."

"I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't be. It's despicable. They were - the things they're calling you-"

"A slut," you finish for him.

His eyes dart to you, that furrow between his eyebrows getting deeper and deeper with every word spoken, "It's not true. This isn't journalism, it's slander."

You weren't sure how this happened. Sure, it was only a matter of time before they found you out. This wasn't the first time. Not the second or the third either. If the press was to be believed, you were love sick. Love struck with a new man every week.

It wasn't the first time someone called you a slut. It certainly wouldn't be the last.

You stopped living your life in fear of what people would say a long time ago. Being this young was an art. And up until now, you thought you mastered it.

It was simple. You even had your rules. You followed them and no one got hurt - or at the very least, it minimized the damage.

They were going to stare at you. Strangers. Press. The flashing cameras. It came with being a Stark. If they're going to look, you gave them something to look at. You didn't so much as step out on the street with a single hair out of place. You were flawless. Always.

You were nineteen, and on the heels of a breakup with your second ever boyfriend, the first time someone spit that word at you - "slut!" It hurt, but it didn't hurt as much as you thought it would. It almost made you laugh. You realized that they didn't really care about your love life or about the trail of broken hearts you were supposedly leaving behind. They wanted a spectacle. They wanted a show. If you're going to be drunk, might as well be drunk in love.

It was easier after that. You knew the truth. The people around you knew the truth. You let everyone else believe what they wanted. You did what you wanted. You lived your life without worrying about being called a slut. They were going to call you one anyway. And if they call you a slut, you might as well make it worth it.

You gave just enough to keep them satisfied. Never anything too real. Never too much. Just enough that they wouldn't dare peak behind closed doors. Just enough to be able to live your life.

There were was a cost, of course. No one took you seriously. You dealt with the vague humiliation of the rumors constantly swirling about your hips and thighs and whispered sighs.

And though you inherited the Stark genius, no one cared about what you thought, what you had to say.

In that, the reporter was right, your love life was far more interesting than your thoughts on quantum mechanics or the military industrial complex. That was what you were known for.

For the most part, you were okay with it. You were willing to pay it all.

That was until you fell in love with Steve Rogers. Suddenly, you weren't willing to give them crumbs. You weren't willing to expose a love that felt this delicate.

You sit on the couch, huddled in your sweatpants, pensively staring at the blank screen.

This time, it was different. This wasn't a show, not a spectacle. It was real, an exposed nerve that the world decided was fair game. You were fair game and it was open season.

Steve settles beside you, draping an arm around your midsection. He kisses your temple, "Tony thinks it's probably best that you lay low for a while."

"Yes, well, my brother is the expert on PR damage control."

It wasn't the same though. You both knew it. Tony had done far worse with far more women. Yet, he would never pay the price you were paying in this very moment.

Steve's arms tighten around you like he's shielding you from the storm, "It's not right. It's not fair that you're being forced to sequester yourself. You're being punished but what exactly was your crime?"

"I fell in love with Steve Rogers, that was my crime." You fell for the man everyone wanted, the man who was in the wrong place at the right time.

"I'm sorry," he whispers against the crown of your head.

"For what?"

"You warned me this would happen."

It was true. You told him exactly what would happen, but even you didn't anticipate exactly how bad things would get.

You'd been with Steve for just under a year. And up until a week ago, only a select few knew. You both agreed to keep it a secret from the public. You felt protective over the love you shared, it was more real than anything else you'd ever had. You wanted to keep it to yourself, out of the hands of people that would tear you both to shreds without a second thought.

Steve felt the same. Though he was more worried about the enemies he made over the years.

It made sense to protect the relationship, to protect yourselves until you were both ready. You wanted to protect him from what you knew was lurking around the corner. Steve was still so new to the 21st century. Dating in the public eye wasn't easy. Dating a Stark wasn't easy. For almost an entire year, you used every publicity trick in the book - and it worked.

But then, you heard it, the whispers, rumors bubbled about your newest future ex-lover.

You only agreed to going public because everyone told you it was time, because they promised that the timing couldn't have worked out better than this. It was better to do this on your own terms than have it leaked.

No one knew how bad it would get.

"Are you sure? There's no going back after this," you whisper, standing in the hallway of your apartment. You could practically hear the cameras flashing outside your apartment. You'd never been this nervous to leave your apartment before. You'd been through the plan a million times. You'd be exposed to the cameras for a matter of seconds. Happy was already waiting with the door to your SUV open, ready for you to jump in. You'd walk outside holding Steve's hand - a sort of silent announcement to the world. "It won't be easy."

"I don't care," Steve promises, kissing the palm of your hand. "I'm tired of hiding. I'm proud to call you mine."

You tenderly stroke his cheek, "And if it blows up in your pretty face?"

He smiles down at you, "You're worth it."

"We'll pay the price, I guess." But deep down, you know. You'll pay the price, he won't.

The cameras had never been that loud before. Even though your announcement went off without a hitch, even though your publicist couldn't have been more pleased, not even they could have predicted how bad things would get.

It seemed like the whole world was calling you that four letter word.

At first, it was mostly online. People were mean, you knew that. You were prepared for nasty comments. Steve's most staunch supporters thought he could do better. People rejoiced in the spectacle your love life turned into. You were a laughing stock all over again. All that you were prepared for. Then some rabid fans leaked your phone number.

You decided that it would be a good time to disconnect anyway.

But it didn't end there. Not even close.

The day after you were expected to make an appearance for a charity you founded. It was just a quick 2 minute speech. And though the event had been throughly vetted, you'd never forget the way your blood ran cold when mid-sentence someone screamed that four letter word over and over again until security dragged them out. You continued until your speech was done, but there was no hiding the way your hands trembled.

From what you heard, the video was still making its rounds online.

You were expected to make an appearance two days after that. An event honoring your father. An event you poured your blood, sweat, and tears into to make sure it was impeccable, an event worthy of honoring your father. The same event you were practically uninvited from.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's just me. I come in peace," Tony jokes.

"I'm glad," you sigh. "I was worried I was going to have to get another number."

Tony sighs into the phone, "How are you holding up?"

"I've been better."

"I'm afraid I don't come bearing good news."

"What now, Tony?"

"That event you had Friday night, the one for dad?"

You pinch the bridge of your nose. You already knew were this was going. "What about it?"

"They want me to take over for you."

You bitterly scoff, "This week just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

"You say the word and I'll tell them to fuck off."

"No, don't do that. It's for dad."

"You planned this whole thing single-handedly. You deserve to be the one up there." You don't say a word. He's right, you both know it. It doesn't change the situation you've been put in. "You are still going, right? Come on, you have to go."

"They broke into my house, Tony."

"What? Are you okay?"

"Happy just told me," you explain, sparing Tony the most gory details. "The one in L.A. Apparently, it is now covered in spray paint. You wanna guess what they wrote?"

"Where was your security?" Tony demands.

"Here. Trying to keep people off my sidewalk."

"I'm so sorry."

"I just - I don't think it's a good idea. At least until I get more security."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm glad you've got Steve there. At least I know he'll keep you safe."

You almost smile. Tony was never his biggest fan, but you mostly credit that to him being an overprotective big brother. And the situation you'd found yourself in did nothing to win Tony's over good graces, "It's not his fault, Tony."

"It kinda is, but I digress. Listen, we'll figure this out, alright? I'll go streak in front of the Tower if that'll take some heat off of you."

And though you effectively doubled your security in the last two days, nothing would change anyone's mind about you. You were the villain tainting their hero.

You broke down after that call, violently sobbing against Steve's shoulder. He just pulled you in even tighter.

It reminds you of why you're doing all this. So you can be together, out in the open. That in a world of boys, he's a gentleman.

You squeeze his hand, "You're worth it."

"I'm not worth having your reputation torn to shreds."

And maybe they're right about you. Maybe you do get love struck. Maybe his eyes are like the world's strongest liquor, and it went straight to your head. Maybe you do get love sick. Sure, your life has momentarily fallen apart. It's magic, madness, heaven, and sin, all rolled into one. But if they're going to call you a slut, it might be worth it for once. "But what if all I need is you?"

Steve Rogers Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

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[eclipse608]

Hoping that Rogers room isn't close to Kates or the suitors room-

[carrrothead-vol2]

Roger Taylor as the 12th Doctor (he'd rather play drums, but at least the sunglasses are sonic)

Part of the Queen members imagined as Doctors series.

Brian as 8th

Freddie as 3rd

John as 14th

[alarmsofmyheart]

Great and Tyme, listen you both lil idiots caught in the web of fucked up lives of previous generation, meet up in the limbo and have a proper date and confession and sex and all that before dieing.

Tonkla, I don't think avenging is going to fill the hole in your heart. But I hope you get some relief.

Win, officer. I'm sorry for your losses. You have only lost the case to somebody else but boy you are losing a lot, you haven't lost anything yet, but I'm just putting it out.

And my poor baby Korn, I hope you make it alive, I hope fasai or her dad doesn't kill you.

Fasai, queencard, I hope your dad doesn't kill you.

Idk what I'm rambling here, but 4 mintues got me here and I'm sitting here.

Grandma not telling Tyme about it all, trying to paint a saint picture, is also a causative factor in this mess, them showing that in this possible limbo at end of ep 7 is insane and is accurate too.

[buckbuckb]

“Please/ I've been on my knees/ Change the prophecy/ Don't want money/ Just someone who wants my company/ Let it once be me/ Who do I have to speak to/ About if they can redo/ The prophecy?”

except its just steven grant rogers trying to navigate the modern world pre and post avengers. he didn’t want you to to be alive in the first place, but there he was against his will, and he had a job to do, despite his wish that was clear with the valkyrie and all his begging. he didn’t even want to open himself up to his colleagues who could be friends until years later. he didnt want this fate to be his reality; set in stone. he was a man out of time and a man out of time alone. he didn’t want any date nat set him up with— he thought they would only know him as cap— he only wanted one person, the person who could definitively set him back in time because bucky was his home since childhood, and save him from this cruel prophecy that was now set up for him.

or whatever ig…

[smallceremoniesofmine]

The Fall of the House of Usher (2023)

[bijouxcarys]

𝑷𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏' 𝑮𝒖𝒚 - 𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻

Main Masterlist

𝐈. 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑

𝐈𝐈. 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐈𝐕. 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃

𝐎𝐍𝐄

𝐓𝐖𝐎

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

𝐒𝐈𝐗

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄

𝐓𝐄𝐍

𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

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𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

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𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

[justasmisunderstoodasloki]

I get so incredibly emotional when watching Bohemian Rhapsody

[whiskeyswriting]

School’s In: Prologue

Career Day at Kilmer Elementary School was always a hectic time for the teachers. Many of the students always wanted to turn the day and activities into a competition of who had the coolest parent or relative.

Jade sat coloring the poster for her class. Across from her was Baylie, who was sharpening the coloring pencils and poking Javy with them.

“Baylie! Stop poking Jav! He’s a friend.”

“That’s why I’m poking him cuz he can’t tell me no.”

“Baylie! I haven’t been saying no,” Javy says chuckling.

“I can’t understand what language you’re speaking,” she teases, sticking out her tongue at him.

He shakes his head and brings more posters for them to color.

“Jade… Who are you bringing to career day?”

Jade carefully put her markers to the side. “My dad. His name is William. He works in a restaurant and bar.”

“That’s more fun than a boring attorney,” Baylie says. “My mom goes to her office and only looks at boring things on her computer,” she adds with a dramatic sigh.

Jade gasps. “Being an attorney sounds fun! You can go to court and tell the judge all the bad things the person did!”

“I guess,” Baylie shrugs.

The next day the classes end early to allow the parents time to set up. Baylie is dragging Delilah to the table she helped prepare. “Ma this is your table! You’re gonna be with my friend’s Navy dad and my other friend’s drinking buddy.”

The moment Lilah and William meet they knew they’d be together, making their girls sisters. The girls continued to make friends and grow. And soon they were in high school.

Soon it wasn’t just Baylie and Jade. It became Baylie, Jade, Rachael, Lara, Grace, Amanda, Milla, Hailie, Robyn, Raven, and Alana. They each had their own likes and dislikes and interests but still were the best of friends all through the years.

These are some of their adventures as they navigate life and high school as the chaos squad.

- -

Whiskey's Barrel (Permanent Tag List): @askmarinaandothers @bayisdying @breadsquash @callmemana @callsignscupcake @cycbaby @dragon-kazansky @hisredheadedgoddess28 @ladylanera @starlit-epiphany @tngrace

Whiskey's Pilots (Top Gun only): @novagreen04

[georgeweasleyslostearhq]

REQUESTS

please feel free to request things that you would like to read.

as you know i do write for Eddie.

but for Wednesday characters I'll write for Xavier and Ajax. NO Tyler. we do not like tyler, Tyler is no good.

also, i feel like i want to write for Roger Taylor and John Deacon from Bohemian Rhapsody, so you can request something for them too if you want

(that includes Joe mazzello and any of his characters)

but yeah.

if you went to see something, please say so because i do need ideas, and i would like to give you guys what you want

[delicatebarness]

Yesss a name for the sequel would be great! I love these stories!

*drum roll pls*

Cruel Summer

☀️🌻🍉⛱️🧴

[fatecanberewritten-writer]

Bewitched | Chapter Four: Magic

Stars Series | Bewitched

For some reason, what Narcissa took notice of in that situation was the fact that she could see her breath. It was like a cold, bitter goodbye to summer. A cold, bitter goodbye to a lot of things.

“What d’you mean, you know about magic already?”

She could also see the breath of the wandless woman standing before her. Her blue eyes still wide and fixed on Narcissa, the woman opened her mouth, but didn’t seem to know what to say. Narcissa gripped the wand held at her side more tightly.

The empty sound of rain was suddenly broken by loud voices approaching the alley. In her fright, Narcissa grabbed the woman, put her hand over her mouth in case she decided to make any noises, and Disapparated the two of them to a rooftop on the other side of the street.

Crouching behind the walled edge of the rooftop, she carefully peered down onto the street. She let out a breath of relief as she saw only the four rowdy men from Young Buck’s loudly walking through the rain. She felt herself relax, but then she felt how tense the woman she was holding was, and how fearful her eyes now looked as she met them. Slowly, she removed her hand from her mouth.

“Sorry,” Narcissa breathed. She figured she’d have to obliviate her now anyway, even if she had somehow known about magic.

Petunia Evans seemed to know exactly what she was thinking. “Please don’t obliviate me,” she pleaded. “I really do know about magic - my sister’s a witch.”

For a while, the two only stared at each other, neither having any clue of what to do next. Finally, Narcissa scrunched her eyes closed, let out a heavy sigh, and fell back, sitting with her back pressed against the walled edge of the roof next to Petunia. Petunia let out the breath she had been holding.

Eyes still closed, Narcissa swirled her wand, and Petunia watched in amazement as a clear, shimmering, force-field-like magic formed around the small space the two of them took up, shielding them from the rain. Curiously, she inched her fingertips towards it - daring to touch it, yet still afraid to. As she got closer and closer to it, the air seemed warmer, and the molecules around it seemed to hum. She brought her hand back quickly as she heard the blonde woman scoff.

“If you ‘know about magic already,’ why are you looking like this is the first time you’ve seen it?” Narcissa in a tired voice, though there was still a bit of harshness in it. 

Petunia’s eyes were doe-like when she looked at Narcissa. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen it,” she said. “My sister’s still in school, and she can’t use magic outside of it. Something about your laws - ”

Narcissa sighed, catching on. “Ah, yes, underage magic. I forgot how serious that can be if you’re around Muggles.” She took another deep breath, looking back down at the street momentarily before she finally turned back to the Muggle, giving her a haughty look. “So you’re a Mudblood’s sister?”

Petunia’s eyes narrowed a bit, recognizing the term. “I don’t think they like to be called that.”

Narcissa shrugged. “It’s what they are,” she said casually. “They’ve got dirty blood.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Petunia’s face was getting hot, “neither my sister nor I have ‘dirty blood.’”

“Magic is pure,” the witch cut in coldly. She spoke these words as if she was just stating facts. “Those without magic, or those who come from people without magic, are not pure. Now tell me, what would you consider to be the opposite of pure?”

“That’s rich, coming from somebody who’s apparently making her family the laughing stock of Pureblood society,” Petunia angrily snapped.

Narcissa’s face darkened, her eyes narrowing at the Muggle. “Eavesdropping on me, were you?” she hissed. “You’re not giving a very good representation of your kind.”

“Neither are you,” growled Petunia, glaring back. Her eyes widened again, her face paling, as she watched the woman swiftly take out her wand.

“You be careful now,” Narcissa warned, “I can do a lot worse than obliviating you.”

Petunia was silent as she stared at the end of the witch’s dark-wooded wand, a wand that was much more intricate, much more regal-looking than Lily’s. As she watched it, her fear slowly ebbed away, and she carefully looked back up at Narcissa with a daring gleam in her eye. “You’re not going to do anything,” she challenged.

Narcissa’s grip tightened on her wand. “Oh yeah?” she responded, trying to hide the shakiness of her voice. “What makes you so sure?”

“You would’ve done it already,” Petunia answered matter-of-factly, a small smirk across her lips. “A witch like you coming across a Muggle like me? You wouldn’t’ve brought me up here with you. You wouldn’t’ve even lowered your wand. If you were like the rest of them, you’d’ve obliviated me, or worse, right then and there. You’re not like them. You’re not a - ” she paused for a moment, trying to remember the term her sister had told her just this last summer - “you’re not a Death Eater.”

Narcissa was silent, utterly transfixed by this woman and her observations. She knew about magic, alright - a lot more than more than what she figured the sister of a Mudblood would. She was daring, a bit reckless, and definitely over-confident, but more than anything, she was brave. Somehow, this Muggle saw right through her, and Narcissa couldn’t deny the comforting feeling that came with her last musing. You’re not a Death Eater.

She didn’t know when she had put down her wand, but she quickly took notice of the cocky look on the Muggle’s face. She could practically hear her saying check mate. “Alright,” Narcissa gave in, “you’re right about that, I’m not a Death Eater - ” the smug look on the brunette’s face only grew - “but don’t think I won’t still obliviate you. Might just do it ‘cause you’re annoying me.”

Petunia’s face instantly fell, and Narcissa smirked victoriously. The witch chuckled a bit, though it wasn’t dark or unsettling to Petunia. It was almost playful. She started to smile.

With a sudden crack, the moment was ruined.

Both girls nearly yelped at the sound, but the yelp threatened to turn to a horrified scream as Petunia saw what had appeared before them. Narcissa was quick with her wand, silencing the girl before she drew them too much attention.

“Litzy,” Narcissa said calmly, addressing the small, frantic House Elf that had joined them on the roof.

“Mistress Narcissa must hurry!” squeaked the Elf. “My Master and Mistress have returned! My mother can only stall them for so long! Mistress Narcissa must return home immediately!”

“Shit,” Narcissa cursed. She thought she’d have more time. She looked from Litzy to the wide-eyed woman beside her and tried to think quickly. Almost reluctantly, she removed the silencing charm from the woman.

“What the hell - ”

“Hush!” she ordered Petunia, and out of shock, Petunia obeyed. Narcissa turned back to the Elf. “Litzy, I want you to take this woman back down to the street.”

“Now hang on just a - ” 

Narcissa ignored the Muggle as she tired to cut in. “This is a Muggle street, so you must stay out of sight. There is an alley halfway up the block - take her there.”

The Elf’s large, green eyes flickered over to the woman hesitantly. When she spoke next, it was reluctant, as if she feared punishment for it. “Is the woman a Muggle, Mistress?”

Swallowing, Narcissa looked at Petunia and said nothing.

“Would Mistress Narcissa like Litzy to modify the Muggle’s memory?”

“No!” shouted Petunia, and at the same time, with almost the same amount of fever -

“That won’t be necessary, Litzy.”

The young, nervous House Elf looked between the two women as they stared nervously at one another. She was reminded, very suddenly, of her disowned Mistress, the one she was forbidden to speak of, and the Mudblood that had ruined her.

As if knowing what Litzy was thinking, a wave of fear washed over Narcissa, and she sharply turned back to the Elf. “Litzy,” she started rabidly. “You are forbidden to speak of this to anyone. To anyone, do you understand?”

A fearful look in her eye, Litzy nodded.

“Now do as you’ve been ordered.”

Obediently, Litzy began to move towards Petunia, and Petunia cowered further against the wall, looking frantically at the witch. The magic protecting them from the rain disappeared. “Wait!” Petunia cried to Narcissa. She wasn’t just going to leave her with this thing, was she?

“It’s alright,” Narcissa soothed, placing a delicate hand on her shoulder. Petunia felt butterflies at her touch. “She has to do as I say,” she told her. “She’ll take care of you, but - but I have to go.”

Before Petunia got even the slightest chance to say anything more, Narcissa stood, and with no more than a crack, she was gone. The rain pouring down on her, Petunia stared at the spot the witch had last been, feeling her heart breaking as she realized she’d probably never see her again.

The Elf begrudgingly reached out to touch the girl, and with no warning at all, Petunia felt herself being pulled through the nothingness of space and landed roughly on the grimy, wet concrete of the alley. She felt sick, but whether it was from the alcohol, the magic, or the cold touch of the strangest creature she’d ever seen in her life, she wasn’t sure. She looked up into the glaring green eyes of the creatures called ‘Litzy’.

“Stay away from my Mistress,” growled the creature, and then she too, was gone.

[buckets-and-trees]

Puzzle Pieces in the Dead of Night

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark and rough Nomad!Steve Rogers x Female!Reader Word Count: 1.5k Summary: March 21, 2018. Still on the run, still in exile, you still never know when he will show up, but tonight Steve visits you again.

Content/Warnings: explicit smut: semi-rough sex, hints of somnophilia, manhandling, finger sucking, choking/breathplay, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex/creampie

Author Notes: Well, y'all did vote for more rough Nomad Steve. This is connected to the previous encounter/situationship from It Fit Too Right, with this happening just over a week later, but this has next to no plot, just smut, so you DO NOT need to have read the previous part. HAHA, THAT CHANGED, AND NOW IT'S PART OF THE FULL ON EXILED NOMAD SERIES. Title inspo from Taylor Swift again.

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It’s the jostling of your lower half that woke you up. You groaned sleepily and tried to reach for the covers that had gone missing, only your hand met the warm skin of a thickly corded bicep. You inhaled sharply, suddenly more awake, and smell him. Musky, leather, a hint of something spicy you still haven’t been able to identify, and some natural sweat. His scent has been embedded into your mind at this point.

“Steve,” you murmured.

The jostling had been him removing your underwear. You’d been sleeping on your side, and he kept you that way, only bending your knees a little more as he knelt behind you and lined up his cock with your cunt. Steve’s hand moved smoothly down your thigh to the crook of your knee, where he gave a soft squeeze. Then he leaned forward, and clamped his big hand down on your forearm, pinning it to the bed and bracing himself above you. You weren’t wet or ready for him yet, but he made do with only the precum leaking from his tip and pushed his length into your tight channel in one thrust that forced the breath out of you in a huff, burying himself inside you.

Your hand went down to paw helplessly at his hip. He gave you only a moment to take in the overwhelming fullness, and then he took up a blistering pace of shallow thrusts. Your shoulders shrank forward, hunkering in on yourself, and on the spot where his hand anchored your arm to the bed. You brought your other hand up to curl over his.

“Fuck, you feel like heaven,” he groaned.

And it did feel good, being too full of him. Your body agreed, welcomed him, slickening up to accommodate him.

He brought his free hand up to grip the back of your neck, angling your head where he wanted it. He nipped at your ear, licked the shell of it, and just kept you close, his heated breath over your skin yet another point of closeness and the feeling of being overtaken by him.

Steve shifted the grip on your arm to instead grasp both of your wrists and push them further up the bed. You wouldn’t fight him, but now he owned the restriction. You were trapped – and willingly so – beneath him. The rhythm of skin slapping against skin underscored your short little moans.  

He slid the other hand he had on you from the back of your neck around beneath your head to cradle the side of your face, cupped your jaw, and then his thumb pushed insistently into your mouth. You closed your lips around it and sucked gently, still moaning. The pressure on your tongue had you surrendering even more to him. He was here with a single objective: pleasure. And if he was going to use your body as that vessel, you would yield in order to extract every moment of bliss you could in return.

Steve kept the same pace far longer than usual did. The sensation was good but unsatisfying. It felt like he needed to fuck you to fuck, to feel. He was not yet building toward his orgasm or yours. You let him keep taking what he needed, losing track of the passing of time in the dead of night, only dim illumination bleeding in from the bedroom window.

When your hands finally started to feel numb in his grip, you twisted them gently beneath his hands. He grunted and released them. “Sorry,” he muttered against your shoulder. Gruff, but aware.

He then moved you to lay flat on your stomach. He slipped his thick thighs between your legs, spreading you open, and inserted himself into your pussy again. At this angle, his cock dragged against that spongy spot on the front of your walls with each thrust, and he kept the steady pace he had before, but went for deeper thrusts now.

You didn’t put on a show with the sounds you made, never had with any previous partners, but Steve knew how to manipulate your body too well, and gasps, moans, groans, cries, and sometimes screams, flowed freely from you. You couldn’t keep them in. You wanted him to know how you felt, and you also had no fear of judgment from him. He only ever encouraged you to let loose of all inhibitions with him. The gratified moan that melted out of you when he fucked you at this angle couldn’t be helped.

Steve pressed his palm down between your shoulder blades, forcing some of his weight down on you. His mere physicality was intoxicating, and he always used his body as much as he used yours when he came to you for sex.

And now the pleasure mounted beneath him as he fucked you into the mattress.

You gripped the sheets, tugging as the tension built, your muscles went taught, and  toes curled. You hung for just a few moments at the edge, and then a violent shiver went down your spine as your orgasm finally cascaded over you.

Steve groaned as your pussy clenched around him, and he squeezed your ass, groping the flesh.

You took in a lungful of air on your way back down and keened softly as he continued fucking you. “Good girl.”

He pulled out of you, and you whined.

“Not done with you yet,” he chuckled darkly.

In another swift movement that belied his preternatural speed and strength, he had you on your back, and pressed your thighs up against your chest. He drug the head of his cock against up and down over your swollen clit, making you whimper for him.

You recognized that look.

He needed to be in you even deeper, needed to dominate you, and look into your eyes while he did it.

When he fixed you with that look, your belly burned, and you needed it, too.

“Steve,” you begged.

No more warning, all the endless build up was only the preparation for this.

He pounded into you. His thrusts were brutal, drawing his length in and out in long strokes now. You felt it in overwhelming force. You didn’t want anything else. You wanted him to lose himself in you.

His hand moved to your neck, and you were already breathless, but he applied pressure there, restricting your air. It was a testament to his senses and skills that he could so carefully watch for your safety while continuing his deep and relentless thrusts. You let him steal your breath, one hand gripping the forearm pressed between your breasts to hold your throat. When you tapped at him, he was already letting up, and the flood of oxygen back into your lungs surged to spike your second orgasm while he ground his pelvis down against your clit. A silent scream was all you could manage.

Steve claimed your lips in a messy kiss as he came, hips stuttering, and then continuing in purposeful thrusts as he pumped you with his cum.

Finally, he let your legs relax and drop back to the bed. He let his full weight drop down onto you, and you let your fingers trail lightly up and down his spine as he caught his breath in the crook of your neck.

But Steve didn’t linger as long as you hoped for, biting your lip and turning your head away from him when you realized you had hoped he would stay there.

He left the room and entered your modest en suite bathroom. You listened to the sound of him cleaning up, then getting a washcloth from your cupboard, dampening it, and bring it back to wash you up – as he always did.

But it didn’t always mean he would stay.

Broken beast of a man as he was, it was laced through with glimpses of a more tender side of him – the side that you saw enough of not to be afraid of him.

The side that was becoming too much of its own danger to you. The side that made you yearn for him – not wanting the mind-blowing sex, but him.

When he returned to the bed, you tried to steady your breath and didn’t look at him.

When he slid down behind you and wrapped an arm around your front, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Of course, he felt and heard it.

“You okay?”

“I thought you would leave.”

The last time he’d come to your bed - a week and a half ago - it had only been for a quick fuck, and then he’d disappeared within the hour. You had been left wondering if you'd be reduced to only quick fucks.

“Not yet,” he said. He pressed a kiss just behind your earlobe. The gesture was too intimate for what the two of you were not. “I have the weekend,” he promised.

And you could not deny him.

You laced your fingers with his and sunk back against his chest.

You knew you could not have him, but you were as selfish as he was.

I honestly don't know what to say here. I watched something that implanted this scene into my brain, and that is all the explanation I have.

read more of the Exiled Nomad Series

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I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[unfortunatetheorist]

I can definitely imagine this, @asoue-headcanons! Plus, given Sunny's culinary expertise, this would take Another One Bites The Dust to a whole new level!

~ Th3r3534rch1ngr4ph

#446. In her teenage years, Sunny learned how to play bass for a Queen cover band.

[endless-ineffabilities]

The Bolter (part one)

Steve Rogers x f!Reader

synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?

in this chapter : Steve is about to walk out of your life, causing you to let go of everything you two have, and everything that could be.

📝 yes, the title is inspired by Taylor Swift's upcoming song The Bolter. In my interpretation and in this story, it is meant to symbolize someone who runs from someone or something. A potential relationship. A loved one. And the choice is not easy, one that may bring a lot of remorse or catharsis? Anyhow - Steve IS a bolter. In the beginning, at least.

themes/warnings : language, angst!!!, pining, unrequited love, Steve is kind of an asshole for leaving (but we love him anyway)

word count : < 1k

main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist ▪︎ next chapter

This is it.

This must be what true heartbreak feels like.

Steve, your best friend and the unrequited love of your life, has decided to volunteer to return the Infinity Stones to their respective timelines. Very noble of him.

But he also confessed that he plans to stay with Peggy, now that he finally has the chance.

They can have the dance that was stolen from them, decades ago.

Steve can be with his true love it seems. And that person is just not you.

Well, fuck my life.

"Doll," he smiles ruefully, both of your hands encased in his, "say something."

Say something, he says. What is there to say - I'm in love with you, I want you to stay with me? Don't leave me? I want you stay - for Bucky, for Sam, for Nat. For everyone. For me?

What can you fucking say that will ever be enough? In the 7 years that you've known Steve, you've grown to love him. As a friend, as family. Then, almost inevitably, as the only keeper of your heart. And he knows this.

But he's still leaving. Because, at the end of the day, Peggy is the keeper of his heart.

To you, Steve has always been everything good. Golden boy perfection, with a heart that would put a saint's to shame. Sunshine, laughter, companionship, standing tall and unwavering in his ideals. His gleaming red, white, and blue tendrils snaking their way into the very fibres of your being and taking root.

But now, all you feel is empty. You were angry, when he first told you, days ago. You had almost screamed at him, told him how unfair he was being. You made a long, drawn-out case for Bucky. How he doesn't deserve this. But really, you were making a case for yourself.

Stay, you had said.

He simply smiled, without any mirth. Not like his usual on-brand Steve Rogers gesture of sincerity. He smiled and it did not reach his eyes. He was sad, or maybe he pitied you. And that made you even angrier.

Until minutes later, when you finally broke down, and sobbed quietly in his arms.

"I hate you," you muttered against the creases of his shirt.

"I love you," he said back, and you hated him even more for it. He doesn't get to say that to you, in that way. Not in the same way he would say to Peggy.

Now, right before stepping onto the platform that will cause him to vanish from your life, he says it again.

"You do know that I love you, right?" His smile is genuine, if not a little nervous. He hoped you would be as accepting as Bucky, and send him off with just a rueful look. A gentle, final word. A sweet farewell that he can take with him as a reminder of all the times you spent together.

"I know," you breathe, relenting. Steve does not like that your eyes are glazed over, empty. Like you're not taking him in at all. You take notice of the resulting sag in his shoulders, out of character from the dignified stride he sported as he was saying goodbye to the others.

A big part of you wants to remain indignant. So what if he's hurt or uncomfortable due to your coldness? It serves him right.

"Come here," he whispers, and it comes across a silent plea. Come here? Will you, please?

You take just one small step closer, but he is already ahead, wrapping his arms around your frame. Your stony mask breaks as your cheek presses against his chest, away from his view. His chest plate glistens from your tears, but you don't have it in you to wipe them away.

When he pulls away to look down at you, his heart breaks. He cradles your face in his hands as you look up at him through wet eyelashes, and it's almost enough to make him consider staying.

But then you say, "It will all be okay, Steve." You gingerly pry his hands from your cheeks, giving them a comforting squeeze. "We will be okay."

You look behind you, where Bucky stands watching the exchange, and he offers an encouraging nod.

You take a step back, mustering everything that you possibly can, all the love you have for Steve, to give him one last genuine smile.

"Go get your girl."

Read part two here.

The way I was making myself upset while writing this - god I love angst!!! ~~~

I was gonna keep going, make it even more brutal, but I'll save that for the upcoming parts. It will have some Bucky x reader as well 🖤

God Bless America('s ass).

oh, and let me know if you wish to be tagged!

[bijouxcarys]

𝑷𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏' 𝑮𝒖𝒚 - 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑶𝑵𝑬

Masterlist

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟐

“𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐡𝐮𝐧.”

I looked across at Emma, who was already into her third glass of Rosé. Her cheeks were flushed from the wine and from the excitement in the air. She swirled the liquid around her glass, lifting it to catch the light as she did so. The rim was wet from where she had licked it earlier, and she ran her tongue over it again, but there was no moisture to lick up this time. I knew I would be slipping on excess liquid at some point the next day, my kitchen tiles sprawled with wine glaze like a Jackson Pollock painting.

It wasn’t exactly a huge flat, but it was what we could afford at the time. I had to hop across the floor to avoid stumbling over random items just to get to my Converse without twisting my ankle. Emma was dancing and singing to our favourite song at the time: Immigrant Song by the ever-amazing Led Zeppelin.

“I swear there is nobody… nobody… better than Zed Leppelin,” Emma slurred slightly, one Doc Marten short.

My best friend.

“Yes, I love Zed Leppelin…” I answered bluntly, but inevitably laughed at her. I propped myself up onto the kitchen counter, face to face with the mirror on the wall ahead of me, applying the rest of my make up on with attempted precision. It looked the best it could do at that point.

I was able to get a sip of Emma’s drink at one point, but not nearly enough to be as wankered as she was.

“Maria! This is my favourite bit! Ahhhh!” Emma whined, her voice flat and unsteady.

As I hopped off the counter, she started to belt out the lyrics, her voice rising and falling in all the wrong places. I could hear muffled conflict through the floorboards beneath me from my downstairs neighbours. They were once again arguing about money or sex or something else that would make them both miserable for an evening. Next time they would have to find something new to argue about because we had heard it all before.

Emma was oblivious when she got like this; slowly going down with a ship full of happy people who did not appreciate life nor each other.

It was difficult to lead her in the right direction as we made our way to the local pub. She was such a mess when she was drunk. I had no idea what I would do if I got that drunk. With it being student night, it was only 60p a pint. So, I wasn’t laying any bets on me not getting somewhat drunk.

It didn’t help that Emma insisted that her leather jacket was indeed a weather bucket. Seeing her this drunk diverted my desire to be on that level. A level that already had her eye makeup smudged, making her look like an escapee from a rave rather than someone going to get cheap drinks on a Friday night.

But that’s what we were hoping for. Cheap drinks and good company that made you feel like you’d rocked yourself hard in a discotheque the morning after, just so we did not have to be alone with our thoughts of university.

The good thing was that as soon as we got to the pub, we’d be away from any roads, so I no longer had to be responsible for Emma’s destructive actions. I wasn’t used to being the one to look after the other. Emma had always acted as a mother figure to me, even throughout our couple of years at college.

The bright lights of the local pub beckoned to Emma and me through the cold London night sky. The scent of hops and wheat beer was a familiar comfort during late nights like these, when you needed something to calm your nerves before you went home to study or work on an assignment. I kept my hands in my pockets as we walked towards the doors, feeling the crisp air burning my nose and condensing into ice crystals.

It was warmer inside than I had anticipated. The wooden ceiling tiles let through a yellow light, warming the room. People talked at low tones, some played pool at one of the tables while others stood around chatting in clusters. It was always a popular way to forget the stress of your studies, especially since it was so hard to make a living in London.

We sat down at the bar, where Emma immediately ordered two shots of tequila from the bartender, who gave us a curious smile.

To many, events management wasn’t even a real thing to study. I admit, it is a weird thing to get a degree in, but it was interesting to say the least. It had its moments. I was just glad I could break up those moments with a night of sitting with Emma drinking cheap beer.

I sighed and shook my head as she instinctively made moves on the bartender. She needed it, the poor thing. She needed a good shag, to be honest, there’s no other way to put it.

I, on the other hand, now felt very awkward. I’d never been left alone in a pub before. But I didn’t want to risk ruining things for Emma and the bartender, so I walked over to the other bar that was stood directly next to that one.

A few drinks, and I should be fine.

After ordering my pint, I turned around and leaned on the bar so that I could get a good look at my surroundings. I noticed the stage was cleared of tables. Another student band, it seemed. A lot of the bands formed at Imperial weren’t exactly original, in all honesty. It wasn’t necessarily bad music; it just wasn’t anything worth buying in to.

After 3 and a half pints, my nerves had soothed out and I was confident enough to move myself over to an empty table. I did look around briefly for Emma, but I noticed she was now sat with another guy, at the other side of the pub.

That girl, I swear to God.

I would have ventured for someone else that I knew, had the student band not made their entrance. So, I just stayed where I was, finally being able to occupy myself with listening to music rather than sitting alone and drinking.

“We’re extremely thrilled to be here tonight!” The frontman, evidently tipsy, announced to everyone. Some people had intentionally stopped what they were doing in order to get a better view. A group of girls giggled as they pointed at their favourite band member. Some people had pulled up chairs and were sitting side by side while they drank and chatted together. It had me wondering, were they anything special?

“I’m Freddie, I’m the important one who makes sure you all have a beautiful night, you beautiful people.” He chuckled into the microphone, which was attached to a dissected stand. “John Deacon on bass,” he pointed over a meeker looking male, stood towards the back. “Of course, we have blondie on the drums!” Freddie hissed, as the blonde at the back stood up. His arms drummed out a rhythm from behind his drumset and made it sound like he was giving instructions to follow him into battle.

“What a tart, Roger.” Freddie teased, before excessively gesturing towards the last person to come on stage.

He was much taller than the rest of them and his hair was voluminous to say the least. He was also extremely thin, but he made up for it when he held his guitar in front of him.

“And this is Brian May on the gee-tar!”

“Tequila shots?? Only 50p each!” A bartender held out a circular tray with shot glasses scattered out amongst it.

I really shouldn’t, I thought, remembering I had a meeting with my professor the next day. But alas, I have never been good at self-control – especially when it came to alcohol. I bought two shots and downed them almost instantly. My throat almost closed at the strong taste; mimosas are more pleasant in comparison. I was not used to it at all.

I coughed and stifled my outburst with my hand, eyes riveted on the band onstage. The four of them were all attractive in their own intriguing ways. The sound of the drums was punctuated by the enthusiastic beat of Roger’s drumsticks. He had a certain kind of charm about him that made him almost larger-than-life. But it was the guitarist who truly stole my heart away with his displays of raw passion as he strummed chords that resonated perfectly with each other. He had intense dark eyes that seemed to bore into the fretboard of his guitar as he played with furious intensity, each riff powerful and precise. I must admit, they gave other bands a run for their money.

The song they performed seemed familiar—like it could have been an old classic that I couldn’t quite remember the name of. All I knew was that it filled me with an intense nostalgia and joy all at once. As soon as it ended, I felt a pang of regret settle within me. Alas, the song that I did not know the name of stayed in my head for the rest of the night. Whatever it was, it was a real banger.

“Maria!”

Startled, my head snapped towards the voice, spotting Emma walking towards me with a deep flush to her face.

“Where have you been?” I asked her, a slight slur to my voice as she took the seat beside me. But before she could answer, I rushed over her response. “And why is your face red?! Are you bleeding?!” My screeching voice echoed around us; I stood up hastily, knocking over my chair with my clumsiness, trying desperately to inspect Emma’s face for any signs of wounds.

“No! Oh… No…” Emma shook her head with a dopey smile. “It’s the lipstick… Got a bit smudged.”

“But you don’t wear—” Hiccup. “You don’t wear stiplick… Uh, lipstick.” I would have laughed at my own cock-up if it weren’t for the fact that I was a hair off of vomiting a bit of alcohol back up. Two drinks and I had hit rock bottom.

Drinking alcohol had always been something fun to do with friends in the past – a happy social experience without any undertones of depression or jealousy or whatever other emotions you could get when you drank alone.

I looked around and saw that people in surrounding groups were cheering loudly when the leader singer threw a towel at a specific group of girls stood at the side of the stage at the climax of his performance.

“We should probably go home… unless you want to meet the guys who were just up on that stage thing,” Emma waved roughly in the same relative directed as the stage. “Oh my God, that blonde drummer was so pretty!”

“No, we should go home. I have a meeting with Professor Ross tomorrow, remember?” I sighed sadly with a pout, guiding myself carefully towards the door.

“You know,” I heard Emma coming up behind me as we stepped out into the cold air. “Sometimes I think you should just shag the professor… That’s the closest you’ll get to a boyfriend, Maria…”

That was one thing about Emma: she said what was on her mind without pity or malice, but she really couldn’t control herself when she got drunk, which made for comedic situations that reminded me why I loved her so much.

“You always take yourself so seriously, Maria… Like your life is super hard and everything… on planet Earth right now is soooo bad! It’s not… you should just let loose every once in a while. Maybe, like, try some different makeup or something. Or shag someone—you could be having proper sex instead of snogging lampposts!”

I rolled my eyes as we made our way down the gravelly street.

“That band didn’t seem so bad… I’d shag all of them!”

I practically screamed at Emma’s words, as we both stumbled in the direction of our flat.

“Emma, I think I have a thing for guitarists now. I—” I would have finished my thought, only I hurled over into a bush, vomiting aggressively some of the alcohol back up. My mouth puckered from the taste of undigested alcohol and saliva; it was horrible. The sharp smell of vomit stung my nose, but I didn’t care about anything but getting as far away from this bush as possible. Emma held me under one arm, supporting me with her softness and absolute lightness. She helped me walk out of the bush and to the path toward home.

She tried her best to get my hair out of the way of my mouth, but it was already infused with my vomit. What a lovely sight I was.

Emma chuckled, squeezing me with her arm.

“Hey, maybe guitarists are into lightweights.”

I scoffed and groaned, already feeling the hangover approaching.

“What a wonderful world that would be.”

My head felt like it was being crushed by a giant hammer. Overwhelming pain and fatigue mixed with the sound of fizzing that rumbled in my brain. An agonising groan flew from my mouth, as I stirred from my unconsciousness to find Emma placing an aspirin on the coffee table.

“Maria, hun, it’s 10:30.” Her voice echoed through the fog of my hangover. Even the slightest ray of light felt like needles piercing my eyes.

“I need some sunglasses,” I muttered painfully as I pulled myself up from the sofa. My actions had been carefree last night, but I never intended to get so drunk. If only I could take back the control that slipped away too easily.

“What time did you say it was?” My voice was hoarse from the night before, and my limbs were stiff from sleeping on the sofa. I stumbled to grab the glass of aspirin, steadying it as best as I could with my trembling hands as Emma plopped down next to me, handing me a plate with a slice of toast on it.

“Half 10. What time is your meeting?” Emma said through her own morning grogginess. I looked at her, my eyes growing by the second.

Shit! The meeting!

I quickly swallowed the aspirin and took a bite out of the toast, leaping to my feet. Unfortunately, all of the sudden movement made me feel dizzy, and my vision became blurred for a moment.

No, no… Steady yourself!

“I won’t be too long, um,” I scrambled for my converse as I tried to tame my dishevelled hair. “There’s some pasta from the other night in the fridge, I gotta go, love you.” With that, I left Emma alone.

The walk from my flat to Imperial’s main campus felt like an eternity, despite how close it was. If only I had a car. Or at least knew someone who did.

It was one of those walks where your calves burn, really burn. When you know just how long you have left to walk, but your feet can’t seem to take you there fast enough. When your brain is just filled of nothing but determination to get to where you’re headed – even if it isn’t even that important. Yeah, walks like that stressed me out big time.

With only a few minutes to spare, I walked through the double doors of the college atrium, heading straight for the lift. There’s no way I’m walking up 5 flights of stairs feeling like pure death.

Much to my dismay, when I held out my finger to press the button, there was a piece of paper, with ‘out of order’ written on it.

Great, I thought.

As I made my way up the steps of the third flight of stairs, I had to resist the urge to burst into tears. My legs ached, I was so hot that it felt unbearable, and I felt like I could faint at any moment. My intoxication from the previous night had only made the situation worse.

I managed to make it to my professor’s office, which doubled as our lecture hall. It was decorated with images and accomplishments of some of the most successful music managers and publishers. My studies for the year focused on John Reid and his collaborations with Elton John. He was an incredibly important figure in the record industry, with him being so young, and coming from a humble background. Those simple facts made his accomplishments seem all the more remarkable.

As I predicted, I spotted my professor seated at his desk, absorbed in stacks of papers before him.

“Ah, Maria. You’re late.” The scolding tone I had been expecting was enough to let me know that my tardiness was a mistake, arriving to our meeting some twenty minutes after the scheduled time.

“Yes, Sir, I apologise. I must have overslept,” I replied meekly, making an attempt to smother my strained panting.

“Take a seat.”

Grateful for the reprieve from standing, I placed my bag on the ground and perched myself on the edge of the chair.

“Maria, I have to be straightforward and let you know that I’m an incredibly busy man,” my professor began. My initial dear was that he would go on a lecture about how I should be looking for a job and stop relying on student funds. Instead, he went on, “Since I’m based in London, there are too many opportunities available but too few people to fill them. And when I’m not running twenty minutes late because of certain students…” My cheeks burned. “I am often being offered job postings.”

I shifted forwards, massaging my throbbing knees. “Really?”

“Indeed,” he responded. “What you may not know is that you’re one of our top students in the course at Imperial. Which is why I have a proposition for you.”

A swirl of questions rushed into my mind: Was I finally receiving a job offer? Would I be able to repay all of my debts? Could I now proudly inform my parents I had landed a job?

Instantly, my posture was held upright in anticipation as I leaned forward in the chair, eager to listen to what my professor had to say.

“It’s been a challenging process lately with a lot of people in our area trying to make it big in the music business, becoming the next rockstar.”

In response, I injected a hint of light-heartedness to our discussion, remarking, “Yes, Sir, that’s certainly a good way to make a lot of money.”

“It could be,” he continued. “There’s a group here that I want you to look after and get the most out of their experience. You can earn some of it back, but there won’t be much money coming your way. It’s just the way of getting some valuable experience in the music business.”

My already sinking spirits were doused further when he added this tid-bit, for I could not hope to survive off of the meagre sum. Sinking back into my seat, I could not help but be overcome by my heavy fatigue from my recent hangover.

Free work? Absolutely not, Sir.

“This isn’t exactly the next Rolling Stones here,” he clarified, attempting to alleviate the sour atmosphere in the room. “These musicians aren’t even from the music department. All I need you to do is mentor them a bit and book them some local gigs if possible.”

Reluctantly, I came to the realisation that I had nothing to lose by accepting this opportunity. With nothing to risk and potentially something to gain, it was certainly worth the try.

I had been expecting a little time to contemplate my decision, however, due to arriving late, I was only given two minutes to make my choice. It wasn’t as if I had much of a choice, besides, this was an opportunity to aid me in getting a degree.

Every single second seemed to be stretched out into an eternity, leaving me feeling weary and nauseous, my tiredness deciding to abruptly fail me in the worst possible time. The moment I heard voices approaching from the outside, coming closer, I knew I was in for a ride.

“What do you mean, it’s my fault the lift isn’t working?” A shrill voice sounded, sounding slightly out of breath, at the same time the door opened to reveal the blonde-haired drummer boy from the pub, looking just as arrogant as I remembered. I couldn’t believe my eyes when Freddie and Brian, the singer and guitarist from the night before, followed shortly after, sending my already weakened state into further disarray.

My professor stood up, pointing to me and saying, “This is Maria, she’ll be making sure you book the correct gigs and gain enough publicity.” After shaking away the effects of my hangover just enough to properly introduce myself, I couldn’t help but feel comforted by locking eyes with Freddie. Roger however, seemed quite excitable, an observation which had me instantly pondering how he would get on with Emma.

Lastly, Brian, with his hair looking like a poodle's, was standing in the corner with his hands shoved into his pockets, giving me a slightly unsure look. It was then that I noticed my throat was becoming drier by the second and that I was struggling to breathe properly.

The guitarist’s eventual smile was enough to send my stomach into an uproar, although I couldn’t quite tell if it was due to my anxiety or hangover. My mind felt blank for a second as Brian waited for me to introduce myself.

“Erm, sorry. I’m…” My voice got caught in my throat, somewhat unable to finish my sentence.

I heard Freddie’s mischievous chuckle fill the room, his voice laced with playful amusement. “Have you forgotten your name already, darling?” he teased, his eyes dancing with mirth. Meanwhile, Roger, his blonde locks framing his face, couldn’t help but join in, a soft giggle escaping his lips as he adjusted his hat.

A wave of nausea washed over me, compelling me to rush towards the bin tucked away in the corner of my professor’s room. With each heave, I found myself yearning for Emma’s presence, someone to hold my hair back and offer comfort. Yet, to my dismay, they all stood there, mere spectators to my torment, their gazes fixed upon me without offering any aid.

When the ordeal finally subsided, I gingerly wiped my mouth with my sleeve, attempting to compose myself as best I could. Despite the undeniable evidence of my body’s revolt, I fought to maintain an appearance of normalcy, as if I hadn’t just expelled the contents of my stomach.

Roger, taken aback by the insinuation that they were the cause of my sickness, voices his offence, “Jesus, we’re not that bad, are we?” Brian, sensing the need to defuse the situation, swiftly nudged him, effectively silencing his protest.

Feeling a pang of guilt, I conjured up a lie, unwilling to reveal the truth about my indulgence in excessive drinking the previous night. “S-sorry… I guess I’m not well,” I stammered, my words cloaked in falsehood, fearing the judgement that would accompany any glimpse of my perceived irresponsibility.

Brian’s voice, quiet and reassuring, offered solace amidst the turmoil, but his words were eclipsed by the deep sigh emanating from my professor. Expressing concern for my recent behaviour, he advised, “Maria, I think you should go home and come back tomorrow with a stronger mindset. I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately.”

Burdened by shame, I hastily gathered my belongings, my footsteps hurried as I attempted to escape the situation. However, my escape was interrupted as Freddie’s hand clasped around my arm, a sympathetic smile gracing his lips. “It’s alright, darling, we all get pissed sometimes,” he consoled me, a touch of laughter colouring his words. With a gentle release of his grip, he allowed me to continue on my way.

As I made my retreat, a lingering sense of embarrassment enveloped me, casting a shadow over the encounter that would remain etched in my memory.

Brian

I observed Maria’s departure from the room, her face filled with embarrassment. It was evident that the professor’s attitude had done little to make her feel welcomed. What a prick, I thought, casting a disdainful glance at him. Sensing Maria’s unease, I turned my attention back to the professor.

“Are you sure she’s going to be able to handle us?” I inquired, picking up on her anxious exit.

Roger chimed in, his voice tinged with a hint of arrogance. “Yeah, we’re not exactly easy to be around. We want a lot from this experience, you know.”

Rolling my eyes, I interjected, not impressed with Roger’s comment. “I’m sure you do, Rog,” I retorted, well aware of his intentions when it came to meeting a new girl.

“Ladies, please, we can fight in our own time,” Freddie scolded us, his tone laced with exasperation. “Deacy doesn’t like the fighting, darling. How could you possibly be this childish?”

“It’s a good thing he’s not here then, isn’t it?” Roger shot back, revealing his immaturity.

The professor interrupted our verbal clash, clearing his throat. “That’s a point. Aren’t there four of you? Where’s the other one?”

“The other one, my dear, is our bassist, and he’s more than ‘the other one’. Furthermore, he doesn’t come here,” Freddie retorted sharply, striding toward the professor, and clasping his hands behind his back. It was evident that someone had irked Freddie with such a response. “He doesn’t mix with scum, darling.”

“Fred, chill,” I interjected, attempting to diffuse the tension as I offered a warm smile to the professor.

Freddie took a step back, relenting. “So, we’ll take the girl’s number and say no more about it, yes?”

“Of course,” the professor replied dryly, jotting down Maria’s number on a small piece of paper. Before the professor could even pick it up, Freddie snatched it from him, turning around and heading for the door.

“Remember she’s an unpaid student. Don’t be too ambitious, and don’t stress her out too much, boys,” the professor cautioned.

Roger smiled, shrugging his shoulders. “Don’t worry, we only need a little push, and we’ll be on Top of the Pops in five years.”

“Five years, darling? Try two years!” Freddie proclaimed with confidence, opening the door for us all to exit. As we left, I could have sworn I heard the professor mutter, “You wish.”

“You can’t keep your mouth shut, you two,” I snapped at Freddie and Roger as we made our way down the stairs.

“What are you complaining about?” Roger countered. “One girl is going to be spending a lot of time around us, four guys. This is the best opportunity of our lives, Bri!”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “The only opportunity you think you’re getting is to get in her pants, which will not happen, by the way. You can’t mix up business with lust, Rog.”

Roger stopped in his tracks, raising an eyebrow mischievously. “Let’s hope she has a hot friend, then!” With that, he skilfully slid himself down the banister of the staircase.

“You wish, Blondie,” I murmured under my breath, trailing behind Roger down the stairs.