#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! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams @shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes @beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarne @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a

[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…

[justasmisunderstoodasloki]

I get so incredibly emotional when watching Bohemian Rhapsody

[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

𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝐒𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

[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

[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.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

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

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

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!

[the-winter-spider]

The Alchemy | Part One

NFL Bucky x reader au

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Angst, fluff,

A/N: I only have one more chapter of Invisible to post so ima get this new series out there. I plan to alternate with this one and Say Don Go! Also im Canadian, ive never watched football in my life before Taylor Swift & Travis Kelce so bare with me, Im a hockey girl 😇🤣

ALSO WOW another ts inspired fic what are the odds lmaoooo

------

The stadium buzzed with energy, every seat packed with fans decked out in the team’s deep blue and silver. Flags waved, chants echoed, and the floodlights bathed the field in an electric glow. The scoreboard flashed 20-24. Fourth quarter. Six seconds left on the clock.

Bucky Barnes stood on the field, his cleats dug into the turf as his breath came in steady bursts. His number 17 jersey clung to him, streaked with sweat and dirt, but his focus was absolute. Across from him, defenders crouched low, their eyes locked on him. Everyone in the stadium knew where the ball was going. The golden boy, the clutch player, the one who could pull miracles out of thin air.

At the line of scrimmage, Steve Rogers—number 18, the quarterback—barked out commands, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “Green 18! Green 18! Set!” His hand hovered under center, waiting for the snap.

Next to Steve, Sam Wilson—number 78, the running back—grinned as he looked to his left. “Hope you’re ready to make me look good, Barnes,” Sam called to Bucky, his voice tinged with a mix of adrenaline and humor.

Bucky smirked, glancing over his shoulder. “Always am, Wilson. Try to keep up.”

The ball snapped.

Time slowed, the roar of the stadium dimming to a dull hum in Bucky’s ears. He exploded off the line of scrimmage, his legs pumping as he darted past the first defender. His route was a perfectly calculated arc, his sharp cut leaving his opponent scrambling in his wake.

Steve dropped back, his eyes scanning the field, calm and composed as chaos erupted around him. The offensive line was holding—barely. Sam sprinted out to the right, dragging a defender with him and creating just enough space for Bucky to hit his mark.

“Buck!” Steve’s shout was clear, even over the thunder of the crowd. The ball left his hands in a perfect spiral, arcing high into the night.

Bucky didn’t slow. He kept his eyes on the ball as it sailed through the air, his body moving on instinct. A defender lunged at him, but he sidestepped, his cleats digging into the turf and propelling him forward. Another defender was closing in, but he wasn’t fast enough.

Bucky leaped, his arms stretching to meet it. For a split second, the stadium seemed to hold its breath. His fingertips brushed the leather, and then the ball was in his hands, secured against his chest as he crashed to the ground in the end zone.

The buzzer sounded.

The crowd erupted into a deafening roar, the stands a blur of jumping fans and waving flags. Bucky pushed himself to his feet, the ball still clutched tightly in his hands. His teammates swarmed him, slapping his back and tugging at his jersey.

“Hell of a catch, Buck!” Steve shouted, pulling Bucky into a quick hug, his grin as wide as the field.

“Couldn’t have done it without that throw,” Bucky replied, though his grin didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Sam jogged over, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “Man, you’re gonna make the rest of us look bad if you keep pulling off plays like that.”

“Just doing my job,” Bucky quipped, though his voice carried a hint of weariness.

The cameras swarmed, capturing every second of the celebration. Bucky turned, tossing the ball to an equipment manager as he ran a hand through his damp hair. He offered a practiced smile to the crowd, raising his hand in a quick wave. The adrenaline still pounded through his veins, but underneath it all, he felt…empty. Moments like this used to mean everything. Now, they were just another show.

----

You stood just behind the sidelines, your camera in hand as you captured the final seconds of the game. The stadium’s energy was almost overwhelming, but you kept your focus, snapping shot after shot as the ball spiraled through the air. The lens followed Bucky, capturing the moment his fingertips grazed the ball and the exact second he pulled it to his chest.

Your thumb hovered over the record button as he hit the ground in the end zone, the buzzer blaring through the stadium. The noise was deafening, but you barely noticed, too focused on capturing the raw emotion of the moment—his teammates rushing to him, the grin splitting Steve’s face, Sam throwing his hands in the air as he jogged over.

Through the lens, you could see every detail: the streaks of dirt on Bucky’s jersey, the intensity in his eyes, the way he stood a little apart from the celebration even as he was surrounded by his team. You lowered the camera for a moment, watching as he turned to wave at the crowd, that effortless smile on his face.

There was something surreal about seeing him like this, so different yet so familiar, especially after all these years. The golden boy of the NFL, the star of every highlight reel, and yet…still Bucky. You just wondered what he would think if he knew you were tasked with covering his team for the duration of the season.

-----

The press room buzzed with energy as reporters jostled for position, shoving microphones and cameras toward the front. Bucky sat at the table, effortlessly commanding the room. His jersey clung to him, still damp with sweat, and his dark hair fell messily across his forehead. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his easy smile lighting up the space.

“Bucky, talk us through that final play!” one reporter called out.

Bucky smirked, shaking his head. “It’s not just me. That was all teamwork. The guys up front gave me the space, and Stevie threw a perfect pass, I just had to do my part.”

“Just your part?” another reporter pressed. “That was your second game-winning catch this season and it just started! You’re making it look easy out there.”

“Well,” Bucky replied, flashing a quick grin, “it’s never easy, i’ve just got a great team behind me. We work hard for moments like that.”

More questions came, volleying back and forth. He answered them all with polished charm, his practiced media persona never faltering. But as the questions wore on, his gaze started to wander, skimming over the sea of faces and microphones. That’s when he saw you, his blue eyes did a double take before confusion and shock swam through them.

You were standing off to the side, not pushing to the front like the others. You weren’t yelling over the noise or angling for the best shot. You were just…there. Scribbling something into your notebook, head ducked slightly as if you wanted to disappear into the crowd.

Bucky froze for a fraction of a second, the polished grin faltering for the briefest moment before he caught himself. His heart stuttered in his chest, a wave of recognition crashing over him. He blinked, his brain scrambling to catch up. No way. It couldn’t be.

You were trying to stay out of the fray while still capturing the scene. Your notebook was a familiar weight in your hands, its pages filling with shorthand notes that you’d polish later. It was your way of staying grounded—your way of not staring too long at him.

The boy you’d grown up with. The boy who used to challenge you to races down your block, who teased you mercilessly, who knew all your secrets. Seeing him now, years later, as the NFL’s star receiver, felt surreal. He’d become everything the world expected him to be. And yet, in some strange way, he was still the same.

You ducked your head lower, scribbling furiously to avoid the wave of memories threatening to crash over you. Focus. Professional. Objective. That was your mantra when you’d taken this assignment. You hadn’t even known it would be his team until you arrived. Now, all you wanted was to finish your notes and leave to compose yourself fully before he could notice you.

Bucky’s gaze lingered on you, his heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the game he’d just played. He said your name softly, testing it on his lips. It felt foreign and familiar all at once. You didn’t react—too far away, too focused on your notes.

“Hey, Bucky!” another reporter called out. “What’s your mindset going into the rest of the season?”

He barely heard the question. His focus was entirely on you now, watching as you slipped your notebook into your bag and adjusted the strap over your shoulder. You were leaving.

“Uh, sorry,” he mumbled to the reporter, not bothering to look at them. “I need to…” He trailed off, standing abruptly.

The room went silent for a moment, the reporters exchanging confused glances. “Bucky, are you—?”

“Yeah, uh, excuse me,” he muttered, already moving. He left the table, ignoring the murmurs that followed as the cameras swung to track his movements.

His heart stuttered.

“Y/N?” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the din. He blinked, half-convinced his mind was playing tricks on him. He tried again, louder this time. “Y/N?”

You didn’t look up.

----

The late summer air clung to your skin, thick and still, like it was trying to hold you in this moment forever. The roof beneath you was rough and familiar, each crack in the shingles a memory. Nights like this always felt infinite—just you and Bucky under the stars, talking about everything and nothing. But tonight, that comforting rhythm was broken.

You sat side by side, the glow of the streetlights catching in Bucky’s messy hair. He leaned back on his elbows, that cocky grin you knew so well plastered across his face. “So,” he said, breaking the silence, “you wanna go to prom with me next year? You know, as friends or whatever.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, but it sounded hollow even to you. “Prom’s not for another year, Bucky. Don’t tell me you’re turning into a planner now.”

“What can I say?” He shrugged, the grin widening, his confidence practically radiating. “I like to lock down the good ones early.”

You rolled your eyes and gave him a light shove, but your hand lingered on his arm for just a second longer than it should have. He felt it. He always felt it.

“Alright,” he said, his grin fading as he sat up straighter, his piercing blue eyes narrowing in concern. “What’s going on? You’ve been weird all night.”

Your fingers twisted together in your lap, your gaze dropping to the shingles. The words felt too heavy to say, but they burned in your chest. You couldn’t keep them in any longer.

“I’m moving.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. It stretched between you like the whole world had opened up, and all you could do was stare into the void. When you finally looked at him, his expression was blank, unreadable. That cocky smile you’d always known so well—it was just gone.

“You’re lying,” he said, his voice low, almost like a challenge.

You shook your head, your throat tightening. “I wish I was.”

His brows furrowed, the disbelief quickly turning into something sharper. “Why?” he asked, leaning closer. “You don’t have to go. You’re almost eighteen—just stay.”

“Bucky—”

“No, listen to me,” he cut you off, his words coming fast now, his tone filled with something you rarely heard from him: fear. “You could stay here. My ma wouldn’t care. Hell, she’d love it. You could move into the basement. You practically live at my house anyway. No one would even notice. You don’t have to go.”

The desperation in his voice broke something in you. You had known it would hurt, but seeing him like this—Bucky, who was always so strong, so steady—was unbearable.

“I can’t stay,” you said softly, the words barely more than a whisper. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Why not?” His voice cracked as he sat up fully, his hands curling into fists against the roof. “Am I not enough for you to stay?” He knew he was being selfish but he was so blind sided he couldn't help it.

The question hit you like a punch to the chest. Your breath caught, and you had to blink hard to keep your vision from blurring. “Fuck, Bucky,” you whispered. “Of course, you’re enough. You’re my best friend. You’re everything. But my mom…” Your voice broke, and you had to take a deep breath before continuing. “She’s finally leaving him. Bucky, we’re finally getting out.”

His jaw clenched, and his chest rose and fell unevenly as he processed your words. His hands gripped the edge of the roof like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. “Your mom…” he started, his voice trailing off. Of course, he was happy for her. He knew what it had taken for her to finally leave that asshole. He’d seen the bruises you never talked about, the way your voice would falter when you mentioned home. Of course, he understood.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less. She was taking you away from him, and he couldn’t stand it. "What about school? We have one more year left."

"They have schools everywhere Buck..." Your voice was soft and quiet.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. The night stretched on, heavy and endless. You thought he might fight you on it again, throw out another plan, another reason for you to stay. But instead, he let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

“Well,” he said, his voice sharp and hollow, “I guess this is it then.”

“Bucky, don’t do this,” you pleaded, the words rushing out before you could stop them. “Please.”

He stood up slowly, brushing off his hands like he was trying to shake off the weight of your words. His expression was unreadable now, his eyes cold and distant in a way you’d never seen before.

“It was nice while it lasted,” he said, his voice clipped and emotionless. He paused at the edge of the roof, looking back at you one last time. “Hey, take care of yourself, alright?”

And then he climbed down the ladder, disappearing into the shadows below.

You didn’t call after him—you couldn’t. You just sat there on the roof, staring at the place where he’d been, your heart breaking under the weight of his absence. For the first time, the stars felt impossibly far away.

That was the last time you ever talked to Bucky Barnes.

----

You were halfway down the hallway, your footsteps echoing softly in the empty space, when you heard him.

“Y/N!”

You froze, halfway down the hallway. The voice was unmistakable now—stronger, sharper, but undeniably his. Slowly, you turned, and there he was, jogging toward you with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher. His broad shoulders filled the space, but it was his eyes—wide and almost boyish—that sent your heart racing.

“Is this really you?” he asked, stopping just a few feet away. His chest rose and fell as if he’d just run the length of the field. His gaze swept over you, disbelief and something like relief flickering across his face.

You laughed nervously, a sound that came out more like a breathless exhale. “I didn’t think you’d recognize me.”

Bucky’s lips parted in a huff of incredulous laughter. “Are you kidding? I could find you in any room.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Before you could respond, he closed the distance, wrapping you in a hug so tight it stole the breath from your lungs. For a moment, the world fell away—the noise, the cameras, the years. It was just Bucky, holding you like he was afraid you’d disappear. It was like you were kids again, sitting on rooftops and talking about everything under the stars. Holding you in a way where you finally felt safe like nothing or no one could hurt you because you knew these arm’s wouldn’t.

“Holy shit,” he muttered into your hair. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still on your shoulders. “I haven’t seen you in years. What are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you—I’m just…wow.”

You smiled, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m here to cover the team for the season.” You held up your press badge, a sheepish grin tugging at your lips. “Didn’t realize I’d be covering you.”

Bucky barked a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fate, huh? Guess it wasn’t done with us yet.”

You both stood there for a moment, the hallway around you seeming to blur. His thumb brushed against your arm absently, like he was reassuring himself you were real. Finally, he stepped back, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I’ve got about a thousand questions,” he said, tilting his head. “But I guess we’ve got the whole season to catch up, right?”

“Right,” you replied, the warmth in his eyes making it impossible to think straight. “The whole season.”

[queenmylovely]

They’re both so in love it’s ridiculous. “When the curriculum ends…” uh huh sure it’ll end, and then you’ll just fuck extracurricularly!

A Different Kind of Eduation: P Is For Pet Play (Chapter 13)

ADKoE MASTERLIST

Pairing: Professor!Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Series Summary: After being broken up with for not being kinky enough, Reader seeks out her professor to give her some private tutoring so she can win her boyfriend back.

Chapter Summary: Reader learns a few new tricks in Roger's latest lesson.

Warnings: Modern AU, smut (18+), slow burn romance, dom/sub dynamics, dom!roger and sub!reader, professor x student sex, dialogue heavy, role play, pet play, puppy play, training, holding, fingering, spanking, collar, butt plug, orgasm delay/cumming on command, a bit of degradation and humiliation

Words: 9951

A/N: I think writing is a winter sport for me. Which is part of why this chapter has been sitting at 85% finished for months. But, the weather is finally cooling down here in Aus and this chapter is finally done! I'm excited for ya'll to read it. Hopefully I've edited it enough lmao

(Also, apologies for any formatting weirdness, it's because tumblr now has rules about how many characters can be used before you have to put in a line break or whatever, so I had to go through and break up some paragraphs into smaller sections. It should still be okay but all my fics are also available over on Ao3 if you wanna read them that way)

As always *** indicates the smut scene.

Taglist: @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @ilovequeenmorethanyou @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies @cherries-n-rocknroll @rogersslave@scorpiogemini

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(idk how many of you are still interested in this fic so if you want your name taken off let me know, or if anyone wants to be added i can also do that)

“Don’t you look professional,” Roger had teased, handing you a rather large glass of water in lieu of the wine you’d usually have, as you got settled in the study. You’d gone to his straight from work, so were a little more business casual than what he usually saw you wearing. The break from routine threw you off a little but mostly because you were too early for dinner so went straight to the study for your extra lesson. And you quickly got over it.

“So, pet play,” you’d said once you were settled, prompting Roger to start. “We touched on the basics last time,” he slipped easily into his teacher mode, seeming totally unphased by the change to routine, “but was there anything else you wanted to know?” You thought for a moment, “I guess I’m not totally clear on why people do it. And, like, you said it wasn’t always about having sex? I don’t really get how a scene with an animal can lead to sex but then also kink without sex sounds paradoxical.” “Very reasonable questions.” Roger tapped his whiteboard marker against his palm as he decided where to begin, “Last week I said that there were any number of reasons people might be drawn to role play and that includes pet play. Different people like it for different reasons. But I suspect thats not really what you were asking about.” You hummed and nodded your head, “Yeah, I guess my big question is why animals? Why don’t just do the naughty nurse thing or whatever.”

“Look, pet play isn’t something I am incredibly familiar with, certainly not when you compare it to other aspects of BDSM, so I can’t pretend to be an expert and I can really only speculate on some reasons people might be drawn to it. From what I’ve seen of it and the people I know who dabble in it, I think pet play offers an element of creativity that some other kinks don’t always seem to have. Creating your pet’s personality or even the costume you wear. Which isn’t to say roleplaying as anything else doesn’t also have those aspects, but I think for some people working out how to act like an animal can be more of a creative challenge or something more long term than your typical role play concepts. A person sinking money into animal inspired fetish gear is going to be inclined to revisit the role play multiple times, expanding on it, experimenting with it. But really, I think for most people, it’s not inherently about the animal, per se, but the animal opens up opportunities for exploration that other role plays may not. We established last week that part of what may draw people to role play is acting like someone else. You can be more demanding, or more sultry, or more adventurous than you regularly feel. Pet play just pushes that idea a bit further. Depending on the animal you choose and their temperament, it might be as far from you as you can possibly get.”

“Mmmm,okay,” “I know it seems a little contradictory to say it’s not about the animal while trying to explain why other role plays may not appeal the same way.” “Just a bit,” “It is important to keep that in mind though, especially while we discuss how pet play can be incorporated into a sexual dynamic. It’s not acting out bestiality. It’s about roles – someone being in control of someone else in a concrete ownership way – and it's about scenarios that connect with the chosen pet. The way people who take on a canine persona act will likely be vastly different from those that take on an equine persona. And the scenes they choose to play out will in all likelihood be quite different too. For instance, a pony play scene might be physically demanding to simulate a racing experience – being ridden, using a crop, that sort of thing – or it might be an exploration of breeding through a scenario where the horse is put out to stud, or, for those who are more into a show horse type aspect, it might be more about dressing up in costumes – masks and hoof mitts or leather bodysuits - and being shown off at live kink events, maybe even performing a dressage inspire routine.” “Sorry, hoof mitts?” “A type of bondage gear, not always used for pet play. Basically, they’re something submissives can wear over their hands or arms as a type of restraint. They make it impossible to hold or grab things and sometimes they can represent animal paws or hoofs.” “Jesus, alright.” Roger chuckled, “We really are only scratching the surface with these lessons. Anyway, another example, cow play also known by the term HuCow, a portmantau of human and cow. Any guesses what that might entail?” “If you say milking,” “Ding ding ding, we have a winner,” “No way,” you snorted.

Roger shrugged, “It’s not a crazy as it sounds. Lactation fetishes aren’t all that rare, which probably says something about the way breasts are viewed and sexualised but that’s a discussion for another time. But also, it doesn’t have to involve actual lactation, it could just be about squeezing the breasts or even “milking” a penis until it ejaculates. HuCow scenes can tick a number of boxes for people. Those with breast or pec fetishes might like it for the emphasis it can put on that part of the body. There is, like with pony play, a potential for exploring a breeding kink, both as a cow or a bull. You can also get into some gender based kinks like forced feminsation and the like. A male identifying person could be made to act as a female cow, maybe dress in a cow print bikini and have their nipples stimulated as if they were being milked.” “Huh. Okay, that’s very specific. I guess I can see why some animal role plays might appeal to people more than other ones would. So, if we did do something with pet play, would you um, like me to be a, a cow?” “If you were drawn to the idea, I’d be happy to explore that with you. But I was thinking something more along the lines of puppy play.” “So no milking?” you teased, hoping to cut through some of your awkwardness with humour.

Roger smiled, “No milking, no. The first thing that came to mind was a training type scene. It’s fairly classic in the world of puppy play but with good reason. Training is a big part of owning a puppy, reinforcing desired behaviours, teaching them what behaviour is acceptable, teaching them tricks. But training can also be part of many other kinks and sexual dynamic. Sometimes it’s intentional training, sometimes more subconscious in just aiming to handle more intense sensations or to explore wider within a preferred kink. Impact play fans might train to be able to enjoy being struck with a crop instead of just a paddle. Someone might do throat training to be able to deep throat more comfortably. A dom might train a submissive to say thank you after a spanking or to ask permission to cum before each orgasm. We’ve done some light anal training in that I gave you a plug and you wore it to help adjust to the sensation and so you could take me better that way. It’d be my hope that, if you were inclined to try it, a scene about training might be easier to enjoy than something more out there like milking. You don’t have to respond yet,” Roger hastened to add, “I still want to answer your second question before we even think about prac.”

You were relieved Roger didn’t require an immediate answer and that he hadn’t forgotten your initial questions because you weren’t sure you could make a decision without knowing more. But you supposed you could also see the logic in his idea and, the way he’d explained it, training didn’t seem as scary as some of the other things he’d mentioned.

“So the second part of your question is a little more complex.” He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, “You were curious how pet play can lead to sex when one person is acting like a literal animal. The answer is, the same way any other kink can lead to sex. Remember, it’s not about the animal, it’s about the dynamics. Playing as owner and pet is often just a variation of dom and sub – there's the power element, control, the stuff we’ve talked about in nearly every lesson. And, like I said before, the person taking on the pet role is probably also taking on a different personality than normal so that can contribute to the sex. But a large part of the kink community, I would even hazard a guess that it’s the majority, would tell you that any kink can also be fun when there’s no sex involved. With pet play specifically, it’s a fun excuse to dress up, to play, or curl up with someone you care about and have a nap. It can be comforting to feel as if someone owns you when you wear a collar for them. There is tenderness in having your hair brushed and being petted, feeling looked after and cared for. Pet play can just be a different way to express affection for someone.” “Not gonna lie, that sounds kinda nice.” “It really is. That doesn’t just go for pet play either. It is entirely possible to be in a kinky partnership with someone and never have sex. You will find that every single kink we have covered, someone out there enjoys it in a non-sexual way. Bondage, impact play, sensation play, you name it. Though, of course, different people define sex differently and have different boundaries around it. Go to enough kink events and munches and you realise how wide the spectrums for these sorts of things are.”

“So like, they’ll just be tied up and not fuck?” Roger chuckled, “Yeah, sometimes it really is just about the sensations and emotions involved in being restrained. If you continue to explore kinks after, uh, well after we complete this course, you may find that kinks you considered challenging or uncomfortable become more enjoyable when penetrative sex, or any sexual touch at all, isn’t part of it. It’s just about experimenting and figuring out what you enjoy and then defining those boundaries.” You felt a little sad at the reminder that your tutoring would eventually stop but tried not to show it too much. You figured that, as much as Roger might say he enjoyed teaching you, he was probably also at least somewhat looking forward to their end, just to be done with the risks to his teaching position if nothing else.

“Now, not to completely undercut that idea,” Roger said, pulling your attention back to his lesson, “but, if you are curious and okay with trying pet play, I was intending on steering it in a more sexual direction. That is the core point of these lessons after all, to learn about kink and how to safely incorporate it into sex. Of course, it’s helpful to keep in mind that what I’m teaching you isn’t the only way to enjoy these kinks and that enjoying being spanked or called names or engaging in role play doesn’t require an enjoyment of any sort of sex; but sex is kind of what we’re here for.” “So what are you thinking then?” “I’ve already suggested puppy play but did you have any other ideas yourself? I don’t want to tell you what pet to be if there's an idea that interested you or something you’re more drawn to. Role playing as a pet might feel a bit different to role playing as my groupie, and I’d prefer you to be comfortable with the selection than just to do what I want.”

“I don’t know, um, I guess my only thought was just not a cow.” You gave a little shrug, feeling pleased when Roger laughed, “If you think puppy play is a good staring point for me, then I’m happy to go with that. How exactly would it lead to sex though? I’m still not sure I understand that part of pet play.” Roger hummed in thought, “I think obedience and training is a very easy way to incorporate sex into a puppy play scene. I can reward you with physical touch when you obey my orders, or punish you if you don’t. Remember, you’re not being a dog you’re taking on personality traits and actions that align with behaviour common to dogs, but you’re a consenting adult who likes being spanked, so, if you want that tonight, I can do it.” “I want it,” you said with an eager nod, the thought alone enough to make you squirm a little in your seat. Roger smiled, “Okay, good. So rewards and punishments can be an easy way to incorporate sex and other kinks. In addition to that though, I can order you to touch me, or to position yourself in particular ways with the intention of turning us both on. I can tell you to behave in ways that will make you feel humiliated or demeaned, which we both know you get off on, or incorporate degrading nicknames that feel thematically relevant, like calling you a bitch instead of a whore. Even just the act of being bossed around will probably contribute. And they don’t call it doggy style for nothing do they.”

You realised you were biting your lip, “I like the sound of that.” “I thought you might. Now there are a couple things to go over before we start, just so we’re both on the same page and know what to expect and what’s okay. Let me know if something doesn’t feel comfortable or doesn’t sound enjoyable okay?” You nodded expectantly, curious to hear what else Roger had in mind. “Now, while my intention is for this to involve sex, I do also understand how out of your comfort zone a lot of this is, so I’d want to ease you into it a bit and not focus on sex straight away. Um, I’m thinking that you’d be in just your underwear to start.” “Sounds pretty sexy,” you joked. Roger shook his head but he was clearly amused, “I never said it wouldn’t be sexy, just that it wouldn’t focus on sex right away. In addition though, and only if you’re comfortable with it, I have a collar with a lead that you can wear.”

You stomach flipped at the idea “Oh, um, a collar? Like a dog collar?” “Well, it looks sort of similar to one a actual dog might wear but it is definitely made for a human. I did mention collaring very, very briefly when we were looking at bondage. They can represent a few things but one of the more common reasons behind collaring a submissive is as a symbol of ownership. Not necessarily in a master/slave way, though of course it can be. But if the sub wore a collar to a kink event it would be a very clear signal that that person already has a dominant. And in private it can be a signal that they are still okay with submitting to their dom, that they’re willing to follow orders or participate in a scene.” “Could I maybe try it on first, see how it feels before I decide?” “Absolutely, when we’re done here I’ll get it for you. I’d have some specific expectations too around what you are and aren’t allowed to do, things that could contribute to punishments and rewards. Obviously obedience is a major part of this so my expectation is that if I order you to do something, you will do it. Of course, if something is way beyond what you feel comfortable with you can say your safe word,” “Pizzazz,” you said at his pause. “Very good, you can say pizzazz and we’ll stop. We can stop for good if you want or we can just use it as a pause in the scene to check in with each other and adjust things. Does that sound okay?” “Mmhmm, yeah, definitely.”

“Good. My other expectation is that you answer to puppy and pup. I may also use your name during the scene but I may decide to just call you pup, we’ll see how it feels in the moment. And in addition to that, I want you to respond accordingly to good girl or bad girl. Now, dogs can’t speak so I don’t expect to hear much talking from you unless I ask you a question and prompt you to answer with words, or of course if you want to safe word. You can make sounds though, whatever feels natural in the moment. If you feel like barking or whatever, go for it, but if that feels too weird don’t worry.” He gave you a reassuring smile, “Umm, anything else? Oh, yeah, uh, dogs also can’t walk on two legs,” he laughed a little, “So, I would also suggest that you crawl around on all fours. And if I ask you to fetch something you should carry it in your mouth where possible. Does that seem reasonable?” You readily agreed. Though the idea of crawling around hadn’t occurred to you initially, it made sense and you reasoned that being on the ground would probably contribute to feeling more puppy-ish, or at least more submissive.

“One final thing, and this is definitely not mandatory but I figured you might be into it. Do you want to wear a tail?” Your mind jumped straight to the box of dress up items your kindergarten class had had including dinosaur tails you could tie around your waist. Surely Roger had to mean something else, “Uhh, a tail?” Roger held up a finger, signalling you to sit tight, while he ducked out of the room. When he came back he held up a butt plug that, instead of tapering into the traditional shape on the outside end, was instead decorated with a fluffy tail. “These aren’t always used with pet play and there’s a few different varieties. Technically I think this one is meant to be a fox tail, but I only thought of it a few days ago so my options were limited. You can definitely get ones that aren’t so fluffy, ones shaped more like a cat or dog tail that are thinner, firmer. There are little fluff ball bunny tails, horse tails, you name it there's probably a plug out there. The question is, do you want to wear it?” Your decision came quickly, “I’ll wear it.” and then when Roger raised his eyebrows as if asking if you’d really thought it through you added, “I think it’s cute. And I think wearing a plug will help make me hornier which will help me get into the scene more.”

“Alright then,” Roger smiled, handing the plug over, “I also brought the collar over, if you wanted to have a look at it too before we start.” You nodded, though it made you much more nervous than the tail had, and gingerly took it from Roger. The leather was smooth and cool to the touch but the inside was lined with a softer material that you assumed was for the wearers comfort. It had a simple buckle clasp, much like a regular pet collar, and a heart shaped charm dangling from it where a name tag would be on a real dog collar. “Can you help me put it on?” Roger nodded moving behind you to buckle it around your throat. He was gentle, carefully fitting it and checking that it wasn’t too tight both verbally and by slipping two fingers under the collar, before he finally fastened it in place. You reached up to feel the soft leather, tilting your head in both directions as you adjusted to the sensation of it. Your fingers slipped down to the heart charm, the metal cool against your skin, and you felt your own heart quicken a little. You put it down to a few nerves now that you were on the verge of trying pet play, though you couldn’t totally forget what he’d said about ownership. Belonging to Roger didn’t sound too bad.

“What do you think of it?” “I don’t mind it. It’s not as uncomfortable as I guess I thought it might be. I guess I probably wouldn’t want to wear it all the time but for a specific scene I think I’m okay with it.” “Does that mean you’re interested in trying a pet play scene?” “Might as well,” you laughed. You knew he was checking for good reason, that he was just trying to be safe, but it was tempting to remind him you’d not once backed out of a practical lesson, “I don’t necessarily think it’ll be super my thing but I am curious enough to try it out.” “Alright, sounds good. Why don’t you go to the bathroom and get ready then, there's lube in the cabinet over the sink. Just give me a shout when you’re good to go.” You nodded, feeling surprisingly calm, and collected the tail from where you’d set it aside on the desk.

It took you a little while to get ready – a few minutes to compose yourself once you were alone, the idea of acting like a dog suddenly sounding much more ridiculous than Roger had made it sound, and then of course there was the plug to sort out. The collar was a slight distraction too. Not because it was uncomfortable or difficult to wear, though you couldn’t exactly forget it was there either. But the sight of it in the mirror would make you stop, your fingers rising to run over the leather. You were kind of amazed that it didn’t feel worse. You’d also dithered about for longer than you might have needed to, trying to decide if you should leave your bra on or discard it since you’d had to forgo your knickers to wear the tail. Roger would probably appreciate it, if not prefer it, if you were totally naked. But then again, the bra would keep your boobs in place which was probably preferable while you were crawling around on all fours. In the end, you kept the bra on though you’d first asked Roger his preference when he met you at the bathroom door. “It’s up to you,” Roger had said patiently, “although, I think I’m much more likely to cum prematurely and ruin my pants if you’re totally naked. Going to have a hard enough time as is.” He’d dropped his eyes deliberately to your cunt and you’d shifted where you stood, knowing he’d know if you squeezed your thighs together but tempted to do it all the same.

He let his gaze linger on your lower half, as if daring you, before he finally tore his eyes away, “Are you ready?” “Yeah,” you nodded, “I think so.” “Okay, then on the ground for me.” You lowered yourself to your knees right there in the hallway, and then to your hands. The carpet was a little rough against your knees and palms, the tail tickling the back of your thighs, but it was easy following Roger’s instructions and you waited for the next one, hoping he’d keep making it easy for you. “Good girl.” He leaned over you as he said it, a soft metallic sound drawing your attention though you kept as still as you could. “Time for walkies,” he announced as he straightened, “Go on pet.” You crawled down the corridor, your heart thumping as you realised just what a view you were giving Roger as he fell into step behind you. You weren’t sure where exactly Roger expected you to go but made an educated guess it would be the bedroom since that was where you usually ended up. It was open when you reached it which you figured meant you were right, however, before you could enter you felt the collar being tugged from behind and Roger tutted, making you stop. A leash was clutched in his hand when you turned to look. “Not in there pet. The lounge,” You nodded, readjusted your direction and set off again, practically able to feel Roger’s eyes on your arse and wondering if the tail was hiding much from view.

When you crawled through the doorway of the lounge, you were pleased to find Roger had spent his time getting the room ready. The coffee table had been dragged aside, pushed up against the wall so it wouldn’t be in the way, and the curtains had all been drawn so there was no chance of any nosey neighbours seeing anything, a couple of lamps softly lighting the room instead. But that wasn’t all he’d prepared. “You wanna play pup? Go get your ball,” Roger pointed towards the far side of the room where a fuzzy tennis ball sat on the floor, as he took a seat on the couch. You obediently crawled around the couch to the ball, lowering your head to pick it up with your teeth. But you paused a few inches from it.

“Uh, woof?” you said, feeling rather self-conscious, but wanting to get Roger’s attention. You succeeded, which you could tell by the way he was stifling a laugh, “Yes?” “This ball hasn’t been anywhere near a real dog, right?” Roger shook his head, “Brand new. I’m not that sadistic.” “Just checking,” you smiled, before picking the ball up between your teeth. You hadn’t experimented with gags in any of your lessons with Roger, at least not yet, but you had to imagine wearing a ball gag would feel similar to carrying this tennis ball like you were. It forced you to keep your mouth open, made it difficult to swallow which meant you could feel yourself getting drooly as you crawled back towards Roger. He held out his hand and you dropped the ball into it, finding it difficult to ignore how being on the ground put you closer to his cock. It was a small step from noticing that to realising Roger was beginning to stiffen, and then to realise he was probably at least partly aroused from seeing you drooling with a stuffed mouth and naturally you couldn’t help but wonder if he intended to use your mouth at all.

“Good girl,” Roger cooed, no idea what was going on through your head, as he reached out with his free hand to stroke your hair like he was patting a dog. You couldn’t help but lean into his touch, the praise making you feel warm and pleased and eager to earn more, although your instant reaction to Roger’s positive reinforcement made you think maybe he’d had a point when he suggested puppy play. You were turning into Pavlov’s bloody dog, getting aroused whenever Roger praised you. “Alright, pup, you ready to learn some tricks?” You gave an affirmative hum, hoping he’d find it an acceptable response and not demand you bark instead. Thankfully he seemed fine with any non-verbal response because he smiled and moved toward the centre of the room, dropping down to his knees, “Here girl.” At a click of Roger’s fingers you crawled over to join him, earning another good girl but this time the praise was accompanied by his touch. His fingers dipping between your legs to rub your exposed cunt.

“I’m glad you chose the tail over your knickers,” he said softly, “Think you might be too,” he added as he drew his fingers away, the tips glistening with your slick. You whined in response and nodded. Roger gave you a wink and then he was back to business, “Alright pup, we’re going to learn a few tricks today. Let’s start with an easy one, sit.” You weren’t a hundred percent sure what Roger wanted but you thought the most likely option was to rest back against your heels. “So close, pet,” Roger cooed, his hands firm on your knees as he directed you to open them, “Gotta keep your legs spread so I can reward you properly. Let’s try again, all fours now.” You felt a little annoyed at yourself for not realising, and hurried to obey him, eager to show you could get it right.

“Sit,” You sat back again, your arse against your heels, the plug being pressed firmly into you, your knees open. Roger took full advantage of your position, his fingers slipping between your pussy lips as he praised you again, drawing a soft moan from you. The sound of pleasure seemed to be Roger’s signal to withdraw his fingers, “Time to learn another trick, pup. When I tell you to beg I want you to sit just like this but put your paws up,” He physically directed you as his spoke, positioning your hands at chest height, elbows bent, fingers curved over your palms. “And whine so I know you need something.” You felt a little silly but whining wasn’t too hard since you did want him to keep touching you. “Such a smart puppy girl,” Roger said as he rewarded you again, each stroke of his fingers making you more eager to have him inside you. “Right, we’re gonna learn another trick now. Lay down.” You bit back a disappointed groan as he removed his touch again, and did as you assumed he wanted, stretching out on your front.

“Roll over,” Perhaps the increasing horniness was hindering your thought process because for a moment you didn’t understand what Roger meant. Did he want you to roll across the floor to the other side of the room? How would that be arousing for him? The whole situation seemed suddenly ridiculous and you forgot you weren’t meant to speak, “Really?” “Pup,” Roger’s tone was warning, “Do what I say now. Roll over.” “Sorry Sir,” you hurried to say as you prepared to roll yourself across the room until he told you to stop, still not sure why he’d be turned on by such a thing but willing to find out. But a full 360-degree turn was not what Roger had in mind. He stopped you once you were on your back, his eyes raking over your bra clad chest and then down to your bare cunt. You felt yourself blushing, partly from how he was staring and partly because you felt silly for thinking he’d jack off to you literally rolling around. Turning onto your back made much more sense.

Roger shuffled a little closer on his knees, “When I say roll over, this is what I want to see. But next time I expect you to put your arms and legs up too.” Once again he directed you as he explained, guiding your limbs into the air, knees and elbows bent. “This way I can see everything I own.” He gently parted your knees a little further so he could easily stoke between them, toying with your clit. “I can properly reward you for following my orders. Or punish you for speaking out of turn.” You yelped as he suddenly spanked your pussy but he was quick to sooth the pain, or at least distract you from it as his fingers dipped into your entrance. You moaned, willing Roger to press deeper, to give you more, catching yourself right before you’d added his name and a potentially pathetic, “please”.  Begging would only work if you kept your words to yourself. But at that moment Roger seemed inclined to reward you, his other hand coming up to rub your clit again as he started working his fingers further into you.

His paused again as his phone began to ring from where he’d left it forgotten on the couch. He rolled his eyes, “ignore it, it can go to voicemail.” You nodded, trying to block out the ringtone and focus on how Roger was touching you, his fingers pressing deeper and faster as if he were trying to make up for the annoyance of the phone. "Finally” Roger muttered under his breath as the call rang out and the phone fell silent. His fingers were still plunging into you, stroking you just right, pushing you closer to release. Your moan broke off in a disappointed squeak as Roger unexpectedly withdrew his hand, his mobile sounding once more. “Jesus,” he sighed exasperatedly as he shuffled on his knees until the still trilling phone was within reach, hastening to deny the call. “Right, where were we?” his voice softened slightly as he turned back to you but a moment later he was swearing as his landline began to ring. You sighed and let your limbs drop to the floor, craning your neck to look at Roger upside down, “Maybe you should take that.” “I should’ve taken the bloody thing off the hook,” he rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Alright pup, sit.” You dutifully scampered back to your knees, taking up the position he’d taught you. “Stay.” You smiled in acknowledgment, a little amused he was continuing with the role play.

Waiting was easier said than done.  Roger’s home phone was corded but the distance from where it hung to the doorway of the lounge was close enough that he could remain on the line whist he paced into your field of view and then back out. You caught snippets of the conversation – heard him apologise for missing the call and that he had company – and tried to work out who had called. “Mmhmm,” Roger hummed as he moved back into the doorway, “Well look now's not really a great time for m-. No, of course not.” Roger rolled his eyes and then threw you an apologetic glance.  You smiled back, his constant walking making you too wary to move from your position. He’d told you to sit and stay after all, he’d definitely notice if you rearranged yourself. But the longer the phone call went on, the more uncomfortable you became. Your knees grew stiff and you had to wiggle around to keep from getting pins and needles. Without Roger there egging you on, keeping you in the moment, stimulating you, the whole puppy thing started to feel even more silly than it had at the start. You couldn’t deny you were wet (it was hard to ignore) but you felt that was probably more to do with Roger than the scene itself. Although, perhaps you weren’t being totally fair in your judgement due to your current rising discomfort. You pondered the lesson so far, trying to work out how exactly you felt about pet play and how it was Roger could so affect you, trying to subtly shift yourself without being noticed. The tail plug was much closer to the forefront of your mind now, firm on one end and tickling you from the other and you were starting to feel a little chilly, close to naked as you were, but worst of all was the sudden realisation you needed to pee.

When Roger next crossed in front of the doorway you waved to get his attention and tried to tell him you were going to the bathroom with a lot of pointing. He didn’t seem to understand but he did seem amused, leaning in the doorway and holding up a palm to signal you to stay. You frowned and whined softly. Roger smirked as he said, “oh, I totally understand,” to whoever had called. He seemed to enjoy tormenting you because he stayed there, watching as you squirmed, and you were sure he was letting the conversation go on unnecessarily. At first you tried to beat him at his own game, attempting to ignore your growing need, but that just made you think about it more. You whined in desperation, louder than you’d meant to. As soon as you realised that Roger had heard the sound your attention snapped back to him. He chuckled into the reciever, “Nah, I’m dog sitting at the moment. No, no, I can see her from here, she's fine.”

It was mortifying to think someone else had heard you and you blushed as you pouted at Roger, but he seemed more amused than moved as he revealed he still had the tennis ball and rolled it towards you. At first you just let it sit where it had come to a stop near your knee but Roger clicked his finger and pointed at it. With a sigh you bent over, shuffling back a little so you could pick it up with your mouth again. Roger hummed into the receiver before mouthing a clear, “good girl,” at you. Unsure what exactly Roger wanted, you tentatively made to crawl towards him, but he stopped you with a raised palm. It seemed he wanted you to just sit there and wait, feeling yourself beginning to drool from the ball in your mouth, but unable to forget your bladder despite your arousal. Finally it became too much and you steeled yourself to beg for permission.

At first you stayed quiet, raising your hands to the position Roger had shown you, adjusting your posture so your back was straight and your chest was pushed towards him in the hopes it’d help persuade. Roger just looked at you expectantly and you realised he wanted you proper humiliated. Squeezing your eyes shut you whined into the tennis ball still between your lips. It took another louder whine before Roger became convinced. “Hold on one sec, I think she needs to go outside.” If you hadn’t been so embarrassed and distracted you’d have given Roger credit for doing such a remarkable job sounding natural when there was so much laughter in his eyes. He disappeared for a second as he placed the phone down, returning with a snort. “It’s not funny,” you pouted, holding the tennis ball out to Roger. “It is a bit,” but he took the ball from you, “What are you begging for?” “I need to go to the bathroom.” “Ask me again if you can go.” “Can I go?” Roger casually threw the ball to himself, “Dog’s can’t talk. Ask me properly.”

Silently cursing Roger, you let out another whine, trying to make it sound pathetic and desperate. “Doesn’t sound like you need it that badly. Maybe I should make you hold it until I’m through with my phone call.” You whimpered at the thought and raised yourself a little higher on your knees, hoping Roger would be open to some bargaining. He was standing close enough that you only had to shuffle forward a little to be able to rub your face along the front of his pants, whining and whimpering and pausing every now and again to look up at Roger and check he was understanding. If his arousal had diminished during the break, it was quickly returning. You could feel him as you mouthed around his fly, licking and panting against his hidden length. “Oh she is desperate.” He teased, crossing his arms over his chest (which you assumed was to stop himself from grabbing you). “She must be if she’s offering to suck me off.” You nodded, sucking on some of the fabric near his tip. Roger hummed, “I do love putting my cock in your mouth. Unfortunately,” he stepped back, “I have a call to finish up. I want you back here and sitting like a good girl by the time I’m done.” “Thank you thank you thank you,” You scrambled to your feet, pausing just long enough to kiss Roger’s cheek before you hurried past him to the bathroom. “Sorry that took so long,” you heard him say as he picked up the phone again, “Continue.”

When you returned to the lounge, bladder in a much more comfortable state, Roger had taken a seat on the couch and was looking at his mobile. “That was so mean!” you said, moving towards him and perching yourself on the arm of the chair, very aware you still wore the tail plug. Roger laughed, “But you were such a good girl. And I like hearing you whine.” “Should make you hold it, see how whiney you get.” You immediately realised what you’d said and felt your face warm. But Roger seemed flustered too. There was a definite flush on his cheeks when he said, “We both know I’d be into it,” that made the statement all the more sincere and not at all the deflection he was aiming for.

“So would you also be a puppy? Or a different animal?” You asked, your curiosity beating out your embarrassment. “Roger thought for the moment, “I think I prefer being a cat. I like to be pampered.” You giggled and, without thinking, reached out to scratch the top of his head like you’d scratch behind a cat’s ear. Roger leaned into your touch. “And, um,” you didn’t know what to do next and tried to cover the awkwardness with a question, “what would you differently as a kitten compared to a puppy?” “Well,” Roger shifted his hips, “a lot of the basics are similar – with both of them you can have the pet drink water from a bowl or play with toys. With a kitten I’d expect grooming to be part of it, like brushing my hair. If I wanted to still be more dominant whilst being kitteny, I might stalk you around the house and pounce on you. But usually if I’m acting as the pet I prefer to be on the subbier side, just being petted and pampered... maybe encouraged to lick my owner.” You felt even more embarrassed at the hints about oral but the thought did cross your mind that perhaps you would enjoy such an act more if it was occurring at your command. Doing it because you felt it was expected or simply to please a lover felt embarrassing and awkward but if you felt in control of it maybe it would be easier to enjoy the sensations. Roger had proven you could enjoy it if certain conditions were met, perhaps being blind folded and dommed wasn’t the only way.

*****

It was only then you realised your hand was still in Roger’s hair, absentmindedly playing with it, and your thoughts switched from how it might feel to order him to go down on you to what other parts of him you could be petting and stroking. Roger was watching you as closely as he could, enjoying the sensation of your fingers in his hair, but whatever was going through his own mind he kept to himself. However his rapidly stiffening cock gave him away a little. You withdrew your hand suddenly which seemed to be a signal for Roger to get the lesson back on track. “And what about my puppy? Are you still okay with it?” You nodded, “Yeah, lets keep going.”

“Alright, well I really should punish you for getting back here late. You were meant to be done before my phone call finished.” “That’s unfair,” “No, that’s the rules. But maybe you can convince me you’re still a good girl. On the floor, now.” You quickly dropped to your hands and knees, as eager to prove yourself as you were to distract yourself from the weird moment you’d just shared. “Alright, lets see how much you remember. Sit.” You quickly moved into position. “Beg.” You put your hands up and made a small whimpery whine. “Roll over. Good girl.” Each time you followed an order Roger had rewarded you with some brief touch- squeezing your breasts through your bra, letting his fingertips trail seductively along your body, teasing your clit, but it never lasted long enough. “Clever pup,” Roger’s voice was low and gravelly, “back to all fours.”

You were a little surprised, even a little put out that, that he’d not climbed over you, not taken his cock out of his pants, not made any move to fuck you. Thankfully he decided it was a good time to move things along, standing up so you got a good view of just how aroused he was, and moving to kneel behind you. It meant he could better feel you up, able to reach the parts he wanted to touch most with greater ease, his fingers firmer than they had been before. You became a little breathless, the combination of the series of tricks he’d had you perform with how his fingers felt running over and between your pussy lips. Your breathing came harder and before you knew it, you were panting in anticipation, your tongue sticking out over your bottom lip. “Fucking hell,” Roger said softly, “Okay pup, show me just how horny you are,” he pushed lightly between your shoulders, guiding you to lower your chest and raise your hips, presenting your arse and cunt to him. He still wasn’t in a particular rush though, opting to tease you a little more first. Roger started by stroking the tail you wore and making the plug shift within you before reaching for your cunt again. “Someone enjoyed being my pet, didn’t they pup?” You whined and nodded against the floor, trying to push back against Roger’s fingers.

He chuckled at how eager you were and allowed two fingers to slip inside you, working them in and out until he could comfortably fit a third. You moaned as he stretched you, trying to help by rocking back against his fingers as much as he would allow. It was distracting enough that you nearly missed the sound of Roger’s zip coming down as he hurried to get himself ready with his free hand. “Been such a good girl,” he grunted as he one handedly worked his pants down a little further, “Gonna get a very big reward.” You whimpered as his fingers left you, but you knew they’d soon be replaced by something even better though waiting for it was almost torture, especially when Roger used the slick you’d left on his hand to lube his cock. Thankfully he was more interested in fucking you than toying with you any longer and he only stroked himself a couple of times before he began to sink into you. Your breath hitched as his head pressed into you but it was quickly followed by a moan, echoed by Roger as he sank into your warmth.

He went slow to start, carefully pulling partway out and easing himself back in, testing to make sure you were wet enough that he could move comfortably. He grunted as he sank deeper, “Take me so well, sweetheart. Must really love feeling owned with how fucking wet you are.” You shivered as Roger leaned forward, his gravelly voice getting closer as his cock seemed to push even deeper, the sensations all capped off with a sudden sharp pinch as he lowered his head and bit a spot on your side. It made you yelp, more from surprise than anything else, but you felt yourself clench around his length too. When he straitened up again he was chuckling, “Oh pup, you make it so easy for me.” His hands slipped back to your waist, one gently caressing your arse as he moved the tail aside, and gave a quick tug, pulling you into him.

Your breath hitched as he suddenly completely filled you, but he barely gave you time to remember how to breathe before he pressed in again. The temperate test thrusts Roger had given became quick and hard as if his eagerness to have you had won out over his self-restraint from moments before. “Oh fu-u-u-ck,” you moaned, voice jolting as his cock filled you again and again, a rapid pace you had no hope of matching. Your arse suddenly stung as Roger lay a loud slap that made you squeal. “No talking, remember. Still my pup.” You whimpered as he gave you another slap to drive the point home. “Just my horny bitch,” he grunted, “Who practically goes into heat whenever she sees me.” A third slap was swiftly followed by a rough thrust, making you whine and then moan. For a moment Roger shifted all his efforts into his hips, making you squeal with each hard stroke of his cock,  but then he eased off and another string of slaps landed against you. He made it clear that the spanks were for being late as well as speaking out of turn, which only seemed fair when they felt so good. And then, once he was satisfied, he focused once again on fucking you senseless.

At first you were worried you’d slip up again, accidentally say a word instead of keeping your vocalisations to simple noises of pleasure, and in doing so bring forth another run of spanks that would make you clench but delay the orgasm you wanted. But it quickly ceased to be a factor. Between Roger’s cock filling you just right and him giving a new order to rub your clit, it was nearly impossible to even think of a real word let along get your mouth to form them. Even when he slowed his thrusts down again you were in little danger of saying anything comprehensible. That was when he decided to put the tail plug to a more specific use than just decoration, spitting on your arsehole so he could fuck you with it. Really all you could do was take what he was giving, whining and moaning, and eventually cum. He did make you work for it though, panting as he told you to wait for permission. You’d never been made to wait for it before, at least not in this way, and you let your fingers slow their motions around your clit, afraid of hitting your release too fast. But the barrage of stimulation from the plug and Roger’s cock were enough to get you close. You squeezed your eyes shut and whimpered loudly, hoping Roger would understand what it meant.

“Cum, pet” You couldn’t do it immediately but you hastily worked your fingers over your clit again, so close but not quite tipping over the edge. You jolted with another spank, “I told you to cum.” Roger’s voice was low, a little breathless but entirely in control. You whined, as you tried to do what he wanted, though your fingers felt stiff and clumsy. There was another spank and then Roger pressed the plug into you, holding it down as he rammed his cock deep. Perhaps it was the shock of both combined with your frantic rubbing, or maybe he just managed to hit the right spot at the right time, but you couldn’t help but tighten suddenly, moaning and shaking as you fell into your orgasm. “There you go,” he grunted, giving the plug a little jiggle to keep you stimulated as you came. You would have fallen limp if you’d been in another position, but Roger was still filling you and his grip was once again tight on your hips which kept your knees from giving out. Instead you just twitched from the aftershock, and whined when you felt him slowly pull back and sink in again. “Stay there, pup, I need to cum too.” The breath you’d only just begun to catch caught in your throat as Roger resumed fucking you, going neither as hard as he had or as slow as you might have liked. He didn’t bother with the plug though, focusing only on how your wet cunt felt around his cock. Thankfully it wasn’t long before he was holding himself deep, the grunts he’d made on each thrust giving way to moans as he came within you.

*****

“Good girl,” Roger said softly, tapping your thigh gently as he pulled out. He shuffled out from behind you, moving to your side as he tucked himself away, and then sat heavily down on the floor. You allowed yourself to sag too and, knees a little sore, lowered yourself onto your back. “Do you want a hand up?” “In a minute,” you sighed, the thought of getting up too much to contemplate immediately, “Have you got anything I can cover myself with?” “You mean you don’t want to lie naked on my living room floor?” Roger quipped, simultaneously reaching for a throw that was decorating the couch and then grabbing a cushion as well. You just laughed, tucking the cushion under your head, “Seems a bit unfair that you get to wear pants is all.” “Thats the perks of being the dom.” He tapped you teasingly with his foot, “How’d you find it all?” “It was interesting,” you thought for a moment before continuing, “I think it’s another kink that like wouldn’t be the first thing I would think of but isn’t a hard no either. Like, I think it’s probably the stupidest I’ve felt during one of our lessons...well maybe the queening beats it, but still, I felt like a fucking tit at first.” Roger laughed, “You got into it though.” “Yeah I did. And I definitely understand it better now, but it wasn’t my favourite.”

He hummed thoughtfully looking over at you with a soft expression you couldn’t quite pinpoint, “That’s similar to how I feel about pet play too. I can be into it with the right person and stuff, but it’s not a go to of mine.” You lay in a comfortable silence for a moment, considering things. Logically you knew Roger had favourite kinks and scenes he preferred over others, but it wasn’t something you’d properly thought of before. Maybe because he was so confident and capable at everything he’d taught you so far, it felt like all of them were his favourites. After a moment Roger interrupted your thoughts, “Hey, you okay? Not too overwhelmed?” “No, not at all, just thinking.” You pushed yourself onto your elbows to better see Roger, “Are you good?”

“I am,” Roger smiled, scooting a little closer. “Did you have any other questions regarding pet play? Anything you’re still curious about? “Uhhh, yeah I guess so, um,” you instantly felt awkward as you tried to phrase your question, “When you wanted me to, uh, finish when you told me to....what was that about?” Roger chuckled, “I s’pose I should have been ready for that question since we’ve not actually touched on it in a lesson. I guess it’s mostly closely related to orgasm delay or orgasm denial. Have you heard of them before?” “Maybe? I think I’ve seen denial mentioned online.” “Well, basically it’s when you delay or stop yourself or your partner from having an orgasm. There’s a bunch of different reasons to play with it and ways to do it. With our scene, because we’d spent so long working on you obeying commands and performing certain actions when told to, I thought it would make sense, and be kind of hot, if you came on command too. I’d be happy to do a full lesson on it next time if you want.”

“That does sound interesting but if I remember your curriculum plan thing correctly, shouldn’t we be getting to CNC next?” “Oh so now you’re paying attention to my curriculum huh?” Roger sat up straighter and, sensing the shift to a more serious topic, you followed, letting the blanket drop since you were wearing your bra. “That was my plan yes. And of course we can stick to that original plan if you feel ready to move on. But I’m also happy to spend more time on other kinks first, even just other role plays. We could play doctor.” You laughed, “Tempting offer, I think you’d make a pretty hot doctor. But I do think I’d like to learn at least the theory of CNC. It feels like an important topic and I think I’d prefer to do it sooner rather than later.” Roger sighed softly, “You’re right, we should cover it so we don’t run out of time. I’m just very conscious that this is a heavier topic than anything else we’ve covered. Some parts of it might get tough. And I really want to make sure to approach it with the right amount of gravity, without making it seem super scary.” You placed a hand on his knee, “I know that, and I appreciate it a lot.” Roger gave you a soft smile before another slight sigh, “I that case, yes, next lesson will be looking at consensual non-consent. I have been thinking about this lesson a lot actually and I had an idea of something we could a bit different, especially if you decide to go ahead with a practical lesson after we cover the theory.” “Different how?” Your question came out of curiosity not concern since you trusted that Roger’s ideas would be about your safety, but you couldn’t think of any ways to change what you were doing. “Well, because we’d potentially be role playing a non-consensual sexual encounter, I thought it might be a good idea to do it somewhere else.” “Like where? A hotel or something?” “No, no, nothing so public. Um, I have a little cottage a couple of hours out of the city. It was a family holiday house, but it doesn’t get used for that as much now. I thought we could go there for the weekend.”

Your breath caught at the idea of going away with Roger but you did your best to keep your voice steady, not too excited, as you asked, “How come?” "Well firstly, the neighbours are a little further away there so there’s much less risk of anyone misinterpreting whatever scene we would potentially be playing out and calling the cops on us. Plus, no one there would recognise you’re my student if they did see us together. Not to make it sound like some sort of bachelor pad or sex dungeon, but the last few times I’ve been there it has been for kink hookups so, even if we were spotted together, they’d probably just assume I’m bringing another girl over. Plus, because we are looking at CNC, a more unfamiliar location might help make the scene better. Assuming that we did that. Even if we went away, I wouldn’t expect you to participate in an actual CNC scene if you didn’t feel fully comfortable doing so.” You nodded but didn’t say anything, your stomach flipping uncomfortably with a mix of nerves about how serious Roger was being and excitement at the idea of going on a weekend trip with him. “But, more importantly, I want you to still feel safe in this house. I know CNC is technicaly what we’ve been building to but, since you’re so familiar with the curriculum, I’m sure you remember that it isn’t the last topic I suggested. I know I’m repeating myself but I’m happy to explore any kinks we haven’t covered or revisit kinks we have in the last weeks before the wedding, and I want you to feel okay doing that. CNC can be tough, it can be scary. It can play with sensations and emotions related to rape. And the last thing I want is for you to feel like I have raped you in what was previously a safe space. By moving the lesson to a different location, we could hopefully contain everything in a place that you won’t have to return to.” You nodded soberly, “That sounds good.” “Okay, well then, this weekend?” “Yeah, this weekend.”

[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.