#the way i went to tag freddie and it tried to tag it five nights at freddys

[storiesforallfandoms]

the ice cream girl ~ mike schmidt;five nights at freddy's

word count: 2144

request?: no

description: in which his regular ice cream spot in the mall hires a new girl

pairing: mike schmidt x female!reader

warnings: use of y/n

masterlist (one, two, three)

Mike's routine at the mall was a constant: clock in, do two laps around the mall, go for lunch with whoever else was on with him - usually Jeremiah - another few laps around the mall where he'd stop to talk to some of the store managers, then clock out and go home. The only deviations to his routine were the occasional birthday parties he'd be tasked with watching over, and whenever there was someone who needed to be handled by security.

Until he met a new worker at the mall.

He was in line for the ice cream place he would occasionally go to for a dessert after his lunch. They saw him so frequently that his order was usually ready before he even got to the counter - another usual in his routine.

But on this day, when he walked up to the counter, a new face was smiling at him.

"Welcome to Ice Cream Parties," she said. "What can I get for you?"

Mike opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by Cindy, one of the usual workers, saying, "We have his order, (Y/N). He's a regular."

(Y/N)'s eyes flickered to Mike's security uniform. "Well, that does make sense. Sorry, today's my first day."

"No, that's alright," Mike said. He desperately tried to think of something else to say, but found himself staring blankly at her instead. He was sure she thought he was crazy, and that thought made his face start to heat up.

Cindy came up to the counter with Mike's usual in hand. She passed it over to him with a smile before going back to work. Mike realized then that he hadn't paid yet. As he started taking his wallet from his pocket, (Y/N) said, "On the house."

"Are you sure?" Mike asked.

She nodded. "Consider it a kind gesture for a regular."

"Well...thanks."

"No problem. It's nice to meet you, Mike."

He was about to ask how she knew his name, but she nodded to his name tag before he could.

Right, that would make sense.

"Nice to meet you, too, (Y/N)."

After that, visits to Ice Cream Parties became part of Mike's routine. The first few visits were under the guise of actually getting ice cream for himself and Jeremiah. If it wasn't too busy, he was able to have brief conversations with (Y/N) while his order was being made. That excuse didn't last very long, though, as eventually Jeremiah put an end to the almost daily ice cream runs.

"Man, I'm going to gain like 10 pounds a week if you keep getting ice cream for us," he had said.

Mike had to admit, he was getting sick of eating ice cream so much, too. Seeing (Y/N) so often had made it worth it at first, but there was only so much of the frozen treat he could take before it became too much. He thought he'd have to come up with a new excuse to see her all the time, but she took him by surprise by doing it for him.

He was doing his rounds during a shift when he saw (Y/N) walking towards him. She had a smile on her face and she waved when he spotted her.

"Hey!" she said. "I've been looking for you?"

"You have?" Mike asked.

"Yeah! I haven't seen you in a bit. I was worried you quit or something."

"God, no, that's not happening. This is probably the easiest job I could have. I've just...been taking a break from ice cream."

"I don't blame you. You've had so much of it lately, I'm surprised you're not just a walking ice cream cone at this point." She playfully bumped his shoulder as she added, "You know, if you wanted to talk to me, you didn't need an excuse."

Mike was shocked into silence. Had it really been that obvious? He had tried to play it cool when he went, but maybe he hadn't been cool enough. Maybe it had been glaringly obvious every time he walked up to the counter and ordered whatever new flavor she recommended that he was desperately trying to figure out a way to ask her on a date.

But then she smiled and laughed, and Mike felt a weight being lifted from his chest.

"I'm joking," she said. "Mostly. If you wanna talk to me, you don't need to come buy ice cream. Just come talk to me."

"Noted," Mike said with a nod. "Well...what are you doing this evening?"

"I'm working the closing shift."

Mike tried not to let his disappointment show. "Oh. I, uh, I'm off in about an hour."

"I clock in in about an hour."

"Not meant to be, I guess."

(Y/N) shrugged. "I guess not. I have to run a quick errand before work, but I mean what I said - don't be a stranger, Mike."

Mike nodded. Once (Y/N) had turned and walked away, he let himself deflate. It wasn't a "no" because she wasn't interested, but it was still disheartening. It was definitely going to take time to build up his courage to ask her again, but at least now he knew she welcomed his company.

A week or so later, Mike found himself at the mall again on his day off. He usually hated to be there when he wasn't working, but Abby started school the next week and she needed new clothes. She had been begging him for weeks to take her shopping, but he kept putting it off until he had no choice but to take her. On the plus side, Abby was extremely easy to shop with because she knew what she wanted, and she knew where to get it. It would be a quick in and out and he could be away from the mall within an hour and a half tops.

But, after leaving Abby's favorite store with the intent on going home, Abby stopped Mike and said, "I'm hungry."

"We have food at home," he reminded her.

"I don't want actual food. I want a snack."

"We have snacks at home."

"We don't have ice cream at home."

That was enough to shut him up and get him to agree. He had no idea if (Y/N) was working that day, but he wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to see her.

As luck would have it, she was working. She was at the counter in her stripped apron and white paper hat. She was passing the customer in front of them an ice cream, her customer service smile plastered on her face. Mike had come to learn the difference between her customer service smile and her real smile, because when she would look at him the dull smile would brighten just a little.

When the customer stepped away, he got to see her face light up at the sight of him.

"Oh, hey Mike!" she said. "I thought you were off today."

"I am. I had to take my sister back to school shopping," Mike said, gesturing to Abby.

(Y/N) looked down at Abby and offered her a warm smile. "Well hey there. I had no idea Mike had a sister."

"This is Abby. Abby, this is (Y/N)."

"It's nice to meet you, Abby."

"You too," Abby said. To Mike she added, "Is she the one you always talk to Max about?"

Mike's ears were on fire as (Y/N) looked back up at him. Abby always knew how to say the right things to embarrass him.

"Just tell her what you want," he muttered, suddenly no longer in the mood for ice cream.

Abby ordered for herself and (Y/N) went to make it. Cindy took over at the cash while (Y/N) stepped away, which disappointed Mike. Usually Cindy was the one making the orders while (Y/N) was at the cash, and they'd have their small conversations while Mike waited. He really hoped what Abby had said hadn't scared (Y/N) off completely.

She came back and handed Abby her ice cream.

"Are you guys sticking around much longer?" she asked Mike.

"We weren't really planning on it. Abby just wanted ice cream before we went home."

"I'm off in, like, 10 minutes. If you guys don't mind a third, I mean."

Mike agreed without consulting Abby. Not like the younger girl really cared either way. She was already deep into her ice cream and ignoring the whole conversation.

Mike and Abby sat at a nearby table to wait for (Y/N). Abby finished her ice cream in record time, giving herself a brain freeze. Mike couldn't help but laugh as his sister scrunched up her face in pain.

"That's why you don't eat cold foods that fast," he said.

"Do you like (Y/N)?" Abby asked through the brain freeze pain.

The quick change in topic startled Mike. "I mean...yeah. She's my friend."

"But you like her," Abby said. "You always talk about her, and I saw the way you look at her."

Mike shrugged, trying not to give Abby any other ideas. He didn't need her blurting something else out and embarrassing him again. "She's a friend, Abby. Friends talk about friends."

"Friends don't look at other friends like they want to kiss them, though."

Mike chuckled. "Some do."

Abby gave him a look. He sighed and said, "Maybe I do, but that doesn't give you permission to say stuff to her about it, okay? For now, we're just friends."

"You should ask her out. I think she'd say yes."

"It's not that easy, Abs."

"What's not that easy?"

Mike jumped at the sound of (Y/N)'s voice behind him. When he looked at her, she was already changed out of her work uniform. "Nothing. Abby and I were just talking."

He shot Abby a look to tell her not to say anything. (Y/N) looked between the two of them with a skeptical look on her face.

"Do you have a ride home?" Mike asked.

"If you're offering, then yes. I was supposed to wait around for my roommate to get me, but I'd much rather hang out with you guys and get out of here."

The three of them walked to Mike's car. Abby filled most of the silence by talking to (Y/N) about whatever came to her little mind. (Y/N) just smiled and responded as Abby spoke. Mike would sneak glances at her and smile to himself.

Abby got into the car first, and as Mike was reaching for the door handle to get in himself, (Y/N) said, "Wait."

He paused and looked up at her, confused.

"Why haven't you asked me out yet, Mike?"

The question took him completely by surprise, but that seemed to be her specialty at this point. He opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was some stuttered nonsense.

"I mean, if you don't like me then that's fine, I get it," she continued. "But I thought that maybe we had a connection, and I keep thinking you're going to ask me out and then you don't, and I'll be honest, I'm losing my mind a little bit."

"Whoa, whoa," Mike said. "Slow down. I'm sorry that's how you're feeling, but I've been trying to ask you out. I did ask you out a few weeks ago!"

"That wasn't asking me out! You asked what I was doing and I said working. You didn't even follow up to try and figure out a different day we could've went out instead!"

"I didn't know I was supposed to do that!"

They both paused and, after a moment, they started to laugh.

"I'm clueless with this stuff," Mike admitted. "I haven't dated since high school."

"Well, here's a tip: if you like a girl, ask her out. Her liking you back is more likely than you'd think."

Mike smiled. "Do you want to come over for dinner? I'm sure it's not exactly the date you're thinking of, but Abby wants spaghetti and meatballs tonight, and I do make a mean spaghetti and meatballs."

(Y/N) smiled back. It was brighter than her real smile. It was what Mike decided to dub her "Mike smile".

"I'd love to," she said. "I love spaghetti and meatballs."

Abby opened her car door then and looked between the two of them. "What's taking you so long?"

"Hey Abs, would it be okay if (Y/N) joined us for dinner?" Mike asked, although he already knew the answer.

Abby lit up with excitement and vigorously nodded her head. Mike and (Y/N) finally got into the car and they made their way back to Mike's place. The entire car ride he couldn't wipe the smile from his face.

[thcbclter]

For a moment, Ryan is speechless. Was that why she had brought along Graham? To rub it in Freddie's face in hopes that he'd come chasing after her? Maybe. She purses her lips, glaring at the other. "Fuck you." The redhead eventually spats. "I don't need you. I've never needed you. I've survived since you broke things off, haven't I?"

"Have you always been so shameless?" Freddie asks lowly like it's a secret. Like he's uncovering some truth of the universe. He wants to whisper. Except they're so close he can see the vein pulse in their neck. Alive. "What did you think would happen if you brought someone else? I would be upset? You thought I'd throw a fucking fit." Freddie's grinning and he can't help himself. "But in all your shamelessness you can't help yourself. You still need me so bad don't you?" @thcbclter

[stop-talking]

Sleepless Nights

Mike & Abby fluff; Abby's POV!

500 words

Tags: sibling love, bonding, fluff, Mike & Abby, post-movie

Based loosely off a request from @futturmansgf for some Mike & Abby fluff <3

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Abby wakes up to the sound of creaking floorboards once again.

Honestly, she has no idea how Mike thinks she doesn't hear him. He's been doing this more and more lately, getting up in the dead of night to pace around the house.

Is he having nightmares too? She can't imagine how he wouldn't, after the events that went down at Freddy's.

Abby tries to drown out the sound of his footsteps, closing her eyes and squeezing her stuffie a little tighter. Unfortunately, all she can think about is her brother.

His eyebags have become more prominent lately. He's always been tired, for as long as she could remember. But now, he's at a whole 'nother level.

She thinks back to yesterday, how he nearly fell asleep at the wheel while picking her up to school. And the day before that, when she caught him dozing off at the dinner table, cheek in his mashed potatoes.

Okay, that had actually been kind of funny. But this is serious. How could she help him? Every time she brings up anything related to sleep, he brushes her off. Says he's "just tired". Adults are such bad liars. Or at least, Mike is.

Abby tosses and turns in bed, made increasingly restless by the sound of her brother's footsteps in the hall. Ugh, if she wants to get some sleep, she's going to have to fix things herself, isn't she?

Huffing and throwing off the covers, she slides out of bed and makes her way out into the hall. Mike whips around at the sound of the door opening, but his face softens when he realizes it's just her. Who else would it be? He's so silly.

"Abs, what are you doing up?" He asks, hand nervously scratching at the back of his neck.

"Had a nightmare." Abby blinks up at her brother, giving him her best pitiful look. It's not hard to do, she really is tired.

Mike sighs and scoops her up into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around her protectively.

"Can I sleep in your bed tonight?" She asks, tilting her head up to look into his eyes, cheek against his chest.

"Y-Yeah, sure." He stammers out a response, obviously surprised by the request. Abby doesn't blame him. She hasn't asked to sleep in his bed since she was... what, five? Six?

Still, he picks her up and carries her into his bedroom. Abby is perfectly capable of walking the ten or so steps to his bed, but she just lets it happen. Mike needs to think he's the one helping her, or else this isn't going to work.

"You need anything? Want me to grab one of your stuffed animals?" Mike asks, throwing his comforter over her.

"No, I'm fine." Abby wraps an arm around her brother as he crawls under the covers with her, lying her head on his shoulder.

Mike reaches over and starts to play with her hair. He hasn't done that in a looong time. She's missed it.

Abby just hums softly, letting Mike pretend he's doing her a favor. Well, maybe he is. Just a bit.

Eventually, his hand goes limp and he drifts off to sleep.

He's so lucky he has a little sister to take care of him.

[beautiful-and-terrible]

“falling into place”

mike schmidt x reader

summary: “You meet Mike Schmidt under rather unfortunate circumstances. Luckily, he's a decent guy, and tries to make it up to you. Besides, who could say no to those big brown puppy-dog eyes?”

tags: Slow-burn, domestic, hurt/comfort, gradual friends-to-lovers, whatever the opposite of a meet-cute is, because mike is a disaster, sub!mike, dom!reader, eventual smut

Part 2

also available on my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51690952/chapters/130675165

A sigh escaped your lips as you watched raindrops race down the window. It was a Friday afternoon, and you were an hour away from being done with your shift at your town’s local, run-down grocery store. You were working the cash register - a mindless, repetitive task that sucked the soul out of you, but it paid the bills. You didn’t mind talking to customers, when they were polite. It was usually hit or miss with the older customers. They never seemed to understand that you couldn’t accept expired coupons. Or that eggs really were $1.05, yes even for the non-organic ones.

This particular afternoon was going especially poorly. You had two people refuse to pay their bills and just walk out with their groceries, you had a screaming child in line with her mother who kept begging you to just “give the kid a piece of candy for free”, and at least three older men had told you “you’d do your job a lot better if you smiled.”

By the last hour of your shift, you were on the verge of a breakdown. Tears pricked your eyes - your feet hurt, your back ached, and your heart was still tender from being chewed out by your manager for letting those two people walk out without paying. As if you, a minimum wage employee, had the authority or skills necessary to stop two shoplifters. And besides, you didn’t really think stealing essential things like food warranted arrest or reprimand, anyway.

So that’s why when a particularly mean old bat who smelled like mothballs and cat piss yelled at you for not scanning her groceries quickly enough, you finally snapped. You slowly put down the fifth carton of prune juice you had scanned, untied your apron that had your name tag pinned on it, and let it drop to the ground.

You looked the old woman in the eyes, flipped her off, and walked out. As you passed your manager on your way to the front door, you flipped him off, too. The way his face went beet red with rage would remain in your brain as one of the funniest things you’d ever seen. You were pretty sure there was a vein in his temple about to burst.

So now you had no job. Great. You sighed, putting your head in your hands as you stood under the covered walkway that led into the store. You stood like that for a long time, just letting the reality wash over you. You knew you wouldn’t be able to cry in public, but as soon as you got home you would put on your softest hoodie and sweatpants, and have a good cry about how shit your life had been these past few months. You steeled yourself, raising your head and starting to walk towards your car.

You were about half way out into the rainy parking lot, holding your jacket above your head, which blocked your peripheral view, when you were suddenly on the hard, wet ground and your vision pulsed with white stars. It felt like you had been sucker-punched by the Hulk. You looked around dazedly, trying to figure out why you were suddenly on the ground.

Headlights beamed directly at face level as you sat up, rubbing your head. You brought your hand away - no blood, at least. But your wrist hurt like a fucking bitch. The throbbing pain got worse by the second - each beat of your heart caused the flesh around your wrist to swell up like a balloon. Or at least that’s what it felt like.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry, are you okay? I looked away for a second and you came out of nowhere I’m so fucking sorry-”

You looked up to see two very distressed, very pretty hazel-brown eyes staring down at you. A man with a mellow voice was apologizing profusely, attempting to help you stand up. You could only nod dumbly, holding out a hand placatingly.

“I’m fine, I think… my wrist really hurts,” you pouted, trying not to sound like a child but your day had been so dogshit that your usual barriers were crumbling easier than normal.

“Let me take you to the Urgent Care, it’s the least I can do…” he trailed off, grabbing you by both elbows to help you up off the wet ground. You shivered, from the cold rain dripping down your neck and from the adrenaline of the moment starting to wear off. The man helped you into the passenger seat of his car and got in the drivers side.

You looked down at your wrist - it was already swollen. Your lip started to tremble, and big, fat tears started to leak from your eyes. You sniffled, which caught the guys attention.

“Oh, hey, don’t cry. I’m sure it’s just sprained. And I’ll even try to help pay for your cast or whatever… not that I have any extra money but that’s the right thing to do…” he murmured under his breath. You glanced at him and gave him a half smile, wiping the tears off your face.

“Don’t worry about that. I just appreciate the ride. I’ve had a pretty shit day - getting hit by a car was just the cherry on top.

“Yeah, I know about shit days,” he said simply, then winced, looking in the rearview mirror. “Sorry, Abs. A pretty crap day, is what I meant.”

You turned around, confused. In the back seat was a girl of about 11 or 12, looking sullenly out the window. She shrugged noncommittally.

“Hi,” you said softly. The girl glanced at you, frowned, and turned more toward the direction of the window. You looked at the guy, who just sighed.

“That’s my sister, Abby. She’s having a crap day, too.”

“Dang. The three of us should start a club,” you said, which made the guy let out a snort of laughter. You looked at him, surprised by the display of mirth.

“So… what’s your name?” he asked, stopping at a red light. You told him your name, which he repeated before saying, “Nice to meet you. I’m Mike.”

[house-of-slayterr]

Cabin In The Woods:

Tag: @iloveslasher @myers-meadow

Will’s POV:

I was loosing my mind. Losing my god damn mind. This town was suffocating, and everyone’s constants questions were driving me mad. Jack always pulling me along on cases, calling me late hours of the night with a new theory. Hannibal, trying to get in my head. Always leaving out therapy sessions feeling worse than when I went in. I felt like I was going to a snap.

And when none other than Freddie Lounds showed up at my doorstep, looking for a story. I lost it. I slammed the door in her face, not even bothering with pleasantries. And ignored her calls through the door, tuning her out. I reached for my phone, dialling the only number that was worth while. It rang 3 times precisely before getting cut off by a small-

“Bonjour, this is Frances.”

I smiled a little, unfurrowing my brows. Between the dogs and the sound of their voice, my breathing was starting to become a little more stable. Seemingly when I didn’t respond, they checked their caller ID.

“William? What’s wrong?” They said, their tone shifting dramatically.

“I have a red head problem.” I groaned.

A small laugh left their lips. I could imagine it perfectly, the way their nose would scrunch up, and their eyes would sparkle. Their laugh was the one thing they never faked.

“Luckily for you my friend, I happen to be close by. Need me to take care of your little problem?”

Yes please, I thought. But what was Frances doing out near me, they lived halfway across town and it was past midnight. I raised a brow not that they could see.

“Hello, earth to dog boy. You still with me?”

I hated that Nickname. I rolled my eyes.

“If you insist.” I said.

“Brilliant, see you in five.” They hung up.

I slumped back down on the floor. True to their word I heard talking outside a few minuets later. I listened in by the open window.

“Hello Miss Lounds, lovely evening we’re having.” They said.

I had to hold back a laugh as I nearly saw Freddie jump. It was odd how silent Frances could be sometimes. It seemed today was a good day for them, they were without their cane. Or any other assistive devices.

“Ahh, Mx. L/N, what are you doing out here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, trespassing isn’t very nice of you Miss Lounds. I do believe Mr. Graham didn’t give you permission to be snooping around his back porch, now did he?”

“I was never here.” Freddie said.

Backing off my property.

“You’ll do well to keep that way.”

After Freddie dispersed into the night, I relaxed a little. Frances was suddenly at the window, smiling as I nearly fell backwards off my couch.

“Move!” They said simply.

I obliged, moving over as they climbed through my window.

“You know front doors exist?” I asked.

They shrugged.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

They settled onto the couch, leaning so their head was hanging off and they’re feet were now against the wall. Some of the dog ran over eagerly to great them. Their giggles filled the room as they playfully attempted to fend off my dogs. It was a light and eerie sound. Echoing around my head and shoving all my darker thoughts to the corner of my mind.

“What were you even doing out here?”

“Couldn’t sleep!”

The slowly fell off the couch, laying flat on the floor as they accepted their fate, getting licked by the dogs. I shook my head, looking down at them.

“Tea?”

“Since when does Will Graham drink tea?”

“Since someone has a habit of stopping by to steal my dogs from me.”

They blushed wildly.

“It’s not my fault they like me better. Look at me, I’m just a loveable little guy!”

They tried to give me puppy dog eyes, but it didn’t fool me. I knew them in a way most people could never understand. The two of us got like two people of a puzzle. If you asked some people, they didn’t even believe in the idea of soulmates. Others thought that title was only for lovers. But friends, friends could be fated too. At least that’s what Hannibal explained to me.

I had explained to him my distress, over feeling things I’d never felt toward anyone before. People never piqued my interest, and rarely made me feel much anymore. But Frances was like a ball of sunshine. I knew the doctor wasn’t stupid, it wasn’t that hard to decipher who I was talking about. They were the only person I talked to beside Jack or Alana. Sometimes Miss Meadow.

“You went through a great ordeal together, it’s normal to form bonds under extreme stress when you have gone through a traumatising situation. But do be careful William, those relationships can become unhealthy and codependent.” He warned.

That possibility be damned. I wouldn’t risk the one thing that made me feel happy in all of this bullshit, just because the relationship might spur in the future. That was a risk I’d just have to take. I must have been lost in thought a while, because a hand touched mine.

“You good? You seem spacey tonight. How about I get us the drinks and you just stay on the couch yeah?” I nodded simply.

I never had anyone take care of me like they do. They were always so gentle. Afraid that they might hurt me. The small touch had managed to make us both uncomfortable. I could feel it, the slight tingle as their skin brushed against mine. They pulled away almost as soon as they caught my attention.

I watched them disappear into my kitchen. A heard a few clangs and debated if I should get up to help. Almost as if they knew what I was thinking they called out.

“Don’t you dare get up. I’m fine, I just tripped.”

I couldn’t help the breath of air that passed my nose. It sounded more like they dragged a cabinet down with them. But of course they would downplay it. A few minutes later they came back with a coffee and their tea. They sat next to me on the couch.

“So what was miss nosey even searching for?”

“I don’t know, she seems to think I know something about the Chesapeake Ripper that nobody else does.”

“And why would she think that?”

It was more of a rhetorical question, and I knew better than to answer.

“Sometimes I wish I could break her nose so she couldn’t go sniffing around in peoples business.”

The first real laugh they pulled out of me that night. It was so weird to see someone so small, so guiltless, express wants for mild violence so casually. I knew they meant it, it wasn’t a simple joke. But they knew better than to lash out physically.

“That’s I’d pay to see. Ex-Ballerina kicks paparazzis ass” I joked.

They put a hand over their chest in mock hurt.

“Just because my company dropped me, doesn’t mean I’m not a Ballerina anymore.”

“I know, I know. Besides it’s their loss. I bet you were the best dancer they had.”

They sighed contently, sipping their tea.

“I wish you could have seen me Will. Before all this. I was in my element when I was on stage. Nothing could stop me, and nobody could get in my way. I remember once, my understudy partner dropped me during a performance, I finished the entire thing only to find out the next making my ankle was in fact broken. I was so excited to show off to the talent scouts in the audience I didn’t even notice.”

I cringed a little. It was odd how uneffected they were by physical pain. I thought back to the day we met, how clam they where when he had literal pipes spiked through our body’s in a grotesque display. I still had nightmares of that night.

“Yeah, I wish I could have seen it too.” I settled for an honest response.

I wasn’t much for thé performing arts, but to see Frances in their prime would have been great.

“I’m glad I can still dance some days though. Before Hannibal cuts me off.”

“He’s just trying to keep you safe.”

They rolled their eyes.

“I know, I know. But sometimes I wish he’d just relax a little, you know. So what if my legs are shaking, I’m having fun. I can rest after. Speaking of rest, you look tired.”

“I’m fine.”

They raised a brow at me. They sprung up from the couch and grabbed a blanket, wrapping it around the two of us. They turned on a random Chanel for background noise, and took my coffee mug out of my hand.

“I can see your gears turning Graham. Relax your mind. You’re at your house, you’re safe, your dogs are all here, and you have the worlds bestest friend by your side. Stop thinking so much, let the last go for tonight. And no thinking about work off the clock!”

“Who’s being overprotective now?” I asked.

“Oh hush, this is different-“

They patted their lap, and I slowly laid my head down. They looked straight forward at the tv, and played with my hair. Their fingers on my scalp was highly relaxing. It felt almost as if I was high. I closed my eyes and tried to rest my mind. I could hear them hum absentmindedly as I began to fall asleep.

A few hours later I woke up outside. Shit I slept walked again.

Frances POV:

I woke up when Will stirred, at first I thought he’d woken up, but it was clear he was asleep when he didn’t respond to his name. Of course, I should have known better, but I was worried when he started walking toward the door. I reached for his shoulder out of panic, big mistake.

Will freaked out, thinking I was trying to hurt him. I didn’t have much time before I was slammed against the wall. His hands around my throat. I reached up my hand trying to move his, but even half asleep, he was still stronger than me.

“Will. It’s me. Frances, your friend.” I tried to choke out.

But his grip only got tighter. I panicked a little, my lungs burning, and my head spinning. I figured maybe if I stood still, he’d get bored and leave. I tried to slow my breathing a little. But it seemed it was useless as a few minutes later I woke up on the floor with a killer headache. The door was wide open and as I looked around, a few of the dogs were missing. Shit!

I didn’t even bother to grab shoes, running outside with a flashlight and going to search for them. They couldn’t have gotten too far. I wandered the woods aimlessly for about 20 mins, collecting my furry friends. Once they spotted me, they were quick to follow, thank god. I did not have the energy to carry them back to Wills place. I made sure the door was firmly locked behind me as I set out to search for my best friend.

“Will!” I called.

The dogs must have been out looking for him. I checked back over the areas I’d already been, but I couldn’t find him. I was beginning to get anxious when I heard a voice from behind me.

“Frances?” Will’s voice sounded small.

I spun on my heel, not even giving him enough time to process anything before I threw myself at him. I wrapped him into a tight hug, pulling back to check for any injuries. He seemed to be relatively fine aside from a bloody nose.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again!” I mumbled, before pulling him back in for a hug.

I grabbed his hand and dragged him back to the house. The dogs where quick to greet him, he didn’t need to know that they made a run for it earlier. It would only stress him out further. I pulled him into the kitchen and sat him down on a stool. I wet a towel and came back over to help clean him up

“What happened?” He asked finally.

It seemed now in the kitchen light he could notice the bruises starting to form on my neck. He reached his hand out, to touch it, his arms shaking slightly.

“Did I- did I do this?” He asked.

I sighed.

“You didn’t mean to Will, it’s fine. We’re ok.” I assured him.

“I choked you.”

“I startled you.”

I started wiping underneath his nose with delicate , light stokes. Almost as if it would hurt him if I pressed to hard. He still seemed fairly dissociated and I tried to ground him by putting my other hand on his cheek and bringing his eyes to mine. The both of us hated eye contact, but at moments like this, it was imperative.

“I don’t want you feeling any guilt ok. I’m fine. Promise.” I said.

His eyes looked slightly glazed over, almost as if he were about to cry. He swallowed thickly.

“Will? Can you talk to me please?” I asked.

Still no answer. I sighed again, dropping the rag and placing it on the counter. When I turned back around, I was greeted by those piercing brown eyes. They just starred back at me, deep in thought.

“Will?” I asked again.

Suddenly he moved closer and his lips captured mine. I froze, stunned. Will pulled back suddenly when I didn’t reciprocate.

“Shit, Frances I’m sorry. I don’t know why I-“

I dropped my hand, pulling away and stumbling back slightly. My breath picked up again. I couldn’t think of anything to say, entirely caught off guard. I stared at him with wide eyes.

“What?” I simply asked. “Why would you? You can’t! What?” I stuttered out a bunch of half baked sentences.

Nobody had ever kissed me before. Not on the lips at least, not like that. Even my boyfriend hadn’t kissed me. My boyfriend! I thought to Hannibal, how he would react. Was this cheating? God, I was fucked! I kept thinking I should have anticipated his reaction, done something, pushed him away. But I just stood there.

“Frances I’m so sorry!” Will tried approaching me again. “I just felt like I couldn’t breathe, and mu head was so loud, and I just wanted it to stop. I really don’t know why I did that.” He tried to explain.

I stumbled back as he took a step forward, falling on my ass. I just pulled my knees into my chest. And began sobbing. I felt gross. You’re not supposed to kiss your best friend. Not like that. I could hear Will shuffling around, trying to give me space. Seemingly, he took out his phone.

“Alana I fucked up!” I heard, from the next room. He’d excused himself to the living room.

I tuned out the rest of the conversation. I don’t know how long I stayed like that on the kitchen floor, but I heard the front door open. I thought for a moment he was just gonna leave, leave me here like this. All alone. But then I heard several foot steps quickly advancing toward the kitchen.

“Frances?” Hannibal’s voice called.

God, he was the last person I wanted to be here right now. I wished I could just disappear, I pulled my knees in tighter.

“Shit. The fuck did you do will?” Meadows voice sounded exasperated.

I’m sure anyone would be annoyed, waking up at this hour and having to come half way across town. Will stayed at the entrance of the kitchen, not coming any closer. Meadow was by my side in a second.

“Hey, hey! Little bug, breath ok?” She asked.

I nodded, letting her pull me into a hug. She ran her hand through my hair and rocked me back and forth. Helping me stim to regulate my emotions. I opened my eyes to see Hannibal and Will talking. Hannibal’s body language looked tense, that wasn’t good. Meadow let her grip loosen when I pulled back.

I smiled a little, she looked pretty in her night dress. It was nice to see her.

“He’s going to be so mad at me.” I said.

“Who? Frances nobody is mad at you.” She tried to calm me.

“But- I- Hannibal is going to be so upset.”

She pulled me back in for another hug. Normally this much touch would over stimulate me, but it seemed my skin was screaming whenever she stopped.

“Darling, Hannibal could never be mad at you. You did nothing wrong. It’s just a little panic attack.”

“No.” I shook my head.

The voices in the living room got louder. Meadow’s attention was also drawn toward the two men.

“Hannibal I’m sorry!” Will said.

The next thing we heard was a fist connecting to bone. If Will’s nose wasn’t broken before, it certainly was now. Meadow’s eyes widened.

“Hannibal! What the hell?” She yelled.

I flinched at the sudden loudness, and she lowered her tone a little, giving me an apologetic look. Hannibal was quick to walk over to me, kneeling down, his hands instantly turning my head to search my neck. It seemed his interest alerted Meadow to them too.

Her face scrunched up in disgust, she looked back at Will than at me. Her eyes narrowing in his direction.

“It’s not what you think.” I started.

I gave her a silent pleading look to go check on him. He was still my best friend, and I don’t think he deserved to be lunched.

“Does it hurt?” Hannibal drew my attention to him.

“No.” He gave me a skeptical look.

“So they crying a because he-“

I nodded.

“Do you hate me?”

His face softened.

“I could never hâte you. But him, I’m furious at!”

Meadow brought Will back into the kitchen, using the rag from earlier to clean up his nose which was bleeding again.

“Did you have to punch him?” I asked.

“He kissed you without you consent.” Hannibal said simply.

Meadow finally understood exactly what was going on. And she looked like she was about to punch the man herself.

“He didn’t mean to” I defended. “It’s my fault, I didn’t realise what was happening and didn’t react quick enough.”

Hannibal sighed. He attempted to get me to get up off the floor, but I wasn’t ready to leave.

“Frances, this was entirely my fault.” Will spoke up.

“You stop talking!” Hannibal warned.

He was quick to shut his mouth.

“No, this is my fault.” Hannibal concluded. “I’m his therapist, I knew he was dangerous, and clearly I’m not doing a good enough job.”

I frowned, I didn’t like the distain in his voice. Sure, I was upset, but I wasn’t mad at Will. I could never be mad at Will. He was confused and disoriented, and I was sending out signals I hadn’t meant to send.

“Hannibal, it’s fine. It didn’t mean anything, right Will?” I asked.

Will just nodded.

“He was disoriented and scared.”

“That doesn’t give him the right to choke you. Or kiss my patenter.”

It seemed Hannibal was more upset at the second thing. I was growing frustrated with the situation. Just wanting to go home. Meadow stood at the edge of the kitchen island, arms crossed and glaring at Will.

“Can we just go home?” I asked softly.

“I’m taking you to the hospital first.” Hannibal decided.

I frowned further.

“No.”

“No?”

“I want to go home. They’re just bruises Hannibal. I can handle it. No hospitals!” I said firmly.

“They’ll only panic more, my love, if you make them go. You know this. Besides not much the hospital will do, unless we’re pressing charges.”

Will hung his head low, disappointed in himself. I crawled across the floor to where Will sat, getting up on my way. My legs seemed weaker than I expected.

“Hey, none of that.” I said softly.

“You should. I assaulted you.”

I cringed out how brutal that made it sound. It was really an honest mistake. Both things were. I shook my head no.

“Then I’ll tell Jack myself. My sleep walking is making me unsafe to be around.”

“Then Hannibal will help you.” I declared.

Hannibal didn’t seem pleased with the idea, still seething with anger.

“Right Han?” I asked, pleading with him.

“We can have a session tomorrow, I’ll clear my schedule.” He grumbled.

“Look, I’ll see you tomorrow ok. Try to get some rest.” I said.

The ride back to the house was awkward. I laid down in the back seat of the car and Hannibal and Meadow both seemed upset.

“You’re not mad at me right?” I asked, trying to reassure myself.

“I’m just confused how you can be so nice to him after that.”

“Because it was genuinely a mistake Hannibal. You’ve made plenty. Just stop alright! You’re mean when you’re jealous!” I said.

Meadow failed to hold back a chortle.

“I’m not jealous, I’m upset- there’s a difference.”

“Don’t pretend you punched him for my sake.” I fired back.

“Ok, maybe there’s a little jealousy. But he still hurt you, both physically and mentally.”

“And he’ll make it up to me. He’s my best friend Hannibal, I’m not gonna lose him over something this stupid. Just help him with his sleep walking problem.”

I don’t remember when I fell asleep during the rest of the ride home. But I felt myself pulled closed to Hannibal’s toned chest. I snuggled further into him as he carried me inside. Perhaps cuddles from the people I loved were exactly what the doctor ordered.

An: and I oop- though seriously, imagine having Will Graham as your first kiss 🥺 jealous

[theweasleysredhair]

Breathless [F.W.]

Character: Fred Weasley

Word Count: 2783

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: “Stop biting that fucking lip!” In which Y/n is a sales assistant working in the Weasley’s store; Fred likes her but finds it difficult to show this, especially since all he wants to do is to throw her against a wall and shag her.

WARNING: this is NSFW, 18+, smutty, sexy times, idk how else to say it. read with caution. or delight. idk anymore.

Tags: @gracemayhateyou @wand3ringr0s3 @theweirdsideofstuff @harrysweasleys @thoseofgreatambition

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: I DID A THING (Fred Weasley is one hot motherfucker just saying)

also this was supposed to be a drabble... oops?

~*~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! REBLOGS ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE! <3

+ + + + +

Fred wondered why he had hired you.

Well he knew why he had - because you were amazing at your job - but right now, as he watched you, bent slightly at the waist, interacting with some young children who had entered the shop, he severely regretted his decision. The only reason for this was that, due to the nice summer weather, you had decided to wear a skirt. A form-fitting skirt. A skirt that made Fred’s pants a tad too form-fitting themselves.

It wasn’t your fault - the sun had come as a welcome change, prompting the majority of people to be wearing lighter clothes as they hurried through Diagon Alley, so as to beat the heat. You’d just happened to have chosen a skirt that made Fred wish he could bend you over the till counter and pull said skirt up to your waist.

He couldn’t help the way his eyes wandered down your form to the curve of your bum as you reached up to grab products for the customers you were with, or - even better - this morning when you had bent down to pick up something someone (Fred) had dropped. His heart was pounding from the thought, and he was still trying to live down the fact he’d had to ask to swap with George, who was behind the till, in order to hide a certain problem of his from customers and from you - something George had found hilarious, joking about it every time he passed his twin throughout the rest of the day - “Alright there, Freddie? Working hard are we?” - earning more than a few glares.

Merlin though, Fred wanted you. He wanted to be able to kiss you, hold you, love you openly. He wanted to ask you for your input on new inventions, to ask you for your opinion on anything - everything. To be the last one to kiss you at night and the first thing you saw in the morning. And he definitely wanted you in his bed. Or in the shower. Or against the wall.

Preferably all of the above.

He couldn’t remember when he first caught feelings - sometime during your years at Hogwarts, but Fred couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he realised he was in love with you as opposed to just loving you. Perhaps it was that one game of truth or dare that lead to you kissing him - a thought he savoured and thought back to a lot. The way your lips felt against his and how he was able to hold you close in that moment.

All he knew was that he was left breathless in your presence.

He spent the rest of the day with thoughts of you in his head, swirling around as he tried to focus on serving customers. This proved a difficult feat considering you were right by him on the shop floor - talking, laughing, smiling. Fred cursed himself for being so caught up on you, but he couldn’t help himself.

He was so wrapped up in watching the way your lips turned up into a smile, the way your hips swayed as you walked, imagining how they’d feel against his own that he nearly missed George bidding his goodbyes after the store had closed for the day - something about meeting Angelina - as he made himself busy tidying one of the stands near the entrance.

“Hey Fred?” You called from the storage room. Fred blinked, pulling his thoughts away from his fantasies and back into reality, “Yeah?”

There was silence for a moment, and Fred placed the vial he was holding back into its place before wandering over to the storage room just as you entered back onto the shop floor.

“George asked if we could find a place to put these new products,” you said, bringing out a couple of trays of a new product designed to give the taker the temporary ability to read minds.

Fred frowned slightly. He knew for a fact that this product was supposed to be set up at the weekend, not today, before he both cursed and thanked George mentally as he realised his twin had given him some time alone with you - and an excuse as to why.

You’d placed the trays down and began looking around the shop, trying to work out the best place to display them, absent-mindedly pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you did.

Fred’s gaze was directed at where your teeth met your lip and he swallowed, his jaw clenching as he imagined himself being the one biting your lip, and what sounds you’d make whilst he was doing so.

In his haze, he hadn’t realised you’d moved to the opposite side of the till counter, placing some other products you’d taken from another display down as you leant on the counter yourself. The movement caused Fred to glance over at you and his breath immediately hitched in his throat.

He could’ve sworn your top was buttoned all the way to your collar just moments ago and yet now, as you were leaning on your elbows on the counter as you spoke about the idea for the display you had, all he could focus on was the sight of the top of your breasts, in perfect view from the way your top had fallen as you’d leant.

“I suppose we could always move the love potions stand to the other side of the shop,” you looked up at Fred to see his response and instead were met with a soft gaze and no hint that he’d heard what you’d said. You raised your hand up in front of his face, an amused smile now playing on your lips as you watched him jump slightly, pulling him from whatever daydream he’d concocted in his head.

“I’m sorry, love, what we’re you saying?” He reaches up to stroke the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Were you not listening again?” You teased, giving him a playful eye roll. “I’m sorry, I was just distracted,” he replied.

“By what?”

Fred cleared his throat, not wanting to admit that he was very much imagining throwing you against the nearest wall and snogging the hell out of you. He instead changed the subject, he hoped subtly, as he returned his focus to the tray of products on the counter, “We could move the Pygmy puffs over and put the new stand nearer the front.”

“That could work,” you looked around and bit your lip in thought again, “Yeah and then we could move...”

But Fred’s focus was lost again. He knew he should be paying attention, that you’d beg him to know what had him so distracted but he couldn’t help it. Not when you were stood barely five feet in front of him, with your top practically unbuttoned and your skirt hugging your curves the way it was.

“What do you think?” You turned back to him happily, before seeing him in a trance again, “Um... Fred?”

Fred blinked, “Oh um yeah, yeah sure, sounds good!”

“Okay good! And then where should we move the snack boxes to...” And there you went again with the lip biting. Merlin, were you doing it on purpose? Could you tell how badly it was affecting him?

And suddenly Fred was only vaguely aware of you being mid sentence as he interrupted your planning with a growl, “Will you stop biting that fucking lip?!”

You jumped, a bewildered look dancing across your features, “What?”

“Stop. Biting. That. Fucking. Lip.” He spoke in a low tone that hit you between your legs and your mouth dropped slightly.

That’s when you saw it. His skin flushed, jaw clenched. His darkening eyes. Your own eyes wandered down his suit-clad arms, sleeves rolled to his elbows and displaying his toned forearms, knuckles white from gripping onto the counter.

You watched his tongue dart out to swipe across his bottom lip and nearly whimpered.

“Oh yeah? Or what?” You challenged him, purposely pulling your bottom lip between your teeth again.

“Or this!”

And suddenly Fred had slammed you against the nearest flat wall, his hands around your wrists as he easily pushed your arms up above your head. Your chests were pressed together, heaving from the deep breaths you were taking, his forehead resting on yours before he crashed his lips against your own.

He held onto your wrists with one hand, using the other to pull you closer to him by your hip, his tongue licking into your mouth as you moaned, completely taken by the man pressed against you. He ran his tongue across your bottom lip and gently nibbled, finally finding out what it felt like to bite your fucking lip.

You felt him through his pants, hard against your thigh as you sighed into his mouth, your hips rolling against his and making him let out a guttural moan.

He dropped his grip from your wrists just long enough to shake off his suit jacket, leaving him in his shirt as you ran your hands down his chest, revelling in the feel of his abs through the material.

His lips were still on yours, as if he was trying to imprint the feel of kissing you into his brain forever. In case this was a one time thing. In case it never happened again.

And then suddenly his mind was taken over by the feeling of your hands on his chest, unbuttoning his shirt as his own hands ran along the skin underneath your own shirt, fingertips reaching up to dance along the base of your bra, his hands gripping your back as you worked to take each others’ clothing off.

You pulled away for just a moment, pulling your shirt over your head as Fred did the same, throwing your bra somewhere in the middle of the floor, instantly forgotten as Fred put his hands back on you.

You shimmied your skirt down before making quick work of getting Fred out of his pants, mouth almost watering when you saw his hard cock pressing against the material of his boxers.

He pushed his lips back on yours, holding your bum as your hands reached around his neck to pull at the tufts of hair there, earning what you could only describe as a growl from him.

“Tell me to stop,” he groaned, taking in the sight of you, breathless and writhing under him.

“What if... I don’t want... you to stop,” you gasped as his mouth ghosted down your jaw, pressing the occasional open mouthed kiss to your skin.

“You want me to keep going?” He asked, sucking at the skin just below your jawline. “I want you to make me feel good,” you said as you stared up into his dark eyes.

“Darling, I can make you feel better than good,” Fred promised with a smirk.

His lips were then busy licking down your neck, towards your chest and he gently teased a nipple into his mouth, nibbling and earning breathy moans from you. One hand gripped your bum as the other held the back of your thigh, slowly moving round and under your skirt as he lightly ran a finger along the lace of your underwear. “This wet just for me?” He grinned, pulling away from your breast to meet your gaze as you nodded breathlessly, “All for you, Freddie.”

“I like the sound of that,” he replied as he moved to your other breast, giving it the same attention as he hooked a finger under the band of your underwear.

He began trailing kisses down your stomach and then kneeled before you, slowly pulling your underwear down your legs before pausing, looking up at you, “These expensive?”

“I can buy more.”

And with that, he ripped them from your legs, throwing them off to the side, falling somewhere with your discarded shirts.

His warm breath hit between your legs and he gripped your thighs before plunging his tongue inside of you, licking into you and making you gasp. The sound you made when he gently bit your clit was downright filthy, and you swore you could feel Fred smirking against you. He pushed his fingers into you, lazily thrusting them in and out as you leant against the wall, eyes closing in pleasure.

Just as you felt yourself getting close, your breathing staggered as you edged towards your climax, Fred decided to pull away from you, the cold air hitting you suddenly, making you open your eyes and you whimpered at the loss of contact.

“Look at you, being so needy. My needy girl, huh? I’ll make you cum, don’t worry, I’m just... dragging it out a little,” Fred smirked as he stood up, his fingers suddenly entering you again but this time only moving slowly.

You desperately thrust your hips into his hand, hoping for more friction, sighing frustratedly as he tutted and removed his hand completely.

He stepped away from you, pulling his underwear off and you finally caught the sight of his cock, long and thick, precum covering the tip. He grabbed himself, slowly stroking himself as he stepped back towards you.

“Can I..?” You spoke, your eyes following his hands. “Be my guest, princess.”

Fred could’ve died happy, he thought, with your pretty lips around his cock, your hands pumping what wouldn’t fit into your mouth, letting out groans as your tongue swirled around the tip.

He felt himself twitch, when suddenly you’d pulled away and he knew as he watched you stand up with your swollen lips curling into a smile that it was your way of paying him back for denying you yours before.

“Dangerous game you’re playing here, love,” He warned, stepping towards you.

“I’m playing to win,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest and absent-mindedly pushing your breasts up with the action.

Fred groaned, “I need to be inside of you.”

His hands were back on you, kissing you again before he guided himself to push inside of you. You both groaned together, breaths hitting the other as he thrusted up into you, pinning you against the wall. He grabbed your waist, his muscles flexing, sweat beading along his collarbone as you leant forward to kiss his neck, biting the spot under his ear that made him suddenly moan and his hips stutter.

“Look at you, taking my cock so well,” he breathed out, his abs tightening with every push into you.

He then nodded over to the till counter just behind you, “See that counter? I’ve been thinking about bending you over it all day.”

“Then why don’t you?” You gasped out your breath hitching in your throat as he gave a particularly deep thrust.

Without a reply, he pulled out of you, making you whimper at the empty feeling, before pulling you over to the counter quickly. He shoved the product trays onto the floor, unbothered by them crashing to the floor as he pressed a rough, dirty kiss to your lips before turning you around and bending you over like he’d imagined so many times before. His hands roamed across your bum, squeezing before pushing back into you and making you cry out.

His hands were on your waist as he pounded into you, before he reached around to pull you up so your back hit his chest, both of you glancing towards the large front window of the shop.

“Anyone could come by and see us, but you don’t care about that do you? Just as long as I keep making you feel good,” he growled in your ear, and you felt yourself clench around his cock, earning a groan from him.

“Freddie,” you whispered, your head falling back against his shoulder as you felt your stomach tightening, building up to your release, “I’m gonna- I’m gonna-“

“There’s a good girl,” Fred praised, a hand running up your stomach to hold one of your breasts, “You’re so good to me. Come for me, princess.”

You let out a moan as your climax washed over you, collapsing forward onto the counter as Fred thrusted into you a couple more times before releasing inside of you, gripping your hips as he groaned, his head falling against the back of your neck as you both tried to catch your breath.

“I love you,” he mumbled, his lips tracing across your back and down your shoulder. And in that moment, as you were coming down from your high, whispering the words back to him, you knew this was the start of something that neither of you were prepared for.

After all, you left each other breathless.

[cursestothemoon]

Hey im so excited to ask for a Fred Blurb!!!!!

Having a game night with george and angie and them playing who knows their partner the best? Like some really random questions! For example: who's normally the little spoon, who's most likely to get horny in the WORST times, who has the worst laugh, who's more ticklish, who can spend 5 days without showering etc etc.

Thanks!

okok i hope you like itttt

The Couples Game

F.W. x GN!READER

warnings: suggestive themes, gets a bit raunchy, also unedited so im sorry

“Oi, let’s get a move on we aren’t getting any younger.” George shouted from his spot on the couch.

Angelina shook her head with a laugh as she sat next to George, handing him a glass of firewhiskey. 

You came up behind the couch and gave the back of George’s head a smack making him grumble before going to sit on the armchair across from him and Angie.

“At least take the bloody ring off before you whack me.” 

Your boyfriend, Fred came into the room and gave his twin another loving hit to the head before sitting down on the floor in between your legs. He turned his head to face your knee and place a kiss onto the clothed skin of your knee. 

Tonight was game night at the boys flat- every Friday night was. It was a tradition created after both you and Angie graduated from Hogwarts, you all wanted to spend time together but with the boys business booming it was difficult finding time to all go out together like you used to. Game night was an easy solution, they lived above the shop so, as George would say, traffic was light and the living room had enough room to sit all of you comfortably.

The game for tonight was gifted to Fred and George by Hermione and Ron, it was some sort of relationship game. You were all waiting for Angie to read the instructions.

“Alright,” She cleared her throat as she scanned over the paper. “So George and I are one team, Fred and Y/n are another. One couple asks the other couple questions, they need to say the answer at the same time. If they both say the same thing they get a point, if they say different things the other couple goes.” 

Fred nodded before smirking, “Maybe we can make this a bit more interesting?” 

“I was thinking exactly the same thing.” George agreed.

You thought for a moment before suggesting, “Losing couple can’t have sex for a week.”

“No!” Angelina and Fred yelled, your boyfriend looking at you and Angelina looking at George. 

Fred gave his best puppy dog eyes, hoping you’d change your mind.

“A month.” George raised the stakes.

“Deal.” You agreed, leaning forward to shake his hand.

Angelina shook her head, “George...”

“Y/n...”

It was too late, you guys shook on it. 

Fred buried his head in your knee, groaning at the mere prospect of no sex for a month. 

George shuffled the cards before placing the deck on the table, face down. 

“We flip a coin to see who starts?” 

You all nodded and Fred reached into his pocket to pull out a galleon.

“Call it, love.” He said before tossing it into the air.

You watched the coin before saying, “Heads.”

The coin landed in Fred’s palm before he placed it on the back of his hand, “Tails.”

Angie and George gave shouts of victory at the sight. 

George picked a card from the top of the deck and showed it to Angelina, both of them smirking at the question.

“Alright answer on the count of three, who is the messiest eater?-”

“Wait I have a question?” Fred shouted before Angie could count.

She huffed, “Yeah?”

“Eating what?” He smirked looking up at you making you shove him.

George laughed as Angelina shook her head, “Food.”

She then gave the count down and  you guys answered.

“Me.”

“Y/n.” 

He held up his hand for a high five that you gladly gave him. 

The next few questions went just as the first, you and Fred were perfectly in sync with your answers... until they started getting a bit more raunchy. 

“Ok,” George smirked mischievously as he read the seventh card. “Who gets horny at the absolute worst times?”

“Fred.”

“Y/n.”

“What?” You asked incredulously, leaning over his shoulder to look at him.

He gave a short laugh, “Oh please, the owl emporium?”

“The train station, on the way to my great aunts funeral?”

“You started that before we left and you know it.” Fred tried to fight. 

You scoffed, “All I did was fix your tie!”

“You know how I like it when you touch my neck!”

George was the one to break up the odd argument, stating that you and Fred now had seven points and it was their turn. Questions kept rolling and suddenly they were up by five, Fred was buzzed beyond belief and Angelina was getting competitive. 

You picked up the next card with a groan, praying that this was the one they’d get wrong.

“Who is the little spoon?”

“Angie.

“George! Next question.”

“Angie! We agreed not to tell anyone that!”

Fred perked up at that, his eyes crinkling with laughter before you shot him down, “Don’t act like you don’t like to sleep with your head on my chest so I can scratch your head.”

He gasped and turned to you with wide eyes, “That stays between us!”

The four of you broke out into a heated debate on cuddling before it Angelina decided it was time to play the final round. You and Fred had to beat them. You just had too...even if Fred was now sining his own rendition of Hoggy Warty Hogwarts. 

Fred sat up straight and stopped his singing as Angelina picked up the first card and looked at you two seriously.

“Goes the longest without showers?”

“Fred.

“Me.”

Angelina nodded as George jot down the point earned.

“More ticklish?”

“Me.”

“Fred.”

George giggled but Angelina grabbed another card.

“Worst laugh?”

“Y/n.”

“...Fine, me.”

George gave you an apologetic look as he tried to hold in another drunken giggle.

“Takes the longest to get ready?”

“Fred.”

“Yeah...me.”

Angelina took in a breath, if you two got this one right you’d be tied and have a shot at winning. 

“Better cook?”

“Fred.”

“Me. Sorry, babe.” He turned to give the hand you had rested on your knee a kiss.

You kissed the top of his head in return, you really were a bad cook.

“If we get this next one we win, Freddie. We need to get this next one ok?”

Fred nodded, “What happens if we don’t win again?”

You reminded him of the losing teams fate making his eyebrows shoot up, “We are winning.”

George pulled the next card, “Who is kinkier?”

“Easy, Y/n.”

“Me.”

“No!” Angelina shouted standing up and throwing a card at you and Fred. 

Fred gave you a celebratory kiss before standing up and looking his brother and Angie over. 

He laughed to himself, drinking sloshing in his hand a bit, “Good luck with the blue balls mate.”

tags:

@siriusement

@amourtentiaa

@vsawyer1989

@lifeofkaze

@theorangedrummer

@maraudersgirlxx

@famdomhideout

[vivianweasley]

Pride and Prejudice (Chapter 1)

Summary: You are Draco’s cousin, and after the war, it was really difficult for you to find a job because of your last name. So your mother and Mrs. Weasley came up with a crazy idea. A fake marriage between you and Fred Weasley. 

Italics= flashback

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Malfoy!Fem!Reader

Warnings: workplace discrimination, slight slight mention of war

Word Count: 1.9k

Disclaimer: all the pictures used in the header are from Pinterest. Credit goes to the original owners.

Please do NOT repost or translate my work on another site without explicit permission! Thank you! Reblogs and comments are always welcome:)

Prologue

Two days after the dinner at the Burrow, you ran into your friend when you were shopping at Flourish and Blotts. She just got out of the Daily Prophet, and you could see a name tag on her chest stating that she’s now a reporter for the Daily Prophet.

“You got the job?” You didn’t know how to process this information. You and she were in the same year and same house. You both took the same classes, your grades were almost the same, and you both got the interview for Daily Prophet at the same time. The only difference was that she got the job, and you didn’t.

“Yes! Today’s the first day! Wait, you didn’t?” She was finding it hard to believe too.

Memories of the interview flashed back. You could still remember how the interviewer immediately furrowed his brows when he heard that your last name is Malfoy. The distrust, doubt, and even disgust on his face were so painfully visible.

You knew your background couldn’t provide any help when it comes to finding a job, but you still encouraged yourself by thinking that maybe it was because you weren’t good enough. If that’s so, you could always make up for it by working harder. But now you realized that, no matter how hard you worked, you would never be good enough for them because people would always make false assumptions about you based on your last name.

You felt dizzy. The whole Diagon Alley suddenly appeared foggy and dim, looking quite like your future, but you soon saw a lighthouse at the end of it. The brightness of the orange joke shop seemed to point out a way out for you as Mrs. Weasley and your mum’s suggestions rang in your ears.

“I need to go now!” The walk was only five minutes, but you couldn’t waste any time as you apparated right to the door of the joke shop.

“Well, this is rare!” The owner greeted you with a big grin on his face when you opened the door.

You didn’t have time to start this conversation with George, so you went right into your question, “I’m looking for Fred Weasley. Is he here?”

George was shocked as multiple questions ran through his brain. Wait, you could tell between him and Fred? But does he know you this well? Or maybe you have some history with Fred? Merlin! Y/N Malfoy? And Fred??

But he said nothing, just pointed at the back of the shop as he was still trying to process the situation.

“Thanks.” You rushed to the back of the shop and saw Fred sorting through the boxes in the storage.

“Fred Weasley.” You stated with a straight face.

“Y/N Malfoy?” Fred mimicked your tone as he still wasn’t sure what’s going on. What was this woman doing in his shop, anyway?

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No. Why? Do you fancy me? Did you fall in love with me after that one dinner?” he teased.

You ignored him and continued, “Do you fancy anyone? Are you dating someone? Talking to someone?”

“Not that I’m aware of?”

“Great. Let’s get married then.”

The boxes fell from Fred’s hands. This woman is absolutely mental! “I beg your pardon?”

“I said, let’s get married. After I got a steady job, we can get a divorce anytime.” You knew he’s going to laugh it off if you don’t up your game a little, so you frowned, pretending like you were disappointed, “Well, guess you don’t have the guts to do it.”

Fred knew what you were trying to do, but he was still completely under your control when you were basically giving him a dare. This should be fun, he decided. He never really hated you anyway. In fact, he actually really admired you back in Hogwarts.

Back in fifth year, Fred and George tried to prank you. It wasn’t because you did anything in particular. It was just because you were Draco Malfoy’s cousin, and Draco was really obnoxious that year.

The prank was simple. they estimated when you would walk down the stairs and set a tripwire on your way, waiting for you to trip over and fall.

Fred and George were hiding behind a pillar, waiting, but nothing happened. When you were walking down the stairs, you stopped and pulled out your wand. “Incendio,” you whispered, and the tripwire just burned into ashes.

Watching their prank being busted, the twins were frustrated. George gave up on pranking you again. It’s not like you did anything wrong anyway. But Fred suddenly felt motivated. He’s determined to get you one day.

Fred tried everything. Be it canary cream or portable swamp, you always had a way to avoid his pranks gracefully, and sometimes, the pranks would even backfire on him. After trying for a month, Fred finally admitted defeat. He admired how your brain worked, and he couldn’t help but think that if you weren’t a Malfoy, maybe you two would be really good friends.

“Who said I don’t have the guts?”

You smiled with satisfaction, for you knew your strategy worked, “Good, I will see you at the Ministry tomorrow then.”

“Wait, you could get a job, but what’s in it for me?”

You knew he wouldn’t agree so easily, so you had already prepared a plan, “How about, as long as it‘s not illegal or against my own moral standards, I can do three things for you. What do you say?”

“Deal!” The reason why Fred refused at first was that he hated being arranged and controlled by his parents. But now, when this arranged marriage became more like a game to him, he began finding it quite interesting. “The first thing I want you to do is to take care of my shop today!”

“I’m not stupid, Weasley. What if you run away after I spent the whole day working in your shop? The deal only works after I get the marriage certificate!”

Fred nodded in approval, “Not bad, Malfoy. So I will see you at the Ministry tomorrow at one pm then.”

“Deal! Don’t be late, Weasley!”

~

The next day, you were waiting at the Ministry at one pm. You repeatedly glanced at the clock  and shuffled all the documents in your hands as you paced around. 

Fred was late. Did he bail on you? Did he think you were only joking? Did he think you were a joke? Irritation and doubt rushed through your head, but you eventually calmed a bit down when you heard a familiar voice.

“Let’s just get this over with, shall we, my lovely bride-to-be?” he teased as he waltzed in.

“Not before we set some ground rules first.” You pulled him to a place where no one could hear you, and you finally took out the contract that you wrote yesterday night.

“Blimey, you actually wrote a contract?”

“Yes, Weasley, and you have to sign it,” you continued, “First, a year after I got a steady job, we will get a divorce.”

“A year?? Why does it have to be so long?”

“I don’t want the Ministry and my employer to think that I’m getting married only because I want to get a job.” You ignored his pout and went on with the list, “Second, if during this year, you actually met someone, you can date them. But you have to be discreet.”

He raised his eyebrows, “Aww, didn’t know you were such a thoughtful person.”

“Third, the fewer people know the truth, the better.”

“Sorry love, but my family already knew, and that’s already a lot of people.”

You glared at him, “You know what I mean!”

Your expression successfully elicited a small laugh from him, making you suspect that he actually enjoyed annoying you.

You rolled your eyes, “That’s all. Anything you want to add?” 

Fred shook his head, and you handed him a pen, “Brilliant!”

After signing his name on your contract, he held out his arm, “Shall we?”

You smiled, taking his arm, “We shall.”

“Fred Weasley? And Y/N Malfoy?” The lady at the Ministry looked at you and then looked at Fred several times, and finally asked in a surprised tone.

“That’s us!” Fred answered and wrapped his arm around your shoulders while you both tried to put on the biggest smile.

But her eyes were still scanning you from head to toe, and finally stopped at your fingers, “So, no rings, huh?” She was looking into your eyes as if she just found out the whole marriage was a scam. 

You cursed yourself for not remembering something this important, but your smile didn’t disappear, “Yes, Freddie and I aren’t conventional people. We don’t need a piece of metal to prove our love.”

Fred was surprised when he heard your nickname for him, but he didn’t let it show. It’s weird hearing you calling him that, but he had to admit he liked the sound of it. “That’s right, my love.”

You smiled and rested your head on his shoulder to display your affection. You wanted to stay focused so you won’t blow your cover, but hearing that pet name had caused a weird tingle in your stomach.

A few questions later, and before you could fully comprehend the situation, you were officially married to Fred Weasley. Looking at your marriage certificate, you felt surreal. Just in a few days, you and Fred went from classmates who never really talked to each other to a married couple. You two were legally bonded now, and it felt strange, but you had no time to process all these, for you had a more important task.

“Where are you going?” you heard Fred yelling behind you as you started running.

“I’ve got a job interview!”

~

The interview went well. The interviewer even thanked your husband and his family for their service during the war. You were disgusted by how people’s attitudes could change so drastically simply when you changed your last name. You didn’t fight in the war, but your family took in many muggle-born kids during those dark days, yet nobody cared. All they knew was your last name.

You walked home with mixed feelings running in your head. You knew your life was about to change, but you didn’t know if it was for better or worse. So many things have happened in the past few days, and you were just confused.

But what awaited you at home didn’t resolve any of your doubts. You saw your mum moving suitcases to the door. They were your suitcases.

“Mum, what’s going on?”

“Oh, darling, you’re back! How did the interview go?”

“It went well, I guess. Why are you moving my things out?”

“Oh, Mrs. Weasley and I figured it would look more authentic if you were staying with your husband. You know, just in case someone suspects anything.”

“Mum! But I barely know him!”

“Well, then this is the perfect chance to get to know each other!

So this was how you ended up knocking on the Weasley twins’ door at night, with all your suitcases.

The door cracked open, and Fred’s eyes widened when he saw you and your suitcases at his door.

You smiled sincerely at him, “Hello husband, mind if I stay the night?”

~

Chapter 2

A/N: this chapter is still setting things up. The next chapter will be longer!

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[ickle-ronniekins]

meet you there

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK WITHOUT MY CONSENT. likes/reblogs/comments are perfectly fine!

prompt: this actually wasn’t a request but it was a fic title prompt from my 4k sleepover that @accioxreparo sent my way -- the title she came up with was ‘meet you there’ and i’ve picked freddie. you can view the original idea here, if you please. general reminder that my requests are currently CLOSED

pairing: fred x ravenclaw!reader

word count: 2.6k

warning(s): character death

A/N: i’m real sorry

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @semmelsemi @cottageoflove @laneygthememequeen @snakesonaplane-7 @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @waschbiber @acciotwinz @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hollands-weasley @andromedaa-tonks @bbstrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle @mytreec @imseeinggred @idont-knowrn @flyingserpxnt @auroraboringalis57 @godricsswords @jejegu @annasofiaearlobe @starlightweasley @alwaysasadaesthetic @thisismysketchbook @izzytheninja @imboredandneedalife @hemmoporro @valwritesx @heavenlymidnight @hannolannno @msmimimerton @oh-for-merlins-sake | message me to be added or removed! [lots of tags not working for me today idk i’m sorry!]

Ages 8 and 7

“Freddie! Did you see? Did you see what I did?”

Eight year old Fred squealed with delight as you did a tiny little backflip on your broom in the air outside the Burrow. The pinks and purples of the sky were melting together, and he knew that night was growing nearer. “I did, Y/N! Can’t wait ‘til we both get to Hogwarts and can play Quidditch together. You’re going to make a fantastic Seeker. That was bloody brilliant!”

“Frederick Weasley!”

Molly’s voice was shrill, but she peered out through the window of her kitchen and shook her head, as if she were trying to guess how many times she’d scolded Fred already today. She sighed, choosing to fight a different battle than that of his language. “It’s supper time, Freddie.”

The both of you flew gently to the ground and landed. You tossed Fred the extra broomstick and wiped the sweat from your forehead. “See you tomorrow then?”

“Nah, later,” Fred replied. He nodded toward the other end of the large field in front of his house. “After dinner, let’s go up the hill and look at the stars for a bit. My dad says there are supposed to be wicked constellations tonight!”

You giggled before pulling your hair back off of your shoulders and turning to head back toward your own house just around the bend. “Don’t let you mum see you!”

“Don’t worry,” Fred told you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “I won’t. Meet you there!”

Ages 11 and 10

It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair. How come Fred would get to start at Hogwarts without you? Your mum told you it was because he was already eleven. You still had a few months until your birthday. But it still wasn’t fair!

You slumped on the couch next to the empty fireplace as Fred attempted to bring his huge trunk down the steps. They both hit the floor with a loud thump!

“Bloody help me, won’t you?”

“Not when you talk to me like that,” you frowned. It didn’t take long before the two of you were erupting into giggles, though.

Fred placed himself beside you and gently elbowed you in the ribs. “Hey, don’t be so sad. You’ll be at Hogwarts in just a year’s time. And besides, aren’t you excited that I’ll know my way around the castle, and I’ll be able to tell you all the places to avoid and the best times to sneak out of the common rooms?”

You huffed and kicked his foot before beginning to tug at the hem of your shirt. “You wouldn’t! You’ll get me into all sorts of shenanigans, and.. and.. probably detention.. and probably turn my hair bright green or something!”

“Only if you’re placed into Slytherin,” Fred grinned. The sunlight flooding the windows highlighted the dimple on the right side of his face. “So it’d better be Gryffindor.”

You rolled your eyes. “And how are you so sure you’re going to be placed in Gryffindor, mister?”

Fred pointed at himself, as if to say, isn’t it obvious? “The whole lot of my family has been in Gryffindor for years! George and I aren’t going to break that streak. What kind of Weasley d’you think I am?”

“The annoying kind?”

“That’s plain rude,” Fred replied before thwacking you with a throw pillow. The two of you began hitting one another incessantly before Mr. Weasley’s calls came from outside. It was time to go. You were embarrassed at how quickly the tears welled up in your eyes, and you turned toward the fireplace so Fred wouldn’t see.

“Hey, it’ll be alright,” his voice was softer than before. “When you get to Hogwarts next year, I’ll show you all the secret passageways and let you know what the best sweets are, and I promise to not turn your hair bright green. Even if you are placed in Slytherin.”

A gentle smile tugged at your mouth, but it didn’t stop the tears from coming still. Fred continued when you didn’t, “I’ll miss you, you know.”

You sniffled and bit down on your wobbling lip. “I’ll miss you, too. Have fun playing Quidditch.”

Fred’s eyes went bright as the two of you wandered outside to meet the rest of the Weasleys. “That reminds me! Be sure to keep practicing here, yeah? With Ron and Ginny. I reckon mum’ll let them play a little bit with you. Promise?”

“Promise.”

Fred tugged his trunk and placed it into the back of Mr. Weasley’s Ford Anglia before pulling you into a bone crushing hug. Mr. Weasley was calling his name again. Fred gently elbowed you in the ribs once more before bopping your nose with his finger. His grin was brighter than the sun. “Meet you there!”

Ages 15 and 14

You stared in the mirror at your very obnoxious coloured blue hair. It resembled that of your Ravenclaw tie. You so wanted to be angry at him. You wanted to be angry, but you had to admit -- he was kind of brilliant.

As promised, he hadn’t turned your hair bright green when you’d arrived at Hogwarts a year after him, especially after you’d been placed in Ravenclaw, and not in Slytherin. He forgave you for not being placed in Gryffindor, though. He’d said he was excited to pummel Ravenclaw to the ground in Quidditch, anyway.

You knew the counter spell, but you kind of wanted to show off this new look of yours. Plus, wouldn’t he be absolutely floored if you waltzed into the Great Hall, not batting an eyelash at anyone who was brave enough to give you a look?

You plopped yourself down at the Gryffindor table during breakfast after making a few heads turn -- including three sixty head turns from the house ghosts. George spat out his tea and was not-so-subtle when it came to trying to hide his laughter. Fred raked his bottom lip through his teeth and smiled brightly.

“Ah, good morning,” he said before turning back to his porridge, “and how are we?”

“We are brilliant,” you picked a piece of his toast off of his plate and bit into it. When he threaded his eyebrows together and tried to get it back from you, you just stretched your arm back. “Oh, I’m sorry, is this yours? I figured, you know, since my hair now matches the colour of my robes, I was allowed to take your breakfast since you’ve been a foul little git.”

At first, his eyes widened in horror. But when he saw the faint smile on your lips as you continued to scarf down his breakfast, his shoulders relaxed. He raised his eyebrows, “Was worried you might be mad at me for a second there.”

“Mad? Never.” you replied. “Now if it had been green, well, that’d be a different story. But I’ve got to say, Weasley, I reckon blue suits me just fine.” You flipped your hair over your shoulder and started to laugh.

Fred yanked the half eaten slice of toast out of your hands and shoved the rest of it into his mouth. Your jaw dropped dramatically as he licked his lips and took a long slug of his tea. “Couldn’t agree more, Y/N,” he began and you rolled your eyes. Always the jokester, he was. But when he looked at you with a new type of admiration and serenity in his eyes, you froze. “You could have blue hair and purple eyebrows and I’d still think you were the most beautiful girl on this earth.”

It was just a small moment, one shared between the two of you, when he grinned so earnestly you swore he might spill out all his heart’s desires to you. But as quickly as it appeared, it had vanished, and he went back to wiggling his eyebrows at you teasingly and eating his porridge. “Hey, wanna run some Quidditch drills after this?”

“Sure,” you replied a little too quickly, trying to catch your breath. You stood up from the table to get some breakfast of your own. “Meet you there. Oh, but first, Freddie?”

“Yeah?”

You smirked. “Before anything else happens today, it’s my turn to dye your hair.”

He thought on this for a moment before reaching out for a high five. He loved how you’d come to negotiate with him over the years. He guessed it was from being on the receiving end of tons of his pranks. He swallowed down his nerves and replied, “Deal.”

Ages 17 and 16

“Fred! Bloody hell, what’s gotten into you?”

“Just have to get you alone, don’t I?” he smirked.

The two of you were stumbling giddily, alone in a back corner of the desolate girls’ dormitory in the Ravenclaw common room. Most everyone were either in lessons or out on the grounds on this gorgeous day, but the two of you chose to be locked inside, for you didn’t exactly know how much time you’d be able to spend alone before he left. Especially with Toad Face breathing down your necks every chance she got.

His lips were locked with yours for what seemed like hours. It was slow and easy and comforting before he reluctantly pulled away and started tracing circles onto your hands, trying as he might to lot let you see the glassiness in his eyes.

“Promise me something,”

“What?”

He sighed. “Next year, bring home the cup. You were robbed this year, love. Bloody Umbridge banning us from matches, and now the entire schedule is all wonky. Bring it home. But I swear if you tell any Gryffindors I said that, I’ll deny it.”

You raked your bottom lip through your teeth before poking him in the stomach. “You? A Gryffindor, hoping a Ravenclaw wins the cup? What would the other students think?”

“I reckon they’d think I’m out of my mind.”

You snorted. “Well, yeah, you are.”

The laughter faded away after a few moments, and Fred peered lovingly into your eyes. You could tell how much his nerves were eating at him -- leaving this all behind, not finishing school. The wrath of his mother. The unknown of how the shop will do. You traced the freckles on his cheeks and nose.

“You’ll be okay, you know. Actually, more than okay. It’ll be bloody brilliant, alright?”

Fred swallowed thickly before squeezing your hips. “You promise?”

“I promise. Do you promise to wait for me once you get there? I’ve got some exams to finish up.” You winked.

Fred laughed lightly and pulled you into his chest before placing light kisses onto your head. He took a long, deep breath and continued to caress your hair as you both tried not to think about the upcoming weeks. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried with all of your might to focus on the sound of his heartbeat, but each thump of his pulse was just another reminder that you were one second closer to him leaving.

“I promise,” he echoed you. “I’ll meet you there, won’t I?”

Ages 20 and 19

“Of course we’ll win! We’re bloody brilliant, aren’t we? Reckon Voldy won’t even be able to stand a chance, ruddy pumpkin head, he is.”

“Fred, please, just -- can’t you be serious for one moment?”

“Haven’t got a serious bone in my body, I’m afraid.”

“Freddie.”

His sigh had sounded different. It had a strange sense of urgency to it. He turned over in bed, took your head in his hands and pressed his lips together. He began to gently caress his thumb over your jawline. He’d never looked so serious in all his life. “I promise that everything will be alright. But you’ve got to try and get some sleep, darling.”

“But I can’t --”

“You’ve got to try. I’m right here.”

You swallowed down your tears and nuzzled your face into his chest. You breathed in the all too familiar smell of Molly’s washing detergent, and squeezed his fingers in yours. The two of you lay wide away in the darkness of the night, your breathing finally in sync with one another.

“When this is all over, we’ll be a proper family, alright? You and me. I promise.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead before laughing again. “You didn’t really expect one of us to leave without getting married first, did you?”

He groaned a bit when you teasingly punched him square in the stomach.

That was just last evening.

How had everything changed so drastically in less than twenty four hours? Why had those few precious hours in bed gone by so quickly?

Why hadn’t Fred been able to keep his promise?

You and George both had your arms wrapped tightly around one another, probably to help one another stay upright. You didn’t quite know how you were able to still walk, not when your body felt like all of the blood and oxygen had been drained from it. The two of you fell to the floor beside him; Fred’s body was still warm, his skin so soft, as though he were simply asleep.

You wanted to go back in time. Any amount of time, just to get more of it with him. Just to hear him say he loved you, to tell you he couldn’t wait until you both would get married, just to hear him say your name.

He’d managed to fight without gaining but a scratch. His hair was still perfectly messy, just like it always was, his hands folded neatly across his chest. It was miraculous, really, that there were so many others here, in this room, alive, who looked far worse than he did. And yet it was him who was dead.

It was him who’d had his life stolen out from underneath him, like a cruel joke.

You turned to George, blurry through your vision, and choked out the only few words you were brave enough to speak. “He didn’t keep his promise.”

George dropped his head and let his hoarse cries rattle through the Great Hall. He squeezed your hand and lay across his brother, begging him to wake up, just wake up. You tried to pull George back to his feet, but his body felt much heavier than it had just a few hours ago. Percy pulled him into a hug and let George cry, very similarly to the time when you were all very young and he’d fallen off of his broom and broken his ankle. And who had made him feel better? Fred, of course.

Fred looked so tranquil, it was almost terrifying to look at him. And yet, you couldn’t look away. You tried, through your blurry vision, to memorize everything about him -- the arch of his eyebrows, the way his eyelashes brushed gently against his cheeks, the spattering of freckles across his nose, the way his one ear was slightly crooked from the other. You wanted to remember the way his fingers felt interwoven with yours, like they’d been crafted that way because they were meant to be there, the way his lips always felt so soft. You ran a hand through his hair to try and push down that one stubborn part, but it sprang back up, just like always, and you managed a small chuckle. You couldn’t forget. You just couldn’t. You didn’t want to forget a single thing about him, and you were afraid that as soon as they took his body away, that you would.

You traced a gentle line over his freckles again. It must’ve been hours that you’d been lying there, because he felt cold now. Your body froze at the contact and you had to use every single ounce of strength you somehow had left to not crumble to pieces. But you managed to place one last, gentle kiss to his forehead as the sunlight of a new day flooded the Great Hall.

“I’ll meet you there one day, Freddie.”

[theodorevg923]

need more questions for the were au? leave it to me!!1!!

can any of the original four remember that night they got bit as teens? what were they doing there?

Freddy: My father owned the original pizzeria, William. I spent a lot of time there before and after I met the other three.

Bonnie: Fred and I met through school as we were in the same grade and I lived nearby and came to visit a lot while he was at the pizzeria. My situation at home wasn't the best so I stayed away as much as I could. Then Foxy and Chica came along and we all hung out at the pizzeria for hours.

Chica: I went for a friend's birthday party and met the other three and tagged along with them, despite being five years younger than Bonnie.

Foxy: Aye, me met me crew on me ol' Cap'n ship.

Freddy: We would hang out there all the time as Chica was too young to do some of the teenage activities we wanted to do and we didn't want to exclude her.

Bonnie: As for the night it went down, we all remember it. I was seventeen and already been in the underground fight ring to support myself as I moved out of my parent's. But I still spent a lot of time at the pizzeria since my fights only happened at night and weekends.

Chica: I was twelve when it happened. From what I remember, the band had been acting up all day, bad pizza or something, so Mr. Afton closed the pizzeria early.

Freddy: My father disappeared after he closed the pizzeria, which wasn't unusual after the loss of my little brother and sister. But what was unusual was that he locked us in.

Foxy: Me tried to pick it, ye lock, but me couldn't.

Freddy: I don't remember exactly what happened next, but from what I remember we were all waiting on Foxy to pick the lock and the next moment my shoulder was in searing pain, and then my body. I dropped to the floor to see Chica was being bit by the previous yellow Chica, and Bonnie was fighting the previous of him.

Bonnie: I had been good in the ring, but getting taken by surprise, I was unprepared and quickly lost the fight. I took my bite to my arm before the pain overwhelmed and I couldn't fight coherently anymore.

Foxy: Me was bit last, stolen 'way fr'm me other crew. Bit me neck 'n me near died if it weren't f'r me change. Ye ol' crew seem ta lea'e a'er.

Chica: It hurt, a lot. I think I passed out from the pain because I don't remember really anything after the transformation started. Just waking up to Bonnie holding me and Freddy was in a state of panic as I took the longest to wake up, Foxy was huddled in a booth on his own.

Bonnie: Mine was the fastest, at least I was to move before anyone else to comfort the others. Chica did have us scared from being bit so young, she wouldn't wake up even after her transformation ended.

Freddy: After it happened, Foxy broke the front door with his new found strength-

Foxy: Me threw ye chair.

Bonnie: Then we left for my place basically naked as most of our clothing ripped up from the change in size. Thankfully I had a car and didn't have to walk far, Chica got luck as she wore dresses all the time back then, but the rest of us weren't so lucky.

Freddy: We all lived in Bonnie's studio until I was able to get a job and find us a bigger place to rent. I never spoke to my father after it happened and Chica and Foxy lived with us as they didn't want to go back to their families afterwards. But we're here now, each of us having our own special lovers and a the best quirky family I could ever want.

[natromanxoff]

Mercury Roadrunner's Interview about Freddie Mercury with Peter Freestone – Part III

Thanks very much to Mercury Roadrunner (Pavel Strashnyy) for letting me share his amazing interviews! Originally shared here. Check the tag "MR interview with Phoebe" to see the other parts.

Here are the 6 main topics of this interview, beginning of each topic is written in bold:

1. Freddie's clothes and beliefs, drugging story

2. Freddie's family

3. South American tour

4. Memories about Brian, Roger and John

5. Books, plays and opera

6. Before and after concerts, Michael Jackson, first memory about Freddie, what how would it be if he was still alive?

PS: So, here is our third part, and the first topic is about Freddie’s clothes for concerts. On the Hot Space tour, we can see arrows in Freddie’s clothes. What was so special for Freddie about these arrows?

PF: I don’t know. It’s just something that got into his mind. They are also in the video for “Body Language.” I think it’s just something that fascinated him at the time. He just decided he liked arrows.

PS: I see. And where exactly did you source all those arrowed vests and jackets for him, for concerts?

PF: They were actually all made in America, they were made for him. They bought the T-shirts and painted them on. And with the leather jackets and the other jackets, they just made them. There was that one big jacket he had. He only wore it, I think, once or twice. With the actual arrows sewn onto it. He literally wore it two times, I think. The reason he didn’t use it was because he couldn’t take it off on stage, because as soon as he started sweating it stuck to him. So, there was no way he could just take it off. That’s why he stopped using it. But it was just a phase he went through.

PS: Speaking about Freddie’s T-shirts, Freddie used to wear quite a few T-shirts with logos of different gay establishments, different gay clubs, such as Haven, The Works. And the question is, how exactly did he usually obtain such T-shirts? Were they given to him as presents or did he buy them?

PF: Most of them were. I mean, obviously, we offered to pay, but then the manager says, “No, no, no. Take it, take it.” Because, of course, it’s going to be good advertising for them, isn’t it?

PS: With such a superstar wearing their T-shirts. Speaking of clubs, have you ever visited the famous Studio 54 in New York?

PF: Yes, we were there quite often. Usually on the Sunday night. And, it was fine, it was good. It was the Sunday, because he went to The Saint on Saturday. It was fun, it was good. It was so very, very different because of the history that was attached to it. But it was good, it was big enough for people to hide in. If you wanted to be seen in a photograph – yes, fine, well and good. But if you didn’t, then there were plenty of places where you could just stand or sit, or whatever.

PS: In what ways was it different?

PF: I mean, the feeling of the place. Because they spent a lot of money on the interior. With all the different lighting, stage, everything was there. It had that, sort of, bit of glamour.

PS: Actually, as we mentioned the holiday of Easter at the beginning of our talk, I would like to ask you, in your understanding, was Freddie any kind of spiritual person? Maybe not religious but sort of a believer, as we can see a lot of lyrics for his songs where he mentions God.

PF: He didn’t follow any organised religion, because it’s something that he never really spoke about, because he felt that and politics were, in fact, very private to a person. But I do believe he had a faith, he did have his belief, but not in any way that we would recognise.

PS: Coming back to our topic about clubs, could you please try to remember the story about Freddie meeting one of the members of Village People in one of the clubs?

PF: I’m trying to remember which club we were in. It could actually have been The Works where we met him, because I know it was just a chance meeting. We then went to some promotion thing that the Village People were doing. And we were there, we met up with David Hodo; he was the construction worker. They became good friends, and they would meet up quite often in clubs whenever Freddie was in New York. But it was just a chance meeting.

PS: There were some kind of rumours that some accident happened to Freddie when he met one of the Village People members in a club. Do you remember anything like this?

PF: Accident, no. There was that time in one of the clubs, there was a group of us and David was there with us. I went to the toilet and told Freddie, “Just stay here.” And he says, “Yes, yes, yes.” And then I went to the toilet and when I came back, of course, he wasn’t there where he was supposed to be. And then David came and found me and said, “You better come and give Freddie a hand,” I said, “Why? What?” He said, “You have to see it.” We went round the corner and there was Freddie jumping in a big, sort of, net container where there were all the plastic cups from the drinks you just threw away. He was just jumping up and down in it, because someone had actually put something into one of his drinks, and he just had gone… happy. [laughs] So, between David and myself, we just lifted him out, took him and stood him by the bar and wouldn’t let him go anywhere.

PS: Coming back to the Hot Space times, you can be actually seen in the backstage footage of the Milton Keynes Bowl show, and you are walking together with Freddie to the stage. Can you please share any special memories about this show?

PF: The show itself, no. But the night before the show, he was bitten on his hand by his boyfriend at the time, Bill Reid. He bit him and drew blood between his thumb and his forefinger. So, Freddie was having a bit of a problem playing the piano at that show. As far as the music goes, it was another big outdoor Queen show.

PS: Speaking about the Hot Space tour, in general, what was the most specific moment or, maybe, your personal memory of it?

PF: No, not really. One tour blends into the next tour, whether it was Europe or America. When you are actually on tour, it’s basically the same every evening – soundcheck, show, out, hotel, travel to the next place. It became very much routine.

PS: As a viewer, you have seen only one Queen show, right?

PF: Yes, the show I have seen was one of the Wembley shows in 1986. It was the Friday night. He had friends over from America and he wanted me to look after them. And then Joe actually took care of him for the show.

PS: And you saw it not from the stage but as a viewer?

PF: Yeah. We were all sat in the royal box, which was, sort of, the VIP area. You don’t get any good view or anything, and this is in any show. It’s either right at the side or whatever. You don’t really see anything. It’s really a place where celebrities can go and sit so that the audience can go and see them. That’s what it was about, really.

PS: What are your memories about Freddie’s family? This is our second topic. What are your memories about Bomi and Jer.

PF: I probably saw them five times in my entire life. He tried very much to keep his music life totally separate from his family. The music side of him did not really fit with their strict Zoroastrian faith. He didn’t want to push their noses in it. He would bring them to one show each tour of Europe when they [Queen] were in London, and that would be it.

PS: Even if you saw his parents five times or something, could you remember, in general, your impression of his father? As we can see his mother, Jer, in some documentaries. But what was his father like?

PF: His father was just quiet, very, very quiet. Which was unusual in that sort of family, because normally it was the male who was dominant, and the females were submissive. But it was very much the other way round with this family. The mother did a lot more talking. I probably had more to do with them after Freddie died than when he was alive, because I talked to them to find out what they needed for the service and everything. The whole world had had him for twenty odd years, he was owned by the world, so I felt it was only right particularly at this time that his parents got what they needed. They should never be burying their son. That’s not supposed to happen. So, for them to be able to deal with the whole thing I felt it was only right to actually accommodate them with the funeral service and everything. So that’s why I say that I probably spoke more with them then than at any time before.

PS: Do you have, maybe, any kind of memories of Freddie spending time together with his sister, Kashmira?

PF: She came to Garden Lodge not even as much as his parents did, because she lived in a different city, she lived in Nottingham. If their parents came to Garden Lodge, maybe, six times, she would have been there, maybe, three. They spoke on the phone every now and then, probably not even quite as much as with his mother. It wasn’t a close, close family like so many people believe families should be, but then I fully understood it, I fully understood his feelings there.

PS: Do you find any similarities between Kashmira and Freddie? Are they in some ways like each other?

PF: I think so. But I found out a lot more in the more recent years than while Freddie was alive. She enjoys her life with what Freddie has given her. And the way she honours Freddie because Freddie gave her 25% of his money. And she’s buying these really classy, good quality jewellery and cigarette cases and everything, and then she lends them to the Victoria and Albert Museum in Freddie’s name. So, she’s enjoying the money but letting the world know that it’s only through Freddie. I admire her for that. If Freddie was to actually be seeing what she’s doing, he would be over the moon because she’s enjoying the money. So many people just cannot, but she is, she is definitely enjoying it.

PS: She has a total right to do so.

PF: Yes, very much so, because she’s doing what, I believe, Freddie would have wished her to do. Because he enjoyed his money, so that’s why he gave it to her so that she could enjoy her life, enjoy things. And, as I say, the things that she buys she lends to museums in Freddie’s name. So, he’s still there, he’s still represented. I think that’s perfect.

PS: Our third topic is about Queen’s first tour in South America, as it was a very special one. What are your favourite memories about this one, if you can try to remember?

PF: The memory that sticks in the mind was the police escort that we had going back from the first show in Argentina. There are photographs all over the place, with John Deacon playing with the gun and them travelling in an armoured truck and that sort of stuff. That was something incredible. It’s something that you could tell your grandchildren you were there, it’s one of those things. The shows themselves were wonderful because Freddie was playing to the biggest audiences that he’d ever played to at that point. And he loved it, he loved being on the stage. The memories I have are more offstage than onstage. There was the very, very quick drive from the hotel to the airport after the show in Venezuela, because the president died that day and they were going to close the country down to go into state mourning. If the band and the set and everything were still there, we would never have been allowed to leave. There were no flights, there was nothing. So, we drove so, so fast through to get out before the lockdown happened there. It was amazing. And then, of course, there was Mexico, in Puebla where there was this old, old stadium. And the backstage, you just wouldn’t believe what was there. It was just broken down, old cement and concrete. No locks on doors. There was one toilet that we had to create a sign for, so when you went in you put “Engaged”, and when you came out you put “Vacant”. There was no lock on the door. And then, of course, that was where there was the problem with the crowd. The band didn’t know anything about, none of us did until afterwards. The reason that batteries and everything were thrown at them on the stage was because, apparently, before the fans could go in, the police took all the batteries out of recorders, cameras and everything, so none of the show could be recorded or filmed. But then when they were inside, the crowd could buy their batteries back. And the crowd thought that this was part of a deal with Queen and that’s why they started throwing stuff at them.

PS: Very extreme concerts, right?

PF: But when Freddie was on stage, he thoroughly enjoyed it. It really fulfilled his dreams.

PS: The fourth topic is: A lot of people ask you about Freddie, but we must remember that actually you were quite close with all Queen members. My question is about each of them. What are your special memories or stories? Let’s start with Brian.

PF: There’s a photograph. There was Brian, myself and Brian’s security. We were down by the pool. I cannot remember which hotel. I was lying on the grass in the sun and Brian was there and we were chatting. And then his bodyguard came and just sat on me. There’s a photograph of it on the internet. And Brian just sat there laughing. He just laughed and laughed and laughed, and didn’t do anything to help me.

PS: Any special memory about Roger in all those years with Queen?

PF: Again, this was in South America where he and I had a go-kart race, there was this amazing go-kart track near one of the cities. I was out there with Roger, there was a group of us out there. We had this amazing race. Because he loves cars, he’s always driving cars. He decided he was going to be champion go-kart driver. That was fun. All the things are fun that we did. John had the family with him [in South America] some of the time. I used to babysit his children. I think there were three boys at the time. There’s photographs round and about of me with John’s children playing around at the airport. I was there to make sure to keep an eye on them. The off-duty times were really good memories.

PS: The fifth topic. Freddie, in one of his interviews, said that he considered reading books not a very interesting activity. Could you please try to remember whether there was some certain book or books that had an important meaning for Freddie?

PF: In the twelve years I knew him, I never saw a book in his hand. He would read magazines, like Architectural Digest, because he just loved furnishing things inside the house, on the properties he owned. But I never really saw him reading a book. But, saying that, with the intelligence that he had, he must have read books. I think probably they are things that he learnt at school. He was very clever. I finished the boarding school at eleven, and he carried on until he was seventeen, so he probably would have learnt so much more that I did. But I never saw him with a book in his hand.

PS: In that case, could you please try to remember any theatre play or opera libretto that he liked because of the storyline or the characters?

PF: It started off as a play but then it was made into a film. He saw the play in London when they put it on. And it was called “The Women”. He found that fascinating. It was a comedy film about how women dealt with divorce and separation and love, and all that sort of thing. It was just very quick-witted. He loved everything. You had to listen carefully to understand the joke. In so many of these films, they do short, quick sentences. He would pay attention to those sort of things. That one he went to because he wanted to see the play. Most of the time, he went to see plays because of the people who were in it. His friends would invite him to a show. I bought the tickets and took him to see the play “Little Foxes” in New York, and not because he would be interested in the play or what’s going on, it was purely because Elizabeth Taylor was the star. A lot of the time, he went to these things because of who was in it rather than what it was.

PS: Was there any opera libretto that he liked the most because of the story or characters?

PF: Not specifically for story and characters, because anything that Montserrat could sing, he just loved listening to her voice. He didn’t have to know the story behind it. It’s just as well because in most operas you don’t understand the story, because this mother lost this son, he was taken away by someone else, or she stole another one, and then this son falls in love with this person but that’s his sister. You know, you really do not want to know the stories of operas, you just want to listen to them.

PS: Speaking about you, what are your favourite books and writers?

PF: It really depends on my mood at the time. Actually, I do quite like Stephen King, but not everything that he’s done. I mean, I like the general style of his writing, of his books. Operas, I have about 1,500 operas in mp3’s and on physical CD’s. And I will listen to one every day. It just really depends on the mood. Mainly things written by Rossini, Bellini, Donizetti and Verdi. The storyline is almost always the same, except if it’s based on a historic fact. It’s always a love story, sometimes it ends happily and other times she dies of consumption or she dies of something else. As I say, generally, you don’t pay attention to the words. I ask so many people, when they listen to a song for the first time, do they listen to the music or do they listen to the words? The vast majority of people listen to the music first. It’s the same with opera. He had to be able to read music, although he might say he couldn’t because he did those piano exams. You have to read music. But I don’t think he was so interested to actually pick up a school. He would not sit at the piano and play something from notes. That he couldn’t do, he just would create it himself.

PS: Speaking about Stephen King, as you mentioned him, do you like his book “The Shining” and the film with Jack Nicholson?

PF: Very good. That one I like very much. I like “The Shining”. I thought the book adaptation was actually very, very good. Another one that I like of his was “Salem’s Lot”; there is a miniseries made of that which actually reflected the book very, very well. Because Stephen King is involved with the films of his books most of the time, they tend to be much better versions of the books than so many films. So many films are supposed to be based on a book than have all of the director’s own ideas and what it should be like and everything else. So, when you look at the film, you actually wonder if you’re looking at the right film.

PS: Must agree with this. As a close friend of Freddie, as a writer yourself and as a book lover, here’s a special question: With whom could you compare Freddie amongst fictional characters from books?

PF: [laughs] Oh brother! There isn’t one. [laughs] Not in anything I’ve read that Freddie could compare with. I mean, maybe, there’s a little bit of Freddie in so many different characters. For example, Sir John Falstaff. I don’t remember which Shakespeare play he’s in, but he’s in a couple of operas. And just that character, I can see a bit of Freddie in there. Anything passionate I can see Freddie in. Anything with a love story in it, because that’s what he was always looking for. Anyone specific, no, I don’t think that exists. So, a book would have to be written around him.

PS: The next topic is: What was Freddie’s excitement like right before going on stage? Was he mostly visibly excited or otherwise calm and deep inside himself before the show?

PF: Really, most of the time when I was there with him getting ready for the show, there was always a rule that everybody, all friends and family had to be out of the dressing room at least half an hour before the show. They would have to sit in the guest room, so the band could, sort of, concentrate. In Freddie’s mind, there was no reason to panic because the show was going to happen whether he panicked or not. He was actually quite calm going into a show. He would pump himself up but on his own. He would just move his arms around and jump a little bit. And it wasn’t the excitement, it was just to get the body moving because he knew what he’d appear on the stage. His body would not stop moving for an hour and a half, two hours. He had to basically warm the body up a bit. Vocally, he would do a little bit of vocal exercises, but not specific exercises, he would just hit notes to try and place his voice, so he had some idea of what he was going to do that night. But there was no visible excitement. I suppose, perhaps, there was more excitement in South America than any other show that I was at, because of the size of the audience and because it was a first. Any of the shows they did in South America were a first, they’d never been done before. There was a bit of excitement because he didn’t know what was going to happen. When he was touring the normal America, Europe, it was things he’d done before, so he knew what to expect.

PS: Speaking about backstage before the concert, we can actually see you walking with Freddie in Los Angeles, and there we can also see Michael Jackson. Do you remember this show and Michael backstage with Freddie?

PF: Again, there’s pictures of it. That was more after the show where Freddie went into the guest room. They actually started in the dressing room, because nobody was allowed in the dressing room half an hour before and half an hour after while they got changed. But once they had come down from the show, a few special guests would be allowed into the dressing room, but then the band would go into the green room where all the artists and guests were. I remember seeing Freddie talking with Michael. It was just interesting for me to see these two who were at the peak of their performances, although they were so different but they were so similar. I know it sounds stupid, but that’s what I felt.

PS: What is your favourite memory of you and Freddie visiting Michael?

PF: There’s too many, I suppose. For me, it’s playing video games with Michael Jackson, because he had this big room where he had the arcade versions of video games. He just picked one and called Freddie and me over, and we were playing. There was this old-fashioned tennis thing. An oblong screen and on each side, you had a pedal that you moved up and down to hit the ball. We were playing that. It was wonderful. It was actually in Encino, the house before Neverland, the house that his mother lives in now. But, I suppose, the thing that I took away with me from that day was purely the fact that Michael didn’t treat me any differently than how he treated Freddie. Whatever happened in his life, whatever the truth is, the way that man treated me will stay with me all of my life because, as I say, it was no different at all from how he treated Freddie.

PS: He was very open to you, right?

PF: Yes.

PS: Speaking about the opposite of the before stage time, what was Freddie like after the concert? What was his mood mostly like?

PF: Mostly, he was up. In the dressing room, immediately after the show, there would be shouting and screaming for anything that went wrong. They always wanted to give a perfect show, and when they couldn’t it was hard. They would really get it out of their system. But once that had been done, he was generally always in a good mood. He just couldn’t wait to get out. I understand why he was out every night, because you cannot go to bed after a show like that, you’re just so full of adrenaline it just wouldn’t work.

PS: It’s like the second wave coming?

PF: Yeah. All the adrenaline that appeared during the stage show had to go somewhere, it doesn’t drain off in five minutes. That’s why he was out until four or five in the morning.

PS: At what time did Freddie usually go to sleep?

PF: It depends on what we were doing. I would think that average time would be between three and four.

PS: Three and four in the morning, right?

PF: Yeah. Sometimes he might go at two, and if he was in the studio, sometimes he might go to bed at six.

PS: How many hours did he usually sleep?

PF: He was usually awake by nine o’clock, so he would normally sleep for six or seven hours.

PS: Did he have any kind of repeated night dreams that he, maybe, told you about?

PF: No, nothing like that. He never told me anything. He would say he had a good night or a bad night but wouldn’t really go into description of dreams.

PS: You mentioned many times that your favourite Freddie song is “My Melancholy Blues.” Could you please try to describe why it is your favourite song?

PF: Yeah, because it’s so very, very different, because as soon as you mention the name Queen you automatically think of big harmonies, multilayered guitars, just huge songs. And this was just the total opposite. It’s just got a piano, a bass, a bit of drums and a voice. It’s all so partly autobiographical of Freddie’s party. He used to have so many parties, but in the end the party’s over, he would find someone else. The party doesn’t have to be a party with drinks and all the rest of it, it could just be a good time he had with someone. It’s just the total opposite of your classic Queen song. It’s just so quiet, it’s so personal.

PS: Could you please quote your favourite line from the lyrics?

PF: I suppose it has to be the opening line. “Another party’s over and I’m left stone cold sober.” It’s just Freddie, it sums up Freddie.

PS: Was he really a bit sentimental and sad when the real parties were over?

PF: Sentimental, maybe, but not sad, because most parties that he had were usually a success, so he would be happy and sentimental. The thing is, if that one’s over, there can always be a next one. There’s no need to be sad.

PS: What is your very, very first memory and image of Freddie when you first met him?

PF: Oh, that’s easy, I know exactly. He’s not very tall, is he? He was 175 cm and I was 187 cm. I looked down at him. You look, everybody imagines Freddie to be a giant because of the videos, because of the way he is on stage. He just looks huge. So many videos are shot from just a little bit looking upwards which makes him look taller. It was great, just looking at him and thinking, “He’s not tall.” His personality, his aura certainly made up for that, because he could walk into a room and every head would turn. They could feel Freddie Mercury had walked into the room.

PS: The very first moment you saw him, did he walk into the room or did you walk into the room where he already was?

PF: I walked into the room because he was already there talking with some friends. This was after the Royal Ballet Gala. And then he, sort of, looked, he wasn’t talking and looking around, and I just went to him and I just had to tell him how wonderful I thought the whole evening was. It wasn’t like he was this massive great superstar who I was scared of, because I’d been dealing with stars for the last four years and people who he considered were real big stars. He often used to say how proud he was of the fact that he took me away from the opera house where real big stars performed.

PS: What was his response to your comments about his show? What was your first conversation like?

PF: It was strange because I expected it to be rock’n’roll, rough, the way he talked on stage, but he was polite, he was a gentleman. That was all totally unexpected, because you expect a rock’n’roll star just to have the words ready on the end of his tongue for this and that. And the only reason that he spoke with me, because normally he would not speak to a total stranger, was because his friends were around him. One of them could easily have taken him away if he wasn’t happy. That’s all he needed. But then we started talking and it was it. I mean, it was just a three- or four-minute conversation, not a lot. As I say, from the very start, I could not be over how polite he was.

PS: So it was enough for him to spend, like, four or five minutes with you to later contact you and ask you to work with him on tour?

PF: Yes. As I say, whatever happened in those four or five minutes obviously worked because of that phone call a week later. I can imagine, he would be talking with Paul Prenter because they were going out on tour and they didn’t have anybody looking after their costumes because Dane had walked out. I can imagine him, “Look, I was talking to someone, he does costumes at the opera house for the ballet. Why don’t we try and call him?” I can imagine how it was because I know him and what he was like.

PS: As you mentioned Paul Prenter, was there anything good in Freddie’s relationship with him? Do you remember any good moments with Paul Prenter?

PF: He kept Freddie happy for a lot of the time. He kept Freddie company. Freddie was never alone when he was around. Paul was always there. But he’s got that bad reputation and all the rest of it, which sort of he’s deserved. He did care about Freddie.

PS: Concluding our final part, Freddie Mercury would have been 75 years old this year, but if we imagine Freddie was born, let’s say, in 1986 and if he was only 35 years old today in the year 2021, in our modern times, what do you think he would be like today?

PF: That’s so hard to say because life is so different. At that age, he would have grown up with computers. If things still carried on like they have done, I don’t think he would be happy because people don’t buy albums anymore, they don’t buy CD’s, they don’t buy physical, everything is “download.” Part of the joy for him was designing the album covers. He hated working at home, he refused to work at home. But nowadays you have to work at home and then take your music into the studio to get it mixed. I don’t think he would be really comfortable in this time. Because there’s no music like Queen have done, that doesn’t exist anymore. There are no bands who do things like that anymore. Or the bands that do, they are all in their 70s. His music would go nowhere. I also personally believe we are all here where we’re supposed to be. I think, if Freddie had a real big choice, he would have been born fifty years earlier because he was that sort of Victorian, Edwardian gentleman. He was a real gentleman. And that sort of existence wasn’t around when Freddie would have been able to enjoy it. But then, how many rock stars do you know that have had at one point the largest private collection of antique Japanese woodblock prints? That just isn’t rock’n’roll, is it?

PS: And if he was 75 this year, in his 70s, what would he be like today?

PF: He would be miserable because he never ever wanted to be old. As you get older, you cannot physically do what you used to do. A 70-year-old cannot, in the very, very best of health, do what a 30-year-old can do. It’s just physically impossible. That deterioration would have upset him so much.

PS: If Freddie could talk to the new generation, our present teenagers and young people of today, what would his message to them have been?

PF: The thing I always got from him was that he cared for others just as much as he cared for himself. He did not put himself first, above anybody else. He just wanted to treat everybody nicely. That’s what he was like. And I think that’s what he would try and tell people nowadays because that doesn’t exist very much either anymore. Because this now is a world of “me, me, me.”

PS: So his message, in general, would be something like “You should take care of each other more”?

PF: Take care of each other, yeah.

PS: And if he could talk to exactly Queen fans, what would his message be today?

PF: “Well, just carry on and enjoy the music.” Because that’s something that all the Queens fans did. They loved the music. They’re the ones who are keeping it going now and creating new fans. So many students say to me, “My mother and father were huge Queen fans.” It’s going through the generations. Freddie has been gone thirty years, but people are still listening to his music as much now as they ever did.

PS: And we all hope that people will continue to listen to his music.

PF: No reason why not. We still listen to Rimsky-Korsakov, we still listen to Mozart. And they’re long gone.

PS: And he will be remembered for thirty, fifty and more years.

PF: I remember, this was a few years ago, when it was Mozart’s 250th birthday or something. And I did an interview and I said it would not surprise me at all that if in two hundred years people would still listening to Queen music, as they were still listening to Mozart. Because good music carries on.

PS: Let it be this way in years to come.

SPECIAL THANKS TO VALUREX FOR CONTRIBUTION AND ASSISTENCE

[darling-i-read-it]

Savoureux

1x13

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, mental health problems, jail, angst

Author’s Note: I am super super happy with how this whole season turned out. I might take a few days break of posting to simulate a very small season hiatus but I absolutely adored this and I’m so excited to do more. I think this stuff is some of the stuff that I was most proud of. And y’all...I love will graham (and hannibal lecter which is gonna show more hopefully in season 2!) 

I took lines directly from the script so some may seem familiar. Those sentences are not mine. 

Official Episode Summary : The BAU team finds evidence linking Abigail to the Minnesota Shrike victims; Will checks Abigail out of the hospital; Hannibal convinces Jack that Will is capable of murder.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

Tag List: @llperfectsymmetryll​

(not my gif) 

You stepped into your home. You had spent the whole afternoon, much into the night trying to contact Will who hadn’t picked up his phone. You had been dragged along by Hannibal Lecter as you continued to complain about how Will had not done the things he had said. You dragged your feet and faced the wall as you kicked off your shoes. You would have no sleep tonight. You would be forced to sit at home, think about where Will had gone. 

Will hadn’t ever gone anywhere without telling you if he knew it was going to worry you. He would leave a note, a call, a text. You were forced to wonder where he had gone. Why he hadn’t told you where he had gone. You let out a shaky sigh and held back tears as you turned to the dogs who gathered at your feet. You turned around and pet them. You finally let a few tears escape your eyes as you sat down on the ground and let the dogs run you over. 

“Where’s dad?” you whispered to Winston. He licked your face and you laughed lightly nodding. “I don’t know where either.” 

You stood up and walked through the house, ready to get in bed and not go to sleep. 

You entered the bedroom and almost didn’t even notice Will in bed, fast asleep. You actually walked past him at first and then stopped, turning to the bed and staring down at him. You let out a gasp and a small sob escaped your lips.

Safe. 

He was safe.

You walked to the bed and sat on the ground beside him, not on the bed but instead the ground where you could stare at Will’s face. Peaceful. You wondered when the last time you saw him look peaceful was. 

You stared at him and had a decision to make. You could call Jack or Hannibal, tell them that he was at home and without blood stains from the looks of it. You could sit here a moment more and think. Or you could simply get in bed and go to sleep beside the man you loved. You could go pretend nothing was wrong. 

Tears were soundlessly streaming down your face. You wanted to play with his curls and laugh at him and make fun of each other as you attempt to make food carelessly. You didn’t want to make this decision. 

Will shook and you wiped your eyes quickly. He looked up at the ceiling and his eyes locked on yours. The peace was broken into panic and the moment was gone. 

You stared at each other and he stood up, running into the kitchen. You stayed on the ground for a moment, wishing you could have savored the moment a second longer. Then you got up and walked over to the kitchen where Will was leaning over the sink. Your bare feet patted over to the sink. 

In it was a bloody ear that Will had just thrown up. You let out a shaky breath and Will looked over at you, fear in his eyes. 

Will had never once seen you afraid of him. He had seen you afraid for him but never afraid of him. For a second he saw the fear in your eyes and he wasn’t sure if it was for him or of him.

“Where did you go?” you whispered. He shook his head and you met his eyes again. Terror in his eyes. You had asked the wrong question. “I was scared.”

“I am too.” 

You hugged him tightly and he held you closer than he ever had before.

“I don’t know if this is going to be okay,” you whispered. He whimpered very quietly. 

“I love you,” he promised. “I’ve always and always will love you.” You nodded and shut your eyes tightly. 

“I’ll always love you too,” you whispered. “Always.” 

You pulled away. 

“Let’s call Hannibal.” 

-

When Jack arrived at your home you didn’t recognize it. Jack was such a separate entity from your home. The comforting place, the dogs, Will, a home. That wasn’t what Jack was to you. 

You stared at the house. Crime scene tape over the porch you and Will would drink beer and swap stories on. Strangers in the bedroom you slept in. You looked over at Jack who was holding Will hostage with words.

“They’re going to take him away,” you whispered numbly. Hannibal nodded.

“Yes.”

You walked over as Will got into the back of a cop car. You smiled very weakly at him, stopping the door from being shut. One of the dogs sat at your foot and looked at him.

“I’m not going to tell you it’s going to be okay,” you whispered.

“Just be here. With the dogs.” Someone shut the door harshly and the car was gone way before you were prepared for it to be gone. Hannibal stood behind you and you turned, throwing your arms around him so that Jack wouldn’t see you sob. Hannibal held you tightly, watching Will leave his home. 

After a moment you pulled away from him and turned to Jack.

“You swore to me he wouldn’t get too close!” you yelled, so loud that people could likely hear you in the house. You pointed a finger at him and Hannibal grabbed your arms before you could fight Jack. “You swore!” 

“I told him-”

“Stop talking. You could see he was breaking!” you screamed. 

“Yes, I could,” Jack said simply. “And I kept pushing him because he was saving lives.” You broke free of Hannibal’s grasp and poked him in the chest, staring at him directly in the eyes. Your eyes were crazed and sad and heartbroken and above all, dangerous. 

“I told you he was breaking. Now Abigail Hobbs is dead,” you sneered. Your heart wasn’t able to comprehend that just yet. 

“You think he did it?” Jack asked.

“I know he didn’t,” you promised. “But for the sake of proving you wrong, as I have constantly, Abigail Hobbs is dead because someone messed up. And that someone is not Will or Freddie Lounds or Hannibal or Alana. That someone, Jack, is you.” 

Hannibal pulled you away. You turned to him. 

“You,” you whispered, weak now. “I sent Will to you for help and he seemed to simply get worse.” 

“I thought I was helping him. I don’t know yet where I went wrong,” he whispered. “This is going to be a long process if he is arrested. You have to realize, perhaps not now but eventually that Will killed people even if he didn’t mean to.” You shook your head.

“I know he didn’t.” 

“Either way,” he started and held you by your upper arms, “you’re going to need support through this. You said yourself Will was all you had before.” You stared at him, holding it together the best you could. He was right. You hated it. But he was right.

You didn’t say anything. Instead you just hugged him again.

-

The next day you walked into the headquarters of the BAU. Hannibal walked with you. You had managed to keep yourself together as you walked in. Hannibal stood closely beside you as you walked into his office.

“I’m going to talk to Will,” you stated.

“After the last time we spoke you think I’m going to allow you-”

“I am going to talk to Will,” you said again. Jack looked to Hannibal who somehow was still a valid perspective in his mind. 

“Will it help or harm?” Jack asked Hannibal as though you weren’t there. Hannibal shrugged.

“I will be seeing him. Alana, you, presumably Chilton,” Hannibal said. “It seems unreasonably cruel to not allow her to see him especially before you’ve arrested him simply because you dislike her,” he said. Jack stared at you and you stared back, adjusting your posture to not seem nervous when you in fact were. You hated that the viewing of your boyfriend was going to be held in the hands of a man who you hated vocally. 

“Five minutes,” Jack said. “No more.” You nodded stiffly and Jack led you to the room where Will was being held. You stared through the two way mirror as he stared at the wall. The wrongness of it made you shiver. Jack opened the door and Will turned around. He let out a gasp of almost relief at the sight of you. You walked over to him and hugged him tightly. 

Someone hit the two way mirror. You moved back. 

You sat down carefully at the chair across from him.

“This seems much too formal for us,” he said quietly.

“I don’t think we ever ate dinner at a table this formal,” you said quietly and you both shared a sad smile at what might have been and what had been. “I will be showing the dogs a picture of you every day for...however long,” you whispered.

“However long could be a long time from now.” You pursed your lips at the realization.

“I’ll do it until then,” you promised. Will stared at you.

“Do you...think I did it?” he asked. You shook your head quickly. There was no part of Will Graham that made you feel unsafe. 

“No. You couldn’t have. I know that.”

“Ted Bundy’s girlfriend didn’t think he was a murderer until he was,” he told you.

“Actually she suspected. I have never suspected,” you promised. 

“Has Jack tried to convince you otherwise?” he asked. You laughed dryly. 

“Jack could show me a dead body in our crawl space and I would think he was making it up. That man has never been someone I trusted,” you promised. “Plus, I might get to join you if I decide to go through my plan of killing Jack.” Will raised an eyebrow.

“What about the dogs?” 

“You’re right,” you whispered. “I’m going to try and see you as soon as I can.” He nodded.

“I don’t want you to be particular about it. I want you to live your life,” he whispered. You shook your head.

“You’re my life.” 

The door opened and you looked over, fighting tears again. 

“Be safe,” he whispered. You stood up and walked to the door, holding yourself together by only a string. “And Y/N?” You turned around and Will looked at you, up and down, taking you in.

“Yes?” 

“Don’t forget to turn off my work alarm,” he whispered. You nodded stiffly and Hannibal helped you out of the room. You were okay until you got in the car where you immediately broke down crying.

-

You didn’t go home, it was still a crime scene. You went to Hannibal’s home, sitting on his couch and staring out the window. He walked up to you and sat down beside you.

“Jack has just called me,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” Your voice held no emotion. It was odd for Hannibal to hear. He was so used to emotion to lace your voice. Sometimes excitement, fear, happiness, worry, boredom. You were such an outward emotional person. Even when he walked into the office you would tell him the day's appointments with a smile and chirp.

“They have found victims' hair and teeth in the fish hooks,” he said. You shook your head. “And Jack has just arrested him.”

Your mouth opened and for a moment no words came out. Hannibal waited patiently.

“I passed those fish hooks every single day,” you whispered. “Going to work. Coming home. Going on a date, stumbling inside drunk and happy.” You turned to face Hannibal. “And I watched him work. I would sit on one of the chairs and pretend to read when Will and I both knew I was watching his fingers move.” Hannibal watched your eyes rewatch that memory. “There was no hair or teeth in those fish hooks when Will worked on it.” 

“The evidence speaks otherwise,” he told you quietly. 

“And yet I will refuse to believe it,” you said. Your smile was almost eerie. Hannibal was so curious about this part of you. Almost a numb anger.

“Go home,” he whispered. 

“It’ll only make it worse,” you muttered. 

You hugged him and he hugged you and for a moment Hannibal was the only anchor you had to the world. You felt like without him you could fly away immediately and die somewhere. Hannibal held you like he knew that was what you were thinking.

You pulled away and for a moment, as you felt numb, you stared at Hannibal’s face differently.

“Thank you,” you whispered. He put his hand on your face and you let him. Before he could do anything further you stood up. Home. Go home.

-

The house was empty. Despite the dogs it was empty.

You sat on the bed and stared at the pillow you never touched. Do you wash it? Will used to sweat on it so you had to wash it often but now did you have to? Should you? 

The blanket that you had bought for Christmas for his nightmares seemed so useless now. 

You turned around and grabbed the pillow and held it tightly, gasping. 

The front door clicked open. You turned your head and your emotions went back to static as you stood up, putting the pillow on the bed. You walked into the main room and then there was Will, in orange, but there. You walked over to him quickly and sobbed into his shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, sobbing loudly. 

“I’m going to Minnesota with Hannibal,” he whispered. “But I had to come to you first.” You pulled away and he wiped your eyes for you. He pet the dogs one by one as you continued to cry. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.” 

“Soon,” you told him. “I’ll get you back soon,” you promised. 

“How are you going to do that?” he asked. 

“I have no idea. Somehow.” He got up from petting the dogs and turned to you, tear stained face. 

“Someone is framing me. I don’t know who. I think maybe Hannibal,” he whispered. “But I want you to know that outside of that prison. The copycat killer.”

“You think Hobbs copycat is Hannibal?” 

“I don’t know yet. Minnesota will tell me,” he promised. You walked over to him, hugging him again. 

“I’ll never stop trying to get you out,” you whispered. He nodded, laughing dryly a bit.

“I know.” He kissed your forehead shakily and you grabbed his hand. 

“Stop shaking,” you whispered. “I always wanted to tell you that. You shake a lot when you’re not sure what’s going to happen and I always wanted to tell you to stop shaking.” For a moment, very brief, he was still.

“I’ll try.” 

-

You held your phone tightly to your ear as you sat on the porch, alone once again. Alana picked up after two rings.

“Hi.” Her voice seemed wrong, hesitant. You took a shaky breath in and released a laugh.

“You think he did it.” She let out a sigh herself.

“I don’t know what I think. The evidence is all there Y/N.” You shook your head.

“And you know Will,” you whispered. “And you have to know that there is no way in hell that he did this.” You were pleading now. She was silent and that was answer enough.

“I’m sorry.” 

You hung up the phone and stared at the barren land of the house that you alone were going to brave. You and the only ally you had left. Unfortunately that was Hannibal Lecter. 

-

The next time you saw Will Graham he was in an induced sleep in the hospital. Hannibal  sat at the side of his bed and you stood at the edge. Jack had yet to come and kick you out so you just sat with Hannibal and Will. Jack had also shot Will in the shoulder which he would surely get an earful about later. 

“Hannibal?” you whispered. He nodded.

“Yes?”

“The last time I talked to Abigail she told me you loved me and Will,” you said very quietly. Your voice went out for a moment while you spoke. He smiled a tad.

“Abigail was always eccentric.”

“No, she was a teenager. Although I suppose she was wrong.” Hannibal raised an eyebrow.

“She wasn’t. I truly care a lot about you and Will. I wouldn't’ go as far as saying that I was in love with you two,” he told you. You looked down at Will and thought about his words.

“What happened in Minnesota?” 

“Will had a breakdown,” he said simply. You wondered what Will had found out. You wondered if he would ever be able to tell you.

“I’m not going to let him stay in there,” you said quietly. 

“No?”

“And I would like your help but if I don’t get it then that’s simply how we’re going to have to split ways,” you whispered. Hannibal smiled very subtly. That was ruthless of you. You, while caring about him, were willing to do anything to get Will back.

You and Hannibal stared at each other. He realized that you and him were not all that different. There was a piece of you that perhaps was capable of murder. You were not just his secretary who took calls and made appointments. 

Your eyes stared at Hannibal’s and his stared back. Will laid between you. That was when Hannibal Lecter noticed that you were not an obstacle to get to Will Graham or an obstacle at all. 

You were a piece of Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. 

2x01

[tiny-smallest]

WIP tag game

Someone on my dash did a thing so I thought I’d do the same even though it’s gonna be embarrassing af

Rules: List all your WIP titles, all meaning even the ones that are vague or nonsensical. Tag as many people as there are WIPs

Bendy And The Ink Machine

and say that love’s a sin (Sammy and Joey; the day it all went wrong)

simple arithmetic (all main named characters that existed in 2018 + the toons)

the rule of three (Henry, Sammy, and Joey backstory oneshot collection)

A Hat In Time

under the sun (Snatcher/Luka centered story dealing with his issues and Vanessa)

over the moon (sequel; Moonjumper centered story dealing with his issues and the Horizon)

beyond the stars (third installment; Hat and Bow centered story dealing with their past)

nonverbal agreements (Snatcher and the minions)

Steven Universe

and isn’t it lovely in theory (Greg and Rose; origin of Steven)

don’t cost nothing (Greg and Andy; confronting the past)

the rest is from my dad (Bismuth and Greg, about Steven, before Escapism)

a room of one’s own (Amethyst and Bismuth, about Rose)

dichotomy (Greg and Blue; Blue realizes humans are scary, actually)

the test (Pink, Blue, Yellow, and Spinel; why Pink left her in the garden)

fleeting (at least a decade after Future, Cat Steven dies; Garnet doesn’t take it well and Ruby and Sapphire end up talking about death)

vaster than suns (Greg and Pearl talking about humanity and death; companion to fleeting)

be a man, or something (Greg and Steven have a talk about gender)

pride and joy (Lion and each of the main characters, getting to know them; starts with Rose’s death)

am i doing it right (Greg and Marty; Greg tries to be a closer friend with Marty; it doesn’t work)

a cover for your grief (outdated oneshot for someone else’s au comic)

Invader Zim

when everything stays (Dib growing up to realize his father is shit and will never change)

best served cold (Dib and Zim in the future decide to clear out the bigger things standing in the way of their destinies together, only to find secrets they weren’t meant to discover

Lost In Random

for want of an epilogue (longfic sequel where Even becomes queen via right of conquest and must put Random back together again)

Five Nights At Freddy’s

may break my bones (first gen Funtime Foxy talks to oc about their future)

Animal Crossing

transcending lifetimes (no matter how many years pass Tom Nook always finds the player again... or maybe they find him)

Crossovers

warm summer nights (Steven Universe and Danny Phantom; Greg adopts a runaway Danny and mayhem ensues)

And I’m sure I forgot some.

I’m tagging @jadewhisper and @maximumsnow but that’s it.

[bookstantrash]

A/N: I preordered ACOSF yesterday and I’ve been living in a happy Nessian bubble and decided to take all that energy and write something.

Today is Freddie Mercury’s death anniversary so I thought about taking my favorite headcanon of Nesta being a great singer and have her sing one of Queen’s masterpieces. This is a humble tribute of mine to the great musician and amazing person that Mercury was. May he rest in peace and his legacy live on forever.

Somebody to Love

There are said to be five steps for overcoming grief.

Denial.

Anger.

Bargaining.

Depression.

And acceptance.

Nesta had gone through all of them after her father’s death. She had spent a lot time feeling angry, and her depression was finally getting better after she started seeing a psychologist. Her sisters support had also been vital.

Those same steps could also be applied after a breakup. And that was exactly what Nesta was going through.

However, she was proud to say that after three days of being single, she had only gone through two steps: anger and acceptance.

At least that was what she was trying to convince her sisters and Emerie of.

“I’m fine, El” Nesta repeated for what was the umpteenth time in the past five minutes “It was his loss. I’m much better off alone.”

“Nesta, if you’d only talk to us so we could understand” Elain replied, frustrated by her older sister’s headstrong behaviour.

Because Nesta Archeron had only sent a text that afternoon informing her two sisters that she had called quits at her almost three year relationship with Cassian and dragged them to the karaoke bar. No explanations offered.

“There’s nothing to talk about” Nesta said, taking a sip of her margarita “Oh look! Emerie is coming back, that means it’s my turn”

Feyre and Elain exchanged a worried look, something Nesta didn’t fail to notice before she pumped Emerie’s shoulder playfully while she made her way to the small stage. Emerie only gave her a weak smile, worry also shinning in her eyes.

Nesta Archeron was far from fine. But she didn’t want to worry her sisters. Or admit that to herself.

She was over Cassian. And being here, on the place where they had shared their most precious memories, was the sign that she was taking this place back.

It would be her place. This was an act of burying for good the memories of Cassian.

She would allow herself to think about him this one last time. One last song.

About them. About her feelings.

Stopping in front of the microphone, Nesta sang.

Love of my life, you've hurt me

You've broken my heart and now you leave me

Nesta was nearing her new book’s deadline, so she had locked herself in her apartment and forbidden Cassian from visiting.

“You distract me too much” she had said while she tried to finished the paragraph she was writing, Cassian coming behind her to nuzzle his nose in her neck, promptly making her forget about everything but his touch on her skin.

“You like when I distract you” he had murmured, slowly kissing her neck.

She didn’t do much work on that day. But after that Cassian made a promise to stay away for the week.

Love of my life, can't you see?

Bring it back, bring it back

Nesta finished three days before her deadline. She had had a sudden burst of inspiration and wrote all through the night. So she had thought of surprising Cassian with some homemade food.

Nesta was on her way to his house after her shopping when she saw a familiar man bun in the sidewalk.

She was thinking about honking to gather his attention — they could go back to his place together and cut the surprise short — when she noticed that he was not alone.

Don't take it away from me, because you don't know

What it means to me

There was a blonde woman with him. A very very pretty woman. The kind that you saw on magazines covers. And the way Cassian was looking at her.... it made Nesta’s heart clench.

Cassian hadn’t smiled at her like that for some time. He always looked nervous and about to say something whenever they met, but she had brushed it off.

But maybe... maybe he was trying to say something. Maybe he was trying to say that he had found someone else.

Maybe the blonde woman that hanged on his arm.

Love of my life, don't leave me

You've stolen my love, you now desert me

Nesta had driven back to her apartment in autopilot. She had a loud ringing in her ears and her body was all cold.

Deep down she knew that Cassian would break up with her. She was not the easiest person out there, while Cassian.... he was loved by everyone. He deserved better.

So she broke up with him before he did the same with her.

Through a message. A simple message.

‘I can’t do this anymore. We’re over. Don’t come to my apartment or my life ever again’

Love of my life, can't you see?

Bring it back, bring it back

Nesta had blocked his contact from her phone. Left her apartment and went to the first place she could think of: Emerie’s.

Her best friend was surprised to see her, and Nesta spilled everything to her amidst tears.

She spent the rest of the day crying over wine and ice cream.

The next day , Nesta woke up with an horrible headache. And anger that burned so hot it threatened to destroy her.

Don't take it away from me

Because you don't know

What it means to me

She had cursed Cassian till the end of his bloodline, and decided that never again would give anyone the key to her heart.

Emerie tried to convince her to allow Cassian to explain himself.

“He left me over twenty messages Nesta!” Emerie had argued “He has been calling nonstop!”

“I have no time to hear his excuses” she spat back, clenching her fists “I saw him with my own eyes”

You will remember

When this is blown over

Everything's all by the way

Emerie had just sighed in defeat.

And by the third day Nesta had made up her mind to forget she even knew Cassian.

She messaged her sisters — which had been worried sick about her, given that he had also contacted them — and they met at the karaoke.

Their karaoke.

When I grow older

I will be there at your side to remind you

How I still love you (I still love you)

Their first date spot.

Their first kiss.

Where he had asked her to be his girlfriend.

I still love you

Nesta felt silent tears running down her cheeks. She hoped the poor illumination helped conceal them.

She was nearing the end of the song when she felt a gaze on her, what shouldn’t be a surprise given that she was singing in front of the whole bar.

Yet she knew that gaze.

A gaze that made her stomach flutter.

A gaze that made her knees weak.

Oh, hurry back, hurry back

Don't take it away from me

You don't know what it means to me

Cassian.

She was going to bloody murder Feyre. She had asked them not to tell where she was. But Feyre was never known for keeping a secret. And she did go out with Cassian’s best friend and surrogate brother, Rhysand.

Love of my life

Love of my life

Nesta had barely sung the last note when she stormed off the stage and started to fight with Feyre.

“How could you! I asked you not to say a word about where I was!” she didn’t know how, but she managed not to scream, only whisper yell at her surprised sister.

“I— Nesta I didn’t say a word! I swear I don’t know how he got here!” Feyre said, hurt in her eyes.

Nesta dared to glance at him. What only made her anger soar even higher.

For he had not come alone.

No, he had come with companions of his own.

Rhysand, Azriel, Amren, the blonde woman from before and a redhead she had never seen.

“How could he! How could he bring her here!” Nesta felt tears come to her eyes again.

She needed to leave before she had a mental breakdown in front of the whole bar.

‘So much for being over Cassian’ she bitterly thought.

“Nesta, what are you talking about?” Feyre asked, grabbing her shoulders.

“S-she! The blonde beside him!”

“But Nesta—”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” she cried, brushing Feyre’s hands off of her

“Nesta—” Emerie began.

“I’m leaving. You girls have fun” Nesta made to grab her purse while Feyre and Emerie in vain tried to talk with her.

But it was Elain — who had been awfully quiet — that caught her attention.

“You should really see this Nesta” Elain said, her voice laced with curiosity.

“What? I already said that—” she stopped herself mid sentence, her heart skipping a beat.

Because Cassian was on the stage.

And he was looking at her.

“Nesta Archeron?” he called, his deep voice resonating all through the bar.

Nesta could only nod in response, momentarily frozen in place.

“This song is for you”

•

Tags: @sayosdreams @thewayshedreamed @sjm-things @perseusannabeth @arin1030-blog @caotica-e-quieta @vidalinav @swankii-art-teacher @ireallyshouldsleeprn @duskandstarlight @greerlunna @thegoddessaltenia @dayanna-hatter @verypaleninja

{Please let me know if you’d like to be added to my tag list}

[rushingheadlong]

Dear Friend, We’ll Carry On - A Brian/trans-m!Reader fic

Summary: You’ve known Brian since the early days of Queen, but when he comes to New Haven on his solo tour you haven’t seen him in years. You’re both different people now but, as the saying goes, the more things change the more they stay the same...

Wordcount: ~9.5k

Tags/Warnings: Trans-m!Reader/Brian, some light angst and H/C, eventual smut (fingering & oral, Reader receiving, and some light cumplay)

Notes: This is, I think, officially the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever written. I know I say that a lot but the entire fic takes place around Brian’s October 1993 New Haven concert (the one with the Yale tank top) so that should really tell you everything you need to know. I might write a follow-up fic, or just a shorter epilogue as well - but we’ll see if I ever actually get around to that.

The only other thing I’ll note is that is the Reader is American, so American terms have been used over British ones (i.e. “pants” instead of “trousers”) and this is cross-posted to AO3 here.

It’s only been a few years since you last saw Brian, but when he first walks into the diner you almost don’t recognize him. If it wasn’t for that same wild halo of curls around his head you’d think you were looking at a stranger, because there’s a tightness in his shoulders and a stiffness in his frame that you’ve never seen before.

Even the other patrons around you seem uncertain of him, casting double-takes in his direction as if they aren’t really sure if they recognize him or not. There was a time when Queen couldn’t step foot in America without being mobbed, but too much has changed in a decade and now Brian looks more like a lost child than a world-famous rockstar.

You wave to catch his attention and Brian spots you immediately. He smiles, bright and wide and so familiar that it makes your chest ache, and he finally looks almost like himself again.

He quickly crosses the small room and you stand up to greet him. Brian pulls you into a tight hug and this is achingly familiar too, the way your shorter frame fits against his, the gentle nuzzle against the top of your head as Brian curls around you, the soft sigh as Brian relaxes into the embrace and some of the tightness starts to bleed out of his body.

“I’ve missed you,” Brian says when he finally pulls away and the two of you take your seats at the table. “You look…” His voice trails off for a moment and you brace yourself for the word that you know is coming next: Different. It’s what everyone says these days, after all, not that you can blame them. Five years on testosterone and nearly eleven months since your surgery have radically changed your appearance - and you haven’t seen Brian in person since your transition started, having been out-of-town when he last performed in New Haven back in March.

But Brian smiles and the word he goes with, to your surprise, is simply, “Good. You look really good, Y/N.”

“Thanks,” you say, with a smile of your own. “And you look…”

Sad.

There’s still grief in the depths of Brian’s eyes, a slightly haunted look that wasn’t there before Freddie’s death and the end of Queen tore his world apart. He’s allowed his grief, of course he is, but it still tears at your heart to see Brian’s kind face marred with anguish, no matter how much he tries to hide it.

You know better than to tell him any of that, though, no matter how true it may be, so you find yourself settling for a different adjective as well. “Tired. Tour getting to you, is it?”

Brian laughs, the smallest huff of amusement and admits, “It’s been rough at times, yeah. Been too long since I’ve done this, and it’s different from what it was with- with Queen.”

He busies himself with the menu for a moment, and you graciously don’t comment on the slight stumble at the mention of the band that was his entire world for two decades. “Anyway, it’s been good though,” Brian finally says. “Nice to be playing again, and the new group is great.”

“I’m sorry I missed your show the last time you were in Connecticut,” you tell him.

“Nah, don’t be. We were only a support act then, you’re getting the full performance tonight,” Brian says. A small, uncertain look crosses his face and he asks, “You are coming tonight, aren’t you?”

“Bought my ticket the moment they went on sale,” you assure him, and Brian smiles in relief.

Your conversation is briefly interrupted by the arrival of your waitress, and once when she leaves with your orders Brian says, “I have a backstage pass for you, if you want it. You can hang out before the show, watch from out front, and security will let you backstage again before the encore so you don’t have to deal with trying to leave with the crowd when it’s all over.”

“Really? That would be great!” It would certainly give you more time to spend with Brian, though you know from the many Queen concerts where you were able to get backstage that it’s likely to be in somewhat of a state of pandemonium leading up to the start of the show. “Hey, is there anyone in your road crew that I might remember?”

You know not to tack on from the Queen days, though it’s obvious that’s what you mean. Another sad look crosses Brian’s face and you know you’ve still made a mistake, even before Brian says, “Ah, not really, no. Jobby left, so my guitar tech is new, and Ratty and Crystal obviously aren’t around… Oh, Spike’s touring with me, though!” You give him a blank, apologetic look and he sighs and adds, hopeful, “Keyboard player? He played with Queen back in the 80s too…”

“You had someone different on the Hot Space tour, I think,” you tell Brian.

“God, has it really been that long since we played the US?” Brian shakes his head. “Seems crazy, doesn’t it? How quickly a decade passes…”

“And how much changes in that time,” you say without thinking. Another pained look crosses Brian’s face and you quickly try to steer the conversation towards less depressing territory. “I mean, I’m surprised you recognized me at all today!” you say with a small laugh.

“Well, of course I recognized you! Why wouldn’t I?” Brian asks, just as your waitress returns with your drinks.

You wait until she stops fussing over Brian and leaves again before saying, “I don’t know, Bri, why would you recognize me? I look pretty different than I did before…”

“Oh, yeah,” Brian says. “That.”

You didn’t really want to bring the topic up but Brian’s response, no matter how casual, is exactly why you knew you had to. You met Brian when you were still going by your dead name, before you had even comes to terms with your gender and back when you two were still hooking up every time Queen came to the US. He was one of the first people you came out to, because you saw him so rarely that if he reacted poorly it’s not like it would have impacted your normal daily life.

Brian didn’t react poorly though. No one in Queen did, and if any of the roadies had a different opinion you at least never had to hear it. Brian easily adjusted to calling you “Y/N” and “he” during your increasingly infrequent meetings in the 80s, those rare weekends when you could afford to fly to LA or he had the time to meet you somewhere on the East Coast, but this is still the first time that he’s seeing you since your transition - the first time he’s had to see you present fully as a man, without binders and baggy clothes and uncomfortably short hair to hide behind.

And you know all too well how much of a difference that can make, to some people.

But not, apparently, to Brian. He smiles and offers you a small shrug and just says, “You’re still Y/N - I mean, yeah, you look different but… Well, like I said before, you look good. You look more like yourself, if that makes any sense at all. Like you’re just a better version of who you always were.” He shakes his head and adds, “Sorry, that probably sounds ridiculous…”

“It really doesn’t,” you tell him. “That’s exactly how it feels to me.” Your whole chest feels warm with affection, and even though you’re reassuring him in the moment you feel incredibly comforted by his easy acceptance and understanding of a topic that not very many others in your life have embraced.

Brian’s smile brightens a little, and your stomach swoops at the sight. You’ve never been in love with Brian, not romantically anyway, but sometimes you still find yourself getting overwhelmed with how much you love having him in your life - as a friend and, in the past, as an occasional bed partner.

Only it seems like today your libido missed the message that the two of you aren’t hooking up anymore. You thought you had gotten past the initial spike to your sex drive that happened when you first started T, but looking at Brian now - with his wide smile and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and his shirt half unbuttoned to expose most of his chest - makes you almost squirm with how badly you want him again.

It doesn’t help that Brian once admitted to you, years ago when you were both far too drunk for your own good, that the occasional man does catch (and hold) his interest. It doesn’t help that you know Brian was always enthusiastic about hooking up with you, at least when you used to do that before you came out and started transitioning. And it doesn’t help that, when you look across the table at him, his earlier sadness has been replaced with a familiar glint in his eye that makes you wonder if his repeated “You look good” comments might hold a little more meaning than you originally thought.

You want to test the waters, see if Brian is thinking of your previous hook-ups like you now are… and you almost do, before you remember what it could cost Brian to be seen flirting with another man in public. Even the hug he had given you in greeting was risky, nevermind that that’s how he’s always greeted you before you transitioned. So you settle instead for only asking, “How long are you in town?”

Brian grimaces. “We got in late yesterday, and we’re only here for one more night. We’re driving over to Providence in the morning for tomorrow’s show, then there’s a day off so we can head out to Chicago. And then…” He thinks about it for a moment, before laughing and shaking his head. “For the life of me, I can’t remember where we go from there. But we only have seven or eight more shows in the States, and then we have some time off before we go to Japan at the beginning of November.”

At one point, you would have followed him around to all those stops on the tour - or at least spent a week or two in Queen’s bus, curled up by Brian’s side during the day and spending your evenings watching their shows from wherever you could find a spot, before eventually catching a flight home from some random city halfway across the country.

But those days are long behind you now.

“Well, you should come back to Connecticut during that break and visit me some more,” you say, and you can’t help the slight teasing note that creeps into your voice.

What you’re not expecting, though, is for Brian to give you a knowing smirk and say, “Maybe I’ll do just that.”

Your mouth drops open in a small “o” of surprise, but before you can respond your waitress comes over with your food - and when she leaves Brian launches into a story from one of his shows earlier in the year, and you let the moment pass.

No matter how much time accidentally passes between your meetings, it’s always easy to fall back into conversation with Brian. His story reminds you of a different rock show you had been to a year ago, and then Brian tells you about some festival he found himself at, which happens to be in the same area where you’re planning an upcoming vacation, and the resulting travel talk branches out into any topic imaginable, until Brian catches a glimpse at the time and swears under his breath.

“Shit, I’m needed over at the theatre.” He stands up and starts to pull out his wallet, but you stop him.

“No, Bri, I’ve got this,” you say, throwing enough bills down onto the table to cover the check (and a large enough tip to make up for how long the two lingered around just chatting). “Any time in particular I should plan on getting to the theatre myself?”

“You can head over with me now, if you want,” Brian says as he leads the way out of the diner, holding the door open for you behind him.

“Nah, I need to change into something more fitting for a rock concert,” you say, gesturing to your suitable - but certainly plain - outfit.

“You look-”

“Brian May, if you tell me that I look good again I’ll kick you!” you interrupt with a laugh. “No, give me a chance to pretty myself up for you and then I’ll head over.”

It doesn’t quite register that the “for you” slipped out until you see a look of surprise cross Brian’s face, a look that settles into something a little more amused as he smirks and says, “Well, I’ll definitely be looking forward to seeing you soon, then.”

He pulls you into another quick hug and your face is hot with embarrassment, and you can feel yourself get redder when Brian murmurs in your ear, “Don’t take too long now, Y/N.”

You know he’s teasing but there’s a note of arousal in his voice as well, and you feel your dick start to stir with interest even through your lingering embarrassment. “I’ll get changed and hurry right over,” you promise in a low voice, and you can’t help but feel smug when you see Brian’s eyes darken in hunger.

You don’t live in New Haven proper and today even the quick drive back to your apartment feels like it takes too long, when all you want to do is still be with Brian… but you’re hoping, if you play your cards right, that you’ll be spending a lot more time with Brian tonight than you had ever originally planned.

Picking out clothes feels less like a daily battle than it ever did before you started transitioning but you still take some time to consider what to wear over to the theatre, finally settling on skinny jeans and a Yale shirt. You’re considerably older than most of the university’s students but you’re still cursed with a babyface that T hasn’t aged quite enough yet, and you figure that faking some school pride can’t hurt when you’re going to be mere blocks away from the university itself.

You grab a pair of rolled-up socks and hesitate for a moment before discarding them, and tying a flannel shirt around your waist to hide the lack of bulge in your pants. An old leather jacket and a few swipes of eyeliner finish off the look, and even if you hadn’t already been flirting with Brian you’re pretty sure you’d win an invite back to his hotel room now anyway.

You take the bus back over to New Haven, rather than worrying about finding parking near the venue, and although security gives you an uncomfortable once-over as you show him your badge it isn’t long before you’re inside the theatre and looking for Brian once more.

Soundcheck is just wrapping up and you let the sound of Brian’s voice lead you towards the stage. He’s engrossed in his work and you watch him from the wings as he talks about some technical detail with one of the roadies. He seems relaxed enough, at a quick glance, but you can see his fingers tapping anxiously against the front of the Red Special and tension starting to gather in his shoulders again.

It’s a far cry from how he was before the Queen shows of old. Back then, even if he was a bit on edge or the band had fought during soundcheck, Brian retained a certain amount of confident ease - something which is noticeably absent in his demeanor now. You wonder if it’s due to the lack of Queen and the stability that Brian had based his routines around, or if it’s because of the added pressure of his role in this new band… though, truthfully, it’s probably a little bit of both.

You wonder if you still have a right to meddle, if you can ask Brian how he’s really doing and still expect an honest answer from him after all these years. Then Brian spots you out of the corner of his eye and his face lights up with happiness again and the tension starts to bleed out of his frame, and you decide to let sleeping dogs lie - at least for now anyway, because you have more important (or at least more fun) things to focus on.

Because Brian isn’t nearly as subtle as he thinks he is as he gives you a lingering once-over, before he passes over his Old Lady to a tech that you don’t recognize and crosses the stage to pull you into a hug. This one isn’t as intimate as the one at the diner, more of a quick one-armed embrace that he might give to any of his male friends, but he still whispers in your ear, “You look good, Y/N.”

You pull back, gearing up to poke fun at Brian for saying that yet again, only to see the smile pulling at the corner of his mouth and the glint in his eyes that tells you that he’s teasing you. That doesn’t stop you from huffing a little and saying, “Excuse you, I think I look damn good in fact.”

Brian laughs, the sound catching the attention of the rest of his bandmates. If he notices, though, that doesn’t stop him from murmuring a quiet, “You do look damn good. Gonna make it hard for me to get through the show, knowing that you’re-”

“Hey, Brian!” the other guitarist calls out. “The pizza for the crew just got here, we good on the soundcheck?”

“Yeah sorry, we’re all set!” Brian yells back. He shakes his head and says to you, “Sorry about that.”

You shrugs. “Not the first time your work has ruined the moment.” It used to be Roger banging on the dressing room door while the two of you were in the middle of things, but you’re still used to the interruptions.

“Well, we’re not likely to get many moments in private until after the show,” Brian says, his voice pitched low so no one can overhear the two of you.

“I was thinking that we’re getting a bit too old to disappear into a supply closet together,” you joke, though you keep your voice low as well.

Brian snorts. “Yeah, I don’t need Spike or Jamie finding me in flagrante when there’s a perfectly good hotel bed waiting for us at the end of this.” He hesitates for a moment, biting his bottom lip, and finally asks, “That is where all this flirting is heading, isn’t it?”

“That’s what I was hoping.” You grin wickedly at Brian and add, “I didn’t dress up nice just for the hell of it, you know.”

“Good to know,” Brian says, with a wide grin. “C’mon, I wanna introduce you to the band.”

Brian does have a full, proper band touring with him. Jamie is the guitarist who had interrupted Brian greeting you, Neil is the bass player, and Spike is the keyboard player that Brian had mentioned during your lunch earlier. The backing vocalists are Catherine and Shelley, and the last you’re introduced to is Cozy, the drummer. You don’t recognize him at all but clearly Brian is expecting you to, judging by his slightly exasperated sigh when you don’t react to his name.

“Oh, leave it be, Brian. Not like my pride’s hurt at all,” Cozy says before Brian can gear up for his explanation. “I’m just glad to finally be meeting Y/N.”

“Finally?” you echo, giving Brian a sideways glance.

“I may have mentioned you once or twice…”

“Or three or four or forty times,” Spike says dryly.

“You can’t count times I’ve mentioned him in passing over the last decade!” Brian tries to defend himself.

“Decade? Try the last day,” Jamie says as he too joins in the conversation. “If the drive down here yesterday had been any longer we were going to draw straws to see which one of us was going to knock you out just to get some peace and quiet!"

“I was not that bad!” Brian protests but he’s laughing, and so is everyone else, and it’s not quite Queen but you can see the niche that Brian has carved out with this new group of people and it makes you smile to listen to the friendly ribbing and jokes.

“We tried to get him to call you when we stopped so maybe he’d shut up for a bit, but he refused,” Cozy says to you.

You were at work yesterday so Brian wouldn’t have been able to reach you anyway but instead of pointing that out you join in with the teasing yourself. “Well I wish you had, so I could’ve pointed you in the direction of the right pizza to order…”

Brian groans at the familiar argument and says, “You complain about this every time I come to New Haven!”

“Well, start ordering from Frank Pepe’s instead of Sally’s and we wouldn’t have to keep having this conversation!” you tell him.

“I didn’t know pizza was that big of a deal in Connecticut,” Neil says with a laugh.

“It’s not, not unless you’re a New Haven local,” Brian says, with the tone of someone who has been forced to listen to this lecture more times than he cares to remember.

“Are you a local then, Y/N?” Shelley asks. “Or did you come down to meet up with Brian?”

“Nah, I’m a local - well, local enough, I live over in West Haven.” You pluck at your shirt and add, “Didn’t go to Yale, but I’ll pretend to support the university while I’m practically on their campus.”

“I think that’s Brian’s plan for tonight too,” Jamie says, giving Brian a friendly nudge with his elbow as he passes him. “First thing he did when we got in yesterday was have someone run out to get him an appropriately local tank top for the encore.”

“A tank top?” You can’t help but laugh. “In all the years I’ve known Brian I have never known him to wear a tank top! I’ll believe that when I see it!”

You keep chatting with the band for a little while longer but eventually everyone splits up to double-check their instruments, get changed, and take care of the thousand little things that always seem to get left for the last minute.

“You should probably head out front,” Brian tells you eventually. He still needs to get changed into his own stage outfit, even though you’ve been listening to the audience trickle in for the last ten minutes.

“Yeah, probably,” you agree. You want to lean up and kiss him but even here, in the doorway to the dressing room, you know better than to risk it. Some of Brian’s bandmates seem to have an inkling of what’s really going on, but the last thing you need is for anyone else to see the two of you like that. “I’ll catch you later then?”

“I’ve already told security to let you backstage before the encore,” Brian says. He looks like he wants to kiss you too, but he settles for giving you a bright smile and another quick hug. “I’ll see you soon enough.”

“I’ll be seeing you soon enough at least,” you joke and you let the echo of Brian’s laugh follow you out.

You hadn’t bought a floor ticket originally, but security finds you a spot by the stage where it’ll be easy for you to duck out again later. A few people near you give you curious looks, but luckily none of the double-takes that you’ve come to dread, and no one asks you about the backstage pass still hanging around your neck as the theatre fills up around you.

When the lights finally dim the audience roars and cheers, almost enough to drown out the opening bars of what you can barely make out as The Dark - before the lights slowly come on and Brian is standing center-stage, singing the title track from his debut solo album.

Brian’s voice is amazing. You’ve always known that, even if Brian has never really considered himself to be much of a singer, but you’re spellbound at his performance - the way he balances the guitar with the vocals, the gorgeous harmony of a full band supporting him, his backing vocalists providing a depth that takes you by surprise. It’s not Queen, none of it is, but it’s good, and Brian owns the stage like he was born to do this.

You’re so taken by Brian’s performance that it’s not until Brian sheds the long coat that he initially wore out on stage that you take in the outfit he’s wearing: A loose white shirt with an ornate vest, paired with a pair of tight pants that you think have buttons sewn all over them… until Brian wanders closer to where you’re standing and you realize that they’re actually grommets. You can’t tell if there’s a lining to them or not, but the possibility that that’s Brian’s bare skin peeking through the tiny holes makes your mouth go dry with want.

Brian’s solo material is as excellent as it sounded on the album. You never doubted that it would be, not for a second, but you’re taken a bit by surprise by how well the Queen songs work in the setlist as well. It’s not Freddie singing, or Roger on the drums, or John on bass… but with Brian still on guitar, and Spike clearly knowing his way around the keyboard parts, it all works. The crowd cheers as loud for Tie Your Mother Down as they do for Love Token, and your heart swells with pride for everything Brian has achieved with this album and this tour.

And then Brian grabs an acoustic, and sits down on a stool by himself towards the front of the stage, and you know what is coming even before Brian asks the audience if they’re ready to sing.

“There's a special reason for this song. I didn't write this song, so by right I don't have- I don't have much of a right to be singing it,” Brian says. “But I'm going to do it anyway, because this is in memory of just about the best singer the world has ever seen.”

Everyone around you is cheering but you think you’re going to cry. You want to jump onstage, pull Brian out from under the bright lights and somewhere quiet and private, where you can wrap yourself around him and reassure him that Freddie wouldn’t care that Brian was singing his song at all. You want to take Brian and steal him away from the world, from everyone who still demands Queen from him and everyone who won’t let him grieve in peace.

You want to find somewhere that the two of you can hide away together, until you never have to see this sort of open anguish on Brian’s face again.

The song is as gorgeous as it ever was when Freddie sang it, and the concert continues from there with Brian giving no indication that he had bared his heart and left it bleeding on the stage while the audience sang and cheered him on.

Brian loses the vest eventually, and you’re close enough to the stage that you can see the sweat starting to bead along Brian’s temple and the column of his throat. It’s a strange sort of whiplash, going from the emotional devastation of Love of My Life to feeling like you’re going to die if you don’t get your hands on Brian this very second. He’s always looked damn fine while playing the guitar, but seeing him fully in control of the stage and belting his heart out on every song - when he remembers to get back to his mic in time - is driving you crazy with want.

We Will Rock You doesn’t dovetail into We Are the Champions, like you were half-expecting it to, but even after the band leaves the stage you’re left stunned and entirely captivated by their performance.

“Hey!” A security guard taps you on the shoulder. “You’re the one who’s supposed to head backstage again, yeah?”

You nod. You had almost forgotten about that, and you follow the guard through the crowd to the backstage door, which he opens and motions for you to go through. You walk back, finding yourself in the wings near the stage where the band is quickly toweling off and grabbing a drink before heading back out for the encore.

Brian is quickly shucking off his sweat-drenched shirt and pulling on the tank top that had been mentioned earlier. It’s a simple white with YALE printed across the chest and it hangs loose on Brian’s slim frame, leaving his arms and a good portion of the sides of his torso exposed to the world. You’ve seen Brian naked before but somehow this feels more sinful, and you can feel your dick start to twitch and and your core throb with interest, especially when you realize that Brian is still wearing the same pants as before.

“Please tell me there’s a lining in those,” you say in a slightly strangled voice, motioning towards Brian’s legs and the grommet holes that have been teasing you all evening.

Brian wipes his face with a towel, and only gives you a wicked smirk and a knowing wink in response. “Catch you after the show,” he says, as he’s handed a guitar - an acoustic, you notice belatedly, not his Red Special - and he walks back onstage with the rest of the band.

You’re still distracted by the sight of Brian in an honest-to-god tank top, his sinewy arms on full display, that you almost miss Brian saying, “You might think this is a sad song, but it ain’t.”

And for the second time that evening you find yourself caught off-guard by the genuine, heart-wrenching emotion in Brian’s singing - but the pain that was there during Love Of My Life is now nowhere to be seen. Maybe it’s because you can’t see Brian’s face, or maybe it’s just the warning he gave at the beginning of the song to let everyone know that it wasn’t supposed to be sad… but for the first time, you think you’re beginning to understand how Brian is starting to move on. You think you can see the ways in which sharing his grief with the world like this is healing for him, in a way that you never would have expected.

It still hurts to hear Brian sing, “I don’t believe in being Queen anymore - I just believe in me. Just you guys and me.” But it’s a hurt that’s tempered by the memory of Brian laughing with his new bandmates backstage, the genuine happiness you’ve seen on his face despite the moments of grief that still come through, and you know that even if Brian might not be entirely okay… at least he’s getting there.

And then the song ends and Brian launches into the familiar opening riff of Hammer to Fall, and you let yourself get swept away by the energy and the music.

Your heart races at the sight of Brian rocking out to the heavy Queen tune, your arousal simmering again with every flash of the stage lights that catch on those grommets or cast dark shadows along the lines of the wiry muscles in Brian’s arms. There’s a strangeness to it still, a part of you that’s still a little turned around from the sudden change in mood in the theatre, but that part quickly fades when Brian glances your way and gives you a wink, before sidling up to Jamie to keep rocking out on the guitar part.

You bite your lip to stifle a groan and wonder if Brian is dragging this song out for longer than normal just to torment you. It’s just not fair, none of it is - not the tank top and grommets leaving Brian lewdly on display, not the hot stage lights making sweat bead along his brow, not his quick fingers flying over the strings of his guitar as the song finally, fucking finally, comes to an end and the band takes their bows one last time.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Brian asks you as he hands off his guitar. The question is innocent enough but the look in his eyes is anything but, and for a moment you feel an irrational burst of hatred that this isn’t a Queen show and you no longer present as female because all you want to do is push Brian against the closest wall and kiss him breathless.

Instead you grit your teeth and say, “Loved it, it was great... Please tell me you don’t have to stick around for long.”

Brian throws his head back and laughs, and you have to stamp down the urge to bite at the column of this throat. “Nah, no interviews or meet-and-greet’s tonight. Just have to get changed and-”

“Don’t change,” you interrupt.

“Oh?” Brian raises an eyebrow and smirks at you. You huff at him, hating that you can’t tell him exactly what he’s doing to you in that outfit, and you’re about two seconds from deciding that you don’t care who sees or overhears you when Brian says, “Alright. Let me just grab my wallet and we’ll head out.”

It doesn’t end up being quite that easy. Brian still has to check in with a few people about the travel plans for tomorrow, and it takes some time for the crowds to disperse and a car to arrive to take you two back to the hotel. But luckily the rest of the band just waves Brian off, some with knowing smiles, and none of them hop in the car with you or ask Brian to stick around backstage for any longer than he already has.

It’s torture having to keep your hands to yourself, and after a few minutes you decide, screw it, it’s dark enough that the driver won’t be able to see anything - so you reach out and trace around one of the grommet holes, dipping your finger in to tease at the delicate skin of Brian’s thigh. “These are more than a little indecent, you know,” you murmur in a low undertone as your hand creeps further up Brian’s leg.

Brian catches your hand and laces his fingers with yours, which is fair because you can hide your arousal when you get to the hotel far easier than Brian can. “Indecent is going a bit far, I think,” Brian counters.

“Mm, well, they’re giving me indecent thoughts, at least…”

“Care to share some of them?” Brian asks, and even though the question is quiet you can hear the heat behind the words.

You shrug and glance at the driver, who - if he can hear your conversation - at least doesn’t give any sign of it. “Been wondering if I could get some laces between those grommets, tie you up in a pretty little package…”

Brian inhales sharply and you smile, all teeth and wicked intentions, as he shifts next to you and says, “Didn’t think you liked being the one doing the tying. You always used to want to be the one getting tied up.”

“Oh, I still do. But I can’t help it if those pants start giving me ideas…” you say, and Brian’s quiet groan of frustration feels like music to your ears.

You’re grateful that Brian is already checked in so you don’t have to stop by the front desk, but you still struggle to keep your hands to yourself as Brian leads the way up to his room and unlocks the door. Once you’re inside, though, both of you are on each other in an instant as Brian crowds you against the wall and you finally, finally get to kiss him.

It’s just as perfect as you remember. Brian’s lips are soft but he kisses you with the same passion that you remember from years ago, fierce and demanding and just the right side of rough. He nips at your bottom lip, a move that’s always gotten your blood racing, and when you groan he slips his tongue into your mouth to plunder every inch of you.

You’re so much shorter than Brian and you know that it has to be uncomfortable for him to lean down so far to kiss you, so when you finally pull back to catch your breath you loop your fingers through the grommets on his pants and start tugging him towards the bed.

“Oh, I definitely love these pants,” you tell him, and Brian just laughs and tries to kiss you again. You push him down so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed and that puts you at a much more equal height, making it easy for you to tangle one hand in his curls and slide the other along the bare skin of his arm and shoulder. “And this tank top too, fucking christ…”

Brian is still laughing as he finally captures your lips with his again and yeah, that’s a much better use of your time than continuing to talk about his admittedly excellent wardrobe choices. You think you could spend the rest of your life kissing Brian and die happily at the end of it all but you’re still craving more, so you nudge Brian’s legs apart and move in closer to him.

“Wait, wait-” Brian says, breaking the kiss before you can press fully up against him. He’s breathing heavily and his lips are red and kiss-swollen, and you want to lean back in and keep kissing him senseless, until both of you are breathless and desperate for more.

But you know Brian wouldn’t pull the brake unless it was important so you swallow down the impulse to keep touching him and instead ask, “What is it, Bri?”

“We haven’t done this since you’ve… Well I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Brian says. There’s a flush rising on his cheeks that is no longer entirely due to arousal and his embarrassment is palpable in the room.

You know what Brian is trying to ask, even though it’s been a while since you’ve had to have this conversation with a partner. You untangle your hand from his hair and let go of his shoulder so you don’t get distracted as you tell him, “I’m fine being penetrated, if you want to go that far, but we’re gonna need lube. I don’t get as wet as I did before starting testosterone. And I have a dick. Don’t call it a clit.”

“Okay,” Brian says with a nod. He looks serious, and that’s actually a little comforting for you to see. “What about… I mean, if I, er, penetrate you, what do I call…?”

“Don’t,” you tell him. “There’s not really any term I’m comfortable with yet.”

Brian frowns. “If you’re not comfortable, I can get you off without touching that part-”

“No. I’m fine with you penetrating me, honestly I am, just don’t try to talk dirty about what you’re doing,” you say.

“Okay,” Brian says again. “Anything else I should know?”

You hesitate for a moment, because you don’t really want to talk about this… but you’d rather talk about it now rather than have it come up when you’re both naked and more in the moment. “I had chest reconstruction surgery. I don’t have much feeling up there but there’s- there’s scars, and you don’t have to touch them-”

“Do you not want me to touch them?” Brian asks, gently cutting into your nervous rambling before it can really build momentum.

“They’re… not pretty. They didn’t heal up nicely,” you admit, and getting those words out is hard. You still feel ashamed to admit that your surgical results only look good when you have a shirt covering it all up, and you’ve had more than one hookup where you kept your chest covered the entire time.

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Brian says, with a small smile to soften his words and help put you at ease once again. “Do you not want me to touch your scars?”

You have to think about that, and the only answer you can give Brian is, “I don’t know. I don’t like touching them and no one else ever has. If you want to you can, and I’ll tell you to stop if I need to?”

You don’t mean for that to come out as a question but it does anyway, and Brian doesn’t hesitate to nod in agreement. “That sounds good. Anything else?”

You shake your head. “No, that’s everything. Can we just get back to making out now?”

Brian laughs but gently pulls you back in close, keeping one hand on your waist as the other gently cups your face. “Yeah,” he breathes, and then his mouth is on yours again.

You kiss him back fiercely, tangling one of your hands in Brian’s curls again as you lean up and lick into his mouth. You rock against Brian and his legs are spread wide enough that your hips meet his. You moan at the feeling of his bulge rubbing against you and Brian groans at friction against his hardening cock. Brian’s hand that was on your face drifts down, trailing along your side before snaking between the two of you and popping the button on your jeans.

“This okay?” he asks, fingers just teasing along the waistband of your boxers.

“Yeah,” you breathe against his mouth, and as Brian’s hand slips into your underwear you deepen the kiss to distract yourself. Brian’s touch feels good and you don’t want him to stop, but there’s still a nervousness to being intimate with another person - even if that other person is Brian, who you trust implicitly and who has touched you before.

You moan as Brian’s fingers find your dick and brush teasingly along the head, but you’re surprised to hear Brian groan again as well. “Fuck, you’re big,” he breathes as he rubs over your dick, feeling out the shape of it as you harden beneath his fingers.

You can’t hold back a laugh at Brian’s comment. “I’m really not. Just grew a little, that’s all.”

“Grew a lot you mean,” Brian mumbles against your lips, but your retort is lost in another whimper as Brian slides his fingers along your dick again.

It feels so good, his nimble fingers tracing along the exposed head of your dick and trailing down to gather what little slickness they can to smooth the glide of his calloused fingertips along your most sensitive parts. Neither the years nor your transition have not dulled his familiarity with your body and all you can do is cling tightly to his shoulders and pant and whine against his mouth as Brian brings you close to your climax at a frightening speed.

“Wait, stop,” you manage to get out, and Brian’s hand is pulled out of your pants at a lightning speed. You laugh at the look of worry on his face and quickly assure him, “I‘m gonna come too soon if you keep that up.”

“So? You look gorgeous falling apart for me,” Brian says.

He starts kissing down your neck and you tilt your head back to give him more room even as you tell him, “Yeah, but I can’t go more than once now. Get too sensitive, and not in a good way.”

“Ah, well then,” Brian mumbles against the hollow of your throat. He nips at that spot and then soothes it with his tongue, before pulling back and saying, “C’mon, get up on the bed, let’s do this properly then.”

You snort but pull away and quickly start stripping down and Brian stands up to do the same. You watch, mouth watering, as Brian throws the tank top to the side and shimmies out of his tight pants. His cock is hard and precome is already beading at the tip, and you want to drop to your knees and take Brian deep into your throat until he’s coming undone around you - but you’re startled from your thoughts as Brian gently pushes at the hem of your shirt and asks, “Will you take this off too?”

You hadn't quite realized that it was still on and you hesitate for a moment, before pulling it over your head and tossing it aside as well, and then you’re left fully exposed before Brian. You’ve been in this position before but never quite like this - never with a beard and so much body hair and scars across your chest and your dick just barely poking out from your surrounding folds.

Brian takes a step closer and kisses you again, as hot and harsh as ever. “God, how are you still so fucking beautiful?” he says as he pulls away.

You laugh, your moment of insecurity forgotten as you retort, “I could ask you the same thing, Brian May.”

Brian laughs and shakes his head, and pushes you back towards the bed. You lie down and Brian follows you, covering your body with his, his cock rubbing against your hip as he kisses you once on the mouth, then down your neck and chest, and finally across both of your scars as well. “So beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin and you shudder at the feeling of this part of you being touched for the first time.

“I can’t feel that,” you admit to him when he licks experimentally over one of your nipples. “They don’t have feeling, and the scars don’t either.”

“Mm, well what about here?” Brian asks, kissing further down your torso. “Or here?” Another kiss, just above your belly button. “Or here?” Another, just above your dick, and you’re laughing and arching against him, trying to get his mouth where you need it.

And then Brian’s mouth closes around your dick and your laughter is lost in a loud moan as Brian gives a small, experimental suck and pleasure overwhelms your senses. “Bri- oh, fuck, Bri-” you pant, hands clawing at the sheets and pawing over Brian’s head as he pulls back to kitten-lick around the head of your dick.

It’s almost too much, too intense, and luckily Brian seems to figure that out on his own because you’re pretty sure you’ve lost the ability to speak. He moves away from your dick for a moment, moving down further to lick around your core. It’s messy and sloppy wet but you only realize what Brian is doing when you see him suck a finger into mouth to wet it, before bringing it towards your entrance.

“This okay?” he asks, rubbing along the outside for now. “I don’t have lube, and I don’t want to hurt you…”

“‘s fine,” you manage to get out and then Brian is pressing his finger inside of you. You whine as he starts to move it and you can feel yourself starting to get a little bit wetter with every thrust.

Brian pushes a second finger inside as he leans back down to lick a stripe along the underside of your dick, and the almost-uncomfortable fullness is a welcome contrast to the lightning of pleasure that skitters up your spine as Brian’s mouth reduces you to wordless moans and whines. He’s always been good at this, with his wickedly clever tongue and long fingers moving deep inside you, but it’s so much more now that you’re on T - more sensitive, more overwhelming, physically more of you for him to work over.

“Bri, Bri, Bri-” you moan, and his name and a tug on his hair is the only warning you can give before your orgasm crashes over you. You arch against his mouth and writhe on the bed as he keeps his mouth over your dick, his tongue flicking against the head over and over, his fingers still trying to move inside you even though you’re clenched so tightly around them that it almost hurts.

The whole thing is almost painful but in the best way possible, pleasure racing through your entire body, your dick and core throbbing as overstimulation sets in. Your loud moans turn into high-pitched whines that cause your voice to crack and you don’t know if you want to tell Brian to stop or keeping going forever because it’s too much and you’re in ecstasy but god, it’s too much-

When Brian finally moves away all you can do is lie underneath him and try to catch your breath, even as your dick still twitches with the final aftershocks of your orgasm. You came so hard that you’re nearly crying, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes and your brain so scrambled that you don’t know if you want to laugh or sob but you’re boneless and riding high on endorphins as Brian kneels over you, one hand quickly stripping his cock.

“I can-” you mumble, trying to reach down to help him with a hand that doesn’t quite want to cooperate with you, but Brian uses his free hand to pin yours down, lacing your fingers together.

“Next time. ‘m not gonna last long,” Brian admits. “Fuck, you’re amazing, Y/N, do you have any idea what you look like now?”

“I’d look better with your cum on me,” you say, and where that came from you have no clue - some deep part of your sex-fried brain dredging up that idea without any conscious involvement from you. You can barely even speak and the words come out more as a mumble than anything remotely sexy, but it’s still enough for Brian to groan loudly and fall over the edge of his own climax.

His cum hits your chest, covering your scars and landing across your belly, and it’s a little gross but it’s also a little hot. It’s not something Brian ever did to you before and with how easy it was to fall back into having sex with him after all these years, there’s a part of you that lights up in happiness at finding something new to it all - even something as unexpected as this.

Brian collapses next to you on the bed, also panting heavily, and it’s quiet in the room for several long moments. “I need a shower,” you eventually mumble to break the silence. “Before this dries in my body hair.”

Brian snorts. He has one hand flung over his face as he catches his breath, but he moves it as he rolls over onto his side to look at you. “Sorry about that. I can get you a washcloth-”

“I can get it myself,” you say, though you’re not actually sure that your legs are working yet. “Especially since I didn’t even get you off myself.”

“Didn’t need you to,” Brian says. “Seeing you fall apart like that nearly did me in completely.”

“Still.” You don’t like not reciprocating for your partners, even if Brian doesn’t care. “I’ll blow you in the morning to make up for it.”

That gets Brian laughing, and he stands up and stretches out. “Well, I’m not gonna say no to that,” he says as he walks into the bathroom. You listen as he wets a washcloth in the sink, and when he emerges you motion for him to throw it to you so you can take care of the mess yourself.

He does, and as you wipe yourself down you ask, “What time do you have to leave in the morning?”

“Not that early. Noon, one o’clock - somewhere around there,” Brian says as he lies back down on the bed. “Think it’s only a two hour drive over to Providence.”

“Mm, that sounds about right, yeah.” You toss the washcloth aside and flop back down with a comfortable sigh. You look over at Brian, who’s propped up on one elbow so he can face you properly, and you grin. “If we run out for lube and condoms in the morning, you can fuck me properly before you go.”

You’re expecting Brian to laugh and he sort of does. There’s a small huff of amusement from him, but there’s also a furrow starting to form between his brows that makes you a little worried. But before you can ask if everything is alright, Brian says, “I have a better idea. Come to Providence with me.”

Out of everything that Brian could have said, you never would have expected that. “What?” you say with a small laugh. “Brian, I can’t!”

“Why not?” Brian asks. “Are you working tomorrow?”

“Well, no,” you admit. You knew that you weren’t going to be in any shape to go into work in the morning after the concert, so you had taken the day off to give yourself a proper long weekend.

“Then come to Providence,” Brian says again. “Come to the show tomorrow night, and then we’ll drop you off in New Haven on our way back through on Saturday.”

It’s a tempting thought, and you’re a little scared by how much you want to say yes. You sit up, scrubbing a hand over your face with a small sigh. “Brian, I…”

Brian sits up as well and keeps a respectable distance between the two of you - and that helps, knowing that the two of you can have a serious conversation about this even though you’re both sitting in bed together. “You’re thinking too hard, Y/N,” he says softly. “What’s on your mind?”

“That I’m not in my 20s and I can’t go on tour with a rock band on a whim anymore,” you say. “And that I don’t care, and I want to go anyway. And I’m-" And you decide, to hell with it, you can't keep dancing around this any longer. "I’m worried about you, Brian. You get this sad look in your eyes, sometimes, that scares me a little to see. And I’m trying to figure out if sticking around for longer will make things better, or if postponing our goodbyes will just make everything worse in the end.”

Brian doesn’t say anything immediately. You glance at him, a bit nervous, worried that your honesty may have been crossing the line - but Brian doesn’t look upset or angry, merely thoughtful, and you stay quiet to give him the space he needs to think over his response.

“After Freddie… passed,” Brian says slowly, “I didn’t want anything to do with Queen. It hurt too much and I just wanted to move on. And this new band, and this tour… None of it is like Queen was, and when we first set out that’s exactly what I needed. But seeing you again… having that bit of the past come back to life… It’s made me realize that I think I’m ready to face Queen again. The band may be over but it’ll always be a part of my life, and I think I’m alright with that now.”

He smiles at you and it’s small but completely genuine, and there’s no hint of sadness in his eyes as he says, “I want you to come to Providence because I’ve missed you. I liked having you backstage, and I liked performing knowing that you were waiting for me at the end of it all like you always did before. But if you don’t want to come with me, you don’t have to. I’ll still visit at the end of the US tour leg, if that offer still stands.”

“Of course it still stands,” you say, because that’s the easiest part of Brian’s response to address.

This isn’t 1978 and you aren’t 29 anymore, and maybe you shouldn’t run off with a rockstar for the weekend. But this is Brian, and despite the years that have passed and the ways in which both of you are now different, maybe not everything has to change.

“Is it going to be a problem with the band if I tag along?” you ask.

Brian’s smile brightens a little. “Nah, the band’s not going to mind - and I won’t let the roadies say anything about it, even if they want to.”

That doesn’t mean it won’t be risky, and it’s definitely more than a little impulsive - but there’s a familiarity in the spontaneity, a flashback to years past when you never hesitated to put your life on hold to follow Brian on the road. And you find yourself starting to grin a little as well at the idea of having that again, even if it’s only for a day or two.

“Alright then. Yeah, I’ll go to Providence with you,” you say and Brian, laughing and grinning madly, leans forward to kiss you in delight.

[just-my-sickly-pride]

Deep End || Roger Taylor x fem!Reader

summary || a week ago, roger asked you to be his friends-with-benefits. you invite him over to tell him your decision. things escalate, of course. modern day au. college au.

rating || explicit (18+). do not read if you are under eighteen. sub!roger, soft dom!reader, orgasm denial.

word count || 6.8k.

author’s notes || and here’s the next instalment in the try series! this one is set after ‘ask nicely’. i know, a lot of roger, but there’s more brian on its way too. if you haven’t read any other parts, it’s fine, this can be read on its own, if you don’t mind being a lil confused about certain details and conversations. there is mentioning of brian x reader. and i finally remembered to add on my tag list!

tag list || @drowseoftaylor​ @mrs-jack-murphy​ @bellas2silly​ @delilahmay39​

masterlist

     It had been one week since Roger’s drunken confession that he wanted a friends-with-benefits arrangement with you. It had been five days since he’d pulled you aside one day at uni and apologised for how he’d gone about it, then asked you again if you’d be interested, far more sheepishly than the first time.

    You’d told him you had to think about it some more, and he’d accepted it.

    And you’d been thinking about it a lot. More than you should have been, considering how uni was kicking your butt well and truly recently.

    You wanted to talk about it with Veronica, but then it’d become a whole thing, and you didn’t really want her to know. Same with Freddie and John.

    But maybe there was one person you could talk about it with.

    “Can I talk to you about something?” you asked Brian as the two of you walked to your lecture. You didn’t look at him, just kept staring straight ahead.

    “Always,” Brian said.

    “It’s about Roger.”

    “What about him?”

    You took a breath. “Um.” You hesitated, and then guided Brian out of the main traffic, off to the side. “Do you remember, last week, that party we went to?” you asked him a low voice.

    Brian nodded, leaning in closer to hear you better. “Mm.”

    “And Roger was drunk off his face?”

    “Yeah.”

    “Well, he told he that he… he wanted to do a friends-with-benefits thing with me. Same as I have with you.”

    Brian snorted. “Course he did.”

    You frowned. “What’s that meant to mean?”

    “I just mean, of course he’d want the chance to sleep with you all the time. Can’t exactly blame him. You had me hook, line, and sinker after just making out with me one time.”

    “Oh.” You tried to hide your smile, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Well, um, he brought it up with me again a couple days ago. I just don’t know what to do.”

    “What?” Brian said, screwing up his nose. “Say no. Roger can sleep with whoever he wants.”

    “But maybe I want it, too.”

    “Well, do you?”

    You sighed. “I don’t know.”

    Brian cocked his head to the side. “That doesn’t sound all too enthusiastic.”

    “Like, I’d want to sleep with him again,” you said. “And again again. And again again again. And–”

    “Fuck, all right,” Brian cut in. “I get it, you enjoyed yourself.”

    “I did,” you said. “But I just don’t know if – y’know, he could handle it without getting… emotionally involved.”

    “I don’t think that’d be an issue for him,” Brian said wryly. “He seems fine with sleeping around.”

    “But sleeping with one person multiple times?”

    Brian hesitated. “Look, if I can do it, of all people, he can surely do it. And if you make the rules nice and clear, I’m sure it’ll be fine. If you really want to go for it, then go for it. Just as long as I still get you, too.”

    You rolled your eyes at him. “Yes, you’ll still get me. Dick.”

    Brian laughed. The two of you resumed walking to class.

    “Why don’t you go fuck someone else for a change, huh?” you said, nudging him with your elbow. “Maybe take a nice girl out to the movies? Finger her in the back row of the cinema?”

    “Eugh,” Brian said. “No. I don’t know why on Earth anyone would have sex at the cinema. It’s way too weird for me.”

    You sniggered. “Of all the things that are too weird for you, Brian.”

    “I don’t care. I’m not fingering anyone at the cinema,” he said pointedly.

    “I wasn’t saying I wanted you to finger me at the cinema.”

    “I know.” Brian gave you an elfish grin. “The back row of the lecture hall, though…”

    You scoffed. “In your dreams.”

    “I have dreamt about it, yes.”

    “No fucking at uni, remember? A solid ‘Nickleback’ on fingering in class, thanks.”

    Brian made a disappointed face.

    You clicked your tongue at him, rolling your eyes, and he laughed.

    can we talk? come to mine this afternoon.

    It took almost an hour for Roger to reply.

    I finish at 3, see u then.

    “Roger’s coming over just after three,” you said to your roommate Lucy as she picked at her leftover curry.

    “That’s fine,” she said, moving the chicken around with her fork. “I’ll be heading out around four, maybe a little earlier. I’m meeting the girls for a catch-up.”

    “Sounds fun,” you said with a smile. The kettle finished boiling, and you poured your tea. “Will you be out late?”

    Lucy shook her head. “We’re just doing afternoon tea. Be home before dinner.”

    “Great,” you said.

    Lucy shot you a smile, shoved a mouthful of curry into her mouth, and disappeared out of the kitchen.

     “I brought snacks,” Roger said, holding out a packet of corn chips and salsa when you opened the door at twenty past three.

    “Hello,” you said, and took the snacks. “Thanks, you didn’t have to.”

    “It was on the way.”

     You stepped aside, and Roger entered. He stood in the living room as if he’d never been there before, gripping the shoulder strap of his messenger bag with both hands, watching you with wide eyes.

    “You look like you’re about to head off to your first day of school,” you said with a chuckle. “Go sit down, you’re making me nervous.”

    Roger did as he was told, taking off his bag and setting it down at his feet, sitting down on the couch. You sat down beside him, opening up the chips and dip and taking a bite.

    Roger did not take a bite. “What did you want to talk about?”

    “The–” You made sure to finish your mouthful. “The thing. That we talked about a few days ago.”

    Roger nodded. He’d known, clearly. “Is, er, Lucy still here?”

    “Mm, she’s in her room,” you said.

    Roger seemed to deflate. “Oh. Yeah, cool.”

    You didn’t miss it. “What?”

    He looked at you in confusion. “What?”

    “What’s wrong?”

    “Nothing,” Roger said. “I completely understand. It’s totally fine, I won’t bring it up again. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

    “Huh?”

    “The…” Roger dropped his voice to a whisper. “The friends-with-benefits thing. It’s all right.”

    You shook your head. “No, Rog, I’m here to tell you that I want to try it.”

    Roger stopped. He opened and closed his mouth a few times. “Uh, what?”

    “I wanna have sex with you,” you said. “On a semi-regular basis.”

    Roger’s eyes lit up. “You do?”

    “Yeah, dude.”

    “I just thought – with Lucy here…”

    “I don’t wanna have sex now,” you said with a snort. “It doesn’t have to, y’know, kick off with a bang or anything. There’s a bit to talk about first.”

    “Like what?”

    So you laid out the rules. The check-ins were the main thing. Honesty and complete emotional transparency was of utmost importance, no matter how awkward and horribly vulnerable it was. You couldn’t back out of a check-in – either person could ask for one at any time, and a response was required from both people. No fucking at uni, no getting romantic, no dates. The whole thing could be called off whenever by either party, no questions asked. Sleeping with other people was on the cards. If someone started getting romantically involved with a person outside of the arrangement, then the arrangement was off.

    Roger listened intently, nodding. You could see it dawning on him how serious you were about all the rules you were listing, but if it scared him off, you didn’t care.

    When you eventually finished, you said to him, “That’s about it. Is there anything you wanted to ask me?”

    Roger blinked. “Uh. No, I don’t think so. Apart from, uh, how often do you wanna… meet up?”

    You shrugged. “We can feel it out. When are you free?”

    “Whenever,” Roger said, and the word fell out of his mouth like it had tripped and stumbled.

    You grinned. “Bit eager.”

    Roger’s cheeks went pink. “I meant, like, y’know.” He shrugged. “Whenever. I’m chill.”

    “No, it’s sweet,” you said reassuringly. “What about on Friday night? Although you probably have plans, knowing you.”

    “Not really,” Roger said. “I usually just go out with the boys, but it’s not important. I’d much prefer…” He ducked his gaze, and laughed at himself. He ran his hand through his hair. “I can’t believe–” He shook his head, and sighed, lifted his head, and stared you right in the eye. “I don’t know how you turn me into a mess like this. Fuck you.”

    You laughed. “I’m not trying to, I promise.”

    “I know. That makes it even worse.” He scoffed. “‘Sweet’. I’m not sweet. I’m hot as fuck. I’m ��� I’m fuckin’…” He floundered. “I’m hot shit. I’m a bad – bitch.”

    You burst out laughing. “You’re a bad bitch?”

    “Yeah!” Roger exclaimed, doubling down. “All the women fuckin’ fall at my feet. I’m so good at chatting people up. Two minutes – bam! That’s all it takes.”

    “God, Rog, stop,” you said, trying to catch your breath. “Ah, my stomach hurts.”

    “Tell me I’m wrong, though.”

    “You’re wrong.”

    Roger gaped. “You – I’m not!”

    You gave him a bewildered look. “I can’t even tell if you’re joking or not.”

    “First time I got a girl to call me Daddy and I nailed it,” Roger boasted. “You were begging for me.”

    You shushed him, slapping him on the arm.

    “Ow,” he said in a small voice.

    “Lucy’s in her room,” you reminded him in a hiss.

    “Sorry,” Roger said, rubbing his arm to soothe it.

    “Sorry, I shouldn’t have hit you, I wasn’t thinking,” you said, and kissed your fingers, then lightly pressed your fingers to where you’d hit him.

    He pouted. “Thank you.”

    “Do you want to go to my room?” you suggested. “I think Lucy’s leaving soon, she’s heading out.”

    Roger checked his phone. “Yeah, all right,” he said, “I can stay for a bit.”

    You should’ve known. You didn’t know how it hadn’t occurred to you what would end up happening, but it hadn’t.

    You and Roger lasted about ten whole minutes alone in your room before you were making out on your bed.

    His kisses were just as gentle as the first time, but you allowed yourself to enjoy it, not eager to rush into anything else, happy to just stay mildly turned on. You noticed his fingers would occasionally drum out a rhythm on your hip or your thigh as you kissed, his mind disappearing somewhere else before he brought it back. You liked it, liked being able to know what he was thinking, where his mind was.

    Your top ended up on the floor before too long, beside Roger’s, and you straddled Roger’s waist. His hands felt heavenly smoothing up your back, and you shivered. He kissed your throat and your collarbones, and you closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of it, combing your hand through his hair absentmindedly.

    “I can’t believe you said yes,” Roger murmured against your skin. After almost twenty minutes of silence between you two, his voice almost made you jump.

    You smiled. “Can’t believe it? Why not?”

    Roger pressed another kiss to the hollow of your throat, and then leant back, tilting his head up to look at you, and you met his eyes. “I mean, it was a big ask,” he said. “You didn’t have to say yes. I imagine the whole thing with Brian keeps you busy enough.”

    “I said yes because I wanted to,” you said. “Because you made me feel really good, and I want to explore more with you. And I trust you.”

    “And I’m a bad bitch you couldn’t resist?”

    You giggled. “No. You are hot as fuck, I’ll give you that, but you are not a bad bitch by any stretch of the imagination.”

    “You’re so cruel.”

    You laughed again.

    Lucy’s bedroom door opened, and your head snapped towards the noise.

    “What?” Roger whispered.

    “I think Lucy’s leaving,” you murmured. You heard keys jangling, then the front door opening, and closing again.

    You waited a few seconds longer to see if she came back in again, if she’d forgotten something, but it seemed like you were in the clear.

    “Thank Christ,” you sighed, and took Roger’s face in your hands, kissing him fiercely.

    Roger’s fingers tightened on your waist, and he kissed you back, but when you pulled away for a moment he said, “What?”

    “Lucy’s gone,” you said. “I know I said we weren’t going to fuck today, but you’re really good at making out.”

    “I – I need to check the time,” Roger said regretfully, and disappointment sank in your stomach.

    “Oh, right, yeah, sorry,” you said, and climbed off him.

    You sat on your bed, chewing your lip, as Roger bobbed down to fish his phone out of his backpack. You let your eyes trail over his body, over his bare torso and jean-clad legs. He had a nice bum, small and perky, which suited his personality, really. You wanted to lean over and give it a smack, just to see how he’d react. Maybe not just yet.

    He had a really nice back, you thought. He was a drummer, and you could tell in the way the muscles moved under the skin of his back, the roundness of his shoulders, the strength in his arms. His stomach was soft – he was fit enough, but he clearly wasn’t interested in putting in the time to get abs.

    You didn’t care. You liked it.

    He raked his hair away from his face as he typed a response to a message. It was getting shaggy, falling in his face half the time. You liked that, too.

    He dropped his phone and stood up, turning towards you. “I think I can stay for a bit longer.”

    “Lucky me,” you said, reaching for him. He crawled over to you, and kissed you.

    You shoved a hand through his hair, roughly, feeling how long it was getting, and gave it a sharp tug. Roger made a soft sound, and you felt him melt against you.

    You pushed him onto his back and held yourself above him. “You like getting your hair pulled?” you asked with a grin. You reached underneath his head and tugged it again.

    Roger gasped. “Mm, yeah, might do a bit,” he said breathlessly.

    You chuckled, and kissed him again. You pulled his hair, harder than before, and he twitched.

    You broke apart. “Sorry, too hard?”

    Roger whimpered slightly, and shook his head.

    Your eyebrows shot up. “No? I pulled pretty hard.”

    “You can pull harder.”

    So you did. You pulled, snapping his head back, and you held him there, watching his eyes go wide, and he whined. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

    You finally let him go, and he was gasping for breath. “You can keep going,” he said. “I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

    You shook your head disbelievingly. “Greedy.” You kissed him deeply, making a tight fist in his hair, just hard enough to tease him, and you could tell how needy he was starting to get by the way he gripped your hips.

    You kissed along his jaw.

    “More,” he said. “You can give me more.”

    “I’ll give you more when I feel like it,” you said casually.

    He made a sound in protest, and it was then it clicked that the previous roles you’d adopted last time you’d slept together were quickly reversing.

    You let his hair go, and he whined. Your stomach clenched. Fuck, that was a good sound. You wanted to hear more of it.

    You sat up, on his waist. “Rog?”

    He looked up at you. “Mm?”

    “I think today’s gonna be different from last time.”

    He nodded. “I think so too.”

    “What do you wanna do? Where do you see it going?”

    He looked away, flustered. “We don’t have to… talk about it.”

    “I just want to make sure.” You paused. “I think… I’m gonna be in charge today. How’s that sound?”

    Roger looked back to you, and you could see the hunger in his eyes. He nodded. “Yeah, I – I like that. I’d like that.”

    “And,” you continued, shimmying down Roger’s legs to go for his belt, “you’re going to do as you’re told. Understood?”

    “Yes ma’am,” he said, and then he flushed scarlet. “Sorry. I mean, um, yes.”

    “No, it’s okay, you can call me that, if you’d like to,” you said. You finished unbuckling his belt, and undid his jeans, unzipping the fly. “I’m all right with that. Do you wanna call me that?”

    “Yes ma’am.”

    “Sounds like you’re gonna be a real good boy for me, huh?”

    “Maybe.”

    You paused, blinking at him. “Oh? Maybe?”

    Roger grinned cheekily. “Maybe.”

    “Maybe who?”

    “Maybe, ma’am.”

    “Hm,” you said in thought. You climbed off him. “Jeans off.”

    He took them off.

    “Lie down.”

    He did.

    You stood up, and took your jeans off, slowly, unhurried. If you made a bit of a show of it, arching your back a little and sliding the jeans down your thighs, that was your business.

    When you looked back to Roger, he was practically drooling where he lay, his eyes fixated on you with laser focus.

    “You good?” you joked, tossing your jeans aside.

    “Oh yeah,” Roger said emphatically, nodding, making you laugh. He bit his bottom lip, his eyes sweeping up and down your body. “God, you’re fucking hot.”

    You glanced down at yourself instinctively. You were just wearing your everyday bra, a comfy pair of underwear. Nothing as racy as what you’d worn the first time you and Roger had slept together.

    Roger clearly didn’t care.

    You tried not to preen from the compliment. Yeah, you knew you were hot. But a reminder was always nice.

    You climbed back on the bed, settling on your knees on top of Roger’s hips, grinding yourself a little against him, making his eyelashes flutter, his hands gripping your thighs.

    You smiled, cocking your head to one side, thinking. “Hm,” you said. “What to do with you?”

    Roger just waited patiently, his face open, his breath coming in short bursts.

    You leant down and brushed your lips against his, just barely, and he chased the kiss, whining softly. You smiled, and instead started kissing his neck. His hands stroked up and down your back, lightly, and you began grinding against him a little more. The friction felt so good, the drag of your underwear on your clit, that you sat up again to find a better angle, grinding harder. Roger gasped, and you could feel him rapidly hardening underneath you, but you ignored it, ignored him, focused only on finding a rhythm that made you feel warm, made your blood feel electric.

    You were breathing heavily, your head bowed, bracing yourself on Roger’s chest, and Roger was squirming.

    “Ma’am,” he pleaded, his hands coming to your waist to try to still you. “Please, I can’t–”

    You grabbed his wrists and pinned them beside his head, and rolled your hips, hard and slow, making him whine.

    “What’s the matter, Rog?” you asked, a touch breathlessly. “You don’t like that I’m not giving you attention?”

    Roger struggled against your hold on him. “I–”

    “I was enjoying myself, Roger. I don’t like that you interrupted me.”

    Roger stopped struggling.

    You kissed him, hard, and then broke away to whisper in his ear, “You’re going to watch me for a bit, okay? Just watching.” Just for a bit. Some light teasing, then you’d let him touch you.

    You pushed yourself away from him, climbing off him, leaving him cold. He looked at you like you’d just kicked his pet dog. “No!”

    “Sit up,” you said. “Move back.”

    “Let me eat you out,” Roger pleaded, but doing as he was told, getting up and shifting back, sitting back on his heels. “I want to, please? Let me taste you. I’ll make you come at least twice, I won’t stop until I do. As many times as you want. Please.”

    You took off your underwear and bra, settling comfortably, leaning back on one hand, your legs sprawled out in front of you, and Roger made a helpless, desperate sound.

    You ran your fingertips over your skin, over the swell of your breasts, over your inner thighs, just teasing yourself, and Roger sobbed, his fists twisting in the sheets.

    “Ma’am, please, please, let me touch you, I need to, please.”

    “You’re so needy,” you said with a grin.

    Roger nodded, all dignity out the window.

    You started touching yourself, humming in pleasure at the familiar feeling of your own fingers. “Look at you,” you said, drinking in the sight of Roger, gazing at you hopelessly, pleadingly, his body flushed, his underwear tented, a dark spot staining the material. “So hard for me already.”

    Roger palmed at himself, and you said, “Nuh-uh. No touching.”

    “You didn’t say I couldn’t touch myself,” he protested, stilling his hand on his cock.

    “I know,” you said, and your breath caught, your back arching, as you slipped a finger into yourself. “But – but I’m telling you now.”

    Roger groaned, but forced his hand back onto the bed. His eyes zeroed in on your hand, and your finger, where it was disappearing inside you.

    You sighed, letting your head fall back and your eyes close. “Feels so good, Rog.”

    You pushed in a second finger beside the first, pumping them leisurely, every so often taking a break to play with your clit. Roger kept making small noises of desperation, whines and sobs, his breath trembling.

    “Maybe I’ll just make myself come like this,” you mused. You lifted your head again to look at Roger. He looked like was about to explode. Or die from the stress of it all. His knuckles were white, his arms and shoulders tensed, his mouth hanging open.

    Your hips bucked slightly against your hand. It was a good look on him. Really good.

    “What do you think, Rog?” you panted. You could feel yourself getting closer. “What if I just made myself come while you watched, and then sent you home?”

    Roger’s eyes snapped to yours. “No, no, no, please, no,” he ground out. “Please, I’ll be so good for you, you can do whatever you want to me, I want you so bad. You look so good, you’re–” He swallowed. “You’re so wet. I – I can hear how wet you are.”

    Your breath hitched, your hips jerking again. “You want to feel it for yourself, do you?”

    “Yes,” Roger whined. “Please, I – I wanna… I…”

    At this point, you had a feeling you were actually going to come on your own fingers. Roger’s voice, his face, his whole body and the way it was coiled like the tightest spring, it was all turning you on so much. So much for ‘light teasing’.

    You moaned. “Shit.”

    “You can do whatever you want to me,” Roger said again. “You can hit me, you can slap me, bite me, I don’t care, make me bleed, I’ll take it, I’ll take it so well, I’ll be so thankful, I’ll be good for you, just use me, anything, I– fuck, you look so good, please, ma’am, please.”

    “Fuck, Rog,” you said, unable to believe the filthy things pouring from his mouth.

    You were so close, way closer than you thought you would be, and Roger looked almost on the verge of tears.

    “Please,” he whined. “Please, I can’t, I need you, I need you.”

    That was the final tipping point. You came, gasping, your hips bucking against your hand.

    Your fingers circled your clit slowly as you came down from your orgasm. You looked to Roger. He looked broken, staring at your fingers, and you felt your core pulsing with the last few aftershocks.

    Roger moaned at the sight.

    You jumped when your fingers brushed over your clit, sensitive, and you removed your hand with a sigh.

    Roger’s eyes flicked to your hand, your fingers glistening with your juice.

    You decided to take pity on him. “Clean me up?” you said, holding out your hand.

    He looked to your face, checking to see if you were joking, just being cruel.

    “Taste me, Rog,” you said.

    Roger couldn’t get over to your fast enough, licking your fingers into his mouth, his hands curling around your wrist. He took your fingers in all the way to the knuckle, groaning at the taste, his tongue dragging over the pads of your fingers.

    “Good boy,” you said. He was still shaking, and the dark spot on his underwear had grown considerably since you’d last checked.

    You slowly pulled your fingers from his mouth, and he whined, but you only went so far, and then you pushed them in again, and he accepted them gladly. His lips looked wet and pink and gorgeous around your fingers, his whole body warm.

    You adjusted, sitting up, your other hand smoothing over his thigh, making him moan, as you continued to lazily fuck his mouth with your fingers. His long eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, his tongue earnestly swirling around your fingers every time you pushed them back into his mouth. He sighed, whimpering, and you licked your lips.

    “So well-behaved,” you murmured. “You look so pretty like this, Rog.”

    Roger tensed, his fingers tightening around your wrist, and he shifted, urging you to fuck his mouth deeper.

    “Oh, poor baby,” you cooed, smiling in amusement. “You’re so desperate you’ll take anything, huh? Doesn’t even matter if I’m not touching your cock.”

    Roger shivered, his hips twitching against thin air.

    You pulled your hand back, much to his despair, and you wiped your fingers on the sheets. “Normally I’d get you to use your mouth, to stretch me out for you,” you said, “but I think I’ve covered that just fine myself.”

    Roger watched you carefully, his blue eyes so full of hope yet so worried at the same time. “What… What does that mean, ma’am?”

    You cupped his cheek, and he leant into it, making a soft sound. “It means I want you to fuck me.”

    Roger’s eyes lit up. “What? Really? I can?”

    “If you ask nicely.”

    “Please can I fuck you, ma’am? Please?”

    You smiled. “Sounds good to me.”

    Roger’s beaming smile was blinding, and you couldn’t help but draw him in for a kiss. He made a happy sound against your lips, and you pulled away briefly to reposition yourself, your head on your pillows.

    Roger pounced on you, kissing you deeply, hungrily, harder than he’d ever kissed you before. You gave his hair a tug, and his hips jerked against yours, the first solid stimulation he’d received in almost the entire time. You gasped at the friction, and he immediately broke away to press his forehead against your shoulder, letting out the most guttural, broken moan, overwhelmed by how good it felt and desperately trying to stop himself from doing it again, to not come early. You could see the muscles in his back and shoulders tense like before, and they looked absolutely gorgeous.

    Roger panted against your skin. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “Didn’t mean to.”

    “That’s okay, honey, you did such a good job stopping yourself,” you assured him, stroking your fingers through his hair. “You’re doing so well. I’m so proud. But it’s okay, I want you to fuck me. Take off your underwear for me?”

    Roger did so. He was so hard that it looked like it hurt. He must have wanted to scream.

    “Lube and condoms are in that drawer there,” you said, pointing to your bedside table.

    Roger’s hands were trembling as he fetched them, and he hissed as he rolled the condom on himself and drizzled lube onto his hand, dragging it up and down his cock as lightly as he could, pressing his lips together to muffle his whimpers.

    You reached for him, and he moved over to you without question, kissing you. “I can’t wait to be inside you,” he whispered against your lips. “I’m so lucky, ma’am, thank you.” He kissed you again.

    You were so surprised by what he’d said that you had no idea how to respond. You hoped he couldn’t tell how flustered you were.

    He kissed your neck. “Now?” he said in between kisses. “Now, ma’am, can I now?”

    “Yes, Rog,” you said, and he reached down to line himself up with your entrance. He started sliding into you, and you could see the way his breath stuttered. His head rested in the crook of your neck, and you hooked your legs over his hips. The slight ache felt good, familiar, and you stroked his back soothingly.

    He sobbed against you. “I…”

    “It’s all right, honey, you’re doing so well.”

    “You feel so good.”

    “You okay?”

    Roger took a shuddering breath, and then lifted himself up on all fours above you, his eyes slightly damp. “Y-yeah,” he said shakily with a small laugh. “Just… you do feel really good.”

    “Oh, hon,” you said with a small laugh in return, caressing his cheek.

    Roger’s brow creased, and then he thrust into you the rest of the way. Your breath caught, and he moaned. “Fucking hell.”

    You nudged him with your heels. “I’m good, I’m good.”

    “I’m not,” Roger said, then added a quick, ma’am, just to be safe. “Just… give me a moment.”

    “I don’t mind if you don’t last long,” you said. “I’ve already come.”

    “You made yourself come,” Roger said. “I want to do it. Please.”

    “Well, what am I gonna do,” you chuckled, “say no to that?”

    Roger smiled weakly, and kissed you once, then readjusted his position slightly, and pulled out a touch, then thrust back into you.

    “Oh, yes, Roger,” you sighed.

    Roger kept it slow at first, his arms still shaking as he drove into you again and again, and it was incredible, the way you could feel the drag of his cock in and out of you. You made sure to keep up the praise every now and again, just reminding Roger that he was doing such a good job and that he was such a good boy, especially when he started fucking you faster, and every time you did, he whimpered, and the sound went straight to your core. You could tell how intently he was focusing on not coming before you did, and it honestly blew your mind how he was able to do it. He had to pause a couple times to catch himself, and he mumbled apologies and kissed your throat and your lips so sweetly each time before he had calmed himself enough to begin fucking you again.

    You would’ve let him fuck you all day like this. He was being so good, so thoughtful and gentle and focused. You’d never seen Roger like this before, but you loved it. He was your good boy, your good boy who made such pretty noises and fucked you so well, who was so receptive to praise, who looked like he’d been blessed by God himself when you so much as touched his hair.

    “Fuck,” you hissed when Roger hit the right spot again, “just like that, yes.”

    Roger whined, hips snapping against you, hitting the spot again. “Shit, you feel so good,” he moaned. His rhythm stuttered, and he had to stop again, whining, pressing his forehead against your collarbones. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m sorry,” he panted, dropping a kiss to your skin. “You just feel so good, I can’t…”

    “You’re doing such a wonderful job,” you said, combing your hands through his sweaty, tangled hair. “You’re so close to coming, huh?”

    Roger nodded. “I – I was close when I first went inside you,” he confessed. “This is… I’m…”

    “I’m not stopping you from coming, honey,” you said. “I don’t mind.”

    Roger lifted his head, kissing your lips briefly, and shook his head. “Don’t wanna,” he said. “Not till you do.” He took a breath. “Are you–?”

    You bit your lip, not wanting to disappoint him, but: “Not really, honey. You’re doing so well, it feels so good, but I just need more to actually get there.”

    Roger nodded, his eyes growing determined.

    “Rog, you don’t–”

    “No, I can do it.” He kissed you again, then shifted, taking your ankle and resting it on his shoulder. Your leg was bent at the knee, and there was no way in hell you were going to be able to straighten it. You hoped he wasn’t planning on leaning too far forward, unless he wanted to tear your hamstring.

    “I don’t know if I’m that flexible, Roger,” you said with a laugh.

    “Please, ma’am,” Roger pleaded, and, well, you had to at least give it a try.

    You nodded. “Okay, sweetheart, we’ll give it a go.”

    Roger made sure your ankle was firmly in place, and then balanced himself on one hand, his other hand reaching between you, circling your clit. You sucked in a breath, your back arching.

    Roger started fucking you again, slowly once more, while playing with your clit, and the combination of his fingers, with you feeling every ridge and vein on his cock, with your leg at a new angle, sent your mind into a frenzy.

    “Oh,” you blurted, your eyes going wide, your fingers gripping the sheets beside you. “Oh, Jesus.”

    Every time you clenched around Roger, he made a muffled whimpering sound, but he kept going, his jaw clenched.

    You used your hand to keep your leg in place, because this felt good, and you did not want your leg to fall from Roger’s shoulder. You moaned helplessly. “Roger, God, fuck.”

    Roger said nothing, concentrating too hard on his task. The familiar coil began tightening in your belly.

    “Keep going, keep going,” you urged him breathlessly. “Ah, fuck, fuck.”

    Roger started driving into your harder, and your leg slipped from his shoulder onto the bed, but it didn’t matter, because Roger’s fingers were making fucking magic.

     The only obvious tell-tale that he was doing everything he could to stave off his own orgasm was the way he whined, “Please, please,” almost in a chant. His hips jerked off rhythm again, and he groaned deeply, but kept fucking you.

    “I’m so close,” you told him. “So close, Rog, come on.”

    He sobbed, his fingers working even harder. “Please.”

    The coil was tightening more and more, and you cried out. “That’s it, come on, fuck, so – ah – so close.”

    Roger was shaking with the effort, and you genuinely believed for a moment that he was about to come before you, but then he fucked into you just right, hitting that spot, and you completely came undone, crying out, your whole body shaking with the force of it. Feeling you coming around him, Roger followed immediately, hips ramming into yours, face buried in your neck, a loud, desperate sob punching from him, and he must have come hard, because he kept gasping out, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” his body convulsing as he curled around you.

    Then it was quiet, apart from the sound of heavy breathing. Your aftershocks rippled through you still, slowly fading, and Roger twitched slightly every time they did.

    “Oh my God,” you said to the ceiling.

    Roger finally slumped against you, unable to hold himself up any longer, and, although it winded you and you were both far too sweaty, you didn’t mind.

    “Jesus Christ, Roger,” you said, combing through his hair again.

    He moaned pathetically.

    “You all right?”

    He let out a small whimper, but nodded. “Just gimme a sec.”

    You laughed, and patted his back. “All right.”

    He took another moment, and then struggled onto all fours, pulling out of you, and collapsed onto the bed beside you.

    You grinned at the look on his face as he stared at the ceiling, wide-eyed.

    “I,” he said. “Came. So. Hard.”

    You burst into laughter, and he looked to you, laughing himself, but still bewildered. “I did!” he insisted. “It was like I came five times in a row or something. I don’t think I can walk after that.”

    “I believe you,” you giggled.

    Roger shook his head, looking back to the ceiling. “Shit.”

    “How are you feeling?” you said. “We… got pretty deep into it.”

    Roger licked his lips. “I’m – I’m okay,” he said. “I feel a little… spacey? But I’m all right.”

    When you got a little spacey after you and Brian had gone harder than usual into the dom/sub dynamics, you only ever wanted two things: water, and cuddles.

    “I’ll get you some water,” you said, sitting up. It was more difficult than you wanted to admit. “Ah, God.”

    Roger chuckled. “How are you?”

    “Exhausted.” You shot him a smile. “Dude, we have the hottest sex ever. How are we so good at this?”

    “I know, right?” Roger said as you stood up and stretched, then went to throw on an old dress. “Maybe we should drop out of uni and become porn stars together. We’d make a bomb.”

    You snorted. “I know you’re joking, but I can also tell that you’re kinda not, so I’m just gonna say it now: I’m not dropping out of uni to become a porn star.”

    You headed to the kitchen.

    “Maybe think it over?” Roger called after you.

    You ignored him. You got yourself a drink of water, and were just finding something to snack on, when Roger stepped into the kitchen, dressed in his underwear and his shirt. He looked small, vulnerable.

    “Mm?” you said.

    “Um,” he said, stepping closer. “I… I don’t know.”

    Oh. Cuddles.

    You hopped up onto the kitchen bench and spread your arms. “C’mere,” you said, and he hurried over, burying his face in your shoulder, his arms holding you close.

    You just held him, scratching the base of his skull soothingly. He sighed contentedly, and you smiled.

    You showered first, and he went second. You lent him an old shirt and a pair of pyjama pants, which fitted him more like boxers. You were a big fan. He was not, but he didn’t really have much of a choice. He was unusually quiet, but he seemed happy, and when you offered to let him sleep over, he accepted wholeheartedly. For the rest of the afternoon, and then the evening, he was always touching you in some way, and you gave your cuddles freely. He curled against you as you both watched a movie on your laptop in your room after dinner, and he nodded off with his head against your shoulder.

    You let him. It was nice.

    The next morning, he was back to his old self. “What would you have done if I’d called you ‘Mummy’ instead of ‘ma’am’ yesterday?” he asked thoughtfully.

    You almost spat out your tea, glancing furtively towards Lucy’s bedroom. Hopefully she was still asleep. “Uh.”

    “Y’know, because you called me ‘Daddy’, not ‘sir’.”

    “Yeah, no, I get it.” You took another sip of tea. “Well, what if I’d told you to call me ‘Daddy’?”

    Roger stared at the table as he processed this. Then he looked back up to you. “Hm,” he said. “I honestly don’t know how I feel about that one. But you didn’t answer my question.”

    “My answer’s the same as yours,” you said. “I honestly don’t know how I feel about that one.”

    Roger nodded, and took a bite of toast. “Fair enough. Has Brian ever called you that?”

    “What, ‘Mummy’?” you said, and Roger shrugged. “No. It never even occurred to either of us.”

    “What does he called you?”

    You pulled a face. “Why do you want to know?”

    “I’m curious.”

    You were about to say something else, about how it was weird he wanted to know, but you bit your tongue. “He doesn’t call me anything, really,” you said instead. “Just my name. Even when I’m calling him ‘Daddy’, he… doesn’t really call me anything. He calls me a, uh, good girl, but, yeah, just my name. He’s not as big on the pet names during sex as you are.”

    Roger scoffed. “Well, he’s missing out, that’s all I have to say.”

    You chuckled. “Well, I’m seeing him tonight, so maybe I can ask him.”

    Roger raised his eyebrows. “You’re seeing him tonight? Like…”

    “Sleeping with him, yes.”

    “You’re not tuckered out after last night?”

    “Yeah,” you said with a shrug. “But I guess I’ll have to get used to it if I’m going to be balancing the two of you from now on, aren’t I?”

    “Guess so, yeah.”

    “I can just make him do all the work,” you added with a smile. “He’ll be a bit grumpy about it, but he’ll do it.”

    “Can you get him to wash all my dishes?”

    “No.”

    Roger made a disgruntled face, and you laughed.

    Okay. Maybe this could work out, after all.