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vintagedaydreams · 3 years

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Hey guys- not a TLNRS update, I know. But not something I’ve been writing instead either! I actually found this on my phone.

It’s not complete- more of a scene. And it won’t ever be completed. But if you want to run with it- go for it.

Sorry it’s so long without a page break.

Warnings: some strong language, talk of suicide. Not as dark as it sounds.

You work at MI6 in the Admin/Research dept. working on cover stories and recon work for locations/marks/etc.

You work with a handful of other people in the dept and you have a good pal in your desk mate: Katelyn.

All of the agents-Double Ohs included - go into the Research Dept frequently to get folders on their missions and their marks. Everybody knows you-everybody likes you. You’re competent and your peers usually have you look over their work as well when dealing with difficult marks or missions.

You jumped on the couch as the door slammed open, bouncing off the wall. Scrambling to your feet, you looked over to see James Bond filling the doorway, blue eyes spitting sparks. You took a moment to admire him, his aura of danger and confidence dark and practically pulsing around him, before you realized with a start that he was glaring at you.

“…Bond?” you asked hesitantly and, apparently taking that as permission, he stalked into your small apartment in the heart of London. The door was shut in much the same way as it was opened and you gave a wince for your poor neighbors.

“Did I interrupt something?” he asked, voice pitched low and dangerous. You shivered at the tone, though it wasn’t in fear. Oh dear. You were in trouble.

“Um,” you looked around in confusion at the half eaten tub of ice cream and the movie playing quietly in the background, “no?” It was stated more than asked. Especially since he seemed to have an answer to his question already.

“Then you won’t mind if I join you,” he almost snarled, making his way over to you. Your eyes, about the size of dinner plates by now, widened even more.

“What?” you squeaked out. Bond, the James Bond was all but foaming at the mouth and he was going to stay?

“Going to interrupt any plans of yours?” he bit out and you blinked.

“Plans? Um, no…” A low rumbling sounded through the apartment .

“Are you….are you growling at me?” you gaped in disbelief. Suddenly, you found yourself gripped by strong hands, Bond an inch away from you.

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N,” he ground out and the anger that had been slowly building at all his growls and snarls finally sprung forth.

“What are you talking about, Bond?” you growled right back. He blinked for a moment before his face darkened even further than before.

The man stepped closer, if that was possible until you were flush against each other. You felt your stomach flip and you gulped, looking up into his eyes.

Blue eyes stared down at you and the hands gripping your shoulders loosened ever so slightly before he gave you a small shake.

“Katelyn told me about your conversation,” he intoned darkly, an eyebrow rising in a challenge to deny it. Your brow furrowed.

“Conversation? What conversation?” Katelyn and you had had many conversations, the most recent of them centering around the man in your apartment, but you had no idea what topic could have Bond so…well, upset was a bit tame for his current mood….

“Did you really think that I wouldn’t find out?” he growled out, effectively bringing your thoughts back to him. Find out….? Find out!

Your eyes widened. Katelyn wouldn’t…she wouldn’t have told him about your conversation yesterday when you’d said that you were pretty sure you were attracted to 007! No, she wouldn’t have thought that was a big enough deal to tell the Double-Oh in question. Everyone thought that man was attractive.

Then what…?

“You should know by now, that when I claim people as mine, I take an interest in their lives,” Bond continued, eyes glaring down at you. Apparently your silence had already condemned you.

You fought the major blush that threatened to make itself known at his wording. Claimed you as his? Oh, if only!

“Bond,” you started, voice mellow and as soothing as you could make it.

“Don’t,” he interrupted, low and dangerous. You sighed.

“What are you so worked up about? I’m sure everyone’s thought it at least once!” you defended yourself. Really, the only possible answer to his mood was that Katelyn had told him, for whatever reason, that you found him attractive. And apparently, he didn’t like that.

Ouch. There went your pride and self esteem.

“That’s your excuse?” he demanded, voice sounding almost incredulous. “So because everyone else has thought it, you can too?”

“Not quite what I meant,” you muttered as his grip tightened once again. “I just meant that it shouldn’t be a big deal to you! I’m not the first!”

The room went deadly silent and you hesitantly gazed into the glacier eyes above you. You didn’t understand what was so terrible about you finding him attractive, (were you that repulsive?), but he really was making too big a deal out of it. You were shy! It’s not like you would’ve ever said or done anything to him!

“Never say it shouldn’t be a big deal to me,” Bond suddenly hissed and you felt a bit uneasy at the look on his face. You weren’t afraid of him, but you knew what he could do and you also knew that he had a reputation for being unpredictable and out of control. You were in hot water and just starting to realize it.

“Really, Bond,” you murmured, trying to salvage the situation before somebody, most likely you, got hurt, “it’s really not that big of a deal. Can we just…forget I ever said it and you ever heard it?”

His hands tightened on your arms even further and you knew there’d be bruises there tomorrow.

“No,” he answered, voice deadly soft, “I will not forget it.” Suddenly he ripped himself away from you and started pacing the floor furiously.

“Damn it, Y/N! Why can’t you take this seriously?! Do you have any idea, any idea at all, what was going through my head when Katelyn told me? No, of course you don’t. Well, let me tell you something, Y/L/N,” he snarled, “if you want to commit suicide and ‘end it all’ then I suggest you find yourself another job. Because if you stay at MI6, you’re mine and I am not going to let anybody, least of all you, take you away from me!”

Once again, silence rang out in your apartment and you stood there, gaping at Bond.

“Commit…..what?” you asked, mentally going over all your conversations with Katelyn. You telling her that you were going to ‘end it all’ was never part of any of them. YOu were actually quite happy with life where you were, thank you very much. Granted, it’d be better if you had a certain someone to share it with, but suicide? Yeah, never touched on that topic.

“I know your vocabulary is better than that,” Bond spat, finally stopping his pacing. You flinched at the acid in his tone.

“Bond, I never—“

“Expected her to squeal? No kidding. I figured that you didn’t want her to, if our little conversation a minute ago was any indication.”

“No, Bond, I was under the impression—“

“That I didn’t care? Yeah, got that one too. Well here’s a news flash for you, I do. And I will. So I suggest that you take up some counseling because you’re not going to die on my watch.”

“Bond,” you sighed, “honestly, can I get a word in? I’m not going to commit suicide.”

“Damn right you’re not,” the agent in front of you growled. He was suddenly right in your space again. “I’m going to stay here tonight with you and tomorrow, you’re going to a therapist.”

You backed up a step, feeling a bit…flustered, not to mention frustrated, with his close proximity.

“Will you just listen to me?!” you yelled, throwing your hands up in the air in ill repressed ire. “I am not going to commit suicide because I don’t want to! I never planned to and I never talked about it with Katelyn!”

The silence that descended on you was thick and you crossed your arms against your chest, glaring at the agent in front of you. He looked torn between not believing you and wanting to.

“You never mentioned suicide to Katelyn?” he asked finally, voice lower and not quite so angry this time around.

“No,” you said quietly, relief coloring your voice that he finally seemed to be listening to you.

Blue eyes bored into your own, but you stared back at him, refusing to show anything that could be taken as guilt or uneasiness. You’d finally gotten the man to listen to you. You didn’t want to give him any reason to doubt you word.

You were not going to a freakin’ therapist.

“And you’ve never thought about committing suicide?” he pressed, once again stepping forward until he was in your space.

“No,” you repeated, with only a hint of impatience. Really. Why did he believe Katelyn so readily but not you?

“Then you won’t mind if I stay here tonight,” he suddenly said, eyes once again daring you to challenge him. Which, normally, you wouldn’t. But tonight, he’d broken in, interrupted your coveted “alone with a movie and ice cream” time, yelled at and accused you of shit you didn’t actually do and now demanded you house him for the night.

Yeah…not in this lifetime.

“I do mind, actually,” you shot back, eyes narrowing at the agent. “I don’t need a babysitter and now that I’ve told you that I’m not suicidal, there’s no reason for you to stay.”

You turned to the couch and went to sit back down. “Especially with that attitude of yours,” you muttered under your breath. Really, there were days it was like dealing with a five year old. Pretty sure he was supposed to be acting older than you.

“Y/N,” came the warning growl from behind you and you rolled your eyes.

“Seriously, Bond, you can relax, okay? I’m not suicidal, I don’t want to ‘end it all’ and I’ll see you tomorrow at work.” You finally turned to look at him over your shoulder. “Unless you’re going on another mission…?”

The Double-Oh stared at you for a moment before shaking his head. “No mission yet.”

You nodded once, “Good. Then I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” You turned your attention back to the movie that had made quite a bit of progress since you’d been so rudely interrupted and pretended to not hear the soft cursing behind you or feel the glare being shot to the back of your head.

There was blissful silence in the apartment for a few minutes, (aside from the movie), before Bond finally piped up, “Really, Y/N? Harry Potter?”

You shot your own glare at him over your shoulder. “For your information, I happen to like Harry Potter. And you’re not even supposed to still be here, so no dissing the movie that’s playing.”

To your surprise, annoyance, disbelief and, you admit, slight pleasure, Bond moved around the couch arm and sat down not two inches from you, grabbing your tub of ice cream off the coffee table and spooning some into his mouth.

“At least you have good taste in this,” he muttered, blue eyes locking onto yours. It took you a second, but you realized he was teasing you. You weren’t aware the man had a playful bone in his body!

Once you got over your shock you managed to answer back, “It’s been known to happen.” You plucked the spoon out of his hand and took your own bite of the chocolate ice cream. “But this is mine. Go grab your own.”

“Now, now, Y/N. I think you should share.”

“Ha!” You barked a laugh, “Whatever for? You broke in here, remember? I didn’t bust into your house!”

“I would advise you never trying that,” he said, suddenly serious. “Good way to get shot.”

“Bond,” you said back just as serious, “I don’t know where you live and I don’t want to know.”

He tilted his head. “Yeah? And why’s that?”

“Because I’d probably be tempted to come over and try to shank you in your sleep,” you said with an angelic smile.

Bond met your smile with a dastardly smirk of his own.

“Are you sure it’d be to shank me?”

You gave him a shove with your shoulder as you spooned more ice cream out of the tub still in his hands.

“Yup. Perv.”

His chuckle made a shiver run up your spine and you realized he needed to leave. Like, now.

Putting the spoon in the tub, you leaned back onto the couch and turned back to the movie. “When you leave, would you put that in the freezer and lock the door on your way out?”

He leaned back as well, putting one arm on the back of the couch behind you before he answered. “I’ll put it in the freezer and lock the door, Y/N, but I’m not leaving.”

You turned your head, unintentionally pressing your cheek against his forearm. You had to physically stop yourself from jerking away as if burned. With Bond, showing any kind of weakness wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

And he was definitely a weakness of yours.

“Whaddya mean you’re not leaving? I thought we decided that I didn’t need a babysitter.”

“You mean you decided you didn’t need a babysitter.”

“Bond,” you growled and he shrugged. Shrugged! As if you were discussing the weather!

“Don’t call me a babysitter then. Call me something else.”

“Oh, believe me, Bond, there are several things I’d like to call you,” you muttered hotly, “and none of them are particularly flattering.”

The grin he gave made you almost give in and do pretty much whatever he wanted you to. Someday, this thing you had over Bond was going to get you into so much trouble.

“How about we just say that we’re two friends hanging out, alright? You don’t have to call me anything.”

Since moving to England, you didn’t have a whole lot of friends you hung out with, but you were still pretty sure that it only qualified as ‘friends hanging out’ if both parties were willing. But, you’d already missed about a third of the movie and could feel a headache coming on so you just nodded.

“Fine. Whatever you say, friend.”

Bond gave a small grunt of triumph and relaxed further into the couch after depositing the ice cream on the table once again. Your head was still in contact with his arm, but he was warm and solid next to you, so you decided to just enjoy the rare closeness you had with the man and focused on the rest of Harry Potter.

It wasn’t until the movie was over and Bond was putting the ice cream away that the shit hit the fan. Again.

You were in the middle of stretching when Bond came back into the living room, barefoot and no tie.

“Hey, Y/N, you want—“ he cut off abruptly and you stopped stretching to look at him expectantly.

“Do I want what, Bond?” you asked after a few moments of silence, but the man wasn’t paying attention to you but rather looking at your arms.

Looking down, you saw why.

“Wow,” you murmured to yourself, “I thought I had until at least tomorrow before those showed up.”

“What happened?” Bond demanded, narrowed blue eyes never leaving the dark bruises around your upper arms.

You’d never been good with taking things very seriously, especially if you didn’t find them to be a big deal, but even you had to admit that saying, “Considering the work you’re in, I’m surprised you don’t recognize your own handy work,” was a bit too…crass.

But, it’d already been said so you just gave a small rueful smile and apologized.

Figures, the apology would be what set him off.

“You’re apologizing to me for hurting you?” he demanded, voice loud once again. And here you’d thought you had met your quota for yelling today.

You groaned. “Oh for the love of…. Really, Bond? My neighbors are going to think I’m in some kind of domestic situation if you keep yelling. So, shush and help me get the house ready for sleeping.”

The super secret spy agent looked at you for a long moment while you patiently, (or as patient as you could be), waited for him to come to his senses already so you could get some shut eye.

“I should go,” Bond said after a moment. You crossed your arms.

“James,” you said softly, taking a step towards him, “I really would appreciate it if you stayed.”

The man in front of you scoffed, though blue eyes didn’t leave your own.

“A few minutes ago, you couldn’t wait to get rid of me.”

You scoffed yourself. “That’s because you were going to babysit me and thought I was suicidal of all things. Which I’m not. But I would like you to stay if you’re willing.”

Bond regarded you for a moment before stepping forward until he was directly in front of you. Warm fingers gently trailed over the darkening bruises on your arms.

“You’re sure you’d like me to stay?” he asked quietly, eyes boring into yours.

You gave a gentle smile. “I really would like nothing better.”

#james bond x reader #james bond imagines #reader insert

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cosmiccomma · 2 years

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me snarling and growling and foaming at the mouth as i repeatedly refresh my ao3 bookmarks on the off chance that something will update

#obviosuly authors should take their time because their work is worth a lot etc etc #but i m dying a little #remy's ramblings

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loverofpiggies · 3 years

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Athena Dog Updates!

Hey guys, so some updates on my doggo! Though she’s hella friendly with people, she definitely has dog aggression. Considering all she’s been through, the fact that this is her major behavioral problem, and everything else is like, nonexistant? I find that incredible. Me and my friend @marachistudios met up today to have our doggos meet, and Athena was foaming at the mouth and snarling. ): Occasionally she’d chill out a little and they’d walk side by side, but then she’d be right at it again. Me and my friend already decided we’re going to try and have the doggos meet for a walk twice a week, and I’ve contacted a local behavioral specialist to see how to go about this. I really want Athena to be truly comfortable around other dogs, or at least tolerate them, because I’d love for her to meet my family over the socially distant holidays.

I’m not sure she’ll be okay by then-- it’s a real short time period, so I’ve already contacted the local doggy hotel about her dog aggression, and if she could still be put up. Good news is yes, she’d just be isolated, so if I *have* to, I got that route.

She’s the sweetest dog ever, and won’t leave my lap otherwise, and it breaks my heart to see her like that. But it’s okay, I knew what I was getting into with a Mill Momma. We’ll work through it together. <3

#cqchat #I'm also watching youtube videos on the topic #im trying everything i can #if you have suggestions or advice please put it in the #comments below!#sorry those werent supposed to be seperate hashtags #athena just knocked my hand #athenachat

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alolowrites · 4 years

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Everyone’s Got a Sweet Tooth!

Summary: Bakugou hates sweets. You don’t think this is true and begin a mission to discover his favorite candy. After all, you are the brilliant Candy Master who won’t stop until Bakugou’s sweet tooth is satisfied.

Author’s Note: Hello everyone! I’m so glad I was finally able to write a full fic for Bakugou; it’s been so long. Originally, this was supposed to be for the bingo event, but had trouble fleshing out the story’s direction. I really wanted to write this story since the plot was hilarious to me, idk why.

Please enjoy!

10.30.21 UPDATE: HI!!!!! I went back and edited the heck out of this baby since it’s my favorite Bakugou story I’ve written. I hope it is now decent lmao. Happy Halloween!!

Word Count: 2.4K+

“Katsuki, what is the meaning of all this?!”

“The hell are you talkin’ bout?”

“This!”

You marched with purpose and plopped down on the couch where he sat. Bakugou remained unfazed, clicking on the remote control. He mindlessly surfed through the channels with an attention span of an HR recruiter combing through a mountain pile of resumes. Stupid sitcoms, fake ass “reality” tv shows, QVC advertising their products like it's Black Friday all day, every day. Bakugou frowned—why does he pay so much for these useless channels?

His eyes teared away from the screen as the phone waved frantically on his left.

You huffed. “According to Maximus Heroes, you—and I quote—‘bleeping hate sweets!’”

Bakugou clicked his tongue. “Damn idiots censored my words.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Then what is?”

“That you hate sweets!”

You viciously smacked a pillow at him, ignoring his yells. Bakugou snatched the weapon with a growl. For a soft pillow, it felt like a firm foam roller. You stood up and paced around, arms flailing in the air.

“How can my boyfriend say such a thing?!” You pointed at your signature black top hat. “Do you know who I am? I’m the lovable Candy Master, CEO of the Candy Basket Factory!”

Bakugou shrugged. “So?”

“So, you can’t say you hate sweets!” You gripped your chest, sniffling a bit. “I feel as though I’ve been betrayed.”

“Would you sit your ass down?”

Bakugou tossed the pillow at you and crossed his arm; he was too tired to deal with this nonsense. Somehow the QVC channel looked more appealing now. You begrudgingly plopped on the couch, a small pout growing on your face. Bakugou snuck a glance and sighed, tossing the remote aside.

“Are you seriously so upset about this?” Instant regret flooded through his mind as he remembered that ridiculous day. “It was a freakin’ answer to a stupid question in a stupid celebrity article.”

“…maybe…”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. You took off your signature hat and examined it; the hat was firm yet soft and had three peppermint candies artistically attached like a beautiful brooch. You moped silently for an eternity until an exciting idea rushed into your mind. Bakugou jumped as you squealed, his mouth ready for snarl, but you beat him to the punch.

“I got it!” Two hands eagerly cupped his sharp cheeks, your whimsical eyes meeting his feral ones. They did nothing to damper your beaming smile. “You don’t hate sweets; you just haven’t found your favorite candy!”

Bakugou grabbed your wrist yet didn’t pull them away. Another giggle rang throughout the living room as you shot up from the sofa. A specific look crossed your face—one that both irked and frightened Bakugou to no end; he was through dealing with your shenanigans.

“Whatever you’re thinkin’ about, the answer is no!”

“Too late! The mind is churning,” you piped, taking a cheerful step toward the doorway. Spinning on your heel, you gave a hat tip to Bakugou and declared, “I won’t rest until that sweet tooth of yours is satisfied!”

Yup, it was too late. Bakugou had no choice but to go along with this dumb idea. Closing his eyes, he slammed a pillow over his face and screamed.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Ground Zero’s hero agency was buzzing with life. Phones rang off the hook, yet all were answered to avoid the voicemail machine. Interns carried endless stacks of papers, their dying arms begging for relief and fingers stinging from brutal paper cuts. The afternoon shift sidekicks clocked in their arrival while the morning ones yawned out the door.

Everything ran like a well-oiled machine, just how Bakugou liked it. He took great pride in this, hiring only the best and brightest. However, none of them held a candle against him—the number two pro hero. Unfortunately, being a prominent hero brought lots of reports he needed to sign.

And he was not excited about this.

“Um, sir?”

“Damnit, Small Head,” Bakugou growled, halting his pen’s movement. Fiery eyes glared at the man peeking around the ajar door. “If you bring me another paper to sign, I will stab this pen in your damn eye!”

“I-I assure you that I bring no reports, sir!” Kioshi, Bakugou’s personal assistant, waddled inside the office, fixing the tie that was strangling his neck. He slid a peculiar package toward his boss and bowed his head. “You have a special delivery from the Candy Master.”

Bakugou scrunched his eyebrows. On his desk was a white box with an orange ribbon wrapped neatly in the upper left corner. A tiny card sat underneath it, and with closer inspection, had his first name written across in gold letters. Bakugou shooed Kioshi away, waiting to hear the door close to ensure absolute privacy.

At first, Bakugou had a mini stare-down with the gift. When it didn’t burst into flames, he sucked his breath and snatched the card. Bakugou turned it around to read the following message:

Everyone knows you got a sour attitude, but only I get to see that sweet side of yours. Figured these treats might do the trick. I made them just for you!

Enjoy,

C.M

P.S. These are an ~exclusive~ batch from my top-secret collection! So hush-hush!

Bakugou snorted at your writing, tossing the card aside and opening the box. His eyes narrowed at the vibrant gumdrops nestled above the black tissue paper. White sugar lightly coated the green and orange candies, each twinkling under the natural light that shined through his large window. A smirk curled on his lips; the whole package reflected his hero costume.

“Let’s see how good these are.”

Bakugou ate the green gumdrop. It was chewy and sour, the lime flavor making him twitch a bit. The sweetness kicked in ten seconds later. Bakugou tried the orange gumdrop next, and the acid was strong too but enjoyable. He soon devoured the entire box in one sitting.

Once that was done, he marched out of the office to start his daily patrol. It didn’t take long for a stupid thug to cross his path. Bakugou slammed him against the concrete wall, hauling him up with just one hand. The man trembled in fear but stopped squirming and cocked his head to the side, dumbfounded.

Bakugou growled. “What the hell are you looking at?”

“Your tongue...it got weird colors, man.”

“Eh? The fuck are you talking ‘bout?”

Bakugou peeked at his reflection on the store’s window. He recoiled when he saw the horrible swirls of green and orange covering his tongue. A vicious scowl crossed Bakugou’s face, his iron grip tightening around the thug’s collar. The guy’s high-pitched yelps fell on deaf ears.

“Fuckin’ gumdrops!”

They were crossed off the list.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

“I don’t want it.”

“But, sir, the gift—”

“I know who it’s from, and I’m telling you no.”

“Sir,” Kioshi gripped the massive, cherry red treat in his hand. A black ribbon with long strings almost reached the floor. The assistant sighed. “It’s just a lollipop.”

“Do I look like a fuckin’ baby to ya?” Bakugou crossed his arms, refusing to budge on his childish decision. The irony made Kioshi roll his eyes mentally. “Give it away or something. Now get out.”

“Yes, sir…”

Lollipops were crossed off the list.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Another day, another gift Bakugou received from you.

They came sporadically and kept the hero on his toes. He never understood why you sent the gifts directly to his office; you both lived in the same apartment for crying out loud! Worst of all, he could never get a single hint on what candy he would receive next. Every time he asked—or more accurately, demanded—you shot him a coy smile and purred, “Ah, ah, ah! It’s a surprise!”

Bakugou wanted to rip his eyeballs out.

However, he reluctantly played along with your stupid game. Whenever Kioshi entered his office, Bakugou masked his slight interest with the usual scowl. If the assistant didn’t bring candy, then Bakugou blamed him for interrupting his private time. The anger was worse if Kioshi brought more reports for him to sign.

Kioshi was thankful for the days when a new candy gift arrived.

Unfortunately, the last three gifts were complete failures. The first was the strawberry licorice, which dangled in Bakugou’s hand. He took a few bites and complained that he was eating a rubber wheel. Next was a bag of colorful gummy worms. Bakugou shoved a couple in his mouth and swore he felt one of them move on its own. Finally, there was the lemon green jawbreaker; it was the size of a baseball. One look and Bakugou shouted over the phone: “You tryna give me dentures?!”

All three candies were crossed off the list. Still, you didn’t give up and sent another gift to Bakugou. He read the simple message on the card:

Chew and blow to your heart’s content, babe!

Love,

C.M

P.S. I promise this won’t change the color on your tongue, haha!

Bakugou opened the sleek, rectangular box and found a bubble gum packet inside; there were three thin pieces. He slipped one in his mouth, surprisingly pleased with the bold raspberry flavor hitting his taste buds. Bakugou skimmed the card again and did as instructed—he chewed.

Typically, an ordinary bubble gum would lose its flavor after five minutes. But the flavor in your gum only got juicier; it encouraged Bakugou to continue chewing. He then blew a tiny bubble before popping it in his mouth. Not bad, he thought as another bubble expanded in front of him. His chews became more aggressive, and the bubbles more prominent than the previous ones. Stupidly, he puffed out a massive bubble, and it grew…

…and grew…and grew until there was a loud pop.

Bakugou’s roars shook the entire building, spilling cold tea all over Kioshi’s shirt.

Bubble gum was crossed off the list.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Everything was going well down at the Candy Basket Factory. People lined up outside for the magical tours that ran every hour. Kids bounced off the walls as if they were on a sugar rush while their parents felt a migraine pounding on their heads. Inside the factory, the ceilings were high, and the walls were vibrant like the sun. Laughter rang from every corner as employees chit-chatted about their daily lives; they were relaxed yet efficiently worked to the same drumbeat.

A soft smile crept on your face. You were glad everyone was happy; it was the driving force behind your factory’s joyful spirit. Eventually, that spirit would leave these doors and touch billions of people’s hearts with your precious candies.

Just as you closed your eyes, someone barged into your office and barked your name. You chuckled, spinning the leather chair around to meet a furious Bakugou. His nostrils flared like a bull, and his menacing eyes looked ready to kill. However, the gum’s blobs stuck on his porcupine blonde hair squashed the pro hero’s intimidating aura.

“You—”

“—I’m so sorry, boss!” Nozomi panted into the room, hands on her knees as she caught her breath. “I tried stopping him, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“It’s quite alright, Zomi!” You chirped without breaking Bakugou’s intense eye contact. “I can handle him. Please let everyone know I’ll be busy with an important meeting.”

Nozomi bowed and closed the door behind her. Bakugou wasted no time complaining, his hands slamming on your desk.

“Quit sending me your cavity-infested garbage! I’ve had it with this fuckin’ game.”

“Oh, come on, babe!” You rolled forward and rested your chin on your gloved hand palm. “Can’t I just send my dashing boyfriend some sweet gifts? Get it!” You jokingly slapped his forearm. “Because candies are sweet? Man, I crack myself up at times…”

“You’re insufferable.”

You winked at him. “But that’s what you love about me!”

Bakugou gritted his teeth and looked away. A light blush tainted his cheeks; he hated how right you were. You walked around the desk and stood beside him, wiping off the fairy sugar dust on his shirt. He probably barged through the sample stand near the entrance, scaring off the poor intern.

“Alright, alright.” You gave a gentle pat. “Sorry for going a little overboard with the gifts. I was just excited about finding your favorite candy! I don’t want you hating them.”

Bakugou’s anger subsided. “Why is this so damn important to you?”

“Because I love spreading endless joy through sweets.”

The answer was simple and innocent. Bakugou blinked and was taken aback by the gentleness in your eyes.

“Candy makes everyone happy,” you chirped. “Knowing someone’s favorite candy helps me bring their smile back whenever they’re upset or lost. Can’t have the world be all mopey now, can we?”

Your fingers hovered above Bakugou’s head. The gum moved under your command and floated in the air. You flicked it into the trash bin with ease, and Bakugou murmured a quick ‘thanks’ under his breath. After ruffling his hair, you suddenly remembered something sitting on your shelf. Bakugou stared at the small pyramid of chocolate truffles coming toward him.

“I made these babies a few minutes ago,” you said, eying the plate with a proud grin. “Normally, I do a taste test and then send the gift if it satisfies my expectations. But, I got a feeling you’ll love them.”

Bakugou’s face was unreadable. You gave him a gentle nudge and encouraged him to take one. He sighed before picking a chocolate truffle; it was warm and soft, the cocoa powder dusting his fingertips. After suspiciously staring at the truffle, he ate the entire thing in one go. His eyes widened as all the flavors exploded at once. The crushed red pepper flakes, the hints of rich cinnamon and orange zest, and the bittersweet dark chocolate made from the finest quality found on Earth all danced perfectly together with every bite.

“So…” You placed the plate on the desk, watching Bakugou swallow the truffle down. “What do you think? Give me your honest opinion! Don’t sugarcoat it, haha! I’m on fire today!”

Bakugou turned away. “I’m leaving.”

“No, wait!” You hugged his bicep with a pout. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop. Just tell me if you liked the chocolate truffles.”

“They’re good.”

Your smile grew. “Good enough to be your favorite?”

“Sure,” he smirked, shoving another truffle into his mouth. You cheered on the spot after weeks of constant failures. Of course, some of the complaints were nonsense which didn’t surprise you. Bakugou was a picky bastard; the lollipop fiasco served as a great example. You were glad he thoroughly enjoyed the chocolate truffles.

Before you walked away, Bakugou pulled you close to him and crushed his lips on yours. He caught you off guard, but the surprise was certainly welcomed. You soon melted into the kiss after tasting the rich dark chocolate and spices on his lips. Bakugou’s arms snaked around your waist as your hands gripped his broad shoulders.

“You know,” Bakugou’s hot breath tickled your right ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I think I got a new favorite candy.”

“Is that so?” You hummed, a coy smile plastered on your face.

“Let’s hope it satisfies your sweet tooth then, Ground Zero.”

“Oh, it will.”

After all, you were the one and only Candy Master.

As always, thanks for reading!

10.18.20 UPDATE: Story’s sequel, Gold Coins and a Gold Heart now uploaded.

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha imagines

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mypassionfortrash · 5 years

Text

Rumours: Parts 1 - 4

It’s the mid 70′s, and your band are on tour with Queen. Rumours circulate in the music press about your relationship with their drummer, Roger. But what they don’t know is that you hate each other with a passion. Can you patch things up?

Pairing: Roger Taylor x f!Reader Warnings: A lot of smut - so this is strictly 18+. Notes: This was originally posted on my Queen blog (BoRhapRogerina) before I deleted it. If you’re new here, welcome. If you’ve read this before, I’ve reworked this quite substantially. I’m planning on finishing all of my fics for NaNoWriMo this year, so stay tuned for updates on all my WIPs!

[1/4]

“Scary?” You screeched, flinging down a copy of Creem. You whipped around to face your bandmate, Steve. “Do you think I’m scary?”

He contorted his face, continuing to work a layer of shaving foam over his jaws. “You’re… intense.”

Your mouth dropped open, ready to hurl a brutal comeback.

He was quick to halt you. “You’re not still obsessing over Roger, are you?”

Your cheeks burned at the idea, “I’m not.”

You were.

In fact, it was all you could think about ever since your manager had secured your band the gig of a lifetime. Hitting the road with none other than Queen. Supposedly, John Deacon was a fan of yours. Although Roger unquestionably wasn’t.

The press seemed to believe that you and he would make a perfect pair. You being the fierce, take-no-prisoners frontwoman of a rock and roll band. And Roger, a handsome playboy that no woman could resist. In fact, in every interview Queen did, they would pose that to Roger. What did he think of you?

At times his words were enough to reduce most to tears. You stared up at the ceiling, recalling that interview he did with Melody Maker where he called you ‘utterly terrifying,’ and claimed you had ‘less sex appeal than Elton’s backside.’ That was especially harsh. But your bandmates dismissed it as flippant trash talk; something to create a bit of controversy.

And so, on the first night of the tour, you sat in the dressing room, having never actually met Roger Taylor, wondering what exactly he thought of you. Just like the music press as a whole.

Not that you cared, of course.

Why should you?

You weren’t there to impress him.

During soundcheck, you absentmindedly trundled through your band’s five-song setlist with as much life as a rainy day. Four songs in, a shaggy mop of blonde hair bobbed through the gaggle at the side of the stage, barging its way to the front to watch. He stood with his arms folded, his hip jutting out. A cigarette daintily rested between his fingers.

You glanced at him as you sang. Your stomach was in knots, wondering if he was waiting for an inevitable hiccup. That particular song was about your ex; however, it just as comfortably fitted Roger. He had painted a dim picture of himself, even before you were breathing the same air. But now, seeing him in the flesh, you decided that you hated him. From his dazzling blue eyes to the fur coat that swamped his wiry frame. He was sickening.

Then it came to that one final line.

Something about being high and laughing about him in a hospital bed...

You screwed your eyes shut as you snarled, but the image of him was crystal clear in your mind’s eye.

He raised his eyebrows, puffing out his cheeks at your delivery.

Your insides churned, setting down your guitar and moving to join the group at the side of the stage.

Roger’s eyes might have popped out of their sockets with the savagery with which he rolled them, as you approached shook hangs, hugged and introduced yourself to everyone but him. And he was blatantly counting on you striking up a conversation with him. He drew in a breath to drip poison into the air between you. But his plans were thwarted.

“You were absolutely marvellous!” Freddie blurted, barging past Roger who sulked like an adolescent girl. Freddie flung his arms around you, threatening to squeeze all the air from your lungs. You gave his shoulder a series of tiny taps like a boxer calling it quits. He thrust you outwards, those dark brown eyes studying every detail of you. Then, he made his announcement: “Deacy was right.”

The corners of your mouth pricked up as you exhaled the last of the breath you had been desperately trying to cling on to. “Did you like it?” you asked, shaking your head.

Freddie moved closer. “I loved it!” He was beaming as his eyes darted between you and Roger. “You two haven’t met yet!”

You and Roger exchanged curt nods before you broke the uneasy silence. “Thanks for the opportunity,” you muttered, folding your arms.

Roger huffed, looking away from you. “It wasn’t up to me.”

“You’re perfect,” Freddie blurted, blasting through your stalemate. He turned to Roger who was still glowering. “Isn’t she - aren’t they - perfect, Roger?”

Roger raised his eyebrows, lolling his head from side to side.

“You tell her she’s perfect. Right now! Tell her, Rog!” Freddie pushed.

Roger’s eyes narrowed. His upper lip curled up into a sneer. “You’re perfect.” Without waiting for a response, he scampered backstage, a trail of smoke chasing close behind.

Freddie turned his attention to you, looking taken aback. “Alright then.”

“What’s his problem?”

“He’s not used to being in such close proximity to a woman he’s not allowed to shag, my dear. He’ll come round.”

“I don’t know, I reckon I could have some fun with him.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

It turned out Roger wasn’t fun. Especially not when he had a drink in him.

The gig itself was excellent. Roger confined himself to the background as the other members of Queen congratulated you after your set. He sought to make himself look busy, preening at his hair or fixing his spangly outfit, but every now and again, you would catch him staring at you. You couldn’t for the life of you figure out what was going on inside that pretty head of his. All you knew was that his games frustrated you to no end.

It came to a head at the afterparty.

Swaggering into a packed bar, you made your way through silvery swathes of smoke towards the private lounge at the back. Your bandmates had made quick work of getting ready, but you were anxious to impress. It was the day before Valentine’s day, after all. In the back of your mind, you craved as much action as the rest of them.

A tight black dress and skyscraper heels, a fur coat and skimpy knickers. It had all the right ingredients, and you felt like the fiercest creature in there. Heads turned in droves as you brushed past the sea of strangers, waltzing past a length of velvet rope.

The lounge was quiet. Your bandmates. Queen. The crew. Management. Label bigwigs. Journalists. All the right people were there - if you wanted to talk business. But not if you actually wanted to do business.

You expected Roger to be the centre of attention. But that accolade had long gone to Freddie.

Instead, Roger sat on an empty couch, his gaze centred on the doorway. Still puffing away on a smoke. It was only when your heart began to thud furiously against your ribcage that you realised something.

Those heavenly blue eyes of his?

They were on you.

But it was like someone had sparked a flame beneath him. You had never seen someone get to their feet with so much urgency. He shot past you, going towards the main bar, shoulder-checking you on his way out. It left you livid, seeing red.

You did the absurd.

You went after him.

You threaded your way through the crowd, hunting in the darkness. Roger wasn’t difficult to find. That shaggy blonde mop. That vivid sateen blazer. You could pick him out anywhere.

You spotted tufts of blonde above the current, over by the bar.

You couldn’t move fast enough, pursuing answers.

The bartender had just finished shifting a series of shots in front of him when you dragged yourself on to the stool beside him.

He winced, sensing your presence. Then he downed a shot, swallowing hard. His voice was hoarse through the jagged remnants of the tequila; you could hardly hear him. He didn't even look at you. “What are you doing?”

“I need to know what your problem is.”

Roger shifted around to glare at you. If looks could kill, you’d have been done for. “My problem?” he asked, pointing to his chest.

Another shot.

“My problem,” he slurred, “is that I’m sick of fucking hearing about you.”

“What?” you prodded, shaking your head.

“Everyone fucking thinks that because you’re a girl that we’re somehow…”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe if you spent less time surrounded by groupies, then maybe Melody Maker and Creem wouldn’t constantly ask you about the only girl who’s ever supported Queen and whether you intended to shag her.”

Roger sprang to his feet, jabbing his finger against your shoulder. He spoke with the ferocity of a small, yappy dog whose cage had been well and truly rattled. “Thanks to you, no one’s going to want to shag me. I doubt I’ll be getting any at all this tour!”

You were indifferent, slipping off your stool to meet his stare. You began calmly. “What do you want me to do? Roger, this is an amazing opportunity.” You couldn’t contain the frustration in your tone. “I’m not going to give that up because you need to shag everything in sight. I want people to take me seriously, more seriously than they seem to take you.”

“But you’re not that good anyway,” he sneered, screwing up his nose. “I mean, you’ve got so much to figure out. It’s laughable!”

You pressed yourself against him, your chest heaving. “I’ve heard you’re fucking lousy anyway. Tiny. Inclined to be a bit… premature.”

He smirked, knowing he had succeeded in getting a rise from you. “What makes you think I’d be interested in you?”

“You should be so lucky. Now, you’re going to do me a big, big favour and stay out of my way. And don’t you dare speak about me to the press again, do you understand?” You pointed towards the lounge at the back, widening your eyes, moving closer to him. He leaned back, trying to escape your tirade. “When we get back in there, don’t you dare look the road I’m on. It’s crawling with journalists. I mean it, Roger.”

Roger scowled for a moment. “Stay out of my way. And don’t ruin this for me.”

You took one of Roger’s shots, looking him right in the eye as you threw it back. “I’ll ruin you if you’re not careful, Princess.”

You waited long enough to see Roger’s mouth pop open at that threat. And then you made a beeline back to the lounge.

You were greeted by Freddie, who came over to you like a shot, thrusting a flute of champagne into your hand.

“Where did you get to? I saw you come in, but you just disappeared! Where did you go?” He quizzed with wide eyes.

“I had a little bit of fun with Roger,” you sighed, your words opening an inexplicable well in your stomach. “I don’t think he likes me much.”

Freddie rested his head on your shoulder to reassure you. “I wouldn’t bother fretting - he doesn’t like anyone at first. Especially not when they answer back. He’s got eyes for you, though.”

“What?” You chuckled.

Freddie didn’t explain. He simply pointed towards the same spot Roger was in when you arrived. He was still fixating on you. You couldn’t be positive whether you had incensed him or put him in his place, but you could see his shoulders rising steadily and his nostrils flaring with every breath.

Your eyes dotted from face to face through every corner of the room. One of the journalists seemed to have noticed the glances exchanged by you and Roger. And it did nothing to alleviate the foul mood Roger had put you in.

“Freddie?”

Freddie reached for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Yes, my dear?”

You turned to face him, feeling a wave of nerves grip you like a vice. “I have to leave.”

The next morning, the afterparty was still fresh in your memory.

After you left the party, you went back to your hotel and bought a bottle of wine, drinking the whole thing by yourself. Not ideal when your bus call was at four in the morning. But it turned out you were much soberer than your bandmates. They were out like lights. Which allowed you more time to wallow.

By eleven o’clock, your bus rocked up outside the venue in Manchester. Trudging out of the bus on unsteady legs, you feared your arms might buckle and drop the two suitcases tucked under each. You had no notion of facing the day just yet. You just ached to get to your dressing room and rest until soundcheck. The pit in your stomach deepened when you saw that Queen’s bus had already arrived. Roger would undoubtedly be lurking somewhere. You prayed that you wouldn’t bump into him on your way inside.

Being the only woman on tour granted you certain luxuries. Out of respect for your privacy, and because no one wanted to be the one accused of leering over you, you always had your own dressing room at every venue. Of course, the halls themselves were small, with even smaller backstage areas, so you regularly found yourself bundled into any place they could spare, with a fold-up chair and a mirror, if you were lucky. Tonight’s venue was kind enough to have you in a cleaning cupboard on the other side of the building from the rest of your band. But that didn’t matter. You needed the time alone. You savoured any of it you could possibly get on a tour like this.

So off you went, pounding the halls. They were painted a pale green, but it had started to chip away, and the floor was cracked right down to the concrete. The place had seen better days, you thought, looking down at your feet. Only to realise the tracks of rose petals stretching off into the never-ending distance.

You paused, squinting back the way you came. Sure enough, they were strewn that way too.

Shrugging it off as a Valentine’s Day gag, you continued to follow the path to your dressing room. Your heels snapped through the desolate corridors - it was far too early for Queen to have loaded in just yet - until you reached your destination at a dead end.

The venue had thoughtfully scribbled your name on a scrap of card and attached it to the door. But what lay on the floor was of far more interest to you.

Another note with ‘RMT’ scrawled on it.

Roger. Meddows. Taylor.

Kicking the note aside, you cracked the door open, only for a single, red rose to roll out, stopping short of your foot. You thought nothing of it. Apparently, Roger was in a remorseful mood. You wondered how long that was going to last, not allowing yourself to think of anything more before he got back to being his bitchy little self again and….

Roses. Roses everywhere.

Taking in the spectacle in front of you, you could feel the anger simmering away inside you. They were hoarded waist deep. To get inside, you would have to wade through them, clamouring over goodness knows what. But it was your dressing room. God forbid you would have to share with your bandmates. Being on the tour bus with three sweaty men after a show was bad enough, but being locked in a room with them while they prim and preen was another matter entirely.

So you did it.

You tossed your suitcases into the void ahead and followed suit.

Instant. Regret.

With every wary wade, a thousand tiny pinpricks burned against your legs. It was only then that it dawned on you.

Roger Meddows Taylor wouldn’t bother to have the thorns pruned.

[2/4]

Hide it. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

That’s what you told yourself the whole day. When you deposited the bulk of the roses back out into the hallway. When you kept discovering petals in every nook and cranny of your clothes. Even when your bandmates asked about the mysterious amount of flowers in and around your dressing room, you remained nonchalant, trying to stifle back a giggle. “A secret admirer, I guess.” You kept it up all day, flitting between annoyance and feeling pleased with the revenge you had plotted for Roger.

During your soundcheck, Roger took up his place at the side of the stage again, simpering away as you shook rose petals out of your pockets. No sooner had you caught him staring, but he turned, exhaling a trail of smoke that lingered long after he had left. You couldn't broach the subject with him yet. Instead, you kept your head down, waiting him out for the perfect moment to strike.

You even waited in the wings while Queen themselves ran through their set, pacing back and forth to catch Roger’s attention. You pitied how much he misread the situation as he smirked over his drum kit at you. You were out to humiliate him.

Locked in a game of cat and mouse, you were gone before he could gloat about it. You knew that would rile him up the most, leaving him exactly where you wanted him.

Later on, before the show, both bands on the tour joined forces to have dinner backstage. Everyone around the table chattered mindlessly about how much they missed their other halves sinking bottle after bottle of wine. But not Roger. He looked utterly livid, sitting at the head of the table, opposite you. Not because he had no one to miss back home. But because you had said nothing about his grand and elaborate prank. It was apparent on his sharp little features just how much rage he was harbouring about the fact that it had backfired. The way his body seemed to vibrate as he sulked, balling up his fists around his cutlery as he ate his dinner.

You beamed across the table at him, raising your glass and giving him a wink. This cracked the wall of silence he had built.

“What about you?” Roger sneered, piping up above the rabble. “Did you get anything nice?”

You quirked an eyebrow, silently challenging his sudden boldness. “Oh, you know, just some flowers.” You shrugged off as if it was nothing. You were just getting started, draining another glass of wine. “They were absolutely gorgeous.”

Roger scrunched up his nose, snorting. “Who would buy you flowers?”

Freddie’s mouth dropped open as he whipped around in his seat to smack Roger on his arm, earning a pained ‘ouch’ from the drummer. “She’s a delight! You take that back right now!”

“Look at her!” Roger squeaked, throwing a hand in your direction.

Everyone around the table simultaneously shot him a disdainful look. But you couldn’t help choking back a laugh. Roger hadn’t realised that you could unravel his grandstanding in seconds flat.

“Do you really want to go there, Roger?” you asked widening your eyes.

“And the attitude she’s got on her…” Roger huffed.

With a deep intake of breath, your hand delved into the pocket of your jeans, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. “It’s funny, Roger, this note was with the flowers in my dressing room. I think,” you began, squinting down at the handwriting, “RMT does like me enough to buy me roses on Valentine’s Day.” You smoothed the note out on the table and shifted it to the centre, for everyone to get a better look at the incriminating evidence.

Brian glanced over at the note, chuckling to himself. “It’s his handwriting.”

“There was rather a lot of flowers, actually,” you continued, grinning at Brian. “Enough to fill my dressing room, actually. Whoever this RMT guy is, he must have gone to so much effort to get them all in there before I arrived this morning.”

Freddie’s face wildly lit up. “How many flowers were there?”

“They were piled waist deep. I had to wade through them,” you beamed, bypassing Freddie’s gaze and looking towards Roger instead.

“That’s absurd,” Brian chimed in. “Who would do that for someone they don’t even like? What do you think… Roger?”

“It screams pettiness,” Stewart, your band’s own drummer, agreed.

Roger sulked, rolling his eyes. “It was a prank! To inconvenience her!”

“I think it was rather lovely,” Freddie chimed in.

Roger became increasingly flustered at the narrative his friends were giving his actions.

“What’s wrong, Roger?” you cooed.

Roger’s cheeks were scarlet as he screeched: “I’m just not attracted to you!”

Sitting back in your seat, you gave him a satisfied smirk. There was no point pressing the issue any longer than you needed to. Everyone else around the table did that for you, erupting into hysterics and relishing the opportunity to make him the butt of all their jokes for the evening.

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

You were exhausted. Even after five songs, your hair was drenched in sweat, your makeup smeared and your muscles burned. A hot shower was just the thing to round off your day.

But the venue had communal showers.

Usually, if you were on tour with your own band, this would never have bothered you. Your bandmates had seen you naked on multiple occasions and in many a drunken state. But the fear of a complete stranger seeing you in the shower had you making a beeline for them midway through Queen’s set, desperately hoping no one would be in there.

However, robe and accoutrements in hand, you were greeted by various members of Queen’s crew - the ones who weren’t working away on the backline, taking the opportunity to clean up before they had to load out for the night. They didn’t see you. Something that you thanked your lucky stars for because the look on your face as the realisation set in must have been something to behold. You closed the door swiftly, going undetected.

There was nothing to do but wait for them all to file out. Sliding down the wall to take a seat on the floor, you listened intently to Queen’s performance. The sound of the crowd made the building shake as they chanted every word of Killer Queen back to Freddie. You kept time, tapping your foot on the floor, fixating on getting out of your sweaty stage clothes. Every time the door opened, plumes of steam would hit your skin, sending shivers through you. The warmth was so deliciously enticing that it took every bit of restraint you had to stop yourself from diving into the already crowded bathroom. It took half an hour for everyone to leave and Queen were nearing the end of their set.

Throwing off your clothes and stowing them in a locker, you wandered over the grimy tiled floor towards the row of showers at the back of the room, firing one up. Better than any fluffy blanket on a cold winter night, the water cascaded over you, soothing all the aches and pains of the first few nights of the tour. It surprised you how quickly the twinges in your muscles accumulated on tour. Another layer of luxury in situations like these were the lotions and potions you always brought with you. You could feel yourself becoming more human again as you worked a violet-scented lather over your skin, cleansing your body of the sweat and dirt of the day. Breathing deeply, you let out a satisfied groan and wondered just how long you would be alone.

The cheers from the crowd had died down. A dull chatter seemed to make its way down the hall outside. It ripped you away from what you were about to do and hurried your movements along as you rinsed the suds from your skin.

Something in the corner of your vision caught your attention. Horror coursed through you as you realised that someone else was showering next to you. When you noticed who it was, you gave an audible, “what the fuck?”

Roger’s gaze was fixed straight ahead as he lathered his hair into a foamy pile on top of his head.

“Don’t speak to me,” Roger droned. “Fucking humiliated me in front of everyone at dinner.”

You groaned, slamming your hand against the taps to shut off the water. Roger winced with such ferocity that bubbles dripped in his eyes. “Fuck,” he hissed, wiping his hands over his eyes in an attempt to alleviate the sting.

“Not so smart now, are you?” you taunted.

Roger hadn’t looked at you properly until now. His lips parted, drawing in a sharp breath.

“Get over yourself,” you scolded.

Roger’s entire body sank in on itself, he looked even smaller under your heated gaze. His voice was a mere squeak. “Sorry.” He averted his eyes, looking at anything but you.

“Tell me, Roger,” you began, cornering him. “When a guy buys a girl that many flowers on Valentine’s Day, why do you think that is? What do you reckon runs through that person’s head?” You reached out to him, pushing back a stray strand of hair.

Roger begrudgingly keened into your touch, closing his eyes.

“If I was really ruining your chances of getting laid, then why are you so desperately trying to woo me? Roger. Meddows. Taylor.”

“I’m not,” Roger sighed, poking his tongue out slightly to lick his lips. The temptation was too much. He opened his eyes, and made no effort to conceal how much they roamed. They came to rest on your lips. “I’m really not.”

You closed the gap, pressing yourself into him, your chest squeezed against his. He trembled at the contact, swallowing hard. You looked up, raising your eyebrows. “Really? Then why are you in here with me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just needed a show-”

“That cock of yours is awfully fucking hard, all things considered, Princess,” you taunted, drawing your finger along his length. “Are you sure?”

“No one’s going to take you seriously if you do this,” Roger warned. Even that was feeble as his breath caught in his chest the second that your hand wrapped around his shaft.

“We’ll see about that,” you said, relishing the way he was coming undone at the slightest touch. The way your hand ghosted up and down his cock could hardly be considered firm or giving. But that wasn’t the point.

You wanted his back against the wall; all yours, latching on to the promise of something more. His head thrown back, jerking his hips forward, begging you for more. But most of all, you wanted to take that away from him just as quickly.

Roger whined when you moved your hand away from him. Once more, you sandwiched him between yourself and the cold tile wall, planting your hands on either side of his head. Your lips brushed over his neck making him shiver. The power you felt at that moment was utterly intoxicating. “No one’s going to know about this. Because, unlike you, Princess, I don’t leave evidence behind.”

Before Roger had an opportunity to retort, you were already on the other side of the bathroom, slipping your robe over your shoulders. “I’ll see you at the afterparty.”

[3/4]

The skintight material of your new red dress threatened to squeeze the life out of you. Being trapped in a room fit to burst with partygoers didn't help either. Your feet ached, hiked up in leopard print heels, as you snaked your way through the crowd. None of the afterparties had been this busy. And none of them had attracted as many creeps like this one.

Finally, just when you thought you were about to hit the floor, the door to the club opened, spitting you out into the night.

Being able to guzzle air into your lungs again revived you momentarily. Enough that you could take in your surroundings at least.

The alleyway outside was littered with revellers, and a blanket of cigarette smoke draped itself over the scene. You couldn’t see anyone that you knew.

Not that it mattered. After a show, you were never really in the mood for talking anyway.

Especially not after being flirted with by countless strangers.

Sucking on a cigarette, you looked up to the sky with your back pressed to the wall. The vibrations of the music inside the club shuddered against you. It soothed you. Your eyes drooped closed, drinking in the sensation.

Then, something caught your attention. Darting your eyes to the left, just a few paces away, you saw Roger.

He, too, had a cigarette dangling between his lips. And he looked utterly exhausted as he sank against the wall. It must have been an exhausting business, being Roger.

After all, he had spent the last few hours flocked by women, all eagerly vying for his attention. And space in his bed for the night.

But now, he looked spent.

Not that you could pity him.

Every time you caught sight of him, you had the overwhelming urge to launch him through the nearest window. He kept talking to the press about you, from what you overheard in his interviews with student rags up and down the country. Spilling poison in their ears and on to their pages. And then he had the cheek to avoid you like the plague backstage, instead choosing to eye you up from afar.

Tonight was the closest the pair of you had been since the shower incident.

You still had scratches all over your legs from his prank; you would never be able to look at roses again without getting flashbacks to that cramped little cleaning cupboard. Even now, days later, your legs itched.

You weren’t sure whether it was the Dutch courage or the burning desire to be the bigger person, but you shuffled along the wall towards him.

He could hear you coming. But his eyes shot away in any direction they could find. Except yours.

“You don’t want to talk,” you began, backing down instantly, “fine. I’m only out here for a smoke. I’ll be gone in a minute.”

“Good,” he huffed, scuffing his feet against the pavement.

The pair of you stood, backs against the wall, looking in opposite directions. A steely silence lacing through the moment.

It took everything in your to hold back what was in your head. You weren’t sure what you wanted to blurt out, but it probably would have started with, ‘I just think it’s funny how…’

Or something to that effect.

Suddenly, a familiar voice got yours and Roger’s attention. It came from the door of the club and swiftly closed in.

It was Freddie.

“There you are! I’ve been hunting all over for you.”

“I just needed a break from all that in there,” Roger explained.

Freddie was quick to silence his bandmate, casting his hand in the air and nodding at you. “Not you! Her!" And then an inquisitive look spread across his face. "Why? Have you two made up yet?”

“Us?” You asked, darting a finger between you and Roger. “Oh god no.”

“She’s a bitch, remember?”

“And he can't behave like an adult, remember?”

Freddie raised his eyebrow at the display you and Roger put on. “Alright, well there are a few people I’d like you to meet,” he said, seizing your arm and hauling you back inside.

You threw a glance over your shoulder, to Roger, who had a wicked grin on his face. He fluttered his fingers in the air, waving you off.

“You’re going to love them.”

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

Freddie flitted from group to group, introducing you to anyone who would listen. After only fifteen minutes, the balls of your feet burned, so you bid him farewell and wandered over to the bar. Hauling yourself up on a stool, your eyes began to wander over the faces around the bar. It was an oval shape that allowed you to peer over to the other side at the patrons sitting opposite you.

Studying the band of drunks, you tried to decide if you knew any of them. Or if any of them were attractive enough to take back to your hotel room.

Too tall.

Rubbish dress sense.

A little bit too drunk.

And then, there was Roger.

He stared at you.

The same way he had been the last few days.

Those sleepy eyes. Lips slightly parted.

You couldn’t help but gaze back at him.

It only dawned on you when it was too late.

And he noticed.

The corners of his mouth perked up into a self-satisfied smile as he raised his glass. Toasting to you.

Batting your eyes from left to right, you were determined to focus on anything - anyone - but Roger. But somehow, they always found their way back to him.

He drained his glass and slipped off his seat, making his way around the bar to you.

Your whole body tensed. He was looming far too close to you; so much so that his breath ghosted over your skin.

“I don’t blame you,” he said.

Turning to him, you narrowed your eyes. “I’m sorry?”

“No woman can resist me.”

It flipped like a switch. That was the reminder you needed of how much of a prick Roger was. “Oh, I’m perfectly fine resisting you, Roger.”

“I won’t hold it against you if you can’t,” he pressed, raising his hands.

“You’re doing a terrible job of avoiding me tonight, Roger. What's changed?”

“I’m not going to lie, you look incredible in that dress,” Roger hummed, leaning on the bar, slithering into your field of vision. “I’m rather tempted.”

“Let’s make one thing clear, Roger,” you began, leaning into him, “I’m not interested.”

“Really?” Roger asked touching his nose against yours. “Then why do you look like you’re about to kiss me?”

He had you in a fix. The only way out was to give in to him. But your surroundings were painfully obvious to you, and if the rest of your night was going to go how you thought it was, then you wanted to make sure you were in private. Away from prying eyes.

“I could make you melt just like that,” Roger goaded with a click of his fingers.

“You weren’t saying that in the showers the other day. How long did it take you to get yourself off after I left? Seconds, I take it?”

“You bitch.”

Pulling yourself away from him, you could see the cogs in Roger’s brain inventing something more impactful to say to get you to climb down. Or climb into bed with him. You weren’t about to keep him hanging any longer. “Do you really want to see how bitchy I can be?”

Roger stared at your lips, licking his own. “Ok?"

Checking your surroundings one last time, you grabbed Roger’s arm, pulling him through the throng towards the door with more momentum than a gunshot.

You kept your heads down, bursting out on to the street.

The hotel was only a block away, so the pair of you power walked, arm in arm with your heads down so that no one would notice either of you. It felt like the longest journey of your life.

Opening the door to your hotel room and you both stepped inside. You folded your arms, sizing him up.

He stood in the middle of the room, gormless and wracked with nerves, waiting for you to take the lead. It was as though being alone with you made Roger's bravado melt away into nothing.

“Do you really think I look good in this?” you cooed.

“You look so beautiful,” Roger admitted.

He couldn’t even look at you. Rather, his eyes were glued to his pink, sparkly shoes as they drew circles in the carpet with the tip of his toe.

“Are you sure this isn’t hurting your chances, though?”

Roger’s head shot up. “What?”

“You being here?” you prodded, folding your arms and circling him.

“No one needs to know,” Roger shrugged, trying to play it cool.

The tension in your stomach reached boiling point, hearing that. If Roger really wanted you to be his dirty little secret, you were going to play just as dirty. “Take off all your clothes.”

“What?” Roger asked, taken aback.

“If you ‘what’ me one more time, I’m not going to give you what you want.”

Roger didn’t need to be told twice. He kept his stare low, never once planting his eyes on you. He shrugged his decadent embellished blazer down his shoulders, and his fingers nimbly undid the buttons on his pinstripe shirt. He flicked his shoes off. Then he hesitated on the fly of his jeans.

“All of it,” you dictated.

He swallowed hard, pulling off his jeans.

“Even your underwear.”

Roger looked at you, wordlessly protesting your directions. His arms wrapped around his torso, shielding him from the cold air in the room.

“You were the one who wanted me to show you how much of a bitch I can be. We haven’t even got started, Princess.” You moved closer to him, caressing his chest. “And besides, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Roger signed, realising what he needed to do to get what he wanted and pulled down his briefs.

You groaned to yourself in satisfaction, seeing what your minimal amount of teasing was doing to him. “I think you were lying about me having less sex appeal than Elton's backside. Was that all a ruse, Princess?” you remarked, stroking his throbbing length.

Roger didn’t care, trying to focus on not falling apart under your touch.

You were determined to make that troublesome for him.

“I’m going to show you exactly what I think of you,” you warned, spreading drops of precum over his cock.

Too deep in his own head, Roger couldn’t hear a word of what you were telling him as he rolled his head back, dragging up images of what he so desperately wanted to do to you. The nerves and fear kept him from going any further. He just stood there, relishing the feeling of your hand as it worked up and down every inch of his shaft. He was enjoying this far too much for your liking.

“I think you like it when I do this to you, Princess,” you suggested. “Do you like it?” It still fell on deaf ears. Annoyed with Roger’s lack of focus, you ran your fingers through his hair. Just long enough for him to nestle against your hand, like a lazy cat, begging to be petted. And then you grasped a handful of those long, blonde locks, tugging sharply.

A shrill, pained whine escaped Roger as his eyes flew open in fright. “What was that for?!”

“Answer me when I speak to you,” you commanded.

Roger rubbed the source of the pain, blinking. “What was the question again?”

Giving up, you withdrew your other hand from his cock. A look of frustration bled across Rogers features as he moved to cover himself with his arms. You pointed towards the bed, backing away from him. “Bend over. I’m going to teach you how to listen.”

Roger’s mouth popped open as he slinked across the room to the foot of the bed, bending over at the waist. “Like this?” he asked.

“Exactly like that,” you said. “Now, stay there.”

A thick, black leather belt lay at the top of your open suitcase. You wore it daily, and over time it had softened, but it was perfect. You picked it up, wrapping it around your hand as you moved behind Roger.

He clung to the sheets with his eyes trained forward. In his anticipation, his hips swayed from side to side. The sight of it left you unable to resist giving his skin a series of open-handed smacks that made him hide his face in the covers.

“Is that too much for you, Princess?” you teased.

Roger was back on the defensive; his form stiffened as he raised his head. “No!”

“Good,” you sang, running your fingertips over the strap. “Because we’re just getting started.”

“What are you going to do to-”

An abrupt, sharp snap cut him off, substituting his question with a yelp. He hopped from foot to foot, trying to process the pain that had been bestowed upon him, but it was no good. No sooner had he caught up, but you had already struck his behind again and dug your fingers into his hair, leaning in to speak directly into his ear.

“Now, we’re going to have a little bit of fun, Princess. I’m going to show you what happens when boys like you mess with me. You’re going to beg for my forgiveness. And then, when I’m completely convinced you’re sorry, I might do something to take care of that constant hard-on of yours. Do you understand?”

Roger struggled against your hold on his hair to turn his head. He looked at you in wonder, as if this was the first time a woman had dared confront him. It was if all his Christmases had come at once. “I understand.”

You almost felt sorry for him, thinking about what you had in store for him. But deep down you knew he deserved it. And you knew he wanted it. Getting to your feet again, you glanced down at his pale skin, streaked pink from the two blows you had previously dealt him. “If it gets too much for you, what’s your safe word?”

Roger had to think about that, darting his eyes left and right. “Um… Pineapple?”

You smirked, resting the strap against Rogers back and watching him squirm. “Pineapple it is.”

“Wait,” Roger said, just as you were lifting the strip of leather. “Do you want me to count? I-I’m good at that!”

“Nope.” You brought the belt down on to his cheeks sending another smack echoing through the room. “I want you to apologise.”

Roger, was infuriatingly quiet. Even though you weren’t holding back, he never made a peep. You had mentally counted twenty strokes - a number even you couldn’t handle. You had to talk yourself out of respecting him for that. “Are you alright, Princess?” you asked, reaching forward to stroke his mane.

“I’m getting there,” he sighed, wiggling his bottom enticingly. He sounded delirious. “Am I being good now?”

The way he said that hit you like a bolt out of the blue. It was strangely endearing. “No, Princess, you’ve been bad, remember?” you reminded, snapping the belt against the back of his thighs. “I don’t hear you apologising.”

"Maybe if you hit me harder, I might."

Your grip on his hair tightened, pulling his head back, “What was that, Princess?”

“Maybe you should hit me harder,” he repeated, louder this time.

He had a point, but something didn’t add up. His face was flushed, and his eyes were so glassy that you questioned his inability to acknowledge the punishment you were doling out to him. You reasoned that his pride had everything to do with how quiet he was being.

So you sent the belt cracking down on his ass again. “I know you can feel that you little shit,” you hissed, wrapping his hair around your fist to force his gaze forward. Your smacks were so unrelenting that Roger quickly began to writhe and squirm below you. “Are you fucking sorry? Hm? I could do this all evening, and you won’t be able to sit right for a week after this. Go on, I want you begging.”

Roger’s resolve started to crack around strike number forty. His entire backside had been struck raw, and you genuinely feared for his ability to sit behind a drum kit for the remainder of the tour. He stuck his arms out in front of himself, hissing at the searing pain. “I’m sorry,” he whined, his voice low and trembling.

At first, you didn’t hear him, continuing to spank him. But he piped up again.

“I’m sorry!”

His body was heavy, slumping to his knees when he was sure he had caught your attention.

Giving him a reprieve, you turned him by his shoulders to look up at you. His skin was soaked, and his chest heaved, and you were convinced that real tears were forming in the corners of his eyes.

Passing the belt through your hands, you raised an eyebrow. “Are you really?”

Roger nodded, sighing deeply. His arms were spread out at either side of him as he drifted back. “Yes. I'm so sorry.”

You took a step back, getting a better look at Roger. He looked utterly hopeless but equally as enticing. “Princess,” you said, snapping your fingers. He looked at you from beneath his eyelashes. Beckoning him forward, you gave him your next instruction. “Come here and kneel at my feet.”

It was the lewdest thing you had ever seen. The most handsome man you had ever seen, crawling on all fours across the room, coming to rest at your feet. Like an obedient puppy, eager to please its master, he gazed up at you. The amount of venom you had grown so accustomed to seeing in him whenever he looked at you had dissipated entirely.

“Are you ready to show me how sorry you are?”

With a coy look on his face, Roger responded: “yes, Boss.”

You loved that term. ‘Boss.’ So much that it earned Roger a ruffle of his hair. “Now, you’re not allowed to touch me just yet, Princess,” you warned, backing away to unzip your dress.

Roger’s eyes were fixed on you as he sat on his knees, waiting patiently for you to shed your clothes. He ached to have you, fumbling his hands in his lap while you shimmied the tight, crimson fabric down your curves. His cock was still begging for release. You could see that much, even with his hands partially covering it.

“And you’re most certainly not allowed to touch yourself until I tell you,” you scolded, unclasping your bra.

Roger made it clear that he had no plans to, dropping his hands down by his sides. Instead, he opted to dig his teeth down into his lip. He was practically panting as your underwear slipped down to your ankles.

“Do you like what you see?” you asked.

Roger’s mouth was agape, unable to respond.

When you sashayed his way, he instinctively moved into your path, filled with the hope of being able to finally touch you.

But his hopes were dashed when you bypassed him and settled on the edge of the bed.

Once again, you clicked your fingers, pointing at the floor in front of you. “If only those groupies of your’s could see how pathetic you are right now, Princess,” you began, pushing back rogue strands of his hair. “You’re so obedient for me. You’d do anything for me right now, wouldn’t you?” you asked, trailing your finger over Roger’s jawline.

“Yes.”

“I think you should call me Boss,” you prompted.

“Yes, Boss.”

You could feel how agitated Roger was becoming.

He was so close to you, he swore he could smell your arousal. His prize, mere inches away from his face.

Finally, you pulled him into you by his hair.

“Show me how sorry you are.”

[4/4]

You and Roger stayed silent, waiting for the lift to the lobby. Your bandmates were already down there, enjoying breakfast and you couldn't wait to join them. Anything was better than the agitated awkwardness between you and Roger.

You hoped that last night might have cleared the air between you, but it had the opposite effect. You knew that when you woke up in an empty bed.

You both stared ahead, waiting for the doors to ding open. Roger folded his arms, blowing a strand of his hair up into the air. You danced from foot to foot, with your hands thrust into the pockets of your jacket.

It felt like an age before the doors slid apart. Both of you rushed forward, only for your bodies to collide. “Sorry,” Roger grumbled, moving aside. “After you.”

The journey from the fifteenth floor, down to the first, seemed even longer as you stood on opposite sides, the whimsical elevator music occupying the silence. You prayed someone would get in and join you around floor seven when Roger dared to glance at you. But you were granted no such luck. Instead, Roger’s lips were moving before you knew it, a heavy, annunciated, “don’t you dare breathe a word to anyone,” seething from them.

You gave a flippant nod, smirking. “How’s your arse?”

“I mean it,” Roger added, his eyes manic as the lift reached the bottom of the shaft. “And my arse is fine. The lotion helped. Thank you.”

“Good.”

All of your bandmates had assembled in a faraway corner of the dining room. Even from that far off, they filled the room with excited chatter and hilarity, earning them disapproving looks from the other guests. All despite the hangovers they were undoubtedly nursing. Like every other morning.

And then they clocked you and Roger.

From one end of the table to the other, silence fell when you sat down. You squeezed in beside Brian and Deacy. “Don’t stop on our account,” you quipped, throwing a napkin over your lap.

Roger picked a space opposite you, between Steve and Freddie, grimacing as he lowered himself on to the seat.

“Roger’s clearly had a rough evening,” Deacy chuckled from behind his hand.

You cursed underneath your breath when Roger’s features darkened. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“I’m just saying, whoever did you last night must have been pretty rough with you,” Deacy explained. “How big was he?”

Tugging your lower lip between your teeth, you rolled your eyes. The jig was up. And they knew everything.

“Right boys - and girl,” John - Queen’s manager - announced, waltzing over to the table, “the buses are loaded up. Let’s get to Edinburgh.”

Everyone around you got up and filed out of the room. Except for Roger. His eyes were glued to you. You hung back until he got to his feet and you left the dining room together, staying out of earshot of the others. “I mean it,” he muttered, lighting a smoke. “If you breathe a word of this to them-”

“Roger! For the last time, I’m not going to say anything.”

Roger paused in the middle of the lobby, turning to face you. His cheeks were flushed, and his nostrils flared. He wasn’t in a joking mood. “Why do I get the feeling they know?”

“Because you’re a lousy actor,” you jibed, slapping his side.

He seized your wrist, leaning into you, “They can't know about us.”

“So we’re back to this?” you asked, widening your eyes and challenging his stance. “Remember what happened last night because of that mouth of yours.”

Roger huffed, storming off. He knew you had beat him. This time.

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

From the side of the stage, you watched as Roger wandered towards his kit, throwing a glance over his shoulder at you. He hovered over his stool for a second, eyes down, as if he was mentally attempting to navigate the best way to tackle the situation. Until, finally, he bit the bullet and plonked himself down with an audible grunt.

Entertained, you grinned, trying to cover your mouth with the cuff of your jacket.

Like a well-oiled machine, Queen’s soundcheck didn’t take long. Towards the end of their run-through, you stalked through Roger’s band members and stopped in front of him. His face was etched with discomfort with every little move he made. He tried to relieve the pain by sucking on a cigarette, but every twist and turn of his body had his eyes squeezing closed. In the back of your mind, you knew he deserved this after everything he said about you. But you just couldn’t help yourself.

“Need me to rub more of that lotion on that bum of yours, Rogie?” you cooed.

Roger threw away his smoke and glared at you. Then he spat a venomous, “fuck off,” before continuing into Queen’s next track.

Not wanting to rub salt into Roger’s wounds any longer, you got on your way. Back to your dressing room, to tart yourself up for the night ahead. Your thoughts turned to what you would wear tonight; how you might do your hair and your make up. And how you were sick of those platform boots - an integral part of your nightly getup. Your feet ached just thinking about having to wear those for another show. Your poor arches deserved a rest.

So immersed in your own mind, you hadn’t noticed the rapid footsteps echoing through the hallway. Or the fact that the music from the stage had ceased. Not until someone grabbed your arm and spun you around.

Roger.

He looked around before leaning in close. “What the hell were you thinking? Anyone could have heard you out there.”

You giggled, feeling a rush of nerves flood your stomach. “I couldn’t resist, you just looked so adorable up there.”

Roger pushed you against the wall. He wasn’t playing games anymore. “I know why you do this. You’re so fucking insecure you need to control everything.”

You could feel your cheeks flush. Roger was turning the tables on you, and you were so helpless to stop him. You tried to explain. “Roger I-”

“I think you’d look amazing on your knees, by the way,” Roger added, loosening his grip.

How could he get to you? Just like that?

Roger traced his thumb across your lower lip.“A mouthful of cock, and that mascara running down those cheeks,” he continued, pinching your cheek. “You could be gorgeous if you weren’t such a bitch.”

Batting away Roger’s wrist, a pang of hurt seared through you. You had to get away from him.

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

It played on your mind all night. The feeling that you had finally got somewhere with Roger. You might finally be scratching the surface.

But then he made it personal.

Maybe he was right, though? Maybe you were insecure? Maybe you always had to be in control?

He was right.

The music in the bar blared so loudly that the bass pounded through your chest. The air hung so thick that it made breathing near impossible. The only thing you could focus on was the tequila and Roger. A glorious sense of masochism kept you firmly planted on your seat, preventing you from leaving. What else could you do? Go back to the hotel and think about Roger?

Downing another shot, you slumped over the bar. You had lost count of how many of those little blighters coursed through your system, but, studying the shot glass between your fingers in the dim purple haze, you concluded that it still wasn’t enough.

So you bought the whole bottle, carelessly pouring yourself another line of them.

“Rough night?” a voice asked from the stool next to you.

You were ready to blurt out a scathing response. Until you realised it was Roger, looking tired and bedraggled. He looked good, though, as always. Your mouth just hung open, no sound coming out of it.

“I was really harsh earlier-”

Before Roger could finish his apology, you cemented your lips to his own. Your tongue bypassed them as it skirted over his. He tasted like tequila and cigarettes, and you couldn’t get enough of him, pulling him closer, tugging at his hair. He gave a muffled groan, pushing you off him by your shoulders.

“What was that for?” he sighed.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your chest burdened with nerves.

Roger pondered that for a split second, nodding to himself. “Alright.” Then his attention turned back to you, with an expression so laden with lust it almost made your heart stop. “Let’s go back to my room.”

The second the door to Roger’s suite closed, you had him pressed to the wall. Shedding his coat. Then his shirt. Moving closer to the floor until you were on your knees. The excitement had gone straight to his cock, which strained against his jeans just inches from your face. You wasted no time in tugging down his zipper and wrapping your hand around his girth. Impressive, you thought. He was bigger, thicker than you remembered from last night.

Roger watched in quiet awe as your gazed up at him, licking a long strip over the underside of his cock, dancing the tip of your tongue over the swollen head.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” you admitted. A surge of shame and need coursed through you, leaning forward to take as much of him as you possibly could, working your way up to a pace that earned you hushed, contented sighs from Roger.

His hand gently tangled through your hair, taking you with him as he supported himself against the wall. “You look so fucking beautiful,” he groaned.

It was exactly what you needed to hear. You sank back on your knees, pumping your hand around Roger’s cock. A broad smile broke over your features, gazing up at him, “do you really think I’m beautiful?”

“So beautiful,” he replied, running his fingers through your hair. “But I love that gorgeous mouth of yours the most. Let me see what you can do with it,” he encouraged, guiding you back to his cock.

You duly complied. Taking so much of him made tears sting at the corner of your eyes, gagging desperately. But something willed you on. The heat between your legs grew. You just wanted to please him, and to have him say sweet things to you.

But it was no good.

Something about it didn’t sit right with Roger. “Kitten?” he said, trying to back away from you, the wall getting in his way. "Kitten?"

When it was clear that had fallen on deaf ears, he had to tear you away from him, placing his fingers under your chin to look at him again. “This doesn’t feel right,” he sighed, before wandering away from you.

You turned around, following him with your eyes across the room from your spot on the floor. The tears were flowing from embarrassment more than anything now. “What’s wrong, Roger?”

He sat down at the edge of the bed, patting the space beside him. “You’re not yourself.”

It took every bit of energy you could muster to scramble to your feet and stumble over to him.

But it was worth it, throwing yourself down beside him and nestling into his chest. “You’ve been a prick to me all day,” you sulked, trying to focus on how good he smelled. How soothing the gentle rise and fall of his body felt around you. How warm he was. Bliss.

Roger placed a firm kiss to the top of your head. “You haven’t even given me a chance to apologise for that.”

That earned him a glare from you.

“What happened to that strong badass babe from last night, hm?” he asked, giving your shoulder a shake. “I quite liked it when you were in charge. I’m not used to it, sure, but I liked it. And I'm sorry I snapped at you. I just don't want everyone knowing my business before I've even figured it all out yet. It's confusing for me.”

“You just don’t have to be a total prick about it. I know we agreed that no one can know, but I don’t know whether I’m coming or going with you.”

“I’d rather you were coming,” Roger chuckled.

“I'm serious,” you huffed, flopping on to your back.

Roger turned on to his tummy and took your hand. His eyes closed as he peppered delicate kisses across your knuckles. “I’m sorry.”

You sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “What you said to me earlier. About me being insecure. You really hit the nail on the head. But sometimes, I don’t feel like… you know… That person you think I am.”

“How about,” Roger began hiking himself up on to his elbows. His eyes narrowed, at a loss for the right thing to tell you.

“How about what?” You asked, curling strands of his hair through your fingers.

Roger sighed, smirking. “I think that’s why you and I found each other.” He gave the mattress a quick swat. “How about that?”

You covered your eyes, grinning. “What does that even mean, Roger?”

“Well, I clearly need someone to keep me in check. And I know you’ve got it in you.”

“Have you even been listening to me?”

“Yes!”

“Did you hear the part about me not always being like that?”

Roger crawled on top of you. The light from the crystal chandelier formed a halo around him. “But I can make you feel like that person,” he beamed so innocently, it almost made you melt. “I’ll worship you day and night if I have to.” He paused, pursing his lips. “In secret, of course. We've both got appearances to maintain.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re not exactly a good old fashioned lover boy.”

He leaned down, kissing the tip of your nose. “But I could be, Kitten.”

That made your heart flutter. "I quite like that."

#roger taylor x reader #roger taylor #queen

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prairiesongserial · 5 years

Text

7.6

CONTENT WARNING: This update contains explicit physical and emotional abuse.

Cody’s ears were ringing. His arm hurt where Ethan had grabbed him, a bone-deep pain that radiated from his shoulder down to his elbow. The rest of him hurt, too - his feet, from dragging them against the ground, and his legs, from dropping down to attack Ethan’s knees. His heart was pounding so hard that it hurt his chest, like it had cracked his ribs.

Someone had shot Ethan, and missed. John? Sailor? Cody couldn’t be sure, but he thought it had been John. He felt it deep in his chest, an invisible bond tethering him to the other man. If only John and Cody’s bond had been as tangible as the rope that had tethered Stills, Nash, and Cole. John could reel Cody in to safety like a fish on the end of a line.

The other gunshot - well, Cody had no idea where that one had come from. Maybe Sailor. That one had made Ethan actually let go of him. Cody hadn’t expected that, nearly stumbling and face-planting into the dirt before he caught his bearings. His ears were ringing, ringing, ringing, and he watched Ethan paw at himself, hoping desperately to spot the tell-tale red blossom of a gunshot wound. Hoping to see Ethan fall over, shot in the knee or the shoulder. Maybe the heart.

Cody hadn’t thought before today that Ethan deserved to die, but the idea was beginning to solidify in his mind. He didn’t think he could be the one to do it, but he wished that someone else would. Did that make him a coward?

On one end of the clearing, Marc fell over. The sudden motion caught Cody’s eye, enough for him to turn his back on Ethan, transfixed by the sight of blood spreading over the side of Marc’s doubtlessly expensive jacket. It was like watching a crack in a window slowly spiderweb outwards, the way the blood clung to the fibers. Cody barely realized that Marc had been shot - and what the implications of that might be - until a sound unlike anything he’d ever heard before echoed through the clearing.

It sounded like a hundred people were shouting down from above, from the piles of debris that ringed the clearing. Whooping and hollering, the kind of war cry that came from deep in the chest. The chorus of voices broke through the ringing in Cody’s ears, disorienting and terrifying. He felt off-balance, trying to locate where the sound was coming from, but it was coming from everywhere.

“We got ourselves some sitting ducks, boys!” a voice cried out, once the noise died down. Cody thought it was Sailor’s, but it was too loud and booming to tell for sure. “We’re gonna be eating on the sheriff’s dollar tonight! Now let’s treat these gangsters to an Old Problem welcome!”

“What the hell?” Ethan asked, his voice cracking. There was a cornered-animal look in his eyes, their mismatched colors impossibly bright, his pupils blown wide. He turned on Cody, baring his teeth, spittle flying from his mouth. He looked rabid.

“You,” he growled, and lunged.

Cody stepped back, tripping over his own feet, but he wasn’t quick enough. Ethan’s hand found purchase in the fabric of his poncho, yanking Cody forward with such force that it nearly pulled their bodies flush.

“What the fuck did you do?” Ethan hissed.

“Nothing,” Cody said, because it was the only thing he could think to say, with Ethan so close in his personal space. Then, he reeled back and headbutted Ethan hard in the nose.

Ethan made a surprised, grunting noise of pain, and let go of Cody’s poncho. As he stumbled backwards, clutching his face, Cody could see blood running through his fingers.

“I’LL KILL YOU,” Ethan said, his voice muffled and thick, like he was speaking with a mouthful of water. And then another gunshot rang out.

Cody snapped his attention back towards Marc, only to find him on his feet, using Nash and Young as crutches on either side of him. He didn’t look like he’d been shot again. The sound of a body hitting the dust on the opposite side of the clearing only confirmed it - this time, one of the Dead-Eyes had gone down. The rest of them stood in shocked silence for half a second, then began moving away from where the bullet had hit, creating a gap in their ranks as they tried to shuffle out of range of whoever was shooting them.

Suddenly, in a moment of clarity, Cody understood what Sailor was doing, and he knew that it was his best chance to get out of here alive.

“Marc and his people drove the bounty up on you,” he said to Ethan, loud enough that the rest of the Dead-Eyes could hear it, too. “There’s probably bounty hunters up there, trying to take advantage. I’d bet there’s more on the way, too. You and Marc, both closed in here? You’re sitting ducks.”

“Bullshit,” Ethan said, his voice still nearly inaudible.

“Not bullshit,” Cody retorted. “Young, tell him.”

“It’s true,” Young called towards the middle of the clearing, sounding strained. Cody couldn’t tell if they were acting. “The Dead-Eyes are worth about as much as Marc now, if not more.”

Another gunshot. Another Dead-Eye down. Sailor hooted and hollered again, up above, the noise bouncing off the towering piles of debris, multiplying it. Cody wondered where she had learned to throw her voice like that.

“We can do this all day, boys!” she called down, sounding almost gleeful. “You might as well throw in the towel, let us bring you in alive!”

“We surrender!” Marc said instantly, wincing in pain as he lifted his arms to wave them up towards the debris. Cody wondered if he had also caught on to what was happening, or if he was just a coward. Judging by the incredulous look his bodyguards were giving him, maybe both.

Ethan was silent - clearly fuming, judging by how red he was in the face. Though some of the redness was definitely blood, Cody saw, as Ethan drew his hand away from his nose. Blood was streaming from it, dripping down his lips and off the point of his chin. It was even in his teeth, staining them pink as he snarled at Cody, the picture of a dog who had reached the end of his chain and found he could go no farther.

The Dead-Eyes were silent, and Cody could sense them watching Ethan, waiting to see what he would do. They had to follow his lead, of course, but there was only one move to make here, and everyone knew what it was. If Ethan refused to back down, and endangered the rest of the Dead-Eyes in the process...well, it wouldn’t be good. Especially now that Sailor had already killed two of them.

“What’ll it be, Rouse?” Sailor asked, still sounding downright smug.

Ethan opened his mouth, his eyebrows knitted in anger, but someone else spoke first.

“We surrender,” Marguerite said, breaching the crowd of Dead-Eyes, her hands held above her head.

“Fuck that,” Ethan said loudly, grabbing the front of Cody’s poncho again, saturating it with blood. Cody tried to pull away, to slip out of the poncho, but Ethan pulled him closer - and suddenly, he was in a headlock.

Cody couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t even figure out what to do about it. All he could think about was Ethan’s arm around his throat, choking him, Ethan dragging him across the clearing toward the rumble of the Dead-Eyes’ motorbikes. There were spots in his vision, and he retched, gagging as he fought to breathe, to go limp, anything.

“We don’t FUCKING surrender,” Ethan was bellowing, somewhere above him. His voice felt like it was coming from very, very far away. “Shoot as many of us as you want, but we’re taking what’s mine, and we’re leaving! And if you come after us, we’ll kill you on our own turf!”

“No,” someone else said, patiently.

The arm around Cody’s throat released. Cody coughed, and straightened up, blinking the spots from his vision. He was in the midst of the Dead-Eyes, standing between Ethan - who was still red in the face, practically foaming at the mouth - and Marguerite. She looked stern, her gaze holding Ethan’s evenly, her hands still high above her head.

The other Dead-Eyes were holding their hands up, too, even the ones sitting astride their bikes. They were all looking at Ethan, some with hard, unsympathetic eyes, some looking more disappointed than angry.

“I’m taking the hostage back across,” Marguerite said, loudly, her eyes trained on the piles of debris. She stepped towards Cody, offering him her hand.

No answer came from above, but there was no gunshot, either.

“No,” Ethan growled, but another Dead-Eye - who Cody recognized as K.B. - stepped out in front of him, holding him back.

Cody took Marguerite’s hand.

The Dead-Eyes parted to let them pass through, back towards the middle of the clearing. Marguerite walked at a brisk pace, but slowed when Cody began to stumble and struggle to keep up. She let go of his hand, and walked side-by-side with him, slinging an arm around his waist to support him.

“I’m sorry, Cody,” she said, under her breath. “None of us thought he’d go this far. We should’ve stopped him a long time ago, before we ended up here.”

“You should’ve stopped him before he cut off my fingers,” Cody ground out between his teeth, not particularly in the mood to be forgiving, or even to receive an apology.

Marguerite winced, then nodded.

“You’re right,” she said. They’d nearly reached Marc’s side of the clearing, and she let go of Cody, taking a step back and raising her hands again.

“The rest of us always liked you, Cody,” she said, looking him in the eye. “And we owe you, now. If you ever need a favor -”

“I won’t,” Cody said, stonily.

Marguerite inclined her head slightly, to show she’d understood. Then, she turned around and began to march back towards the Dead-Eyes, just as briskly as she’d been walking before.

“Weapons down, everyone,” she called, and the group broke into a flurry of motion. K.B. was still holding Ethan back, and had been joined by several more people. Cody didn’t envy them the task.

“Hey, Cody,” Nash said, almost startling Cody with how close he was. He laughed - presumably at the way Cody had jumped - and slung an arm around him, acting as a crutch like Marguerite had. His wrists had rope burn on them, Cody noticed, but aside from that he seemed as chipper as ever.

“Good to have you back, Mr. Allison,” Marc said, with a strained sort of smile. He was sitting on the ground, propped against Cole, who was busily cleaning his bullet wound with what looked like a strip of her own shirt. “And in one piece, too. That Ethan Rouse is a real piece of work.”

“He’s a bastard,” Cole agreed, without looking up.

“He doesn’t deserve to run a gang,” Young said sharply. They were standing off to the side with Stills, watching the Dead-Eyes with careful, calculating intent. Probably making sure they didn’t suddenly try anything.

Stills laughed. “I’d say his gang is feeling the same way right about now.”

Cody smiled, tiredly, and sat down next to Marc.

“I hope so,” he said, shutting his eyes and leaning back, until he was flat on the ground. It was nice to think about, at least.

7.5 || 7.7

#story

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riverofmemoriesft · 7 years

Text

. Obsessive Impulsive . 14

Full Summary: “‘I’ve been trying to find you alone for weeks, but you’ve been avoiding me.’ He clicked his tongue, as if scolding her. 'I tried approaching, but you always had someone with you to give me nasty words and looks. They turned you against me, Miss Levy.’"

Pairings: Gajeel x Levy

Warnings: I strode for a darker fic again. This is not for sensitive readers. Violence, stalking, etc.

Author’s Note: This is a very, very twisted gift for Bubbles, who has not been allowed to so much as read a single chapter. This will update every other day.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip-

Levy's hazel eyes fluttered open, hazed with pain and confusion. She blinked a few times, and then gasped, shooting upright. Pain lanced through her - bandaged, she noted - shoulder, and she rested a hand lightly on it as she looked around.

A sewer? she wondered, shocked as she took in the space around her. She was resting semi-upright beside a round grated entrance that, from the looks of it, could be removed if necessary. She licked her lips, remembering who she'd last seen, and looked around. Elroy wasn't there at the moment.

She hissed as she struggled to sit forward. Blood seeped into the bandage, warm and sticky, but she ignored it - particularly as a shadow appeared nearby.

"You're awake, Miss Levy!" Elroy cheerfully said, green eyes glinting in the dark.

Levy spat at him, furious. "Take me home, Elroy."

He disregarded her fury and instead stepped over, lightly grabbing her wrist when she tried to hit him. She shrieked in outrage as she was lifted into his arms with a gentle touch. She was disgusted with it. "Forgive me, Miss Levy, but we need to hurry. Someone will come looking for you soon, and I don't want you to be taken from me again. Do you?"

"Yes, surprisingly enough," she said wryly as he started forward. Her shoulder ached horribly. She wouldn't be surprised if it got infected. Not with the space they were traveling through. "I honestly hate to break it to you, Elroy, but home is sounding pretty nice right now."

"You don't mean that," he murmured, furrowing his brow.

"Again. Surprisingly enough, I do."

He ignored that and kept walking. It seemed like ages before they reached an exit to these sewers, and when they did, Levy was blinded by the sun. She threw her good side's arm up to protect her eyes. When she lowered it, her heart skipped a beat.

They were literally in the middle of nowhere. Eloy's legs were wet from walking through dirty water.

And her eyes welled with tears as the cuff on her arm glinted in the sunlight.

Because not even Natsu would find her now.

Elroy headed onwards, and Levy sniffled. His gaze dropped to look at her, nearly leaf-green in the light. Levy couldn't tell if night had come and gone, or even how many days or hours it had been since she'd last seen the horrified look on Gajeel's face.

"Miss Levy," he soothed, "it'll be alright, you'll see. You won't need to worry. I'll take good care of you, and soon, you'll forget about everything else."

"This is kidnapping," she whispered. "You're taking me against my will, Elroy!" Her voice rose until she shouted, "In what world would I even think about dating or even liking you?!"

His gaze darkened angrily. "Stop it-"

"No," she seethed. "I will never think of you as anything but as close to evil as someone can get. And I've looked evil in the eye and survived. Gajeel crucified me to a tree. And even after I've forgiven and forgotten that, he still doesn't think he's worth anything to me! If you think you're worth more than a rock to me after this, than you're a delusional psycho!"

The blow came so fast, she didn't see it coming. She cried out as a stinging pain filled her cheek. Elory had slapped her - and continued to glare at her, practically foaming at the mouth as he snarled, "Don't talk about me like that! Or him! One more word about Gajeel Redfox, and I'll make damn sure he finds your body half-rotted in the middle of the woods!"

Levy clenched her jaw and said nothing, her small chest heaving as she glared at him hatefully.

A heartbroken look spread over his face. "Miss Levy, don't look at me like that," he whimpered, and she yanked her face out of his reach when he paused and tried to touch her cheek. He frowned, unhappy. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"I hate you," she seethed.

His gaze hardened. "We'll change that," he mumbled, half to himself and half to her.

Levy looked to the sky and willed herself to stay strong.

"I'm coming with you."

"That's fine." Gajeel nodded in approval the next morning at Lily's fierce words as he shoved some medical supplies into a bag for when he found his new sort of girlfriend. Nighttime had come and gone, giving him resting time that he didn't want, and now it was time to leave. The birds had begun to chirp hours before.

"I'm coming with you, too."

"...that's definitely not fine," Gajeel said, pausing and turning to look at the glaring sky mage. Wendy's dark eyes were sharp, her cheeks puffed up as she gave him a nasty look. He was impressed. "Sorry," he grunted, patting her on the head. "Mira and Erza would kill me."

"I can fight," she insisted.

"I don't doubt ya can. But Charle would kill me, too." He scrambled for reasons. "Besides. I need someone to be ready to help her when we get back. I sure as hell ain't a fuckin' healer."

She faltered. "I...I want to…"

"I know." He didn't budge on the matter, refusing. He would not let Wendy come out there after this man. Not when they didn't know what he was doing with Levy - a line of thinking he did not let himself go down. "Please, Wendy."

"Okay." She took a deep breath and then told him to hold on. She slipped out of the main part of the guildhall, where the guild had offered shelter for the injured - and for the bodies of those who'd been killed. Some in the guild were there, tending to those who needed it and offering to help others search for the missing. No one seemed to notice Levy was gone - something Makarov had wanted when he'd ordered Gajeel to leave and not return until he had Levy with him.

Dead or alive.

Wendy came back, trilling lowly in her throat. "Natsu's badly hurt. Porlyusica's with him. But...he said that if you were going to leave, to tell him. He gave me this to give you." She pressed something into his fingers.

Gajeel blinked as he unfolded the cloth. Within it was a cuff of iron - one of his own, made specially by Gajeel himself. Natsu had demanded he make it and then had carved crude symbols of luck-wishing, protection, and other such phrases.

All in Draconian.

Despite his irritation towards Natsu on a regular basis, Gajeel clasped it on his wrist and told her, "Tell Salamander I say thanks."

She nodded and stepped back. "Good luck!"

Gajeel nodded curtly and glanced at Lily, who met his gaze and inclined his head. He was ready.

"Alright," he rumbled. "We're gonna start around the explosion site, Lil'."

"Understood," Lily replied.

His wings snapped out and Gajeel bared his teeth in a malicious grin.

"Let's go kick that fucker's ass."

It seemed like ages before Elroy stopped and when he did, Levy felt fear race down her spine because she realized just how long he'd been planning this. Because there was no way in hell that you could set up a fully stocked cabin in just a week.

Her throat dry, she whispered, "How?"

Elroy beamed. "I payed people to come out and build it. Isn't it lovely?"

Sure. I'd love to come here. If I wasn't with a stalker.

Taking a deep breath, Levy tried to shove herself free of him. With gentle hands, he put her down, but kept a firm grip on her cuffed wrist. To make sure she wouldn't go anywhere...not that she would make it far. She wondered how high the smoke would go if she burned the cabin down.

That would be a thing to try. Lock him in, burn, and run until someone figured out where she was.

"You must be hungry and tired." Elroy suddenly pulled her towards the cabin. "Come, Miss Levy, we'll make sure you're fed and see to it that you are put to bed."

Levy pressed her lips together. Maybe she could try to escape when he was asleep? He'd have to be exhausted, too. Those shadows beneath his eyes were brutal...but he'd be waiting for attempts tonight, the first night.

Levy grimaced as she was pushed inside, taking in the space around her. It wasn't too good, thank the heavens above. It was filled with cheap furniture, a running fridge and an old stove that looked as if it would blow up at any second. She wondered if she could sabotage it?

She looked to Elroy when he chirped, "Your room is here." He pointed to a door and she hesitantly walked over to it. Any thoughts of escape left her when she found that the window within the simple room containing only a bed and a shelf of books was barred.

She hated her luck.

She freaking hated her luck.

Levy, with reluctance, entered the room and wasn't surprised when Elroy closed and locked the door behind her, calling, "I'll be back and then you can come out! They've brainwashed you so much, I know you'll try to go back. I'm sorry, Miss Levy."

When Elroy was gone, she sank to the ground, seated against a wall. She swallowed the lump in her throat, flinching at the throbbing in her shoulder - and forced herself not to cry. She would not cry.

No, no crying.

But Levy was determined to find a way out of this. Even if it meant tainting her hands and soul with Elroy's blood.

Because that may very well be the only way she could get out.

Gajeel studied the space around he and Lily. Lily was on his shoulder, using his tail to balance himself. Gajeel could see Erza heaving against some debris with Juvia and Gray, her dark eyes worried for whoever was trapped. She was streaked with ash.

They'd wandered the area, seeking any sign of Levy. He'd finally found an iron pipe that was almost entirely slicked with Levy's blood. Lily had looked disgusted - as had Gajeel as he'd breathed in that horrific and familiar scent before using it to track her. He'd gotten halfway down Strawberry Street before it disappeared.

"Fuck," he seethed.

"We'll find her," a calm Lily muttered. "She didn't just disappear into thin air."

"She might as well have!" Gajeel crossed his arms. He took a deep breath to try and calm himself, frustrated. After a moment, he drew a hand down his face, thinking. Elroy had definitely taken Levy and run. He'd caught his stench while investigating the pipe. The question was how he'd managed to get out of town without being noticed by anyone, because they'd checked and nobody had seen them.

Gajeel's gaze roved the street slowly, studying it as people worked and wailed and whimpered.

He'd been down the street plenty of times and knew precisely where everything had been before. He remembered slipping through the sewers beneath it, too, hunting for a criminal that Makarov had wanted him to detain-

The sewers.

Gajeel lunged for the nearest entrance, earning a squawk from his cat. "What are you doing?!"

"The sewers." He knelt to peer into the hole in the ground, jaw working furiously when he saw that it had flooded. Something had burst thanks to the canal. "I bet he used it to get around...Juvia!" he shouted, looking over his shoulder. The water mage paused, blinking, and then waved for a tired Gildarts to take her place.

"Gajeel?" she said curiously when she'd come over, "What-"

"Clear the sewers," he ordered, peering into the darkness. "This section flooded and I gotta find Levy. Fucker went down in 'em like a rat."

Juvia's lips parted, blue eyes stretching wide. "Okay." She cleared her throat and stepped back. "Juvia needs you to patch up the breach though."

She settled contently into a stance, eyes on the canal. She suddenly closed them - and then snapped them open as the water came soaring out of the sewer, swirling through the air and into its proper place. Gajeel went to work, creating a patchwork of iron that he nailed into the massive crumbling hole. It wouldn't hold forever, but it would hold for a few weeks at most.

"Juvia will have Gray strengthen it," she promised. "Be careful, Gajeel."

He ruffled her hair as Lily settled onto his shoulder again. "See ya later, water woman."

And then he jumped.

#fairy tail #fanfiction #obsessive impulsive #riverofmemoriesft #gajevy #gajeel x levy #gajeel redfox #levy mcgarden #pantherlily #wendy marvell #juvia lockser

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